#i should write up my thoughts on light being a metaphor for police | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reawritesthings · 4 years

Text

Rooftop | JJ. Maybank

gif by @rudypankows

Summary: When Sarah forces the pogues to go to a Kook party, JJ dips early and notices you on the roof, reading peacefully.

Words: 2.6K

A/N: Thank you all for the support on my other fics, it really means a lot to see the love you give me. If you like me to write for anyone, please send me an ask! thank you all again🦆

☼☼☼☼

"WHY are we even here?" JJ's exasperated tone of words sent the Pogue's including Sarah to eye roll.

"I would much rather be on my couch watching Monster Inc." JJ's childish tone evaporated around the North Carolina frightful breeze that lure them further into the land of predators.

Sarah huffed not wanting to row with the blonde beauty. She frankly understood his anti's of not wanting to prey on the sharks or even share the same air with them, but, Sarah was still a Kook and JJ needed to accept that.

"J, we can just head in there for an hour... drink their alcohol and leave." John B proposed letting his athletic, sternly hands fumble his way into Sarah's palm gifting her with a reassuring squeeze.

JJ's mind was like a cymbal-banging monkey toy that only worked when the indigo eye boy was frustrated and needed leverage, "We are about to attend John B's girlfriend ex-boyfriend's house party because Sarah's ex-boyfriend invited her, and only her." JJ dramatically paused to reminded everyone how fucked up this particular mission is.

"And, here we are, the pogues forcefully dragged by Topper's ex-girlfriend to attend this disgraceful party that could end in two possible ways.."

"Enlighten us." Pope's static tone of sarcasm intrigued JJ to finish his perfectly thought out rant.

"A fight breaks out, or Rafe loses his shit." JJ's arm folded whilst a devilish smile grew onto his bruised porcelain face that everyone admired about the surfer.

"I hate to agree with Scobby but he has a point." Pope's loyalty to JJ never failed him.

Kie and Sarah kept moving forward, dragging their danity flipflops through the frozen golden grains of the earth that held the rich side in place. Being the only two girls of the group they were used to the constant complaints from the men.

"Next time, I'll just invite you Kie." Sarah muttered under her minty breathe. Kiara only nodded in agreement reaching for the handle to enter the shark's den.

"Best behaviour," Kie announced immediately locking eyes with JJ who was infatuated with the silhouette of another human.

"Can't make any promises, Kie." He winked as his eyes were still glued to the frame of darkness that interlocked with his mind that he should be up there and not here.

"Here we go..." Sarah murmured under her breath. "What could possibly go wrong?" Kie shot her eyes back to Sarah who only swung the door opened to be slammed with harsh tones coming from the stereo.

Topper was known for throwing the most extravagant house parties. The music was as loud as thunder; it made the empty beer bottle rattle. Neon lights that were glued to the white walls flashed everywhere like police sirens, but with much more inviting colours.

Over the roar of music, a distant, hazy chatter could be heard. Topper, Rafe and Kelce were chatting up some ladies as there vision was blinded by a bunch of Pogues roaming around like cockroaches.

"What are they doing here?" Kelce mumbled against the illuminated ruby plastic cup that Rafe already broke through his rage.

"Topper is still whipped for my sister." Rafe truthfully announce, causing the blonde short skirted girl to loose interest in his friend.

"Thanks man." Topper's eye rolled extended further as he noticed John B clutching his arm around Sarah's frame, like he used too.

"Anytime." Rafe smirked pulling Kelce's bright yellow polo shirt towards him to confront the intruders. Topper soon joined, staying behind Rafe as he didn't want his perfectly structured face to be bruised.

"What are you rugrats doing here? You aren't allow to be on our turf." Rafe spat not even making eye contact with his younger sister whose frame was hidden behind John B's and JJ.

"We got invited. We just came here to get a little drunk and we will be on our way." JJ broke the silence, squaring up to Rafe's face.

"Don't make me bust your other eye, Maybank." Rafe threatened, clenching his palms ready for another battle.

"Wouldn't dream of it." JJ took Kelce's red cup from his hand drowning the stinging sensation that drew him away from the crowd.

"Where you going?" Pope shrieked as he didn't feel comfortable being left with John B, he wasn't exactly scary like JJ.

"Washroom. I'll be back." JJ reassured his best friend, whose hand was tightly gripped to Kiara's whose face wasn't enjoying the sensation sound of Topper's music taste.

JJ's curiosity always managed to get himself into trouble, whether he was looking for it or not. His mind was reverted back to the shadow of a young female who was on the roof. He knew he shouldn't be preying around Topper's house but, he would of regretted not knowing who that girl was.

His tiny frame ran smoothly around the second floor, each creak that he created with his ripped combat boots made him squint, he noticed a slight acute door open slightly with a streak of light hitting the wooden floors.

The bedroom was furnished on a expensive budget according to the serval layers of blankets that were freshly pressed on the double bed. A messy pile of book were scattered across the white carpet that was caressed with a circular rug that was neatly combed.

He looked up at the walls, admiring the pictures that were taken on a film camera.

"Whose's this girl?" JJ thought as he circled the room, slowly resting his palm on the slik sheets wishing he could have a room like this.

Since JJ was in a trance of what his life was like if he was Kook, he was startled by a soft tune of a sneeze coming from the windowsill. His intrigue body motioned away from the bed, heading towards the half adjecent window that his mysterious girl was resident.

JJ's instincts were never wrong when he assumed the shadow of a girl on the high roof. His head turned towards you, your fully eclipsed body was tainted with a summer dress that fit well on your skin. Under his brief gaze on your exposed skin, you didn't flinch or withdraw from your book. Your shape was already forming into womanhood, yet you were roughly the same age as Sarah: Your twin brother's ex-girlfriend. You revert your attention out of the flood of flowing words and focused them on him, he was something out of a novel you read once.

Dashing, adventurous and fearless. You were polite and offered him a seat next to you, letting the moon expose your vulnerable side which JJ instantly stole as he gently brushes his shoulder against your own.

JJ eccentric side was displayed out in the open and didn't hesitate to make the first move. "What's a pretty girl like you doing on a roof?"

You sauntered in, feeling provocative whilst you brushed your hair from your dainty shoulders, letting his kindly eager cornflower eyes follow your movement.

"I'm not really into the whole drinking vibe... My brother on the other hand is." JJ's pupils grew larger as he pieced the puzzle together, he knew he wasn't the smartest earthling on the island but he just couldn't see the resemblance between you and your brother.

"How is that possible?... Topper has a sister?... Why didn't Sarah mention anything?"

You personally thought his reaction wouldn't be inviting but, his reaction to the news lured you in more like he was siren calling for you. "Well, when my parents had Topper... they decided to conceive again, making me."

JJ nudged you chuckling at your comeback, "I know how sex works. I'm a Maybank."

"Noted." You candid staring at the apex of the deep sliver circle that brought the both of you together.

A heavy silence evaporated over them, thicker than the mucky air making the tension more uncomfortable. Both of your eyes glanced unceremoniously around turning to avoid catching each other glances that happened in the space of a minute.

"What you reading?" JJ noticed an earthy hued of brown colours stuck to her embrace which JJ gazed forced him to stare to create a new conversation.

"Charles Dickens, Great Expectations." He noticed your awkward zoned face shape into a curious, cheeky smile that he first noticed when he intruded.

"Cool. I don't read but Charles Dickens is a great man. One of the best lads out there, wonder what he is doing now?" JJ wondered having no idea that he is in fact six feet under.

You burst out a giggle with a sentiment rosy colour appeared on your cheeks, "Hate to break it to you but the lad is dead. He has been dead for centuries."

JJ was perplexed by your statement. He generally thought he was still alive due to Pope always speaking about him as if he was a local. "I knew that. I was testing your knowledge on Charlie."

You chuckled playing along with his shenanigans but you would be lying to yourself that you weren't intrigued in the fact that he was sitting here when he was supposed to be downstairs. "How comes you are up here? I thought Pogues loved a good party, especially if there's alcohol."

JJ shrugged darting his eyes to meet yours, "Don't take it personally but I'm not a fan of Kooks, especially Topper and his gang."

And this, you thought was going to be the end of your story with the blonde boy. You weren't shocked that he degraded your brother and his friends, you understood the reason.

"I get that. If it makes you feel better, I don't exactly agree with their rules and how they treat you guys. You deserve the same respect we get because one day, Shakesphere's novel of Romeo and Juliet might come true and, I personally don't want to kill myself..." You flirted in a way which the boy would probably take days, in fact, months to work out the metaphor.

"Does that make me Remi?" JJ joked as he kind of liked the way your nose scrunched when he didn't understand literature.

"It's Romeo..." You corrected him again.

"I know. I just wanted to see that little nose scrunch you do when I mess up."

You were stunned that he paid attention to little things about you. It wasn't every day that someone would paid attention to Topper's sister, especially a Pogue. You could sense that he was actually interested in you, and even the novel you were reading.

"Whatcha thinking about, Juliet?" JJ teased letting his hand move the strand of hair from your face, tucking it safely behind your acute ears.

You shrugged, "I just..." You paused, you didn't want to pride your thoughts on the Pogue as you didn't want to scare him away.

"C'mon, pretty girl. What is it?" He interrogated you. He looked down at your fingertips, loosely fighting with each other as you were struggling to form words. He initially engulfed his hands into yours brushing your soft skin to ease your mind.

"You are kind of the first guy to ever notice me, or even pay attention to me... I'm just don't want this night to end." You stutter but with every stroke, he did made your nerves drift away.

JJ instantly brought his broad arms over your waist, pulling your body against his. In seconds your bodies moulded into one. JJ never let another human be so close to him like this, not even Kie. You were different, you weren't like what he thought you would be. There was a purity to you, naivety perhaps, but with a scent of innocent that JJ wanted to protect from the creatures of the night.

You, on the other hand, felt something inside you ignite as his arms firmly were wrapped around your frame. His embrace was like a welcoming invitation to his life, which you would accept in a heartbeat. You didn't really want the party to end nor wanting the moon to disappear as that meant your story was ending.

"You see those two stars that are moulded into one... that's you and i. Whether you feel lost or feel alone, look up into the starry night and call me." JJ managed to sound romantic for a slight second which only made you blush more.

"Poetic... I like it Maybank." You winked whilst your hands fiddled around with his countless threaded bracelets. "I like this one the most... the colours match your eyes."

JJ immediately took the bracelet off, offering your hand. "You can have it. I've seen you admire it since I got here. I have plenty back at home, so this is my peace offering."

You silently accepted the gift, watching the bracelet fit perfectly onto your bony wrist. "It's beautiful." You muttered to yourself.

JJ curved his lips as he slowly lifted your chin up, to get a good view of your face. He admired every little detail but concentrated on your lips. His head was angled slightly to the side as his lips went closer to yours, lighting pressing a small kiss to your rosebud shaped lips. When he kissed her, her identity fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting for the both of you as your tribes rival melted away. JJ's hand rested below his ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as he kept the flow of their lips going neither of them wanting to stop but, the calls from his friends parted them away.

"I better go... they are probably worried that I've got into a fight or something." JJ's face frowned watching your own do the same. "I'll see you tomorrow night, here."

"Are you sure? I don't want you getting into trouble..." You felt your walls began to build, each brick that layered made it harder for you to think that he would ever get into trouble for her, a heartless Kook.

JJ hooked his arms to your neck, "Don't worry about a thing, pretty girl."

You nodded, letting him steal another kiss from you as you watched his frame leave yours. A gush of emptiness flooded your body, as it called for him but he was already gone, vanished into the mucky air of North Carolina. You rallied back to your book, looking down at the texture smiling down as you saw him leave with his friends.

"JJ, where did you go? We were looking all over for you?" Sarah was the one who instigated the conversation since the rest were zoned out.

JJ kept it at a minimal, he didn't want his juliet to be known especially not to Sarah, "around."

Sarah hummed not believing anything JJ was saying. As they entered the van, Sarah noticed a small figure exiting from the roof, "Is that Y/N?"

JJ looked up, watching as you were clenching onto your book rather than watching your balance. "So that's her name.." He muttered to himself giving his face a warm smile.

Sarah turned hearing JJ's comment but decided to play along, "I wonder what she is holding?"

Without even realising JJ answered, "Charles Dickens. Great Expectations."

Sarah only smirked leaving JJ to slam his palm onto his mouth, feeling the metal sting his bruised chapped lips.

"We're you macking on with my ex-boyfriend's sister?" Sarah interrogated the blonde beauty.

"Let's just say that you need to tell me all the ways to sneak into his house." JJ blushed, letting his left foot bring his body up into the van.

Sarah followed behind, looking up one more time to see you peeping, "You got it, lover boy."

masterlist TAGLIST

tags: @outrbanks, @honestlyimstilllivinginthe90s, @jjjmaybank, @rudyypankow, @prejudic3, @afterglowsb-tch13, @summerintheobx and @void-maybank

#outer banks #outer banks cast #outer banks imagines #obx cast #outer banks imagine #outer banks masterlist #jj maybank #jj maybank angst #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank smut #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fluff #obx jj maybank #topper thornton #jj maybank x reader #obx imagines #obx imagine #outer banks sarah #sarah cameron

2K notes · View notes

erin-hollow · 3 years

Text

Since I’ve seen Let There Be Carnage already and many people here haven’t, someone told me to write what I thought of it. This will be mostly spoiler-free.

First of all, content warning for the movie:

physical abuse, verbal abuse (domestic) and some mentions of abuse (parental and domestic),

a spider, a chicken, and several humans are killed on screen,

violence, blood, and eating people typical of the first movie,

loud noises,

flashing,

something that could be seen as a suicide attempt,

needles (but no hospitals),

prisons, (and someone getting locked up just for being different)

kidnapping,

domestic fights,

guns,

major eye horror,

something that might trigger emetophobia,

A police officer shoots a black woman (and he’s present throughout the movie)

People (mostly gay men) getting possessed and their minds being taken over without their consent

(spoilers for this one) a black woman is mistreated then is killed

If anyone thinks of others I forgot please tell me.

Now for my thoughts on the movie. This is a very biased review because Venom is one of my special interests. I loved so much of this movie. Carnage’s design was terrifying beyond belief, many of the characters were excellent, and all the acting was great.

The animation looked really cool. There are scenes where it’s almost impossible to believe that Venom’s floaty head isn’t really there. Tom Hardy has the same great performance from the first movie, and does an excellent job being two characters. The light shining off Venom’s body is beautiful, and occasionally Carnage looks real enough to touch. There’s even a short scene where 2D animation is overlaid over everything else, and the artstyle of it is really cute and creepy at the same time. I will say some scenes are a little dark and hard to see, but... look I’m assuming you’ve seen the trailers. You know how the movie looks. I liked it.

Despite what I’ve heard other people say, the humor wasn’t a big part of the movie for me. That’s not to say it was bad, but it didn’t factor into my enjoyment as much as the other things. The critics are right that it broke the mood of some of the scenes, but I didn’t really mind. Venom has a lot of great little one-liners and insults. He’s by far the most comedic character. Eddie and Dan have a few lines each, and Red has one joke. I thought most of it was really funny.

Carnage was so scary and uncanny that it took a lot of willpower for me not to scream in the theater. In full form he’s just a disgusting red version of Venom, but any time Cletus is mostly human but has some Carnage attributes it’s incredibly unsettling. If you’re a fan of horror, you’ll probably enjoy this movie just for that.

One thing I didn’t like was the queercoding aspect. The coding that they did probably counts as queerbaiting, and the metaphor they use is (in my opinion) homophobic. There is no arguing that the movie is very gay, but they way they went about it rubbed me the wrong way. The movie codes Venom being an alien as him being gay, which wouldn’t be that bad except for the fact that the “alien” traits that they focus on are him killing and eating humans (as in, the fact that he’s not allowed to eat people is the same as discrimination against gay people). The metaphor is also very mixed, especially where Eddie is involved. There’s even a scene where a female character successfully seduces the symbiote. I did enjoy the queer coding, but when it was like that I hated it and *in my opinion* I don’t think it’s something we should be thanking the director about. It’s 2021. Do better.

Carnage and Shriek’s relationship was really cool. For one subplot of a short movie, they managed to a lot with it. The writing of it wasn’t perfect, and Cletus sometimes seems a little inconsistent in this aspect of his character. I have no idea how comic-accurate it is, but I got the vibe very easily without reading the comics.

I’m not the biggest action movie guy, but I could watch that fight scene between Venom and Carnage a million times. It’s so interesting, with so many fun little moments. In my opinion it’s a million times better than the scene between Riot and Venom for several reasons. First, it seemed like the setting was made to serve the fight instead of the first movie where they were just stabbing each other on the launchpad. In LTBC, the setting both serves the actual mechanics of the fight and the aesthetics. Second, the characters have a dynamic, even before the fight. In the first movie Drake and Eddie interact maybe twice, and Riot and Venom’s relationship was never specified beyond them knowing each other. I won’t get into it too much, but here there is a very interesting relationship between Eddie and Cletus, and between Venom and Red, which factors into the fight. This might be a small spoiler, but in LTBC it’s not just the symbiotic pairs fighting each other, instead both sides have people to back them up.

Characterization is a hard thing to talk about without spoilers, but I’ll try. I don’t think any characters from the first movie have been taken out of character. Venom’s street smarts are incredibly inconsistent. Cletus isn’t for everyone but I there are definitely people who will enjoy him. One of Red’s motivations is kind of stupid. Shriek isn’t as active as I would have liked, in fact I strongly disliked what they did with her. If you liked Anne, Dan, and Ms. Chen in the first movie, you’ll like them here.

Overall, I did thoroughly enjoy the movie. It was well worth what I paid for the tickets and I assure you, if you liked the first movie you’ll like this one. Happy watching :)

The end credits scene. This is a SPOILER ALERT, but you’re probably gonna hear about it anyway. I’m still putting it under the cut.

They got teleported to the MCU for some reason that will probably be explained in the next MCU movie. Opinions will vary on this but for me personally I’m pissed off! They left all their friends behind in their own universe, sacrificed one of the things that makes this series so unique (Venom without Spiderman) and broke the MCU’s rules about no multiverses! And for what? to boost ratings? Because The Mouse wanted my favorite gay slimeball? Are they gonna put him on Disney+? Jail for Disney! Jail for Disney for 1000 years!

#venom let there be carnage #venom 2 #movie review #eddie brock #cletus kasady #carnage symbiote #venom: let there be carnage #tom hardy #venom movies #venom

20 notes · View notes

snlhostharry · 3 years

Text

to be determined / one

harry styles x reader friends with benefits au

soon after moving to new york, you meet harry styles at a party. you convince yourself that there’s nothing between the two of you until it becomes too intense to ignore. if you keep telling yourself that he doesn’t mean anything to you, does that make it true?

a/n: hi everyone! welcome to my first harry styles series. This originally started as a challenge for myself to try and write a harry fic inspired by taylor swift songs so that’s where the chapter titles come from, it’s kind of become something bigger than that but I figured I would keep the theme anyway

chapter 1: welcome to new york

The story starts in New York City.

A place written about in countless stories, about love, about heartbreak, about giving up, about standing tall, and about putting broken hearts into drawers and slamming them shut. It’s easy to say that writing another story about New York is beating a dead horse, throwing characters into the same tired old setting and letting them live out the writer's wildest daydream. But it’s never been about the city itself, it’s always been about the people. Something about the city always manages to be the perfect stomping ground for people, for characters to find each other in a whirlwind of A list parties and harsh billboard lights.

Speaking of which you are suddenly very sick of said harsh billboard lights in the middle of times square. As someone who has read (and written) countless articles describing times square as a flurry of activity but also with some kind of inherent magical appeal, the center of everything it’s own small utopia, you know that everyone who wrote that had to be aware of their own bullshit. It’s a nuanced way of tourist trapping, smart, albeit annoying on a variety of levels. A gimmick to get wide eyed little girls to stand in the middle of chaos and think that maybe they could carve out a place for themselves here.

You’re not trying to carve out a place for yourself, you’re trying to get to a stupid party. That and manage to not get any mud or other stains on this very nice dress you’re wearing. After what seems like forever of looking around and then suddenly looking back down at your phone just in case anyone wanted to even try to make eye contact with you, familiar faces appear out of the sea of people.

You greet them with a look of disappointment, “Two questions: why did you want to meet here-” a tourist elbows there way past you mid sentence, inadvertently proving your point, “-and why aren’t we just taking an uber?”

Molly, a tall black woman with objectively perfect hair (which is somehow gorgeous at all times), smiles and pats your shoulder like a kindergarten teacher, “I thought you would want to see Times Square.”

“I’ve seen it,” You shoot back, squinting again at the bright light coming from directly behind her head, and adjusting your jacket over your shoulders.

She squeezes your shoulder quickly, “And also to teach you that any time someone asks you to meet them in Times Square they’re fucking with you.”

“I figured you were fucking with me,” You tell her, “But thank you, god forbid the midwestern girl gets lost in Times Square waiting for someone to meet her who is obviously not coming.”

Molly laughs, and so do you. She looks down at her phone briefly, and then back at you, “To answer your question, why would anyone ever try to get an uber in the city at seven?”

You shrug, “What kind of self respecting party starts at eight?”

Fletcher, who’s name admittedly sounds like it should belong to anyone but him, finally stops staring at the large elmo mascot a few feet away and jumps into the conversation. “The kind with an age range, twenty somethings to late thirty somethings, who no longer have the energy to go from nine to six am.”

You sigh, “So boring then or-?”

“It’s about networking,” Molly says, “And also drinking, but mostly networking.”

“One of those unique business opportunities where you get free food, and possibly run into celebrities, singers mostly.”

You roll your eyes, “Wow you had me at various singers.”

“Says the woman who did an interview series with Tik Tok kids who all live in the same house,” Molly snips, half joking.

You shiver, half from the memories of that objectively terrible experience and half from a sudden breeze. Needless to say a significant portion of the reason why you’d left LA, was because their entertainment section was suddenly drifting away from profiles on actors and towards compilations of one minute videos made by sun tanned twenty somethings that somehow made them millions a year. That and after you’d spent two weeks semi living with ten of said twenty somethings for a story that had gotten a lot of buzz you never wanted to see anyone connected to the app ever again.

You give Molly your best ‘I’ll kill you’ smile, “You have to decide what you’re going to make fun of me for, is it the midwestern thing or is it the Tik Tok thing because one of those involves you admitting that I lived in Los Angeles for a year which means I’m perfectly capable of handling Times Square in all of it’s elmo public urinating glory.”

Fletcher looks again at the mascot who is not in fact publicly urinating, but honestly if it did suddenly start none of you would be surprised.

Molly looks at you for a second and says, “Both,” She looks at Fletcher.

He looks at you then back and Molly and nods, “Yeah. Both.”

You roll your eyes, “So can we get going now or-?”

The ride to the location Molly had all but refused to tell you was filled with talks of the impending deadlines on Monday for pieces that were anywhere from fifty to seventy percent finished. (your’s is at the lower end of the spectrum because there is only so much one person can write about an art installation that you found less insightful and more literal in the sense that the sculpture was literally just large amounts of clay pressed together in something that shouldn’t even be considered a shape with no metaphor or meaning behind it).

Soon enough you’re standing in what looks like mostly a residential neighborhood, with one precariously nice building in the middle of the block. You turn to Molly, “What the-?”

“Don’t finish that, just be patient,“ She interrupts as a response. “You are very impatient, you know that?”

“I’m a journalist,” You say, “I need to know all of the facts, including what the-” You take a breath, “-heck we’re doing in the middle of a nice little neighborhood, I was expecting something more Gossip Girland Brooklyn Nine-Nine.”

“You’re definition of journalist is a lot looser than mine,” Molly says.

“Have you ever watched Gossip Girl? And isn’t Brooklyn Nine-Nine set in a precinct?” Fletcher adds.

“No, and Jake and Amy live in an apartment.”

“Beyond the fact that you’re a TV writer who has never watched Gossip Girl-” Fletcher sighs, even though you know he hasn’t watched it either beyond random snippets for a hit piece he wrote on it a few months back (not received well by the way), “The top floor of that building-” He points to the precariously nice building, “isn’t apartments its a loft, the floor is huge and only one house.”

You squint your eyes, “You’re kidding.”

“And the rest are offices?”

“How did they get zoning for that?”

They both shrug at the same time.

“Guys I want to know that if the police bust up this party, speaking of loose terms, I’m going to say that you dragged me here against my will.”

“I always knew you had good survival instincts.”

Molly turns to you, “Look when you’re getting special press access to the inside of the met gala you will be saying thank you Molly for bringing me here to catapult my career.”

“I have catapulted my own career thank you, the Tik Tok thing-” You shake your head, “Nevermind can we go in and stop loitering, then we’ll really get arrested.”

Party is a loose term but you learn that's not necessarily a bad thing. It’s not a rager with strobe lights and pumping bass but there is music playing albeit classical. People mill around at tables talking to one another, both twenty somethings and thirty somethings, you recognize a few faces from the media mostly. Fletcher was right about the food, and Molly was right about the drinks. You talk to a few people just to introduce yourself, a couple of them have heard of you, if only because your sudden cross country move to newspapers that aren’t necessarily competitors but might have a bit of a rivalry was something that people talked about. You’d made a couple thirty under thirty lists (no not the Forbes one) while in LA, which meant nothing to you if you were being completely honest but apparently meant things to other people which is fine.

When you’re finally exhausted at putting on a smile and nodding like you’re actively engaged in conversation and not thinking about something completely you hang out by the bar, not even drinking, just watching the room and all of the people there. You never wanted to get a reputation for being the quiet girl in the corner who just watched and listened because those kinds of people are always seen as weird or doormats or both but if you’re being honest this is where you’re the most comfortable. Making small talk just to get some opportunity down the road has never quite been your style.

You turn to go and find Molly when you suddenly come face to face with someone you recognise right away.

In that moment you realize that Taylor Swift was in fact onto something when she said, “Didn’t you flash your green eyes at me?” As weird as it is, the first thing you think when you meet Harry Styles is how that song is definitely about him, because those green eyes are striking and they are staring right at you.

“Hi,” He says, quick to the draw.

You take a step back just because of how close you are and say, “Hello.”

He looks at you like he’s thinking about something, and then holds out his hand, “Harry.”

“y/n,” You shake his hand. You recover from your initial shock quickly, and plaster on that fake conversation smile again, ready for whatever it is he wants to say, if anything. You came here to ‘network’ and you’re not sure what kind of advantage talking to Harry Styles could possibly give you, but for some reason you want to talk to him.

“What brings you here?” He asks you.

“My co-workers,” You shrug, “I would much rather be at home watching Succession on HBO and listening to the Beatles on my record player, like true people of culture would.”

He looks at you for a second, as you try to keep a straight face. Then he laughs, “Seriously?”

“Fuck no,” You say, “That’s my impression of the girl who meets Harry Styles at a party and has to convince him that she is not like all the other girls, she is the one for him.” You smile, “Was that good? Or should I try again?”

He thinks about it, “I think you should try again.”

“Because you think it’s wrong or because you think I’m funny?”

“What do you think?”

“Well if you think I’m funny, then I’ve already won, I’ve tricked you into thinking that I’m not like all the other girls with reverse psychology .”

“Are you screwing with me?”

“Of course I’m screwing with you,” You take a sip of your drink. “If I were home right now I would be playing Lizzo on my record player, and drinking something with a medically unsafe level of caffeine.” You pause, “What brings you here?”

“Honestly,” He looks out over the room, “I thought that this was going to be a much cooler party. Instead it’s just a bunch of reporters, and editors and media people.”

“Who are inherent mood killers?” You ask.

He narrows his eyes at you, “Am I allowed to say yes to that?”

“You can do whatever you want,” You tease him, “You’re Harry Styles, who am I to tell you what to say?”

“I feel like it was a trick question, which means that you are also a reporter.”

You laugh again, “That was funny, I’m going to write that down for my story. ‘Harry is genuinely funny which he tries to use to make up for the lack of small talk abilities’.”

“You’re screwing with me again.”

“Of course I am,” You say, “I work in the arts section of the Times, well not the actual art anymore but the movies and television.”

“TV critic?” He says, “So you’re harsh.”

“TV critics are just harsh for attention, I don’t need to be because no movie snob or well meaning director is going to go to the Times to see what we thought of any given movie. I write honestly, sometimes under the influence of caffeine and try to contain my excitement at narratively unnecessary plot twists.” You explain, “That and I get paid to watch TV, and usually private screenings of movies.”

He leans against the bar a sign that he doesn’t plan on moving anytime soon. You’re not going to say that you’re so awestruck by a celebrity that you have no idea what to say, or that he’s intimidating you but your hand shakes just a little as you clutch your fingers around the glass because he’s objectively attractive. Objectively attractive in the way that if he were on a dating app you would swipe yes and then put a lot of pressure on yourself to be funny and relatable even though you know that you don’t need him.

“What did you think of Dunkirk?”

“Oh!” You forgot that he acted, “That was before my time. I was working at the LA Times doing the music section then I think.” You know what he’s going to say next, “And before you ask yes there is a piece still posted of me reviewing your debut album. I think I reached out to get an interview with you, but I was suspiciously declined.” He looks embarrassed, “I was like under five years out of college I would’ve declined me too. They only gave me the story because it was the time where people weren’t sure that ex boyband members could make objectively good albums that meant something.”

He tilts his head to the side for a second, “And? Can they?”

“I’m in no place to make a generalization,” You say, “But I think you did. Admittedly that album was something, very intimate.”

“I don’t know if I should be taking that as a compliment.”

“I don’t want to give you a compliment because some people have a hard time with them, and this will get very awkward very fast. No shame, personally I have no mechanism to take compliments on my writing.”

He laughs, “I think I can take it.”

“Hmm.. okay,” You take another step back, “Okay are you sure you're ready?”

“Yes.”

“I think the entire album was very good, very unexpectedly good or at least I didn’t expect it to be. It was very open in that way that songs are vulnerable but still leave enough mystery that your fans don’t think you're a shitty person and I really like meet me in the hallway,” You say quickly, “In fact I listened to it just yesterday when I was working.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and then fake sighs, “See I don’t think that counts because it was more of a backhanded compliment.”

“What?”

“You said you didn’t expect it to be good, that’s not really a compliment then-”

“I was saying it pleasantly surprised me,” You say, throwing your hands in the air in mock annoyance. “You surprise me, Harry.” He doesn’t say anything, and for a minute neither do you, but you snap back to life just in time to say, “Is that compliment enough to embarrass you?”

He shrugs, but you know he’s messing with you. “It’s something but I don’t know if it’s really doing it for me.”

“You are impossible, just another out of touch celebrity, is nothing ever good enough for you people?” It’s by now that you realize that you inadvertently closed the gap between the two of you, and you’re standing very close.

He seems to realize this at the same time as you, “I-”

“Are you going to ask me to have sex with you?” You deadpan.

“What?” He looks offended for a second, “No.”

“I had to ask,” You tell him, “It’s happened before.”

“I was going to ask you for your number.”

“See usually when a guy asks me that they’re asking so-”

“It’s not for that.”

“Then what’s it for?”

He looks at you with something in his eyes that you don’t know the meaning of, “In case you want to do an interview, so that they don’t reject you this time.”

You know that’s not it, but you give it to him anyway because he’s Harry Styles (which yes is not a valid reason but this ‘party’ is very boring and this is the most interesting thing to happen to you in at least the past week). It takes you a minute to remember which one is your real number and which one is the fake number you give off if a guy is asking because he wants a booty call, but you eventually give it to him. Then you scurry off with a quick goodbye when you realize how late it is, and how you do have work to do. There’s a new episode of Big Little Lies out tomorrow and you don’t understand why but people are very into the show, and very into your episode recaps.

You corner Molly away from some guy you think might have actually been able to get her press access to the Met Gala and remind her that she also has a deadline tomorrow. The two of you go off to look for Fletcher and find him very close to sealing the deal with an objectively pretty girl, but you politely remind him that he has work to do and is very busy. The girl looks sad but let’s him go without much whining. You would’ve understood if she tried to get him to stay with her, he’s a little bit shorter than Molly but to be fair Molly is above averagely tall, and is nice and fit and has brown curly hair which you know from personal experience is sometimes just kryptonite. (you’ve kissed Fletcher before, long story, and can also say he’s on your top list of good kissers as well right up there with a guy you hooked up with in LA only to realize later that he was Robert Pattinson).

Somehow the three of you are only able to make it back to your apartment. So the night ends with Molly and Fletcher in the living room on the couch and in a sleeping bag respectively, and you are comfortably in your bed. Your phone sits on your nightstand, suspiciously silent. You’re not waiting for Harry Styles to call you, nope, definitely not.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles one shot #my writing

42 notes · View notes

bigskydreaming · 4 years

Note

About all the stuff you were talking about, do you know any fics that handle those things well? It is exhausting trying to go through the Dick Grayson tag to try and find ones that handle even one of those remotely well so any you can tell me would be wonderful.

I use my Bookmarks page as a go-to for people looking for that sorta thing. I haven’t added to it in awhlie which is like, a useful reminder for myself to rectify that.

I’m not sure off the top of my head what fics on there address these particular areas of canon or fanon issues, but they’re in there, and I don’t bookmark anything I wouldn’t reread since that’s....the only reason I bookmark stuff lol. Aka nothing that contains elements or fanon tropes/issues that would’ve pulled me out of the read on the first go-through.

Specific authors who I consistently like for their takes on all of that, hmmm....off the top of my head, @dustorange only deals in Quality Stuff and her Hierarchy of Needs for Dick’s characterization has similar enough rankings to my own personal one, that I’m always like, yes, this hit all the beats I was hoping for from this summary, I am full, I could not eat another bite. But maybe a dessert course later. I guess. If you insist.

In terms of specific takes and tropes I’ve been talking about tonight, @themessofthecentury has a fic that delves into all the Spyral aftermath in a really satisfying way. Y’ever been like, ugh can someone please write a lengthy beast of a multi-chapter that takes all of that and says ‘Lo, there is Gold in these hills” and has a range of POVs but that all consistently prioritize and center Dick in the areas and matters he should be the one prioritized? That’s the one, that’s Fault Lines, its a WIP but its alive and kicking and very much what you’re looking for to read something actually catharctic after the way all of that was handled in canon and most related fics.

Umm, lessee.... @hood-ex is all about Top Notch Tropes, especially for great scenes where Dick’s with a wide range of characters, and its like, casual slice-of-life stuff, but delivered in a way that Just Says No to fanon and even when writing Dick as light-hearted and having a good day, its like...actually in character for him and he’s not Dick Grayson, The Balloon Animal That Walks Like A Man (but is actually 70% sugary cereal). You gotta follow her on tumblr though to get all the fics, cuz she’s like me in that she writes a lot of done-in-one scenes that never get moved over to Ao3 because eh, we’ll do it tomorrow but also we’ll forget about it by tonight so no actually we won’t. And thus there’s a lot of hidden gems to be found there.

@ckbookish writes a lot of stuff set in the early Nightwing days when Jason was Robin, and from what I’ve read there’s a lot of focus on Dick and Jason bonding and also exploration of Dick’s thoughts and reactions to Bruce’s “Bruce NO” behavior of that era that’s very much in character and IMO hits all the right notes in the complicated arrangement of allowing Dick his Feels there and placing the appropriate blame where appropriate but without demonizing Bruce and over-embellishing the more than enough to work with fuck-ups canon helpfully provided for that era.

In fact, in general I’m inclined to say the author sticks as closely to canon as possible while just....making it better by just adding the little ingredient that is ‘Actual Exploration of Dick’s Feelings and Choices As Viewed Through Empathy-Colored Glasses By Someone Who I Feel Actually HAS Met or Been A Teenager At Some Point in Their Life and Thus Is Aware They’re Not Actually Unreasonable Wild Animals Whose Behavior Even When Rational Is Actually Irrational Cuz Hormones Yeah I Know I Was Surprised Too’. So I’d say their work consistenly delivers the story and emotional beats I look for from Bruce, Dick and Jason in that era, actually humanizing all three of them without going overboard with adding flaws all willy-nilly just cuz.

The only reason its not on my bookmarks page is cuz unfortunately, the sticking close to canon means Dick joining the Bludhaven police force to try and clean it up from the inside, and like.....not a criticism or condemnation of the execution of that premise at all, like, Dick’s clear in his reasons and from what I read goes about it in a way that actually fits if Dick had criticisms of the institution as a whole and an earnest belief he can effect change to it from the inside, its just like, purely as a personal subjectivity thing, Dick Grayson and Being a Cop is like my ultimate NOTP, I see it and I reflexively hiss like a vampire who forgot the sun was a thing. Its just not for me in any execution, but if that’s not true for you then its got everything else I’d look for in fic and thus while I can’t vouch for his characterization or the dynamics in later stories, like, I’m pretty sure you’d still be in Primo Characterization territory.

There’s stuff on my bookmarks page from an author named discowing(amelia from a fairytale) - something like that. I can’t recall their tumblr off the top of my head but I know she says it somewhere in some of her author’s notes. Anyway, her stuff runs the gamut but consistently delivers on moments I really wish we could see in canon, so def worth a read. And I know her views on the Spyral aftermath and what’s needed for actual catharsis there are right in my wheelhouse, just in general, so if that’s the barometer you’re going by, then like.....idk whatever a barometer says or does when it gets the readings its supposed to, look its late, that’s the metaphor I’m going with, just pretend it was solid.

Those are just some of the authors where I’m familiar with more than one of their works off the top of my head and tend to like their focus and narrative/character choices across the board. I don’t know the full extent of work of every author linked on my Bookmarks page, like a lot of people write a lot of fic in a lot of fandom and I see a long list of fandoms and fics all organized by date posted so its more like one DC fic per page, and my ADHD self is like hahaha what if it was naptime tho zzzz.

But yeah, that’s not nearly enough to sate my greed and want for Good Dick Grayson Takes but it should get you started. There’s some good stuff out there, that’s never been in question, its just that like you said, it can be exhausting trying to wade through fics that you can’t tell at a glance if they’d be to your liking or not because the tags are all complimentary of Dick but two chapters in you’re like wait is this the other kids’ brother or is this their nanny, I feel like I’m reading about what if Fran Drescher wore tights and fought crime with flippity-flips. Which I mean, that’s a Premise right there, alright, its just not remotely the premise I look for out of fic where I have the weird expectation that Dick should be treated and regarded more like equal family to his siblings than like, okay what if he was actually just an au pair that was mostly hired to be eye candy.

68 notes · View notes

kurisus · 4 years

Text

Chapter 88-2 thoughts

I’m writing this at 6 AM because I CAN’T SLEEP WOO. As mentioned in my snaps, I first read this chapter while in a work call so I’m rereading it now to be able to focus a bit better. Buckle up, this will be long. Spoilers as always.

So Yukine was not necessarily snuggling with the wolves. He was asking them to eat him. I think in all the other bad stuff happening this chapter this detail got overlooked slightly but it’s bad!!!!

Who was the shadow we saw approaching him when he was with the wolves?? Was it trash dad after all? I think it has to be.

really don’t appreciate the Suzuha mention in THE YEAR OF OUR LORD TWO THOUSAND AND TWENTY

Yukine was such a caring brother it makes my heart hurt. Yukine in general makes my heart hurt. How did it end up happening that his mom just left him behind??

so if Fujisaki is telling the truth, we now know the context of Yukine’s death. And somehow, I think this is the most unpleasant revelation to come out of this chapter. Big statement, I know, but it explains...a lot.

Yukine was writing letters to his sister in secret for probably years, and as soon as his dad found out...well, we know the rest. I remember speculating (and a few others did too) why Yukine was barefoot and not struggling in that panel a couple chapters back that showed his final moments. So if he was already beaten enough to warrant hospitalization, that would explain why he wasn’t reacting the way he should have been.

At this point, if trash dad WAS telling the truth, I’d be fine if they didn’t show the actual scene of his death and just left it at that. Which means...we now know everything about Yukine’s time when he was alive. And of course there’s a lot we can say to fill out the gaps, but we have all the most important details. Finding out exactly how he died was the last piece in the puzzle. Aside from his full first name, that is.

Yukine yelling at trash dad to shut up and him continuing on anyway :) we really needed to know his final thoughts were “why?” :) I hate it here :)

I really hate even talking about this, this shit is FUCKED

okay so as far as trash dad is aware, Yukine’s body was still in the fridge. Meaning he had no idea that Yato went to dig it up all those months ago. Meaning Nora never breathed a word about it to him. I don’t really know how to express my feelings on this but thank you Nora. we owe you one. I have a feeling trash dad’s intent was not to give him a proper burial (since he’s all about false shows of kindness), though as to what it was, I cannot say.

I think at this point it’s pretty clear that Yato is the one who gave him a proper burial. When the panel of the empty refrigerator dropped a few months back, the fact that the body was missing struck me as just odd, and I thought maybe Yukine’s dad dug it back up for some sort of weird ritual, but judging by what we know now, that doesn’t seem likely. As soon as people started saying Yato buried him I was smacking my face like “of COURSE that’s what happened duh”

so trash dad is confirmed to drop his body in a very similar way to Hiyori, and we also confirmed that the version of him in the black robe is his spirit form. Nora mentioned his “body” a while back but now we finally got to see it. Is he a half ayakashi?? Is this just something he can do because he’s possessing Fujisaki’s body??? gah Adachitoka I want ANSWERS

Hagusa’s vessel name is just a double whammy. It’s like a horrible inversion of the fact that Yato named Kazuma Kazune. “Kazune” has the double meaning of referring to their time limit as well as being the “Kazu” Yato was already familiar with. With Hagusa, that name refers to a type of grain that looks like rice...in other words, something that appears valuable but is worthless. And now we see the vessel name is Yuuki? Adachitoka galaxy brained to punch me in the face.

SO THE REASON YUKINE DOESN’T HAVE A CELL PHONE IS BECAUSE HE DIED BEFORE THEY WERE INVENTED???? I always thought it was because he didn’t need one since Yato, Hiyori, Kazuma, and Kofuku were really the only people he needed to communicate with. but he seemed really excited to use trash dad’s. I’m in pain.

I’m thinking back to when Hiyori almost asked Yukine how he died way back in the beginning of the manga and trash dad now telling Yukine “Hiyori never wanted to know? I bet she did, since humans always want to pry into other people’s business” you shut your mouth

Speaking of Hiyori all we got of her this chapter was her looking pissed off. When she arrives to the fight I just want her to fuck shit up. She may not have her half ayakashi form but she can still snap trash dad’s neck in half.

Perhaps the reason Yukine didn’t find any news articles about himself was because “Haru” was just a nickname. I find it hard to believe that there was nothing about him going missing, especially since his dad made a fuss with putting up missing person flyers everywhere. There’s no way the police wouldn’t have gotten involved, right?

Either way it doesn’t really matter--his dad never got charged with anything even if he was a suspect, and no one else cared enough to look either.

this is so many levels of fucked

“So even now my father is still killing me” this line. THIS LINE. THIS FUCKING LINE. It’s such a succinct and excellent summary of Yukine as a character--as much as we love our son, the fact remains that he is dead. And he is dead because of his father’s abuse and society’s neglect. So no matter however much he grows and changes in the afterlife, it cannot change that his life was cut short far too soon, and everything good that happens to him is overshadowed by the fact that it’s indirectly because of his nasty father. And he got away with it. I can’t.

Before this chapter came out I speculated we’d want to strangle Yukine’s dad even more than we already did. and I was right. but holy shit this line was a kick in the gut while I’m still recovering from “that boy loved people”

Yukine loved people too....he loved people and they turned their backs on him BUT HE NEVER GAVE UP ON LOVING!!! IT JUST TOOK A DIFFERENT SHAPE. FUCK.

So Father knows someone visited the fridge. I wonder if he’s figured out that it was Hiyori yet. I just want her to snap him like a twig. it’s what he deserves.

Father also doesn’t care about Yukine, like, at all (we been knew), to the point he couldn’t even realize the only blond character in this fucking manga now has black hair. MAN. that just says a lot about him, huh.

Are we going to find out whether one of his parents was foreign?? He and Yuka are both noticeably light-haired and it hasn’t been addressed aside from Yukine’s hair color changing.

The hair color change was the only spoiler I saw before the chapter came out and it’s been haunting me ever since. I thought initially Yukine dyed his hair while trash dad was out, but now I wonder if the dark hair is his vessel form? Fujisaki summoned him before leaving, so I don’t know. He does look like his bird ayakashi form with having clawed hands as well.

I remember seeing speculation that trash dad generally tells the truth. well as of this chapter we know he’s a fucking liar. Hiyori left that flower, and I think it will end up being important in the long run when Yukine realizes that she’s the only human who truly cares about him.

Whether trash dad has been telling the truth about other things remains to be seen. We still don’t know how he got out of Yomi, if that’s really what happened to make him immortal. But this lie about the flower seems to be a white lie. He could have just said he didn’t know. If he so readily lied about this, who’s to say he hasn’t been lying about other things too, you know?

Yukine destroying the fridge would normally make me be like good for her.jpeg but since the context is him with trash dad I actually hate it

Since Yukine is now so eager to meet his dad I can’t shake the feeling that he’s dead. It would be the perfect gut-punch for him to demand why his father killed him, only to find out that he’s dead (and maybe even that YATO did it...which would only add more fuel to the fire....fuck) and never get to resolve his turmoil.

I’ve been on the fence about whether Yukine’s dad is still alive but based on this chapter I’m putting my bets on “he’s dead and Yato killed him back in the early manga because that would cause the most suffering at present and that generally seems to be the route Adachitoka takes.”

Like, yeah, if Yato did it it was to protect Yukine, but that doesn’t matter when he’s already so pissed off at Yato.

Yato only fired on trash dad because he didn’t know that it was Yukine with him. And Yukine is again thinking that Yato is trying to hurt him. This chapter is also a horrible inversion of...was it 83-2? where Yato tried to kill trash dad and Yukine stopped him? Except now this time it’s not because Yukine wants answers, it’s because he’s pissed at Yato and loyal to trash dad.

Yato was also a fool for thinking sniping trash dad from afar would work, especially when it didn’t even work the first time.

So now the thing I’ve been working up to talking about throughout these many, many words: Hagusa’s vessel form is...himself. He is the weapon. This is such a wonderful (and terrible) narrative choice I’m delighted by where it will take us physically and metaphorically, but obviously it hurts. A lot.

Yuuki being himself the weapon that trash dad fights Yato with for what may be their final showdown is such a fitting culmination to his character arc in this section of the story. (when trash dad said he would turn him into a weapon I DIDN’T REALIZE IT WAS LITERAL)

This is also a good choice art-wise because it means even more pain with seeing Yukine physically fighting Yato rather than Yato and trash dad fighting with swords or something.

So Yato met with Yuka before (it was a flashback, as many people pointed out to me after I goofed last month lmao) but whether that was earlier today or further in the past remains to be seen. I hope he told her to get out because it seems like trash dad is heading into her house while Yato and Yukine face off.

well. “face off” is maybe an exaggeration. Yato will not be able to fight Yukine at all and I’m anticipating he gets the shit kicked out of him, again, while he tries to make him see reason. bro. I hate this. I really, really hate this. This final fight is going all the ways I knew it would, but hoped it wouldn’t.

Hiyori and Nora come help please

July can’t come soon enough

I’m pretty sure this is my longest thoughts post ever. so much happened and I have so many feelings about all of it.

#Noragami #Noragami manga #Noragami spoilers #chapter 88.2 #AND NOW WITH THAT I will try to get some more sleep.#live update

187 notes · View notes

orionsangel86 · 4 years

Text

Hey Everyone,

As you have probably noticed, I have neglected this blog for a long time now. I haven’t been on any fandom related social media at all actually. But I figured since I am currently in a good mindset, I want to write a post just outlining some things which basically boils down to a goodbye letter to Supernatural fandom.

Long rambling post below the cut...

This year (and the last) has just taken it out of me in terms of general negativity online both in fandom and in the real world. At first I got tired of fandom (mostly because Twitter is a cesspool of policing and bullying) and then I got tired of everything else (the world sucks right now, and my mental health basically stopped me from being able to participate in any form of online activism – just because I’m not blogging about something, doesn’t mean I don’t support the cause ya know?). Earlier this year, right around the time of the UK lockdowns, I had surgery and a recovery period in which I spent a lot of time with family, and just reacquainted myself with the real world. I think perhaps the coronavirus pandemic made me realise that long before lockdown began I had already been isolating myself from my real life and diving further and further into an online black hole.

It was years in the making. Supernatural fandom preoccupied my thoughts for such a long period of time it got to the point where every moment of my non working time seemed to be spent either online scrolling my tumblr dash or twitter feed, or reading fanfic or doing something fandom related. I invested so much of myself into this show and fandom that I think I forgot who I was before I was a Supernatural fan completely.

After my wake up call in late 2019, which lead me to break free from an extremely nasty clique, I have tried to re-enter fandom on my own terms, as well as attempt to enjoy the source material and the fandom creations to ignite some new spark of love and interest in the show. Yet as much as I have tried, I have failed to do so.

I was thinking recently about someone I used to follow years ago before I ever created a blog. When I was still just lurking in the tumblr shadows and followed the likes of Mittens, Lizbob, and other meta writers of the period, there was a blogger whose name I can’t remember but she was the funniest blogger I had come across. But when the show killed off Charlie Bradbury, she quit. I had never even interacted with her, as I was barely getting my blog started at the time, but I’ll never forget a post she wrote about her feelings on the show. She had recently started watching something else (I think it was Sense8 but can’t recall entirely), and that this new show had given her everything she had never thought she could have from her fave before. She wrote about how her relationship with Supernatural had become abusive. That for years the writers of Supernatural continued to throw punches at fans like her – women, LGBTQ+ people, people of colour, and yet she continued to give it all her time and attention, brushing off the punches because she was so damn devoted to the characters. Then this new show had come along, and it was like she had seen the light. The killing of Charlie Bradbury was the last straw, and she dumped Supernatural’s ass and fled into the arms of her new love.

I hope she is doing fantastically today.

What she wrote has resonated with me for years. I was a fairly new Supernatural fan at the time, and therefore didn’t really understand what she meant. A TV show can’t be abusive. Can it?

Of course, we are speaking in metaphor here, and in no way are these metaphors meant to reduce or limit the truly serious situation of actual abusive relationships, but every now and then, when a new episode of Supernatural has left me feeling upset, disappointed, frustrated and grossly let down, in some cases affecting my mood for days at a time, and therefore my mental health. I have thought back to those words she wrote and quietly agreed with them in my head. Yes. This is a metaphorically abusive relationship.

When I discovered earlier this year that Castiel was most likely going to be killed off in some sort of bullshit self sacrifice before the end of the show, I was extremely distressed. When I found out that my favourite person of all time Misha Collins, supported this ending for Castiel, and may have even been the one who pushed for it, I was more than distressed, I felt betrayed by the person I cared about most. I’ll admit to you all now that in my weakest moments I have fantasized about standing in front of Misha and screaming at him exactly just what kind of affect his “ideal ending” for Castiel will have on his fanbase, on their mental health, and potentially their own safety. This fantasy has me guilt tripping him and doing everything in my power to make him feel utterly shit about the decision. I know what you are thinking – don’t blame Misha, the guy has his own problems and we all know he projects his own self esteem issues onto Cas – and yes, I know this, like I said its only a fantasy to get me through my darkest moments. I don’t hate Misha at all. But perhaps I do love him a little less nowadays than I did back at the height of my fandom life. That’s at least still a little bit more than my feelings for Jensen and Jared which now I can only describe as complete indifference.

I am admitting all of this now knowing full well it will ignite shock and anger among the more die hard fans of J2M, to explain why I need to just leave this fandom completely, or more accurately, why I have already left fandom.

Over the past 10 months of 2020, I have watched a lot of TV (there isn’t much else to do during a lockdown when you are on crutches with your foot in a cast!) and the one thought that occurred to me over and over again was “this show is so much better than Supernatural”.

I kept comparing everything I watched, from the quality of the scripts, the actors, the special effects, to the inclusiveness of the shows. Just so many beautiful and interesting stories that seem to understand their audience, and understand how to entertain and impress without resorting to cringe humour, outdated jokes, and prejudice, not to mention misogyny and queerbaiting – yup, I said it.

The thing is, I think these thoughts have been creeping over me slowly for longer than just this year, but I have been desperately batting them away the way Dean Winchester bats away his own gay thoughts. Unlike Dean though, eventually I couldn’t ignore them anymore. I cannot continue to carve out space in my own soul for this show, which incessantly beats me down regardless of my devotion. The creators, the network, the writers, and sometimes even the cast, have all shown that they don’t care about me as a fan. I’m not some gun toting dudebro living in middle America, so why should they give a damn about me? I’m clearly not their target audience, nor have I ever been.

I know many of you will vehemently deny my personal opinion of Supernatural now. That is absolutely fine. I am sorry to be admitting it, but I had to. I feel like once I finally write out these words, I have got it off my chest and can close and lock the door on Supernatural for good.

Without Supernatural, I am able to focus on my real life, I am able to find pleasure in other things, new things, interesting things, that bring me joy and joy alone – not disappointment and frustration. I found a new job this year, which has been a huge accomplishment as I was stagnating in my old one, and several new hobbies under my belt. I moved to a new flat, I have a lovely flatmate who has been a godsend throughout lockdown, and I have rekindled friendships that I was neglecting due to my Supernatural obsession.

All in all, I am finding post-Supernatural life far more rewarding and content than my life in fandom. It has taken me a while, but I am over the show. And whilst I will always hold a special place in my heart for Castiel, it will be as I know him in my own mind; as the wonderful, strong, powerful and determined angel with a soul, who loves so strongly, and who is worth so much more than his own creators give him credit for. He is up there with Aziraphale and Crowley, with The Doctor, and Buffy, as one of the greatest characters of all time.

So the Supernatural writers and creators can take whatever ending they have decided upon, and shove it up their asses. I am sorry to say that Sam and Dean Winchester are also lost to me. Any love I had for them was destroyed by their later season depictions. Castiel alone is the only character worthy of that space in my heart now. If in time he longs for a companion, I will find one for him, but it won’t be the Dean Winchester of the canon show. Canon Dean hasn’t been deserving of Cas for a long time now.

Perhaps I am still a little bitter about the ending. Perhaps the finale won’t be the disaster I expect it to be, perhaps Dabb will somehow turn it all around last minute following whatever travesty Bucklemming have given us in 15x19. Either way, I won’t be watching.

So this is me saying goodbye to this blog, at least until I have decided what else to do with it. It certainly won’t be a Supernatural fandom blog anymore. It wasn’t all wasted though. I did get a wonderful friendship group out of this fandom, and I have certainly expanded my knowledge of film and television analysis, as well as having enjoyed a great many memes.

I guess in the end, my internal war with my inner bitter Cas girl finished with her winning, and writing this post. Once it is posted however, I will put her to sleep with thoughts of a happy Castiel, who has swapped his wings for a beating human heart, and is living on a beach somewhere beautiful, refurbishing an old Victorian house, and greeting his kindly elderly neighbours. There’s a gay bar on the main strip, and the bartender is quite a dish. Green eyes and light brown hair with a killer smile. Castiel thinks he looks familiar, like a memory from a past life, but they’ve definitely never met, because this man is kind.

Now that she is asleep, there is nothing left for me here. Goodbye everyone. Whether you manage to enjoy the finale or not, I truly hope you too, find your peace.

#personal #a goodbye message to fandom

45 notes · View notes

keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 3 (Mafia AU)

Summary: For Rus, things seem to be going from bad to worse,

Notes: Well, I can’t stop now.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warnings: Some violence. A wee bit of unwanted touching and some innuendo.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Since they came to the surface, most of Rus's days were pretty much the same old, same old. He got up, yanked the blankets over his mussed sheets in a semblance of making the bed, and got dressed: uniform on workdays, and his grubs on days off. He’d go to the kitchen and make a pot of coffee in the wheezy old Bunn that Rus found in someone’s trash, tinkering with it in the evenings until he got it working. He’d drink a cup of coffee that always had a faint burnt note to it no matter how fresh it was, leaving the rest for Blue when he got up, and he’d head into the shop to make the floral arrangements for the afternoon deliveries. When his shift was over, currently doubles until they managed to hire someone who wouldn’t either steal from them or quit three days in, Rus would head home and shower away the stink of soil and plant food before flopping on the sofa to fall asleep in front of the tv until Blue came home and made dinner.

He couldn’t say it was better than the Underground, but then, he couldn’t say it was worse either and once the newness of the Surface wore off it was, well, it just was. Such was life and all it meant was Rus tended to cling a bit to anything fresh and different; like a stranger wandering in on his mornings for a single red rose.

He soaked those moments up like fuel for his what-ifs, his little daydreams as he worked with his clippers and floral wire, writing out small cards that declared ‘happy birthdays’ or ‘with love’ or ‘my condolences’.

Same old, same old, sure, with a few bright spots in between.

This week, though, ah, this was a week of first. First time he'd been shot at, for sure, first time a mysteriously gorgeous stranger ever gave him a kiss, even if it was hardly more than a brush of teeth. First time the police ever put up even the pretense of being on his side without an unspoken warning to stay in his place.

Also, his first time at being kidnapped and Rus couldn't say that he was very happy that his second chance came so soon after.

Point of fact, he was fucking terrified.

He'd woken up with a dismally aching skull and his magic still lingering out of reach, unable to see as he struggled against bonds that held him immobile no matter how hard he fought, until the throb in his skill matched his freshly strained joints. From the way it felt, he was tied to a chair and he couldn't see because of a blindfold that didn't budge no matter how hard he shook his pained head. The throbbing pain was worsening, threatening to make him black out again and Rus finally subsided, trying to keep panic at bay as he took a mental assessment.

His arms were uncomfortably bent and bound on either side of him at the wrists and he could feel the smoothness of wood against his bared forearms. His knees were tethered together, the joints straining as his feet were spread apart, each ankle tied to a separate chair leg. More ropes were wound around his upper body and across his femurs so when he tried to move, he couldn’t so much as rock the chair. He couldn't budge an inch in any direction without hurting himself which was probably the point.

Worse, they hadn't gagged him and somehow that seemed more frightening, not less, that they didn't care if anyone heard him scream.

Rus licked his teeth, drying flecks of marrow clinging disgustingly to his tongue. Tentatively, he called, "hello?"

He thought he heard someone move, cocked his head in that direction.

"hello?" he persisted. "is anyone there?” His voice seemed to echo around him, reverberating, “please, this is all a mistake! i run a florist shop i…i'm nobody…"

"Yes, we know."

Rus jerked instinctively towards that voice, stupid, he couldn't see anything around the blindfold. Not even the glow that voice suggested he should, that was the language of the Fire Monsters, a strange combination of crackling and sibilant consonants. Almost impossible for anyone who wasn't flame to speak and the only reason Rus could understand it was because of a childhood friend.

This Monster didn't sound anywhere near as cheery as his old pal. Those brief, smoldering words were the cold burn of near frostbite and there was no echo, only silence followed them.

Rus swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in his mouth, rasping out, “what do you want?”

There was a scrabbling shuffle of unknown feet and a new voice, “He said—"

“i know what he said!” Rus snapped. He choked off more desperately angry words, grimacing. His bro always said his mouth was gonna get him into trouble and yeah, this problem wasn’t one he’d started but better not to make it worse.

“Do you now.” A single step, the scrape of a shoe against concrete. “Well, that is interesting. A flower shop clerk who can understand flame-speak, how…unusual.”

What did that mean? Rus wasn’t sure and he didn’t know if he should explain his quirk with languages. His head ached painfully and so did his nasal aperture where he'd taken that hard punch. Licking at his teeth found one that was a little loose in its socket. He really hoped Blue could heal it. He really hoped Blue had a chance.

From close by came a soft murmur of indecipherable words and the sound of clawed footsteps walking away, a closing door.

An unexpectedly touch between his shoulder blades made Rus stifle a cry and he tried not to cringe as the heat blazed a path down his spine down before drawing away at the back of the chair. “I admit, I was disappointed when I first saw you. His taste has certainly gone downhill.”

There was an unspoken question there that Rus didn’t know how to answer. “please. what do you want?”

His question was ignored. “But perhaps you have,” that crackling voice lowered, scalding hot breath gusting uncomfortably against the side of his skull, “hidden depths. He’s quite enamored of you, isn’t he.”

“who is?” Although Rus was very much afraid he already knew.

The snap/pop of that scoff meant his captor knew as well. “You’d best be careful, if you’re dealing with the Fells.” A swath of searing heat fell across his skull as a large, flaming hand settled on top of it, burning fingers lightly digging in, “When they’re done with their toys, they break them.”

Rus tried to nod, desperate to get away from that paining touch. That blazing grip only tightened, the temperature rising until Rus whined, cooling tears seeping from the corners of his sockets to wet the blindfold.

“You should be thanking me for the warning." The flame monster chided. There was an impression of a large body, moving closer, blanketing Rus entirely in heat as his voice whispered in lowered luminescence, "Well? Thank me."

"thank you," Rus gasped out. The grip on his skull released and Rus sagged against his bonds, breathing heavily. All his clothes were clinging sweatily to his bones, his wrists aching anew from chafing against the ropes. He hadn’t even been consciously trying to struggle, only desperate to get away from that painful heat…wait. Was that shouting he could hear? Some calamity was going on not far away, muffled through the walls and doors that Rus knew must be around him.

It was impossible for hope not to swell in his soul, shriveling back when that aching heat shifted to stand in front of him.

“You do have a pretty mouth.” Thoughtfully, as Rus’s chin was gripped painfully in a simmering grip, a hot thumb smoothed over his teeth. A new, unthinkable fear rose in Rus, one he hadn’t considered; he’d been afraid for his life, not his body, but the implication was unmistakable. “I’d give it a try but from the sound of things, that’s all the time we have together, lovely. We’ll have to play again sometime.” Then louder, he called, “You’re slipping. I expected you much sooner, old friend.”

The grip on Rus’s chin abruptly released and instead an arm slipped around his neck and tightened, his cervical vertebrae squalled in uncomfortable protest at a threatening upward tug. “Ah ah. Not too close, darling.”

“Stop this.” There was no halting the wave of shameful relief at Edge’s rich voice, oceanic and deep. Only to be choked away by the arm around his throat and Rus couldn’t move, but he couldn’t stop trying to thrash away from the pull that threatened to separate his skull from his neck, straining against the unyielding ropes as he tried to rise even a bare inch for some relief.

“What? And spoil the game? See you soon, and do tell your brother I miss him, won’t you? Ta.”

Then that agonizing grip released and the burning presence was abruptly gone, leaving Rus to sag against the ropes, gasping in sweet, cool air.

Rus’s blindfold was soaked with tears and sweat, clinging uncomfortably against his face. More tears felt like they were strangling in his bruised throat, desperate to be shed. It was difficult to hear anything over the aching pounding in his skull and the rattle of his bones as he trembled, but he couldn’t feel anyone close by, had they left him here, bound and helpless to anyone who might wander in?

“is anyone there?” Rus asked pathetically. All his panic seemed to have caved in, collapsed in on itself to numbness that left him empty and spent. Feebly, he tried to twist his hands free again, if he could only get one loose—

“Hold still, you’ll hurt yourself.” Unexpected and gently said, it set a candle flame of hope flickering in Rus’s soul and…no. No more flame metaphors, not today.

The blindfold was suddenly gone and Rus blinked at the flood of light, trying to see anything past a blur. When his vision cleared, he could see he was in a sort of warehouse, one that didn’t look like it’d been used in a long time. There were crates and broken pallets stacked all around them on a dusty floor and the overhead lights were sodium-yellow and dim.

Edge was already moving to kneel at his feet, inspecting the ropes binding him. Somehow, the way he moved, the powerful grace in his long legs as he bent to crouch before Rus was desperately appealing and fuck, Rus really was as stupid as their pop always said. All of this could be laid right back at Edge’s doorstep, he knew that, only his stupid libido didn’t seem to have gotten the message. Rus stifled it, stuffed it down back into the back of his mind with all the rest of the bullshit that usually crept out to taunt him in the middle of the night.

Whatever Edge saw, he didn’t seem to like it; his brow bone pulled down into a frown and he made a low, rude sound before pulling something out of his pocket. Rus couldn’t help flinching from the mellow gleam of metal as a knife flicked out, but there was nowhere for him to go. He could only sit mutely as Edge got to work, the ropes parting easily beneath the sharpened blade until thy lay on the floor around them like thin, unmoving snakes.

A moment or an eternity later and he was loose. His shoulder joints felt sprung and achy, his hands flopping loosely into his lap as Rus tried to work feeling back into his fingers. The bones at his wrists were painfully chafed and bruises were already darkening the bone. He wondered absently where there might be other bruises, his ankles certainly, maybe at his knees, on his upper arms where the ropes dug in so terribly.

Edge stood next to him, waiting, his long coat pulled open by his hands in his trouser pockets. He seemed in no undue hurry, allowing Rus to assess the damages and he only spoke again when Rus finally looked up at him, pouring out all his desperate fears and confusion in one look. There were no answers forthcoming, Edge only held out a single gloved hand in offering.

"Come on," Edge said quietly. His clothing was unruffled, the same sort of obscenely expensive suit he’d always worn to the shop. Even his tie was perfectly straight, not a single snag in the rich crimson silk. He practically exuded calm competence and the only sign he might be feeling anything else was in his eye lights, the dimmed shadow of regret. "I'll take you to your brother.”

That sounded…that sounded like a slice of heaven right about now, to be wrapped up in the blanket of his brother’s love and concern. Rus ignored that extended hand and tried to stand on his own. His legs disagreed vehemently, knees achingly wobbly and he would have fallen to the ground if Edge didn't catch hold of him.

“don’t!” Rus tried, but he couldn’t stop Edge from lifting him into his arms, his weak struggles useless against that strength. All the questions bleating around in his skull –who was that, what was going on, why is this happening— twittered away into a single painful realization, one that Rus’s daydreams never even considered. “you—” His breathing was a ragged sob, “you’re some kind of criminal, aren’t you!”

Edge didn’t deny it. He only walked towards the far side of the room where a large cargo door was hanging open, leading out into a hallway.

He should have known. That scarred face he’d thought was so sexy was as much a warning as a damn sign, only it looked like Rus wasn’t very good at reading what was right in front of his sockets, too busy getting his panties wet to worry about the flashing neon ‘danger’ blinking in his face.

Rus let his head fall against Edge’s shoulder, burying his face against his wool coat and uncaring that he was smearing it with tears and other fluids as he moaned out, “what have you gotten me into? what did you do?”

There was no answer and as they stepped out into the hallway, Rus could barely stifle a shriek as he caught sight of what lay within. There were bodies lying everywhere, splashed with a rainbow’s worth of various bloods, ungainly limbs twisted into impossible configuration and pinned by jagged bone constructs that were slowly dissolving away.

“Easy. They aren’t dead or they’d be dust,” Edge reminded him patiently. Like that was so much better. His footsteps were even, heels clicking lightly on the concrete as he walked towards another doorway with daylight pouring through a broken pane.

Outside was a car with windows tinted almost as dark as the glossy black exterior. Edge didn’t set Rus down even to open the door, holding him close until he set Rus into the passenger seat. For a humiliating moment, Rus’s fingers refused to loosen their grip on Edge’s coat, the heavy material nearly tearing under his blunt fingertips as Edge tried and failed to draw away. Strong hands circled his bruised wrists with care, thumbs working their way coaxingly into Rus’s palms until he finally let go. Edge buckled his seat belt on for him like he was a child and then rounded the front to settle into the driver’s side.

The car pulled away with a near silent purr, smoothly guiding them through narrow alleyways between the warehouses, out into the main street.

There were other cars on the road, driving along without a single clue that there were terrible people out in the world right now, driving right next to them. Reality was slowly settling back in, brutal and implacable, stealing away his blessed numbness. Rus kept his gaze on his hands, tracing the bruises he could see purpling on the bones, unable to keep from prodding at them even as it blossomed hurt.

“i want to go home,” Rus said, pettishly.

Edge’s focus was on the road, both hands on the wheel at a proper ten and two. “I told you I’d take you to your brother.”

Implying that wasn’t the same place and Rus turned his head to stare at Edge mutely, then slumped back into the seat. More fine leather, great, hatefully comfortable as it cradled his aching bones. He wondered how well it would muffle the sound if he buried his face into it and started screaming.

He didn’t bother. Rus didn’t feel much like talking anymore.

~~*~~

tbc

Read Next Chapter

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #mafia au

49 notes · View notes

iconsumeheadcanons · 4 years

Text

persona characters autism headcanons!

hi im autistic and i started my day with sun so now im !!!!!!!!! some of these headcanons are from elsewhere on tumbr, but i dont know where :((( so i am hoping someone out there knows that n that everybody knows that i love them <3

(also go check out mollypaup and i think hypeswap if you havent already! they post some good stuff autism+adhd hc too!!! i think.. oh! and thieves-in-the-palace!!!)

Joker

there was some artwork from someone on tublr..where they pointed out that he doesnt really talk outside the metaverse so--hes hyperverbal as joker and just near nonverbal as akiren

he stims ALL THE TIME. that phone thing, the pencil thing, the little tappy tap of his foot, pulling at his bangs when hes embarrassed/smug. someone get him a fidget spinner. he’ll prob learn to do tricks with it

he probably sucks at focusing in class, like i know its just the game design but hes always surprised out of his daily “star out the window at the nearby office building” when his teachers ask him questions

mona mentions when the pt is at Wilton for the first time (after they run into shido) that joker eats like shit, and that could have multiple causes at the start of the story of course, but when i first played i thought that joker was a picky eater and that the variety (and amount of food) at the buffet would be an Ordeal...

tho mona makes that comment bc joker looked pale after having a little ptsd moment from shidos voice, but i didnt know that the first time i played

maybe when joker makes a face at ryuji putting so much ginger in his gyudon? joker probably does not like pickled ginger lol

his favortive foods are all spicy, which is why the curry he makes for his friends is always ‘overly spicy’, and why kasumi makes him a curry bento and joker kept going “...?” .... “....?!”

overly reflective glasses have been a great plus for him bc now he never has to make real eye contact every again!

mona Soft. play with Ann hair. maybe Braid. nice

puns (Gorou the Goroumet)

he has so many options to be straight up rude sometimes in game. he probably no clue on his own, which is why he defaults to Not Talking. people probably mention his constant scary face, which is just him being nonexpressive, squinting at all the fucking bright lights, and Tired

executive function who? we do everything last minute folks

high pain tolerance, which is why he was the kid that was always climbing trees in elementary school to get basketballs unstuck from the branches

his sixth sense lets him see treasure and possible places to climb/crawl bc 1. Shiny? Steal it. Steal it Now. and 2. Could i fit in that? Time to Find Out

probalby a bit of a klepto too oops. he’ll return it tho!! but he has to do it dramatically or he’ll die

cant sit properly to save his life

smells and touch are Great, they can keep him grounded when his brain goes off to police or dead rivals or guilt or

if a friend hung out with him and gave him total reigns of the agenda, he would choose to nap on the floor while his friend does something off to the side quietly

hyperfocuses on handy tasks (i.e. lockpicks, coffee brewing, cleaning, his part time jobs) and some things like movies and books. everything else is a tossup

his (normal) navigation app is his most used app bc he still doesnt know where hes going, even though he only goes to the same few places in the city

hates being sweaty, literally cannot stand it. probably double exhausted during the summer

but Needs Compression so hes often Struggling

Futaba

paraphrase from p5d “i have no motor skills so i cant play rhythm games :(” need i say more? (i will regardless)

echolalia all the time, from anime, memes, the PT

those headphones she wears all the time? noise cancelling ear protectors babey

only talks about her interests, “normal” talking is Not Easy, but she is still communicative w others despite her worries. shes not “hard to understand” at all but she feels the anxiety nonetheless

only talks informally, cannot talk ‘politely’ with out imitating someone around her

shes had meltdowns and anxiety attacks in game :( i relate so hard

Technology. thats it

def had an egypt phase that pops up every few months. probably came from yu-gi-oh

has Immune to Bright Lights buff. joker is very jealous

“Time to make like a tree and leave!” and 30 other iterations

video game metaphors are the only ones that makes sense to her

probably relates hard to robot characters in anime for their general androgyny and confusion about human emotions and connections

probably gets told that shes “too smart to be on the spectrum” by teachers >:( she fails their classes on purpose

wakaba’s autistic too that just how it is

the Connection that she establishes with Joker is so Warm. my life goals include adopting an older brother like futaba has lsdkfjslkfj

also eater of 5 foods only, i mean, she brings cup ramen to the beach. i just really admire her...

hides in small spaces for comfort

doesnt she have like uhhhhh hyperthymesia or something like that?

Yusuke

art

his entire social link is learning how humans work, which i relate

talks seriously all the time

“sarcasm? who is that? are you saying I was sarcastic?...how?”

cant remember to take care of his body, and madarame did not help with that either

lot of uncomfortable staring, hes overdoing the eye contact thingy

infodumps all the time, doesnt know hes doing it

needs a lot of support even if he doesnt think he deserves it. no one ever complains about helping him out tho

visual stims my friends

he didnt know that you could look up pictures on the internet but he does know you can stream live videos of waterfalls and fluffy animales!!

I am certainly in the mood

for something salty today.

he and joker are scared of math. numbers do not interact

Yusuke, futaba, and akiren are a trio and i know this bc their first day of non-thievery interacts is Akiren clearing Futabas room w/o permission, futaba hyperfocusing on destroying medjed, and yusuke rearranging futabas figurines so they are more visually appealing

morgana is a support friend for all of them bc igor knows they need it

Souji/Yu

yes, he mostly wears gray semi formal clothes bc parents tell him to, no, he will not changes this

Schedule or Death

“sorry, could you repeat that?” “huh? oh yeah, i was saying that--” “yeah that’d be cool.”

cats, fishing, he just likes to be quiet. you can literally spend a day at the beach just to think if you want, and that is what yu want

has a lot of scripts for things (of which he shares with nanako!) but if he runs out he just stops talking..

inaba is a godsend bc its so fucking quiet and warm

he Yearns to hold his friends hands, but he shies away from a lot of touch (excepting yosuke, teddie, and nanako)

Cooking and Cleaning makes the world better. he and joker vibe together with this

unlike akiren, he strong arms any executive dysfunction into Be Productive or Else. his punishment is feeling the pure anxiety of having to make up for ‘lost time’. (another symptom of his workaholic parents)

writes everything down, notes are very neat, has pages dedicated for bad doodles when hes not feeling his usual Super Classroom Focus

Cannot handle secondhand embarrassment (most often caused by yosuke) and will quietly slip away to random cats or origami folding

hungry, crunch crunch folks. probably needs chewelry bc he used to chew on his shirt collars when he was younger.

cleans up after everyone in the food court, constantly worries about them accidently hurting themselves. likely spends half of group conversations watching peoples hands

he canonically eats expired food, nanako plz help your brother

really clumsy, but people only notice after they decide that he is a cool person

video games are too chaotic for him

exhausted every night from the pure amount of masking he does, if a friend spends the night (or is like yosuke) they will know his more comfortable weirdo self (tho everyone knows hes a weirdo eventually)

hyperempathetic, sometimes just understands animals and children better than peeople his age or older

Yukiko

her jokes

she and souji get in ‘trouble’ together, she and joker commit crimes together

she and chie have to coordinate outfits, its important

actually understands metaphors, but does not understand people

like me, had no clue that creepy kid was flirting with her

she is very angry when she has meltdowns that might involve slamming doors and shouting. her parents call these ‘tantrums’ and ‘unfitting for a polite daughter’ but really thats because her meltdowns tend to be caused by arguments w her family after a long day of school and TV world traipsing

the metronome meme, except hers goes between Loudest Person in the Room to Quietest Pin Drop in the Planet. she is completely unaware of this

her atmosphere brightens when chie appears. that is not only the lesbian energy within her, but also because chie is like her Favorite Person

Cannot wear Pants. No (tho she wants to try it! but she puts them on and her soul instantly squashes)

happy flappy lesbian! watch out!

Naoto

the pouty face. all the time lskdfjlasdkf

hes really snappy sometimes and i love that for him. he and akechi should fight just to see what would happen (please read Bang Bang Shoot Shoot on AO3)

“do not touch me or my hat, thank you”

no one has ever seen him shutdown and no one ever will (except for his grandpa)(and kanji)(and rise)

probably likes certain food textures and will stand for nothing less, probably feels embarrassed about his preferences with friends

constantly jumps between ‘everybody hates me so i should act like them so they dont hate me’ to ‘i refuse to be anything but very comfortable as myself, and i dont care that im making you upset sir’

he and souji are the king and queen of subtle stims, but for unhappy reasons :(

does not make jokes. cannot joke around. understand? yes, do? no.

loose clothes are the only good clothes, but all tags and obtrusive seams will be obliterated by kanji tatsumi

not very empathetic so he probably comes off as an asshole to strangers (like when he throws away his classmates confession letters without reading them) but he tries so hard to sound comforting when his buds are struggling.

his understanding of others emotions/reactions come from his learning as a detective, which seems cold+clinical to others, especially compared to souji, whos completely unexpressive but very introverted people person

Hamuko/Minako/Kotone

big personality!! very people-oriented!! koromaru and her are buddies!! when shes having a real bad time, shes very quiet and expressions turn off

interrupts herself in the middle of conversations all the time. no one knows where shes coming from. her brains is thousands of km ahead of her body

bouncey legs, swingin arms, twirlly skirt, little somersaults! when will she stop? never!

very obvious music stims with her hands and arms! people are like “oh there she goes! happy as usual!” shes listening to minatos heavy metal playlist

switches from exhausted to excited within milliseconds. no one can predict, not even her

SEES has to ask her for context all the time cuz she’ll just continue shit from 2 weeks ago without warning

professionals will assume shes very childish bc of how chipper she is, but she is beyond mature for her age and only feels comfortable enough to have serious conversations if a person has proved themself able to handle it

collects every little thing. her room is a mess and she has to get rid of most of it every time she moves :(

hates cleaning! smells bad, feels bad hhhhhgggg

dont let mitsuru-senpai see her bedroom

gets lost in the middle of conversations with others bc shes thinking about a story connected to one(1) word that was said earlier

no sense of time and place, she just sees her friends and goes “ah, this is the right place, then” but junpei and akihiko are also lost so now theyre all screwed

Minato/Makoto/Sakuya

no talkies, no walkies

his story in the movies is him literally learning how to function around people he cares for

doesnt get jokes, expressions, body language, empathy, subtlety, metaphors, physical contact, or eye contact. aigis is probably the only person he truly understands right away

he is still nice to people because he doesnt see a reason not to be, but also he has very limited energy so only his senpai and old people get his most polite-kindnesses

cannot describe feelings for the life of him. the team wont know hes injured or sick until hes passed out

everything is too loud, time to drown it out with my loud ass music

rocking and chewing stims, ryoji is the first person to point him out for these subtle stims (not accusingly of course, just general pure curiosity and love for the uniqueness of humanity)

likes to cover his face with whatever is available, lives like a bat in a dark dry cave

will wear anything that has pockets and his blue/gray/black palette

sleepy at all times bc he never has much energy

when he was younger he probably needed a lot of support, especially after his parents died, because he wouldnt communicate like a neurotypical and would shutdown for hours in the middle of school without warning. probably missed a lot of lessons and field trips out of pure overstimulation

eating at all times. no preference, just whatevers closest

his meltdowns probalby include humming whining noises and curling up in a ball, which makes people want to touch him, but that is the LAST thing he wants. put a blanket on him! play some music! do not talk and do not expect him to speak

aigis is the only person who can touch him normally bc her hands are cold and he likes cold

never nude, feels mmmmmmmmm without clothes and probalby wears a full robe in the hotsprings

will not do things that take more than one step w/o someone else walking him thru it, which Same

#my writing #p3 #p4 #p5 #persona 3 #persona 4 #persona 5 #ren #futaba #souji #hamuko #minato #vibes straight thru the sun #i sincerely hope the read more works #im so srry for grammar problems #i literally cant read rn

81 notes · View notes

fiction-in-my-blood · 3 years

Text

Switching Sides: Part 2 (HLITF)

Aaaannndddd once again I would LOVE to thank my girl @theshove for being my editor in chief and making my writing reach a HIGHER level I could never reach without your help. Thank you so much for making sense of my poorly grammar-ed sentences haha.

Also, if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one

👉👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 1 is right here! Happy reading :)

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, reference to sexual activity/forceful nature.

~~~~~~

‘A servant? Did he confuse that with a full-time aid?’ I tried to reason with his wording of my job title. As the room was lit by the setting sun and filters out into the corridor, I stood there in silence, thinking about what I'd just gotten myself into.

"Motomori, who will you partner with?" Ishigami closed the book of names and held it under his arm, keeping a close eye on how I was reacting. Letting my eyes meet each one of the detectives' before me, I took in a deep breath to calm my nerves.

"Instructor Kaga, please," I announced. Although he seemed the most stern out of all the men, I took that as a sign of someone worn away by his experience. Which only meant there was more to learn from him. Right?

The announcement of my choice of instructor led Shinonome to laugh at my bravado. "Now that's something. Choosing Hyogo is pretty fitting for our little overachiever." The youngest instructor couldn't help but sound amused as the man I had chosen showed a concerned expression. As he looked me up and down, I stood with more confidence than I really had.

After the Captain's silent review of me, Ishigami progressed through the other pairings. I glanced at Kaga and saw him taking a phone call. "Yeah... I'll take care of it." With his back turned to me, I only heard a minuscule amount of the conversation.

"Kaga, you'll be going after this person." When the other Captain tried to hand over a folder, which I was sure had the case we should be working on inside, Kaga continued his conversation while pointing in my direction. He told Ishigami to give me the folder holding the information we'd need for the undercover assignment.

"These are documents for the instructor." Ishigami frowned, obviously tired of Kaga's dismissiveness. Kaga begrudgingly took the folder before thrusting it into my chest.

"Read it." He demanded and then finished his phone call.

"I'm sure you understand, but-" Ishigami was cut off by Kaga crossing his arms.

"I understand perfectly well." His mood seemed to worsen as the two talked. They continued to bicker as the rest of the instructors watched. I'm sure it was difficult to butt in on the Captains' discussions.

"Squad leaders should get along..." Shinonome frowned as we watched, me not knowing what else to do except just stand there.

"These two will go as far as a fistfight." Instructor Soma's comment made me worry that all the expensive equipment in this room would be damaged if someone didn't intervene soon enough. When Soma directed a question to Goto to see if he agreed, the messy-haired man just stood there in silence.

"I can hear all of you." Kaga scowled as he took a cigarette out of his suit pocket. I knew smoking wasn't allowed in the building, having seen the signs next to most of the doorways, however I decided it best not to make him aware. ‘I mean, he has worked here longer than me.’

‘He is the freaking instructor, Atsuko.’ The voice in my head made me want to metaphorically face-palm. It was clear just by the way the instructor stood he didn’t care much for rules or regulations.

"Don't get in my way." As he walked towards the door, Kaga made what sounded like a threat to me.

"Didn't even think about it." I forced a smile, knowing full well he would likely trample over me if I took even a step out of line. If I was going to learn from this man, I would have to watch what he did instead of asking questions.

"What're you standing around for? Come." Turning back to where I had been standing, I woke myself up from the pit of despair I had thrown myself into.

‘What did you think was going to happen?’ I quickly followed as he gestured me over with a jerk of his head.

~~~~~~

Sitting in the Captain's car, I couldn't help but feel anxious with the silence that thickened the air. According to the file given to us by Ishigami, we had to infiltrate a beach bar... But we were heading in the opposite direction from the sea. We were driving downtown.

"Umm, sir, the file says the destination is-" Kaga, once again, cutting somebody off mid sentence.

"Shut up," he spat, taking me aback with how rude he was.

‘I guess that ‘scum’ comment wasn't too out of character for him, then’ I thought, stricken into silence but sighing on the inside. I turned to gaze out the window, praying that I could get through the day without being caught out for being inferior to what my file suggested.

~~~~~~

When we stopped, I found myself inside a love hotel. My heart raced with worry, recognising the name as a brand my father ran when I was still living at home. He was a gang leader. With a strong mafia at that. He had his dirty little fingers in every industry that had some form of shady business going on. It's what made me hate him so much. The things he did, the things he made me watch, it's what made me want to become a detective. I wanted to pay the universe back for all the bad stuff he had done, and maybe one day find the evidence to arrest him. God knows, the police he had under his claws and henchmen doing his dirty work had delayed that for long enough.

We made our way to the room booked for us, or, more aptly, for Kaga. Meanwhile, I tried to hide my face from the receptionist as discreetly as I could, not wanting them to somehow recognise me. Even though I did my makeup differently from when I was younger, had dyed my hair black from its original brown, dressed differently and even held myself differently, there wasn't much else I could do to change my appearance without making it trackable. I couldn't get surgery because then I would be in the government system; I know, somehow, they'd be able to track me, even if the profile I had now was completely different.

"Hey, um... What're we doing here?" I asked as I closed the door behind me, the eeriness of the red room making my eyes dart around for any hidden cameras or listening devices. I remembered my father telling me about all the politicians he had on tape and all the people he’d bribed with that information.

"I'm pretty sure I said shut up." Kaga spat, also inspecting the room. I frowned at his rudeness and flipped the switch that turned on the electricity for the room. All the lights went out, causing Kaga to spin around and glare at me in the darkness.

"Don't you know what your position is? Don't interfere." His frown deepened as he stormed back to where I was standing. He was obviously offended I had turned off the lights.

"Love hotels are famous for secret cameras. They're turned on when the electricity switch is flipped. I thought you wouldn't want to risk getting caught." I smiled up to him with a spiteful thought hidden behind it. ‘This guy…’

Probably annoyed with how much sense my statement made, Kaga turned back to the centre of the room. ‘Is he really that easily annoyed?’ I chuckled to myself, not wanting to be reprimanded for intentionally frustrating my instructor.

The two of us were now alone in a dark room with nothing but a bed and mirrors on the ceiling. Not to mention a love hotel. I was painfully aware of what the room represented and everything that had ever happened in it due to the stillness in the air with the air-con off. Memories of what my father encouraged my sister and I to do in our youth flashed back, causing me to shake them out of my head.

"Why're you so nervous?" Sitting on the large bed, Kaga raised his brow at me while I stood awkwardly away from him. I could see a concerned look on the Captain's face as he brought me back to earth. I could tell he wasn't concerned about my feelings, but rather about how naive and stupid I must seem. I didn't want to walk any further into the establishment than I had to, so I stuck my ground.

"N-No reason." I grew shy, knowing I had no connection to my past life on my file and not wanting him to have a clue to think I would.

"Oh?" A mischievous grin grew on my instructor's face and my senses heightened. With that, Kaga grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me down onto the bed aggressively. Even though he was only holding my wrist, I struggled to move. My heart began to race in fear of what he was trying to do. Growing up with the most erratic people as guardians, I didn't want to guess what his plan was.

"This morning was totally screwed up, thanks to you." He frowned down at me, that same demeaning look conveyed on his surprisingly handsome face. You would never guess his personality was as cruel as he was if it wasn't for the eternal crease between his brows. Feeling the anxiousness of an expected punishment, my breath gets caught in my throat.

"How do you plan on making it up to me?" His grin returned as he held my wrists harder than necessary. Despite the smirk, his eyes were cold and expressionless. There was no way I was going to allow what he was insinuating to happen, so I pushed against his hands with all my might while somehow snaking my foot high enough to push on his stomach.

However, before I could attempt to catapult him off, he covered my mouth with his hand. I looked at him like he was crazy, but because I hadn’t done much training lately, I couldn’t push him off me.

"Don't talk." He hissed, rising up from being inches away from my face. Then, I saw him pull something from my ear. It was an earpiece, making me wonder when he was able to put it there, not to mention without my knowing it was there. "This will make for a huge amount of evidence." He explained to himself. My mind, already in disarray, went into a confusion like no other. "It was worth the effort of getting it on." He looked at me suggestively as I sat up with unsure thoughts.

‘So... He didn't lead me here for something worse?’ My brows furrowed as I thought back to the moments leading up to this, embarrassed and angry that I thought it would come to that. It was concerning to see his demeanour change from what I just saw to the victorious look on his face. He looked down at me, still sitting on the bed with a dejected expression, seemingly noticing my staring.

"What're you just sitting there for?" He laughed at my appearance, my apprehension rising due to how laid back he was. Maybe it was because of where I was, but I was more sensitive to the casual restriction he just put me in. I looked away, not wanting to say something I'd regret.

Then, I felt him leaning over me and I quickly turned my gaze back to him. I panicked. His face was nearer than I expected it to be as he jerked forward. I jumped back, the memories of intimidation tactics used on me before resurfacing from my past.

"Did you really think I was being serious earlier?" He almost laughed at the notion. "Unfortunately for you, I don't have any problems with women." He inched closer again and it took everything in my being to not smack that pretty face of his. If I assaulted a detective, I would be expelled from the academy and likely arrested. Not to mention the scene it would cause being dragged out of here. "I'm not so desperate that I'd go after some inexperienced brat." He smirked before getting up from the bed, talking to me like I was the idiot.

"What did you bring me here for..." Having had the time to understand that I would be safe and de-escalate my anger, I quickly regathered myself and straightened my back. "...If not for my training?" Looking at his suited back, I started to think back to why I was actually here.

"I've got more important things to do than that useless nonsense." He explained spitefully.

‘Then why become an instructor?’ I scowled to myself, knowing full well this man had no intention of teaching anyone anything.

"Well, thanks to you so boldly choosing me, I pulled off some undercover work." He turned with another victorious smile. I was frozen silent, not knowing what would come out of this intimidating man's mouth next. Then, he pulled out his cellphone.

"It's me. Yeah... the bug was a success. I've got enough evidence, so I'm withdrawing. You keep on going, sneak in and stay on the guy's tail." When he ended the call with his subordinate, the Captain quickly headed for the door. I was still frozen, trying to calm my racing heart from the panic I was in before.

"What're you doing?" Kaga turned back to me. "Staying?" My gaze darted up at the horrifying idea.

"If you are, go search the room next door. Make sure you come back here." At the mere notion of real detective work,. Before I could say a thing, the frowning returned.

"Too bad. You're not ready." The curt response was a deep cut to my confidence. Searching a room for anything fishy was probably one of the only things I came to the academy being able to do. But, before I could speak my piece, Kaga turned and left.

~~~~~~

By that night, the long, rigorous day had completely worn me out; I'm sure my classmates also fared the same. I arrived at the dorms the academy made us stay in and threw myself onto my couch. ‘Could Kaga's mission possibly be for an investigation on my father?’ I thought back to where the excursion took place and the idea made my heart flutter. For years I had wished and prayed for retribution for all the wrong-doings my father and his goons had accomplished. The thought of his vicious crimes being aired out like dirty laundry brought a smile to my weary face.

Getting off the comfortable couch, I retrieved a box from under my bed. It was small and light; there wasn't much in it. I opened it to find loads of old photographs. Some of them were heartwarming: my twin sister and I playing around or hugging each other.

But, I’d only put them in there to hide what I was really storing: Pictures of crime scenes my father had left out in our living room or secluded garden. I once caught him in the act; that photo was in there too. I had an old tie with blood on it. A passport with a different identity than I had registered into the academy with. My mother's ring was knocking around in there somewhere.

I hardly knew my mother. There are no pictures of us together and no one talked about her after she left us. The ‘family’. She couldn't take what my father and his ‘brothers’ did any longer and ran away, leaving her two daughters behind. I'm pretty sure she's dead now. Otherwise my father would have found her at some point.

I came to realise that soon before my 18th birthday that my father didn't really care about us; he just wanted a lineage. So, I somehow convinced my sister to run with me. I assured her that I had a plan that would get us the lives we wanted for a little while. I had trained to go on the run; my father taught me all the techniques the cops used to track fugitives. That, along with a little help from a friend from my youth judo club, was all I needed to get us new identities and places to live. It wasn't easy at first, having to split from the person you had literally been with since birth. But, it was the only way to ensure one of us would be safe if the other was caught.

It was also difficult to work up a good enough resume to get myself into the police force. The name Atsuko Motomori had never existed before four years ago. It was risky to lie about the qualifications I had when, in my past life, I never gained any. I was homeschooled to ensure I wouldn't be coaxed away by true, lawful policemen investigating my father or my ‘uncles’.

Looking through these memories and reliving my awful excuse for a childhood, I happily remembered why I was condemning myself to this place and people like Captain Kaga. I wanted to make sure my sister and I would be safe. And the only way I could do that was by locking them all up for the rest of their lives.

As I mulled over the bloody scenes within the box, I heard a knock at my door. I jumped, not used to company, and knocked the box off my lap.

"Crap!" I whispered to myself, trying to clear everything away as quickly as possible.

"Who is it?" I called out after collecting most of the contents, having double-checked the area for any compromising pictures.

"Atsuko~! I come with food!" The cheery voice of my only female ally chimsed from the other side of the door.

"Naruko, what're you doing here?" I questioned while opening the door. The food she was trying to bribe me with was a pack of potato chips and a soda from the vending machines downstairs.

"I'm pooped, so I thought you might be even more worse off." The bubbly attitude helped her push herself into my dorm room.

"You're not wrong there." Happy to have some form of womanly friendship after so many years of trying to keep to myself, I lazily followed her to the couch.

"So how was it with the Satan reincarnate?" She giggled to herself, lowering her voice at the insulting part of her question. Maybe she feared he would hear her. I wouldn't be surprised if they had us under surveillance to see what we did after hours. Or if the Captain had supersonic, selective hearing.

"It was... an experience." Trying to keep up my half of the deal I made with my instructor, I put on a tired smile. Kaga promised to pass me if I didn't tell anyone he had bunked the undercover training.

"You want a drink? I think I've got some tea somewhere." Quickly attempting to change the subject, I wandered off to the small kitchenette in the corner of my room.

As I prepared the beverages, Naruko spoke up out of nowhere.

"Oh, Atsuko, what's this?" She called out and my blood ran cold. ‘Did I miss a picture? Was it something possibly incriminating?’ Wild thoughts circulated my brain at the possibility of getting caught. Having gory images of dead men stored away in my room wouldn't be easily explained.

Hesitantly, I turned with a questioning smile, just waiting for her to let out some form of horror or disgust. Instead, though, I found her looking at an old polaroid photo with a loving smile.

"You didn't tell me you had a sister!" She asked and I cocked my head, glancing at the image she waved at me. It was of my sister and I, building sandcastles on a beach when we were kids. My heart stopped as I remembered the scene.

That picture was of the day before my mother left. She had somehow convinced my father to let her take us out- which was a strange occurrence. Even if my father wasn't overbearing, which he definitely was, she didn't like going out much. It was summer and hot, and we would only annoy him, being locked in the house. I'm pretty sure I remembered at least three bodyguards surrounding our section of the sand, though.

I smiled at the painful memory, a happy one buried underneath so much hurt, and looked at the brown-haired girl with two short pigtails, dressed in a pink bathing suit. I don't think I've had a smile that big on my face in a long time.

"Well, I, uh..." Not knowing how to respond, I just made noises.

"She must be so proud of you for making it into this academy." She laughed and the statement only hurt me.

"She's not really in my life anymore." I smiled sadly sitting next to her so I could look at the picture more in-depth. I could see a sliver of a man in a suit to the left of the picture's edge, closest to where I was, and something was slightly poking out of his waistband. To Naruko, it probably looked like a shadow of a tree or something less sinister than what it was, but it was likely one of the bodyguards with a gun hidden away.

"O-Oh, I'm sorry, Atsuko." Naruko sounded so sad to hear I wasn't in contact with my sister anymore. We did look really happy in that picture.

"Nah, it's alright. That's just how life goes." I took the picture from her and looked at it for a bit longer, concentrating more on my sister's face, even though it was an exact replica of mine, before slipping it through the crack between the lid of the box and the box itself. I didn't want my new friend catching a glimpse of anything in there.

"You sound so wise," Naruko giggled, maybe trying to help me feel happier again and lighten the mood.

"You make me sound like an old man," I laughed, jokingly hitting her arm like I was offended.

"You shouldn't say such wistful things then." She laughed back as I headed back to the kettle to pour us some tea.

We chatted for a little longer, mainly about what her training had consisted of, before Naruko went back to her room. Once she was gone, I sighed, glad that the picture she had found underneath my coffee table wasn't anything more frightening. Sliding the small box back under my bed, I began getting ready for a good night's rest.

~~~~~~

Waking up the next day was... rough. Staying up later, thanks to Naruko, and the subconscious worry I’d because of what happened at the love hotel, I’d probably only got a few hours of sleep.

‘Right, I have to get today right, at least’, I told myself, throwing my legs over the side of my bed. Ishigami already had it in for me because of the train situation - I'm sure all of the special instructors did - but I wasn't going to let that stop me from doing my best. ‘For us.’ Thinking back to the picture that had been found on my floor, I used that as encouragement to continue my life as though nothing had happened.

~~~~~~

In my first class, I could see Naruko already sitting down. She commented on how she hadn't seen me in the cafeteria for breakfast. "I wonder whose fault that is?" I playfully blamed her for making me wake up late. As we continued to chat mindlessly, I couldn’t help but think back to the limited facilities the academy had for women. ‘Well, at least the food and living quarters are good.’

"The real lectures are finally going to start today." Likely having it easier than I had yesterday, Naruko had a fire of ambition in her eyes. Luckily, our first class was in the classroom and not martial arts training, otherwise her passion might hurt someone. Our lectures consisted of a wide range of expert topics ranging from using tracking equipment to how to de-escalate a situation to undercover work.

As we discussed what we would be studying here, the memory of how I was handled yesterday manifested on my wrists. I rubbed them, trying to get rid of the feeling of Kaga's hands.

"Something wrong?" Noticing my anxiousness, Naruko peered into my face. As I told her “I’m fine”, she remembered how we never talked about my experiences yesterday.

"I'm pretty sure I passed. If not, I don't think I'd still be here." I laughed off the subject, knowing how strict the instructors seemed to my friend.

"Did you hear? Students who failed were severely punished." An uneasy expression laid itself on Naruko's face and I also started to feel sympathy for those that weren't as lucky as us. As we wondered about what the punishments were, Naruko got that grin she’d had during the ceremony yesterday.

"I wonder what kind of punishment I would have gotten." The excited aura she was giving off only made a chill run down my back thinking about how much worse the Captain could be.

Intruding on my thoughts, the instructor delivering our lecture walked in and started the lesson. When it was over, I rushed to change into the attire I would need for our next bout of training on the grounds.

~~~~~~

As Naruko and I arrived on the pitch, everyone was lined up in front of Instructor Soma. He frowned at us, stating how late we were. "Sorry about that, Instructor. We took too long in the shower room." Maybe too casual with the man because of his usual laid back aura, we both bowed deeply.

"Yes, there's no women's locker room, is there?" A small smile finally returned to his face as we rose again. "It's the first time, so I'll go easy on you. But, I won't go easy on you next time." Even though he looked kind, anyone could tell he didn't give any leeway.

"There won't be a next time, sir," I replied rather confidently and the instructor almost seemed amused.

Naruko and I went to line up in the very back. The girl who couldn't seem to keep her feelings to herself whispered to me about how nice he seemed and how good looking he was. Thinking back to how Kaga treated me, I couldn't help but quietly agree. ‘There would definitely be no such leniency with him.’ I thought about all the awful punishments or torture methods the Captain could know as we continued our training.

Soma had us perform a fitness exam. We hadn't had a break since the class started when he called out my name to be tested. I stretched the pain out of my legs quickly, not wanting to cramp up.

"Woah, Atsuko! You have a scary look in your eye!" Naruko, as tired out as I was, laughed nervously. You might say I was competitive. I would say I was trying to prove my worth to the classes of men who didn't think I belonged here.

"Just tryna keep my head in the game." I jumped on my toes as the instructor called out my name again. "Coming!"

Jogging over to him, I noticed that even the guys were looking visibly tired due to our endless training. I, on the other hand, although exhausted, had trained like this since I could walk. I was used to being able to hide the physical pain in order to not get shouted at for being weak.

~~~~~~

For our last lecture of the day, feeling like I had been brought through the wringer, we all filtered into the Monitor Room. Maybe too nervous yesterday to get a good look at the room, I overheard my classmates gossiping about the surveillance equipment surrounding us. Not only were there cameras of the school grounds, but some screens showed destinations all over the country.

"Don't you think just using this room would make for an easy investigation?" Overhearing one student comment, I couldn't help but agree. Knowing how much the pictures under my bed were worth, who knows how vital a video of a crime would be to an investigation. You just needed to be able to prove they weren't doctored.

As the instructor lectured, I noticed Naruko resting on my shoulder. "Come on, Naruko. Just a bit longer." I shook her while keeping an eye out for anyone that might rat her out.

"You can talk. You're a machine, Atsuko," she whined under her breath.

Suddenly, before I could laugh at her comment, another voice spoke up behind us.

"Sasaki, go to the medical office if you're drowsy." Instructor Shinonome piped up and we both jumped to attention, having not felt anyone around us. Even though the man was grinning, there was something evil behind that childish face of his.

"Ah! S-Sorry! I'm okay!" Naruko instantly woke up at the prospect of getting punished.

"If anyone else wants to sleep, you can tell me. They put you through it on the first day, so I expect you're all tired." Shinonome's offer almost sounded like a chance to get us expelled. Or, it did to me anyway. Everyone else looked relieved at the kind sentiment.

"Okay, that's all for today's class then. Great work everyone." A cheerful smile returned to his face as I eyed him suspiciously. The man I saw in the shower room on my first day was hidden under that friendly persona he had on.

"Oh, right. Can those who I call stay after class for a moment?" And there it was! The not so innocent catch to his kind offer. Those who would be called were definitely being thrown to the wolves in order to save the rest of us.

As Shinonome began to read out the list, he directed his gaze to the monitor. He called out a few names before looking directly at me. "Lastly, Atsuko Motomori." His face had no note of malicious intent, however, I couldn't help but not trust it. As I gasped to myself, he dismissed our classmates.

"Atsuko, what did you do?" Naruko whispered as our free classmates shuffled out around us.

"I-I don't think I did anything?" I panicked, thinking back over the day, trying to find anything that could warrant me being reprimanded. Looking over to those also called, I could see they were just as nervous. Why were we the one's held back?

‘Maybe... Kaga's mission was discovered?’ I couldn't help but wonder if we’d been caught as Naruko left me sitting where I was.

"Don't be so nervous. I'm not going to get angry." The happy smile on Shinonome's face helped calm the others in the room. Even I was somewhat relieved by his words. "How were they? The lectures?" Directing his question at me, Shinonome looked over.

"Educational! It's wonderful how good the facilities are." Trying to get on his good side, I didn't want to let myself look withered as I kept my voice light.

"Well, the class seemed sleepy. Sasaki looked like she was nearly asleep." The comment didn't sit right with me, this being an elite academy and all.

"Well, as you said, they put us through it," I laughed, trying not to put Naruko in any deep water.

"So, are you going to fall asleep on us as well? I'd have to punish you then." Shinonome cast me a look that probably didn't seem like anything to the other men in the room. But, to me, it seemed as untrustworthy as the rest of him.

"Don't count on it." Not wanting to divulge my past of intense training, I just showed a soft smile. To be honest, I wouldn't mind a nap right now, but I wasn't going to admit that. The thought of any kind of punishment, which would likely be some form of harassment from him, had me on edge.

"Too bad. I wonder if any students who I can have fun with will turn up soon?" His mischievous appearance reminded me of the look Kaga gave me yesterday and my eyes darted away. Even though Shinonome seemed actually happy and there was no emotion in Kaga's eyes, the concept of teasing made me uneasy.

‘It's scary how he can talk like that and still smile.’ I thought about how his words didn't match the expression as the doors of the Monitor Room opened again.

Throwing my gaze to the door, I watched Ishigami, Goto and Soma make their way inside. "You're all immediately going to be assigned as student aides to the instructors." Ishigami didn't miss a beat as all attention landed on him.

"Simply put, you'll help the instructors file documents, prepare lectures and such," Soma added, helping the confused students out. I was shocked. I hadn't done anything special to get me a close position to any of the instructors, let alone have to deal with their grunt work. "Since we must continue our normal duties as Public Safety officers while we teach, we won't always have the time." With that comment, I finally understood why Kaga would agree to become an instructor- so he wouldn't have to do any of the work if he had a capable enough aide. I pitied the person that would have to undertake that role.

"This is good experience, so although it will be difficult, we ask that you try." The encouraging words from Soma were much more trustworthy to me than Shinonome's slightly eerie ones.

"Each instructor will get a full-time aide. Following the instructors will be an important role." Goto, as blunt as he had been at the introduction ceremony, crossed his arms as he stared down at all of us. Somehow, the silence that followed was more anxiety invoking than anything Shinonome could say. Soma was right, though. Being so close to an instructor all the time would be a perfect learning opportunity.

"We will now announce the aides," Ishigami announced, retrieving his clipboard once again. "Instructor Kaga's aide will be Atsuko Motomori." The Captain was as stoic as ever as he read out the list. I, on the other hand, couldn't be more shocked. ‘Kaga seemed so annoyed by even my mere presence yesterday, why would he want me as an aide? He already thinks I'm a screw up because of the train incident.’

"What?" Ishigami glared at me as he heard my wordless gasp.

"Nothing, sir. Sorry." I bowed my head in embarrassment of drawing attention to myself as I pondered over the events in the love hotel that could get me the chance to become an aide. ‘Is it because I chose him yesterday?’ I panicked, thinking back to the misplaced bravery I’d had when picking an instructor.

"Isn't this a good thing? You're one of the few to come back with him safely." Ayumu smirked at my worrisome state. ‘The only reason I was safe is because he didn't actually train me. There was no chance to get in harm's way. Except for the possible fallout of someone recognising me.’

"Shinonome, refrain from talking." Ishigami quickly progressed through the list of aides. Once he finished, he turned to me once again. He explained that Kaga was on an investigation mission and that I should go see him when he gets back. I hesitantly agreed, glad to have the time to prepare myself while he was out working. Unlike our permanent instructors, the guys from Public Safety weren't always around, which is probably why they need the help.

As we were dismissed, I tried to remind myself what a good learning opportunity this could be.

~~~~~~

When the time came to see Instructor Kaga, as Shinonome had told me back in the Monitor Room, I headed to their staff room.

"Excuse me." I knocked on the door before opening it to find an office-like space. Kaga was sitting at one of the many chairs at the large table in the centre of the room. I stood in front of him in order to introduce myself.

"I'm Motomori. Starting today I will be serving as your full-time aide." Straight-backed and trying to not look uncomfortable under his discerning gaze, I explained why I dared talk to him.

"Oh?" His brows frowned, once again judging me for all I was worth.

"I just came to let you know Instru-." However, before I could blame Ishigami for sending me here, I was interrupted.

"A full time aide?" He even seemed to ponder the idea before flat out rejecting me. "Useless, I have no need for an aide, so go." His blunt response threw me off a little. To be honest, I was surprised he didn't unenthusiastically jump at the idea for someone else to do his work. Losing the optimistic view of this assignment, I tried to explain that it had already been decided.

"Don't need it." He quickly interrupted me again before turning his back on me. "Tell Ishigami for me," was the final thing he said before expelling my presence from the room.

~~~~~~

‘That was rougher than I thought it was going to be,’ I thought as I stood in the hallway, looking at the door signed 'Staff Room'. ‘But, I can't afford to back down here.’ More afraid of what Ishigami would say than what Kaga could do, I raised my fist to knock on the door.

After hearing no reply, I began to get desperate. "Instructor, please!" I call out, not wanting to go back to Ishigami empty-handed.

"Shut up." The door flew open and there's Kaga, glaring down at me. The sudden action made me jump out of my skin in the silent corridor. "Let me spell this out for you since you don't seem to get it." The oncoming lecture was apparent when I felt like he was going to start insulting me for being so persistent.

"I have no need for some useless piece."

I won't lie, that statement struck home. The whole 'chessboard' way of thinking about people lower than you was exactly how my father treated us. I once confronted him about my mother's disappearance and all he could say was "she didn't know how to play the game. She's useless to us if she doesn't want to compete." That wording was something I never understood. How were you supposed to lead anyone if you didn't think anyone less than you was capable enough?

As I thought about Kaga's statement, I tried to ignore the relation to the man who raised me. "If you give me a chance, I'm sure it'll get Ishigami off your back. He'll only complain to you if I go back to him now." I tried to reason with the side of him that hated his Captain counterpart and a wave of irritation flashed through his face. "I can do anything! I can file for you. I'll even do chores. Please!" I begged, hoping I was getting through to him. Maybe the idea of a maid would make him reflect on the idea. Then, he finally looked at me without that concerned expression.

"Anything, you say?" He looked me up and down as I agreed, not thinking about the consequences of those words. Then, he narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth.

"You can be my servant." The growing smirk on his face made me a little uneasy. It was that same grin of victory he’d showed when he’d collected the evidence from the love hotel.

"Excuse me?" Was all I could utter out to ensure I’d heard him right.

"You can be my full-time servant. How many times do I have to say it?" The disconcerting frown returned as his eyebrows creased together again.

#HLITF #hlitf ayumu #hlitf kaga #hlitf goto #hlitf ishigami #hlitf soma #hlitf shinonome #hlitf fanfic #voltage games #voltage fanfic #oc #ooc #her love in the force #crime #mafia #mob #police #detectives

9 notes · View notes

blinder-baker · 4 years

Text

Carnations | IV

Alfie Solomons x reader

Warnings: Alcohol

Part One Part Three

Dinner. Dinner. Dinner. That’s all it was. Dinner was easy, all you have to do is sit down, eat, and make polite small talk. There weren't any tricks or hidden clauses in a dinner date. A dinner date? Was it a date? Maybe you should have asked for clarification. But that would have been embarrassing. If he didn’t intend for it to be a date, he would have thought you were odd and that you were sweet on him; but if it was meant to be a date, he would have thought that you didn’t think of him that way and would have retracted the offer. So maybe it was better that you didn’t ask, you could just interpret the atmosphere and you would be able to tell whether it was a date or not. Unless, of course, you interpreted wrong…

You were ready nonetheless. Wearing the nicest dress you own, you hoped that it highlighted your assets in a classy way - like your mirror reflected. You looked nice, you had taken your time getting ready and put thought into every choice. So what if you were ready an hour early? You had been waiting for this all week, ever since Alfie had walked you home. After killing Mr Hayes.

Don’t think about Mr Hayes. Don’t think about his lifeless body on the cold floor. Don’t think about his crushed skull being bashed against the wall. Or the blood stains on the bricks behind your desk.

Just think of Alfie. How he gave you his coat despite the chilling winds, how he accidentally slurped his tea, the flowers he gave you. The pretty flowers: orchids, hyacinths, and gardenias. The note written by his own hand. The hands that killed Mr Hayes in a flash of savage brutality.

You could have screamed in the safety of your own home. There was no escape from that feeling of guilt. How could you write that in your notebook, and have it become evidence against you if the police were to come looking? Even if you didn’t physically murder him, it was deed was done because of you. Alfie did it to protect you.

Your knee shook up and down where you sat on your couch, fingers fiddling in your lap as you waited for Alfie. Everything would be alright. The police weren’t going to be after you or Alfie! Alfie Solomons could take care of something so benign as one man with ease. You knew he had the police on his payroll. So, even if they did go looking for Mr Hayes, as soon as anything pointed in the direction of the bakery they would drop the case instantly. You were certain of that. It was all taken care of.

The clock chimed for the mark of a new hour, and only seconds later the door was knocked upon. A deep breath in, and a deep breath out. You rose from your seat, smoothing down your dress with the palm of your hand. You painted a smile on your face. A charming one you hoped.

You opened the door to reveal Alfie Solomons. His black shirt’s top buttons were undone in such a way that screamed of Alfie. A thick golden chain around his neck that gleamed in the light of your hallway. He clutched his hat in front of him, every finger adorned with a ring.

“Good evening, Alfie” You greeted, just how you had rehearsed all day.

He looked stunned, his eyes were wide like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming motor vehicle. “Petal… You look… astounding,” He finished, taking a step back to allow you out of the flat.

“Well, so do you, very handsome.” You stammered, closing the door behind you. You jiggled the door handle to check that it was locked, before smiling at Alfie.

He offered his arm to you and you quickly slid your arm through the crook of his elbow.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The restaurant was nice, you had never been there before, despite it being less than ten minutes away from the bakery. It was small and cozy, it seemed to be a family run business. Every nook and cranny was filled with candles, the melting wax dripping onto the candles next to one another as if recreating itself. The food was good too, maybe a little too expensive for your taste but since you weren’t paying you tried to feel guiltless about spending so much money. The waiter was generous with the wine too, he seemed to fill it up every time you sipped the glass.

But the most intoxicating thing seemed to be Alfie, he seemed more relaxed here. He told you all sorts of interesting stories that didn’t seem possible. But most of all, you didn’t feel anxious, at least not the sort that you were used to. You were almost certain that nothing would go drastically wrong, maybe you would spill a little wine down your dress or trip on the way out. You could live with that, you probably wouldn’t come here again anyway. And Alfie wouldn’t embarrass you by mentioning it.

Maybe your tranquil state was induced by the alcohol, either way, it was well timed. It seemed to end all too quickly, as the waiter brought over the bill. Alfie discreetly put a wad of notes in his hands, you were certain that half of that would cover the meal and the rest must be a tip. His generosity did not go unnoticed.

Once the cold air outside hit your face, you realised you probably had too much to drink. A queasy feeling settled in your stomach and you closed your eyes for a moment; trying to breathe through it. Once you were certain that you weren’t about to unload your dinner on the cobblestones you opened them again.

“You alright, petal?” Alfie’s hand found your lower back, his thumb moving in small circles against the fabric of the dress.

“I’m fine Alf’, thanks for taking me out tonight,” You smiled at him

“Oh, it was my pleasure, now, let's get you home before you freeze to death, eh?”

His hand curled around your waist as you walked through the streets, he guided through the darkness with only the lamplights illuminating the narrow alleyways.

Within twenty minutes, you had reached your home and were yet again fiddling with the lock. You stumbled inside slightly as the door gave way without warning, you giggled slightly to yourself as clutched onto the wooden frame. You straightened yourself out, not wanting Alfie to think that you were beside yourself due to the alcohol.

His face bore an easy grin as he held his hand out to make sure you wouldn’t fall.

It was definitely a date. A romantic restaurant. His hand around your waist in a gentlemanly yet intimate nature. You weren’t blind, but how long had it been since you went on a date? What was the etiquette?

“Do you want to come in for a drink?” You offered, rubbing your arms slightly.

No, that wasn’t date etiquette. That was ‘I want to sleep with you’ etiquette, if there even was such a thing. You could envision it now, he would call you a whore and leave immediately. The night would be ruined, and it was all your fault.

“You still got that rum?” He inquired as he followed you inside, placing his hat on the coffee table.

Oh. Oh.

You nodded and departed to the kitchen. You pulled the bottle of rum from the dark depths of the cupboard, and two glasses. You inspected them to double check that they were clean, before pouring a decent measure in both.

Alfie had made himself at home on your sofa, reclining back with his arm stretched across the back. You couldn’t help but think that he looked out of place. It was a peculiar notion, that anyone could look out of place in someone’s living room, but he did. It was as if it was all too small for him, but you were unsure if it was physically or metaphorically. The ceiling seemed to stoop lower than usual, and the sofa creaked everytime he shifted his weight.

“Bread?” You joked, offering him one of the glasses.

He let out a bark-like laugh and swilled the rum in one before setting the empty glass on the coffee table. Alfie wiped the excess off his beard in one solid motion, before resting his hand on his thigh.

You looked at him with wide eyes as you slowly made your way to sit beside him on the sofa. Tucking your legs underneath you, you looked down into your glass - hoping that one more drink wouldn’t push you over the edge.

“Did you enjoy dinner, Y/N?” He asked, his rumbling voice pensive. He seemed so close to you, just a couple inches away. From this distance, you could see every minor detail of his face. The slight curve of his upper lip that was usually hidden by his beard. The blur of blue and green eyes peered at you as he waited for an answer.

You snapped back to reality, “It was brilliant, Alf” You whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face.

His eyes widened and he tilted his head in surprise, “Well, yeah, it’s a nice little spot, innit?” A smile broke out on his face and his tongue danced across his bottom lip. The daring side of you wanted to lean over and kiss him, to just forget about professionalism and what you wanted for a change.

You blinked and the spell was broken. You looked away from him and took a large sip of your rum; you really needed to get a grip before you embarrassed yourself. What was it about Alfie Solomons that made you incapable of thinking straight? He was just a man! A man that made you lose all senses, it seemed.

The clock once again chimed to mark the hour.

“Right then pet, I should probably get going,” He suggested, looking into your eyes.

“You could stay, for just another drink,” You pleaded, your hand going to hold onto his in a moment of drunken courage. His fingers curled around yours and gripped them tightly,

“One more, then”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

One more drink had turned into several, several had turned into plenty. Now, Alfie had fallen asleep on your sofa. With his back straight and his head thrown back against the cushions, he seemed unwakeable.

You giggled to yourself as you crawled to the kitchen. Your legs felt so weak, like they were made of plasticine. So instead of walking, you dragged yourself along. You knew that the smartest thing to do would be to chug down some water. What was it about the kitchen tiles that was so cooling? You were just one metre away from the sink. But to get up from the tiles seemed like a painful idea. Reaching one hand out, your fingers lightly graced the cupboard door, water was so close. Yet all you wanted to do was close your eyes.

By the time you opened them again, your body felt heavy and the giddiness had passed and had long since been replaced by the scratchiness of your throat. You groaned as you hoisted yourself up to the sink, turning on the tap and sticking your head underneath it. You lapped at the dripping water like a dog to a puddle. Once your thirst had been quenched, you pulled your sopping hair out of your face and slowly trudged your way to your bedroom.

The bed was a welcomed comfort, you felt there was no need to undress or indeed slip underneath the covers. Sleep called out to you like a beacon of light to the lost.

#peaky blinders x reader #alfie solomons x reader #tom hardy x reader

72 notes · View notes

js116 · 3 years

Text

Silent Planet’s Everything Was Sound

22 May 2021

A wee bit of background before we get to the main event:

Silent Planet is an American post-rock metalcore band from California headed by retired psychologist/therapist Garrett Russell, and Everything Was Sound is their second studio album. Released in 2016, this concept album did nothing short of blow my mind; the total runtime is 41 minutes, but it took me a couple hours to write out everything I picked up from each song.

Everything Was Sound has thirteen tracks, standard, so that is the album I listened to for this review! For the purpose of sticking with the album’s story concept, I’ll be adding my standout lyric quotes with the description of the song, rather than sticking them at the end.

- I want to post a warning before I get into this album: this one covers topics some may view as disturbing. There are mentions of death, suicide, war, several mental disorders including depression and eating disorders), politics, and generally dark themes. This is where you should stop reading if any of these will bother you. -

The concept for this album revolves around the idea of the “panopticon,” which describes a circular prison surrounding a central guard tower. There are bright lights shining down from the tower so that the prisoners cannot see into the tower, where they are told there are guards watching them constantly. The prisoners are isolated from the guards and each other, being unable to see into the tower or other cells due to the walls and the lights. This setup removes the autonomy of the prisoners, and the paranoia that the guards are constantly watching (whether there are truly guards in the tower or not) removes the will to try to escape or act out.

This concept is introduced in the first track of the album, Inherit the Earth. This first song begins by referencing the events of the previous album’s last track (Depths II from album The Night God Slept, in which the viewer has a vivid vision in the forest before falling asleep) as having happened only a few hours before, and now the viewer is waking up in the woods to find it is starting to rain. The viewer (us) stumbles through the rain and the forest under they find a structure: the panopticon. They enter the prison to escape the weather, and so we are pulled into the story of the album -- a metaphor for the human condition.

“We inherit the earth, we inherit the war / I inhabit the wound, I dwell in the harm / Oh how far we fall: We’re casualties of time / Oh how far we fall: Forgive existence.”

The second track, Psychescape, (and each subsequent song, except the last one) introduces us to the contents of one of the cells: Schizophrenia. The theme of this song is paranoia and delusion, and the tower’s lights and watching guards are revealed to us; there are two distinct, conflicting voices.

“I waited on the tracks of reason / But my train of thought never came / It never came.”

“Scrawled across the walls the suffering saint cries out: / ‘Is it madness to retreat from the myopic gaze that holds us captive?’”

Dying In Circles, the third track and second cell, holds the prisoner Organized Religion. Heavily rooted in Biblical principles, I was surprised to find this track used those principles to highlight and call out the hypocrisy of the modern church; the gatekeeping, neglect of those in need, the isolation of outsiders. Silent Planet calls on systematic religion (particularly modern Christianity) to return to its original purpose: to care for others, rather than turn them away or determine their worth as an organization. They are charged with trading their religious superiority for the awe and compassion for humanity they once had; to return to being a religion about the life of God, rather than being solely about his death. I really do love the idea of the “Image of God” being represented by a homeless person sleeping on church steps.

“Beside the shadow of a frozen chapel / Under the marriage of cross and crown / Outside the privilege of the ‘chosen ones’ / The Image of God is sleeping on the ground.”

“We are the eulogy at the funeral of God.”

“Trade your certainty for awe.”

The fourth track took me for a spin, personally, as I’ve encountered the prisoner described here myself. Understanding Love as Loss opens with a few brief lyrics outlining the suicides of writers Sylvia Plath (“Searching for solace in a toxic temple--” death by toxic inhalation), Earnest Hemingway (“Fragments of lead climbing through your head--” death by shotgun to the skull), Virginia Woolf (“Stones load your coat as you wade through the winter current / Dancing with the dead on the riverbed--” death by drowning), and David Foster Wallace (“Wanton hanging of the wise pale king.” death by hanging).

The line immediately following the deaths of these writers stuck out to me, as a fellow writer who has struggled with depression: “And I see myself.”

The title of the song explains that love is sacrifice; you lose a piece of yourself when you love someone else. Lose that piece, Silent Planet urges in this song; lose that piece to another person instead of losing yourself to your suffering.

Lead vocalist Garrett Russell: “[Sometimes with depression,] the world feels like there’s no color. Even if you can’t see the color, be bold enough to ask someone to describe the colors of the world to you.”

This song was my favorite this far into the album, for its bare, unflinching honesty on the subject. The footnotes for this song in the album booklet include the number for the National Suicide Hotline. I respect that.

The fifth track, Tout Comprendre, draws its title from the first half of a French quote, and translates loosely to “To Understand All.” This song is an interlude, meaning it does not contain any lyrics, and it is the first of two interludes on the set.

Immediately following Tout Comprendre comes Panic Room, a track that tells the story of a veteran who has come home, but is mentally haunted by the war. The lyrics take us to bloody battlefields in desert sands, and lay out the plague of terror-memories. Panic Room’s prisoner is PTSD, and it delves into the American treatment of returned veterans and their struggles with armed-conflict trauma.

“Praise me for my valor, lay me in a crimson tower / Justify my endless terror as my ‘finest hour’ / Treat me as a token to deceive the child / Whom we fatten for this scapegoat slaughter / I learned to fight, I learned to kill, I learned to steal / I learned that none of this is real, none of this is real / None of this is real, NONE OF THIS IS REAL”

Just after this verse, there is a brief, almost total silence, before the song resumes. There are several breaks like this in the music; periods of calm between the intense music.

We move on to the fifth cell and seventh track, REDIVIDER. This song threw me off at first; I thought the words were being reused and rearranged before I realized the song is a palindrome. About halfway through, the lyrics flip to mirror the first half of the song.

“Death ran away then life flooded in world / This I am: Imbalance, beautifully so / Hands connected, perhaps… / Then dead reflections saw you / I did, didn’t I? / I didn’t, did I? / You saw reflections dead then / Perhaps, connected hands… / So beautifully imbalance: Am I this world? / In flooded life then away ran Death.”

The fifth prisoner is Bipolar Disorder.

Nervosa is the name of the eighth track; this one disturbed me the most out of all of them. My first impression of this song was, if you’ll excuse my Irish here, “Holy sh*t.” None of the imagery prior to this song was nearly as vivid and disturbing as it was here. The clean vocals (singing instead of metal-screaming) are very well done, capturing the desperation of the situation in a very raw way, which is fitting for the theme of the song -- this cell’s prisoner is the deadliest of psychiatric disorders, bulimia nervosa. The entirety of the lyrics are well-written (although, again, vividly disturbing), so I chose the most poignant of them.

“I am not my own reflection / I am not myself, I am not myself / I am haunted by a non-existent lover / The spectre, the ghost, the self-starving host / I am haunted by a non-existent lover / I was gifted with the vision but cursed to be the witness.”

This song, too, contains links to help services for eating disorders in the footnotes of the album booklet.

We come now to the second interlude, C’est Tout Pardonner, titled after the second half of the French quote, the entirety of which translates to “To understand all is to forgive all.” The prisoner held in the two of these is ignorance.

Just as C’est is the second, contrasting half of Tout, which was followed by war-themed Panic Room, so Orphan, the second, contrasting half of Panic Room, follows C’est.

Orphan relays the perspective of orphans of war, the prisoners of this track. Particularly focusing on crimes against peaceful civilians (especially in the Middle East), Orphan also describes the reunion of two brothers on opposite sides of war.

“I’m finding the violence -- it looks like me.”

“Terrified little son, encumbered by your sword / You can hide your fear, but won’t shed the weight of your humanity -- Humanity / You can face me toward the mountains / Where I meet our mother’s gaze / Too blinded by this hatred / To recognize your brother’s face.”

The eleventh track, No Place to Breathe, was both ahead of its time and should not have had to be written in the first place. The prisoner in this eighth cell is fascism, specifically within enforcers of the law. It dives into how easy it is to turn a blind eye to issues like systematic racism, police brutality, and inherent injustice, if these things do not affect us personally. There are three murder victims, (Eric Garner [2014], Hernan Jaramillo [2013], and Kelly Thomas [2011]) all killed by police, whose last recorded words are attributed in the song: “I can’t breathe.”

Does that sound familiar from more recent news? This album was released in 2016, to give some perspective on how things have changed.

“We shout at fascists, hands fixed on asphyxiating those in need / Place your hands to the pulse of this city / Keep your ear to the ground / Hear him gasp, / ‘I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.’”

The ninth and final cell is explored in the twelfth track, First Father (which is the partner of a song called First Mother from their previous album). The final prisoner is the grief over losing a loved one. Switching between a rushing, loud tempo and a low-toned quiet of guitars and vocals, the song captures the process of moving forward through personal loss.

“‘You pulled me through time,’ through the edgeless night / I’ll learn to love as you learned to die / I’ll begin to feel again and finish the chapter you couldn’t write / Candles in the dark, defiant to the night / Defiant to the shadow / You pull me through time, through the edgeless night / I learned to love as you learned to die.”

With the thirteenth and final song, we’ve literally come full circle and are finally at the prison’s central tower, where we discover we are the guard watching the prisoners. Titled after a line from the first track’s lyrics (”We inherit the earth[...] We inhabit the wound”), Inhabit the Wound tears down the guard tower, freeing the prisoners from the confines of their situation or disorder. Each of the nine prisoners reaches into themselves and retrieves a seed, which is planted in the place of the tower. The album closes with this image:

“The earth, with a final gasp, shook free from our inventions. Grace and nature reconciled as I heard ‘it is finished.’ The final seal was broken, the concussion blew me back -- I teetered on the edge of re-creation and the wrath. The nine lovers stumbled out of their shells of brokenness, they reached inside their wounds to find the seeds borne from their suffering. Coalesce upon me to plant the tree of life inside the heart of the machine. Reach inside -- heal the wound -- make us whole.”

I found this album to be an absolute masterpiece, and metal isn’t usually a preferred genre of mine. I’ve got to give this one five out of five symbolic and vivid frogs. Well done, Silent Planet, both in composition and in raising awareness about different types of struggle.

Next week I’ll be reviewing an album that was recommended to me, and that was released today: Twenty One Pilots’ Scaled and Icy.

Thanks for listening with me!

#silent planet #everything was sound #metalcore #post-rock #concept album #album review #5/5 frogs

1 note · View note

loavesofoaves · 4 years

Text

De Mort of the Author

This is why they say “Don’t meet your heroes.”

Over the past few years, it has become increasingly apparent that J.K. Rowling has some very terrible opinions that she only seems to get more and more vocal about. As a result, I’ve unfollowed her social media platforms for quite some time now, but still followed Harry Potter-related ventures like Fantastic Beasts (which…that could be a whole essay in how I feel about those) and her Robert Galbraith mystery series (which I have some opinions about that could also be a whole other essay).

(Oh, I can’t resist…for someone who claims to be all about feminism, J.K. Rowling is not great at writing women. There, I said it.)

Recently, it has come to light that she is a trans-exclusionary radical feminist, which I disapproved of, but after reading her blog post from today oh God is it so much worse than I thought. Instead of anything resembling any sort of empathy for her trans fans who have been so very deeply hurt by her support of TERF hot takes on social media, she is so terrifyingly committed to justifying her transphobia that it’s sobering. This, this is the hill that the woman who gave us the book series that defined a generation wants to die on? This was the woman who gave us Hermione who always stood up for justice, who gave us a metaphor for standing up to bigotry and eugenics through Dumbledore’s Army and the Order of the Phoenix, who created terrifying villains like Umbridge and Voldemort who were so very real. How can she not see that she has become the very thing her books preached against—a villain committed to eradicating a certain type of people from the world because they are different? The irony, the fucking irony.

And the cherry on top is she just had to throw ableism into her response as well by throwing in that autistic woman are more likely to transition as if that is something to be concerned about. If you don’t know by now, you should know that I am autistic. This hurts me so fucking much. Part of the experience of being autistic is being constantly gaslit about your ability to think intelligently and rationally because you are different. Telling autistic people that they don’t know what’s good for them because they are autistic and therefore insinuating that their decision-making capabilities and sanity are lacking is ableist. Being trans is valid, regardless of whether it’s a choice or always having felt one was assigned the wrong gender from birth, and trans autistic people are valid and it’s none of your damn business in how they express their gender identities. Again, from the woman who gave us Luna Lovegood, who I have related to deeply, this is so fucking disappointing.

And let’s not even get started that this is what she so selfishly chooses to focus on when Black oppression is at the forefront and we’re in the middle of a global pandemic that is disproportionately affecting Black and Brown people. Oh yeah, and it’s fucking pride month. Woohoo Dumbledore and retroactive representation!

So the good portion of the Harry Potter fandom has established that J.K. Rowling is hurtful and should not have a platform as a public figure. And I think a lot of us who love Harry Potter but are so deeply hurt by its author are wondering, What does this mean? Where do we go from here? Can I possibly still love these books while knowing the person who wrote them is deeply problematic?

I think there is a lot of pressure right now to divorce oneself from Harry Potter entirely, as if the series will taint everyone who touches it because of the author. And if removing it from your life will make you feel better and in a better place mentally, then let go. But I always get wary when people police what media others consume, because, let’s be real, mostly everything we liked from our childhoods is problematic in some way and even though it has gotten so, so much better in the books and shows and movies coming out now, who knows what we’ll be saying about stuff Steven Universe and She-Ra in twenty years? As The Good Place would put it, there is no such thing as completely ethical consumption.

I was an English major. Part of being an English major is reading a lot of books by old dead white dudes who had offensive beliefs. Let’s look at William Shakespeare. He created hundreds of words we still use today and wrote plays that have become ingrained in our culture. His works also contained sexist, racist, and anti-Semitic ideas. And people have reclaimed these plays, challenged these ideas—supported the work while also presenting it in a satirical and critical eye. A performance I saw recently of Much Ado About Nothing with an all-Black cast comes to mind (it’s no longer streaming for free on PBS, but I highly recommend checking it out at some point: https://www.pbs.org/wnet/gperf/much-ado-about-nothing-full-episode/10194/).

So yes, death of the author. The author had intent, sure, but once that work enters out into the world, it’s in the hands of the people, baby. And while, no, we will never look at Harry Potter the same way and will always read it with a more critical eye, I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. In a post-J.K. Rowling world (which will happen completely at some point anyways), it will be interesting to see the new content the fandom generates, the new perspectives. Harry Potter fans are creative, brilliant, diverse, and resilient; they’ve brought us podcasts and porn and puppets. And that is the content that I am excited about, because it belongs to the fans, and the fans say TRANS RIGHTS loud and clear.

So personally, I will not be supporting any new work from J.K. Rowling, which, without making this a whole other essay, has spiraled down the tubes since the Harry Potter series ended. She wrote a book that defined my childhood, for which I will always be grateful, but it was time for her to say goodbye years ago and she is in grave need of time away to reflect on how her actions and writing affect others. I hope she realizes how deeply hurtful she has been one day, but I won’t hold my breath.

But I can’t just pretend I hate Harry Potter now purely for performative virtue signaling, and I think many others are in the same boat. If you are queer and/or autistic and Harry Potter was there for you when you needed it, don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t read it and reflect on it fondly. Do what’s best for your mental health, and as I said earlier, if you need to distance yourself from Harry Potter to heal, that’s also valid. While the series is far from perfect as time continues to reveal to us, it still represents characters and ideas that I still see as good and validating of my own personal identity, and I know many other fans feel the same way. It will never be the same, and let’s not let that be a bad thing.

#harry potter #j.k. rowling #fandom #trans rights #autism #CW: transphobia #CW: ableism #personal

7 notes · View notes

steve0discusses · 4 years

Text

Yugioh S4 Ep 13: Yugi Dies in California, Makes Everything Awkward

Hey guys. Yugi’s DEAD. (again, but way earlier in a season than I thought he’d be)

So lets get into it.

Last we left off, Pharaoh got imbued with the powers of Lime Green. A green that I swear used to be more Aqua, but seems to sort of shift and change depending on if it’s day or night.

As a consequence, Yugi now can’t have any communication with Pharaoh. I guess this makes it so now Pharaoh is split with his “light” side but like...both Yugi and Pharaoh have both light and darkness so...I see the metaphor going on, but I don’t think the metaphor actually...worked when you think about all the screwy stuff Yugi has done even without Pharaoh around. So just don’t think about it.

The big consequence of the Yugi Banishment was more that Yugi wasn’t there to tell Pharaoh how the Oricalchos card works because--and I say this a lot--but Pharaoh doesn’t know how to read.

Pharaoh’s biggest downfall isn’t so much his greed or pride this episode, it’s his goddamn illiteracy. If he took just five seconds to study the fine print then...he wouldn’t have even cast the Oricalchos in the first place. He did it because he wanted to protect his dragon Timaeus on the field, but the Oricalchos made Timaeus immediately disappear so...Pharaoh cast this for no reason other than the plot really wanted him to do it.

Just kinda shocking that Pharaoh, of all people, made such a huge card mistake when he’s supposed to be from where all cards came from. Then again, he’s separated from Yugi who I guess had more card input than I realized, because the rest of this episode is just Pharaoh playing kind of like a dumbass.

And on the voice acting side, the guy who plays Pharaoh had to try and talk even deeper--which was kind of funny when he’s already as deep as he can go. So...it just seems like Season 1 Pharaoh to me, except he laughs more.

TBH Pharaoh was WAY more rude to PaniK than he ever was to Rafael.

(read more under the cut)

Meanwhile, Rex and Weevil have joined the pack.

Only to be hassled by the pack.

And so, since this is a show about cards, how do you make Pharaoh look like a bad person when he...always plays cards, and is usually a good person for doing this same card playing thing?

And as the person in charge of the Death Count, sorry Yugi, that doesn’t even make sense to me. If you’re telling me that JUST NOW cards are suddenly real and not 10+ episodes ago, and if you’re telling me that all of the other times Dark Magician Girl died didn’t count?

If I had to count every time that a card died when I’m pretty sure they were real then we would also have to count most Bakura duels, probably that Pegasus duel, any Shadow game, really, and like...I don’t want to do the math so I am not counting Dark Magician Girl, y’all.

She was alive at the end of this episode, and as far as I’m concerned, her prime function--the reason she exists--is to die a lot. She’s a card, that’s what they do, and I doubt she even felt bad about it. Like...I don’t think the cards are mortal. Does that make sense? I just...maybe it hurt her but like...does she care? She’s a god in this universe.

You can’t kill Zeus. And like maybe people can hassle Zeus but like it would be maybe the sensation of an itch to Zeus if you stab him directly through the throat--that’s how I feel about Dark Magician Girl. She can take a beating and won’t even know it’s happening. Girl is freakin Zeus.

A lot of this Rafael arc is about making a false reality to justify your actions. Rafeal’s was a pretty extreme case involving cards that are angels and that are still cards...or something. Pharaoh’s was “I’ll be fine, I’ve always been fine, I’m very good at this, I’m the exception to every rule.” which is a much more approachable and relatable fake reality than Rafael.

Thing is, Pharaoh’s not entirely wrong. That’s usually true for him. He usually is the exception to every rule bending RNG to his every whim. Like there’s a reason why he took the chance on the Oricalchos, it really should’ve worked out.

And TBH, would have liked to see Pharaoh do this for longer than one episode, especially since him going his brand of cray only lasted during a card game, which I don’t really watch anyway. But eventually all good things must end, and it catches up to him when he realizes the horror he has wrought.

Spoiler, it’s not that horrifying.

Like for reals, I have seen Pharaoh do some THINGS and maybe this is a sign I’ve seen too much Yugioh when I’m like “lol Pharaoh went nuts and that was it???”

I cannot believe he did not pull out even so much as a single knife this entire episode. The hatchets are right there. Then again, his puzzle powers don’t really work in the Oricalchos realm so he has to play normie style. But knives are pretty normie. I feel like Pharaoh should have pulled out some sort of makeshift brain teaser involving knives, but youknow, this season is very much more for kids than previous seasons of Yugioh.

Again, what he did to Panik is about 1000x worse than making a Halloween Kuriboh.

But, now that all the cards he sacrificed to the Shadow Realm are being resurrected and used against him, he looks into the blank face of Dark Magician Girl and accepts his defeat.

Which is very similar to what happened to Kaiba in the earlier seasons of this show. Pharaoh got Pharaoh’d.

But...while it is a throwback, heaven forbid that this show used a real ass human as a stand in for Dark Magician Girl in this scene. Could’ve had just any actual person standing around here to make Pharaoh realize a change of heart--maybe even the kid he banished in his head? But nah.

It was Dark Magician Girl for this emotional beat.

I mean we are watching Yugioh but lol, that was a decision the writing team made. Joey Wheeler’s right over there. Maybe remove Tea from that RV? No? Want to use Dark Magician Girl instead? OK then.

Anyway, now that Pharaoh was shamed enough by a paper card to remember how to be slightly more human, Yugi holds his Puzzle high over his head and screams “BY THE POWER OF THE MILLENNIUM PUZZLE!” or something and does his own brand of magic. Surprise, it’s punching stuff.

Punching stuff is always the answer.

So apparently the puzzle is more powerful than Oricalchos. Which we basically knew the whole time, I mean...Pharaoh got possessed by Oricalchos and all it did was make him play cards.

I can’t believe no one got set on fire that entire sequence.

So, since the Oricalchos demanded a soul, Yugi figured out a loophole.

And again, another Yugioh game was ended by someone threatening to kill himself, and this time it was Yugi. Who died so that Pharaoh’s yummy soul would not resurrect the Great Leviathan.

Because, while Yugi may be a soul-copy and somewhat reincarnation of the Pharaoh? Or something? He’s still not yummy enough. Not yummy enough for that Leviathan tummy.

Which lead to this great scene that I’m sure you’d remember vividly if you ever saw it even once. This is so unexpected and wild and everyone should see it.

This is moments following a very heavy death in the show--Pharaoh’s lowest point--and it is just SO JARRING AND FUNNY in context. I don’t think they meant it to be that way but I had to rewind like 8 times.

First off, enjoy this wtf helicopter, and then...

Wow.

A+ animation, I would never have been so bold as to do drop Pharaoh like a sack of potatoes from 50 feet in the air right after killing Yugi Muto on screen. 10/10. Amazing.

And after it happens, Duke kinda looks over and has the gall to ask... “Are you guys all right?” It’s just...

Wow.

I’m applauding at my computer, I am so glad that whole sequence exists. I’ll probably lift it eventually just to have.

And then the rest of this episode is Pharaoh trying to tell everyone what happened but Everyone still doesn’t quite get it, despite how wildly blunt Pharaoh is.

Cue the endless crying, because if this show loves anything, it’s men in eyeliner openly weeping into the dirt at their feet. Thankfully, Yugi had the foresight to get waterproof mascara, because if he’s gonna die, he doesn’t want Yami to blow up that perfectly cut stiletto heel line.

MAN I am so jealous of this teenage boy’s makeup.

And since I asked the void nicely for Yugioh to be in PAD, and now that PAD put Yugioh in there as if it heard me, I will now turn my attention to Sephora.

Please, Sephora, make me a Yugioh makeup line that is waterproof as hell so I can ugly cry in the hottest desert in America and still not smudge, thx.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand Yugi Muto is officially dead!

Didn’t expect that, being real.

Wow.

Really I thought that they would die if ever they ever got separated, but apparently Pharaoh is fine he just...lacks his Yugi half that knows how to read stuff and had a slightly longer attention span.

I can’t believe they cured Yugi of his curse! Congrats, Yugi! You are no longer possessed!

Y’all. Lets just appreciate the Yugioh Episode 13 curse for a bit.

First episode 13, Bakura killed everyone with like no warning

Second Episode 13 was Ankle-slicing Bandsaw Clown

Third Episode 13 Noah revealed he was Seto’s Secret Already Dead Brother trying to take over Seto’s body

Fourth Episode 13 Yami finally managed murdering Yugi.

Like I dunno if they planned for all 13s to be all the WTF ones, but I’m glad it’s managed so far. I should’ve known when I started this episode that it was a 13, but I just...I just forgot.

Really thought Yami was going to survive this one and we’d have to bury Rafael on this mesa. Lucky for them and the local police, it’s just paranormal murder today.

Anyway...there’s like a lot more episodes of this season left and I don’t know where it’s going anymore. Should be fun. At the rate we’re going, we’re gonna take a bike ride over to New York City to do more card games on the desert Mesas of NYC. Lets see how long Yugi will remain dead.

Maybe next episode Pharaoh will just throw on a bedsheet and Rebecca’s shower sandals so he can go full Egyptian Era? Maybe the eyeliner will be drawn all the way to his freakin ears? Y’all what if he gets really into beads and gold now?

(and if you just got here, this is a handy link to read all of these recaps in chrono order. There’s a lot of them.)

#ygo #yugioh #photo recap #episode recap #yugi muto #yami #joey wheeler #rafael #duke devlin #tristan taylor #rex raptor #weevil underwood #a helicopter #Dying in a kid's show #Yugi's freakin dead

25 notes · View notes

nincompoopydoo · 5 years

Text

Trouble Man

Pairing: Sam Wilson x reader Words: 1.5k Summary: You and Sam Wilson are neighbors. Never spoke a word a to one another but somewhat developed an unhealthy crush on each other. As a series of unfortunate events that began with the burning of spaghetti, you find yourself entangled in a mess of the appreciation for Marvin Gaye and your fear of cockroaches with the very man himself. Note: Oooo an unrequested Sam Wilson one shot? Yeap, that’s right darlings. Been wanting to write one for awhile now. Not exactly my best but it’s alright. Cute cute and fluffy stuff. Enjoy xo [ REWRITTEN ON 14/08/2021 ] Masterlist

Spaghetti. Should be easy enough.

Ah, words of the once optimist, now turned depressing pessimist. You told yourself that with a rather annoying cheery voice that echoed in your head before everything went swooping down the metaphorical hill and into the trash. You don’t do too well with simple distractions, for what you first thought was to lighten up the mood in your gloomy kitchen by singing along to an ultimate Marvin Gaye playlist.

Much to your embarrassment, you may have forgotten how sound travels far too easily, with the kitchen window opened for the whole neighborhood to hear your lovely singing. Someone might call the police, either out of spite of your contribution to noise pollution or they might think someone was being murdered, muffled by soul music.

The plate of Spaghetti stares at you mockingly from the kitchen counter, strands grazed in an odd shade of brown. Spaghetti is not supposed to be that shade of brown. With a pathetic scowl upon your lips, you gaze at the plate, wishing it smelled as good as it did. The thought of eating resides in your mind, wondering if you should just close your nose and power through the dish itself until you’re sick or throw it in the trash and feed several stray cats of D.C. when it reaches the landfill. By the looks of it, the cats probably don’t even want to eat it anyway.

You worked at a hamburger joint downtown for heaven’s sake; cooking hamburgers might as well be your only decent skill. Nevertheless, with a heavy sigh, you plopped the spaghetti into the trash. The plastic bag unceremoniously crinkles at impact as you fight back a wince.

So much for coming home early to prepare dinner. For yourself. Damn, you’re lonely. And as far as you’re concerned, only lonely people deserve microwaved leftovers from a week ago that have been sitting in the fridge for far too long. Overhead, Cleo's Apartment begins to play.

Goddamn it, Marvin Gaye.

Minutes ago, Sam Wilson had returned home from the VA, and through the jingles of his keys whilst unlocking his front door, the familiar tune of What’s Going On glides its way to his ears, ringing with the melody of your singing. He knows it’s you because as much as you don’t realize it, you sing in the kitchen very often. It’s unpleasant but he doesn’t complain because your taste in music speaks to him on another level, another plane of existence. Ever since you moved in after the previous owner passed, you had his whole heart with a single glance and a shy wave.

Courage was easy, having built that up during his military days. Yet, now that’s over, he finds himself forgetting his technique in approaching beautiful people. Deep down he knows it. Sam needs to try to talk to you. Just talking, not asking you out. That’s too much, for now.

His analytical side itches to take over—he needs a plan because walking up to your doorstep and hoping to spark up some sort of sudden conversation with you isn’t going to turn out well. So, he maps it out in his head, playing each possible scenario like he always does in bed, half-awake, wishing he had the guts to talk to you when he bumped into you at the grocery store or at the hamburger joint you work at. Coincidences usually don’t play out in his favor so, forcing it sounds like it would have a better outcome. He will wait until it’s 9:30, there’s a possibility you will be taking out the trash. Then, he’ll make his move. Hopefully.

Totally not creepy.

—

Sometimes, the universe listens. It especially listens to the thoughts of the lonely and then, some supernatural cosmic decision is made to guide two lonely beings to each other. It’s rare but happens. People call it fate. Now, fate seems to work in tandem with a certain man named Sam, who has fallen for his neighbor, who seems to feel the same way.

There’s hardly any rubbish in the trash bag within his grasp but he makes it a point to walk across the lawn despite the humidity in hopes of seeing you. Then, he hears the creaking of your front door swinging open and slamming shut. Though, all attempts to act casual fails when he ignores his previous resistance to turn and glance your way.

There you were, in an oversized Shania Twain shirt paired with track shorts—it’s very short. I mean, it’s summer after all. No one’s complaining. He’s certainly not complaining. His breath hitches when you meet his gaze, smiling sheepishly. Sam wonders if your cheeks are always this crimson and rosy. You smile, intending to hide your growing blush, heat blooming in your chest as you admire how he looks under the yellow hues of the street light, beautifully carving the structure of his face.

Then, the impossible happened.

“So, you like Marvin Gaye?” he spoke with a little too much enthusiasm. You looked at him with a wide-eyed gaze, completely caught off guard by his sudden question. Your mind is now only filled with the panic of him hearing you sing—it’s your biggest fear. Sam realizes his question may have been a little too obstructive in terms of privacy. Bad idea, really bad idea. “Sorry, just forget I ever said that. I didn’t mean to—"

"No, no. I mean, yeah, I do like Marvin Gaye. I love Marvin Gaye actually,” you cut him off in a somewhat desperate attempt to not scare him off because, in truth, you really want to talk to him. You have been meaning to for a while now. You purse your lips, deciding that elaboration is worth the risk, “Trouble Man is one of my favorites."

It’s risky because it’s an unpopular opinion and the irrational side of you is afraid that because of your weird and maybe obscure taste in music might as well turn him off. Yet, he’s not running now. Instead, Sam blinks, mouth slightly agape. A sentence runs through his mind, a quiet voice, a whisper: I think I might marry you if you don’t stop being so perfect.

Sam beams at you, "You like Trouble Man?” he asks, voice laced with amusement.

You return a smile, “Yeah, I do. It’s probably the best—OH MY GOD—” Your sudden scream cuts through the white noise of the night like a searing knife when you spot a cockroach crawling up the trash can. You dropped the trash bag on the ground and started to stagger backward.

Sam feels bad for laughing.

“Hey! Quit laughing and help me get rid of it,” you shriek, watching the insect crawl around with a mortified look. Sam snorts at your sudden burst of command. "Okay, okay. But I’m not killing it.” Turns out that isn’t enough to calm your nerves and your fear of cockroaches. “Excuse me, sir, you HAVE to slay the beast!” you yelled dramatically. He chuckles with great amusement, swiftly plucking it with his bare hands before it could run, “Now, let’s not murder our new friend here, Bernie.” He watches your face morph into an unamused look, “Bernie? Like the politician?” Sam merely hums, “Yeah. Like the politician.”

Then, he’s walking towards you, purposefully dangling poor Bernie within his grasp. You stagger in your step, yelping at the sight of Sam nearing you. “Alright, alright. I’ll get rid of Bernie,” he says through attempted suppressed laughs, flicking Bernie across the road. You can finally breathe but your eyes remain wide. “And what if he comes back?”

Sam turns to you as you return to stand at your original spot as you cautiously scan the trash bin for any more unwanted pests. He notices a stray strand of your hair, falling against your cheek. He resists the urge to push back behind your ear, reminding himself to stay casual and stay cool. "Well, you know where to find me.” He sends a somewhat smooth wink your way. You go absolutely red.

Silence once again and the two of you have seemed to have caught yourselves in some awkward dance of pining and wanting to be close to each other. Then, Sam clears his throat, deciding to speak first before he misses the opportunity once more. “I was wondering if you wanna, you know, uh, come by for a drink sometime?” It’s a simple question, really. But, Sam doesn’t know why you make him so nervous. Maybe, it’s because you’re looking at him like you can see right through him. His mind starts to wonder, overthinking once more. “I mean, if you don’t drink, it’s okay. We can have something else. I have orange juice, I think. Snacks?—”

“Now?” you stop his rambling, feeling your brain equally shutting down because you’re very confused about the whole situation. Sam pauses, slightly hesitant, “Yeah, sure. If you want to. I mean, you have work tomorrow and it’s late and—”

“Yeah, that’ll be great.” you interrupt him again, the curve of your lips widening by the second. “And maybe, we could listen to some Marvin Gaye.” You don’t exactly know what you meant or hinted but neither does he, too distracted to notice the context of your words because you’re here, smiling at him.

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson imagine #marvel #falcon #falcon x reader #falcon imagine #sam wilson one shot #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #captain america #winter soldier #avengers #captain america x reader

106 notes · View notes

srwestvikwrites · 4 years

Text

Privilege is the Haven of Thorns

I wrote this post the week George Floyd was murdered. I was angry, and tired, and confused, and increasingly more apprehensive in my capacity as a person and as a writer as I was drawn in to the immense whirlpool of the zeitgeist gripping the internet and society.

It was such a complicated and emotional time. I was wracked with guilt at not going to the BLM protest in Madrid because we had just opened up into Phase 2 of the desescalada and I was scared of COVID. I was furious at the denial of individuals in my home country of Singapore who refused to believe that just because our race riots were in 1964 and not 2020 that it meant we had no more issues of systemic discrimination or privilege to challenge. I was exasperated and uneasy and inspired at having been drawn into a massive shitshow about race that rocked the Tolkien fandom within the same timeframe.

All of this made me question my place and my purpose as an author writing a story like Haven of Thorns. It doesn’t dwell on these issues, but it draws on them, in the same way that my life doesn’t linger on the colonisation of my home country or the country of my ancestors (India) and yet is irrevocably shaped by this history.

Haven of Thorns was always going to be a story taking place in the strange rivers of colonial legacy. It is a story of drowned histories and ghosts that reside in the very stones of a city and demons that linger inside people who were happy enough to let them back in. All of it is pushed along by the current of time, where history is not stagnant but forces change. It is about war, and it is about subtle discrimination, and it is about what we choose to do when we’re so hung up on our independence story that we refuse to acknowledge the rot in our roots.

I’m reproducing the post as I wrote it all those weeks ago, even though there are better ways I could have expressed my thoughts, and indeed some of these thoughts have new nuances now as I have drafted pivotal scenes in the story. There are other things I’d rather have focused on. The haven of thorns is more than mere privilege now. And perhaps one day I’ll expand on that.

But for now, this is a historical record of what I was thinking as it was all going down and I was trying to decide what sort of story I wanted to tell in the world I lived in as the person I am.

_________________________________________________

I’m not going to be coy about the metaphor anymore. This book was always going to be highly political. It has just become even more political. I cannot begin to describe how apt and how heartbreaking it is to be drafting my novel right now.

Some context should perhaps be given as to the kinds of politics that are informing this story. I began outlining the earliest iterations of Haven of Thorns at the height of the European migration crisis. While migration itself is not a main theme of the story – and where it does feature, it’s from a rather inverted historical power dynamic – the backlash against it was always present in the telling of the tale. The rise of the European right terrified me. I had never experienced open racism before until one incident when I moved to Norway in late 2015, where I was lucky enough to have an ally at the time, though I never learned her name. I have seen far too many swastikas misappropriated from their holiness to represent hatred, spraypainted on neighbourhood walls in Trondheim, London, and Madrid.

For many years, I likened racism and xenophobia and white supremacy to a contagion, even to possession (which may have been down to the title of this book I read during high school). My view on this has changed, now. For those raised into these ideas, sure, the demon metaphor may still apply. But for many, these corrupted values take root and fester because we allow them to.

The old first draft of Haven of Thorns was begun in the first week of November, 2016. I feel I have no need to elaborate on why this timing is significant. Globally, the sense of the triumph of ignorance and vitriol was palpable. Over the next few years, partially because I became more active on social media and partially because of the degree I was studying for, every day required exposure to injustices very often predicated on culture, ethnicity, language, and/or race.

Then in 2019 Singapore commemorated the bicentennial – our 200 year anniversary of being colonised. And once again I was confronted with the bizarre lack of acknowledgment of how blatantly race relations had been directed and segmented by the British, and how whatever the government line says, we have not bounced back from the wounds that gouged in our society. I interned at an NGO dealing with race relations, and it only illuminated what we’d rather cover up – the value judgements we make of people based off their skin colour, the god(s) the pray to, or the language they speak. When COVID-19 reared its head Singapore was lauded for their response, until it hit the migrant worker dormitories. That was a powder keg waiting to explode. And it is false and unjust to pretend that the conditions they are living in do not have their own origins in the petulant protests of those who unfairly profiled and characterised the workers and robbed them of better conditions, resulting in the tragedy that has taken place now.

Even climate justice and its link to ethnicity began to seep into the story, particularly during the early 2020 fires in Australia and how severely the Aboriginal peoples were affected.

As I write this post Minneapolis is up in arms, and Americans are out in the thousands across the country protesting for justice for George Floyd and the countless other black Americans who have been victims of the system and of police violence.

Growing from childhood to adulthood in the 2000s-2010s has meant growing up in a time when discussions about race, ethnicity, culture, and the legacies of our most backward perceptions and prejudiced notions have come to the forefront, both of activism and of violent action taken against others. How could I not be impacted, for example, by the horror of the massacre in Norway on 22 July? How could I not have felt the shadow of the War on Terror through the rampant Islamophobia in the media and in society?

The extent to which all these disparate ideas of politics and power and race and xenophobia and colonialism actually manifest in Haven of Thorns isn’t perhaps measurable in the amount I’ve discussed them here. But the core of this book is that the haven is privilege, and thorns are both the barrier of our ignorance and the spears upon which we sacrifice those who challenge it. White privilege in the West. Chinese privilege in Singapore. Yes I fucking said it. To refuse to see that is privilege, in and of itself. One can feel hurt, to be associated with the violent ways these ideas manifest. Or, one can choose to acknowledge that feeling implicated by despicable acts is perhaps the spark to challenge one’s own biases.

This story is about breaking that thorn barrier and letting in the light, in all its unbridled blinding glory, to burn away the festering hatred we’ve allowed to take root in our flesh.

In the end an important theme in Haven of Thorns – perhaps the most important – is the power structures and prejudices that prevail when colonisation has ended, along with its associated forms of exploitation, and a state becomes self-governing. It’s about who remains in power, why they remain there, and what it means for those who do not have an equal share in that power. I’m not just talking about physical force. I’m talking about value judgments that disenfranchise people based on their inherent qualities. Things like language, religion, or skin colour. Having a voice and having the power to exercise and sustain what you advocate for are all very different things, and this is why these stories cannot be apolitical. A person’s life, their right to life, and their rights to liberty and equality should not be a matter of politics – and yet they are. Because politics is about power. And power is far too often exercised unjustly.

Blaming the old oppressor only works up to a point. At some stage, a country has to face what it has done and continues to do to itself, and whether they are going to choose to make collective, powerful, and perhaps jarring value changes for the sake of basic human rights and justice. After all, prejudice is learned. It can be unlearned.

While this tale focuses on the legacy of colonisation, these same principles lie behind the abuse of authority and the untended wounds of what has happened to the black community in America for centuries, itself founded upon ideas of racial superiority. The police brutality coupled with endorsement from the highest offices in the land is a horrific ugliness – but worse, is those who choose not to see it for what it is. Those who tweet #alllivesmatter. Those who say they don’t see colour. Those who question why race has to be dragged into everything. To quote Moses in Dreamworks’s The Prince of Egypt: “I did not see because I did not wish to see.” This is privilege. This is us inviting contagion into our societies and refusing to mask up and letting it kill us from the inside out. But unlike a contagion, this is discriminatory. That is the essence of it. The differential treatment is the point. If you question why people are burning and looting, why they aren’t being “peaceful”, why they don’t comply (they do – it doesn’t work, as anyone who watched the clip of the CNN reporter would know), why they are so angry – then you are in the haven of thorns. You just refuse to acknowledge it, because the only light seeping into your little puddle is filtered, screened, and you’d rather ignore the shadows cast by the thorns.

So many of the choices in Haven of Thorns hinge upon deciding whether to preserve or whether to overturn these vicious cycles of hatred. It’s so painful to see these struggles continue to be mirrored in the real world, happening to real communities at this very moment. Part of me wants to stop writing this, because I cannot begin to capture the true agony of what is happening, no matter how much I empathise. But another part of me knows that I am in a position of great privilege, and perhaps it is time I put my voice to something that truly matters. Add another line to the anthem that advocates for these deep-set value changes that we need to make on a domestic and an international scale.

In the first very first chapter of this story, the royal palace burns. It may just as well have been a police station.

#work:hot #irdiverse #privilege #race #fantasy #social justice #my writing

4 notes · View notes