#my art clearly sucks everyones just saying nice things to preserve my feelings :

[undertalethingies]

Self Indulgent Self Insert Fanfic, Part One

I am sitting in my room, not doing much of anything, (as per usual) when I look up and notice that my mirror has apparently transformed into a solid wall of inky darkness as I’ve been spacing out.

And well- it’s not like I can not poke it, right? There’s a high chance I’ll seriously regret it, if my life has become the isekai it appears to be, but there’s a 100% chance I’ll regret it forever if I don’t touch it, you know?

Everyone always assumes I’m risk averse, that I like to play it safe, but the truth of the matter is I’ve just never found something I really want to take a risk with.

So, I push myself out of bed with a hand and go grab my shoes, because there’s no way in hell I’m touching something that might be a portal with no shoes on. Thankfully, I’m actually dressed for once, rather than being in my bathrobe like usual. 

Once I’ve got my shoes on, I grab my coat from where it hangs by my dresser and walk straight into what used to be my mirror. I hope my parents aren’t too worried by my disappearance. Maybe I’ll be lucky and this will be the kind of isekai that retroactively erases me from existence? That would be kind of nice, to exist without tethers.

The portal (because that’s what it is, I’m pretty sure) feels cool, but not unpleasantly so. Like when you first put on a fleece sweater and it takes a moment to warm up.

If this were a stereotypical isekai story, things would quickly become very unpleasant in this dark void, and some godlike being would reach out to grant me power beyond my wildest imaginings.

I’ve never been one to cave to expectations, though. Not even my own.

The darkness remains cool and comforting, and I continue walking forward because there’s no chance I’m going to turn back now, with so much possibility awaiting me if I only continue long enough.

Eventually, I feel as if I’ve passed some threshold, and something definably changes within me. Can’t say what, though. I’ve always kinda sucked at interpreting what my body is trying to tell me, so I’ll probably have to figure it out on my own.

At some point the darkness and walking grows boring, and so I do what I often do when bored, and curl up to go to sleep. This place isn’t cold enough for me to need a blanket, and I’ve got my coat with me anyway, so I’m fine. Sleeping on hard surfaces isn’t unpleasant, in my opinion, merely a bit annoying, since if you pick the wrong position you’ll inevitably wake up sore.

As always, consciousness takes a while to fade, so I occupy myself with grand imaginings about all the wonderful (and terrible, I’ve got anxiety okay, I can’t help it) things that might await me.

==

When I wake, it’s immediately obvious that something is different. There’s light now, for one, and for two I can feel something soft and organic beneath me. Judging by smell alone… Flowers? Waking up on a bed of flowers in a lit room… Well, I’ve always wished I could live in Undertale, if only so I could chew out the characters for bottling up their feelings so damn much. Hey, maybe if I’m lucky, that one headcanon I have about Sans secretly being a teenager will be right and I’ll be able to flirt with him without it being creepy.

Oh come on, like everyone attracted to dudes and not overly hung up about species concerns doesn’t want to kiss that guy, are you kidding me? Plus, I love puns and I’m depressed, surely we’ll get along.

Oh boy, I’m definitely going to die, huh? Thank fuck for my high pain tolerance and ridiculous resistance to trauma, am I right?

Finally, I open my eyes, because I like to wake up slow and I see no reason to alter my existing routine simply because I’ve apparently been yeeted into my favorite video game. Hey, speaking of favorite video games, will I get to visit Hollow Knight next? No, wait, that would probably suck, wouldn’t it. Ah, well.

The cave is just as beautiful as I always imagined it would be. Though it looked lovely in the game art, there’s truly nothing that can compare to seeing the sight in person, those marble pillars in a half circle around me, that single spot of sunlight in the ceiling far (far, far) above. Not to mention the lovely flowers I’m laying on at this very moment and- there’s a dead body under me, isn’t there. Is Chara going to show up, or am I left to be alone in my head?

Though their narration doesn’t actually start until you meet Flowey, in the game, so I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see.

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Which human soul am I taking the place of right now? Because I read a fic once where the protagonist wasn’t the seventh, even if it was a fakeout, and I very much do not want to be saddled with the fate of those poor bastards.

Though, maybe I’d be able to talk my way out? There’s no one who’d call me diplomatic, for sure, but I’m pretty great at knowing exactly where to aim an insult to utterly break someone’s spirit. (Unusual skill, I’m aware, but in my defense I was bullied growing up)(I say “growing up” like I’m not still doing it, like I’m not fourteen and trapped in a world where it’s an accepted fact that the protagonist will die, and several times over, too)

My first order of business is Flowey, before I can take the time to freak out, to hold myself tight and weather the sheer panic that Toto, I am not in Kansas anymore.

I get up. I give a last fond look to the beautiful cave I’ve “fallen” into, and I walk to the next room, hoping all the while that I’m not signing my own death sentence.

Once I’m a few feet in, there he is, in all his fucking glory.

Flowey the flower, the soulless remnant of prince Asriel Dreemurr, former hope of the underground, possibly still holder of the ability to control time itself.

Yeah, I’m definitely going to mess with him. Self preservation is for losers.

“You’re a flower with a face,” I say before he can start with his usual greeting. I have it memorized anyway, so it’s not like I’m missing out on anything.

He makes his T-T face, so I know this isn’t how he thought this would go. 

“Wow, human! What gave you that impression?” Ooh, sassy. Literally his only positive trait.

“Well I have eyes, see,” I was planning  to ask him probing questions, but honestly this is just as good. His expression doesn’t change as he says his next sentence, nor does his ever cheery tone, (and holy fuck his voice is just as vaguely creepy as I’d imagined, all that childlike innocence paired with the fact that he’s a mass murderer)

“Well howdy, human with eyes! I’m Flowey, flowey the flower!” He says. I don’t interject.

“You’re clearly new to the underground, and it looks like I’m the only one around to show you how things work around here! Are you ready?” 

…

“I’m really not, to be honest. I’ve got no idea what’s going on,” So my plan here, basically, is to stall until Toriel gets here. Mostly because I’m hoping that if he doesn’t get the chance to do his betrayal, he’ll keep pretending to be nice, which will be hilarious since I’ll know he’s faking the whole time.

Admittedly, this significantly increases the likelihood that Toriel won’t come to save me when he inevitably finds a secluded place to murder me, but if I think too hard about the long term right now I’m going to scream, so.

“Well you see, human, you’ve fallen into the underground, a land inhabited by monsters! Don’t worry though, we’re quite nice,” Oh right, conversation. I wonder how much info I can get out of him…

“What’s a monster? Like, I know what it means on the surface, but that definition is pretty vague, and I don’t want to be accidentally racist,” 

His face pops back to the usual smile. (Side note: his face looks like it was drawn on with sharpie and it’s totally messing me up)

“A monster is a being made of magic!” Ok, that’s… a bit vague, but not really inaccurate. I guess he doesn’t want to get into the science, which is a damn shame, since he probably knows it backwards and forwards due to all his reset shenanigans.

“Woah, cool. Magic is real? How does it work without breaking thermodynamics?” Finally, the question I’ve always wanted to ask. If energy can’t be created, how the fuck does Toriel shoot fireballs from her hands? What is she drawing on, what is the fire burning, how hot is it, how does it keep being on fire, etc. etc. repeat for every magical display in the game.

“Well, a lot of it isn’t super understood. Scientists have mostly been pinning it on ‘dark energy’ like they do with every other phenomenon they don’t totally understand,” I wonder why he’s so willingly entertaining my time wasting antics. I know, in game, he didn’t realize he’d lost control over the timeline until after his first talk with Frisk, so maybe he’s just waiting it out to see where it goes? And then of course he must be planning other things to do with me before he takes my soul and goes to the surface…

“God, I hate dark energy in science. I know they just call it that because not much is known about it, but I’m thirsty for knowledge, you know?” Actually ‘thirsty for knowledge’ describes my mood like 90% of the time. Huh, actually, I have that in common with Flowey, right? Even if his knowledge thirst is just due to boredom.

“Hey, human, me too! Learning new things is great!” There’s a loaded sentence if i’ve ever heard one. When was the last time he learned something new? He’s supposedly read every book in the underground, but how much information from that did he actually retain?

“Isn’t it? It’s why I love Youtube so much. Free information for anyone who cares to make a few clicks!” Wait, he probably doesn’t know what Youtube is, actually.

“What’s Youtube?” He asks, cocking his head.

“It’s a service where you can upload videos or watch videos other people have uploaded,” Not the most nuanced explanation, but it’ll do for now. Before Flowey has a chance to respond, a fireball manifests next to him. 

I don’t smile because I’m pretending to be shocked, but I’m laughing my ass off on the inside. The face he makes is even more ridiculous in person.

Enter Toriel, queen of the monsters, mother of no living children.

#undertale #undertale fanfiction #undertale fanfic #self insert #i'm not tagging it reader insert because the insert is very specifically me #flowey #this is purely self indulgent so i'm making no effort for it to sound polished

[ponyregrets]

for the friends-to-lovers prompts, i found this in a text post i once reblogged: "we drunk-kissed but you forgot about it and i don’t know how to act around you anymore wtf". hope you have a nice day !!!

I combined this with another prompt (a tweet about a teacher with a birthday message on his forehead) from @allstandsilver

AO3!

Bellamy's first mistake is assuming that he's safe because his twenty-eighth birthday is on a Monday.

He doesn't make any plans, obviously. Celebrating the weekend before always feels kind of like cheating, but he invited people out for drinks on Friday, which he assumed was sufficient. It wasn't like he was ignoring his birthday.

When he gets home from work, Clarke isn't there, which isn't particularly surprising, but she has left a cupcake with a single candle on the kitchen counter, and a card that says, Happy birthday! See you in a couple hours, I hope. It's a fairly typical Clarke message, one that would have pissed him off, once upon a time. He moved in with her because the rent was cheap and the apartment was nice, and Clarke was friends with Monty, who is his friend who is least likely to tell him to move in with someone who is secretly awful as a joke.

And Clarke really isn't awful. The biggest issue was that she's rich and her parents own her very nice condo, and Bellamy was surly and vaguely resentful about the way she didn't have to work like a normal person and could still take care of herself. He might have been benefiting from her wealth, but that didn't make him like her.

Luckily, Clarke could do that all on her own. Within about a month, their bickering had moved from barbed to affectionate, and as he got to know her, he started to realize how hard Clarke did work, albeit with weird hours and less compensation than most people would need to survive. She wasn't an idle rich person, she was a rich person who took advantage of being well off to do what she wanted. It sucked that he couldn't do the same, but that's not really Clarke's fault. She works part-time for Planned Parenthood and volunteers at various museums and goes to parties her mother has just to argue with rich assholes, and on the side, she does art.

Now that he likes her, he's glad she's got the life she wants. She deserves it.

Right now, she's probably in her studio, so he texts Do you want me to make dinner for you or are you good? and goes to find a beer. He's going to have a couple drinks, not do any grading, and play video games, and when Clarke gets home, she'll probably hang out with him. It's a pretty good birthday plan, as far as he's concerned.

When the door opens half an hour into this plan, he calls, "Hey, welcome back!" and doesn't think anything of Clarke's not responding until the blindfold goes on.

"Happy birthday, dickweed," says Murphy, and shoves at shot into his hand.

"We love you," Miller adds.

"If you really loved me, you'd let me stay home and play Stardew Valley."

Miller takes one of his arms and Murphy takes the other and they pull him up and out of the apartment. He doesn't resist that much--they're probably not going to kill him on purpose, and if they got into the apartment, Clarke is at least involved, and she won't let them kill him by accident--but he makes sure there's enough resistance that they know he's not thrilled about this turn of events.

When he gets into the car, he gets another shot, and then Clarke says, "Your safe word is banana cream pie."

"Really?" he asks, downing the shot. It does actually taste like banana cream pie, which is kind of terrifying. "Is my safe word supposed to be dirty? That seems counter-productive."

"Is banana cream pie dirty?"

"It sounds like a euphemism for something. Come on, that's some sexual imagery."

"It might have been too long since you've gotten laid. Are you planning to figure out what sex act banana cream pie could refer to and then ask me to do it?"

"I'm definitely planning to do the first part." The second's not unappealing either, but he knows better than to fuck his roommate, especially his roommate he has a crush on. That's a recipe for disaster.

"Me too," Clarke admits. "But if you need to get out of this at any time, tell me banana cream pie and I'll bail you out."

"And you'll be a pathetic asshole," says Murphy. Then he squeaks, so Bellamy assumes Clarke kicked him.

"She'd only agree to this if we gave you an out," says Miller.

"This is why she's my favorite."

"Uh huh."

She's also his favorite because she ignores Miller. "So, do you need to get out?" she asks.

If he was a little better at letting friends down and/or self-preservation, he'd just say the safe word, and he and Clarke would get out of the car and have the low-key evening he'd been planning. That would definitely be the right choice. But they went to so much trouble, and he's kind of curious, and he's going to get to hang out with Clarke either way, so--

"I need another shot," he says, and everyone cheers.

*

Bellamy's alarm is set to go off every weekday at five-thirty, which is good because he wouldn't have remembered to set it and bad because his fucking phone is going off and he's definitely going to die. His mouth tastes like old leather, his whole body aches, and he thinks he banged his elbow on something, but he has no idea what or when or how.

"Happy birthday to me," he mutters, and staggers into the shower.

He stays in there for longer than usual, letting the hot water ease the various aches and pains in his muscles, but despite that, when he gets out of the shower, he still sees that BIRTHDAY BOY is written on his forehead in bright red sharpie, apparently unaffected by the steady stream of water trying to wash it off.

The calculations happen as quickly as they can, given how slowly his brain is moving. He spent a long time in the shower, and he's been dragging his feet every step of the way on top of that, so he doesn't have a lot of time to spare. He could try to scrub the marker off and be late, or he could just let it slide. His first-period class is APUSH, and while they're obviously assholes, they're the kind of assholes who will have fun with the teacher coming in with something weird written on his forehead. And then he's got second period free and he can deal with the problem then. That should be enough time.

It's not the best solution. But it's the best one he's got.

He gets dressed, gets packed, and makes sure he's completely ready to go before he pushes Clarke's door open and shakes her awake.

"What?" she asks, muzzy.

She's good at falling back to sleep, so he doesn't feel that bad for saying, "Hey, quick question."

She sits up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "Yeah."

"Is there writing anywhere else on my body?"

It doesn't seem to be the question she was expecting. "What?"

"I've got this," he says, pointing to his forehead. "Anywhere else? I don't want to find out from a student."

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't." She finds her glasses on the bedside table and examines him, with a small frown. "I think you're good, as long as you keep wearing exactly that amount of clothing."

"Cool. Sorry I woke you up."

"I probably deserved it." She wets her lips. "That's it?"

"Yeah. Have a good day, get more sleep, I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

*

In Bellamy's experience, high-school kids think they're much slicker than they are. Which, to be fair, is true of a lot of people. But it's clear even to his alcohol-fogged brain that his APUSH class is laughing at him and they think he hasn't noticed, which is kind of pathetic. That is a level of failure to deceive that is truly epic.

"Okay," he says, once he's done with his lecture. No one has said a single word about the message on his forehead, and that is impressive. They're passing notes about it, but the class collectively understands that this is a rare and beautiful moment that must be protected at all costs. "Before we break into groups, any questions?"

Fox's hand shoots up, and he points at her. "How old are you, Mr. Blake?"

There's some giggling, and someone hisses, be cool in what they clearly think is a whisper. He can't tell who it is, though, so that's something.

"Uh, I just turned twenty-eight."

Apparently it wasn't the answer they were expecting; the news sets off another round of frantic whispering.

"I'm going to regret asking this, but did you guys think I was younger or older?"

"I thought you were, like, twenty-four, tops," says Sterling. "Maybe just out of college."

"Thanks, I think. Is any of this relevant to the exercise we're doing?"

"You asked," Sterling shoots back, which is true.

"I did, thanks for letting me know. Any relevant questions?"

"Did you do anything fun last night?" asks Jordan, and he makes a show of rolling his eyes. He's Monty's little brother, and Miller has a huge crush on Monty, so Jordan might actually have insider information on Bellamy's private life. It's something he tries not to think about.

"I don't know, did you? Get to work, Green."

The period ends with none of the students having told him about the writing on his forehead, which is the kind of thing that feels like it deserves a reward. He had expected someone to tell him, and the fact that no one did is genuinely impressive. They did a really good job.

Me: Do you think I can leave this message on my forehead until a student tells me it's there?

Clarke: I think you can do whatever you wantThat's your question?

Me: My first period class didn't say anything about itI want to see how long they can go

Clarke: They're going to counter-bet how long it'll be before you notice

Me: So everyone will have an exciting dayHow's your hangover?

Clarke: I don't get hangovers, I'm not an amateurDid you have fun?

Me: I think soMy memories are basically a fight scene filmed by Peter Jackson with a strobe light, so it's hard to be sure

Clarke: Ouch

Me: Did I ever use my safe word?

Clarke: NoIt seemed like you were having fun

Me: I'm pretty sure I wasThanks for helping to set it up

Clarke: [thumb's up emoji]

By fourth period, his day has completely turned around. His students have all entered into some kind of blood pact about not telling him that he has something written on his forehead, and three of his coworkers have come over to tell him privately, which means he can get them in on the whole thing. The students are convinced he just hasn't looked in the mirror since whenever the message was left, and there's some sort of pool to see who can find out who wrote it, which is doomed to failure. Unless someone confesses, the mystery of who wrote on his forehead will probably remain unsolved.

Still, it's nice to see the students banding together to keep a secret from him. Anything that gets the kids united is good in his book.

Madi Taylor from his sixth-period freshmen is the one who finally tells him, quiet and a little hesitant, after a homework question, when no one is around. She's clearly aware it's a betrayal, but she is one of his favorite students. He can't be mad she's on his side.

"You've got something on your forehead," is her way of putting it, which is pretty cute.

"Yeah, I know."

Her eyes widen. "Who told you?"

"Madi, how many mornings do you not look in the mirror before you go to school?"

"I heard you came right from the party."

"I don't know how anyone would know that, but I didn't." He smiles. "Don't tell them, I know you guys are having fun."

She looks dubious. "Aren't you going to get in trouble? Like, with the principal or something?"

"Not if everyone's cool."

Once she's gone, he texts Clarke someone finally cracked and then tries very hard to not think about when she'll respond, but that's an uphill battle. Because he always texts Clarke throughout the day, and she's been weird today. Off. Her replies feel terse, irritated and she could be distracted, but it feels like he fucked up something he doesn't even know about.

It's not even his fault, she was the one giving him endless shots. And she's the one who remembers what happened. He can't fix issues he doesn't know about.

Me: Did I do something to Clarke last night?

Miller: Dude, I'm not setting you up for this

Me: Setting me up for what?

Miller: Some shitty dad joke about how laid you got

He drops the phone and it clatters across the floor, startling his last-period class as they work on their quiz. It doesn't get close enough for anyone to pick it up, but Ethan does ask, "Did you finally see your reflection?"

"Eyes on your papers, it's just a phone," he says, grabbing it. "Two more minutes."

Me: Your shots got me blackout drunk and Clarke is mad at meTalk

Miller doesn't respond before the quiz ends, so Bellamy has to actually be a teacher instead of checking his phone, which is a fucking nightmare. Teaching is his passion, but finding out what happened last night and if he ruined his entire life hitting on Clarke or something would be nice too. That's the kind of data it's important to have.

"And yes, I have known about the writing on my face for the whole day," he tells them, wrapping up his lecture a minute before the bell. "But I'm proud of you guys for not telling me and assuming I don't know what mirrors are. Read the next chapter for tomorrow and be ready to talk about what you want to do for your projects."

He makes himself wait until all the kids are gone before he finally checks his phone, makes himself go to the top of the texts before he starts reading.

Miller: ShitUmOkI wasn't paying a ton of attentionFlirting with Monty etcBut I know you and Clarke were joined at the hipWhich is pretty standardBut you were drunk and touchy-feelyAnd later on I saw you guys full-on making outAnd then you told me you were leaving with this huge shit eating grin on your faceI figured you guys had sloppy drunk sex and I'd never hear the end of it

Me: Fuck I hope we didn'tIf I had sex with Clarke and FORGOTFuckThanks

Miller: Just remember, it takes twoYou weren't the only one grinning and slobberingJust talk to her

Me: I'm tryingThanks for the update

Miller: Let me know how it goesThe G-rated version

It's hard for Bellamy to believe there's going to be any version aside from the G-rated one, but he honestly understand why Miller thinks it's a good sign. If he was Clarke and he'd spent last night making out with her, only for her to spend the whole day texting him about some stupid shit, he'd probably be pretty upset. And if he thought that making out was a mistake, he probably wouldn't be snippy about it. He'd be relieved that she didn't know it had happened.

Or maybe he wouldn't. Even if he made out with someone he hated, he'd probably be annoyed if they just forgot. No matter how he felt about the person, he'd like to be memorable.

But really, there's only one way to find out why she's mad at him; there was only ever one way. They're just going to have to talk.

Me: Do you need dinner?

Clarke: At the studioBut thanks

Clarke's studio is a few blocks from their apartment, so he stops by on his way home from work all the time. If she'd said that on an ordinary night, he would probably stop by, so he can do it tonight too. It's not weird. Or at least, it shouldn't be. Everything is covered with a thin film of weirdness right now, but he'll break through it. He has to.

He's still mildly hungover and doesn't feel like cooking anyway, so he picks up some Chinese on his way. He can hear Clarke's angry playlist blaring as soon as he gets off the elevator, which isn't the best sign, but it's not like waiting will make it better. Not with unspoken grudges festering between them.

Not with his lips tingling with the knowledge that he kissed her and no fucking idea what it felt like.

"Clarke!" he calls, rapping on the door. "Open up, you need to eat!"

The music cuts off and the door swings open. Clarke is paint-splattered and wild, and he wants to kiss her now, fucking wants to kiss her all the time. It's not new, but it does seem more urgent.

"Did we make out last night?" he blurts out, and Clarke slumps against the wall.

"You remembered?"

"No," he admits. "I asked Miller why you were pissed at me and he said the last time he saw us, we were making out."

She wets her lips, not meeting his eyes. "I didn't think you were that drunk. I didn't know you--I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have--"

It makes sense all at once, even if it kind of breaks his heart. She thinks she took advantage of him and she's annoyed with herself for doing it. It's perfectly, totally understandable.

"Clarke, you didn't do anything wrong."

Her eyes flash. "How do you know? You don't know what happened."

"Did we kiss?"

"Yeah."

"Did we do anything else? After we got home."

"No. Just at the party. But you were way too drunk to--"

"You were pretty drunk too." He swallows, steps closer. "What happened? Why did we?"

"Because I wanted to!" she snaps. "Because I've been wanting to kiss you since you moved in and I thought you wanted to too and I--"

Interrupting someone with a kiss is, in Bellamy's experience, easier said than done. It happens all the time in movies and books, but it's hard to coordinate in real life, not nearly as fluid or smooth as he wants it to be. It should be a cool moment, but it takes a second to slot into place, Clarke's jaw under his fingers, her lips under his mouth.

But then she whimpers, tugs him close, kisses back, and it is familiar. They've done this before. They're good at this.

"I can't believe I forgot about this," he says. "Jesus, I didn't think it was possible for me to be so drunk I'd lose this."

Her smile is sheepish. "I did give you a lot of shots."

"Probably not just you. I'm pretty sure I drank my weight in birthday shots." He swallows. "So, uh--are we good?"

"Are we going to do that again?"

"I'm in love with you," he says. "So--yeah. As much as possible."

She laughs, winds her arms around his neck and kisses him again. "Wash your forehead off," she says. "Then we're good."

He had actually completely forgotten about the writing on his forehead; he hadn't had time to wash it off, with everything else happening, but it also didn't seem very important. "Do you know who wrote it?"

"No. But that's why I kissed you."

"Seriously?"

"I was just looking for an excuse."

"I'm glad you got one. Maybe I should keep it."

She pushes him away gently, still smiling. "Nope. Get cleaned up and we can have dinner."

He grins back. "It's a date."

#smallvoids

[intheemyart]

Raindrops

August 13, 2021 National Library of Singapore

It was raining. Heavily raining with the thunders calling each other every seconds. The weather was cold and went dark. Finally, the rainy season has come to Singapore. 

For the past months, it felt like hell. The sun ray stinging on the skin and the temperature rises up like everyone in this country were chickens inside the oven, ready to be baked at any time and surely Frederica felt the same.

On this beautiful day, where praises to God were heard for His kindness in providing this beautiful weather happened, Frederica was studying in the national library. Like always— her favorite things to do were either studying or reading. As an art conservator, understanding the painting as well as the painters deeply was very crucial to her job. She needed to understand what technique did they used and what kind of preservation that they applied to the painting.

Sitting quietly at the corner of the fifth floor, Frederica was seen seriously reading the contents of the book she picked three hours ago. Trying to forget and ignore the fact that Alverstoke and her divorce was now on process.

From head to toe, covered up. As she didn’t want anyone to notice the bruises as well as the pain she’s currently in since all of it were written clearly on her skin. Frederica, again, trying to distract herself from her husband.

Sometimes, she looked outside the window where she could see the raindrops on it, in the middle of her calming activity, just to check on the weather or to enjoy the view. All alone— no one to disturb.

────────── 

Friday, been always a hectic day at the office. All divisions trying to complete their weekly progress in order to lighten their next week workloads. Likewise with Juan, usually on this rainy Friday, he can't even leave the office because of the packed meeting schedule.

This Friday is different, Juan wants to breathe fresh air outside the office by visiting the National Library, with the aim to check his company's CSR where he plant an AI directory for the library.

An hour passed and the AI works really well, giving him a reason to go home early. He then choose to spend his leisure time to explore the art section of the library. With the help of his directory, he be able to spot the art literature is on the fifth floor. He took his time to enjoy the silent ambiance that the library got to offer, the sound of a heavy rain outside intensify the peaceful air within the building. He wanders around the library — admiring the beauty of the architecture.

Minutes passed, Juan finally reached the fifth floor. His passion in arts drive him to the beautiful section of the library — where he can study deeper about paintings. He then get himself lost in the long aisle of books, casually reading titles from the side.

Juan stops & pick the one that catch his eye; Thomist Realism by Étienne Gilson. He then get himself seated on the corner reading area, close to a woman who seems enjoying her book. He pick the spot in front of the lady as she looks familiar to Juan eyes. 

As he about to read, Juan could feel the lady’s eyes were looking at him. He then let his gaze met hers, where as expected — It was someone he knew and cherished. 

Frederica Esther Biancardi.

With a gentle smile on his face, he gave a good whisper to say hello.

“Hello there, Frederica.” “The fate has brought us together hm?”

His gaze was fixated to the lady as his smile gets even genuine. He is indeed a bit shocked to believe such coincidence could happen.

────────── 

It’s true that the sound of the rain falling to the ground made it feels so serene. She always found the sound of the raindrops and rains pretty without thunders keeping her in tranquil. 

“Hello there, Frederica.” “The fate has brought us together, hm?”

A sound of a man quickly caught her attention as she turned her head to the source of the sound. It was him; Euan or should she call as Juan Asa Leong.

“Asa!”

She exclaimed in a very low-volume voice. Not wanting to make any kind of noise that might disturb readers and everyone in this room. A wide smile drawn on her pretty face, greeting the man in her own way. The woman saw him just a slight when he sat in front of her but then she couldn’t help but to smile realizing it was him. Frederica and Asa continued their own reading session after. Hours spent just like that. The kind of productive they had for today.

The sky went darker and the wind blowing faster, it was clear that today wasn’t a mere rain— but perhaps, turning into a scary thunderstorm. Not to forget, she didn’t came with her car or driver. She used the public transportation —for the second time—.

Frederica ended her reading session as she felt like she needed to go home soon. Soon before things getting out of control and she couldn’t go home. Walking back to the MRT or bus station would be a mess by now.

“I think I need to go home. I’m taking MRT today and it’s raining— I might not be able to go home,” she whispered to him before putting the book back into the shelf. It was a coincidence that Asa also ended his reading at the same time with her. They walked to the lobby but then, Frederica looked worried. 

“Great. My phone died and it seems like the weather is way worse than I thought. I won’t be able to walk to the nearest station if it’s pouring this hard—” she grumbled.

────────── 

It was a nice impromptu date that the pair had, getting lost on their own readings together— at the national library. As the sun sets and the weather is getting worse, Juan decided to follow the lady decision to get home.

Juan finds it weird for the lady to take the MRT instead of her own vehicle, but he kept the concern to himself. The pair walks closely to the lobby, Juan then whisper to break his silence.

“I believe it’s still pouring rain outside, you sure you will take the MRT?”

He was right, the rain gets worse as they reached to the front lobby. He release a chuckle as the lady seems to be in a trouble. “How about I take you home instead? I have my car parked right there.” Juan right hand points to his parked car in the distance.

Juan gets closer to the lady and whisper to her ear as the storm are loud. “At least by dropping you home, I will be able to sleep at night to know that you are safe.” Juan noticed a light nod and a smile was formed on Frederica’s beautiful face. He interpret the gesture to be an acceptance to his simple offer. He then noticed that the two did not have any umbrella to cover them from the storm, so he decided to go fetch his car alone. Before leaving, he pull his coat up to cover his head— and spoke to the lady. 

“Stay here, I will pick you up.”

Juan started to run towards his parked car directions with his coat barely covering his head. It’s obvious that his clothes automatically got wet from the storm, the rain perfectly soak Juan like a tea bag. As Juan struggle to get himself to the car, Frederica refused to wait in the lobby like a princess and choose to follow the man steps— letting herself too soaked from the heavy storm. Juan then reached his car, he looks around before getting himself— perfectly seated, only to catch Frederica has follows him to the car — completely ignoring his request for her to stay in the lobby. With a gentle smile on his face, he shout a little to the lady whose getting closer to the parked car. 

“You won’t take orders well ya?”

The pair finally got seated comfortably inside of Juan’s car, head to toe gets soaked from the rain. Juan gaze at the lady beside him with a gentle smile on his face.

“What a brat, now we both wet huh? You should have wait patiently in the lobby.”

His hand goes to poke her nose gently, then drove to Frederica’s house carefully. a half of an hour was spent on the road. Its hard to drive when a heavy storm block his view, but then he managed to get the two safely arrived at Frederica’s house.

Juan parked the car in front of the foyer— the one space on Frederica’s house that has canopy— letting the lady to gets out from the car without catching any raindrops. Juan gaze was fixated on her figure as they arrived, a smile was formed.

“Here, you are home.” “You should clean up soon so you won’t catch flu.” 

He leave a wink after he finish his sentence, indicating his goodbye to the his impromptu date.

────────── 

The simple offer about taking her back home by his car instead of getting into the MRT again might be the start to a whole new experience today. If it’s not because of the storm, perhaps Frederica wouldn’t agree to this thing. She didn’t want to burden the man.

But again, being rebellious as she was, she didn’t follow what he said. Of course, it’s a good one— not the negative rebellious one. She didn’t want to wait on the lobby while the man was struggling to even enter the car. Though she has always been treated like a princess, she couldn’t deny the fact that marrying Alverstoke made her underwent through some changes; being a normal person too. Public transportations that she never took before, Frederica finally using it. Who would’ve though that the woman was using MRT today?

But then, as they brought no umbrella, they were both wet as soon as they entered the car. She giggled while he poked her nose and joked at her. A smile was written beautifully on her face. Twenty minutes drive due to the short visibility from the rain caused her to shivered. All that she scared about was the allergy that she might caught and she wouldn’t be able to handle one —for she has been experiencing it every winter back in the UK and it sucks—.

Soon they reached her house in Holland Village and Frederica felt more than grateful and thankful for his help. As soon as they walked out, she reached his right hand and smiled. “It’s not good to be soaked for more than half an hour. Stay inside first, will you?”

Frederica was the one now who tried to convince the man. “Just like what you said, I don’t want you to catch a flu because of me. Come, change your clothes and warm yourself first. I’ll give you some snacks and a cup of warm tea first until the weather gets better.”

“I’m guessing this will be a heavy storm.”

She then opened the main door where her maids greeted her and Asa too. Then, she gestured the man to sit on the living room’s sofa first as she gestured one of her maid to make some tea.

“I’ll take Alverstoke’s clothes.”

Frederica asked the man to wait for some minutes as she rushed herself into her bedroom on the second floor. Dried her soaked self first with a towel and use the bathrobe to cover herself before looking for some of his soon-to-be ex-husband’s clothes for Asa. 

The art conservator, with still her wet hair and petite body covered by the bathrobe, walked out the room and down the stairs to approach the man younger than her again. 

“Asa?” she called him softly as she handed the clothes she picked minutes ago.

The mother of two gestured him to follow her into a guest bedroom on the first floor. She opened the door and walked straight to the big bathroom inside. 

“Take your time to clean yourself up. I’ll clean up too upstairs and let’s see if the storm will be much calmer or not after this, okay? No need to rush,” she told him softly as a curve on the lips was seen, just for the man standing in front of her. 

“Your safety and health comes first.” Frederica ended, giving him the clue that she’ll be leaving for upstairs to clean herself up too.

────���───── 

It was indeed a dangerous option to keep driving amidst the heavy rain. Plus, Asa is also drenched from head to toe from earlier. On his right mind, he knew exactly tonight will lead into something more than just a library date if he choose to stay, even for a minutes.

“Eh? It's okay Frederica, I will get home safely."

He said as he wants to avoid building an affair with somebody's wife, as his father extramarital relationship runs free on his mind. He tried to convince the lady to let him go but failed miserably. He couldn't resist her caring gesture, so he steps out from the car and follow the lady to her living room, where he waited patiently with warm tea keeping him company as the lady runs to fetch him a spare of his husband clothes.

While he took a sip of his tea, his mind kept debating whether this is a good or bad idea to stay with her. The thought of him wearing her husband clothes disgust him a lot, as he remember how abusive he is towards his beloved wife.

As the mother of two walks downstairs with only a bathrobe on, he knew he won't be home tonight. 'What game is she playing here?' is said loud on his mind as his lip forms a smile to the lady whose handing him a pair of spare clothes.

He stays silent while following the lady to the bathroom. As they got inside, Asa lay his change to the vanity and started undressing his top in front of the lady while she talks lovingly. He couldn’t help but to put a smile as they stare at each other from the mirror. Topless— Asa grab the lady that just turn her back on him by the arm gently, stops her from leaving. He breaks his silence by a gentle whisper before pulling her closer to his toned body. 

“Thank you, Esther.”

Asa let his lips crashes into Frederica’s. His hand goes up to her neck as the other one hold her by the petite waist she has. The pair engage in a passionate kiss, filling the air with lust as the two started to undress each other garments. Without breaking the kiss, Asa guide her into the shower behind them — gently moving her body as they both let their tongue dances on each other mouth. Frederica’s hand reached the shower handle & letting the warm water pour above their heads.

Their hands were exploring each others body, letting themself sink into the pool of lust — fully expressing their desire to taste each other again, after a year of separation. A soft moan started to replace the silence like a melody.

Asa could see the fire in her eyes wanting to break free as she took over the control. Frederica seductively gets down on her knees, fulfilling her longing desire to satisfy her fixation. He then release a soft groan as his hands were sealed to the wall. Asa were always a dominant, but this time — he let the mother of two feed her cravings to please him good, just like he did back in the museum.

────────── 

A sudden kiss, a sudden lust, led them to what they said as a reconciliation to what they had a year ago. This time, with the addition of his warmth being contrast with the cold weather, wrapping her beautifully in his arms and for sure Frederica was into it.

Their tongue dances together inside their mouth, twisting and intertwined with each other as they tilted their head for a deeper one. As both undressed successfully and him pinning her to the wall, she couldn’t hold in the temptation to please him more. Her moans were heard, but she wanted to hear his. Frederica pulled away from the kiss as she smirked at him seductively. 

Slowly she kissed his lips, bit his neck and sucked on it, down to his chest— licking his nipples as she wanted him to feel more from her, down to his belly button with never ending kisses and ended up with his very private one that she love the most. Not again a stranger to her after what they did last year. She knelt down on the floor and looked up at him like a slut asking for more.

Her quick hands started to gave some light touches and gentle massage before putting it inside her small mouth— making it feels so full, as she started to thrust it in and out, in a slow pace to make him feel more. To make him desperate for more from the start. 

Frederica sucked on it every time her lips reached the tip of him, making sure she would suck him hard to let him tremble and groaned in pleasure. Sometimes, she would play with the tip of her tongue, licking the tip of his playfully. 

The pace started to get faster as she heard more moans and groans from his lips. Both of her hands on her back, wanting him just to feel the pleasure and the intoxicating sweetness from her lips, mouth, and tongue. Thrusting it deeper as they caught in that pace too.

As minutes went by and she felt like he’ll soon reach his release, from his hand that grabbed and pulled her hair roughly and rougher, she intentionally pulled it out and licked on her lips with that seductive, fiery gaze, that she exchanged with him.

“Love, want more?”

She whispered naughtily before Asa grabbed her hair again and flipped her body, pushing her against the wall. Her hands that were previously on the back, now restrained with his muscular hand so she would stay still. She could felt his shaft entering her deeply and roughly, causing the woman to shut her eyes and moaned in desperation of needing more. More of his intoxicating movement inside her. Wanting him to thrust deeper while her tight, wet walls, swallowed him.

Frederica— lost in the puzzle of feelings she’s currently in. Lost in the beauty of love and lust. Of an affair she never thought she would’ve felt. “Mmh— God!” she cried out her moans loudly, as it’s only both of them inside. Never ending moans of pleasure as her body trembled with him thrusting deeply and roughly in her escaped from her sweet, red lips, covered with the gloss she has been using today.

What was this feelings? Why? This man, Asa, he brought so much joy and pleasure to her at once. The spark she felt in her heart— Frederica would love to surrender and let herself be with him.

“Asa, fuck—”

The woman cursed as the pleasure started to built up inside. Her body trembled uncontrollably now— under his dominance, that one thing she love. Perhaps, from all the things she went through.

────────── 

There is no thoughts that go against what Asa did to Frederica once they became one, just like last year. It felt good, letting the two forget the life problems they have for a while. It was a tsunami of lust, all poured to the exact moment under the shower.

In each thrust, a lewd moan can be heard coming out from the lady luscious lips. In each movement they sync, the inevitable fling just felt right. In each kiss he planted, he swore to love the lady more than her husband did.

Hands bound pinning the lady, move in sync deeper to satisfy each other’s needs — Asa finally release it all inside her, followed by a deep groans whispered into her ear. 

“F—Fuck… I love you.”

The sweet words made the lady smile, and also leads the two to continue to express their lust in the bedroom. At this point, it wasn’t the weather or catching a flu that Asa worry about. 

‘It’s losing her, Frederica.’— that Asa is scared of, after confessing his love.

The two make love till the heavy storm turns into a bright sky, followed with the sunrise in the morning. He can see it in her eyes that this is what she always looking for, a love full of passion. The two ended up embracing together — expressing their silent gratitude for their night together.

────────── 

“F—Fuck… I love you.”

The sweet words from the man. The confession along with their release, how it felt so wonderful for the two. But it doesn’t end there. The night is too long to be missed. She smiled. She couldn’t help but to smile at him. Her hands circled around his body as they moved to the bedroom for the next rounds of lust and moans. For their unexpected and unforgettable night together. How two soul blend as one. 

From the moon on the night sky to the sun at the morning— they both were consumed in the lust and passion that they had in their heart. Frederica never once regret their decision of this illicit affair before the divorce was finalized.

From the moon on the night sky to the sun at the morning— they both were consumed in the lust and passion that they had in their heart. Frederica never once regret their decision of this illicit affair before the divorce was finalized.

After several releases from the long night, they decided to take a nap for an hour or two, just to rest their body, mind, and soul. Embracing in each other with warmth and love, passionate towards each other.

She opened her eyes to the man sitting by the bed, half-clothed. Frederica moved slowly before she hugged him from behind. Landed some kiss on his back, neck, and also cheek. “Hey..” she called him softly, the man her heart is interested in. She looked at him in the eye as he turned his head at her. Both exchanging their gazes.

“I’m getting divorce.”

And soon she could see him smiling. A smile that she would never understand. He kissed her lips softly for one last time before he left the room— leaving her alone. Surely, her heart find its way to another, letting go the past. Leaving it behind.

End of Raindrops.

[pinelife3]

Sadness

The treatment of the breaking of the fourth wall in Fleabag is the most compelling thing I’ve seen all year. Throughout the first season, our protagonist Fleabag (played by Phoebe Waller-Bridge who also writes the show) would look at the camera to make witty asides. Usually a sarcastic remark or eye roll to hammer home that she’s sardonic, insincere, perhaps a little underhanded. 

You’ve probably noticed how if you’re in a one-on-one conversation, it’s hard to rag on someone but that in a group it works (because you can pretend it’s good natured humour rather than a scathing attack on their very existence). In Fleabag, the breaking of the fourth wall is a way for Fleabag to safely ridicule whoever she’s speaking to. It’s also a succinct way of delivering backstory, revealing her intentions, and getting us on side. These interactions with the fourth wall are pretty standard, see: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Amélie, House of Cards, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Shakespearean asides, American Psycho. It’s an accepted device. But then in season two, when Fleabag speaks to us, someone takes notice, someone spots her dipping out of their diegetic reality as she speaks to us in ours. 

I thrilled at this. 

Sometimes I feel like I’ve seen everything - but I’d never seen this before. This is the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen on a TV show (forget the Red Wedding). This is a masterful trick, and great storytelling all at once - it demolishes a literary device. But most of the coverage of Fleabag has focused on how sad the show is:

People seem to like that: they like being crushed, enjoy being devastated. Why is that?

I’ve recently cried over two cowboy related things: Brokeback Mountain and Red Dead Redemption 2. 

I cried when I finished Red Dead Redemption 2 because I love Arthur Morgan so much: he was just the sweetest guy, and I was sad the story was over because we can’t go fishing anymore, or crash his horse into trees and fall, or fight gators in the swamps, or brush his horse while we cruise around the old west. I just felt so wistful for his life and the idea of bad guys working hard to be good in a changing world. 

And then I cried at the end of Brokeback Mountain because it is objectively very sad. The shirts tucked inside each other which Jack kept all those years. The possibility that Jack didn’t know how much Ennis loved him. The life they could have had together, and how much they loved each other - but the families and relationships they destroyed along the way as well, because no one ever said what they felt. 

I really liked both Brokeback and Red Dead, because they have great stories and characters. In Red Dead, I have so many fond memories - and for that reason it made me feel strong emotions. But I don’t like Red Dead because it made me feel strong emotions. I don’t like Brokeback because it was ‘crushing’ and/or ‘devastating’ - it was enjoyable because it was a beautiful story with tragic, poignant elements. I like the story - not that it made me cry. Most Fleabag reviews seem to focus on the sadness it made the audience feel as a way to recommend it to people. 

Watch Fleabag - it will make you feel something. 

Prepare to emote because Fleabag is preternaturally sad.

The discourse around the show on Reddit is similar:

Pffft want to feel really sad? Check out this scene from Synecdoche, New York:

It’s very moving, kind of irresistibly so. And I think that’s because it’s calling out to that scared, bitter, self-pitying part of you which is always cringing in the shadows, waiting for someone to invite it out of the garage into the living room. This speech is designed to frighten you: you’ll make misssssstakesss and ruin your life. You won’t even know you’re doing it until it’ssssss toooooo late. You might think your life is nice - but that’sssssssssssss only because you haven’t ssssssssssseen how bad it will get. It’s giving you permission to feel bad without providing any reason to feel bad, and then it’s allowing you to wallow in that bad feeling. It’s poison. 

I promise you, for 99% of people who watched Synecdoche, New York , life is not that bad. People in horrible, war torn places where they aren’t able to watch Charlie Kaufman films because no one dubs indie movies in Kurdish have it bad - and not just because they’re missing out on great films, but because they essentially live in a sandier version of Hell. Haven’t you ever sat in the sun with a dog and seen it look back at you and felt a perfect connection? Haven’t you ever fallen asleep, perfectly comfortable, tucked in beside someone you love? Haven’t you ever eaten pancakes with ice cream, or seen a huge mountain, or been really cold and then gotten into a warm bath? Haven’t you ever seen a baby fake-crying on the tram and then its mum tickles it under the chin and it laughs, and you see everyone around you smile because babies are so pure? Come on! You’re not Othello. Your life is pretty nice. Even Othello’s life was pretty nice right up until the end. 

Pretty nice.

But boring. Right? 

Pancakes? Cuddles?

How am I to thrill at sunsets and smiling babies? 

Good. Now I’m sad again. 

And if the realisation that you don’t have anything to be sad about (except for the ordinariness of the pleasures in your life) didn’t make you sad, check out this compilation of the 10 most depressing moments in Bojack Horseman (ranked in order from least depressing to most depressing!).

A major inconvenience of modern life is that most of us have supremely comfortable, happy, safe lives. And when something goes wrong, you can’t go on a tragic rampage and tear out your own eyes, beat your breast, or wail on the moor in a thunderstorm - even though that may be what you feel like doing. 

Work sucks, no one respects me, and I messed up that section of the Excel spreadsheet so maybe they are right to not respect me: take me to a moor where my tears can blend with rain and my howls will be swallowed by the wind! 

Ordinary people don’t get to live in a tragedy - and besides, there aren’t as many moors around as literature might have you believe. The most you can do usually is make a scene at a family dinner or isolate yourself at a party and then get drunk and walk home crying. Who would write a sweeping, romantic story about an embarrassing fuck up walking home drunk, feeling sorry for themselves.

Oh.

Wait:

And Now For That 2000 Year Old Mystery

Aristotle’s Poetics is the source of the word catharsis (in italics because it’s Greek which is the way I was taught to do it in high school - if only there were Greecian-alics, am I right?), which in common parlance today basically means any kind of dramatic release of emotions. Kickboxing is cathartic. Getting your eyebrows waxed is cathartic. Crying during an emotional episode of a TV show is cathartic. 

Because the word appeared in Poetics, it's original usage related to the theatre, in particular the experience of an audience watching a tragedy: the release of emotions they feel in watching things go seriously wrong for the hero. For this reason, catharsis is often tied to anagnorisis - the moment of tragic realisation. 

Oh god I killed my father and married my mother. 

Oh god, that’s my son’s head on the pike, not the head of a mountain lion.

Oh god, remember when I messed up that bit of the spreadsheet and everyone knew it was me. Existence truly is pain.

You get the idea. It’s not enough that the protagonist is a fuck up: that matter needs to be brought to their attention and they need to reflect on it.

(A more proper (read: academic) definition of catharsis is: “an imitation of an action ‘with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish its catharsis of such emotions.’” The emotions the audience feel echo what the people on stage are feeling. The jump scare in a horror movie scares the character on screen and the audience watching at home.)

Aristotle never clearly defined catharsis. So for all this time (2000+ years) people have been trying to infer what he meant from a couple of references to a pretty slippery concept. Even though the general public has their understanding of the word, academics still cannot agree on a definition. But we know what it means, roughly, because we’ve all experienced it. 

Over the weekend I watched Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s other other TV show (not Killing Eve) which had an exchange between an artist and a drunk girl on sadness and how it factors into art:

Character 1: He’s my muse!

Character 2: Your muse?

...

Character 2: Like an artist's muse?!

Character 1: Yes, he is! You think meeting someone like Colin happens to artists all the time?! He gives so much.

Character 2: Yeah, sure, and you just lap it up and just slap it on a canvas.

Character 1: Pardon?

Character 2: "His pain is so beautiful." You're using him to indulge yourself.

Character 1: I am indulging? And what is this? 

Character 2: This is a $4 bottle of wine.

...

Character 2: Sorry if I upset you, Melody.

Character 1: You don't upset me. You bore me. All you seem to want to do is drink and wank and drink and wank.

Character 2: Well, at least I don't have to wank other people's pain onto a canvas, and then shove it in people's faces and call it "my art."

Character 2 in this scene is played by Phoebe Waller-Bridge. I can’t be bothered to explain why it’s relevant. 

For the eternity of human brains, or at least for as long as preserved creativity, the most comfortable, secure people in the world have tried to experience the things tragic victims feel - perhaps so they can briefly know what it feels like to be a romantic figure struggling in an unjust world. A passport to feelings and drama we aren’t permitted in every day life. Catharsis is the word to express the reaction, but what do we call an audience who seeks out that sensation? Catharsis chasers?

It’s not insightful to say that people like to watch Fast & Furious movies because they’re exciting and perhaps audiences enjoy that excitement because their own lives are un-exciting. But commending a thing because it will make you sad seems aberrant in some way. A fast and dangerous car that will make you miserable. A roller coaster that will make you depressed. An incredible shootout in the streets of LA that will make you sob in the bathroom cubicle at work every time you think about it. I can’t explain the drive, but like Aristotle I will invent a new word, so that academics can never know what I meant but will still write at great length about it, so that it will slip into common parlance and be horribly misused until eventually, 2000 years from now, a girl can waffle on about it on her blog. And the word will be: scartharsio. Or maybe scorpithoniacs? Or sarcastiharsics? 

Sadness is entertainment for a scartharsio.  

ALL TIME HALL OF FAME: WAILING WOMEN AND MOORS

Nobody knows what it’s like to be me, a sad woman who weeps on moors! 

I’m not being overly dramatic!

#Fleabag #phoebe waller-bridge #bojack horseman #kate bush #wuthering heights #sense and sensibility #ang lee #kate winslet #othello #synecdoche new york #charlie kaufman #brokeback mountain #red dead redemption 2

[kynimdraws]

A little PSA: An explanation of Ovewatch Ana’s “Tal/탈” skin

I am getting tired of people hating on Ana’s Tal skin and while I have expressed my discontent over this unnecessary discourse on twitter I might as well crosspost on tumblr because of non-Koreans trying to spread misinformation about my home country’s culture.

(Ana voice): SHHHHHHHHHHHH calm down kids it’s grandma

Disclaimer: I am Korean. My mother is a Korean teacher who has taught me Korean history/culture. My uncle teaches in a University about Korean history. Chinese cultural appropriation topics will not be mentioned here, because I am not Chinese. Someone with better knowledge about that than make their own posts elsewhere (please).

A quick googling of “tal” or “탈” will give you the following definition (lifted from the all-accessible wikipedia page). I bolded the most relevant parts of this excerpt since I will go into more detail about it in the next paragraphs:

Korean masks have a long tradition with the use in a variety of contexts. Masks are called tal (Hangul: 탈) in Korean, but they are also known by many others names such as gamyeon, gwangdae, chorani, talbak and talbagaji. Korean Mask come with black cloth attached to the sides of the mask designed to cover the back of the head and also to simulate black hair.

They were used in war, on both soldiers and their horses; ceremonially, for burial rites in jade and bronze and for shamanistic ceremonies to drive away evil spirits; to remember the faces of great historical figures in death masks; and in the arts, particularly in ritual dances, courtly, and theatrical plays. The present uses are as miniature masks for tourist souvenirs, or on cell-phones where they hang as good-luck talismans.

The one Ana is specifically wearing is a type of 하회탈 (hahoetal), which describes a type of mask used during theatre (하회별신굿탈놀이) and dance (탈춤) since the 12th century. These performances consist of a cast of character archetypes, which are depicted by the masks. Many of the features in the masks are exaggerated for humorous and dramatic effect. Here are a general list of masks that commonly seen.

Fun fact, Ana’s mask is a hybrid of the Kaksi/각시 and Yangban/양반 mask. And maybe a little bit of the Halmo/할미 depending on the mask design.

These mask plays were performed in villages to ward off evil spirits and to convince the local gods to protect them and bring prosperity. A certain aspect of these performances are also comedic, and a chance for performers to poke fun of the ruling class and taboo subjects like sex. While this is not tied to the Lunar New Year specifically, such performances were done during special occasions like those holidays.

Now you may be asking “this is part of a religious thing! Isn’t that disrespectful??” And trust me, this depiction is FAR from being offensive to most Koreans.

Yes the tal was used for shamanistic rituals, specifically associated with “muism” (무교/신교). However, muism is not a popular Korean religion. While there has a recent uprise in people practicing it/being interested in it, Muism has always faced discrimination in Korean history. Confucianism, Christianity, and even Japanese colonialism has demonized this religion and it was nearly forgotten/eradicated. The most known incident of this is called the misin tapa undong (미신 타파 운동) describes a period from 19th century to the 1980s where various parties (both outside and inside Korea) tried to eradicate muism through various means, including burning down local shrines and villages that were known to practice them. People had to be in hiding so avoid persecution.

Fortunately the Korean government has indirectly protected Muism by making several aspects of their religious traditions as national Korean treasures, including the 탈 among other things. But it is important to note that whole 탈 culture is secularized now. It does not have the religious connotations that it was known for. Hell, the masks are one of the most recognizable features of Korean culture (and seen in many souvenirs). There are places in Korea that preserve this tradition and perform it to the public to spread awareness of its history (the 안동 village every September has an arts festival for all traditional Korean performing arts). FYI, Koreans who appreciate this are not muists themselves, and no one requires you to be one. Lunar New Year is largely a secular holiday, after all.

Now, do you want to see some of the reactions KOREAN FANS had about the Ana skin? Here are few I got off from twitter, with translations from yours truly:

BTW that Ana tal skin is my aesthetic - (x)

That Ana skin is really good ㅇㅁㅇ....tal is really making my heart flutter* - (x)

*간지뿅뿅 is not a really easy thing to translate since it’s a combo of a sound effect and an emotion??? It’s a positive response either way

Ana skin ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠtal is so good ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ - (x)

OMG Ana’s skin is tal LOL that is exciting - (x)

Many of these really are happy their culture is seen! And it’s not depicted in a mocking manner and the overall design is quite lovely, with Korean-design motifs in her clothes. The few relatively negative tweets about her skin are how the cloth may be too bright/gaudy compared to the mask, which is sort of true. The mask is supposed to be seen clearly to show what character the performer is playing out. But the color scheme really looks like those worn for the Bongsan talchum (봉산탈춤), another variety of tal (they are all within the same province btw). And a lot of Korean traditional color schemes are pretty gaudy too.

Alright, so I have told you all I can about the tal culture. Now the you may be asking the following question, summarized well by this tweet:

I think Ana looks awesome in general but what was the concept behind her new skin ???? She’s Egyptian so why wear a Tal? - (x)

To be fair, I was also fairly surprised by the choice for having Ana have the Korean-style skin before I became super ecstatic to see my culture be represented. I do agree it is odd to see a Muslim/Egyptian/Arabic character (two groups that don’t really celebrate Lunar New Year from what I can gather) to be chosen for a Korean skin, but that matter sort of falls into the “Muslim/Egyptian/Arabic culture is underrepresented in Overwatch and gaming media in general” topic and I am not knowledgeable enough to discuss that in detail. A Muslim Overwatch fan has written about this matter here if you want to check it out.

But back on point, is this skin an example of YELLOW FACE or CULTURAL APPROPRIATION? No! When did being Muslim/Arabic/Egyptian =/= you can’t celebrate/appreciate other cultures and their traditions? Did you only want Koreans to get the skin? I am all for D.Va getting more skins (and MAYBE more KOREAN OVERWATCH HEROES) but why restrict the Korean theme onto just one character? Cultural appropriation is when people INAPPROPRIATELY disrespect a culture by mocking them and disregarding the traditions of said culture. Ana is not doing any of this. Besides, Korean tal culture is not closed off to non-Koreans, and there are Korean cultural socities that are willing to offer classes on this and will even teach you how to do the dance/plays (i.e. Sejong University has a site for it). 

FYI because I am Korean, I cannot say how Egyptian/Muslim/Arab fans feel about Ana wearing Korean attire for Lunar New Year. I have talked to a few Muslim OW fans/friends about this and given their differing opinions on the matter (including the OP of the muslim underrepresentation post I linked earlier), I cannot really make a confident assumption on how these people generally feel about the skin. On Korean fandom’s end though, we love the skin! It’s great Blizzard took the time to research Korean culture and make a skin that isn’t mocking Koreans. And Blizzard does have some ties with Korea itself due to its HUGE gaming culture/fanbase, so it is possible BlizzKorea has gotten input there for this event. Being between two BIG Asian countries (Japan and China), Korea is often left out and this event was a really nice breath of fresh air. We are represented!! We are not some invisible culture between the big two!!!

And if you are not part of this culture, just PLEASE let other people speak out about the matter before getting on your moral high horse to talk about appropriation. 

Now, does that mean the Korean fandom thinks Blizzard is a perfect company? NO! Honestly the entire event is MOSTLY about Chinese culture (with some Korean stuff squeezed in between). Other Asian countries that celebrate Lunar New Year have been ignored (i.e. Southeast Asian cultures and some Indian cultures celebrate Lunar New Year and they are not included despite Symmetra being Indian, etc). These discrepancies are good starting points to discuss underrepresentation in media that Blizzard can learn about and hopefully include in their future updates. From what I can see, the Overwatch developers have been receptive to this feedback so it would be good to have that convo in their official forums too.

FYI, I personally feel like there could have been more Korean stuff for this event period. In America at least, it really sucks that Lunar New Year is ALWAYS called Chinese New Year despite other countries also celebrating it...RIP. But I appreciate that this game has made Korean culture more visible. Here’s hope to more visible Korean stuff in gaming and elsewhere! Where is my “새해 복 많이 받으세요” voice line for D.Va? I demand answers Blizzard!!!

Anyway, hope that has taught you something new, and Happy Lunar New Year to everyone!

#a psa #overwatch #d.va #korean culture #ana #ana amari #korea #lunar new year #year of the rooster overwatch