#this entire passage is supposed to be one paragraph actually

[natequarter]

look. The Passive Voice is more complicated than "always bad," despite what english teachers and aspiring twats may tell you. the passive voice is merely one tool in a whole arsenal of rhetorical devices and literary techniques. it can be overused, creating a repetitive, clunky, or confusing narrative; it can also be used to great effect. consider three completely made up opening paragraphs, all of which will use the passive voice in the phrase "[person a] was struck down by [person b]," with varying tones and framing. firstly:

In the early hours of the morning, a cry of anguish alarmed residents of Gilbert Street. The culprit? A young boy found unconscious on the pavement outside the traumatised inhabitants of Number 35. Arthur Lennox, a trusted member of a tight-knit community, reported that the child was struck down by thug John Baker, who quickly fled the scene of the crime. Baker was strongly shunned in Sandwell. One woman, who asked not to be named, called him "a classic playground bully," citing fear of reprisal as her reason for remaining anonymous. A student, Andrew Scott, stated that "[Baker] made you nervous when he approached," adding, "I'm not surprised he chose a victim who couldn't fight back."

clearly what makes this article accusatory and biased has nothing to do with using the passive voice so much as emotive or reactionary vocabulary like "culprit," "traumatised," "anguish," and selective quoting of only people who disliked the imaginary john baker. secondly:

The recent slander against John Baker, 19, represents a petty slight blown entirely out of proportion. So far, all reports of what happened have refused to engage with the actual context of the situation. Months after the incident, Baker remains "confused and upset" by what began as little more than a "childish argument with [his] mate." The actual chain of events is blurry: whilst walking home from a night out with a friend, James Conroy (then seventeen), the two got into an argument over something trivial. However, it continued to escalate, especially as Conroy hurled increasingly derogatory and inflammatory barbs at his supposed friend. It erupted into heated violence when the "always aggressive" Conroy lunged at Baker, intending to tackle him to the ground, but was struck down before he could rain down blows on his new nemesis. In light of Conroy's truculent behaviour, it's worth questioning his supposed plight.

again, the framing here is not necessarily to do with the use of the passive voice, but the shifting of the attention off baker's actions and onto conroy (note also that the innocence of children is questioned here and his actual age is given). thirdly:

On the sixteenth of May, nineteen-year-old John Baker was taken into custody by the police following an altercation with James Conroy, 17. Several eyewitnesses claimed that Conroy had "continually provoked" Baker, who eventually assaulted him. Conroy was struck down by Baker and the incident was quickly reported to the police. It is expected to be resolved quickly by the parties involved.

once again, the passive is not the key element defining the nature of the passage; it's the fairly plain and direct language, factual descriptors, and lack of commentary or favour of one person over another. this has been your The Passive Voice Is Not The Root Of All Evil psa.

#🗡️

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Please, do you have any tips for getting the motivation to write? Not like, getting inspiration or figuring out how to write. I have so many ideas I have for both personal ideas and fanfics, but when I sit down to write, I get about one paragraph in, many two, then I just lose the motivation to keep on typing and figuring out how to structure my words. It's so frustrating and makes me wanna cry. Do you have anything you do to help you just sit down and write/type? It would be really appreciated! I don't want to be just called "lazy" anymore.

First off i'm so sorry that it took me so long to answer life kinda came up and grabbed me, also i can and will fight everyone who is calling you lazy because that's not okay, make them turn on their locations i just wanna talk

everything else under the cut bc this got long

Second! I think for me the biggest thing to just get me started is a first draft doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to exist. I just gotta spill words onto a page and then I can go back and like actually no i want this to read like this and this to read like this. Also why I'm an advocate for drafting in comic sans 'cause ain't nothing gonna look polished and finished in that font which means you can fuck up as much as you want just to get it down.

Third, and I don't know if this will work for everyone, I don't always write in prose the entire time--that is, sentences, punctuation, all that. One thing that I'm a big fan of doing is bullet fics where I'll just bullet point what I want to happy and not pay attention to tone consistency or any of that. Then I can break down parts that are being really loud in my head and do them with proper everything like how I'd write them out for a fic or a chapter but I can keep the momentum going of 'and then this shit happens 'cause they're both idiots' and just get everything out. I've had a lot of projects where they're about 20% actual written prose and 80% 'so this and then this and then this is what they're thinking' in bullet form. You can always go back and edit it later, just get it down and out of your head. I find sometimes re-reading the bullets can bring the daydream/story idea back to the forefront of my brain and then it's easier to keep writing as opposed to leaving it all up there where it's liable to disappear completely.

Kind of jumping off from that, there's a phrase someone told me once about not letting your pen rest on the page because you'll just get a big well of ink. Keep it moving and you'll figure it out. If i'm struggling to figure out how to phrase something or write something, I'll write the clunkiest version of it [or just put what happens in square brackets like this] and move on to come back to later. i find if i fixate too hard on the hump of what's giving me trouble in that moment i'll lose the rest of the story.

Then there are a few things that are more, like, personal ambiance things? I'll find a song or a soundscape to listen to that makes my brain vibrate at the right frequency to immerse myself in the tone of whatever I want to write and listen to it on repeat even if i'm not actively writing. For some longer pieces i'll take pacing breaks where i literally just get up and walk around listening to whatever it is while i make my brain spin about it without the pressure of putting it to words. If a few specific quotes or passages pop into my brain i might take the time to scribble them down but it's mostly about making sure i'm immersed enough in the world i'm trying to write so i don't have to concentrate so hard on making sure the technical parts of my writing matches with what's in my head.

I suppose something I will ask (and honestly maybe should have asked earlier) is what parts of writing make it feel 'complete' to you and where do you find it the hardest to pick up once you've left it for a bit? If it's the pressure to get everything down just so you can point to it and say 'see here's what's happening, here are the arcs, here's where the story goes,' then the bullet technique might be more helpful. If it's the art of figuring out how you want to phrase things and how you want your words to go, I'd suggest trying the square brackets technique so you can focus on the parts that feel really strong or that you really want to sink your teeth into without interrupting the flow of the words. It's totally okay to write things out of order (i still have to convince my brain of this sometimes too) and removing some of the pressure to make everything perfect (or even prose) first time around when you just need to write can be super helpful

I hope this was helpful and kind of what you wanted!!!!! If there are any other questions you have--or if you want more of these sorts of suggestions if they weren't very helpful--please lemme know

#dragonbabbles #i do have opinions on the matter

[walkawaytall]

Fic anon here! No worries about publishing (or not, ofc). I was in another fandom that involved a lot of very meta+crack minifics shared on anon purely for silly purposes and while we don't do that so much in this corner of the SW fandom, the inspiration just like hit re: your name

While I'm jabbering in your inbox, for your fanfic write asks: 5! 7!

Oh, good, I'm glad I didn't commit a faux pas :). Thank you!

Onward to answers:

5. Is there a tiny detail in one of your fics that you feel goes tragically unnoticed?

This is really just an inside joke with myself (I mean, I did make a Tumblr post about it, but I haven't drawn attention to it on the sites where I post, and no one has mentioned that they noticed), but there's this half-heard argument about something Luke dubs "The Snakebite Incident" in Speak Louder and...okay the thing is, at the time that I wrote Speak Louder, I had written The Short Stick, posted it, and then taken it down a couple of hours later because I was self-conscious about it for some reason, and I had plans to totally overhaul The Short Stick or whatever. I needed something mind-numbingly stupid for Han and Leia to argue about, and The Snakebite Incident argument was in The Short Stick. So, I stole the short bit of dialogue from my own story, dumped it in Speak Louder as this argument that Luke is tired of hearing because they're both unreliable narrators, so he never gets the full story, and every time the situation gets brought up, they fight about it, and everyone is over hearing the same argument.

And then, months later, I reread The Short Stick after letting it chill for awhile and I don't hate it. I'm not self-conscious about it any more. But, crap, I gutted that one argument for a different story, now I have to come up with something equally stupid for them to argue about, right?

Or. Instead...they can have the same argument, almost word-for-word with a few variations. Because the entire point of this argument is that everyone around them only gets some of the details, no one has 100% of the story except Han and Leia themselves, and they keep having it to the annoyance of anyone within hearing distance. (Though, Han does learn a grammatical lesson between Speak Louder and The Short Stick and corrects himself before Leia can get to it the second time around.) So, yeah, I'm probably going to keep including it in things if it fits and doesn't become excessive because I find it funny.

7. Share a line or paragraph you’ve written that you don’t think will ever actually be posted in anything! (Or, if you don’t hoard cut sentences and passages like I do, share anything you want that has yet to see the light of day!)

Here, I'll share the start of a story that I'm pretty sure started with, "Let's do a bottle-episode-style story!" (I think I've started three different stories with this concept and a proper bottle episode has never emerged from these attempts) and not much in way of plot or purpose. I'm not going to resurrect this. It's never going anywhere because it had nowhere to go in the first place, but it's a moment, I guess:

Leia was going to lose her mind or murder Han Solo — though she supposed the two actions weren’t mutually exclusive. They were supposed to meet with the leaders of a small cell of rebels who’d been fighting their own battles against the Empire unaided on Mimban. Leia’s goal was to offer aid in exchange for the group officially joining the Alliance. The entire trip was supposed to be short — land, meet, negotiate whatever terms needed negotiating, leave — but when they arrived in the small, dingy, building where they were supposed to meet their contacts, they were told they needed to wait.

It had been half an hour. Half an hour spent sitting in a small, poorly lit room where the temperature seemed to vary wildly by the minute with only Han for company, and Han was beginning to get antsy. Leia fully understood the struggles of sitting still, of waiting. She’d never been particularly good at it, and had developed several subtle ways over the years to move and fidget without others catching on. She knew the feeling of a spring in her torso coiling ever tighter until she finally had to move. She also knew that Han’s restlessness was excessive in a way that almost seemed calculated.

First had been the leg switching. He’d initially sat with the ankle of one leg crossed over the knee of the other. A few minutes in, he’d switched legs. Leia herself had shifted her weight at least once in that time and, had she not been looking directly at Han at the time, she likely wouldn’t have noticed. Except he kept doing it every minute or so, with the frequency eventually increasing to every twenty seconds.

Every twenty seconds. On the dot. Leia counted.

She sighed, all but shivering as the temperature in the corridor they waited in dropped for the third time. “Shouldn’t have to wait much longer,” she said, a hint of apology in her tone.

Han shrugged. “I got nowhere to be.” He shifted his legs again.

Leia studied him for a moment. “You can go outside for a bit if you want. See the sights.”

He looked at her incredulously. “I’ve seen these sights, Princess. Trust me, I’m good.”

She pursed her lips. “Okay, well, I’m going to need you to stop moving your legs every five seconds because I’m about to lose my mind.”

Thanks!

fanfic writer asks

#my asks #fic writer asks #fanfic writer ask game #fanfic writer asks #fanfic writer ask #ask away

[faintingheroine]

“While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast, I was thrown into the company of a most fascinating creature: a real goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice of me. I ‘never told my love’ vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears: she understood me at last, and looked a return—the sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do? I confess it with shame—shrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every glance retired colder and farther; till finally the poor innocent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mamma to decamp. By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.”

This is one of the most intriguing passages of the book for me because it is a single paragraph that takes place in an entirely different setting and among an entirely different sort of people than the rest of the novel and it is never referenced again. Does it point to Lockwood’s inability to correctly interpret things even when he actually knows the answer? Is it contrasting the Prufrockian Lockwood with Heathcliff who is assertive and passionate in his love? What does the reference to Twelfth Night signify? This passage is certainly reminiscent of how Lockwood will later only admire Cathy from afar and construct this entire love story for them based on nothing but refuse to act on his supposed love even when the circumstances are somewhat in his favor. It also reminds me of the characterization of Lockwood as a “tourist” and an incessant consumer in the essay “Impossible Love and Commodity Culture in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights”, he always jumps from one “object” to the next, whether they be women or places.

(Extracted from this post)

I don’t know now why I thought that this anecdote shows us Lockwood’s inability to interpret signs correctly, he is unable to correctly interpret signs during his encounters with the cast of the novel, but in this anecdote he seems to be able to correctly interpret the girl’s feelings, he is only a non-committal jerk.

Also notable that Heathcliff was reserved during his teenage years and “he had ceased to express his fondness for her in words, and recoiled with angry suspicion from her girlish caresses, as if conscious there could be no gratification in lavishing such marks of affection on him”, but this was caused momentarily by external circumstances and teenaged sullenness, as a child he was proudly declaring that Catherine was “immeasurably superior to everybody on earth” and after his return from his exile he is upfront about loving her, telling that he struggled only for her all these years in the presence of her husband. I do think that there is a contrast between the Prufrockian Lockwood and the passionate Heathcliff here.

#wuthering heights #mr. lockwood #heathcliff

[iron-touch]

Author’s Notes: Chapter 25 (The Highwayman)

See? I was able to crank out this chapter pretty quickly! I’m so epic and cool

The model of motorcycle used for this chapter wasn’t chosen right away. I feel like this is sort of obvious from the writing, but I’m not much of a bike guy nor do I know many bike guys. I asked my dad (who is kind of a bike guy) what I should use, and while he did give me a legitimate suggestion, I forgot to write it down and ultimately forgot what it was entirely. @simpingforcreamsoda suggested I used the ZZR 250 because it’s the same bike used in Kill Bill. I thought a movie reference felt very JoJo, so that’s what I went with.

I’m sure plenty of people upon reading this chapter are thinking “Yuya? Why?” Two reasons; the most important of which will be revealed at the end of this arc. I think that Yuya and Hol Horse contrast surprisingly well with each other (and also think that the common perception the fandom has of Hol Horse is more applicable to Yuya). Both are womanizers, but despite his narcissism, Yuya actually does care about his fangirls and admits that he’d risk life and limb to keep them safe. Hol Horse is the opposite; he uses his “girlfriends” as disposable meat shields. This difference between the two is alluded to in the fic when Sara mentions that all of Hol Horse’s “girlfriends” usually end up slapping him. It’s also well known that Araki at one point considered having Hol Horse join the Crusaders or at least have him help them out, which never came to fruition. It did with Yuya, who becomes allies with Josuke during the Enigma fight and ultimately saves his (and Koichi’s) life.

That being said I don’t really like the outfit I threw together for Yuya so don’t be surprised if that passage gets edited later lol

That “guy from [Yuya’s] hometown” that Yuya mentions is supposed to be Rohan, so the implication here is that Rohan has a sort of side job set up where he can teach people languages with Heaven’s Door in exchange for some fee (use your imagination here). It’s actually something of a meme in the Discord server that Rohan is banned from Iron Touch, so I’m very curious to see how my readers react to this small reference to his existence.

Admittedly the helmet was kind of a cheap thing for me to throw in, just so the readers go “ooh, is he a Masqueraaaaader???” But then it turns out he’s not, but the conflict is still all Sara’s fault.

The part of Central Park that Sara and Hol Horse stop at is, as mentioned in the fic, the Bethesda Terrace and Fountain. This is another “Ella went to NYC this summer and shows off all the places she went to” moment. Here’s a picture of me in front of the fountain. I’m not sure I did the underside of the terrace justice with my description, but I hope I’ve captured just how beautiful it was, even a little bit.

One paragraph of Sara reminiscing about her stepdad was cut from the final draft, both for pacing and other reasons.

Writing Highway Star’s nutrient drain was surprisingly a lot of fun! I feel like it’s one of those things where, since the reader already knows what’s happening, you can really focus on the sensations of it rather than the mechanics. And I like that.

Music references:

The chapter’s name, “The Highwayman,” is a song by the band The Highwaymen, but I was more thinking of the literal definition of a highwayman than the music reference. I’m still putting it on the playlist, though. I also like the wordplay on “highway,” as in Highway Star.

#author’s notes #iron touch

[chronicowboy]

1, 18, 22, 39 for the writers ask thingy!! <3

What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting? i used to be a calibri truther (in that i could never be bothered to change it) and a tnr hater but now i could make out with times new roman for the rest of my life Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage. The heroes have died. Because the heroes always die. The heroes die a thousand times over. Killed by villainy, killed by misfortune masquerading as fate, killed by love, killed by their own damn selves. And they're killed a thousand different times. Their minds go first, melting slowly into a choppy sea of guilt and fear and loss, so much fucking loss, then their hearts harden into husks, turning into crumbling stone and falling through the chasms of their chests for hours until it hits rock bottom and tumbles into oblivion where it just keeps falling, then the souls crack and shatter and skid across the earth with a screech of something once good and now gone, and the body's the last to go, the one thing keeping them walking through that burning inferno of life, the hurricane of hurt and happiness and saving and scorning and losing and losing and losing, the body goes last, the bones breaking one by one in a cacophony of silent agony, screams muffled by choked desires for death, so close, so close, too far, and the blood pours out in streams, scarlet has never looked prettier than when it's painting a sidewalk or the wound of a sacrificial lamb raised for slaughter, a stroke of deep red exactly where it's supposed to be on the canvas, and the pain means nothing, the pain means nothing but an end, because the pain is just a prelude to their peace, their final, well-deserved peace. this is the first paragraph of the epilogue to the first ever story i finished and idk i just love it. because the epilogue is a pretty happy ending but the story's really dark and the characters have been through so much so i wanted this final bit of happiness offset by the obvious pain of the character narrating it. at first it was a lot shorter and consisted of only the main points but i just wanted her anger and frustration to tumble through so i dragged the sentences out to ridiculous lengths and filled them with all the bad i could and idk i just love that this is the beginning of a happy ending. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud? i have literally never not once been organised about my writing my whole entire life <3 no but um every now and then when im trying to procratinate writing i'll give my onenotes a little organise and that's like my main one for writing actual chunks of floaty prose i have no idea what they're for, google keep is for tiny little ideas and sometimes ill scribble bullshit down on scraps of paper in the middle of the night when i dont want to turn my screens on and then i'll either 1) not be able to find it in the morning or 2) not be able to read my own handwriting What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up? oof god idek bc i am fighting for my life against the worst writers block ive ever had atm, normally my block consists of zero ideas but ive got so many my brain just will not put out words anymore. but i guess just the fact that even when its frustrating i know that my writing is like the biggest part of me and what i would define myself by because its just always been there and its what i want to do, although i dont know if I've ever actually wanted to give up. its more me being angry that i cant do it today so just counting down the seconds until i can again.

#sami answers #thank you so much for asking #the passage one was so fun to do but it took me so long to choose lol

[shadowmaat]

Prosencraft & Quilldenstern are Dead

Curiosity had me digging into the whole Prosecraft/Shaxpir drama that's been going around twitter.

I can see some wiggle room with what the bro was trying to do (or said he was doing) with Prosecraft, but the whole concept still sounds like dubious BS. Picking out the "most vivid" and "most passive" paragraph of an entire novel?? How would you decide that? How can you even state as a fact that one paragraph is more "vivid" than another? Like, just looking at what the program itself promises to do, it sounds like crap. It honestly reminds me of that site (sites?) that let you enter a paragraph of text and "analyzed" it to tell you which famous author you most sounded like. Except the answers were randomly generated. You could enter a passage from, say, Kurt Vonnegut, and get a different result each time (none of them Vonnegut). This sounds like the same kind of scam.

Then of course, you have the whole extremely illegal harvesting of books from the internet. And that some of the paragraph samples include massive spoilers for the book. And all the rest that has authors furious for very good reasons. I hope the lawyers destroy him. "Freely available on the internet" doesn't mean legally available, bro.

As for the Shaxpir AI thingy, I found a LOT of complaints predating the latest drama. The program sounds like shit. It routinely loses data and drafts, with no way of recovering what you'd written. It also got a lot of things wrong and seems like it's just a sketchier, less reliable version of Scrivener. One person who'd used both programs said they lost a lot of their stuff in Scrivener, but lost even more with Shaxpir. So again, based on the bare bones of what it's supposed to do, it doesn't really do its job.

The concerns about harvested materials being used to "refine" the program are valid, IMO, and just because Shaxpir sucks at is job doesn't mean it's acceptable to let it get away with anything illegal.

Anyway, no sympathy for the latest techbro suffering the consequences of his actions, but he also gives off CMOT Dibbler vibes rather than someone actually competent at their job. But I guess that goes for most of the techbros out there. LOL!

Also, definite points off for not calling it Prosencraft, when he was pairing it with Shaxpir.

#maybe Quilldenstern will be his next project #if he survives

[remuswriting]

How To: Dialogue

I could do an entire essay on how to properly do dialogue (this is 1.3k words, so basically an essay lol), but I’ll try to refrain.  I’m going to use passages from my fics just to explain how to format dialogue.

Writing natural and realistic dialogue is something that takes so much time and I can’t teach that.  All I can recommend is reading published books, listening to people around you, and reading articles online.

Basic Format

Dialogue is easy to format. I think it’s one of the easiest things in writing to format (some would say paragraphs are, but paragraphs can be hard to figure out where to end).  This isn’t from a fic, but just a basic thing.

“I don’t want to dance,” Hinata said.

What is being said is in quotation marks.  There is a comma inside the quotation because punctuation goes in the quotation marks. The name of the character is capitalized like you would normally and is outside of the quotation marks and period happens at the end of the overall sentence (after said in this case).

When multiple people are speaking, each person will get their own paragraph.  This is to show someone new is talking to not confuse the reader.

“I don’t want to dance,” Hinata said.

“Why not?” Asked Yachi.

So each of them got their own paragraph, which made it easy to know who was talking.  I reversed asked and Yachi to show that is also something you can do. Just remember the key elements that punctuation for the dialogue stays in the quotation marks.

Dialogue Tags

A dialogue tag is basically what tells you who is speaking.  This is the most important thing in dialogue, because if you don’t have it, then no one knows what the fuck is going on.  Dialogue tags can be super simple to a little more complex.

Simple

Here is a line from Next to You.  It shows how it’s dialogue and then the tag ‘Keishin asked’.  

“What if I’m not as good as Fujii-san?” Keishin asked, and Y/N chuckled as he shook his head.

You can add things after it by either putting ‘and’ or starting a new sentence.  Here is an example of not continuing on the sentence by using ‘and’.  This is from Hold Me Tight.

“So, there is going to be a party,” Sugawara said.

Complex

Now we’re going to make dialogue tags be in the middle of two things being said by one person.  You’ve seen it a hundred times at least, so don’t think it’s actually complex.  I just couldn’t think of a better way to do it. I also want to say that there is a slight debate on whether or not to use a comma or period in some circumstances. I use a comma (I’ll show what I mean in a second) since it’s normal to me.

Here Keishin says something, the word said is used, and Y/N responds, which makes Keishin speak again.  I’ll do it the two ways it can be done, which is comma or period for the ending of the first phrase of dialogue.  I’ve recently read commas are supposed to be for continuing sentences (where it’s all one sentence of dialogue but is divided up) and periods for two separate sentences.  I just use commas regardless.

“No, it’s a compliment, dumbass,” Keishin said, and Y/N shoved his shoulder again because of the nickname.  “Sorry, let me say it again; it’s a compliment.”

or

“No, it’s a compliment, dumbass.” Keishin said, and Y/N shoved his shoulder again because of the nickname.  “Sorry, let me say it again; it’s a compliment.”

Action Beats

What are action beats you may be asking.  Well let me tell you all about them.  This is another thing that you’ve seen a hundred times, but just didn’t know the name for.  Basically, it’s when you use action as a dialogue tag and not an actual tag.  It sounds confusing, but let me show you the different ways.

Before the dialogue.  You know who is speaking because they do the action before they speak.

Hinata shrugged with a bright smile. “I don’t know!”

In the middle of dialogue.  Someone starts speaking, does something halfway through and continue to speak.

“It won’t be the same without you.” Tsukishima’s ears slowly started to tinge pink. “And it shouldn’t matter if someone is apparently better than you. You can get better too.”

You can do a mix of those two things as well.  This part can be the most complicated because it’s hard to know if you should do an action or not.  There’s also the question if the action should come after the entire line of the dialogue is said.

Unnecessary Dialogue Tags

So, get ready for this one because there will be some anger behind some of this.  This is personal preference to an extent, but also something I was taught in creative writing classes.

The tag ‘said’ does not need to be erased.

Stop trying to find any other word besides said to use.  Said is the best word to use because it kind of melts away when you read and helps the reader to just know who is talking.  Trying to find any other word than said can lead to dialogue tagging that makes the read stop a lot to try to understand what’s going on.  Just because you’re not using said doesn’t mean your dialogue is better.  At the end of the day, your dialogue is good if it feels natural and makes the story flow.

Before I continue, I do want to say that there are words other than said that are needed and I will go over those.

I absolutely hate this line.  ‘Raged viciously’ is ridiculous to put together because rage is already vicious and I don’t really know what raged sounds like.  Reading it makes me stop and question what’s going on. (Also, these next couple of passages are from my old writing.)

“Just shut up! Shut up! She’s not here, and it won’t change anything if she was!” Will raged viciously at his friend.

This next one is more contextual thing.  I didn’t need to put that ‘interrogated’ because that question alone can come off as aggressive.  Also, the fact I called it a comment instead of a question still drives me absolutely crazy three years later.  For this, I could’ve just put ‘asked’ and it would’ve worked better in my opinion. You don’t need the tag to 100% match the tone of the dialogue when it’s clear what the tone is.

“Doesn’t it bother you how we’re apparently not part of his life anymore?” Mike interrogated and Lucas scoffed at the comment.

Another contextual one.  I didn’t need to put ‘complimented’ because it’s a compliment.  If it was something that could come off harsh, then ‘complimented’ would work better, but it doesn’t here.

“You look really pretty today,” Will complimented Angelia.

Necessary Dialogue Tags

This is just going to be a list of ones I think are most used and best to use. I don’t think you guys want to see any more of my dialogue.

Said, asked, stuttered, yelled, screamed, mumbled, murmured, laughed, squeaked, giggled, cried, sniffled, choked, scoffed, muttered, stammered, and whispered.

These are ones I like.  Obviously you can hate the word said and use whatever you want to.  It’s not my writing, it’s yours.  There’s a lot you can do with your punctuation before you even figure out what kind of tag you want to use.

If there’s anything I didn’t cover that you want me to, then feel free to dm me.

Also, here are links of things about dialogue that I like.  I usually just look up whatever I need help with on Google and find something from there.  Just do research to get the best Dialogue you can have.

Dialogue Tags

How to Write Stuttering

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[akatsuki-shin]

Review: 默读 Mò Dú (Silent Reading)

Notes:

(Very) long post ahead

Contains spoiler

This is my personal review and does not represent the entire audience, you are free to agree or not agree with what I’ve written here

Feel free to reply/send me a message if there are things you want to discuss

Using the Donghua poster because it fits the overall story more than the Audio Drama cover. :'))

Summary:

Yan City is a bright, bustling metropolis filled with all sorts of wonders, all sorts of people. From the richest occupying the city's most prestigious residential areas to the poorest huddling together in rundown slums, from the most fortunate blessed with a life of comfort to the wretched deemed to struggle until their last breath, from the virtuous walking in the path of light to the wicked lurking under the cover of darkness.

There is as much good as there is evil, and days gone by, people coming and going along with the passage of time.

Since their first meeting during a certain case seven years ago, Captain of the City Bureau's Crime Investigation Unit Luo Wenzhou thought he would never see eye to eye with Fei Du, son of a well-known conglomerate who inherited his father's position and wealth after the latter fell into comatose due to a near-fatal accident three years ago.

Words as sharp as knives dyed their bitter exchanges, even their personality was like the heaven and earth; the bold, blunt, and straightforward Luo Wenzhou - and the astute, secretive Fei Du, with his beautiful peach blossom eyes and a smile that is not quite a smile seducing countless people, his very presence seems as if it was covered under layers and layers of deceit.

Every single time they meet, they would always part on bad terms. Yet Luo Wenzhou would never have thought that a seemingly ordinary murder case of an ordinary deliveryman would lead him into the mystery of multiple long forgotten unsolved cases, turning over the Yan City and the City Bureau itself upside down, making him question his faith to those he respected and trust - and along with it, opening a door to the truth of Fei Du's past never once known to others.

STORY: 9/10

At first glance, the overall plot of Silent Reading seems neither extravagant nor exceptional. It's just one of those police drama where the main leads had to wrestle in a battle of wits with the villains looming around them, struggling to outsmart each other and eventually, bringing justice to those who deserve it.

But that is exactly what is so good about it. Silent reading could take all of those cliche and packed them into one nerve-wrecking, enticing journey from start to finish, complete with both intense and amusing interactions, and just the right amount of romance that does not disturb the flow of the main story.

And it actually does have its own uniqueness.

In most police dramas I've ever seen, the enemy is usually either a corrupt high-ranking official committing some hideous criminal acts by abusing their authority, or an individual/group with some very extreme values or obsession. Silent Reading, however, have both of those two most general types of villains in the story and what's more? It pits them against each other, pulling around and forcing the main leads to wreck their brains, slowly unravel the tangled mess until the truth finally comes to light.

The action and suspense, the atmosphere, the analysis, everything was almost impeccable to the point of perfection.

I have to especially give my kudos to how the author (Priest) structured the mystery in such a way, connecting one dots to the other from beginning to end. During the first few cases, I thought the resolution of the case didn't feel very solid, as if there are still some details that have yet to be properly elaborated. Yet halfway through, I realize that there is actually a bigger plot that encompass everything, tying all loose ends together.

And here, I would also like to highlight my two most favorite scene.

The first one is in Chapter 114-115 when Luo Wenzhou finally peeled of Fei Du's defense and for the first time exposed his true feelings, making Fei Du faced and spoke what he truly felt for Luo Wenzhou - that he really, actually did care for him. Their entire interactions and development up to this scene fits so well with these two main characters. There was no nonsense, no sappy crying and needless drama. Luo Wenzhou was as blunt as he was desperate and Fei Du, for once, admitted to the truth straight out with his own mouth.

The second one is in Chapter 157. In this case, one of Fei Du's most trusted men and an extremely important witness (that would later become their ally) were being chased and surrounded by thugs hired by their enemy. At this point of the story, the City Bureau was already in turmoil. Luo Wenzhou was suspended, nobody knows who they could or could not trust. Yet still, his subordinates all set out swiftly under his command and followed him to save the two witnesses, appearing at the most critical time.

It was actually a typical scene that exist in many police action drama, but given the development of the story, the well-built character relationship and interactions, I think it is Luo Wenzhou's coolest scene in the entire story and it makes me admire him a lot as the main lead and a leader figure.

One thing that does not quite sit well with me is Fan Siyuan's obsessiveness towards the late Gu Zhao. His motive for the crime was clear and I understand that he was using Gu Zhao's case as an example of injustice. But his extreme emotions whenever Gu Zhao was mentioned seems strange, even baseless. It makes me think whether he considers Gu Zhao as his own family or he was maybe madly in love with Gu Zhao, whereas in the entire story, unless I'm missing something, I have only ever known that Gu Zhao was Fan Siyuan's student - nothing more, nothing less.

CHARACTERS: 9/10

Silent Reading has a balanced, yet still very much appealing casts, from the major characters to the minor ones. Even the suspects and witnesses each had their own distinguishing features that didn't make them look like they were just there as canon fodders.

The composition of Luo Wenzhou's team itself is ideal; they've got the dependable leader, the smart advisor, the best friend and trustworthy right-hand man, the genius nerd, and the dependable aide.

I especially like Tao Ran (and I think most readers would agree with me). While he looks like the typical good guy type, he really, truly is a very good person. It's hard not to find him lovable. His relationship with Chang Ning was as cliche as it could get, but hey, as long as he's happy. Dude deserve it after everything he's done.

As for the two main leads, they are probably one of the most interesting couple I've found in the past few years.

Individually, Luo Wenzhou is the type of character I always like. He is confident to the point of having a narcissistic streak, but all of those are based on real talents and experiences. He speaks bluntly, but he cares for others through his action. He does not sugarcoat things and speaks the truth for what it is. Everything about him simply screams "reliable" as a leader (and a significant other to a certain someone). He deserves all of the respect and loyalty his subordinates gave to him.

Fei Du at first looks like a complex character whose real self is hidden beneath countless coats of pretense, but at the core, he is just a pitiful young man who does not know how to value himself, does not know how to love and be loved due to the abuse he suffered during childhood in the hands of his sadistic father. Despite his composure, his intelligence, his capability, he is almost like a lost little child, wandering in the darkness, going wherever the flow would take him until Luo Wenzhou pulled him out of that abyss. It is nothing less than commendable that he could restrain himself from succumbing into his father's manipulation, even if he has to correct himself through such extreme means for a long time.

And I'm glad that now he has someone who gives him the love he has long since been bereft of.

With Luo Wenzhou, Fei Du finally has a color in his life, someone to make happy memories with, and someone who genuinely love him for who he is. Likewise, with Fei Du, not only Luo Wenzhou got someone he could genuinely care for, he also finally has a place where he could relax, taking off the strong front he'd been putting before others all day long.

It was just so fulfilling to see two characters growing from "cat and dog" into inseparable lovers. They weren't sickeningly sweet, but just two people who are content with each other and would be each other's strength. I was especially happy when I saw how Fei Du changed his phone's ring tone into the one Luo Wenzhou in the extra chapter.

Now that I've finished reading this story, these two straight up went to the top of my all-time most favorite pairing list. But of course, this is just a personal opinion. Luo Wenzhou and Fei Du simply hits all of my favorite tropes, that's why. 😂

If I really have to point out one mini flaw, I suppose it's that the main villains aren't as appealing as the rest of the casts. They were practically overshadowed, even by some minor characters that only appeared for a short while.

TECHNICAL ASPECTS: 9/10

Just some very minor complaints:

1). When the story first introduced Fei Du in the beginning, it felt kind of abrupt. The narration had only been addressing him with his physical appearance, but suddenly they changed it into "Fei Du" with barely any proper start.

2). The international conference in Yan City (Chapter 2) was supposed to be a background information of the general setting of the first case, yet it was not properly mentioned at the start - rather, one sort paragraph about said conference was simply being slipped in the middle just for the sake to be there.

3). The switching of scenes between characters in the 3rd person POV are sometimes too quick with no signs of incoming transitions beforehand like taking shortcuts.

And by that, I mean that other than those three issues above, everything else was nothing less than perfect.

OVERALL SCORE: 9/10

A realistic story with perfectly balanced action, mystery, suspense, and romance - with a dash of comedy sprinkled at the right time and place.

Reading the novel from start to finish was nothing less than enjoyable. Whenever there needed to be a flashback or explanation, it didn't feel like info dump being thrown in all of a sudden.

I would like to point out a bit about the Zhou Conglomerate Case in Book 3.

Personally speaking, I think this is the most realistic case out of the others, and by that, I don't mean the crazy rich family drama.

The other cases in the books are something that to me feels "faraway"; murders, child trafficking, psychopath, organized criminal gangs. Yet in Book 3, due to the nature of the case, it was posted publicly for all to see, and damn if it didn't bring out the most annoying thing I actually hate in real life.

Clout-chasing media, meddlesome netizens commenting without thinking on the Internet, spreading personal information of the involved individuals without consent, handing down judgment based on rumors and personal opinions even if they have nothing to do with it (and know nothing about it), crashing the website due to mere curiosity, further hindering the police working on the case from doing their job.

They weren't thinking about those actually involved in the case, especially the victim. They don't care, or maybe don't even think that their meddlesome acts could cost a human's life because they see everything as mere passing entertainment. And if something were to happen because of their meddling, the most they would say is, of course, as quoted from Chapter 72:

"I didn't do it on purpose"

"I wasn't doing it to you"

"I didn't expect this to be the outcome"

"From a certain point of view, I'm a victim, too"

Even if I was just reading a fiction, at that moment I truly wished I could shut down the Internet for a bit. 😂

Anyway, amazing story. I might re-read everything from the start again when I have some free time.

#Mo Du #Silent Reading #Luo Wenzhou #Fei Du #ZhouDu #Review #Danmei #Priest

[ignitification]

LoV Colour Analysis Part I: Shigaraki Tomura.

As this analysis would be quite too long to read in one go, I decided to split it into three parts, each covering one of the Three Main Villains of BNHA (Shigaraki Tomura, Himiko Toga and Dabi).

All three do denote a precise and powerful colour scheme, but on today’s episode I am going to focus on the Leader of the League of Villains aka Shigaraki Tomura or Shimura Tenko.

Shigaraki’s colour pattern variates from Red (shoes and eyes), Black (his usual outfits, his hair when younger) to Light Blue, Grey and White (colour of his hair, skin and hands).

The interesting fact is how Shimura’s colour evolve with his persona and Quirk. The third paragraph is dedicated to the colour Yellow, which is not part of the palette associated with Tenko, but I included it because it adds to the detailing of Shigaraki’s character.

(Spoilers ahead! & tw/: mentions of canon-compliant violence; death)

I.) From Black to Light Blue to White 

During his growth, evolution as a villain and person, not considering the one spurred from his Quirk, Tenko’s hair undergo a quite big development. While the colour of his clothes stays more or less stable (being black throughout the entire series), what differentiates his eras is the colour of his hair. In his childhood, before manifesting his Quirk, Tomura’s hair was dark (strikingly similar to the one both Touya and Izuku sported). This changed to light blue/grey in his years until last arc, where after being himself an experiment under the hands of Doctor Death (Kyudai Garaki is a very creepy man) to inherit the original AfO’s Quirk, his hair becomes snow white (as a result of the transformation, I would believe - but it might as well mean another thing which I will talk about later). 

Beginning with maybe the easiest association: the colour black. 

A little note of the fear association: in this case, I would like to interpret it as Shigaraki being aware of his decaying Quirk and freak people out because of that, and because of his external looks, which do look like the one of a decaying child.

Power refers definitely to both his position and his Quirk, in this case - which make him stand out even more. However, the strength in this case, in my opinion, is more a smoke screen: black is also worn as a protection from external damage, as in stress and emotional backlash. This creates a barrier between the subject and the world, protecting internal emotions, and hiding its vulnerabilities, insecurities and lack of self confidence. The emotional trauma, the ‘hands shield’ Shigaraki derived, in a way, from his trauma and from being confronted with something, has shaken him to the core since childhood, and in this case the clothes serve to protect him from himself and his ‘actions’. In this aspect, him wearing black as a child might also stand for him trying to shield himself away from his parent’s judgement and stare, while protecting his will to want to be a hero, despite their negative reaction to any hint of that. These meaning are, in conclusion a full circle: one calls for the other, especially in Shigaraki’s case.

Black is also associated with mystery, evil and aggression. Shigaraki is written as an enigmatic villain, cold-hearted, devoid of any humanity and the will to full front destroy everything in its path. And while the meaning perfectly fit to how Shigaraki should be, I do believe that this is a very superficial and banal description of such a complex character. 

One thing which I found particularly interesting about this colour and its relation to Shigaraki, it’s the rocky tie that appears between black and its meaning as in rebellion. This aspect might refer to two different conditions: it might suppose a certain degree of refusal and hate for authority (The society at large), and at the same time the rebellion from his own family/persona/mentor, which could entail a fundamental foreshadow for Tenko’s destiny.

The color black affects the mind and body by producing feelings of emptiness, gloom, or sadness.

 I think here again, this might just an extermination of the feeling that have been torturing Shigaraki from the inside since he was a child, and that he himself has not acknowledged, which also stands to explain how he tries to feel that void or to ‘eliminate the scratch’ that has been tormenting him, and that knows no peace.

Furthermore, In Japanese culture, the colour black mainly denotes non-being (apart from mourning) and evil-heartedness in a person. This meaning is consistent with the personality described to us by Horikoshi: Shigaraki Tomura ceases to be a person at one point, when his consciousness gets subdued by AfO for a while. It is important to note here, how White (on the other side of the spectrum) is also the colour of death and mourning.

Not entirely worth mentioning, is that black is the stereotypical colour worn by villains and bad guys in different fictional environments.

(Light) Blue/Grey.

Just a reminder: neither grey nor blue are explicit colour in Tenko’s palette as a character, but I think they are still important and since greyish blue (the precise colour oh his hair) has not its own meaning, I took the freedom to actually associate the two separate colour in association to describe this period of transition between black and white.

The phase in which Tomura has Greyish-Blue hair is the longest one (in terms of years), but also the phase of passage (which consequently is the phase he is exploring, and is in the ‘grey zone’, where things are just getting defined and there are no absolutes). Grey, in this sense, sports both characteristics from White and Black (depending on the shade used), and even if not explicitly used for Tenko, it still represents a landmine in his development.

The colour grey is an ‘unemotional’ colour. It is detached, neutral, impartial and indecisive - all traits that can be reconnected at Shigaraki. Indeed, it is after his encounter with Izuku at the mall where he recognises why exactly (or so he thinks) he rages and wants to bring destruction to the world as known. This indicates how he has been striving for a real purpose, like the one Stain has, in order to actually understand what he is doing and evolve from the child the Heroes define him as, to a Villain with the capital V. He does relate to reality in partial ways, while he tries to define his identity as something that has died inside of him, Shimura Tenko, and at the same time the part that has lived on through the memories he removed and the hands which accompany him. He does not know which part is stronger, and trying to figure it out he tries and fails, only to try again.  To confirm the shaping of Shigaraki, indeed grey is a conforming colour and most of all it struggles with identity, which is arguably the most prominent trait Shigaraki presents during the first arcs of the story.

On the other hand, Blue symbolises coolness, passivity, fidelity. Somehow it reverberates the meaning of grey, while at the same time enhancing its other effects (it being emotionless and calm, undecided but also flowing). Blue is also indicator of depth, wisdom, confidence, and intelligence (among others). This also confirms the precedent meanings (of especially white) and it adds another dimension to Tenko’s character. It is clear how he feels deeply, and is still very clever in its own way. Still, this development and phase serves for him to obtain the other characteristics proposed by blue, especially wisdom and confidence (refer to Black where I said how sometimes the clothes are a screen to hide his true feelings). 

Blue is a colour that’s constant and unchanging, which contrasts with grey and brings forwconstant struggle in Tenko. Blue is also nostalgic. Curious is how blue lives in the past, relating everything in the present and the future to experiences in the past. I think that this is what blue is about with Tenko: he struggles to look forward, to forgive and let go because he never forgot his dad, his grandma or even society for when they had brought upon him as an innocent child. His bringing up has been focused, after all, on his developing his constant feeling of sadness, rage and gloom and the necessary power to express them in confident ways, which could bring destruction forward. Tenko is a puppet in AfO’s hands since he has ‘saved’ him, so I think this is why the sentence in which Shigaraki tries to break free from AfO’s will is a break point for the story, and for Shigaraki as well. 

Blue is also known for being deceitful and spiteful, depressed and sad, passive, self-righteous, emotionally unstable, weak, unforgiving. It can also indicate manipulation, unfaithfulness and being untrustworthy.

Indeed, it is after that Izuku sees Tenko being kneeled over by AfO and his presence that he understands that Shigaraki too, is human and that maybe the reasons for his rage and absolute hate for everything he comes across have deep roots, which is why even if he cannot forgive him for all the pain he has brought, he wants to save him.  

Finally, the paler the blue the more freedom we feel - which brings me to my theory on what, throughout the years Tenko’s hair have been ‘decaying’ and bleaching out. I think that as a child, Tenko is caged and tries to break free of his cage, of his ‘itch’ but he cannot because he does not realise what it is, and there is no freedom for him to actually understand. The first time he uses his Quirk, he feels finally satisfied for the first time. He tasted freedom for the first time, and now he wants to do it again and again. Growing up, however his ideals become blurry and he does not understand what he actually wants. He does know that the hands on his body represent what he has lost and what is actually still there with him, giving him strength and will, but at the same time he does not know what is beyond there. Which is why, after he goes through the transformation by Garaki, his hair becomes white: he gets rid of the insecurities, of the shackles that have stopped him from actually achieving his goal, or rather to pursue it freely. His ultimate goal, after all, is to get rid of his ‘itch’, which, in its own way, it’s his language to say that Shimura Tenko wants freedom.

As a note, Blue is also the colour of the Throat chakra. It is located in the throat, but it is linked to the throat, neck, hands, and arms. This Chakra is linked to speech. 

Final remark on blue: this colour is one of the most important lucky colors in Japan ( together with yellow, white, purple, green and, red) - and all the colour associated with Tomura, except for black, is indeed considered lucky.

White 

White, is an inherently positive colour, is usually associated with purity, innocence, light, goodness, beginnings, possibility and perfection. However it is also described an dperceived as cold, impersonal and bland. Shigaraki after his ‘transformation’ is the perfect soldier: he is very powerful, to a fault, and represents a new chapter in not only his own life but as well in the one which has been conducted by AfO, as he sees him as his vessel. The fact is that the beginning of a new Shigaraki which is flawless, in appearance, is a very well constructed lie. While he should represent perfection, first of all his transformation has not been entirely completed and furthermore, while it does represent a clean slate in his check, is also the possibility, reality coming through for AfO to take advantage of the body new, which Tomura must preserve. As the new Shigaraki however, has his ideals very present and wants to fight for them, to protect his feelings and his ideas, it is anyway a struggle for both him and AfO to juggle through everything going on Tenko’s mind, and emerge victorious. This is also the most interesting aspect of this colour: the goodness and inherent purity which comes from this colour implies a purification process in Shigaraki’s character, who instead gets fixed even more on him not wanting to forgive society and insisting on going on his rampage, because at the same time he cannot let go of these feelings, because now they are the only thing which make him go forward.

White is usually used in contrast to black, and represents the dichotomy of good and bad.

The psychological meaning of white is wholeness and completion. This also refers to the meaning and falls into the category of ‘perfection’: it is a new beginning, but at the same time it represents the closure of a cycle and the beginning of a new one: a perfect one, which represents closure (‘The Circle’). Tomura is supposed to be the new complete weapon at AfO’s will, but as I states before this is a fought point (between the two of them).

White, in cultures that believe in reincarnation is held in high regard. Indeed, they sustain how white is a sign of rebirth. 

Technically, Shigaraki has been reborn. What I mean is that he has transformed himself into not a new person, but in a better version of himself, he upgraded - and now of course going back is not an option. He has been held in a womb, breeding his new potential and now he became an individual whose strength far surpasses normal, his quirk control is absolutely insane and as well his memories, ideas and feelings are heightened. The theme of rebirth, which I think fits both Shigaraki and Dabi, is used a few times in BNHA, but as for Shigaraki it is very literal and very clear (after all he has been asleep for a time, just to wake up and fight an entire war against the Heroes). It is clear however, how his personality has been rebirth too: while he was not insecure, but more hesitant, now he is sure of his objective and he thrives on achieving it. What distinguishes therefore the old Shigaraki from this new one is the knowledge of being powerful and therefore being able to accomplish what we wants.

Finally, white inherently denotes death and mourning too in the Japanese culture, as well as black. Here, we are mourning the old Shigaraki, and the loss of the traits that instead made him a little bit more human, and a little less like God himself.

II.) From Red Eyes to Red Shoes (in association with both Izuku and Katsuki) 

I already talked about the colour red in regard to Izuku here, but if we take the same meaning and apply it to Tomura instead, we get a different picture. It is no mystery how Izuku and Tenko are foils for each other, and that they resemble each other in different ways (starting from them sporting red shoes, to their characters, being ‘accepted’ and trained by a mentor, and so on).

Red is the colour of extremes. It appears clear how Izuku and Tenko represent the opposite extremes: where Izuku is enamoured of heroes and idolised them to an unhealthy point, even though he comes from a background where he has been discriminated by that same society because he was different, Tenko is disillusioned with the society they live in. He wants to destroy to the ground, because he cannot find it in himself to forgive anyone who could and did not extend him a hand when he needed it. At the same time, both Izuku and Tenko believe that to a certain extent what they had done has been ‘deserved’, and are not entirely focused on their own well being. 

Red is also an attention-bringer. As I already noticed for Izuku, it is very curious how both wear red shoes, as a way to try and separate themselves from the rest, trying to escape the opinions of other which have labelled them in a way, and of course at the same time trying to take control and wanting to be the best in their own ways (hero or villain, that is).  

Red is also the colour of blood, of rage, anger as well as desire, leadership and strength. I want to make a point which I do not know whether is important or not, however, a fact that struck me hard is how Shigaraki’s irises are very very small, and it somehow seems that he tries to compensate the little quantity of red of Shigaraki with wearing red shoes. This might be an indicator how Shigaraki strives to achieve these qualities, but at the same time he needs to put a lot of effort in it, and furthermore it somehow feels different from when we compare it to Izuku: even if both are charismatic leaders, Shigaraki is very dispassionate about it, while Izuku frequently denies how his influence might be fundamental when it comes to other people (Katsuki, All Might, 1A). However, Shigaraki does reflect in his personality, the venous desire to be angry, aggressive and destructive as it what his power entails, and after all what has been taught to him. I noticed as well a post (which unfortunately I cannot find) where it says that Shigaraki has a very high tolerance pain (again, the parallels with Izuku are insane), which also reconnects somehow to the colour red as we saw how Shigaraki himself even if tired (LoV vs Machia/LF) or absolutely bloody and at the brink of death is instead held up by his will to destroy (Shigaraki vs Heroes).

It relates to danger, power, determination and action. Well, Shigaraki and danger go to hand in hand as well as determination and action. After all, Shigaraki’s Modus Operandi is Trial and Error, which means he is not afraid to be wrong and to try things out, even if he is stubborn and ways things to go his way, every time (when that rarely happens in general). 

Red is indeed determined, powerful, impulsive and aggressive. It is also tied to self-preservation. Although true for the most part, the self-preservation is still a massive blank point. 

He is bloody, and even AfO is telling him to rest and preserve his energies (even if here, my counter argument would be that it would be easier for him to overtake Shigaraki’s body if he is weaker, so I do not know how reliable this is).

The color red in Japanese culture denotes strength, passion, self sacrifice and blood. It Also stands for good luck and happiness. Which is still very amusing to me, as Shigaraki feels like the farthest character away from achieving happiness, and his passions and strives are all useless unless he gets rid of his master puppeteer. However, Shigaraki embodies the self-sacrificing spirit. Even if it might sound strange, and he is not very willing to be himself in the front lines (at least not always), he does approach ReDestro himself and takes him on, while leaving the League to deal with the rest.

III.) Yellow

Surprise, surprise! Yellow, in the Japanese culture stands for Courage, while usually the Western culture associates it with Cowardice. It is a funny thing that it also stands for betrayal, sickness, egoism and madness on the negative side, however it is rather a holy colour, usually associated with deities on the other side.

Since I am not going to include yellow in the association paragraph, it is not a case that black reacts badly to yellow, and forms a very unpleasant colour, which means that the circumstances which follow either do not mix well together. However, it is also true how the most resonant contrast between yellow and another colour is given by black. 

Plus yellow is the colour of the Solar Plexus Chakra and it is the symbol of vitality and will. All these elements, however present in a very limited amount in regard to Tenko, are telling of the aspect of authority (reconfirmed and amplified by black) and somehow, the lack of bright colours of Tenko makes the little yellow details resonating of a sad picture, as it embodies more the negative sides (egoism, sickness - and in part sickness). 

Colours in Association.

Black used in contrast–particularly with white or yellow–does create energy (especially the contrast on shapes and just power that the image of waken up Shigaraki creates in the last arc is enough to send this message). It is as well true that black when used in opposition with white, symbolises the eternal struggle between day and night, good and evil, and right and wrong - a thing that for Shigaraki is somehow a metaphor and a literal representation of himself as a character. A perfect example would be the struggle he has with AfO for his body, where he struggles between his internal feelings and dreams and instead the evil will imposed by him by AfO, as well as in terms of consciousness where him being present and conscious is the day, while being subdued to AfO’s will in the Night.

Black usually represent the end, but the end always implies a new beginning. So when the light appears, and black transcends to white, it instead the colour of new beginnings. I already talked about how rebirth theme and the new beginning on new ideals and dreams is represented for Tenko by the colour white, however it is interesting also to note how his change in personality brings him from his childhood dream to being thankful to AfO who raised to him, but wanting to be even greater than AfO himself,- metaphor for Tomura’s life as being free from shackles of reality.

Bluish-Grey is also defined as ‘livid’, an adjective used to describe anger or decoloration of the skin (caused by bruising). This colour gives a sense of detachment - which also goes to review the colour grey and blue, in them being interpreted together as an entity, and how Tomura feels a detachment from his own memories, and past life, as well as his future (When Did We Ever Need A Future?) and instead seek meaning in everything that surrounds him. 

Red and white are prominent traditional colours in Japan. Both colours are used in decorations at events which represent happiness and joy.

On a non serious note, Shigaraki’s date of birth is 4th of April, and casually the colours associated with April are Burgundy (deep red) and White (according to the Japanese etiquette). 

And finally last remark for this post: it is very funny how Shigaraki’s palette is somehow almost the same as Bakugou’s (with the exception of green - which I would like to interpret as if Bakugou did not have Midoriya as his side, he could have ended in a far worse position, with no hope and no one to compare to).

Thank you for reading.

#mha #bnha #bnha meta #mha meta #mha analysis #bnha analysis #bnha color analysis #bnha theory #mha theory #mha color analysis #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my hero academy #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #lov #league of villains #bnha spoilers #bnha manga #bnha manga spoilers #mha spoilers #mha manga #mha manga spoilers #dabi #Dabi is touya #todoroki touya #izuku midoriya #deku #bakugou katsuki #kacchan

[sondepoch]

An Angel’s Sin (Simeon x Reader)

There’s more to the relationship between demons and angels than being simple opposites, but after an afternoon with Simeon, it becomes clear that their interpretation of sin is a pivotal point in their differences. Spurred on by the conversation, you teasingly encourage Simeon to sin, but you quickly find that you’ve asked for more than what you initially expected. Though, with this particular angel, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

They got it wrong.

Well, not entirely. But whoever discovered the concepts of angels and demons definitely didn't get it all right.

You shuffle in your seat, trying to keep your head out of sight so that your teacher can't see you openly ignoring his lecture as you stare out the window. Hey, it's not like you even need to pay attention. You're in Human Studies right now. Yeah. You, a human, actually have to take this class. And the teacher is currently going over what you learned in fourth grade, so you can afford to slack off.

But anyway, you think, mind drifting back to your previous train of thought. They definitely got it wrong.

You suppose you should commend your human ancestors for even figuring out that demons and angels exist in the first place. According to Solomon, it had been discovered through a trail of clues left behind from witches when they forged pacts with demons. Considering the obscure nature of casting sites, it's almost a wonder that people managed to understand anything at all.

Well, most of it was speculation. You muse, absentmindedly twisting your pen in your fingers. The same speculation that caused them to get everything so horribly incorrect.

You sigh.

For one, demons aren't evil.

You'd sensed it when you first arrived in the House of Lamentation, and the feeling persisted as you continued to bond with the various brothers, but there's no denying it now.

Demons are a lot of things: chaotic, messy, obnoxious, and rude, but they're not inherently evil as all the holy texts say.

Just last night, Satan cornered Lucifer in the dining hall with a plate of spaghetti while Belphegor threw meatballs at the firstborn, the two demons teaming up in the first demonstration of their "Lucifer Sucks" club while Beelzebub cried in the background over all the food wastage. Reckless, yes, and somewhat amusing to watch. But evil? Not even a little bit.

You smile at the memory, glancing at the clock.

There's barely a minute left in this period before you get to head to your next class: one of the only classes you have with Simeon. And while you usually look forward to Angel Studies, today you're excited for another reason. Someone like Solomon might be better for an objective analysis, but you want to hear what the angel has to say on the topic of demons and their innate nature.

The bell rings, and a smile blooms on your lips as you practically jump out of your seat.

You normally walk quicker to this class than all the rest, having developed a mild (read: intense) crush on the chocolate-haired boy, so no one bats an eyelid when you dart out of the classroom, practically skipping your way through the halls.

I wonder if he brought food today. The thought causes your stomach to grumble in anticipation. The two of you bonded long ago over your shared boredom in Angel Studies—Simeon, because he knows the subject better than the teacher, and you, because the Celestial Realm really isn't all that interesting. Conveniently seated next to each other from the very first day, you'd caught on early that Simeon was sneaking snacks into class. When he caught you staring, he'd offered you a cookie with a sheepish smile.

Everything after that point is history.

That single cookie had been the catalyst for conversation, laughter, and more food. Almost every day, Simeon now strolls into Angel Studies with half his binder stuffed with various treats prepared by Luke, ready to share them with you. What's not to love about the arrangement?

A soft smile blooms on your face as you enter the classroom, pleasantly surprised to find Simeon already seated in the back.

"Hey," You call, tossing a notebook onto the desk. Simeon turns to face you, a warm smile etched on his lips.

Typically, you two would take advantage of the beginnings of class to make plans for later in the day, like to review the material for Demon Studies (the hardest course for both of you) or to simply chill at Purgatory Hall; but today, the teacher walks in and immediately begins ranting about the lack of effort students are putting into his class and how upset it is making him.

From the corner of your eye, you glance at Simeon, who's shooting you that mischievous smirk of his, subtly sliding you a container under the table. You gasp in delight when you glance down, seeing the unmistakable outline of four delicious lemon squares through the glass covering.

You almost want to open the box and try a piece now, but your teacher's ranting has finally subsided, and it's too quiet for you to do such a thing without being noticed. You watch as the elderly demon finally sighs and crosses his arms, evidently ready to actually assign you your work for the period.

"So, to showcase your efforts, I want you to teach yourselves this next unit. You are to open your textbooks and read the passage: The Angel Trials of the Seventh Archbishop. I then want you to complete an analysis of the contrasting moral arguments that led to such controversy, and a concluding paragraph pointing out your personal beliefs on the matter. This is due next week, and this time I will not be accepting late papers."

You let out a sigh of relief when the teacher finally sits down, a silent instruction for all the students to begin their assignment. Where the other demons open their textbooks, though, you turn to Simeon. He's better than any book could hope to be. Not just in his natural gift for explaining, but with those abs? Nothing else stands a chance.

"So," You begin, voice low so that your teacher won't hear the whispering. "The trials of the seventh archbishop. Wanna summarize?" You ask with a giggle.

"Oh, please. You'd tune me out in my first sentence." Simeon chuckles. He has the truth of it. Since birth, you've been gifted with the rather unhelpful habit of zoning out whenever people begin explaining things you're not interested in, whether you want to or not. But after two study sessions with the angel, he'd quickly figured out the one way to keep you drawn in: food. Specifically, Luke's homemade chocolate chip cookies. "I'll explain it to you at Purgatory Hall this afternoon. Luke was planning on baking cookies anyway, so he won't mind."

You smile at the angel, thanking him for his offer.

You don't know what it is about having a cookie in your mouth while someone explains, but something about the deliciousness of the treat silences all the background noise in your mind, leaving you fully able to focus on Simeon while he explains whatever. In fact, Simeon is pretty much the only reason you're not failing your classes right now.

You sigh in contentment.

He truly is an angel.

A smart angel, at that.

"Hey Simeon," You say, suddenly remembering what you'd spent all of last period thinking about. "Why do humans depict demons as beings of pure evil and angels as beings of true good?"

The angel's eyes widen. He stares at you in pure surprise, lips forming a small o-shape before you awkwardly cough. "Sorry, sorry!" He apologizes, instantly snapping out of it. "It's just...I'm surprised. Solomon said it took him years before he realized the truth about the three realms... it's amazing that you're questioning it after only having been here a few months."

You shoot Simeon a questioning look. "The truth about the three realms?"

You have no clue what this boy is on about.

"Ah, sorry," He apologizes again, taking a second to gather his composure. You've learned that he can be quite a good teacher when he tries, so you know that he's about to go full explanation-mode on you. "Your question is valid, little lamb. When humans discovered the concepts of angels and demons, they didn't fully understand the meaning behind those ideas, which led them to make their own conclusions about our nature."

"And?"

"And those conclusions were wrong." Simeon chuckles, stealing the container of lemon squares off your lap to break one in half, offering you a piece while he continues. "It's something that people don't usually notice on their own. That's why I was so impressed that you'd picked up on it."

You smile at the boy, taking a bite of the treat in your hand. "Well, it's not like I noticed it very early. Up until now, I think I mostly bought into the whole idea that demons are evil."

"And now?"

"Well, I live with seven demons. How can I dislike them? They have their flaws, but I've seen more good than evil in them."

Simeon smiles at you, the same beaming grin that lets you know that he's proud of whatever deduction you've reached. "You're right. The human interpretation of angels and demons has never been very precise. We angels tend to love it, since it paints us in a good light...but a part of the reason why demons in the Devildom are so biased against humans is partially because you began it all, by depicting demons as emblems of pure evil."

"So then, what's the difference between an angel and a demon, if your supposed differences don't lie along the lines of good and evil?" There it is. The question that you've been thinking about this whole time.

Simeon smiles, taking another bite of the lemon square in his hand.

"Angels and demons...are merely two sides to the same coin. Two journeys to the same destination. Two halves to a whole that remains incomplete without both. We're nearly identical, in truth. Anatomically speaking, angel wings and demon wings are no different. And the way that demon horns materialize out of nowhere is akin to a halo's appearance. It's just that where angels believe in light, demons believe in dark."

"But isn't that it? That light is good, and dark is bad?" Simeon was making sense at first, but now you're more than a little confused.

"Not at all," Simeon says. He laughs his usual cute laugh. "Assigning moral values to natural features like light and dark has always been a human construct. A flawed construct, at that. Whether you're in the Celestial Realm or the Devildom, light and dark are two things that cannot exist without each other. They are entirely unrelated to good and evil."

"But isn't it natural that darkness is associated with fear, and things that are generally bad?" You pause for a minute, trying to find your words. "Light is comparable to sunlight, which directly supports life and growth. Whereas too much darkness will lead to deficiencies and...um...a worsened mental state?"

"I see your point, but the analogy is flawed. Just as not enough sunlight will kill a plant, too much sunlight will do the same. How can light be inherently good? Or the dark inherently bad?" Simeon pauses, letting his words sink in. "A blind man lives his entire life knowing only the darkness, but does that make his existence one shrouded in evil?"

Simeon pauses, letting his words sink in. By the time they have, you're left awestruck.

How have you never considered this before? It's always seemed so natural that halos and sunshine were equated to good, and horns and darkness were a sister to evil. But if what Simeon is saying is true...

"So there's no real difference between angels and demons, then, is there?"

"Not quite." Simeon hesitates, seemingly uncertain of how to put his thoughts into words. "I told you before that angels and demons are like two different journeys to the same destination. Our lives end with the ultimate purpose of serving the rulers of our respective realms, but the way we do it is where our differences come in."

"Elaborate?"

"Demons believe in more strongly in self servitude. They believe that by giving oneself their innate desires, that will result in a more satisfactory life and will better enable them to serve the demon lord. Angels believe in serving the realm before themselves. We devote ourselves to principles like virtue and servitude in hopes of reaching personal happiness."

"So then, if all that is true..." You hesitate, not sure if Simeon will laugh at your next words or not. "Then, does that mean that angels can sin, too?"

"Of course." A devious grin crosses Simeon's face. "The level of sin that an angel may allow themselves is different than what a demon would do, but certainly."

"I don't believe you," You say, smiling. Simeon? Sin? Yes, the angel dresses like a stripper, but the sheer notion of him doing anything bad seems so impossible. "I can't imagine you sinning."

"Well," Amusement flickers through Simeon's eyes, the teal-eyed boy, staring at you through a pause pregnant with thought. "Why don't I show you today? Let's skip Demon Studies today."

"Oh my god," You murmur, trying to choke back a laugh. "That's your big idea of sinning? Skipping class?" You flash the angel a grin as the bell rings, but honestly, you're surprised that he's even willing to go that far. You've yet to see any demons skipping class, so for an angel to play school delinquent? That's quite something.

"Oh hush," Simeon murmurs, gathering his things. He breaks off another piece of a lemon square before gathering his materials in preparation for the next class. "Just meet me in the courtyard, alright? I'll show you just how much an angel can sin."

"Alright," You agree, turning to gather your own materials.

The rest of the day passes quickly. Lunch is entertaining, but given that you sit with the demon brothers, lunch is never not entertaining. Today, Mammon managed to convince the lunch she-demon to double his meal portion. He then attempted to sell his extra foodstuffs to Beel, whereupon the secondborn was instantly shut down by Belphegor. Lucifer caught wind of the situation and threatened to string Mammon up for a hundred years, only calming down when you stepped in to deescalate the situation.

You couldn't fully focus on the demon brother's antics, though. Because across the lunchroom, at a table not too far from your own, sat Simeon, quirking his eyebrows mischievously as if to remind you of your plans for ditching Demon Studies.

The courtyard, he seemed to mouth out. You nodded at him, a confirmation that you'd be there. And at the time, he'd nodded back, his usual reassuring smile on his face, the entire exchange going unnoticed by any of your tablemates.

So where the heck is Simeon?

You glance at your D.D.D., checking to see how many minutes have passed since Demon Studies began. Six. Six whole minutes.

It can't take that long to get here from Simeon's previous classroom, right? What if the angel got cold feet over ditching and decided to go to class? What if he's not coming? What if Lucifer finds you skipping and strings you up for a hundred years?

"Little lamb!"

The voice unclogs a dam of relief that floods through your body. "There you are!" You exclaim, turning around to face Simeon. "I thought you'd decided not to cut class, after all."

"And leave you all alone?" Simeon asks, walking over to the bench you're on. It's comfortably under the shade of a nice, leafy tree, so the sunlight doesn't obstruct either of your eyes when you look at each other. "Why, that's a bigger sin than ditching in itself."

You smile at the angel's words, the boy never failing to bring a fresh shade of pink to your cheeks with his endless compliments. If they were to come from anyone else, you might assume them to be a form of flirting, but you doubt the angel knows the true effect of his words on you.

"Alright, so let me hear it. Tell me about all the sins you've committed!" You exclaim, clapping your hands together in excitement. You haven't forgotten the primary reason why you agreed to skip class in the first place.

"Oh, little lamb." Simeon pats your head. "Have you ever written down every single thing you've done that could be considered celestially questionable?"

Your silence says more than words can.

"I thought so." Simeon smiles. "It would be impossible for me to tell you of my every wrongdoing, or all my sins. But if you want to know a more recent example..."

"Yes!" Your voice is eager, anticipation lifting your spirits like the cool breeze of wind that rustles Simeon's fluffy hair. What kind of sins does an angel commit? Simeon told you earlier that angels consider sin differently from what demons and humans will consider sin, so you're dying to know what this mystery is. Your voice rings out clear in the courtyard: "Tell me!'

"Well," Simeon begins, angling his body toward you so that he can look at you as he tells his tale. "I'm sure you know that the Archangel Michael was the one who decided upon sending Luke and me down here as envoys of the Celestial Realm for Diavolo's program."

You nod.

"What you may not have realized is that my purpose here lies exclusively in guiding Luke, and ensuring that his exposure to demons at such a young age is not corrupting his angelic beliefs. I'm sure you can tell that we don't need to worry about that, but Michael made it clear that those were my only duties." Simeon frowns lightly, casually lifting a lock of your loose hair with his fingers and examining it as he speaks. It's a gesture he's always done, but it's never felt as intimate as now. "Michael made it especially clear that he did not wish for me to allow myself to be involved with anyone."

"Involved?" You ask, wondering if the word carries the same connotation in the Celestial Realm as it does in the human world.

"Involved," Simeon responds, and the way he says the word is enough for you to know that yes: it very much does mean the same thing.

"And...did you?" You ask. You try not to let it show, but inwardly, your brain is going wild. If Simeon is already with someone, you may as well just give up on your feelings now. No one would give up a man as perfect as him—with those godlike abs and naturally charismatic personality, and he's too good to break anyone's heart.

"Not yet," Simeon says. "My orders were clear. Though, as of recent, someone has been encouraging me to sin." His eyes are twinkling.

You feel your ears grow warm at that. "Hey!"

"So I think I might just disobey that order. What do you think, hm?" Simeon asks. He turns his gaze away from the lock of hair between your fingers, looking you straight in the eyes. Hair dropped, he uses his index finger to tilt your face towards his when you try to look away. As you stare into his eyes, you notice that the rich sapphires seem to be hiding a darker blue. But...the darkness isn't akin to evil. If there's one thing you've learned, it's that.

No, the deep blue of Simeon's eyes is speaking a different message entirely: desire.

"Should I 'involve' myself with the person I so want? Should I..." Simeon leans forward, letting his next words out softly into your ear so that you alone can hear this angel say these words of blasphemy. "Should I sin?"

You're left wordless. Or is it breathless? You can't tell. Simeon's close proximity to you no longer feels innocent. The finger he had on your cheek is now under your chin, keeping your gaze locked onto him as he awaits the answer to his question.

And you know.

You know he's aware of what he's been doing to you all this time, with his little touches and lingering looks and sweet smiles. And you can't even be embarrassed that he's so openly been pulling you further into the arms of your attraction for him, because with the way he's looking into your eyes, there's no denying that he feels it, too.

"Yes," You whisper, the wind gently carrying the word to his ears. And the second he hears your response, his restraint vanishes, and his lips are on yours.

Soft. That's your first thought. Soft, and gentle. Chaste, and beautiful.

The kiss is calm, serene as the boy himself. There's no unnecessary movement, no dramatic moaning, no senseless biting. It's just his lips, on yours, letting you feel the soothing wave of emotion and affection he has for you. His lips, on yours, and the tender hand that reaches up to cup your cheek. His lips, on yours, and the quiet pull of the moment, with the tranquil breeze dancing around you two as it touches every spot in the courtyard but where you stand, leaving the two of you blissfully alone in the moment of intimacy.

And then Simeon pulls away, and you feel the wind flitting in between you two once more. A light laugh escapes the angel's lips as he smiles down at you, gently moving to rest his forehead atop yours.

"Was it worth sinning?" You ask cheekily, interlacing your fingers with Simeon's other hand, savoring the brief squeeze he gives them.

"Absolutely," He whispers, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Would you let me do it again?"

"Yes," You murmur, and then the distance between you two vanishes, the world stopped once more.

When he pulls away, all either of you can hear is his quiet whisper as he asks your permission to do it again, to steal just one more kiss from your lips, and your immediate reply that grants him the sin.

Only when you finally tell him that he doesn't need to ask does he stop requesting your explicit assent, and then the moment truly never seems to end, the brief breaths of air you take between kisses forgotten and replaced by new touches, new affection, new warmth.

How much time passes by before you gain the courage to cup Simeon's cheeks, touching the smooth skin you've spent so many hours daydreaming about? How long is it before his spare arm snakes around your waist and pulls you even closer to him? You cannot keep track. Even time seems to have stopped as Simeon embraces what he's spent so long denying himself, granting himself the rare mercy of an angel's sin: the most beautiful sin of them all.

You pull him closer, lips pressing against his, a quiet message to not let this stop: not just the moment, but the act. The closeness. The intimacy.

And the way Simeon squeezes your hand, it's as if he's responding. Telling you that the kisses won't end today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon. It's a quiet promise to stay with you, to be with you, to sin, and to do it all as long as it's with you.

You smile into his lips.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 3.9k

Notes: My favorite part of this entire fic was the beginning where I described Satan cornering Lucifer with spaghetti and Belphie providing backup via meatballs - it really took all my restraint not to abandon this and write a crack fic about that 

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

#Word count: 3.9k #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall we date #obey me simeon #obey me simeon x reader #simeon x reader #fluff #cute #wholesome #kisses #simeon is precious #must protecc #reader is gender neutral #mc is gender neutral #reader is mc #happy ending :D #no spoilers #very fluff #probably the most indulgent simeon fic ill ever write #correction: reader is not mc reader is little lamb

[maldito-arbol]

CMTO chap. 4

TITLE??? SASHY?????? Fuck off Fuck off Fuck off

THATS THE FIRST LINE??? Agshdjjdhs ???? “He’s supposed to be dead why isn’t he dead”

“I trust Marcy.” “Do you now?” (OH? HELLO?? Strength?????? I mean, I guess Sashy is kinda scared or Marcy still but I think she still at least mostly trusts her, right?)

‘There’s an itch in her scalp again,’ (mmmmmmm goop?)

“I’ll do a fine job of keeping a close eye on my Keeper myself.” “Oh yes, we will.” (Strength what are you ON about WHAT)

Her head itches and itches, but she can’t touch it in the presence of the Toad Lords, can’t satisfy that insatiable urge to claw at her head, to scratch and scratch until her skin breaks. She so nearly loses herself entirely before she’s given her break at last,(HMMMMMM GOOP?)

ANDY. IT CALLS HIM ANDY??? WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK ANDY(IT WASNT STRENGTY WAS IT FUCK)

In one fell swoop, Marcy axes a whole nickname from the list of endearments her girlfriends can call her by. The only nickname, in fact, that Sasha herself had come up with before they landed in Amphibia.(o-oh. Hhhhhhhh nooooooooooo mmmmmmmmmmmm. No what why Mal. Why)

“There’s so much to do, so much to do…never enough time to get it done…I’m running late….need more time…..”

“Oh, I’ve missed a detail. Where are my notes?”

“…that’s not right either. You freakin’ moron.”

“Help me.”

“I still haven’t found it. Where is it? Need it. Give it to me.”

(Hmmmmm. Very, inch resting. Strength had notes? It needs more time? It’s looking for something? And it needs it? Is it calling itself a moron?hmmmmmm)(oh. Sashy doesn’t have the crown on here I don’t think)

I WAS LIKE ‘what if it’s Froog’ AS A JOKE YO FUCK WHAT DAMN NOT SPRIGGY BOY ASS BITCH HUH

Hhhhhhhh DO NOT like that comparison to a cats collar nope nuh uh Andrias already has a TERRIBLE history with collars leave right now

HOLY SHIT SECRET FIGE PASSAGE WAY NO WAY HOLY SHIT FUCK YEAH HOLY SHIT FUCK. I feel like some of these reactions are so much funnier when you see how little of the context I actually read before coming to say them

‘A doorway to hell’ (yeah okay sure whatever fuck)

Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh nope nope nope that’s hhhhhhhhhhhhhhnope

Was it a dream?

Strength shut the fuck up about the crown Marcy’s right shut up

NOT A DREAM NOT A DREAM SASHY CAN JUST TELEPORT APPARENTLY

PERCY AND BRADDOCK <3

Mmmm smells like favouritism

Strength shut UP about the eyes PLEASE

It’s because Anne is down, she thinks. And they can’t lose another. (Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

Bro-bro agshdjfjjgjshahdh

she can’t get the image of Yunan chained to the wall and Olivia crying at her feet out of her head. 

 Can I really rely on them to make certain nothing happens to her? (OKAY YEAH SURE HOLD THAT AGAINST THEM. WHATEVER)

Oh god no not the fucking outfit guy-

How come nobody told me about those dark circles? I look clinically insane. (Hhhmmm. Hm. I was gonna say something but I Forgot fuck)

the world is going fuzzy again, the edges of her vision glitching in little cubes of orange, (cubey orange mmmm. Minecraft. I don’t know why I said that. Interesting that it’s a Cube tho hm. Glitchy)

“Adoration can destroy you from the inside out.”(Strength whet the Fuck are you on about)

Anne didn’t get to see this. (Oh oh. Fuck. Okay. *sobs*)

“How remarkable it is to see a living, breathing body change. It’s something you lose when you spend a thousand years without one.”( Strengthe what the FUCK are you on about. It really just Says shit huh. What the hell)

He spits. “Maybe if you would give me my damn crown back, I’d have something to keep me company in this wretched place.” He scratches and scrapes at his own head. “Just make yourself a new one, it’s not hard! I can give you the recipe, the materials, everything, just give me mine back—” (that paragraph has like. 7 red flags. Sasha come ON)

STOP CALLING HIM ANDY HE DOESNT DESERVE A NICKNAME

Strength stop sabotaging Sasharcy relationship challenge. Just because your relationship got fucked up doesn’t mean you can fuck up theirs geez

“I haven’t been able to trust your word since you found me at the Old Mill,” (OHKAY. LOW FUCKING BLOW SASHA FUCK. FUCK LOW BLOW UR GONNA REGRET THAT. Sash GEEZ)

Wait okay wait what. Did Sashy leave some kind of trail or just. She went missing and Marcy just knew she was in the basement. At first I thought it’s as a dream but this doesn’t really feel like a dream anymore. Hm

Hhhhhh h h h h h hbhhh h h hh h h h hhhhh h h hhh h Hhhhhhhh

Strength didn’t the note say fucking. A final home for a Blue gem. Strength no stop. No what. Stop no. No no-

IT WAS STRENGTH RIGHT? The bold. The bold means it’s their gem taking but. Huh

NO! LEAVE! THE COLLAR IS NOT COMING BACK NO FUCK OFF NO NONONONONONO NO!!

“When you said you couldn’t bear to watch me die? When you made me promise to n- never let go?” It strikes Sasha like a knife to the heart. “…when did that change?” (God fuck shit fuck shit aaaaAaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

Dude that’s literally the ONE thing she asked u not to call her DUDE COME ON

HELL-FUCKING-O BARREL???????

“I can still puppeteer a corpse” (HELL FUCKING OH? BITCH SHUT THE FUCK UP FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF)

Mmmm theories are a brewing already

Mmmm new home the crown. Hmmmm those riddles hmmm…- the. The pink one was the jail wasn’t it. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Chapter 2 Mar-mar and Chapter 4 Sashy

Same energy, I did it twice and y’all fell for it BOTH TIMES dw dw I’m done with the pet name shit (or am I) I have plenty of other ways to torture you guys (chapter 6’s title may just End your life)

I feel like I intended on starting the chapter somewhere else but then when I finished and went back to edit I was like “lmao no this is funny”

Yeah Sasha trusts Marcy! The orange bitch is just gaslighting her (and it works! 🤡)

mmmmmmmmmmm kinda!

Orange asshole has its eye on Marcy hhh

MMMMMMMMMMM KINDA!!

It Does Indeed Call Him Andy :)))))) a nickname of endearment!

Idk what happened there my brain was just like “what if you tormented Sasha by giving her the rights to the Mar-mar nickname”. It’s the only one Sasha has USED canonically iirc and it was the first one she called her by when they met up at the Third Temple so ofc I gave it to her.

Sashy our beloved did Indeed have the crown on, she went to bed in it oops. Also haha let’s play a game of Can You Spot Strength in all this dialogue!

The Correct Answer is: All of Strength’s dialogue is regular bold and all of The Core’s dialogue is italicized bold ok have fun rereading chapters 1 and 4 with this info <3

ITS FROOG MY BELOVED!! I couldn’t wait till that backstory to include her, I wanted her NOW

Once again Thanking you for pointing out the cat’s collar thing.

Though there are none visible, the sound of jingling bells reaches her ears, like a kitten’s collar to alert its owner to its presence.

This line has SO many implications ;) Andrias indeed has a terrible history with collars…………

THE FRIDGE. Obsessed with the fucking Fridge for some reason (we’ll actually talk about it again in chapter 5 lmao)

Every doorway to the basement is a doorway to hell.

Hahahahahahahaha :)

WAS IT.

no no keep Speaking hehehehe

OR. have u considered:

PERCY AND BRADDOCK MY BELOVEDS,,,,,

Mmmmmm stinky

Eyeball Jokes we have fun here ^-^

Yeah. Have fun with that one :^)

SHE DOES CALL HIM BRO-BRO IN CANON I STG

LMAO LEAVE IT TO SASHA TO HOLD LITERALLY TRAUMA AGAINST PPL

BERNARDOOOOOOOOO

Fighting Sasha on who’s dark circles are the darkest. I am losing bc I went to sleep early last night.

MINECRAFT. no I thought the exact same thing.

OOH THAT LINE. FUCKING LOVE THAT LINE. This Orange fuck is projecting SO HARD rn.

Haha suffer :)

All this Orange bitch do is project.

So many Red Flags but when your world is Orange they hardly register :3

So sorry Bestie but the Andy nickname will NOT be going away anytime soon.

NSBDSNKSKSKSSL AS IF STRENGTH HATES TO SEE LOVING RELATIONSHIPS JUST BC ITS OWN RELATIONSHIP ENDED IN DIVORCE

Yeah. Low blow. Little bit. :’) god the PMIT references in this chap gonna ruin me.

I might Explain that later, in Marcy’s next POV chap, but we’ll see. No it is Not a dream :3

How’s ur H button doing

HAHA

R u sure about that

I TOLD YOU THE COLLAR WOULD BE BACK AND I FEEL ZERO REMORSE *gets hit by a truck*

The PMIT references to make us all cry <3

Yup. Sasha called her Mar-mar on purpose, to prove a point, and it’s SO upsetting. Sash pls—

BARREL BARREL BARREL BARREL *beats fists on table* MY BELOVED

Horrifying implications, right?

Tell Me All Your Theories I’ll Eat Them

Yep yep yep yep

#ask mal #CMTO #ok I’m gonna go take a nap and then come back lmao *dies*

[firelord-frowny]

sad blah blah

almost unanimously, people have only ever said extraordinary or at least good things about me. anyone who’s ever seen me do anything, whether it’s writing related, music related, performance related in general, or intellect, no one has ever reacted to me with “meh.” 

i went to college on a talent based scholarship that i barely even had to apply for. literally, immediately after my audition, i somehow wound up mentioning that i had missed the deadline for the scholarship application or something. the entire panel of judges FLIPPED OUT and basically demanded that i go complete the application right away because they wanted me bad. 

in my first semester, we had to work with some local ~professional artists~ in baltimore and one of our assignments was to complete some sort of art project that explored the concept of ~refuse versus environment~ or something like that. We were supposed to complete it over the course of a week and then bring it to our next meeting with the artist. i did my project ON THE BUS while we were on our way to that meeting. I scribbled a few stream-of-consciousy paragraphs about... something lmao i don’t remember. but i read it out loud to my group and then the artist spent like a solid 15 minutes gushing about how ~in all his years of being an art professor at some of the most distinguished programs in the world, he’s never heard such an elegant and artful take on blah blah blah~. 

the president of my university???? asked me personally to come and perform at his home for fancy events with other Important People like donors and politicians and researchers??? and like. this man had a whole “60 Minutes” special about what a critical role he’s had in using education to strengthen communities. this man sat at tables with obama while he was in office. he paraded me around to other Important People and talked about what an outstanding artist i was, my sparkly personality, my ~delightful wackiness~, blah blah. 

Not one, not two, not three, but FOUR professors who were all world-class musicians at a festival i attended, singled me out as particularly gifted. the kinds of shit they were saying to me in front of everyone did not get said to anyone else. 

when i was at Tanglewood, even though i fucking sucked because i clearly hadn’t practiced all the music, all my chamber coaches STILL made sure to let me (and the other people in my groups???) know that i was the more skilled player in the ensembles. I wound up having to sit last chair at one of the concerts because there had been some miscommunication that led to the directors thinking i was leaving the program (i was super homesick and had been asking my parents to come get me), and despite that fact, after the concert, the conductor - who had never even spoken a word to me personally - made sure to hunt me down in the crowd as everyone was leaving, and tell me what an outstanding player he thought i was, and that he felt lucky to have had me in his orchestra. 

i spent a summer at Summit Chamber Music Festival in upstate new york. the skill level among the students ranged from Laughably Inept to Why Aren’t You At The Curtis Institute. I was by FAR not the worst player there, but I also definitely felt like I was nowhere near the best. But the program director specifically, deliberately placed me in the highest level orchestra, surrounded by players who were fully capable of playing shit like paganini and weiniawski and whatnot. When he wanted to put together a small chamber group, he pointedly selected me to play 1st chair. My string quintet included 3 other string players who were lightyears better than me. Yet our coach frequently turned to me to demonstrate the ~right way~ to play a lot of the more difficult passages. And like... I was the 2nd violinist lmao. It’s almost aallllways the 1st violinist that coaches will ask to demonstrate stuff for the rest of the group. but he asked me. every time. our quintet was ultimately selected to close out the entire festival, a la Saving The Best For Last. The pianist in my quintet, according to his mom, thought i was incredible. this pianist was a bona fide prodigy and he thought i was incredible.

LITERALLYYYYYY everywhere I’ve ever performed, everyone has been so impressed with me. directors of major musical organizations have always made a point to get my name and contact info because “we’ll definitely be contacting you for more work.”  

Everyone who’s ever seen me teach violin thinks I’m uncommonly good at it. i mean, i’m no galamian, duh, but apparently i’m able to get students to sound better than the average teacher can.  

everyone who read my first screenplay claimed to be floored by it. i spontaneously read some of my prose at an open mic night and uh, accidentally snatched the show right out from under the featured artists' feet. 

I used to act???? and was pretty fucking good at it?? I starred in a small handful of local plays? i was cast in ~large roles~ in everything i ever auditioned for. 

my talents in visual art are decidedly Well Above Average. 

i have such a fucking long list of things people think are outstanding about me, and an incredibly long list of people who have bothered to tell me that i’m outstanding, and it makes me feel so fucking sad and frustrated bc like....

lmao why the fuuuUUUUCCCKKKKK does it continue to be so difficult to find anyone who feels like giving me any legit career opportunities?? Even when they’re aware that i’m available?? and willing?? 

i’ll have a 10 minute conversation in which a professor or a director or a coordinator is telling me all about how impressed they are by my skills at Whatever, and how i should do This and i should do That and i should go Here and i should go There and then they ask me where i’m currently working/what i’m currently doing, and i say, “oh, you know, mostly freelance gigs and lessons as i’m looking for full time opportunities,” and then they say “cool! good luck!” and leave. 

i feel sad and confused and delusional. if im so fucking great, why aren’t people reaching back when i reach out in search of a means to earn a fucking living?? 

i know the short answer is that i still don’t ~put myself out there~ and i give up too easily. but also like... i have BEEN out there. the total positive experiences i’ve had with influential superiors over the years have been plentiful and frequent enough that SOMEBODY should have wanted me to contribute something substantial to whatever programs they represent.

and since i feel like i must be delusional and that i must not actually be such hot shit and that everyone is lying to me to spare my feelings, it makes me not even want to try harder bc i’ll wind up discovering for certain that everyone thinks i’m trash. 

what do i have to doooooooo to find The Right Opportunity other than reach out to the same people who told me how phenomenal i am? i make sure Potential Employers see/hear me being fantastic. i apply for jobs in their organization if i know they’re hiring. if i know they’re not hiring, i at least convey that i’d be interested in possibly working with them. but nobody reaches back.

i’m so good at things and i feel like a fucking deadbeat loser lmaoooooo

maybe they don’t actually know that i’m fucking jobless??? lmao maybe they’re assuming that i must already be active in a real career? maybe i need to literally TELL them as they’re praising me, “i’m unemployed and i need a job, do you know of any full time opportunities you could point me to?” but i feel like people think it’s a ~red flag~ when a potential employee doesn’t already have a steady job??? but also... how the fuck is anyone ever supposed to get a steady job if nobody’s willing to hire them because they don’t have a steady job???

i feel Stupid and i think that whenever i finally get the fucking resolve to start therapy again, i’m gonna just show this whole ass rant to my therapist. 

[faintingheroine]

Wuthering Heights Reread - Chapter 2

And here is Chapter 2, the funniest chapter of Wuthering Heights. I really chuckled a couple of times in this reread.

“Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights.”

Good idea Lockwood. I wish that you had stuck with this decision.

In these first lines of the chapter the conflict of the chapter is pretty much laid out, Lockwood unwisely going to Wuthering Heights and being trapped there because of the snowstorm.

“On coming up from dinner, however, (N.B.—I dine between twelve and one o’clock; the housekeeper, a matronly lady, taken as a fixture along with the house, could not, or would not, comprehend my request that I might be served at five)—“

Here is our first introduction to Nelly’s character. The critic James Hafley who came up with the villainous Nelly theory pointed to this first introduction as an evidence that Nelly is supposed to be a negatively portrayed character. Personally I think that it is instead revealing of how Lockwood views Nelly and the culture clash between them. Lockwood views Nelly as “a fixture”, almost as an item in the house. Lockwood’s patronizing and classist perception of Nelly will be present throughout their interactions.

The culture clash is also interesting. Nelly is someone who believes that you must have done half of your day’s work before ten in the morning and therefore she believes that lunch should be eaten in the afternoon, whereas Lockwood is a young urbanite who lives a life of idleness and wakes up late. It is fitting that this is our first introduction to their relationship since this discussion about when to go to bed will be featured later in the novel. This difference between their attitudes is not just about class but also about the general culture of the place. The inhabitants of the Heights go to bed at nine and wake up at four in the morning according to Heathcliff. These are practical, no-nonsense people despite all their other emotional turmoil and they can’t understand Lockwood’s decision to visit the Heights during a snowstorm, this is definitely a factor in the clash between them and Lockwood throughout the chapter.

Nelly is described as a “matronly lady”; Lockwood likes categorizing people, especially women, into different archetypes as will later be shown in the chapter.

“On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb. Being unable to remove the chain, I jumped over, and, running up the flagged causeway bordered with straggling gooseberry-bushes, knocked vainly for admittance, till my knuckles tingled and the dogs howled.”

Joseph’s gooseberry bushes make their first appearance. In Lockwood’s second coming to the region in late 1802 the door of Wuthering Heights will be unbarred and Cathy and Hareton will have cleared the ground from some of the gooseberry bushes intending to replace them with plants from the Grange, indicating the difference that took place between Lockwood’s visits to the region.

“The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed, pump, and pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment where I was formerly received. It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the ‘missis’, an individual whose existence I had never previously suspected.”

Our first introduction to Hareton immediately highlights his status as a worker in the farm and his seemingly lower status. He brings Lockwood to the house through another gate that presumably farm workers were supposed to use rather than a genteel visitor like Lockwood. We also get our first introduction to Cathy in this same paragraph which is fitting.

The description of the Heights is rather cozy, this isn’t a Gothic castle but rather a comfortable domestic setting. What makes it Gothic is the people and the happenings, not so much the actual place.

“She never opened her mouth. I stared—she stared also: at any rate, she kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless manner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable.

‘Sit down,’ said the young man, gruffly. ‘He’ll be in soon.’

I obeyed; and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who deigned, at this second interview, to move the extreme tip of her tail, in token of owning my acquaintance.”

Cathy defiantly gazes back at Lockwood without a hint of feminine shyness or even any sort of friendliness. This is indicative of her defiant personality. No matter how dire her circumstances are her will to stand her ground and not obey others is strong, which, despite her rudeness and depressive spirit, is admirable.

The “ruffianly bitch” is revealed to be named Juno, which is fitting considering her swarm of squealing puppies.

“‘A beautiful animal!’ I commenced again. ‘Do you intend parting with the little ones, madam?’

‘They are not mine,’ said the amiable hostess, more repellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied.”

Here we have yet another indication of Cathy’s unhappy state and an indication that she does not exactly function as the mistress of the house, the dogs are not hers.

“‘Ah, your favourites are among these?’ I continued, turning to an obscure cushion full of something like cats.

‘A strange choice of favourites!’ she observed scornfully.

Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits.”

Needless to say, I really like this passage. It is the perfect example of the dark humor of Wuthering Heights. It is also the most concise illustration of the failure of Lockwood and by extension the reader trying to impose their preconceived notions of the world and fiction on Wuthering Heights. (People who were disappointed by the book not being a romance were probably expecting something like cats). It is also a good example of the aforementioned culture clash between Lockwood and the inhabitants of these houses, these dead rabbits are probably for farm work whereas Lockwood comes from the urban world where animals only exist to be pets or as a means of transportation. (Though admittedly Lockwood will later come to Yorkshire to “devastate the moors”, but knowing Lockwood this is also probably a passing interest and he does not know that much about hunting).

“Her position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had a distinct view of her whole figure and countenance. She was slender, and apparently scarcely past girlhood: an admirable form, and the most exquisite little face that I have ever had the pleasure of beholding; small features, very fair; flaxen ringlets, or rather golden, hanging loose on her delicate neck; and eyes, had they been agreeable in expression, that would have been irresistible: fortunately for my susceptible heart, the only sentiment they evinced hovered between scorn and a kind of desperation, singularly unnatural to be detected there. The canisters were almost out of her reach; I made a motion to aid her; she turned upon me as a miser might turn if any one attempted to assist him in counting his gold.”

Unlike her mother who is scarcely described in the text, Cathy is described in admiring detail by Lockwood. It is quite male gazey.

Cathy Linton is the character who is most frequently described as beautiful and this might be a factor in how healthy she comes off, both mentally and physically, and how positive a character she is. These things are explained in more detail here and here.

Lockwood’s description of her eyes foreshadows how important a role those eyes will play in the narrative later and brings to my mind Isabella’s comment to Heathcliff about how Hindley and Catherine have the same eyes: “Hindley has exactly her eyes, if you had not tried to gouge them out, and made them black and red; and her—”

Cathy not wanting Lockwood’s help shows how distrusting she is of everyone in this period of her life (and can we really blame her?) and how she tries to be strong on her own. This makes how she later retains her strength via her comradery with Hareton all the more moving.

“‘Were you asked to tea?’ she demanded, tying an apron over her neat black frock, and standing with a spoonful of the leaf poised over the pot.

‘I shall be glad to have a cup,’ I answered.

‘Were you asked?’ she repeated.

‘No,’ I said, half smiling. ‘You are the proper person to ask me.’

She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her chair in a pet; her forehead corrugated, and her red under-lip pushed out, like a child’s ready to cry.”

This shows how little authority Cathy has in the Heights. It also shows how unwilling she is to do anything that she doesn’t absolutely have to. “Her neat black frock” is a clue to her being recently widowed, of course Lockwood doesn’t put two and two together.

The description of her childish expression brings to mind how she is still a teenager and quite young, of course she is moody and rude after such an awful experience and under such dire circumstances.

“Meanwhile, the young man had slung on to his person a decidedly shabby upper garment, and, erecting himself before the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, for all the world as if there were some mortal feud unavenged between us.”

I think this is Hareton being jealous of another man having the attention of Cathy.

“I began to doubt whether he were a servant or not: his dress and speech were both rude, entirely devoid of the superiority observable in Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff; his thick brown curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers encroached bearishly over his cheeks, and his hands were embrowned like those of a common labourer: still his bearing was free, almost haughty, and he showed none of a domestic’s assiduity in attending on the lady of the house.”

Hareton’s ambiguous class position is another classic foreshadowing of the revenge plot to come and was probably a sign of how something went really wrong here to the book’s original Victorian readers who believed in clear-cut class binaries.

“Are you going to mak’ the tea?’ demanded he of the shabby coat, shifting his ferocious gaze from me to the young lady.

‘Is he to have any?’ she asked, appealing to Heathcliff.

‘Get it ready, will you?’ was the answer, uttered so savagely that I started. The tone in which the words were said revealed a genuine bad nature. I no longer felt inclined to call Heathcliff a capital fellow.”

Hareton seems to be angry at Cathy as well. This is the first important sign that Heathcliff might be a generally “bad” person, not just a bit misanthropic and sarcastic.

“When the preparations were finished, he invited me with ‘Now, sir, bring forward your chair.’ And we all, including the rustic youth, drew round the table: an austere silence prevailing while we discussed our meal.

I have always found it interesting how Heathcliff sat at the same table with Cathy and Hareton, as @dahlia-coccinea also pointed out in their post on Chapter 2. Cathy and Hareton are not complete Cinderellas. In some twisted way Heathcliff does see them as family. In a way his revenge is making them his family, more than making them into servants.

“‘It is strange,’ I began, in the interval of swallowing one cup of tea and receiving another ‘it is strange how custom can mould our tastes and ideas: many could not imagine the existence of happiness in a life of such complete exile from the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; yet, I’ll venture to say, that, surrounded by your family, and with your amiable lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart—’”

As several critics pointed out over the years, in this passage Lockwood is trying to fit Cathy into the archetype of the “angel in the house” (which is especially ironic after Cathy offended him with her rudeness) and is trying to make sense of this strange family circle through his own cliched ideas about domestic bliss. This rather admiring description of marriage and family also belies Lockwood’s assertion in Chapter 1 about how misanthropic he is.

‘“My amiable lady!’ he interrupted, with an almost diabolical sneer on his face. ‘Where is she—my amiable lady?’”

I love Heathcliff. This exchange is one of my favorite parts of the book.

“‘Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.’

‘Well, yes—oh, you would intimate that her spirit has taken the post of ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of Wuthering Heights, even when her body is gone. Is that it?’

This is ironic since Mrs. Heathcliff that is referred to here was Isabella but Heathcliff does indeed desire to be haunted by the spirit of another woman.

Notice how Heathcliff parodies Lockwood’s sentimental language. His entire revenge is partially parodying the actions of the people who hurt him.

“Then it flashed on me— ‘The clown at my elbow, who is drinking his tea out of a basin and eating his broad with unwashed hands, may be her husband: Heathcliff junior, of course. Here is the consequence of being buried alive: she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer ignorance that better individuals existed! A sad pity—I must beware how I cause her to regret her choice.’ The last reflection may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck me as bordering on repulsive; I knew, through experience, that I was tolerably attractive.”

So, living here is being buried alive according to Lockwood. Much misanthropy.

The last sentence is just hilarious. He would sound much less conceited if he didn’t need to clarify himself. People who think that Wuthering Heights is devoid of humor or that Emily Bronte was incapable of getting the subtleties of human interactions clearly forgot about this chapter.

“‘Ah, certainly—I see now: you are the favoured possessor of the beneficent fairy,’ I remarked, turning to my neighbour.

This was worse than before: the youth grew crimson, and clenched his fist, with every appearance of a meditated assault. But he seemed to recollect himself presently, and smothered the storm in a brutal curse, muttered on my behalf: which, however, I took care not to notice.”

“Beneficent fairy” lol.

Hareton being so offended at the thought of being married to Cathy is clearly an early sign that they will end up together. He would care less if he were indifferent.

“‘Unhappy in your conjectures, sir,’ observed my host; ‘we neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy; her mate is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law: therefore, she must have married my son.’

‘And this young man is—’

‘Not my son, assuredly.’

Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest to attribute the paternity of that bear to him.”

“We neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy” I love Heathcliff.

Heathcliff doesn’t take pride in ignorance or brutishness, he sees Hareton’s ignorance and brutishness as things to be ashamed of and is proud of himself for bringing his enemy’s son so low. He does love Hareton on some level, but he wouldn’t want to be mistaken for his father. He doesn’t think that ignorance and brutishness are good traits and he doesn’t want to to be associated with these traits, contrary to popular belief.

“‘My name is Hareton Earnshaw,’ growled the other; ‘and I’d counsel you to respect it!’

‘I’ve shown no disrespect,’ was my reply, laughing internally at the dignity with which he announced himself.”

Lockwood doesn’t seem to remember having read Hareton’s name on the door, perhaps because he didn’t enter through that door this time.

“ The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time.”

Wuthering Heights has “glowing physical comforts”, it is the spiritual atmosphere that makes it a bleak place, not necessarily its physical presence.

“A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow.”

A very good and concise description of the situation. Wuthering Heights is really good at setting the atmosphere through brief natural descriptions.

“There was no reply to my question; and on looking round I saw only Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs. Heathcliff leaning over the fire, diverting herself with burning a bundle of matches which had fallen from the chimney-piece as she restored the tea-canister to its place.”

Our first porridge!

I like the little details of daily life here. Wuthering Heights is remembered for its dramatic and explosive scenes, but it is also good at conveying character through little details like these.

To my surprise I have found that I could get into these characters in this reread independently of my knowledge of the later happenings in the novel, despite me knowing the novel so well. The misanthropic grumpy landlord, moody teenage girl, the ridiculously delusional tenant, rude young man of uncertain class status, religious old servant... These characters are well-drawn and interesting independently of their backstory that we will later learn about, a novel that is more of this chapter could also be fun and interesting.

“The former, when he had deposited his burden, took a critical survey of the room, and in cracked tones grated out ‘Aw wonder how yah can faishion to stand thear i’ idleness un war, when all on ’ems goan out! Bud yah’re a nowt, and it’s no use talking—yah’ll niver mend o’yer ill ways, but goa raight to t’ divil, like yer mother afore ye!’”

The first mention of Cathy’s mother.

“‘You scandalous old hypocrite!’ she replied. ‘Are you not afraid of being carried away bodily, whenever you mention the devil’s name? I warn you to refrain from provoking me, or I’ll ask your abduction as a special favour! Stop! look here, Joseph,’ she continued, taking a long, dark book from a shelf; ‘I’ll show you how far I’ve progressed in the Black Art: I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it. The red cow didn’t die by chance; and your rheumatism can hardly be reckoned among providential visitations!’”

Cathy derives her power from her clever words and her love of books.

“Mrs. Heathcliff,’ I said earnestly, ‘you must excuse me for troubling you. I presume, because, with that face, I’m sure you cannot help being good-hearted.”

The belief that Cathy must be good because she is beautiful is related to physiognomy. It is interesting that Emily Bronte has Lockwood say this since Lockwood’s assertions about women tend to be obviously ridiculous, yet she seems to make use of physiognomy in her characterizations. She is probably making fun of physiognomy as something to believe in real life but makes use of it to characterize her characters.

“‘How so? I cannot escort you. They wouldn’t let me go to the end of the garden wall.’”

Cathy is literally trapped at the Heights.

“‘As to staying here, I don’t keep accommodations for visitors: you must share a bed with Hareton or Joseph, if you do.’

‘I can sleep on a chair in this room,’ I replied.

‘No, no! A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor: it will not suit me to permit any one the range of the place while I am off guard!’ said the unmannerly wretch.”

Heathcliff has really become a miserly and grumpy man which again runs completely counter to the popular perception of him.

His completely reasonable assertion that Lockwood can spend a night sharing a room with Joseph or Hareton is forgotten by Lockwood because of his rudeness.

“At first the young man appeared about to befriend me.

‘I’ll go with him as far as the park,’ he said.”

‘You’ll go with him to hell!’ exclaimed his master, or whatever relation he bore. ‘And who is to look after the horses, eh?’

‘A man’s life is of more consequence than one evening’s neglect of the horses: somebody must go,’ murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected.

‘Not at your command!’ retorted Hareton. ‘If you set store on him, you’d better be quiet.’

‘Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr. Heathcliff will never get another tenant till the Grange is a ruin,’ she answered, sharply.”

A sign of Hareton’s goodness and conscience and a sign of Cathy’s goodness as well.

Hareton is jealous of Cathy’s concern for another man. (@dahlia-coccinea also pointed this out in their post.)

Cathy and Hareton’s bickering is an early clue to them ending up together, which is why I am always surprised when people say that their relationship came out of nowhere. Like it or not, in fiction when a young man and a young woman share a quotidian and irrelevant enmity or a spar of words this is usually a sign that they will end up together. Yes it is not the least toxic of tropes and went out of fashion in the last few years, but this is the way it usually goes in fiction.

“He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, and, calling out that I would send it back on the morrow, rushed to the nearest postern.”

I like the little details of the farm life that are going on in the background like Joseph milking the cows. Bronte never lets us forget that this is a working farm where things are getting done and she always retains the vraisemblance of her setting.

“I ordered the miscreants to let me out—on their peril to keep me one minute longer—with several incoherent threats of retaliation that, in their indefinite depth of virulency, smacked of King Lear.”

The famous reference to King Lear. It is a rather humorous reference, referring to Lockwood’s threats being moot, which is what I have been feeling throughout the chapter whenever Lockwood mentions that he is on the verge of beating up someone.

“I don’t know what would have concluded the scene, had there not been one person at hand rather more rational than myself, and more benevolent than my entertainer. This was Zillah, the stout housewife; who at length issued forth to inquire into the nature of the uproar. She thought that some of them had been laying violent hands on me; and, not daring to attack her master, she turned her vocal artillery against the younger scoundrel.”

Zillah is positioned as Lockwood’s benevolent savior so far in the narrative, but her hesitation in going against her master is a clue to her pragmatic nature.

“‘Well, Mr. Earnshaw,’ she cried, ‘I wonder what you’ll have agait next? Are we going to murder folk on our very door-stones? I see this house will never do for me—look at t’ poor lad, he’s fair choking! Wisht, wisht; you mun’n’t go on so. Come in, and I’ll cure that: there now, hold ye still.’”

Zillah calls Lockwood “poor lad”, I think Lockwood is supposed to be young and certainly younger than Zillah. I imagine him as someone in his mid to late twenties.

“He told Zillah to give me a glass of brandy, and then passed on to the inner room; while she condoled with me on my sorry predicament, and having obeyed his orders, whereby I was somewhat revived, ushered me to bed.”

Dun dun dunn...

@dahlia-coccinea

#wuthering heights #wh reread #wh reread 2021 #chapter 2

[welllpthisishappening]

Catching the Highlights

It wasn’t like she was nervous, not really. Or jealous, even. Honestly, the entire story was more than a little hysterical and very nearly distracted Belle from the obviously frustrated way Will kept moving his hands at the end of the second period. Still, there was something about sitting in the stands that felt different and maybe hearing about how her maybe-boyfriend made out with Anna Vankald one time was just the push she needed. To make things a bit more real.

———

Word Count: Nearly 4.5K AN: This is a thing I do now, apparently. Write Blue Line! Will and Belle. And poorly photoshop eights into sixes on jerseys. Although I draw the line at making the girl that same photo wear a skirt. Anyway, this continues to be real fun, I hope the five people enjoying it continue to enjoy it and I think I’ve got at least one more idea for these dweebs. So, that’ll probably happen sooner rather than later. Possibly with more badly executed photoshops.

———

It had something to do with his eyes. 

With the way they narrowed ever so slightly, able to thin without causing any sort of furrow between his brow or lines of frustration on his forehead. They’d pinch. His eyes, that was. Make it so it was difficult for Belle to see the brown there or the bits of gold that she was at least ninety-six percent positive she wasn’t imagining and only slightly less confident had something to do with her. 

She’d never really been one for details, like that. 

Strange as it might have been. 

Details were the lifeblood of research. Tiny bits of information that could sway a doctoral defense or prove an argument, but Belle had always been far more interested in the sweeping potential of a very good story, and research had that too, she supposed. To some degree, at least. Although, that was getting existential. Her work was good. She was good. Fine, even. Definitely fine. Nothing to see here. Nothing to worry about. No reason to compare the strange and not entirely unfamiliar sensation of fluttering in the pit of her stomach whenever Will glanced her way to the decidedly still nature of all her internal organs while she spent eight to ten hours uptown five days a week. 

Sitting at her desk, she regularly tried to fit into the mold, everything everyone expected her to be with the title she had, and that required her to think less about the bigger picture. That sounded negative. It wasn’t. Probably. Hopefully. Just required further research. More details and specific examples.

All of them regarding the nature of Will’s eyes.

Even so, she—

Part of her missed it. The sweep. The really good stories. Ones that were less clinical and more fantastical. And the deep breath that always came just seconds before being overwhelmed. By the current and the wave and those were rather similar, as far as analogies went, but all the best stories always left her a little overwhelmed, and Belle’s cheeks were starting to ache as something bubbled out of her. Laughter, in its purest form. Bouncing and bounding and echoing off otherwise abandoned walls, the pair of them tucked into a corner of the Garden concourse because they hadn’t actually decided this was a secret, but Anna Vankald was apparently living her life under some sort of blood oath, all sworn secrecy, and poorly executed winks in the second period.

Like this was hidden. A tiny detail tucked away. Never debated. Never highlighted in the opening paragraphs of a twenty-six-page dissertation. With Chicago-style formatting. 

No one ever knew how to property do Chicago-style formatting. 

Belle might have hated Chicago-style formatting. 

She’d never been to Chicago.

Had never been—

Will’s eyes were barely slits on his face. 

Twisted lips loomed above her, not quite frustration, but inching closer the longer she kept laughing, and she refused to linger on what that meant. The laughing. The happiness. Joy, maybe. She looked up, instead. Let her head bump the wall her shoulders already had, appreciating the soft scrape of what might have been concrete against her hair, like that would ground her or slow her overactive imagination, and his hair was still wet. 

“She wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” Belle bit the side of her tongue. Didn’t help, really. With her laughter problem. “Keeping state secrets?” “It happened once.” “Yes, she mentioned that, too.” He might have growled. Some strange part of her wanted him to, relished whatever the technical term was for the sound that eked out between his bared teeth, rolling his whole head in the process. Their noses nearly collided. 

Belle pushed up on her toes. 

To kiss the tip of Will’s nose. 

“That’s distracting,” he grumbled, but his hand had inched under the hem of her shirt, and that meant he’d managed to get the hem of her shirt out of the skirt she was wearing. 

“Should I have worn your jersey or something?”

His eyes snapped. Open. Brown and gold, and that wasn’t a particularly swoon-like combination in any of the stories Belle had memorized while she was growing up. Heroes with royal titles and broadswords quite literally made to challenge dragons and hordes of villains always came with blonde hair and a slight curl, flashing blue eyes that twinkled in sunlight and starlight, and Belle’s hand didn’t shake. When she brushed the few drops of water clinging to Will’s temple away. 

Her calves were starting to ache, too. Made sense. She was still pushed up on her toes. 

And the Rangers had lost. Not—well, not badly. By two goals, and one of those was an empty-net goal, which was a term Belle figured out all on her own. Well before Anna mumbled explanations under her breath, glaring daggers any time the Islanders fan two rows in front of them dared to open his mouth. 

Honestly, that was part of the problem. He kept yelling, and Anna looked dangerously close to staging some sort of public execution in section 204 and Belle had asked. For details. Wanted a good story, or possibly a distraction because she’d noticed the way Will’s hands moved at the end of the second period, staging a rather enthusiastic conversation with a man she’d never met, but his jersey said LOCKSLEY, and she didn’t think the jersey would lie to her. 

She was going to blame the Islanders fan. 

“If you did that,” Will mumbled, in response to a question she’d legitimately almost forgotten about, “I’m not sure I would have been able to get out on the ice.” “Oh, compliment or—” “Definite compliment. Was that not obvious?” “Well, you’re making out with so many other girls.”

Her laugh clung to the letters, pulling her lips behind her teeth to keep from smiling like a total idiot. Something was happening. With the flutters and the overall ability of her nasal passages to get oxygen back to her lungs, and it must have been a trick of the light. The way Will’s eyes flashed, gaze flicking up beneath eyelashes and just above the half curve of his mouth, and Belle’s knees felt a little unsteady beneath her. Fighting against the force of a wholly imaginary, even more staggering wave. 

“One time,” he said, straining on every letter, “it happened one time, and—seriously, why was she talking about this with you?” “Asked for a fun and interesting story about her.” Will’s eyes bugged, another shift in his voice that was much more like a crack as he nearly shouted, “And that’s what she came up with?”

“Said anything she had to tell me about her childhood was boring. Mostly because a lot of it would focus on KJ, because—”

“That’s Cap.” Belle clicked her tongue. “Wow, thank you for that. What would I do without you?” “If you wore my jersey, I think my head would explode.” “Not the compliment you think it is, either. That’d be a lot of blood. Who would even clean that up? Couldn’t make someone here do it; that’d be mean. Cruel and unusual, probably.” “I like your skirt.” “Better,” Belle laughed, in spite of her best efforts. Which were really lackluster, quite frankly. “Anyway, the childhood was apparently super boring, and there were shenanigans of rookie season to discuss.”

“She grew up in a mansion!” “Yeah, we got to that part eventually, although technically, I think it was just a brownstone.” “Rich kid description.” “You can tell her that if you want, I’m sure,” Belle reasoned, but his lips were back to twisted, and she was already on her toes. Made sense to use that to her advantage. Pressing kisses against the edges of his mouth, alternating back and forth until it felt a little like a rhythm she could time the rest of her vaguely unsteady breathing to, and she certainly did try. Didn’t work, but something about effort and attempts and those were—

Details, really. 

“I like her,” Belle added lightly, mouth moving across a stubble-covered cheek. Part of her felt ridiculous. Always did with things like this. She wasn’t the story. Will wasn’t the hero. He and his teammate had gotten into a fight at the end of the second period, for God’s sake. And this wasn’t—well, it wasn’t a fairy tale. No matter how much sweeping there might have been. With its butterfly wings and salt-filled waves, all of which existed solely in Belle’s subconscious. 

But there was this other part. 

Part of her that didn’t always linger behind her desk. Flitted through imaginary scenarios and stories stored in the back corner of her brain, the same one that could still smell salt air with startling clarity, and remembered the precise taste of freshly-made taffy from that one restaurant on the beach. Details. She remembered those details. Held them fast, afraid they’d disappear otherwise, and made sure they played prominent roles in every daydream. 

For fear of what would happen if she didn’t. 

How they’d fade. Grow grey and thin, and it was a contradiction. Right in the middle of her. And that scared her just a little bit, because whatever was happening now, right at that moment, with a hand flat on the curve of her hip and her heart doing its abject best to beat its way out of her chest, she felt the same exact way. Sweeping and detailed and not the least bit jealous. 

There was no need to be, really. Not when she was fairly certain she could drown in the golden flecks of Will’s eyes. Constantly staring at her as they were apt to do. 

“Do you want to hear the gist of the story?”

Will’s lips pursed. Stayed that way even as Belle’s lips continued their path across his face, spending at least two seconds at the side of his left eye and the still slightly damp area surrounding his right temple. She started picking up speed. Quick kisses that she could only hope felt as strongly as the prickle of her lips suggested. But then Will’s fingers tightened. Not much. Just enough to be obvious, and Belle grinned against his cheek. 

“I lived it,” Will argued, but there wasn’t much fight in it. He’d done that already, anyway. They’d get to that part, eventually. 

“As the story goes, though, there was some less than savory libations involved, and—” “I’m still not convinced that vodka was legal in the continental United States.” “Suggests it’d be fair game in Hawaii and Alaska, though. Possibly Puerto Rico. I’m not sure what the rules on that are. Maybe the US Virgin Islands. What about Guam? You think your alcohol would be fair game in Guam?” “I’d have to check the label.” “You still have it?” Belle balked, almost fully and entirely prepared for the flash of amusement and the precise angle of eyebrow jump. Almost being the key word, there. Another burst of laughter tumbled out of her, lips on her cheeks that time, all blazing and prickling, and that one wasn’t inherently positive, but she was slightly worried her hair was going to get caught in the concrete of the wall and she could not possibly be expected to think when Will’s hand kept doing whatever it was it was doing. 

“No, no, we did a very good job of drinking that entire thing, but I’d know that bottle anywhere.” “Where were you buying illegal alcohol? Also, how did you not die drinking hundred-proof vodka?” “Pure force of will.”

“And bad hockey games.” “Those too,” Will admitted grudgingly. An edge crept into his voice. Likely born in the second period of this game. She kissed the bridge of his nose. The tip. Between his eyebrows. Waiting for some of the tension to leave his shoulder blades, and that was all she got. Some. It was enough, for now. 

“You want to talk about that?” “Losing a playoff game my rookie season? That happened a bunch of times, babe, this was just—” “Don’t be an idiot,” Belle interrupted. 

He grinned. Tension kept pulling taut between his shoulders and the slope of his cheekbones, the second of which was really starting to offend Belle on an almost fundamental level, but his smile looked legitimate, and that was enough. 

“Should I go defend your honor in the locker room, darling?” The grin widened. “Trying to get a rise out of me, but gender is a social construct, so I don’t think it affects nicknames, and I’m a real big fan of that one, actually.” “No rise,” Belle promised, fingers hovering above his shoulders, and they both flinched when he winced. “Going to be honest, the hitting sort of freaked me out.” “Locksley wasn’t going to hit me.” “Well, yeah, then I’d have to punch him in the locker room.” “Keep your thumb inside your fist,” Will suggested, “that way you won’t break it.” “Right, right, naturally,” Belle mumbled, and she didn’t know how they managed it. Stayed upright while his hand shifted further up the back of her shirt and her teeth grazed the curve of his jaw. She was on something of a mission, now. To cover every inch of his face. With her lips. “Anyway, as Anna told this wholly fascinating story, there was a lot of vodka involved, a very bad loss, some card game—” “—Kings.” “That’s a drinking game.” “Well, now you’re getting into unnecessary specifics.” Her body shook. Against Will’s. Who almost immediately groaned. Presumably at the location and exact angle of her hips. “Ok, so there were cards involved in your drinking game. Pizza was eaten, alcohol was downed in alarmingly large gulps.” “Editorializing a bit, mon bonheur.”

“What’s that one?” “Happiness.” “Oh, that one’s nice.” Will huffed. “They’re all super nice; I have a very large crush on you; I don’t want to talk about making out with Anna Vanklad anymore.”

He said it quickly, rushing over the words. Some might even say sweepingly. Where Belle was the some. In that instance, specifically. Someone, more like. She didn’t care. Was not spending even a second on proper sentence structure or appropriate internal grammar, was far too preoccupied with the circumference of Will’s eyes. And that one muscle in his jaw. Jumping with startling regularity, really. Totally different from her heart and her pulse and it was difficult to catch her breath. 

Felt a bit like she’d played a hockey game. 

A walking contradiction. 

Where she also wasn’t walking anywhere. At all. Had absolutely no intention of walking away. From this.

“Was it not a good make-out?” “I honestly don’t remember a lot of it,” Will sighed, another roll of his neck. Something cracked. “That’s not game-related,” he added, and she could only imagine it had to do with the look on her face, “anyway, it was just...there was that vodka involved, and Vankald spent a ton of time at our apartment. She wasn’t Cap’s sister-in-law yet, but they’d grown up together, was my friend, and he’d fallen asleep, so…” “Figured you just make out?” “Not a lot of thought involved in it. She was a fixture, y’know? Shit, that sounds shitty. Does that sound super shitty?

“Drifting toward shitty, yeah.”

“Anna came to visit a lot because no matter what she may claim, she worries about Cap as much as anyone. Even El and Leader, and that’s—” “Wait, you have an Alien Leader you all report to?” “You’re ruining this story.” Her laugh got caught. Directly between them, all mouths and that goddamn hand, Belle’s neck tilting back on what might have been instinct and need, and she’d gasped more in the last four hours than she had in her entire life. “Tell me more about your Alien Leader, please.” “He only acts like an alien.” “Huh, that cleared up absolutely nothing.” “You should keep kissing me.” “Compare and contrast, huh?” Will groaned. Again. Part two. Let his mouth drag down the side of her throat, and Belle couldn’t stop laughing. Happiness poured out of her, new and a little strange in its quantity. As if she was made of the stuff, even worried as she was through all three periods. She’d kept wringing her fingers together. At one point, Anna had to hold her hand. 

“Ruining,” another kiss, “this,” teeth on her collar bone, “baby girl.”

Suggesting that she lit up in a way that reminded her of a Christmas tree was—

Farcical, maybe. 

Nothing inhuman happened. There were no bells. No whistles. No flashing neon lights suggesting this was the moment and a conversation regarding the man with his hand currently inching towards her right boob drunkenly making out with someone who wasn’t Belle should not have been so—

Fun. 

God, it was fun. She was having fun. With him and because of him. Hockey nonsense aside. 

Because, since coming to New York with her invisible tail tucked between her legs and the near-desperate desire to get away from that seaside town with its ghosts and its demands and its plan for a future that simply did not fit her anymore, Belle had tried. Really. To shed that persona. To be someone new. Hard as she tried, though, there were ties. Those lingering memories. Ones that dug in their heels, while she gripped others with both hands. She was, and she wasn’t. Small town and big town, a librarian who couldn’t care less about details while focusing on  specifics with everything in her. 

And none of it ever really made much sense. 

Hurt her head to think about, everything she tried to contain and the worry that ate away at her sometimes. That she’d messed up, ruined all of it and—

She didn’t kiss Will’s mouth. 

Peppered his face, instead. With her lips and the feelings behind them, mapping the space until she was certain she knew it as well as her own, and she wanted to. Wanted to learn everything about this guy who felt as jagged as she did, made up of right and wrong and mistakes and possibility and she knew it was only a matter of time before he got impatient. 

She liked that about him. 

That he didn’t always wait for her to catch up. Just knew that she would. 

Plus, his tongue in her mouth was really something Belle was starting to appreciate. In an obsessive sort of way. 

She might have groaned that time. 

Fingers scrambled against the front of his shirt — team-branded, again, and that shouldn’t have been charming, but it was and likely would continue to be, and there were goosebumps on her skin. They were really very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. 

“I like you, too,” Belle said, and it was a strange thing not to be embarrassed by the breathless nature of her voice. 

Will’s chest was practically heaving, though. So that put them on even ground. Common ground, at least. 

“You’re not mad?” “Give me some credit, sweetheart.” He chuckled, warm air against the top of her shoulder. “Was a very long time ago, for whatever that might be worth.” “Twelve galleons.” “I don’t know the conversion rate of that.” “No one does, so I think we’re all in the same boat.” “You don’t think Jo knows the conversion rate of her own fictional monetary system?” Belle shook her head. “I absolutely do not, because she was a shit world-builder and also a fairly terrible person now, so—” She shrugged. Will beamed. Some joke about a Christmas tree.

“So,” he echoed, “the thought of making out with Little Vankald has never once again crossed my mind.”

Someone scoffed. With entirely false indignation.

Using Will’s shoulder as leverage — the non-bruised one, naturally — Belle got enough height beneath her toes to see Anna cross her arms. And scowl at the pair of them. Badly. The scowl lasted all of five seconds before it evolved into its own rather uproarious laughter, another echo that filled the empty space of a concourse Belle could not imagine they were supposed to be standing on. Only a matter of time until someone else found them. 

She wasn’t sure that was a bad thing, actually. 

“That’s super rude, Scarlet,” Anna hissed, muffled footsteps that only lost their volume because of the overall status of Belle’s heart. Still trying to fly out of her. “But I want it noted, for the record and all that, that I don’t want to make out with you ever again, either.”

“Do you remember it being way wetter than it should have been?” “You problem, absolutely.” “I haven’t had that issue,” Belle argued, mostly to guarantee the quirk of Will’s lips. Worked like a charm. Or something less lame sounding. In her head. Most of this commentary was in her head. 

“Lucky you,” Anna drawled. 

“C’mon,” Will whined, “no one told you to start with this story.” “Start with, huh?” His eyes. Were becoming a serious problem and a growing majority in the basis for most of Belle’s heart-related issues, but she forced herself to meet his gaze and tilt her chin up and she didn’t think she imagined the way his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek. In an appraising sort of way. 

“I really would have told you. Eventually” “I know.” “I’m serious.” “I know,” Belle repeated, “and I’m really not threatened by someone who you still regularly refer to as Little Vankald.” Anna flipped him off. Or them, maybe. As a collective unit. Belle wanted them to be a collective unit. “I could order a jersey online, right?” “Nah, I know people, don’t waste your money.” “Could probably get Kris to help,” Anna added, “as the physical form of my apology.” Belle waved her off. “It was a good story. Highs, lows, drama, does your—do we call him your brother-in-law? He’s not the Alien Leader, right?” “You mean Liam?” Will’s laugh was more like a barely-contained snort of humor and shoulders that were tight for a reason that did not involve pessimistic emotions. Belle’s lips twitched. “Just knew that off the top of your head, did you?” she asked. 

“If you knew Liam, you’d understand. Was Scarlet suggesting we’re all aliens?” “Nah, just him.” “I did no such thing,” Will objected, another glance in Anna’s direction, “Cap looking for us?” She nodded. “Locksley too. Should I be worried Mom and Dad are getting a divorce?” “You’re the most dramatic person alive.” “Lots of hand moving between the two of you, your girlfriend was worried.”

It was Belle’s turn to tense. With what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Some sort of emotion, she assumed. Adrenaline, maybe. Hope, possibly. And it wasn’t like she was waiting for labels, but she’d come to pretty good terms with her ability to counter herself in the midst of her own silent monologue, and Will was staring again. Straight through her, it seemed. 

Or maybe directly into her. 

That was sentimental, though. 

“Does Killian know that you two made out once?” Anna hissed. “If you tell KJ about this, I will actually have to strangle you, no matter how much I like you and how much Scarlet wants to date you.” “Aren’t we dating already?” Anna opened her mouth, what Belle knew would be more sarcasm and the teasing nature of her and Will’s relationship, but she had more pressing issues, and he answered, anyway. “Yeah, we totally are, plus I like you way more than I hate Ariel’s inevitable victory lap, so I mean, that’s—” Cutting him off was rude. Not nice. Inevitable. 

Based solely on the size of his eyes and their gold-like nature. 

“I, uh—” Belle started, “I know we’re not supposed to accept the set-up, and Ariel’s going to be so annoying, but maybe we could…” She shrugged. Tried to stay focused. And upright. Continued standing seemed important in a moment like this. “We’re both kinda messed up, don’t you think?” “Little,” Will murmured. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and I know that we’re...I mean, this is good, and I’m mostly good with it, but also, I was super nervous during the game, and what were you guys fighting about?” “Fighting is a strong word. More like discussing how Locksley should learn to keep his stick on the ice so he can get that tip from my slap.” “Weird turn of phrase.” “Slap shot.” “No time for full terminology, huh?” “How goes the understanding icing battle?” She was going to sprain her cheeks. Maybe Ariel could help with that. After gloating. Ariel was absolutely going to gloat. “Getting there,” Belle promised, and it was not about hockey, “don’t you think?” “Mmhm.” “So, uh—I don’t know what you do after games, but…” “Little Vankald is totally here to drag us uptown because Cap regularly challenges her in the dramatics, and I bet he’s hungry.” “You eat after games?” “Ariel’s husband owns that restaurant.” “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s how I met her actually. Good onion rings. Weird we didn’t ever see each other there at the same time, though.” Will hummed. Stuck out his lower lip. Challenged her without saying anything, and Anna was still standing there, and security had to be aware of them, but Belle was in the middle of something, and it was good and great and made absolutely no sense because she was not a pro sports girlfriend, but the labels really weren’t important, and it was all—

She gasped. For, like, the four-thousandth time that night. 

Saved the best for last, though. 

Will’s mouth found hers in a crashing sort of way that altered the cosmos, or at least Belle’s perception of the world around her. Particularly when her hands were suddenly more like barnacles, gripping his shirt as if she was afraid he’d disappear otherwise. Knuckles cracked and breath caught, everything spinning and staying frustratingly still, and one of her heels popped out of her shoe. Pressing back up on her toes didn’t do her calves any favors, but she wasn’t bruised and they were both a disaster, and the tongue thing really was pretty fantastic. 

Tracing the inside of her mouth and the seam of her lips, Will’s rumble of pleasure echoed between her ribs, enough to spur Belle’s arm up as she slung it around his neck. Her fingers found skin and short hair, nails scratching so she could hear that sound again. 

She closed her eyes. 

Let the details seep in, and settle into her soul. 

Until Anna coughed, and there was a security guard standing next to her, and Will’s head dropped to Belle’s collar bone again. He kissed there, too. Before spinning on his sandals, all confidence, and bravado, a reasonable excuse that someone, somewhere, would probably believe. Not this security guard, but that probably wasn’t important, and Belle had helped Will make an Instagram account. 

So, something about a cat and a bag and—

His fingers laced through hers. 

“Wanna challenge Locksley to a fight for my honor?” She scrunched her nose. Pretended to grimace when his lips pressed against her cheek. Anna gagged. “Yeah,” Belle said, “that’s exactly what I want to do.”

#scarlet beauty #scarlet beauty ff #scarlet beauty fic #blue line one shots #defensive!blue line #i don't know guys—these have just taken on a life of their own #will i put them on ao3? maybe who can say #i mean i can #but...they're still kind of short i think #for ao3 #if any of the five you reading this want specific scenes let me know #i've got time between waiting on people to make their deadlines

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Hi! As someone who’s literary opinion I really trust, I was surprised that you’re a twilight fan? I know almost nothing except commen knowledge things about that series, and I always assumed it was actually bad/un-feminist. What is it that you like so much that others seem to miss? I’m just genuinely curious about your take on the hate it always seems to get vs. it’s actual quality. I’m not gonna judge bc animorphs is also one of those books where you see it and assume it’s bad.

In over 14 years of loving this series, I’m not sure anyone has ever asked me why I enjoy it instead of simply trying to convince me that I’m wrong to do so.  So thank you for that.

First and foremost, I love the Twilight saga because of the vivid detail in Stephenie Meyer’s writing style.  The descriptions are so lush and dense with sensory information that you can practically bite down on them as you read.  Bella and Jacob aren’t just sitting on the beach; they’re sitting on a gnarled log of driftwood, worn smooth at the top from where so many Quileute teens have sat upon it during bonfires but still uneven enough to rock on its branches when Bella suddenly stands to rage at her own mortality.  Meyer describes that log in Twilight, so tangibly and with such economy of detail, that we recognize it immediately when Bella and Jacob return to that spot in Eclipse.  I’ve always disliked the movies, because I’ve always felt that the best part of Meyer’s writing simply did not translate well to the screen.

Secondly, I love the feminism.

Okay, let’s take a quick pause to let everyone gasp and clutch their pearls over me calling Twilight a feminist work.  I will address the criticisms later.  For now, please just hear me out.

Twilight strikes me as a premier example of what Hélène Cixous means when she calls for “women’s writing,” or writing for women, about women, by women, with a strong focus on the concerns and strengths and desires of womanhood.  This is a series about building and maintaining close relationships, both romantic and platonic.  It celebrates beauty, and love, and care.  Bella moves to Forks because she recognizes that her dad is lonely while her mom is quite the opposite, torn between family priorities.  She doesn’t simply subsume her interests to those of other people, but instead actively chooses how and when and where to express her love for her birth family and her found families.  Most of the other major decisions throughout the story — Alice “adopting” Bella, Carlisle moving the family to Alaska, Jacob becoming werewolf beta, the Cullens going up against the Volturi, etc. — are motivated by care and devotion for one’s family and friends.  Even the selfish or morally ambiguous character choices are shown to be motivated by love.  Rosalie tells Edward that Bella died because she genuinely thinks it’ll help him move on.  Victoria creates an army that nearly destroys Forks because she’s avenging James.  Alice abandons Bella and the others before the final battle because if she can’t save her entire family, then she’ll settle for saving her lover before letting him die in vain.

Not only is there a striking concern with love and care, but there’s also a strong commitment to avoiding violence.  Bella’s eventual vamp-superpower proves to be preventing violence and protecting others, an awesome character decision that I’d argue gets set up as early as the first book.  She lives in a violent world — this is a YA SF story, after all — but she has the power to suppress violence and create peace, both in herself and others.  I was already sick of “power = ability to inflict damage” in YA stories well before I knew the word “patriarchy.”  Twilight was one of the first books to convey to me that power could be refusing to do harm in spite of hunger or anger, that power could be shielding ones’ family, that power could be about building enough friendships and alliances to have an army at one’s back when facing an enemy too strong to take on alone.

Closely connected to all of that love and care, I love how much Twilight is about navigating teenage girlhood.  Is it empowering, intersectional, or all-inclusive?  Hell no.  Does it still dare to suggest that a completely ordinary teenage girl could have valid concerns about the world?  Yep.  The main conflict of the story, as Stephen King so derisively explained, is about the romantic entanglements of a teenage girl, and the book therefore has no literary merit.  (To quote my dad’s response: “Bold words from the guy who inflicted Firestarter on the world.”)

There is, indeed, a lot of romance in Twilight.  There are a lot of clothes.  Alice and Rosalie especially spend a lot of time on makeup, and hair, and choosing the prettiest cars and houses.  Twilight embraces all the stereotypically “girly” concerns of adolescence, and makes no effort to apologize for or condemn them.  Bella isn’t particularly good at performing them — she likes but doesn’t excel at shopping, fiercely defends her ugly car as ugly, hobbles through prom on crutches — but she can still enjoy the feeling of being pretty in a sparkly dress while dancing with her sparkly boyfriend.  And Twilight, like Animorphs with Cassie, takes the daring step of treating that feeling as valid.

Speaking of sparkles, I love the commitment to the fantasy concept in Twilight, including the myriad mundanities that Meyer brings with that commitment.  If you have super-speed, why not use it to play extreme baseball?  If you’re a mindreader with a clairvoyant sister, why wouldn’t you two play mental chess games?  I couldn’t tell you, after seven seasons of Buffy or eight of Vampire Diaries, what Spike or Damien or Angel or Stefan does all day when not brooding or lurking in the bushes to creep on human women.  I can tell you what the Cullens get up to.  Emmett and Rosalie work on their cars, usually by holding them overhead one-handed.  Carlisle and Alice read plays, and sometimes talk the whole family into home Shakespeare productions.  Edward and Carlisle debate theology, Emmett and Jasper have dumb athletic competitions, Edward and Esme play music, Alice manipulates stock markets, the twins go shopping online, etcetera.  The Cullens feel real, feel like the vampires next door, in a way that Louis and Lestat simply do not.

To get to the elephant in the room — I just described Twilight as a feminist text! — let’s talk about the other thing the Cullens do for fun: they have sex.  Weird sex.  Kinky furniture-breaking sex.  Sex that Emmett (who would know) compares to bear-wrestling.  These books suck with regards to queer representation, but they are sex-positive.  They feature an old-school Anglican protagonist offering his daughter-in-law a medical abortion.  They treat Edward’s desire for sex only within marriage and Alice’s desire for sex outside of marriage as both being valid.  Like I said, not groundbreaking, even by the standards of 2005, but still more than most teen novels do even today.

There’s a passage from Breaking Dawn that people love to pull out of context as “everything wrong with Twilight in two paragraphs” because it describes Bella waking up the morning after sex with bruises on her arms.  That moment is shocking out of context, to be sure — but in context, it’s the end result of an in-depth consent negotiation that lasts four books.  Bella says that she’d like to become a vampire.  Edward says okay, but only if she spends a few more years living as a human and considering that choice.  Bella says okay, but only if Edward, not Carlisle, becomes the one to turn her.  Edward says they can use his venom, but that Carlisle, who’s an MD, really needs to supervise the process.  Bella doesn’t love the idea of Edward’s stepdad cockblocking what’s supposed to be an intimate moment, and so agrees only on the grounds that she gets to have sex with Edward as a human first.  Edward’s hella Catholic, so he requests that they get married first.  Bella’s super horny, so she demands that the wedding happen within six months.  Edward says that he might hurt her during sex, and Bella says that she wants a little hurt during sex.  They marry.  They bang.  During the banging, Edward makes every effort to be controlled and courteous and gentile, while Bella goes wild and crazy.  The next morning, she has bruises and he does not.  Edward apologizes, but Bella’s actually really into it.  She spends a while admiring her sexy vamp-marked self in the mirror, touches the bruises many times, and reminds us yet again that Bella Swan’s whole M.O. is being a monsterfucker.  Her kink is not my kink, and that’s okay.

To be clear, I think there are other aspects of the romance that get criticized for good reason.  Edward does not negotiate with Bella before sneaking into her room to watch her sleep, and he does make unacceptable use of their power differences when he thinks she’s in danger of being mauled by werewolves.  The text condemns Jacob’s “don’t wanna die a virgin” ploy to manipulate a kiss out of Bella, but not the wider conceit of all the male characters as possessing uncontrollable urges.  Bella’s struggles to adjust to a new town feel very feminine and realistic; her amused tolerance of Jacob’s and Mike’s sexual harassment as the price for their friendship does not.  Werewolf imprinting might be mostly platonic, but that doesn’t make it okay for Meyer to depict it as a form of soulmate bonding that happens with child characters. Those are good points, all around.  I just wish that most of them didn’t come up in the context of post-hoc rationalizations for loathing the femininity of a feminine text.

I’m not calling Twilight an unproblematic series.  I’m saying that it gets (rightly!) criticized for appropriating Quileute culture, while Buffy’s total absence of main characters of color and blatant anti-Romani racism are (wrongly!) not remarked upon. I'm saying that I’ve been told I’m a misogynist for liking Twilight but not for liking James Bond.  I’m saying that there’s a reason people tend to go “oh, that makes so much sense!” when I let them in on the fact that reactive hatred for “Twitards” started and spread on 4Chan, later home of Gamergate and incel culture.  I’m saying that Twilight depicts problematic relationship dynamics as sexy — but then so do Vampire Academy, Blue Bloods, Supernatural, Vladimir Tod, and Vampire Diaries.  All of which take the time to stop and thumb their noses at Twilight, smug in the superiority of having vampires that fly rather than vampires that sparkle, and for thoroughly condemning teenage girls for being girly while continuing to show men inflicting violence on them.

After all, as Erin May Kelly puts it: “we live in a world taught to hate everything to do with little girls.  We hate the books they read and the bands they like.  Is there anything the world makes fun of more than One Direction and Twilight?”  No one has ever called me a misogynist for liking the MCU, in spite of less than a third of its movies even managing to clear the low-low bar of the Bechdel test.  Because people are still allowed to like Harry Potter in spite of its racism, or Lord of the Rings despite its imperialism.  Because hatred for Twilight was never about its very real sexism, or the genuinely silly sparkle-vampires, until it had to justify itself as something other than hate for everything that teenage girls have ever dared openly love.

I enjoy the novels, and I enjoy the fan fiction that tries to fix some of the problems with the novels.  I appreciate the extent to which Meyer has elevated fan culture, and made an effort to acknowledge her own past mistakes.  I would love to be able to talk about my love for the series as a flawed but beautiful work of literature, but for now I’ll settle for asking that the world just let me enjoy it in peace.

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