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btswishes · 3 years

Text

Mistakes made

BTS Au (Medieval x Fantasy)

Chapter 1 “Welcome to the rest of your life” / Part2

A/N: This is a trial run of an idea I have with Taehyung. I would really appreciate some feed back on it. This chapter is not much since it is just an introduction so far. Sorry for any mistakes made.

Word count: 2,115

Warmings: Blood, killing, torture and murder, graphic content

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Candle flames dancing under the command of the wind. A candied tango in pair with the ringing laughter and fulfillment, radiating from the near by village. What a sweet place it looked like, carefree. The music was loud and so were their voices, your eyes but a mere mirror reflecting the light.

In front of you there was the pureness of life, behind you the end. Agonizing screams ran through the hallways, reaching even the deepest of crevasses in the walls. The voices soon came to a blood curdling stop, letting a veil of silence fall over the building. The moon kept illuminating the titan like façade of the castle, buried deep between the forest trees.

Eerie sounds acquainted themselves with your home. Soft, tinted in the colors of nightmares, were your clothes. The bone chilling cold could not reach your as the garments shielded your elbow from the stone sill of the window, gently flowing away from your skin further up they went. Refreshing coolness lingered onto your arm, opposite of the elegant and gentle palm on which you were resting your chin, as you marveled at the distant festival.

“You are looking at them again.” the deep voice behind you did not come as a surprise “ Wasting time away with meaningless celebrations.”

“You speak like we ourselves do not celebrate.” your lips parted gently- chin pressing into your skin

“Do not lump us together with the likes of them!” a mild sound echoed in the room, as a towel hit the wall aggressively “We celebrate success! Achievements! Not...living another year. ”

Your eyes moved to their corners, focusing onto the discarded piece of cloth laying on your floor “Brother, as much of a vulgar man as you may be, I would wish for you to refrain from such manners.” his head crooked to the side “ Next time do not tarnish my room with your blood soaked towels. I do quite fancy for that carpet to stay snow white, than be tainted with the crimson color of some unknown corps.” you hissed at him, coaxing a loud laugh.

He took a few steps and picked his belongings up from the ground. “ Would it have satisfied you if it belonged to an innocent noble, or is red not your cup of tea sister?” he spoke calmly

“No soul that enters these walls has even the tiniest drop of innocence in their blood. Filthy bugs thinking they can overthrow father and receive titles from some unknow king, disgusting. So please refrain from bring such filth in my room. I can smell how rotten this man was from just that cloth.” leaning back, you stretch gently. Your words hopefully reached your brother, leaving a permanent mark on his mind. The carpet though was already filthy.

“I shall try my best dear sister, with the next batch of bumbling idiots arriving tonight.” your heels clicked and clanked under the flooring. Candle flames took over your eyes, as your hand lifted the white wax cylinder out of its holder, dropping it onto the soft hairs of the carpet. The small spark soon engulfed the fur rug into a violent flame. “A shame. It was so pure once.”

“Y/N, now why would you do that my darling.” a tall dark eerie figure stood by your door, towering over your brother with ease. His steps were heavy, loud and unbelievably fast. He walked past the small fire like it was nothing and laid his big hand onto your cheek, encouraging you to lean into it. “ Wasn’t this your favorite carpet in the whole house. Your eyes used to light up the moment you saw it.”

“It was tainted father but dirty blood.” you spoke, emphasizing on the stain

“We could have washed it like the dungeons. No one would have known what was on the hairs.” his voice reassuring you

“If Yunan was a bit more considered and not a vulgar beast, this wouldn’t have happened.” your eyes glistened as the flames under you sored in the air with your anger

“Now now. I said I was sorry. I tend to forget how fragile and elegant my little sister is. Mostly during hunting season.” your brother sighed, rubbing the back of his neck “How about I compensate you?” your ears perked up.

“How so?”

“Ramel and I will take you hunting again so you can slay another snow tiger.” your eyes widened at the offer

“I will skin it for you again my princess.”your father ran his hand through your hair when the flame extinguished under you, leaving no trace of a carpet ever being there. The sound of horses pulled your attention towards the window with a glance of your eye “ Seeing as you both settled that, let us join your brother in welcoming our new guests. Yunan?” your brother smirked, his arms rising to his sides

“Their new homes have been emptied out, we just want our sweet Y/N to come and finish the disposal, as per usual.” with a nod of approval your father walked over and placed his big hand onto Yunan’s shoulder.

“I expect you to behave next time in your sister’s room.” from such height, his eyes glowed in anger.

“Yes father.”

With the head of the family walking out first, the newcomers saw fear on two legs. His vest was black, tiny compared to his massive frame, contrasting the white fox tail resting upon his left shoulder. His eyes were just as the animal upon his body, lines bend upwards into a creepy smile.

“Welcome to my lovely home. My name is Wiraem and I shall be your host on this beautiful full moon.” his arms rose in acceptance “I hope you like it here, since...” his eyes opened up still keeping the half moon shape, as a smile exposed his teeth “You won’t be leaving here again.”

“How many is it this time around?” Yunan fixed his suit, speaking out towards a tall figure. He was almost the height of your father. His hair was dark and slicked back, face stoic and cold. This was Ramel, a handsome man with a body giving the illusion it was made from the strongest matter on earth.

“About 10.” he threw a man in front of your younger brother’s feet “I caught them doing the usual snopping, trap laying and all that comes with trying to assassinate us.” your hand rubbed over your arms as the night winds cooled off your body more than desired. The men under your feet couldn’t speak, they were trembling in what one could call fear, not even noticing you. Your father’s expression changed, softened as he heard you next to him.

“Yunan, Ramel get them all in. Let’s introduce our new housemates to their rooms.” With a swift motion of his huge arm, he picked you up. The warmth from your father’s body was pleasant, letting yourself indulge in it as you grabbed onto him. The walk to the dungeons was long and slow, your family did not enjoy rushing things. The night was not young anymore leading you to be swept away by the lullaby of silence. Fatherly and gentle, his movements did not even let your body twitch with his step. Skilled he was after all. No one dared to make even the smallest peep, it became an unwritten rule.

Your father looked upon you with warmth. Yunan would crack an occasional smirk looking at your peaceful sleep, resting so calmly with the lingering smell of blood not even alarming you. Ramel was one to show his emotions through actions more than face, which he did removing a strand of hair from yours.

*Clank*

Someone’s chains sung out, before being picked up in panic. As rudely as the song hand been silenced, it was not fast enough - noticed by the family, stopping their steps. The man froze, no breath, no sound, not even a faint heartbeat. The three men turned to face him in unison flashing him disgust, a smile filled with murder and a stone face that could do anything.

“Mmm.” you mumbled under your nose, nuzzling yourself into your father’s chest. The sign of you potentially waking up contorted their faces. The smile was accompanied with blood shot eyes, Ramel’s head crooked up half covered by a shade casted upon his face and Yunan expressing even more anger.

“Would you look at that.” you father whispered sending chills over the already sweating humans “ It seems as though one of our lovely visitors just disappeared. I wonder where he went?”

Wind blew the curtain in the hallway ,as a howl joined inside. As the fabric calmed down the rest of the new arrivals noticed that their number had gone down by one - 9. The man that dared to make a sound was gone without one. No one noticed, no one saw, he just vanished. Magic was common in these times, yet this was far beyond what any wizard kin could explain.

“Hmmm silence.” Yunan smiled “Keep it that way.” he pulled on the shirt of a man with dark long locks of hair and thick eyelashes, the aura of a bear cub. His heart was calm, focused on you with bubbling interest and sane.

The men kept looking around the dungeons. They looked clean, they looked like no one used or had used them, but there was a residual stench that one would notice immediately. A mix of old and fresh warm blood, maybe a few hours old and a few minutes new. The prisoners stopped in their tracks, falling back as silently as they could, as they laid eyes upon the scene in front of them.

A pile of human remains if you could even call them that at this point. Bodies, parts of them all randomly throw upon one another and the star on top of the tree, our lovely missing tenant number 10.

“Oh my.”your father gasped “I am sorry to have shown you this. How unconsidered of me.” His head shifted towards the men “ I forgot to make sure your old roommates left for good. Seems as though they couldn’t...”

Their voices were stuck in their throats, stomachs convulsing trying to keep whatever food they had down. The floor wasn’t chilling no more, you could say the fear conjured such drop of their temperature, that they were making the room colder. Heart beats were faintly heard as all of these men, these soldiers, assassins and who knows what ,were ready to piss themselves at such sight. How useless. Coming here and thinking war could have prepared them for this land. One of them, one of them was still trying to stay calm. Young and so mentally strong.

“Princess?” the gentle warmth ran over your cheek “My little flower petal.” you frowned and tried to roll up in a smaller ball “It pains me to wake up so rudely my angel, but daddy needs your help.” the men watched as your half asleep self rose gently, leaning onto your father’s shoulders for support. Eyes still heavy, you peeked gently. The rocks beneath everyone illuminated in a faint golden color of fire.

“ Evanescet...” but a faint whisper sneaking out from in between your tinted lips. Blazing fires enveloped the bodies, the flames sounding like the agonizing screams of their souls, as they vanished into thin air. Never to be seen again.

The flames spread around, igniting all organic lifeless matter. Blood stains burned with passion, leaving only the stone cold walls and floors spotless clean. The smell was gone and the room filled with the crisp night breeze. For a moment it felt like no one had ever stepped foot inside these rooms.

“Thank you my little rose.”

Ramel stepped closer, placing his hand over your eyes, closing them. His gentle side put you back to sleep almost immediately, picking you up in his own embrace. Your father removed the fox fur off his shoulder and made sure to tuck you in well in your brother’s arms. With a swift motion, Yunan removed your shoes and hooked their ankle straps onto his slender fingers.

“I never understood why she chose such uncomfortable garments.” sighing, his hands ran over the small red patch of skin, heeling it. ”I have gotten her so many boots, yet here we are.” The prisoners were astonished at the warmth these men had for you and only you.

“We are not meant to understand ladies, but marvel them and protect.” Ramel tore the silence with his deep, sharp voice filled with righteousness. You drifting off slowly but surely, eyes turned in the direction of one boy. His front chunky eyelashes battered at you ,as his lightly tinted skin glowed in the moonlight . His face was too serious and focused on you, yet sleep took over and you drifted off again.

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

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Bloodstone | Part 2

Summary: You knew all about the ring your grandmother had told you about and yet when the stone fell from it one fateful day, you weren’t truly prepared for its return, nor who it came back with.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

Genre: fantasy / romance

Warnings: talk of witchcraft and magical books

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

You had returned home after a lengthy and mostly unsuccessful brainstorming session with Yoongi. You could see why he was thinking of fantasy novels because as you let yourself into your home, now cold and hungry from the long day, you felt as if you had become the main character in one.

Just what did all this mean? Where was your wise guide to teach you the ways to get through this? What journey would you even face now that the stone was gone?

A big part of you wanted to forget that it had even happened. That it was just a ring and your grandmother had spoken of something silly. You even went as far to pull the remaining silver from the finger it had lived on for years, trying not to look at the permanent indent in your skin that it had created.

You needed to forget all about today.

Except, as you trudged through your home, exchanging your clothes for your pyjamas, you found yourself stepping through the door to your study, staring at the wall lined with books. Most had been inherited from your grandmother, though the one you reached for first had been given to you by your mother shortly before she fell ill.

“You’ll get more out of this than I ever did, my love.”

It was an inconspicuous text, no title or author was scrawled on the front. You hadn’t really looked through it at the time, more focused on her ailing health. Now, you wondered if she had known this day might come.

Flicking through the first few pages, you sighed. It was in a different language, one you couldn’t understand. You placed the book down and went to make yourself something to eat, returning with your bowl of food to use the computer.

However, you stopped midway across the room, the book you had discarded now on a different page. “What’s this?” you murmured, picking it up on your way over to the desk, placing both your food and the leather-bound book down upon the surface as you took a seat before them.

There in the middle of the left page was an exact drawing of the ring you had worn for fifteen years. Blinking slowly, you took in the unique style of the ring you knew every detail of. This was no coincidence and looking around your room cautiously, you turned your attention to the right page to see what was written down about it.

You gasped when the words, before foreign and undecipherable started to make sense to you. Flipping back to the front of the book quickly, where the opening page had seemed incomprehensive, you now took in the first sentence with ease.

This book is not of the human world, you thought to yourself, a tremble running down your arm as you slipped back to the section about the ring. It was titled The Stone of Blood and you frowned. Was that the ring’s official name? Thinking back to the colour, you had just assumed it to be a ruby of some sort.

Was it actually made from some sort of… blood?

For the briefest moment, you were grateful for the stone leaving you if that was the case. A shudder rolled throughout your body at the thought of how you had protected and appreciated a ring made of blood. However, your curiosity was still present and you looked at the first statement about the ring, gasping lightly.

“The Stone of Blood is a love stone. It connects the realms of possibilities to those strong enough to possess it. The ring chooses its host and when the Triax connects, the stone falls into the possession of the divinity. The journey for the stone to return to the ring is one in which binds two unlikely entities through the truest of love.”

“Yeah sure, whatever,” you muttered through your shock, trying not to put any weight into it. You and the word love never went together. You had only suffered through mediocre attempts towards finding someone to adore. There was more than enough mortification in your past from dating tribulations that you had sworn off men altogether – apart from Yoongi, that is. But he was different. He was a part of your family, the person you had known the longest in your life outside of blood relatives.

You didn’t need a book to tell you that the stone you had worn had a habit of falling loose from the center of it to go find you a man. The idea was completely laughable and you started to do just that, laughing until your cynical mind was well and truly satisfied. If this was the journey your grandmother had hoped for, then she would be sorely disappointed. Perhaps the ring should have loosened off the Stone of Blood in her time so she could have met someone instead.

She had met someone wonderful. Your grandfather had been the most comfortable man to spend time with, spoiling you rotten as a young child with his affections and sweets. And had she not met him then you wouldn’t exist right now.

“Still, sorry grandma, this one isn’t a plight I’ll be taking on any time soon,” you spoke out loud, your eyes lingering on the book, vaguely taking in the words of sacrifice and hardship.

You needed to sleep. With your food now within your belly, you should go to bed and close out this ridiculous day from existence. In the morning, you would wake up to a brand new day, where books with strange languages didn’t make sense and didn’t need to worry about where the stone – the ruby as you had known it to be – had gone.

You were all too happy with it not returning.

When Namjoon landed with a thud, he remained still for a moment, accessing if any part of his body hurt. It was during this time that he realised the ground he had fallen to was covered in a plush rug, and he opened his eyes slowly.

He was inside a darkened space.

As his eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting, Namjoon sat up, wincing a little as he did so. It hadn’t been too hard of a fall, but his chest did hurt a great deal.

For a moment, he tried to recollect his thoughts. He remembered the day of sorting gemstones and going to leave to go have dinner with Marian. Furrowing his brows, he gasped at the arrival of the stone that had opened havoc on him and his studio.

The bloodstone.

Searching around his body for the cursed rock, he stopped when he saw his actions reflected across from him. Getting up from the floor, he moved towards the mirror hanging on the wall, his gaze widening. Hastily undoing the three buttons to his linen shirt, he pushed it aside to expose his chest.

“What the…” he breathed, finding the stone now embedded over the left side of his chest. His fingers ran over it gently, trying to find a way to pull it out of his chest. It was due to the red glow that he grew distracted of the extraction, frowning at the items on the shelf next to the mirror. He had never seen plants and paintings quite like these before.

Turning around, Namjoon shook his head in disbelief. Just what was this place? Looking for a way to light the space he was in, Namjoon fumbled around, bumping into something protruding in the wall. The room suddenly became illuminated with bright lighting, and he pressed the switch again, casting everything back into the shadows. He turned it on again and then grinned.

Back home, lighting was triggered by pulling a chain on a lamp. Wherever he was now had a superior system, he decided.

Rummaging through the strange yet wonderful items in the room, Namjoon smiled. This was a world unlike his own. The space was cluttered with possessions that he had no idea why anyone would need, however, he was eager to learn their purpose. As he soaked it all in, he noticed the kitchen was adjoined to the room. Or at least, what he assumed to be the cooking space. There was a cooking range with strange symbols on it and he decided against turning the knobs in case they ignited the flame.

Growing bold, Namjoon moved across to a door and twisted the handle. He found the bathing room in here and laughed with delight at the strange concept of no bathtub yet a raining waterfall came out from a spout on the wall.

Closing out of this room, he turned to another door, which led to storage and then the next that welcomed him into a library. This room he felt the most at home in, if he didn’t stare at the weird contraption sitting on the desk taking up most of the space. There, laid strewn beside it, was a book and he picked it up, surprised to find it written in his language. Did the owner of this home know of his world?

Flicking through the pages, he stopped when he saw something familiar, the shade of red catching his eyes. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured as he scanned the explanation of the bloodstone. He moved from the first part to the next, his father’s concern now apparent.

“When the stone lands in front of the divinity, one must endeavour not to fall for its charms. It lures the purest of hearts towards its glow, implanting itself there until that of the host can free their heart from its captive state. Love can be fleeting once this occurs and if the host chooses that of human devotion instead, the stone will poison the blood of the divinity, condemning them to a life of being incapable of loving another. Even if the entity finds someone to care for, it won’t be at the same level of compassion as before.

The Triax will be broken and the bridge between worlds forgotten of until a new host is chosen worthy of the stone.”

Glancing down at his chest, Namjoon let the book drop from his grip. It landed on the floor with a bang, and before he could reach to pick it up, he became aware of another presence in the room.

You stared at him and then at the book, shaking your head in disbelief. And then you stilled completely, gaze cast towards his glowing chest. You swallowed visibly. “Just who are you?”

“Are you the host?” he asked in return, his grip now firmly around the spine of the book he held up. “Are you the one who captured me with this bloodstone?”

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Part 3

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trickstump · 5 years

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homeroom angel

eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier rated e 5.5k

thank you to @eddiekissbrak for beta’ing and cheerleading me through this journey. migz, you’re a real one.

(read it HERE on AO3)

Richie’s not looking for it.

Of course Richie’s not fucking looking for it, though; to look for it, he’d have to have had any idea that it existed, and the idea of Eddie doing anything like this was beyond unfathomable. It was a whole other level of this could never happen that even Richie fantasies couldn’t have predicted it- and he’d had some pretty wild ones.

But. Here the fuck it was, skipping floors two through two hundred on the Wonkavtor and busting through the top of Richie’s head, staring back at him from the page of the magazine he’d picked up.

Eddie.

It’d been- there were so many fucking steps, really, to them even getting here in the first place. Richie had to have found this fucking magazine when he was in colleg- not this issue, god, not this issue; if Richie had picked up this fucking issue in college, he was sure his mind would’ve exploded. But, he had to pick up this magazine in the first place in college, furtive, snatching it off the rack at the drugstore and not bothering to pay because holy shit, he couldn’t stand the idea of looking the dude in the counter in the eye and paying for a porno magazine that shouted Boys! Boys! Boys!

So. He had to pick up this magazine, and then, in a drunken fit just after his first few paid shows, he had to buy a subscription to this magazine- fake name, correct address- meticulously updated every time he moved so that it could be delivered right to his door packaged in a discreet envelope, and occasionally shoved into the bottom of his suitcase while he was on the road, because he liked to have the company of Mr. January 2016 on cold nights in decent hotel rooms.

And, then, he had to be subscribed at just the right time, because he’d really been about to cancel his subscription entirely when the throwback issue came out. It was getting fucking dangerous, having his porn hand delivered to him like some kind of creepy old man, when Eddie had just moved in after trekking out to LA as a part of his post-Derry, post-divorce midlife crisis. There’d been an incident last month when Eddie’s found mail with the fake name that had lead to Richie having to sneak back out to the mailbox in the dead of night to do some recon before Eddie’s neat little “return to sender; does not live at this address” got his jerk-off material for the month taken away. It was the modern era; he should just make the jump and start going digital, anyway.

So. Petty theft, years of furtively waiting for his monthly fix of scantily clad men to arrive via the US Postal service, and someone somewhere’s visonary idea of “let’s just reuse some fucking old pictures this time; these dipshits’ll crank it to anything, I’m sure” culminated to this:

Eddie.

Not Eddie, now- obviously, not Eddie, now. That’d be fucking insane, and Richie would be losing more of his mind than he’d already lost. He’d just been flipping through the issue, admiring this and that, and- he’d almost skipped the pages on his first thumb-through, absentminded and half hard, free hand resting on his leg, when he saw the flash of a leg and flipped back.

And then, there was Eddie.

Younger- a few decades younger, the little white Times New Roman in the corner told him; Eddie, November 1999. November, Eddie’s birth month- happy fucking birthday to him. He only caught it the second time he looked at the picture, flipping the page and then flipping back to make sure his mind wasn’t just projecting the image of a younger Eddie onto the pages.

It wasn’t.

It was Eddie- his Eddie, flushed a little pink in the way he got when he was flustered, doe-eyeing the camera. His mouth was just as pink as his cheeks and hanging open just a bit, and Richie spent so much time looking at his face, he almost forgot to look at the rest of him- all of the rest of him, most of all of the rest of him, because thank god, this was not where he was seeing Eddie’s dick for the first time. Narrow avoidance, though, only because of the artful drapery of the fugly pink fur- rug? blanket?- monstrosity they had barely draped over the area, which let Richie see everything except his dick.

God. He couldn’t even fucking think about Eddie’s dick right now. Not that he let himself think about Eddie’s dick too much, anyway. He’d think about being in love with Eddie all day long, and maybe about the fucking phenomenal sex they could be having every so often, mostly when he was lonely on the road, because there was a weird line when it came to being in love with your childhood friend, and that line was drawn exactly on the other side of “jerking off thinking about him while he’s sharing an apartment with you.”

Speaking of, Richie’s dick went from being passively interested in the goings on to standing at attention like a goddamn car lot flag pole the second he had enough brain cells to process what he was seeing. He was achingly hard, now, and at the same time frozen in place, free hand now gripping his leg so hard he was going to leave a bruise. He couldn’t do anything but stare, heart racing like he was running a marathon.

It was the best thing he’d ever fucking seen, and he needed to stop seeing it.

“Hey, Richie?”

Eddie’s voice outside his door jumped him into action, and Richie dropped the magazine like it was burning him. “Uh- yeah?” His voice broke on ‘yeah’, and he really, really sounded like a kid whose mom was two seconds from walking in on him jerking it.

Eddie, for his part, didn’t seem to pick up on it- or, more likely, he was just fucking polite enough not to call him out. “You coming out so we can go eat or what, dude?”

Fuck. Richie had been so caught up in a past where Edward fucking Kaspbrak, world’s stuffiest man and love of his life, had posed for a gay porn magazine that he had forgotten about the present where said childhood sweetheart was expect him to get dinner. “Oh, for sure.” He’d managed to get control of his voice, because he was a goddamn professional. “Just give me a second, man, I’m not decent.”

“You’ve never been decent in your life,” Eddie huffed. “But, fine. Be out in, like, five minutes or I’m gonna eat without you.”

Richie waited until he heard Eddie’s footsteps disappear to exhale, and then it was just him and- well, him and Eddie again, still staring up at him from the centerfold with a look that Richie had barely ever even dared to imagine he could pull off.

Fuck.

He gave himself a few moments to breathe, eyes squeezed shut least the air he was just getting back into his lungs be stolen again, and he flipped the magazine closed before he opened them again. This was- definitely crossing the line he’d drawn for himself, and he should probably just throw the whole thing out before he jumped over the line and directly into something dangerous.

But.

But, he couldn’t bring himself to- for a lot of reasons, really, chief among them the fact that he knew having a missing issue in his back catalogue would drive him absolutely fucking insane, and totally, totally, not because he couldn’t imagine ever getting rid of the only proof he had of the divine fact that Eddie could have “fuck me” eyes. Totally.

So, instead of the trash can, or the back of his closet in a box where the rest of the issues went, Richie played into the full fantasy of being in college again and shoved the magazine under his mattress, resolving to deal with this later. The rest of his five minutes was spent trying to will his dick to sit back down by any means necessary- mostly by thinking about Eddie’s mom, which was an irony that Richie was too wired to appreciate in the moment.

Thank fucking god they weren’t going out or anything. Eddie had just picked up cooking in his quest for independence, and liked to show off whenever Richie was home, which Richie didn’t mind in the slightest. He’d survived the last several decades on his own on Hot Pockets and takeout whenever he was home, and room service or fast food when he wasn’t.

Eddie cooked, and Richie did the dishes. It was disgustingly domestic, and thinking about the concept rather than the action actually made Richie happy to do it, instead of mildly irritated. Love was a hell of a drug.

He couldn’t really focus on the food tonight, though, because every time he looked up across the table- because Eddie made them eat at the table, like what the fuck was that?- he was faced with Eddie, who hadn’t changed enough in twenty years for Richie to be able to not see flashes of his pink lips and flushed cheeks every time he saw him.

It was like being haunted by a sexy, sexy ghost.

“And I- Jesus, dude, are you even listening to me?” Richie blinked when Eddie waved a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Richie; you look like an idiot, man. What’s up with you, is there something on my face?”

“Uh,” Richie said, trying to say anything but ‘hey, you used to be, like. Hot, in college or whatever’, but obviously not reacting fast enough for Eddie’s tastes.

“I already got the fucking mole checked, it isn’t cancer,” he said, and that was Richie’s Eddie, vision snapping back into focus.

“I’m not staring at your fucking mole, dude,” Richie said, rolling his eyes. “Also, aren’t they only like… cancerous if they have hair in them, or something?”

“No,” Eddie said, and sucked in a breath, and that launched them into a conversation- well. A tirade from Eddie with color commentary from Richie, really, and that was more like their normal dinner conversations, enough that Richie could phase out his lust for past Eddie and focus on the warm fuzzies that having this Eddie in his life gave him.

Dinner and dishes done and conversation still rolling, though they’d cycled past about twenty different topics now, they moved on to the post dinner ritual of turning on the TV and not-watching Wheel of Fortune in favor of not-cuddling on the same couch, even though there was definitely a perfectly fine recliner in the room. This was the kind of thing that made Richie think that maybe, just maybe he had a chance in hell in all this- but, fuck if he was going to make the first move, so he just sat there with his arm flung over the back of the couch, hand dangling just so it brushed Eddie’s shoulder, and pretended he gave a shit about whatever Pat Sajak was saying, and wasn’t just watching Eddie.

Because Eddie was double his age at heart, Wheel of Fortune faded into Jeopardy, and when Jeopardy faded into whatever the fuck came after, right on cue, Eddie yawned. “I’m going to bed,” he said, and Richie nodded.

“I’ll probably turn in, too,” he said, and they both just sat there for a few seconds after Richie turned off the TV, something- something- lingering between them. This part, too, was part of the norm; there was something one of them wanted to say, needed to do, but Richie was too chicken shit to be the one to do it, and Eddie was- well, Richie wasn’t sure what Eddie was, scared, nervous, too freshly out of an intensely shitty relationship, but what it boiled down to was Eddie yawning in again, breaking the moment, and saying “g’night, Richie,” as he got up, and went to his room.

Normally, Richie’d just sit there for a few moments and stew in the moment he let pass again, but tonight, he only had to sit there for a second before he remembered what he’d been trying to get out of his head since dinner.

He felt like a burglar in his own home, tiptoeing back to his room and closing the door. He thought about keeping the light off, for a second, but flipped it on at the last second. If he was going to be crossing the fucking line like this, he may as well be able to fucking see it in its full glory.

He settled onto the bed and pulled the magazine out from under his mattress in one smooth move, flipping it open to the page without having to search, like the universe knew exactly what kind of self destruction he was looking to do. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he looked down on the exhale, Eddie was staring back at him, legs splayed and back arched artfully, like he’d just been waiting for him this whole time.

“Hey there,” Richie said to an empty fucking room, and too much brainpower had already switched to dick power for him to be embarrassed about it. It didn’t take too long for him to get fully hard again- because it was fucking Eddie, of course it didn’t, and Richie wasn’t in the business of teasing himself when it came to jerking off, so he inelegantly wriggled out of his sweatpants and boxers, kicking them to the bottom of the bed.

It was a little awkward, balancing the magazine in one hand while he had the other on his dick, but Richie was a pro at it, at this point. Normally, though, he’d only look at the magazine for a bit before he let it fall aside, letting his mind do the rest of the work. Tonight, he couldn’t make himself put it down, though, because putting it down would mean he wouldn’t see how fucking right Eddie looked, laying back on that stupid, ugly pink fur, arms draped above his head and legs spread wide.

“Fuck.” He didn’t say it very loud, but Richie felt like he could hear it echo through the empty room. This was going to be the shortest fucking jerk off session he’d had in maybe his entire life, but, that should really be expected, considering the circumstances, and-

“Hey, Richie, do you think I should get this mole checked again, because I really-”

The world stopped.

Eddie- real Eddie, now Eddie- was standing in the doorway. Fuck, normally, he’d knock, but Richie guessed the mole thing was really fucking bothering him, because he’s just slammed it open and given Richie no time to react. They both froze, when they locked eyes, and Eddie realized what was going on, and his face skipped right past the pretty pink Richie’d just been looking at to bright fucking red. “Oh. You’re- busy.”

“Yeah.” Richie’s hand had not moved from his dick, nor had he moved to put the magazine down, or cover himself up, or anything a normal fucking person would do. Instead, his gaze flicked from Eddie, down the magazine, and back. “I, uh- sorry.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Eddie said, and Richie felt his heart jump into his throat for a second as Eddie started moving towards him, and- laughing? “Dude, is that a fucking magazine? What is it, the fucking sixties?”

“Fuck you!” Richie was finally moving, now, but it was mostly to jerk the magazine out of Eddie’s reach when he reached for it. Eddie didn’t seem to care that his fucking dick was out, so Richie was gonna ignore it for the time being, and hope it went away. “It’s artful, man.”

“You’re such a grandpa,” Eddie snorted, managing to snatch the magazine away from Richie and dance just out of reach before he could snatch it back, flipping through the pages. “Is this fucking vintage magazine porn? Richie, you’ve got to be fucking kidding m-”

The last part of the sentence died on Eddie’s tongue as he reached the centerfold, and he went pale as a ghost. “I, uh-”

“You looked, like... Really fucking good.” That was the wrong thing to say, the stupidest thing Richie could’ve possibly said, but he spoke before he thought.

“It- college, man.” Eddie didn’t seem like he was entirely in himself as he spoke, still staring down at the page. “I… I wanted to feel hot. So.”

Eddie’s voice was so fucking small when he said it, it made Richie’s chest ache. “Wanted to feel hot?” he asked, sitting up a bit. “Dude. Eds, you are hot.”

“I mean, I used to look pretty good- I worked out and shit.” Eddie shrugged, finally putting the magazine down, setting it on Richie’s bedside table.

“I didn’t say ‘used to’,” Richie said, using his single ounce of courage for the rest of the year. “I said you are hot.”

“Present tense?” Eddie’s gaze snapped from the carpet to Richie’s face, brow furrowed, seemingly searching it for... something. Richie wasn’t sure if he found it or not. “You think so?”

“I’ve always thought so,” he said, because he had, and if he was being honest, he may as well go the whole way with it. Fuck the line.

“Fuck, Richie.” The two words left Eddie’s mouth in one gust of breath, and before Richie could add anything onto his confession, Eddie had surged forward, and kissed him, hands on either side of Richie’s face, holding him like he was something precious . It was honestly a very sweet kiss, for how inelegant it was, and the fact that Richie’s dick was still out, several decades worth of longing and things unsaid pushed from both sides.

When they pulled away, they were breathless, and Eddie’s forehead was resting against Richie’s. “You were really gonna sit here and jerk off to my fucking picture while I was a room away, huh?” he teased, and even if Richie knew it for what it was, guilt wormed its way into the pit of his stomach.

“The fuck else was I supposed to do?” he shot back. “Knock on your door and go, ‘hey, Spaghetti-O, I know you’re in the process of doing your old lady skin care routine so that you can pass out by ten like some kind of retiree, but I need you to know that I found your ancient nudes, and they dredged up every fantasy I’ve ever had about you and then some. Thoughts?’”

“Yes,” Eddie said, and then, “You’ve had a lot of fantasies about me?”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever fantasized about,” Richie said, and he hated how fucking honest he was being about that. “Even when I didn’t know it was you, it was always- the shape of you, the flash.”

“You’re not allowed to be that romantic when your fucking hard on is digging into my hip, man,” Eddie huffed, and then he kissed Richie again. This time, there was nothing sweet about it, all heat, biting and sucking, and when Eddie pulled away to kiss down Richie’s neck, there was nothing he could do but bite back a moan. “And, yeah, you should’ve fucking come to me. You don’t need the fucking magazine when you have the real thing.”

“Have I got it?” Richie asked, and he wasn’t even sure what he was asking, but Eddie stopped pawing at his shirt for a second to give him the answer that he needed, anyway.

“Richie,” he said, deadly serious and flushed the same shade of pink he’d been in the picture, now. “You’ve always had me. Now, take your fucking shirt off.”

Richie didn’t have to be told twice, and by the time he got the rest of the way undressed and retrieved his glasses from where he’d flung them across the bed in the process, he was treated to Eddie having done the same, stepping out of his sleep pants, silky, stupid, monogramed button down hanging off his shoulders. “God.” He couldn’t help the outburst, and it made Eddie look over to him with a smile- no, a fucking smirk, crawling back onto the bed like some kind of stupid sex kitten from an eighties porno and letting the shirt drop to the floor in the same move.

“Like what you see?”

“You already know I do, asshole,” Richie said, rolling his eyes at the line and running his hands down Eddie’s sides and back up again in the same motion. “You’re fucking hot, Eddie.”

“I like hearing you say it,” Eddie said, surging to kiss him again. He’d settled on Richie’s lap, sort of, straddling his hips, and it was fucking rewarding to feel that he was just as turned on as Richie was, even if Richie couldn’t bring himself to look down at his dick yet. That was a shade too far; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to recover.

“You’re fucking hot,” he said again, sort of mumbled into Eddie’s shoulder as he pressed a kiss there, and started working his way down. “I’ll keep saying it, then.”

“You’re- shit, Richie, we’re not fucking kids, you can’t just go giving me hickies all ove- oh, you’re probably the only person I’ve heard it from in, like- a decade,” Eddie’s head was tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, and it was such a pretty scene Richie almost didn’t process what he’d heard.

“No one’s told you you were hot in ten fucking years?” It sounded so impossible to Richie; who the fuck could miss all this, even with the not at all provocative polos and button downs Eddie usually wore- or. Well, Richie found them provocative, but he found everything about Eddie appealing in one way or another.

“I- fuck- was married,” Eddie said. “And we weren’t, like… that kinda couple.”

“Her loss,” Richie said. “My gain. You’re so fucking hot.”

“Your gain,” Eddie echoed, and he was smiling, so fucking gentle that Richie forgot how to breathe, and also the fact that he was supposed to be ravishing him. “Do you, uh. Wanna fuck me?”

Richie’s brain stopped working. “Do I want to fuck you? Eddie. Eddie, I think if I don’t fuck you, I’ll die.”

“You won’t die,” Eddie huffed, even though Richie wanted to protest when he removed himself from his lap. “Do you have, like. Lube and shit?”

“First drawer on the left.” Richie made a vague gesture towards his dresser, and readjusted to give Eddie more room on the bed when he came back.

“I haven’t fucking done this in years,” Eddie when he found what he was looking for, tossing the bottle at Richie. “So, you’re gonna have to, like. Be patient.”

“I’m so patient,” Richie said, fumbling to catch it and then fucking up his first few attempts at getting the cap open in his haste, undercutting his whole statement. “I’m like fucking Buddha, man. Did you- want to grab a condom?”

“I checked, yours are expired,” Eddie said, settling back onto the bed. “Which tells me, like, how little sex you’ve been having. We can, like… make a run, if you really want one? But- I’m clean, and I… if you are, then.”

“I am,” Richie said, maybe a bit too quickly, because the idea of raw dogging Eddie was the closest he’d had to a religious epiphany in his whole life. “I- am.”

“Good,” Eddie said, the word coming out like a sigh as Richie repositioned himself once more, looming over him to steal a kiss. “Then, do you wanna do this part, or should I?”

“Can I?” Richie was getting gift after gift tonight, feeling like Christmas goddamn Day when Eddie nodded. He shifted down again, getting probably too sloppy with the lube as he coated his fingers. Whatever, he’d change his sheets later.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of Eddie’s face as he pushed his first finger in- slow, so fucking slow, because he was being patient, and gentle. The pink was back in his cheeks, and his eyes were half lidded, eyelashes fluttering every time Richie’s finger moved, small noises Richie wasn’t even sure he knew he was making falling from his lips. “Fuck, Richie.”

“You good?” Richie was breathless- he’d been breathless a lot in this; maybe he should ask if Eddie had any of his old inhalers lying around.

“Am I good?” Eddie almost sounded like he was going to laugh, but Richie must’ve hit something good before he could, because the noise turned into a drawn out moan. “Jesus, Richie. Another- another, and harder, and fucking do that again.”

“You’re so bossy,” Richie snorted, but he did what he was told because he kinda liked that Eddie was bossy.

Two more fingers and several minutes later, Eddie’s eyes looked like they had almost rolled back in his head, and he was tugging Richie’s hair. “Okay, you’ve- you’ve gotta fuck me now, or I think I’m gonna lose it.”

“Losing it is the point,” Richie said, even as he drew his fingers back. The whimper Eddie let out when he did was intoxicating.

“Not before I’ve had your dick in me,” he countered. “I’ve waited way too fucking long for this, and I’m not gonna be waiting until I get it up again because I came like a fucking college kid before we got the main event.”

“Then here comes the show, baby,” Richie said, shifting once again. He had to manhandle Eddie a little bit so that they were both positioned properly, handing him a pillow to put under his hips because neither of them were fucking twenty somethings anymore, and he was realistic about the level of crazy they could be getting here.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he readjusted himself. “Don’t call your dick ‘the show,’” he said. “Even if it’s- Jesus, Richie, where do you even fucking put that thing?”

“I’ve never exaggerated a big dick joke in my life,” Richie said, a little smug because fuck yeah, finally, some respect.

“I guess not,” Eddie said. “But, having a big dick doesn’t mean you know how to fucking use it.”

Richie’s eyes narrowed. “That a challenge, Eds?”

“Just an observation,” Eddie shot back, laying back on the bed and looking up at Richie with a smile that was definitely a challenge. “Prove me wrong.”

Richie took that as his cue to do exactly that, lining up and pushing in- just a bit, at first, small thrusts of his hip before Eddie kicked- literally, fucking kicked, the asshole- him into action. “We just spent twenty fucking minutes working me up to this, Richie,” he said. “Fuck me like you mean it, now.”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman, so you can sit pretty in your desk chair tomorrow,” Richie said.

“You can be a gentleman next time,” Eddie said- and, holy shit, next time. “This time- fuck me like you mean it.”

Richie didn’t have to be told twice. He was really, really considering maybe starting going to church again, with all the religious experience he was having this night, but he could mull that thought after he finished processing how fucking good Eddie looked, gripping Richie’s sheets as he rocked into him, slow at first and then building. “Jesus Christ, you’re fucking phenomenal.”

“Stop using words with more than three syllables,” Eddie said, eyes fluttering shut and then open again, locking with Richie’s and not moving. “Your dick is turning off my brain.”

“Phenomenal,” Richie said. “Effervescent. Show stopping, beautiful, an absolute fucking knock-out-”

“Shut up,” Eddie moaned, tugging Richie down and kissing him. “You’re already fucking me, you don’t have to flatter me.”

“It’s not flattery if you’re fucking everything,” Richie said, and that got Eddie’s eyes to widen.

“Everything?” he asked, and his voice was way, way too gentle for the moment. It seemed like an important question, for being only one word.

“Everything,” he echoed, sure, more sure than he’d ever been about anything in his life. “Always been, Eds.”

“You can’t just say that shit, Richie,” Eddie said, but he kissed Richie again, and when he pulled away, added: “Say it again, anyway.”

“You’re everything,” Richie repeated, and it became a mantra. “You’re everything, Eds,” like he was trying to burrow the idea so deep in Eddie’s mind he’d never fucking doubt it again, for better or for worse. They were fucking clinging to each other, now, and Richie wasn’t sure when this had turned from fucking to romance novel love making, but he wasn’t about to stop it. There was no way he could detach his feelings from this, if any of the shit he’d been saying didn’t make that obvious on its own.

It only took a few more minutes of everything, you’re fucking everything, you’ve always been everything for Eddie to tighten around Richie, whole body curling like a spring when he came between them. “Richie, Richie, holy fucking shit-”

“I’ve got you,” Richie said, sounding wrecked, because he was fucking close, too- he’d been close before Eddie’d come in, it was a wonder he hadn’t already blown it like a virgin- and he needed Eddie to know it. “I got you, I got you.”

“Richie.” Eddie sounded just as wrecked, and it just took one look at his face- pink lips, pink cheeks, doe eyes blown wide under his lashes- to push him over the edge, coming with Eddie’s name on his lips.

“Fuck.” His arms gave out, as he came down, and he flopped on top of Eddie. “Fuck, I think I’m dying.”

“Don’t die with your dick still in me, idiot,” Eddie huffed, nudging him until he shifted and hissing as Richie pulled out. “God, I forgot this part.”

“The afterglow?” Richie flopped on the other side of the bed now, and was pleased when Eddie shifted and followed, tucking himself against Richie’s side.

“The part where I need to fucking shower,” Eddie said, making no move to get up.

“Do it later,” Richie said. “I’ll hop in with you, save water.”

“If you hop in with me, neither of us are getting clean,” Eddie snorted, and god, if Richie hadn’t just came, that would’ve done some shit to him.

“All the more reason,” he said, tucking Eddie a bit more securely into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of his head, getting a little bold.

“Did you mean all that stuff?” Eddie asked after a beat of silence. “About-”

“You’re everything,” Richie said, and he could feel Eddie’s breth hitching without even looking at him, because he wasn’t brave enough to do that right now. “Always been. It’s… yeah.”

“Always?” Eddie sounded like he couldn’t believe it, which was stupid, because of course it was true.

“Which part of that did you miss, Eds?” Richie asked. “The part earlier where I told you you were the only guy I’d ever fantasized about, or the way I used to follow you around like a puppy when we were kids, or-”

“Shut up,” Eddie said. “It’s- you were my everything, Richie, so please, give me a damn minute to adjust to the reality that I haven’t been stupid for thinking that maybe you felt a little the same the whole time.”

“Take a minute, then,” Richie said, because, oh, he didn’t know what to do with that, so he probably needed a minute, too. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I,” Eddie said, and that made Richie relax a little bit. “I’m staying here, tonight, by the way. I’m not sure my legs work.”

“That good?” Richie hummed, smug, and Eddie didn’t answer, but the kiss he pressed to Richie’s shoulder did for him. “Told you, I’m fucking good.”

“One time doesn't count,” Eddie said. “You’re gonna have to give a repeat performance.”

“Oh, I’m gonna,” Richie said. “A few- later. Probably not tonight.”

“Probably not tonight,” Eddie agreed. “But- soon.”

“I’ll fuck you every night I’m home if you let me, Eds,” Richie said, and sounded a lot more lovesick than he intended.

“You’re taking me to dinner, first,” Eddie said. “Nice dinner, that I’m not cooking.”

“Deal,” Richie said. “It’s a date.”

“A date.” He turned to look at Eddie, then, and he was grinning like Richie had just done something amazing. “Good.”

Richie had to kiss him for that. “I’m getting that picture framed, by the way,” he said as they both tucked in for the night. “We can hang it in the living room.”

“We have people over, Richie,” Eddie said. “You’re not putting my nudes in the fucking living room.”

“They’re tasteful!” Richie protested. “And, like. That wasn’t a no on the framing.”

“It’s a good picture,” Eddie said. “But, not in the living room.”

“My office it is, then,” Richie said. “I’ll hang it right behind me, so when I do Skype interviews, it’s there.”

“You’re the absolute worst,” Eddie groaned, but he kissed Richie again, so Richie decided he was gonna take that as ‘maybe.’

#reddie #jack's shit #jack writes #please clap i wrote this in 6 hours

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kendrixtermina · 4 years

Note

for the ship thing thoughts on claumitri and ingrid/dorothea?

ingrid/dorothea?

General:

Rate the Ship - Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs - IDK why everyone wants Ingrid to be sapphic when she’s the one (1) character who explicitly says that she’s not sapphic. Or at least, shoots down Dorothea’s flirting in the B support. I think there’s value in having a non traditionally girly character who’s still hetero, many girls who want bfs get told that they will never get one if they don’t act stereotypical and that sucks. Or you could even read her as aspec given that she’s not too interested in pairing up or being attractive, and that the Glenn thing was arranged. She can still admire him and be sad he died without necessarily having the hots for him after all they probably grew up together. Also I don’t really see the particular appeal of those 2 characters together, they don’t have that much in common and Dorothea has a bajillion better options including sapphic ones.

How long will they last? - As long as it takes Ingrid to say she’s not interested

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - I kind of see why Dorothea might think she’s hot or mistakenly assume she’s into girls as the whole tomboyish look is something ppl sometimes do to communicate that, and she probably finds something relatable about their experiences re: slimy jerks. She does indisputably kick butt and have pretty hair

How was their first kiss? - I’ve had the experience before where the other person gives it a nice, proper try but you can tell they’re not really into it

For the rest of this meme I will not be a spoilsport and entertain the thought/ try to think about what it would be like if they DID get together. It’s certainly inconceivable to read it that way, perhaps Ingrid simply wasn’t ready yet at that time/ or it was an internalized thing.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - I’m certain Dorothea explicitly tried that on screen in the paralogue XD

Who is the best man/men? - Ingrid might try bringing Sylvain, Felix or Dimitri if we’re in a timeline where he lived.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Petra or Bernie

Who did the most planning? - Dorothea

Who stressed the most? - Ingrid

How fancy was the ceremony? -Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big. Neither would be much for ostentatiousness but I think Dorothea would want a bit of romantic florish

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Their jerkish ex suitors, even if they are important nobles of [winning faction]

Sex:

Who is on top? - Definitely Ingrid

Who is the one to instigate things? - Dorothea

How healthy is their sex life? -Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? -Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head - I can’t see Ingrid being very kinky, but Dorothea might ease her into it.

How long do they normally last? - a while

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Very much so

How rough are they in bed? -Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? -No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory. Dorothea really wants to have a relationship so once she gets one she’s gonna want PDA, Ingrid will probably be more stiff and proper - but I can see how a situation where she explores this/eases into it might be interesting to read. It’s not like Ingrid is completely unromantic given all her lofty ideas about honor and how she likes these high fantasy-eque books. It’s somewhere in there

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - Would probably not have babies.

How many children will they adopt? - Dorothea canonically looks after oprphans at least in Silver Snow so now entirely unlikely like two or three

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Ingrid being the responsible one

Who is the stricter parent? - Ingrid

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Ingrid

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Dorothea

Who is the more loved parent? - Dorothea

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? Ingrid

Who cried the most at graduation? - Dorothea

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Dorothea

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Ingrid

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Neither

Who does the grocery shopping? - Ingrid.

How often do they bake desserts? - Often enough. Gotta appreciate how so many people in this game heartily enjoy their nom stuff, even the girls. I think Lorenz is the only one noted as not having much of an appetite.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - This is Ingrid we’re talking about. We’re not partying until there’s a roasted stuffed pugket involved

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Hm. On the one hand Dorothea’s the romantic on the other hand Ingrid takes her obligations & loyalty seriously. But I think Dorothea would be the sort to really enjoy being the surprise-ee so let’s say Ingrid

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Dorothea

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Neither.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Both

Who is really against chores? - Neither.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Ingrid, mostly cause it’s her pets (Horses & pegasi chiefly)

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Dorothea

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Dorothea

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Ingrid. She has a jar where she collects all the spare change

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Dorothea

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Both, though probably Ingrid more often cause she likes the outdoors

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Dorothea strikes me as the decorating kind so regular

What are their goals for the relationship? - Probably to find their freedom together and also help the poor. I suppose that is something they might have in common

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Ingrid

Who plays the most pranks? - Dorothea

claumitri

General:

Rate the Ship - Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs - Sure why not? There’s nothing in particular that makes me think “Wow those would go super well together” but also nothing to the contrary. I’ve seen good fic for it. I guess they’re just the two dudes who get the most characterization and also sorta get along/interact, so there’s a lot to work with.

How long will they last? - Hm. Dimitri would strike me as someone would like to be serious and longterm about things. They would need to work out the politics first but there’s no reason why they couldn’t last

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - I’d say it wouldn’t take them that long to get started, but somewhat longer to really get to a deep level. Largely because Claude is quick to build surface friendships but slower to really show his real feelings, but also Dimitri wouldn’t necessarily realize that he’s holding something back or press the issue. It helps that they are both just likeable people tho. Dimitri is not going to pass up a chance for a heart-to heart talk. If he got through to that hidden more idealistic side of Claude I think they’d click and get something lasting going. They would definitely always have disagreements about their methods and are fairly different in how they deal with their feelings, but they both have the will to work with ppl with different opinions and build bridges.

How was their first kiss? - Claude probably quipped something about how it was surprisingly passionate. Dimitri turned into a tomato that same instant.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Dimitri

Who is the best man/men? - Dedue and either Nader or Byleth.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Not applicable. But if it were, probably Hilda and Mercedes or Flayn.

Who did the most planning? - Claude. He likes them feasts.

Who stressed the most? - Dimitri. Thankfully Claude is chill enough for both of them and knows to distract him

How fancy was the ceremony? -Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Lorenz’ and Sylvain’s jerk fathers. They might be important nobles but they’re jerks. Edelgard, Arundel and Rufus would already be dead in the AM timeline but if they weren’t they wouldn’t be invited anyways. Claude seems like might actually counteract Dimitri’s tendency to take bad treatment out of politeness. Felix might say that he won’t come but then show up anyways.Or there would be some conspiracy to kidnap him and make sure he comes. Lysithea came up with the plan and recruited Ingrid, Hilda and Sylvain to help her.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Hm. I could see either doing it. Perhaps Claude would suggest that they switch it up for novelty. But Dimitri is definitely the little spoon, despite his actual size XD

Who is the one to instigate things? - Claude

How healthy is their sex life? -Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? -Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head - The discussion would be absolutely hilarious cause Dimitri’s easily embarassed and Claude is a bit of a troll. But he wouldn’t go overboard or make Mitya uncomfortable Claude generally knows when to stop the gremlin act see that one scene with Flayn

How long do they normally last? - average but it would be pretty intense

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Not necessarily I can get either getting a kick out of just being the one administering the pleasure.

How rough are they in bed? -Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. - You’ve got one person with super strength and one with super toughness/regeneration. There is potential here.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? -No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory. Methinks Dimitri would be pretty affectionate while Claude’s certainly flirty but the genuinely vulnerable/emotional stuff would have to be in private behind closed doors

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - Perhaps Claude found some magic mpreg magic right next to where he got the magic cure for Lysithea…

How many children will they adopt? - No jokes aside Dimitri strikes me as the sort to want kids and also to make a point to choose to adopt. The people of Fodlan better get ready to get some adopted Almyran or Duscurian war orphan as their next king. Dimitri would just proudly stand by his adopted kid and Claude would handle the political fallout.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Dimitri

Who is the stricter parent? - Dimitri

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Certainly not Claude

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Dimitri

Who is the more loved parent? - Both but in different ways. Dimitri is the affectionate parent who comforts the kids when they’re upset, and Claude is the designated fun parent that you can openly talk about everything with.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - Dimitri

Who cried the most at graduation? - Dimitri cried so much

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Claude

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Claude

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Claude

Who does the grocery shopping? - Claude

How often do they bake desserts? - Probably not that often

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Claude certainly likes a good serving of nom stuff. And Dimitri’s huge, probably needs some fuel to keep functioning

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Claude strikes me as the surprise plans sort

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Claude

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Dimitri

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Not Claude. Dimitri tries but he’s clumsy

Who is really against chores? - It’d not that Claude’s against it perse he just gets distracted thinking about stiff

Who cleans up after the pets? - Claude

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Claude

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Dimitri

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Dimitri

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Claude

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - They do it together. Both like walking out in nature.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Dimitri isn’t much for decoration and Claude forgets about the holidays half the time

What are their goals for the relationship? - Just to be happy. Dimitri would want to have some separation between that and the politics - but it’s certainly helpful for the peace between the countries if the Kings are an item and they both care alot about promoting peace perhaps in slightly different but potentially complementary ways.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Claude

Who plays the most pranks? - Claude

#fe3h #three houses #fire emblem: three houses #claude von riegan #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #ingrid brandl galatea #dorothea arnault

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theacerbicprince · 5 years

Text

Love and War

@therearemoreimportanthings

"Yet you still foolishly thrown yourself into danger as though you have no consideration for your life or future. This is Potter's destiny, not yours. Gryffindors are practically unbearable.

I do apologise Miss Granger, would you rather I extol your virtues in sonnet form? Or perhaps a grand, romantic gesture to sweep you off your feet and talk to you about my feelings and my fears of inadequacy that can only be healed by the light of your love?”

"Its not foolish, what else was I supposed to do? Sit around and bake cookies? Let the men do all the work? Let the purebloods and halfbloods do all the work? It became my destiny as soon as I got my letter, this is my war just as much as it is Harry's. And Harry needs me. I don’t expect that but not being insulted constantly is apparently too much to ask for. I already get that a giant spider is more appealing, and so is an airhead with a prettier face than my own.

"It was never your destiny, it was your choice and it was a foolish choice that led to you almost being killed. Indeed it is pushing the envelope of what is acceptable in a time of war. Love has no place in war, love is what will hasten your demise, I know it, I have seen it. This situation we have found ourselves thrust into is less than agreeable but, truly, can you say it would not perturb you if I was anything other than my usual acerbic self? "

"What should I be doing instead? Have I ever been the type to let things be or to not help others? If my dying would save more lives I'm willing to risk it, I'm the best in all my classes and yet here is this wizard that kills people saying he is better. That only pureblooded wizards are worth anything and sometimes halfbloods are too. I didn't say anything about love, but love is the one thing at least harry, ron and I have on our side. If you suddenly turned into a gushy romantic I would be perturbed, but there's a lot of room between that and insulting me."

Severus tried not to growl, beyond frustrated and enraged by this slip of a woman who seemed to be more focused on helping others than preserving her own life. He had signed away his life, forfeit it many years ago but that didn’t mean that she had to do the same. He wanted to reach out for her, to grab her and shake some sense into her. It wouldn’t accomplish anything though other than act as a conduit for him to vent his frustrations. Severus thought that Lily had been his soul mate and he had lost her and now, now it turned out that Hermione Granger was his soul mate and there was the strong likelihood that she too would die to save Harry Potter. Severus couldn’t bear it, he had grown sick of seeing life and talent so wasted.

“Will you stop and listen to yourself for even one moment Miss Granger?” Severus thundered. “You are not in some fantasy story where it is noble to sacrifice your life for the cause because it will all work out in the end. You aren’t even in your twenties and you are ready to throw yourself on the pyre. I am not insisting that you stop fighting but at least curb your natural inclinations towards recklessness.” Severus took a breath to try calm his heart beat. His blood pressure had probably sky rocketed with the force of his mostly contained temperament.

“How can you even begin to expect this to work if you are endangering yourself every time that I turn my back?” He muttered, a small acknowledgement that he was more committed to this than she may have originally thought. He didn’t want a relationship with her, they weren’t going to be moving in together and picking out matching curtains and rugs for their shared library but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t come to some arrangement to nourish only the soul rather than the body. She was young and clearly Mr Weasley was panting over her like a dog with a bone (Severus shuddered internally at the thought) and this shouldn’t interfere with her life more than it needed to.

#soul mate AU #therearemoreimportanthings

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thewardlowcollection · 5 years

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Hello Librarians! Many people do not like the rain but as I live in Southern California it is a precious commodity with our never ending drought. Can you recommend fins that involve water? Beaches, baths, showers, rain—even a garden hose! I love reading the wardlow collection!

Water, Water, Everywhere

Oh Anonymous, what a great ask. Despite living mostly in more rain prone regions of the world, we librarians love fics that involve getting our beloved characters wet. In fact, we still hope for a scene like this in the MFMM movie:

It’s unlikely given the location, but one can still hope.

It seems that the writers love this theme too. You will find a lot of shower/bath or similar scenes in longer fics or drabble compilations. In fact, there are too many to mention all. So we decided to give you only fics in which water plays a main role or which features scenes that we love dearly.

Rain

Speechless (2016) by @promisesarepiecrust Phryne and Jack get caught out in the rain and need to stand very close to keep dry. They can’t talk because of the thunder, whatever are they supposed to do?

It’s raining men (2018) by @deverewinterton A car breaks down in the middle of a thunderstorm, the mobile phone is not invented yet, what can you do? If you are DI Jack Robinson of City South you will knock on Miss Fisher’s door with the intention to call for a mechanic, but end up in front of the fireplace getting warmed by the lady of the house.

Something Wild (2013) by ijemanja On the hunt for a fugitive Phryne and Jack get stranded in the mountains and need a place to keep safe and warm. Conveniently they stumble upon a small cabin with only one bed to share.

T.G.I.Phrack Chapter 5: Warm (2016) Dispatch22705 Here you kill two birds with one stone. A rain soaked Phryne knocks on Jack’s door. He is trying to get her warm in the shower.

Sweltering (2014) by @jeneenp (CollingwoodGirl) Melbourne is in the grip of a heat wave while the sexual tension between Phryne and Jack grows. The relief for both comes with a thunderstorm, rain and hailstorm.

Pandora’s Box (2016) by @heavyheadedgal A London reunion fic, which is very light on the rain but the image of a rain soaked Jack standing in front of Phryne’s door made our hearts skip a beat.

Home (2017) by @firesign23 Even though our favorite Detectives stay dry in this one, the rain is doing what it should do, keeping them where they should be…in the bedroom

Ocean and Beach

Wave of Laughter (2018) by @edeainfj (deedeeinfj) A little Phrack at the beach never hurt nobody.

If I Could Be With You (One Hour Tonight) (2014) by @misspamela The Queenscliff case goes horribly wrong before Phrack emerges even stronger.

A Night in Queenscliff (2017) by @whopooh Another wonderful version of the Queenscliff episode. Which not only deals with the truth about shenanigans on the beach, but also gives us a glimpse into the following episodes.

Diving In (2017) by @221aubrina The Queenscliff diving scene before it went to the cutting room. We really were robbed.

Drink the Wild Air (2018) by @omgimsarahtoo Phryne and Jack are on a beach and are remembering the Queenscliff case

Life Saver (2018) by @jeneenp (CollingwoodGirl) Phryne returns to Melbourne from London just to find Jack undercover as a lifeguard. Yes, you heard right, Miss Fisher goes Baywatch. Sadly the fic is not finished yet, so please @jeneenp if you can find your muse again we would love to read some new chapters.

Paradise (2018) by @ollyjayonline Jack is enjoying his vacation on a sunny beach, what could possibly go wrong?

what the water gave me (2015) by missrainydays A sad but at the same time beautiful introspective fic. The Ocean is only metaphorical but it does work really well.

Pools

Gone for a Swim (2015) by PlayfulMay Phryne finds Jack swimming in Aunt P’s pool and they both get playful until Aunt P is cockblocking (again). This is the first part of the 3 part series The Tease. Make sure to read the other two fics too.

Varying States of Muscular Undress (2015) by @gaslightgallows Five times Phryne gets some or all of Jack’s clothes off, and one time he does it himself. The fic is a collection of “extended Scene” for different episodes of the show. The scene for the tennis episode is the one that includes skinny dipping.

Terra Nova (2016) by @aljohnsonwrites Part 3 of the YACI universe - a wonderful modern AU - (We recommend you check out all the other fics in that series. They are delightful.) This one has not only the Firemen’s and Policemen’s Ball but also Aunt P’s annual “Welcome to Spring BBQ” and a pool.

If the Choice were Mine (2015) by @flashofthefuse Phryne and Jack try to navigate their new relationship and go swimming after the tennis episode.

Tubs and Showers

Creatures of Stillness (2016) by @gaslightgallows Jack turns up on Phryne’s door in London a little worse for wear but Phryne is here to help. Cleaning up can be so much fun.

Muscular Distress (2015) by @gaslightgallows This is a missing scene from the above mentioned Varying States of Muscular Undress. During the shenanigans in VSoMD Jack is in desperate need of a shower.

You Asked For It Chapter 104: Foolscap (2015) by @gaslightgallows After a hard case, Phryne takes a bath. This is a follow up scene for the Beyond the Sea AU. This one works even if you haven’t read Beyond the Sea, but we do recommend to read it, as it is a wonderful fic.

The Female Gaze (2016) by @omgimsarahtoo Five different “Jack is in the shower” scenes. And yes, there’s an abundance of female gazing!

Coming Clean (2015) by @omgimsarahtoo Jack and Phryne make perfect use of their bathrooms. This is the start of the Fantasy and Reality series, which is also highly recommended.

Lakes and other waters

The Swimming Hole (2017) by @ollyjayonline Phrack is taking a little break from their journey. This is a follow up to Lost in Vegas but works very well as a standalone too.

500 Words You Should Know: #500 (2015) by @afterdinnerminx A very pregnant Dot, a stunned Hugh and a lovely secluded pond makes a great day out and a lovely fic.

A Man in Need (2014) by @jeneenp (CollingwoodGirl) This is a long fic dealing with the aftermath of Unnatural Habits. It focuses on the building relationship between Phryne and Jack and is not water centered, but there is a wonderful scene with Phryne and Jack at a very secluded pond in the forest.

Adrenaline and Aftermath (2017) by @omgimsarahtoo Phryne and Jack are caught in a life threatening situation. An avalanche, a cabin and a bear rug are involved. (Snow is just frozen water, right?)

I hope you enjoy our selection and have a great time reading – preferably while raindrops falling on your roof. Happy reading!

#the wardlow collection #mfmm fanfic #water #rain #miss fisher murder mysteries #mfmm #phrack #labassa librarians #3.1: ask the librarians #water water everywhere

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beatrice-otter · 5 years

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The myth of the “good” master

TW for talk about slavery and racism.

For those of you who don’t follow Star Wars stuff, @fialleril has lots of really good meta and stories fleshing out Tatooine slave culture and how that shaped Anakin and Shmi and Luke. And one of the parts of that culture is a hatred of “Depur,” the master(s).

Somebody just sent them an ask about if there are any stories about good masters on Tatooine, who freed their slaves and provided cover for formerly enslaved people to do whatever, or who sold their slaves and got out. (Asker replied to the response with an apology for using the word “sold”) Fia had a good reply explaining why there wouldn’t, but I wanted to use Fia’s tags as a jumping off point for what I have to say about the myth of the “good” master, which is really prevalent in the US. And shows up in fiction (written by White people) a lot, and it’s always really, really bad. So let’s talk about both the problems with the myth, and the problems with the suggested stories about “good” masters. First, Fia’s tags:

#slaves don't tell stories about 'good' masters

#it's the masters themselves #and their descendants trying to feel less guilty #who tell those stories

#i mean this ask is in the context of fiction and that's important

#but i'm also aware that i say this as a white person in america #and i remember hearing all sorts of stories about 'good' slave masters as a kid

#but you know what? #white people are the only ones who tell those stories #it's a way of trying to get around the sense of collective guilt

#so i actually could see stories like this cropping up in a future gffa #where tatooine has been free for a couple decades

#but you can bet it's not going to be the descendants of slaves telling those stories

I’m white, but I’ve studied US History and read books by Black people about slavery. Black people today do not tell stories of "good" slave owners. Just like Jewish people don't tell stories of "good" Nazis. I've heard Black interpreters at living history exhibits talk about how horrifying and exhausting it is to deal with White people trying to find a way to make the slave owner a good person. They just keep asking and asking and posing what-if after what-if and trying to find SOME WAY that it's okay to participate in the system of slavery. Some way to excuse what their ancestors (or the ancestors of their culture) did. Some way to exonerate the ones we came from. And the black re-enactor has to deal with this crap, and it is horrifying for them. It is some of the most degrading emotional labor I can imagine. At its heart, the insistence on “good” slaveowners comes from a place of arrogance and privilege and selfishness. It’s saying “My desire to sweep my ancestor’s sins under the rug and pretend the evil they did was not evil is more important than the pain and suffering they caused, and it’s also more important than the pain and suffering I’m causing the Black people around me by trying to justify the people who hurt their ancestors and would hurt them too if they’d lived back then.”

Pretty much every study of slavery in the US I’ve ever read that went into any detail found that slavery was an intensely corroding social mechanism for everyone at every level of society who participated in it, willingly or unwillingly. To participate, you had to either actively degrade and abuse other human beings, knowingly allow other human beings to be degraded and abused, or be degraded and abused yourself. Not all slaveowners thought the system was right; not all slaveowners were vicious to their slaves. But even the ones who disliked the system and were not personally vicious depended on the threat of selling their slaves to others who were worse than them to keep their slaves in line. And if you were a slaveowner, even one who consciously believed that slavery was wrong, well, human beings are terrible at admitting when we’re wrong. There are all sorts of ways in which you slip down the path to justifying your actions. “Yes, it’s wrong, but...” “Yes, I’m a slaveowner, but I’m not like those other slaveowners,” “I’m a good slaveowner, so my slaves should be grateful to me because I’m so nice to them.”

Women, do these justifications sound familiar to you? It’s #notallmen! That’s what it is! Except there really are men who treat women well and don’t perpetuate rape culture and the patriarchy, and there is no way to be a slaveowner without being part of the slave system. Yes, all slaveowners did evil or facilitated evil or profited from evil. Some of them just chose to use others to do the dirty work. Owning slaves is inherently degrading and oppressive and abusive. There’s no way around it.

Probably the best exploration of the “good slaveowner” myth I’ve ever seen is the 2016 movie Birth of a Nation by Nate Parker, about the Nat Turner slave rebellion of 1831. The film is mostly about Nat, of course, but it also deals with the family that owned him, a “nice, good” White family. They’re nice people. Good, by the standards of their society. They are a stark contrast to the horrifying evil of the slaveowners around them. And yet ... they participate knowingly in that society. They know it’s wrong and they still want to be respected by their neighbors whom they know do evil things. So they themselves keep saying and doing things that get worse and worse, things that they know are wrong, because they choose fitting in to an evil society over doing the right thing. It’s very accurate to the choices and reactions of most people we would label as “good” slaveowners, and in a lot of ways it made them more horrifying than the slaveowners who delighted in torturing their slaves. The torturers were twisted and evil but they didn’t know any better. The “good” slaveowners knew better and still did it anyway.

For decades there has been this idea (among White historians) that, even for those who accepted that there were no “good” slaveowners, White women whose families owned slaves could still be “good” slaveowners because they didn’t directly own slaves (married women not being allowed to own property) and were powerless to do anything to stop it. A Black historian recently challenged this by showing that there were all SORTS of legal workarounds for this, and many married White women routinely owned their own slaves; many were given their first slave as a child and owning slaves was part of their identity. In the places she’s studied, about 40% of slaveowners were women. Interestingly enough, by comparing various primary sources by and about specific White women slaveowners, some of them seemed to be consciously creating the myth of a “good” slaveowner whose treatment of their slaves is a net benefit for the slave. These women she’s pretty sure, knew that was false, but they wanted to be seen that way. They know it’s purely selfish, but they want to be seen as altruistic. So they lie.

The ask suggested a “good” slaveowner who freed their slaves and let them do whatever as cover. The thing is, someone who frees slaves is, by definition, NOT a slave owner. They are not maintaining power over any person. They are not benefiting or profiting from owning people in any way, shape, or form. The idea that they could then pretend to be a slaveowner and use the privilege it gives them in order to cover for the actions of escaping slaves is bogus. There is no way to maintain a position of power in a slave society without participating in enslavement. Why? Because the other slaveowners will notice if all your slaves disappear. And they will not be happy. And they will, at best, exclude you and not trust you. If you free your slaves, you lose all status. Unless, what, you free them and they keep working for you as cover for being a stop on the underground railroad? There's easier and cheaper ways of setting up stops that don't involve formerly enslaved people having to act like slaves. Can you imagine what that would be like? You could not really be free, not inside your head, because you would have to keep playing that part. It would be incredibly corrosive to the psyche of both "slave" and "master." Because when we repeatedly do or say something, our brains incorporate that as right or good or natural even when we know better. That's how brainwashing works. If you repeat a lie often enough, even knowing that it is a lie, you begin to believe in it. Formerly enslaved people setting up ruses that involve pretending to be enslaved for a brief mission is one thing. A former master setting up something where the formerly enslaved people have to re-enact their enslavement ... yikes.

If we were talking about a real-life situation, would it be possible for it to happen in a way that was not bad? Maybe for short temporary skirmishes into slaveowner society. But given how much racism is wrapped up in the “good slaveowner” myth in American society, how much we cling to that myth and how much damage it does to real black people here and now, this is not a story we should be telling. If a Black person wanted to write that story, okay, fine. I highly doubt any would, because like Fia said earlier, Black people really do not tell stories of “good” slaveowners. But in the here-and-now, given how much racism is wrapped up in the myth of the “good” slaveowner, I guarantee you that any White person trying to write such a story--even set in a fictional universe like Star Wars!--there’s pretty much no way for a White person to tell that story in a way that doesn’t reinforce current-day racism and slavery justifications. And that goes for pretty much any story set in any fantasy, SFF, or alternate universe where slavery is present. Not all slaveowners have to be mustache-twirling villains. You can do complex things with them and relative moral states. But if you ever start thinking of any of them as “good” stop right there and take a step back and take a good, hard look at what you’re doing.

OP also suggested a master being “good” for selling all their slaves, which they later realized was a stupid thing to say. I’m glad they realized it, but I’d still like to address it. "Oh, poor me, I have realized that it is wrong to treat people like property! Boo-hoo! I cannot own them any longer! But if I free them, I will lose money and status! So I will sell them to other people! They're still slaves, but I'M such a good person because I have realized it's wrong to own people and now I don't any more!" The slaveowner realizes that slavery is wrong and SELLS their slaves instead of FREEING them. That does not make them a good person, that makes them a selfish person more concerned with feeling good about themself than actually doing something to reduce the harm they are causing. This is a common thing humans do; “I don’t want to feel bad about having done this bad thing, so I’ll stop doing it in the way that has the least consequences for me, even if that screws over the people I’ve already screwed over.” And it’s far more likely in situations where we think, consciously or subconsciously, that the people they screwed over are not their equals or not really people or don’t really matter. When we realize we have hurt people we are biased against, we are often more concerned with salving our conscience than restoring the wrong we did. This sort of conscience-salving is not the same as actually doing good, and it’s something we should all be on the lookout for in ourselves. It can be very effective in a fictional character, as long as you don’t buy into the character’s self-justifying BS.

Please don’t dogpile the OP or abuse them. I’m pretty sure it’s just a Clueless White Person who’s heard the story of Good Slaveowners all their life and bought into it. Correction is one thing; dogpiling is another.

#slavery #racism

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thefilmfatale · 6 years

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THE FLORIDA PROJECT (2017) dir. Sean Baker

Sean Baker’s The Florida Project is pure lightning in a bottle. The film combines a unique visual aesthetic with a slice-of-life story that manages to be simultaneously raw, daring, sweet, and sordid. Starring newcomer Bria Vinaite and Brooklynn Prince (who were both absolute joys to watch), The Florida Project is set against the backdrop of a seedy motel just outside of Orlando, Florida, the city home to the “most magical place on Earth”: Disneyworld. The garish, purple-painted motel—dubbed The Magic Kingdom—is managed by Bobby (Willem Dafoe), a man whose default facial expression is perpetually tired and sort of stretched. Bobby doesn’t just play the role of groundskeeper for the oddly-situated motel; he also keeps a watchful eye over his tenants, who are predominantly families who have been relocated to the motel for temporary low-income housing. One of these families is single mom Halley (Vinaite) and her daughter Mooney (Prince), a scrappy duo whose run-ins with motel management involve everything from late rental payments to pulling pranks on the other tenants.

While viewers may feel like flies on a wall as we watch these characters go about their lives, The Florida Project never feels mundane. The film mostly follows Mooney as she goes on hijinks and adventures with her neighborhood friends Scooty and Jancey, but occasionally trains its focus on Halley as she figures out different ways to make ends meet, whether it’s hawking perfume bottles and fake Disneyworld wristbands to gullible tourists or making arrangements for spare food with a friend who works at a diner. It’s a different snapshot of poverty than how cinema has treated the subject before. It’s not a depiction of filth, squalor, or starvation that audiences are used to seeing on screen when these topics are broached. Rather, it’s with a very particular lens that Baker is choosing to discuss poverty—one that reminds viewers that scarcity exists in various forms. In The Florida Project’s case, it’s in the stark contrast between the throngs of families luxuriating in amusement parks and those living in the shadow of the glitz that Baker finds the most fascination.

Spoilers under the cut.

Baker’s deliberate skill as a storyteller shows in how he uses the camera to shine a light on disturbing situations without ever giving the impression that he is gawking. He invites the audience to spectate out of curiosity, never out of a desire to witness shock and awe. A great example is when we see several seemingly random scenes of Mooney sitting in the bathtub playing with her toys while faint music plays outside of the bathroom. No additional context provided, very little meaning to derive from the scene in and of itself, outside of what seems like more of that slice of life quality Baker is trying to capture in the film. But later, in what initially seems like another scene of Mooney playing in the bathtub, this time a man opens the bathroom door and exclaims in surprise when he finds Mooney there. Halley then yells at the man to shut the door, and the audience immediately realizes that every time Mooney has been innocently playing with her dolls in the tub, Halley has had men over for sex. While this may feel to some audiences like a clear admonishment of Halley and her parenting skills, Baker doesn’t attempt to couch the scene with any sort of moral judgment. Nor does he really want to. Instead, he just lets the scene sit in the minds of viewers, a stunning reminder that things like these, while distasteful—even dangerous—are sadly all too common.

Another example of Baker taking great pains to avoid being gratuitous is in a scene where Halley and her friend from the diner Ashley (who also happens to be a tenant at the same building and whose son is Mooney’s occasional playmate) get into a violent altercation. After a vicious exchange of words, Halley attacks Ashley, beating her to a pulp. Viewers aren’t directly subjected to the blood and gore of it all, but we’re acutely aware of what’s happening. Baker chooses to let the violence happen off camera knowing full well of the power of suggestion, and that imagination can fill in the gaps. Again, Baker is careful not to ogle, which demonstrates a deft hand and a trust in the audience that they can put two and two together on their own.

It’s at the end where things get really interesting for The Florida Project. Baker makes the audacious choice to switch styles from Italian neorealism to a variant of German expressionism. When child services comes to take Mooney away after the Halley-Ashley incident, she escapes to Jancey’s apartment, where she starts crying inconsolably—a truly heartbreaking moment. The film then abruptly transitions, both visually and audibly, to show Jancey grabbing Mooney’s hand, both taking off running. In this sequence, it’s immediately clear that a different camera was used—the colors went from dull, gaudy pastels to a superficial, oversaturated quality, a sense of hyperrealism coursing through the scenes like a time-lapse. The audience follows the young duo as they make their way through the gates of Disney World, weaving through hordes of wandering families and finally stopping in front of the iconic magic castle. They’ve made it to the happiest place on Earth. /Fin.

At first, it feels jarring. “Why the switching of gears?” “Did the kids really just waltz right into Disney World without being stopped?” “Why did they run to Disney World?” “This doesn’t feel right!” It takes a minute before the realization hits that this seemingly disjointed ending was intentional and couldn’t have been a mistake. A film that maintained a steady hand throughout couldn’t just have floundered in its final 5 minutes. But then it slowly dawns on the audience: the hyperrealism, the turned up instrumental music...which, if one had been paying close attention to the film, it was easy to notice that music was used very sparingly, specifically, and functionally in the movie. It didn’t just get turned on for background noise, for ambiance. The entire ending is deliberately crafted to be an escapist fantasy. Baker is giving the audience a window into Mooney’s fragile mind, as she uses the fantasy of visiting the most magical place on Earth to cope with the horror of being separated from her mother. It’s not entirely without precedent; after all, whenever bad things have happened in Mooney’s life, she has used a child’s ability to play and pretend to make sense of it all. It’s a truly sad ending, and one that stays with you even after the credits finish rolling. We never find out Mooney’s fate, but we know enough about how these things go to know that her great escape to a land of fairies and make believe is a lot kinder for a child.

A sobering atmosphere hangs in the air of The Florida Project, thick with the realization that that there are pockets across the country of people who’ve fallen through the cracks, occasionally peeking out from under the glittery sheen of American consumerism, capitalism, and promise. The film reads like a rebuke of a culture obsessed with keeping up with the Joneses and sweeping things under the rug (like the john who angrily knocks on Halley’s door to demand the Disney World tickets for his family that she stole while he was paying her for sex), but Baker is always careful not to fingerwag. Instead, he treats the characters with a respect rarely afforded to those who live such complicated lives. Halley, despite her obvious flaws and faults, clearly loves Mooney. Bobby, despite being frustrated by the trying work of governing the motel and its residents, has a kind heart. But Halley can’t get her shit together, and as a result, her daughter is taken away. Bobby’s own relationship with his estranged wife and son is fraught and he has to remind himself to never get attached to anyone at the motel because they are often transient, lost souls going through the revolving door of hardship and strife. Some frequently get arrested, others can’t afford to pay their rent and have to move or become homeless. Some have their children taken away due to negligence. Bobby has seen it all and in his jadedness has lost the ability to really be shocked by anything anymore.

The Florida Project is a rare gem, a cinematic lament of youth’s innocence and an authentic look at the harsh reality of living in scarcity. Both sad and joyous, vibrant and resigned, it’s a truly unique story that challenges the audience. Vinaite’s performance is magnetic, raw, and unbridled—a testament to her natural charisma (director Sean Baker discovered her on Instagram), while Prince is charming and extremely likable. Dafoe is wonderful in his role, but his fame slightly diminishes the story’s guerrilla quality. Without taking away from his performance, one wishes a lesser known actor played the role of the curmudgeonly motel caretaker instead. Baker’s biggest accomplishment by far is making terribly complicated, messy people endearing to the audience, while acknowledging that their stories are worthy of being told. There are moments of hilarity and amusement in the film, but Baker certainly doesn’t shy away from telling hard truths. Yes, the world is a cold, dark place where fairy godmothers, magic lamps, and pixie dust don’t exist. But sometimes it’s easier to pretend they do.

#The Florida Project #Sean Baker #movie reviews #bria vinaite #brooklynn prince #willem dafoe

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eddycurrents · 6 years

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For the week of 13 August 2018

Quick Bits:

Astonishing X-Men Annual #1 is a rather dark tale of reuniting the remaining members of the original five X-Men and the current creature claiming to be Charles Xavier running around as X. Given his attitude in Charles Soule’s run and now in this story penned by Matthew Rosenberg, there still seems to be something very wrong with the once altruistic, peaceful founder of the team. I personally don’t really like this character, but it still leads to a good story from Rosenberg, Travel Foreman, and Jim Charalampidis.

| Published by Marvel

By Night #3 is another fun issue with a bit of a twist as we follow Heather’s father and Jane’s co-worker instead of the women. The voice John Allison gives to Heather’s father, Chip, is hilarious, the perfect mix of no-nonsense “dad” thought and aimless absurdity.

| Published by Boom Entertainment / Boom! Box

Cable & Deadpool Annual #1 is a very entertaining issue of time-travel nonsense and Deadpool being tricked into a recreation of the plot of Terminator from an obsessive stalker. David F. Walker packs this story with humour, creepy lesson teaching, and a bit of a monologue on the nature of comics storytelling. All nicely illustrated by a rogues gallery of Paco Diaz, Danilo S. Beyruth, Nick Bradshaw, Luke Ross, Marco Rudy, Edgar Salazar, Flaviano, Francesco Manna, Leonard Kirk, Chris Sotomayor, and Jason Keith.

| Published by Marvel

Coda #4 packs the issue with more stunning artwork, from character designs to page layouts and panel transitions, by Matías Bergara (with colour assists from Michael Doig). This series is just a visual treat. It also helps that the story from Bergara and Si Spurrier is equally incredible, taking many of the traditional forms and modes of fantasy literature and turning them into something new. The opening poem outlining the fall of the world and the rise of Sir Hum’s wife is particularly inspired.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Coyotes #5 is a welcome return for this series after the trade break, beginning a new story-arc that goes more in depth to the history between the wolves and the grandmothers, as the book’s purpose pivots to the offence. I love the ingenuity of the mythology of this story being built by Sean Lewis and Caitlin Yarsky. Also, like the first four issues, Yarsky’s art is just stunning.

| Published by Image

Crowded #1 is great. The concept of tapping into our current app-driven and crowdfunded world is brilliant, especially as extended to an assassination app in reapr. Christopher Sebela, Ro Stein, Ted Brandt, Triona Farrell, and Cardinal Rae seem to have captured magic in a bottle here and the execution is just phenomenal. The characters of Charlie and Vita are instantly relatable, the premise is on fire, and the art is exceptional. I really want to see what Charlie isn’t telling us.

| Published by Image

Ether: Copper Golems #4 is another stunning visual feast from David Rubín. Seriously, he has outdone himself this issue, as he handles the usual fantasy sequences, then changes art styles several times as we get our characters living out some of their fantasies. His work is just stunning. The story that he and Matt Kindt are telling just keeps getting better and better.

| Published by Dark Horse

Extermination #1 begins the next big X-Men event with a bang as past, present, future, and alternate universes collide in this explosive issue. I feel like discussing just about any piece of it is a spoiler, so I’ll just suggest that if you’re at all interested in the original five brought to our time, you need to read this. Ed Brisson, Pepe Larraz, and Marte Gracia present an impressive opening salvo.

| Published by Marvel

Flavor #4 is a bit of a piece-shuffling issue, as Xoo spends a bit of time in jail and we get a couple more hints as to the something that is being done with children. Although we still don’t know what, and a bit of a revelation of Anant’s mother. Joseph Keatinge, Wook Jin Clark, and Tamra Bonvillain continue to work wonders on this series. Highly recommended for all ages.

| Published by Image

Gideon Falls #6 ups the level of weird in this concluding chapter of the first arc. To say that the implications of that final page are confusing, compelling, and chilling is an understatement, as Jeff Lemire, Andrea Sorrentino, and Dave Stewart construct one of the oddest instalments of this series yet. A lot of this series has been in building tone and atmosphere, spooky unexplained happenings, and here the story goes full David Lynch. It’s wonderful.

| Published by Image

The Gravediggers Union #9 is the conclusion to what has been an exciting and different take on the occult and elder gods mythology from Wes Craig, Toby Cypress, and Niko Guardia. Fittingly, this end comes down to the family conflict that this arc has revolved around, and it’s a well played out finale. I highly recommend this series.

| Published by Image

Hunt for Wolverine: The Claws of a Killer #4 is probably the least satisfying “conclusion” of these minis so far, giving us a kind of hand-wavy explanation for what they were tracking, no insight into the organization who brought about these zombies while resurrecting family members, and Daken shuffled off to who knows where. Mariko Tamaki successfully captures the tone and atmosphere of many of the original Wolverine series stories laced with action and black ops, but unfortunately also carries on its tradition of obfuscation instead of an enticing mystery. Nice art from Butch Guice, Mack Chater, Cam Smith, and Jordan Boyd, though.

| Published by Marvel

Ice Cream Man #6 is highly inventive, even for a series as highly imaginative already that this one is. Instead of one story, here, W. Maxwell Prince, Martín Morazzo, and Chris O’Halloran give us three different flavours to fulfill the “Strange Neapolitan”. It’s a mostly silent issue of three different paths our protagonist can possibly take with each of them presenting their own flavour of horror. This is a really great issue.

| Published by Image

Infinity Wars #2 is pretty damn epic. I know that the pieces will be reshuffled and everything will be put back together more or less as we found it, but hot damn are Gerry Duggan, Mike Deodato Jr., and Frank Martin working overtime to tell a heavy story here. The art is some of the best I’ve ever seen from Deodato and Martin and the stakes have just ratcheted through the roof. I’m loving every moment of this book so far.

| Published by Marvel

The Lost City Explorers #3 is still doling out the tension as the kids continue to try to evade Sagan security on their way to try to find Hel and Homer Coates’ father’s discovery site under New York City. We’re still only get bits and pieces before a revelation of whatever the discovery actually is, but Zack Kaplan, Alvaro Sarraseca, and Dee Cunniffe are still presenting a compelling story.

| Published by AfterShock

Luke Cage #1 is another digital original like Cloak & Dagger and Jessica Jones, and also like the latter series offers two chapters at once, and is really rather good, from Anthony Del Col, Jahnoy Lindsay, and Ian Herring. This sets up an interesting mystery of a strange kind of serial killer, the possibility of Luke suffering from CTE, and the wonderful family dynamic between Luke and his daughter.

| Published by Marvel

The Magic Order #3 continues as a slow burn as Madame Albany and her coterie keep working their way through murdering her family members, all while those family members attempt to track down information on who her assassin is and how to stop him. Mark Millar, Olivier Coipel, and Dave Stewart are crafting a wonderful story here that reminds me a bit of Wanted, but good and about magic.

| Published by Image

Multiple Man #3 takes a particularly dark turn as Matthew Rosenberg, Andy MacDonald, and Tamra Bonvillain toss us into the dark future where an evil Madrox reigns. Of the dark futures where the X-Men stories have taken place, this is probably one of the most twisted, even as Rosenberg peppers it with some nice humour. The throw rug in particular is hilarious.

| Published by Marvel

Ninja-K #10 is a single issue story focusing on Ninja-H and the horrors that soldiers can have to deal with and how they sometimes cope with it. It has some great art from Larry Stroman, Ryan Winn, and Andrew Dalhouse.

| Published by Valiant

Peter Parker: The Spectacular Spider-Man #308 is probably the best issue of this series since Chip Zdarsky and Michael Walsh’s single issue story of Peter and Jonah hashing it out in issue 6. Zdarsky shows us here that he really excels at getting into the head’s of some of the characters, giving us a good look from their perspective, and humanizing them. He does that here with Flint Marko, the Sandman, and it feels like an interesting transition to something else. It also helps that it’s wonderfully illustrated by Chris Bachalo and his usual team of inkers of Tim Townsend, Al Vey, Wayne Faucher, and John Livesay. This is a great start and I’m excited to see what comes next for this story.

| Published by Marvel

Rumble #6 begins this volume’s second arc and is the other series with glorious David Rubín artwork this week (this one with colours from Dave Stewart). I love this book, with its fun mix of humour and arcane magic and fantasy, and how John Arcudi, originally James Harren, now Rubín have built the characters, the overall story, and the absolutely beautiful artwork.

| Published by Image

Stellar #3 takes an interesting look at the existential price of war and at the notion of “you can never go home again” in this somewhat depressing, but no less entertaining, issue.

| Published by Image / Skybound

Thor #4 is the glorious conclusion to this opening arc sending Thor to Niffleheim to fight Sindr in this leg of the War of the Realms. The artwork from Mike del Mundo is incredible.

| Published by Marvel

Tony Stark: Iron Man #3 builds another largely single issue story into the larger arc, with a beta test of Tony’s new eScape platform. I like how Dan Slott and Valerio Schiti have been approaching this series and building up Stark’s supporting cast, while also progressing the recurring subplot of Bethany Cabe’s subterfuge and X-51′s newfound robot rights activism.

| Published by Marvel

Volition #1 is another interesting debut from AfterShock, this time focusing on a world featuring artificial intelligence that hasn’t sparked an apocalypse, instead adapting and continuing on as just another class within society, fighting to survive and combat prejudice like their human counterparts, as created by Ryan Parrott and Omar Francia. The art is gorgeous and a real driving factor for the story, Francia’s style reminds me a bit of JG Jones and it’s incredible.

| Published by AfterShock

Weapon H #6 continues to be that weird, offbeat comic from Marvel that used to be published in the ‘80s or ‘90s that nobody read, but was actually rather good. Greg Pak has been doing a great job of building up this rather eclectic cast of characters and the art has been wonderful. Here Ario Anindito takes on the art chores with Morry Hollowell and it’s quite nice. His style reminds me a bit of Brian Hurtt mixed with Leinil Yu and it really fits the gritty action of the story.

| Published by Marvel

Weapon X #22 is more irreverent fun with the “new” Weapon X-Force team as they follow the money instead of altruistic reasons for saving people (though their second mission out already sees a reversion to the old remit). It’s a not-so-serious take on what is almost a team entirely composed of villains with a good sense of humour and action from Greg Pak, Fred Van Lente, Yildiray Cinar, and Frank D’Armata. It’s also another good place for some obscure X-mythology insertions and follow-ups in the story.

| Published by Marvel

The Weatherman #3 continues to keep readers a little off balance with some of the elements in the story, echoing what’s going on with out protagonist, Nathan Bright. Jody LeHeup, Nathan Fox, and Dave Stewart are crafting something here that feels a lot like some of the zanier action strips from 2000 AD and it’s pretty glorious.

| Published by Image

Other Highlights: Analog #5, Babyteeth #12, Cinema Purgatorio #15, Crude #5, Deadpool: Assassin #5, Doctor Strange #4, Edge of Spider-Geddon #1, Evolution #9, Infinity 8 #5, Jeepers Creepers #4, Jim Henson’s Beneath the Dark Crystal #2, Jughead: The Hunger #7, Mage: The Hero Denied #11, Manifest Destiny #36, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers #30, Mysticons - Volume 1, Proxima Centauri #3, RuinWorld #2, Sherlock Holmes: The Vanishing Man #4, Spider: School’s Out #6, Star Trek: The Next Generation - Terra Incognita #2, Star Wars: Beckett #1, Star Wars: Poe Dameron #30, Summit #8, TMNT: Bebop & Rocksteady Hit the Road #3, TMNT: Urban Legends #4, Usagi Yojimbo: The Hidden #5, The Wicked + The Divine #38, Witchfinder: The Gates of Heaven #4

Recommended Collections: Bettie Page - Volume 2: Model Agent, East of West - Volume 8, Hellboy: The Complete Short Stories - Volume 2, Kill or Be Killed - Volume 4, Old Man Hawkeye - Volume 1: An Eye for an Eye, , Peter Parker: The Spectacular Spider-Man - Volume 3: Amazing Fantasy, Rose - Volume 2, Transformers: Lost Light - Volume 3

d. emerson eddy has now been doing this incarnation of weekly round-ups for a year. Has it really been that long?

#This Week in Comics

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driftwork · 3 years

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Ten or Twelve years more or less and a woman in a hat flies from Tokyo to London... (1)

They know little or perhaps even nothing about what they are doing. The research they did not do would horrify them for days and months afterwards. This is Seo, leaving meetings, and heading towards the airport, to travel from one continent to another... This is the long month long moment when they completed the becoming major from gangsters to capitalists. She already understands herself, themselves as normal and define every difference from this as divergent from the norm. By the end of these hat stories she will be a normal woman of the state. She already is of course, but at this moment when she is leaving meetings and heading to the airport, to travel across continents, she doesn’t know this. The transition did not mean that they were any less criminal at the end of the transition than at the beginning. Everything that happened before this is excluded. At this starting moment she and the world thought of her only as an upper class woman. An owner. There is no need for a preamble, after months of negotiation, analysis and the establishment of the prototypes. The draft documents are signed. The criminals watched the Chinese get into their car and stood in the doorway as they drove off, out of the drive and along the bay road. The cars headlights fading across the bay, the arc of the road, the shoreline and the cliffs of the nature reserves... She will be spend a still unknown number of days in London. She is sitting in the plane, she has taken off her hat, charcoal grey with colourful icons and chevrons. my first mother said if I wore this hat, I should be certain to get off with the right sort of man, Well, look where I am now, on a desert island, here I am now leaving Tokyo, my second mother may be causing me to die, wearing this hat... The first class cabin is mostly shades of grey and blue, the surrounds of the seats are beige, Neutral colours that hide the complex machinery from casual view. They fly out of Tokyo and are already cruising northwards. northwards. Her two companions are already asleep. They are all exhausted after the last few days. She should be, but is living on her nerves. The woman knows that neither her sister nor the man she lives with have left the locality in which they live for years. Though she knows more about their everyday activities now than when she had first flown to London to see her, still they remain almost invisible. The reason why they are visible at all does not occur to her. This may seem unimportant in this story of a woman travelling from Tokyo to London, accompanied by the only two people she really trusts and loves in the world, but still, since, the purpose of the passage from Tokyo to London is to beg forgiveness and ask for favors it seems important to acknowledge how little she understood of what motivates her sister to stay constrained, imprisoned in one place rather than to vanish. So here we are its a nice day in September, autumn will be approaching by the time she arrives in London and she is desperately hoping that the winter that follows doesn't end up with a long line of dead people stretching between London and Tokyo. Whilst at this moment the true scale of the disaster she is trying to avert is unknown to her, she will grow to understand this over the next few months. She will wonder at the hubris of the person she was on the plane, imagining that she and her sister are still related in some way. She is laying in the half light, wishing she could sleep but instead is looking at the pale grey ceiling of the plane, the soft led daylights casting gentle shadows beneath the overhead lockers. The essential hum of machinery at 10,000 metres. In/on/at the stopover in Frankfurt they will carry out a final check on the European finances, and to brief them on the project they are about to be involved in. On the plane they offered her a drink, over the sea flying northwards, she took a glass of white wine, some water and some fruit juice. They left the menus with her. She fell asleep somewhere over the coast of Russia and had stress dreams of chairs, flying, falling, horrible felt dresses which recognized as being her sisters, and worst of all being chased though a city, or is that a woods, the office unfolding before her as she runs. She used to dream of having a child and a partner who stayed at home looking after the child. But these dreams had ended long ago. Though she had begun to have occasional thoughts of having a child with the man asleep in the adjacent seat. She cannot imagine how anyone could think of them as capable of such things. She is dressed in jeans and a linen jacket over a soft grey tee shirt with multiple folds in the arms and across her chest. When she takes off the jacket to eat later the attendants will not be able to see the single headed dragon tattoo on her body. The attendants rightly guessed that she and her two travelling companions are "senior business people" but they mis-assume that the men are more important than the woman. Patriarchal fantasies are omnipresent in this world. As she began to wake up she was aware that Sik was looking at her, holding her arm. Are you OK he asked. I dreamt of having a child again she said. Looking at her tired and stressed face. he said before he could stop himself. <We should, I would like that.> She realized he meant it. They ordered food from the menu, more liquids to drink. a peculiarly flavoured Ice cream for dessert. That's disgusting he told the attendant, can I have some more ? She looked at the agendas for the next days meetings, at the newspapers that were full of discussions of irrelevant political evasions, and some useful discussion of how to change Bourgeois property law in Japan... She suddenly remembered that she hadn't brought any presents with her for the children and others. I left them at home she said to them. I brought some for the children - and I've brought a couple of birthday presents for Osaka, Sik added. What did you get her ? A mint 1923 Shklovsky A Sentimental Journey - first edition., and a 1929 edition... She sighed, Yukio said that they were her third memory, but she thought they were her first memory... Well at least something worked out she thought. Sorry I didn't mean to forget she said to them. Hours pass. Yukio and Sik are playing go, she cannot tell who is winning. She reviews the business section and is surprised to see a note about Kwarbarti's property buying. She wondered what it was that was making her feel more relaxed. She puts her hand on his shoulder, Are you serious she asks. Yes I am. OK. It makes no difference, night or day, the shadows won't fade away. Hours pass, His hand has been resting on her on her body for an hour. She left it there whilst watching an anodyne HK action film, her unconscious thinks she would have killed them without speaking. People speak too much in movies whilst they hold guns. She thought of the videos of Park running across Tokyo. We should have financed a movie she thought. The co-pilot announced they would be landing in two hours. and that something or other would be served. She took her travel bag and went for a shower and a change of underwear. The plane eventually began to descend, they drank tea. Talked about the hotel they staying in. Tomorrow. Frankfurt, the city and its suburbs rose up to greet them as they descended to the airport. They were very easy and quite charming the attendants said of them. A message arrived during the descent, There is a chauffeur waiting for you, Ms Seo at the exit. (I put on my Hat, I button my coat, Life's little duties, precisely, at the very least, were finite to me) The familiar airport didn't look as grey and mechanical as it usually did. Once she had looked at pictures of the anonymous rich at global meetings in magazines, curiously over the decade she no longer cared. The landscape greeted the wheels of the plane.

None of the names, places and languages in this vignette are accurate. The events, sex and gender however are.

This is Seo leaving the plane, wearing her hat, carrying hand luggage, going through the emigration desks speaking to them about why they had come. Afterwards collecting collecting the luggage from the conveyor belt and wheeling it through customs. Outside they found the chauffeur waiting with a sign that said (Ms Seo and party.) The driver took them from the airport to the hotel. The three of them sat in the rear of the limousine and discussed what to do in the evening. They were staying in the Sofitel. It had the usual things that global hotels have, restaurants, cafes, bars, a pool and gymnasium, room services, suites, laundry services and shopping services. They had two suites next to one another. Seo and Sik's suite was neutral, soft browns and beige, engineered wooden floor over soundproofing and concrete, with multi-coloured rugs. Yukio's was about the same size but slightly more colourful, a themed suite based around a mixture of Korean and Chinese colours and patterns. The hotel during the week was full of business travelers who always seemed to wanted to go somewhere. In the evening the three of them would sit down at the table in the restaurant and drinking, they would discuss how they should brief the hedge fund people and venture capitalist investors about the project. A day may not be enough in which case you should stay with them whilst they are doing the evaluation. She said looking at Yukio. That's... Sik added, if we need to stay in London you should fly back to Tokyo to keep things running. Yukio looked between them. Are you thinking of running ? Sik nodded and Seo smiled at him. Only if we must, the two of us might be able to follow a line of flight and escape the bullets. I know you can't do that Yukio, also at least one of us must survive this, and it should be you. Sik waved the waitress over and ordered three vodka martinis. Could you not die please, I would miss you. Yukio said finally, accepting the inevitable. Eventually, a little drunk, she goes upstairs and puts on the TV, finding an IP channel with South East Asian dramas on with a choice of English or German subtitles. She finds a drama about prosecutors and their corruption and lets it run in the background, the actors are a mixture of pretty young things and serious older ones. She looks at the contraceptives in the bathroom and wonders what to do. Whilst the drama plays in the background, she checks the weather for tomorrow which seems to suggest it will be good weather for meetings. When she leaves the hotel she leaves the contraception in the wastebin in the bathroom... [Here the meetings that take place from eight in the morning until six in the evening are deleted]

They know little or perhaps even nothing about what they are doing...

#hat story #becoming #London Story #fiction

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tiredrobyn · 7 years

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my-mind-is-my-sword replied to your post “I wanna write some sheith, anyone have any prompts?”

Fantasy AU where Keith is a blacksmith and Shiro is an injured knight who needs a new prosthetic.

This... kinda got away from me. *shoves it forward* Enjoy??

Shiro checks his map again, and examines his surroundings. He really does seem to be in the right place, but he doesn't see how anyone could willingly live here, let alone a blacksmith as talented as he's been told this one is. There is nothing but sand and dry earth around him, so different from the lush forests and busy towns he usually favours. He's travelled for quite a while in this desert with only his horse for company, and absolutely nothing on the horizon... except for the small house he's now facing.

He hesitates, thrown by how deserted it looks, all dry wood and cracked stones. Eventually though, he makes up his mind and dismounts, walking towards the door. At the very least, he can ask for water, and he could definitely use the shade.

He knocks, half-expecting it to simply echo without answer, and for quite a few seconds it does, but he soon hears light footsteps approaching. He straightens his shoulders and puts on his best smile, because whoever decided to live here, he hasards the guess that it might be because they didn't usually like people. Then the door opens, and his diplomatic smile drops right off his face. As a knight, Shiro's met quite a few blacksmiths in his life, usually because he needs a new weapon, and he thinks he has a pretty good idea what they're usually like.

The man standing in front of him is nothing like that. First of all, he's pretty. Blacksmiths aren't supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to be rugged and intimidating, gruff men with muscles large enough to bend metals to their wills.

He could bend me to his will, thinks Shiro dazedly, and then immediately flushes bright red. Oh Lord.

No blacksmith has ever made him nervous, even with their tree trunks-like arms. And the thing is, this one doesn't have those either. He's slight, shorter and smaller than himself, but as Shiro meets sharp, deep purple eyes and gulps, he knows no other blacksmiths could intimidate like this one could. But intimidated or not, Shiro can't help but imagine running his fingers through the dark hair falling just over tense shoulders, clutch it with both hands and tilt the alluring face up to meet-

"What is it?" The man grunts, and Shiro is brutally brought back down to Earth. Right. His arm.

Even if he actually dared try, he couldn't actually embrace him. This realization is like cold water being dropped on his head, and it clears it enough to allow him to speak comprehensively.

"I've come to request your skills, sir. I am in need of... repairs."

The blacksmith narrows his eyes.

"And where, exactly, have you heard of my skills?"

"Ah, my friend recommended you. Matt Holt."

At this, the man's eyebrows raise, looking confused, and then he scowls. "Pidge," he growls, and Shiro recognizes the name Matt's sibling had chosen for themselves. He says nothing, and just waits.

Finally, the man takes a step back, holding the door open, and Shiro steps in. "Keith," the man introduces himself, and Shiro resists the urge to repeat it, to feel it on his tongue.

"Takashi Shirogane, please call me Shiro," he says back, and Keith nods. Keith leads him through the small house and to the back door, behind which is revealed, wonder of wonders, a well. Keith immediately starts pulling on the rope, and retrieves a bucket full of water that glitters invitingly. The blacksmith walks back to him, and Shiro holds out him arm gratefully, eager to refresh himself. Keith walks right pas him, and the knight is left standing there with his arm extended, feeling foolish.

He follows Keith back into the house, right back to the front door, to see him gently petting his horse, who is now eagerly drinking out of the bucket "I have water inside the house if you want some," the smaller man calls back to him without turning around, and Shiro smiles.

They're sitting at a small table with glasses of water, Shiro having already downed his first two with Keith watching him.

"So," the blacksmith begins, "what exactly brings you to my... shop?" He says with a wry look around the shack.

"Well," Shiro tries to chuckle, but as he brings his left hand up to the stump below his right shoulder, he is uncomfortably aware of Keith's eyes following his movements. "I lost this arm last year, and I'm in need of a new prosthetic replacement."

"So you had one before. Do you still have it?"

"No," Shiro shakes his head, "it was completely destroyed."

Keith hums, sounding disappointed, while Shiro tries not to think about both times he lost his arm. The way Keith taps his fingers against his lips proves to be a very effective distraction.

"Alright, what did you use it for, and how performant was it?" Keith asks, almost startling the knight.

"Ah... I fought with it, and while it had almost the same dexterity as my left, it was also a lot stronger. I could stop swords with it without a scratch."

The other raises his eyebrows, obviously impressed.

"Where did you get something like that?"

Shiro grimaces. He'd been expecting that question, but it didn't mean he wanted to answer.

"In the same place that made me need one in the first place. A dragon's den."

He braces himself for the shock, the admiration, the fear. The change in demeanour. There's a flicker in his eyes, but apart from that, Keith only lets out a low whistle.

"That stuff is no joke, dragons only want the best. You won't find anything like it anywhere, it was probably a one-of-a-kind."

Shiro knows all of this, but he's more surprised at Keith's knowledge. Information about dragons, accurate one anyway, isn't exactly common. Still, the fact that the blacksmith, instead of looking discouraged, has a certain light in his eyes, like someone looking forward to a challenge, is currently much more interesting. It's also the reason for what he says next.

"So you won't be able to make one as good?" He asks, making eye-contact with one eyebrow raised, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Keith's eyes widen for a second, like he wasn't expecting that, and then the grin that stretches across his lips positively takes Shiro's breath away.

"I'll make you eat those words," he promises.

"Looking forward to it," answers Shiro, just a little breathlessly.

They spend a few more seconds with their eyes locked, before Keith blinks and looks away. Shiro regrets it, a little bit, but he pushes it down. He needs a new arm more than anything, and he can't compromise it in any way. Keith is the one to break the silence.

"Well anyway," he says, standing up, "I'm going to need a demonstration of how exactly you're going to use it, the ranges of movements you need."

"And how are you going to do that?"

The look Keith sends him, challenging and mischievous, sends warmth low in his belly.

"We're going to spar."

And they do. At first Shiro is hesitant, because one arm or not, he knows his worth when it comes to fighting, and it's pretty high. That's how Keith manages to lay him on the grass in ten seconds flat in their first round, raising one sardonic eyebrow.

"Well, this arm is going to be much simpler to make than I first thought," he says, and oh, it is on.

And so he throws himself in, even manages to forget about his missing limb for a few seconds, caught up as he is in catching Keith around the waist and throwing him over his shoulder. The smaller man shouts in surprise, and then in laughter that makes Shiro unable to stop grinning stupidly.

They continue in a more subdued manner, Keith obviously conscious of Shiro's disadvantage, but instead of skirting around it, he seems to try and evaluate the way the knight uses his left hand, and the aborted moves where he would have used his right. Despite what he thought, this is neither uncomfortable nor humiliating. Keith doesn't know the way he usually fights, but he seems to find traces of it in his movements, because when he calls the end of the spar, his face is set in a relaxed smile, so different from the expression he wore when he opened the door, and without a trace of depreciation.

"Impressive," he says, and it's sincere. Shiro's been complimented on his fighting skills practically since he began learning, but it never made his cheeks warm like this.

"So are you," he responds, because it's true.

"I am, but I still think you could show me a thing or two," Keith says, looking at him pensively.

I want to, thinks Shiro. Please let me.

"Time to change things up a little bit," continues Keith, who then heads inside, motioning for Shiro to wait there. When he returns a few minutes later, he's holding two swords wrapped in cloth.

"Those will still pack a punch if you get hit," the knight warns, eyeing the weapons apprehensively, but the other only rolls his eyes.

"I know, I made them," he says, handing one to Shiro.

He takes it gingerly, wrapping his left hand around the hilt. He's used his left hand to fight before, he didn't have a choice, but it's still unfamiliar. His opponent faces him, his own sword also in his left hand.

"I'm not left-handed," Shiro says preemptively, experimentally swinging the blade. It's a good one, comparable to his own, even.

"Neither am I," Keith shrugs, getting into position, and, alright.

As soon as he sees the knight is ready, Keith strikes with speed and precision, and damn if ambidextrousness doesn't suddenly make butterflies erupt in Shiro's stomach.

They fight, Keith trying to force Shiro to use as many different techniques as possible, Shiro mostly trying to defend himself, sometimes managing to wring the offensive from the blacksmith with skills and determination, sometimes because the other wants to observe him attacking.

Because the thing is, Keith is good. Really good. So good, that Shiro's honestly not sure who would win, even with his arm back.

When they stop, they're both out of breath, and Shiro can't take his eyes off Keith.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" He finally blurts out, and berates himself when the other winces.

"Where I could," he answers curtly, and Shiro doesn't press for more.

"So, conclusion?" He asks instead, because there's a reason he came here, and it's not the way Keith smiles slightly at him at the change of subject, dammit.

"Conclusion is, you're pretty damn good," he chuckles, and retrieves the sword from Shiro's hand.

"That's good to hear," he smiles. "But I assure you, I'm better with my right arm, so if you want a fair fight..."

Shiro shrugs with a guileless smile, and Keith snorts, looking fond for a moment.

"Well, in that case," he says, putting the swords down and leaning them against the wall of the house, and then turning back to Shiro with a serious expression.

"I can make you a new arm," he states, and the knight inhales sharply, eyes searching the other's face.

"Then-"

"But," the blacksmith continues, "I'm going to need quite a few materials I don't have on hand, some of them quite hard to acquire. It's necessary for your arm to have the kind of dexterity you need, especially if you were used to one from a dragon's hoard. I'm afraid you'll have to come back here quite a few times."

Shiro should be disappointed. Really, he should be, because he wants to get back to duty as soon as possible. But the way Keith is looking at him, like he wouldn't mind Shiro coming around more often is making very, very hard to do. "I guess I can do that," he says, and when Keith smiles at him, looking a little relieved, he is helpless to do anything but smile back.

---

He comes back, and this time Keith wastes no time incoming to the door, greeting him with a bright grin. And before Shiro can even recover from that, the blacksmith is picking up a travel bag and dragging him back to the horse.

"Wait wait, Keith, where are you going?"

Keith stops and looks back at him with an excited glint in his eyes.

"We, are going on a quest."

They go, retrieving what necessary tool or metal Keith needs and coming back after a week. And again. And again. And Shiro loves it. Loves going on an adventure without the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, loves the way he can act without being judged. The way he can rely on Keith without hesitation, the way Keith relies on him in return. Loves the way Keith leans on him sometimes by the campfire, how they can now hold long conversations without difficulties, or simply enjoy the silence. Shiro loves the way they've become so comfortable with each other.

And god, he's going to miss it.

That's why one night, when they're huddled under the same blanket by the fire, he takes his chance.

"You should come back with me," he says, and tries not to read too much in the way Keith freezes next to him.

"Come back where," he asks after a moment, his tone flat.

"To town, to civilization, to a place where your talents would be appreciated." He gulps. "Just... with me."

Keith moves away, and even if he lets Shiro keep the blanket, the knight grows cold.

"You don't have to, of course," he hurries to say, because he didn't mean to make Keith uncomfortable. He'd just hoped...

"I can't," his companion says curtly. Then he looks at Shiro from the corner of his eyes, and sighs. "When you go back... ask about me, if you really want to know."

Shiro moves to come closer, but Keith stands and lays down further away on the other blanket, obviously getting ready to sleep. Over his shoulder, he adds:

"With this, I have all the materials I need. Next time you come by, your arm will be ready."

And Shiro wants to smile, he does. He wants to be happy about this.

He can't.

---

Iverson looks suspiciously at Shiro.

"And what exactly prompted this interest?"

The knight shrugs, trying to look innocent.

"I simply heard the name, and thought it sounded familiar."

Iverson grimaces.

"I'm not surprised, these soldiers are all damn gossips."

He gives Shiro a considering look, and then motioned for him to close the door of his study.

"He was... a promising recruit. Incredible potential, could have been our deadliest weapon. He stayed here while you were away, but we wanted you to mentor him after your return."

Iverson falls silent for a moment, and Shiro doesn't say anything, waiting for him to continue. He imagines it, spending all his time here with Keith, learning from each other, learning each other... The longing coursing through him is almost painful.

"In the end, we threw him out long before that. He didn't have the discipline necessary."

He levels Shiro with a heavy look, making him fear for a moment that he hadn't been discrete enough while visiting the blacksmith, but the commander simply lets him leave with a warning.

"Despite all of his worth, he was uncontrollable. He's a cautionary tale, Shirogane, you'd better remember it."

---

A week later, the day him and Keith had agreed on, Shiro reaches the shack when it's already evening, and the sun is starting to set. There's no particular reason for it, just a busy day (thinking about his meeting with Keith), and some unfortunate coincidences.

(Maybe Keith would invite him to stay the night.)

But when he knocks on the door, for the first time since their meeting, there's no answer. He knocks again, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach, when the familiar voice calls out to him.

"Up here."

Shiro raises his head to see Keith leaning over the edge of the roof, smiling down at him. With the light of the setting sun illuminating him, he looks like a vision, something Shiro could only hope to to touch in his dreams.

"There's a ladder on the wall to your left, come up and join me."

And he does, using the last steps to take a few deep breaths before climbing over to where Keith is sprawled, resting on his elbows. Carefully, the knight sits next to him, observing his features with an attention usually reserved to shooting stars and lightning storms, fleeting miracles you can only admire from afar and hope to remember with clarity. Things like the sunset Keith turns away from to face him, and Shiro hurriedly turns towards it in an effort not to be caught staring.

It's pretty, especially with nothing in the way to hide it, but as embarrassing as it is, he feels a bit blinded from looking at Keith, and the orange glowing orb appears a bit dark on the horizon.

"It's a good place to watch the sunset," he still says, because Keith is looking at him, and is this how he feels when Shiro does it? Probably not, because Shiro would have noticed something so overwhelming.

"I guess it is," the smaller man says, turning back towards it. "I usually come up here later, though, to watch the stars. I think you'll like it."

Shiro smiles at that, feeling warm despite the chill that's beginning to settle on the desert.

"Did you think I wouldn't show?" He asks lightly, but carefully watches the other for his reaction.

Keith shrugs.

"Nah. You'd have come for your arm, especially now that it's finished. You spent too much energy on the parts to just leave it."

Shiro frowns, at Keith's words and at the blank look on his face.

"It's not like it was a chore going on those trips with you, and I hope we can still go on some, especially since I'll be a bit more effective with all my limbs." He's rewarded for his words when a chuckle slips pas the blacksmith's lips, the sharp eyes relaxing.

"I don't know, I wouldn't want you to be too good, or I'll feel outclassed."

"I can't help it," sighs Shiro tragically, encouraged by Keith's amusement. "It's a burden I have to bear. Will you still accept me as I am, always too good?"

Keith snorts, pushing his shoulder, and Shiro wants this so much. He'd stay here, if Keith asked, in this shack in the middle of nowhere, knighthood be damned. But Keith would never ask something like this, and he himself wouldn't dare offer.

"I asked, you know. About you."

Keith tenses up, but doesn't move away.

"And?"

"What were they trying to make you do?"

The question seems to surprise Keith enough to knock the tension out of his shoulders, and he turns to look at Shiro fully. The knight accommodates him, facing him and looking into his eyes.

"What?"

"They told me you were uncontrollable. What were they trying to make you do that you didn't agree with?"

Keith just looks at him for a few seconds, wide-eyed, before closing them and huffing in amusement, letting his head fall on Shiro's shoulder.

"I don't want to talk about it," he says in a low voice, "but... I couldn't do it, Shiro. They told me what would happen if I didn't, but I couldn't. So they... they..."

"It's alright," shushes Shiro, daring to press a kiss to his head. "You don't have to tell me."

Keith hums, before continuing, calm again.

"They snapped my sword, you know," he says conversationally, and Shiro knows he's not talking about the same thing. He's just glad Keith didn't clam up. "It was mine, and they snapped it. So I learned how to make ones better than theirs."

The knight snorts at that, because he can absolutely believe it.

"You won't gain any favours by visiting me, you know," is said in a low voice, and Shiro doesn't reply, simply buries his nose in the dark hair and breathes in. Keith doesn't say anything more, and Shiro doesn't press him for it.

They just sit for a while, leaning on each other, until Keith angles his head up and Shiro notices the sun is long gone, leaving the sky dark. The stars shine brightly over their heads, looking so close and unreachable over the desert sand, his breath catches in his throat for a second.

"You were right," he says, gently laying his head on Keith's, the soft hair tickling his cheek. "I love this."

They fall asleep on the roof together, and when Shiro wakes up, it's to Keith slipping from his arms, sitting up in the light of the sunrise. He has only a few moments to appreciate this until Keith speaks, without looking at him.

"You came here for a reason, right? Let's get down, I'll get your arm, and then you can be on your way back."

Shiro's back hurts from the awkward sleeping position, and he focuses on it. It's a relief.

Despite everything, when the prosthetic arm is attached and Shiro tentatively clenches his fist, the fingers immediately responding, he's exalted.

"The enchantment," he breathes, eyes looking over every details of his glinting new limb. "We never went to a mage together. Who...?"

"I did it," Keith shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. "I don't know much, just enough for things like this."

Things like this, he says, like he hadn't just given Shiro back a piece of himself. Still, Shiro remembers himself and bows deeply, as he learned to do when meeting the king, flustering Keith even more.

"What are you doing, idiot, come on..." the blacksmith rakes a hand through his hair, turning his face away to hide his red cheeks. The knight smiles as he straightens, and takes a small step forward, unable to help the hope in his chest.

"Keith, I-"

"I'm sure you'll be glad to go back to your life," Keith interrupts him, still looking away, but no longer flustered. Instead, the set of his shoulders looks almost defeated.

"I..." Shiro falters. He doesn't want to ask for more than is offered, more than Keith is comfortable with. But he wants. Not 'going back to his life', but 'moving forward, with Keith'. He doesn't want to lose him, one way or another. So in desperation, he latches onto the one thing that hasn't been addressed yet.

"We never discussed payment, you know."

The smith turns back to him, startled, and then flushes.

"Right. Um. Shiro, you really don't need to-"

The look Shiro sends him stops him in his tracks, and he snorts. "Yeah, I thought not."

He tilts his head up, looking pensively at the ceiling. Distracted by the line of his throat, Shiro almost jumps when he suddenly turns back to him, smirking with mischievous eyes.

Shit, Shiro thinks, he's too cute. He shakes his head. Shit, he thinks again, resigned, I'm in trouble.

"In that case," states Keith, unaware of Shiro's internal crisis, "how about... a sword?"

Shiro blinks, staring at Keith. At Keith, the blacksmith. At Keith, the blacksmith who had the skill to fabricate him an all-new functioning prosthetic metal arm. Shiro glances at the few blades and knives laying around the room, all obviously of great quality.

"... A sword."

Keith grins.

"Yeah. You know, to replace the one that was broken."

"Looks to me like you've already taken care of that," he says, raising an eyebrow, and the other just shrugs.

"Yeah, of course, but... That sword was a gift. Something to remember my... the ones who gave it to me by."

Well, that's it. Shiro can't say no now, not after that.

(Something to remember him by? Keith could have him, if he wanted.)

But if Keith thinks Shiro is just going to take the easy route on this, when there are such high stakes, then he's got another thing coming.

"All right, then," he says, and the determination on his face makes Keith lose a bit of his smugness.

"...All right. Do you want to...?"

"I'll leave now," says Shiro, standing up and rotating his right arm, awed by the fluidity of the movement. He's so intent on it, he doesn't notice Keith's shoulders dropping.

"...Oh."

"Thank you Keith," Shiro says, turning to stare earnestly at the blacksmith. "I could never repay you enough."

Keith chuckles as he stands, looking to the side. "Isn't that what we just talked about?"

They begin to walk to the front door, Shiro chuckling with him, his mind already forming a plan.

"That's just what you asked for, not what you deserve."

"That sounds ominous, you better not skip out on my due," Keith tries to joke as he opens the door. He lets Shiro out, his hand lingering just a little on the broad shoulders.

Shiro stops on the doorstep to give him a large grin, blinding in its sincerity.

"That's right. You better watch out when I come back, Keith."

Keith smiles back at him, arms crossed and hands gripping his biceps.

"Looking forward to it."

---

The dragon is exactly as Shiro remembers it, enormous, with glowing yellow eyes, red and black glittering scales, and /dangerous/. It's hard to know what to focus on, the claws, the teeth, the tail or the possibility of fire, and a single mistake would inevitably be a grave one. Above them, impressive wings scrape the top of the cavern.

Shiro wasn't stupid enough to come alone, but he didn't ask for fellow knights to come with him either, not when his goal was of a more personal nature. Instead, he'd employed mercenaries, wandering warriors who could always be tempted by the promise of gold, despite the dangers. They were strangers, distrustful of each other and individualists, but still no match for Shiro's innate ability to lead. Thus, when they entered the lair of the dragon, they were prepared, and organized, each of them following the orders they'd been given. This is the only reason they came out of this alive. Because when they finally had the dragon trapped in a corner by it's own treasures, it's curious gaze settled on Shiro, ignoring the rest of the men currently filling their pockets.

"I have seen you before, knight, and you left my cavern missing a limb and covered in blood, but with an arm of my own collection. Now here you are again, commanding a band of bandits as easily as if they were your brothers in arms, with a new limb covered in strangely familiar magic. Tell me, what motivated this?"

Shiro, panting and still hyperaware from the fight, freezes in his frantic search.

"I..." he pauses, unsure if the wisest thing is really to converse with the beast, but ultimately decides it's best to keep it distracted. Ignoring his strange words, he gets right to the point. "I came here for someone. They asked for a simple thing in payment of a great gift, when they deserve much more."

The dragon rumbles with what Shiro, shocked, eventually recognizes as laughter.

"Nobody comes here simply for a payment, boy, unless something much more important is on the line."

Shiro, flushes, but raises his chin defiantly.

"He's worth it."

The beast examines him for a moment, before apparently reaching a decision, and laying it's head on it's front legs, looking disturbingly like a cat. Or a lion.

"For a man like you to come back here and succeed in keeping not only yourself, but your team alive, he must be quite something. You should have brought him, knight, for I would have liked to meet the man worthy of such devotion. Because you were certainly right on one thing, if you want the best for you beloved, the hoard of a dragon is indeed the right place... if you can come out alive." Shiro tenses, and the dragon rumbles again, amused. "Calm yourself. You've managed to impress me, and so you shall be rewarded. Tell me what it is you came searching for, and you may leave with it unharmed."

"And my companions?" Asks Shiro, unwilling to believe his luck might be this good.

The dragon hums, a guttural sound, and then roars. The sudden noise startles not only Shiro, but the mercenaries as well, who all turn towards their leader. At the sight of the open maw, throat glowing with the promise of a painful and smouldering death, they scramble back towards the exit, clutching their loots. Still, quite a few of them hesitate, looking towards Shiro in an uncharacteristic show of loyalty, despite their characters and the short time they spent together. "Go," the knight tells them, touched, and they nod at him before scurrying out of the cavern as fast as their legs could take them.

"Taken care of," says the dragon, sounding satisfied. "Now, tell me what it is you came for. A precious stone? Jewelry?"

Shiro smiles.

---

Just like so many times before, Shiro stands in front of Keith's front door, his stomach fluttering. This time, he's here to give something.

He knocks, and the response is instantaneous. Footsteps approach rapidly, and the door is thrown open by Keith, his face suspicious but violet eyes cautiously hopeful. When he sees the knight standing in front of him, he goes wide-eyed, mouth dropping open a little, and Shiro's smile is starting tu hurt his cheeks from how wide it is.

"You're back," says Keith, and Shiro raises an eyebrow.

"Don't sound so disappointed."

Keith flushes, making Shiro chuckle. The hope in his chest grows a little bit more.

"I'm not, just... it's been a while. Didn't know if I should still expect you."

"Hey, you know I wouldn't just run away without paying, who do you take me for?"

That seems to snap Keith out of his daze, and he straightens, looking at Shiro wryly with a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"I don't know Shiro, I thought you were like all the rest, leaving after you had what you came for."

Shiro blushes to the roots of his hair. Seeing this, Keith starts blushing too, and then they're just standing there on his doorstep without looking at each other, flustered and awkward.

"Um," says Keith after getting a hold of himself, cheeks still pink, "so where is it? My long-awaited prize?"

Shiro immediately brightens, and proudly holds out the package he'd strapped to his back. There's no mistaking the shape. Shiro clears his throat.

"In thanks of your excellent services, good sir, please do me the favour of accepting my humble-"

"Yeah, yeah, give it to me," says Keith, grabbing at it, and Shiro lets go with a laugh. "Now let's see, did you manage to find a decent..."

The words trail off as Keith stares at the sword in his hands. It's long, the metal shining silver and red, completely smooth and polished, and slightly larger than swords are usually made. It's beautiful, and Shiro is absolutely confident in its practical worth. After all...

"Shiro," whispers Keith, "this comes from a dragon's hoard."

"Of course. You deserve the best, you think a dragon was going to stop me?"

"No, you don't understand, this is a paladin's sword, I don't know how-" His head snaps up. "Wait, you stole it from a dragon?"

"Well," Shiro rubs the back of his head, "I knew where to find one."

Keith's eyes drop to his mechanic arm, and he seems truly at a loss for words. After a moment, Shiro starts to feel a bit embarrassed by his stare, so he gently tries to restart the conversation.

"You were saying something about a paladin's sword?"

Keith's jaw works a bit without any sound, and when he starts talking, it's automatic, toneless.

"A paladin's sword is a weapon forged from a dragon's fire and magic, peerless and impossible to reproduce. I had one when-"

He cuts off abruptly, but Shiro's head is already connecting the dots.

"You were a dragon rider," Shiro breathes out, and oh, it makes so much sense. Keith is tense, hands gripping the hilt of the sword, and then he seems to remember why, exactly, he has it, and he glances at Shiro uncertainly.

"Shiro, how... Why...?"

The knights swallows, pushing aside the new revelation to address something much more terrifying, his own feelings.

"Keith, I..." He takes a deep breath. He prepared for this. "You asked for a sword as payment for something worth much, much more, and maybe - maybe you were just making fun of me. I still did it because this is the least I could do for what you gave me, but the reason I went into the dragon's lair wasn't to pay you back. You asked for a payment, an end to this.. relationship, but I didn't want that. I don't want that."

Shiro pauses for a moment, and then dares to lightly put his hands on Keith's, still on the sword's hilt, while the blacksmith stares at him with wide eyes. He gathers his courage, and continues.

"I went to get this sword for you, Keith. Because you deserve the best there is, and the best of me. I want to give you that. I want to give you... me." He glances down. "And this sword."

Shiro tries to catch his breath, as well as to keep his heart within his chest, and after a few seconds, Keith finally speaks.

"Shiro, did you... did you just confess to me... with a sword?"

The corners of his lips are pulling up, and that is most likely the only reason Shiro doesn't bolt. He squares his shoulders, bracing himself.

"Yes. Yes I did."

Keith smiles, biting his lip, and not even that is able to distract Shiro from his anticipation, though it makes it a bit easier. What does distract him, however, is one of Keith's hands wriggling out from underneath his own, and covering them.

"Shiro," he starts, eyes so soft the knight struggles to breathe, "I didn't ask for a sword in payment because I wanted to get rid of you, I did it because I wanted you to realise the payment wasn't important. What I did for you, what we did together, I didn't do it to get paid, but because I wanted to. I," he clears his throat, "I want you, I want to be with you without you needing something, and without having to pay me."

They stay in silence for a few moments, Shiro trying to comprehend what he just heard, until Keith grins.

"I won't say no to the sword, though."

Somehow, that's what spurs Shiro into movement, the sword falls to the ground, and then they're both on the floor, limbs entangled and laughing into each other's shoulders. They keep setting each other off, be it by a snort or a giggle, and it takes them quite a while to cam down. When they do, they stay like this, quietly enjoying the contact. Keith is the one to break the silence.

"So, are you gonna kiss me?"

Shiro chokes. He raises his head from where it laid on Keith's chest, and stares at him wordlessly as his face turns red, mouth slightly open.

"Alright," says Keith. His own cheeks are pink, but when he leans in, it's with intent. "I can work with that."

Their mouths touch, slowly, both of them with eyes open wide, until Shiro closes his and firmly presses forward. Keith follows suit, eyes slipping shut as he hums in satisfaction and slides his hands up the strong back on top of him, body pressed on the floor by Shiro's weight. Their mouths open but move closer instead of away, and soon enough they're breathing each other in with short gasps and inhales, unwilling to stop the kiss for anything. That is, until Shiro bumps right into the table while trying to roll Keith over him. They break apart, breathing heavily and looking at each other silently, until Keith snorts and Shiro hangs his head, groaning.

"What's the big idea," he grumbles, "putting a table over there."

"It's never been a problem before," laughs Keith, scooting away and sitting up. Shiro looks at him and grins, before sitting up too.

"Good," he says, and leans down for another soft kiss, because he can do that now.

When they separate, Keith keeps his eyes closed, and chuckles. Shiro watches him, and knows he never stood a chance.

Then the blacksmith sighs and opens his eyes, suddenly looking tired.

"When are you leaving?" He asks, because he won't let it linger once he's thought of it.

Shiro hesitates.

"Actually," he starts, slipping his hand into Keiths, who squeezes it back, "I was thinking we could leave together."

The other frowns.

"I told you, I can't-"

"The Altean kingdom is asking for help in the war against the Galras," he says, and Keith falls silent. "I'm sure they wouldn't turn us away. Queen Allura recently made an announcement, inviting anyone of skill to fight alongside them, and that they would be offered shelter."

His companion is speechless for a few seconds, simply looking at him.

"But... this is your home, Shiro."

The knight smiles, gently bumping his forehead with Keith's.

"No it's not."

Keith lets out a disbelieving laugh, and then proceeds to once again kiss Shiro breathless. He doesn't have too much trouble. Satisfied, he laughs again, louder, and then drops his head on Shiro's lap, who wastes no time in burying his fingers in the black hair.

"Altea," he muses, "that's quite a while away on horse."

Shiro thinks of glowing yellow eyes and of sharp red scales, of loneliness and boredom such that it let itself be distracted by a lovesick knight.

"About that," he says, "I think I should introduce you to someone."

Keith looks at him curiously, and then grins, hands reaching up to grasp at his shirt.

"Later," he says, and pulls him down.

#sheith #6k words and I'm still not sure it's good #i hope you liked it!#keith kogane #takashi shirogane #voltron #voltron fanfiction #shiro: proposes with a sword #keith: that man really knows me.gif #i toyed with the idea of making them childhood friends or something #but listen #i am tired my dudes #sheith fanfiction #prompts #my-mind-is-my-sword #sorry i can't seem to be able to actually tag you in #robyn writes

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spryfilm · 6 years

Text

“Death Wish” (2018)

Thriller/Action

Running Time: 107 minutes

Written by: Joe Carnahan

Directed by: Eli Roth

Featuring: Bruce Willis, Vincent D’Onofrio, Elisabeth Shue, Dean Norris, and Kimberly Elise

Ben: “People rely on the police to keep them safe. That’s the problem. The police only arrive after the crime has taken place. That’s like. Trapping the fox as he’s comin’ out of the hen house. If a man really wants to protect what’s his. He has to do it for himself.”

Remakes are nothing new in the Hollywood tradition, in fact these days they take many forms in reboots, sequels, prequels as well as faithful remakes from original sources, not only that they are not limited to film but can be transplanted to the small screen as well. They are so common that almost every week there is some kind of reworking released online, on television or in cinemas. Of course, it goes without saying that many are cheap imitations or flounder in the packed environment falling by the wayside, it takes something special to rival an older work or even surpass it especially if that original was any good or beloved. In the case of this week’s new release “Death Wish” (2018) which is a remake of Michael Winner’s “Death Wish” (1974) featuring the rugged Charles Bronsan as the husband who wrecks revenge on New York street criminals after a brutal assault on his daughter and the murder of his wife. This seemed to be ripe for a remake especially in the crazy gun culture we now find ourselves in. It would seem that in skilled hands this new remake would be able to make some kind of comment on not only society forty years later but also the way in which the world has changed, how far people are willing to go to protect their families as well as a variety of other issues that have arrived on our doorstep. Whilst gun control in most countries is a no brainer it is the US that has an inordinate amount of not only gun crime but violence within its borders. So how does this new remake measure up?

This new movie is a pale comparison to its forbearer in many respects, which is unfortunate as the original has not aged well, especially in terms of the fact that there were four sequels made that have devalued the original in many ways. This new movie transplants the action from New York to Chicago where there are extreme amounts of shootings as well as record numbers of murders involving guns. What is apparent from the beginning is that all the social reasons for such violence as well as the overwhelming number of shootings by African Americans are completely ignored in favour of a revenge movie with little moralising or solutions to the epidemic that proffers the advice that it is better to add to the violence than reduce it – surely one of the reasons that gun crime is so prevalent. As film-makers I would have thought that it would be one of the aims of a film like this to investigate the reasoning behind so much violence, seeing people grapple with issues of loss as well as options that are available to people in terms of the results of such crime – none of that is present here.

This new movie is directed by Eli Roth who made his name in the horror genre helping create a sub-genre known as ‘torture porn’ with his two creations “Hostel” (2002) and “Hostel 2” (2005), he also has made a cannibal horror in the troubled and lambasted “Green Inferno” (2012) – I believe these roots are present here. This new movie “Death Wish” could be said to be a pre-cursor to his own movies in that elements of revenge as well as brutal violence and torture appear in both. Roth is not the most gifted or subtle director working today, he does seem to feel the need to leave everything onscreen with little value in examining the possible themes that may be involved in his work. It is a shame then that he had the possibility of breaking free of his own oeuvre to bring to the screen what could have been a special movie that came at the right time, socially – with record numbers of shootings in the US as well as being set in Chicago a city beset by crime. There is only one screenwriter credited, that is action director/writer Joe Carnahan who it seems was a writer for hire and in terms of a remake this is a perfectly acceptable update, but the nuance really had to be driven by the director, who it appears has no real interest in creating something that people would want to see or want to discuss – which is one reason this movie disappeared from cinemas so quickly as well as making no real impact in any international market.

The movie revolves around Paul Kersey, who lives with his wife Lucy and college-bound daughter Jordan, works as a trauma surgeon at a Chicago hospital. During the Kerseys’ lunch, Paul gives the keys to his car to a valet, Miguel, who secretly takes a picture of their home address from the car’s navigation software. Later, while Paul is working late at the hospital, three masked men invade the Kersey’s home. Jordan and Lucy are both shot and Paul learns at the hospital that Lucy died and Jordan fell into a coma.

In another decade having Bruce Willis as the main character in a movie would have meant something far different than it means in 2018, especially with the sub-par movies he has been appearing in for the past ten years. Sure, Willis has still been in some good movies but mostly as a character part, cast for his persona rather than any real talent or draw, the only real exceptions being the 2010 action flick “RED” (2010) and the fantastic Sci-Fi “Looper” (2012) – although in the latter he was playing third fiddle. Willis in “Death Wish” is definitely phoning it in, this movie just does not measure up to even the performance the stoic Bronsan gave forty years ago which again is a real missed opportunity for the narrative of the movie. The supporting cast would normally be great in any other movie, with Vincent D’Onofrio, Elisabeth Shue, Dean Norris, and Kimberly Elise are all at least attempting to play to the strengths of their previous roles as well as the type of characters they are portraying. Unfortunately, they all come off one note as the material is not only derivative but reductive as well with all the roles being not only typical but archetypical as well as unimaginative, copies of better characters in much better movies.

The revenge genre is one that has been in existence for decades with far better examples than this or even the original it is based on. If you want a more recent example which is far better try watching “The Brave One” (2007) with Jodie Foster or the older and much more low budget “I Spit on your Grave” (1978). Both of these movies are not only more original but are also more realistic as well as being from a female point of view which is by itself far more relevant than both “Death Wish” movies. The most problematic part of this entire movie is the racial violence that is involved with African Americans as well as Hispanics seen as not only the ‘other’ but as the enemy and the villains of the piece. This is all without the requisite background on the disparity in wealth between cultural groups or the racism that exists within every community – even though in one aspect Willis is seen ‘broing’ it up in one scene then brutally gunning people down the same people in the next. There is also the issue of violence carried out in others names as well as the fact that we see, not only in this movie mind you, that revenge is an acceptable act if you feel bad enough. My opinion on this movie is one that is based on social realities and not some kind of escapist fantasy that surely by now we have moved past. The problem of this being escapist is that it is set very much in a real world with real people – even the parts where we see real radio personalities commenting on what is happening is absurd as well as placing this movie in a real setting – something that is far more dangerous than you might initially think.

The revenge genre is one that has been in existence for decades with far better examples than this or even the original it is based on, if you want a more recent example which is far better try watching “The Brave One” (2007) with Jodie Foster or the low budget “I Spit on your Grave” (1978). Both of these movies are not only more original but are also more realistic as well as from a female point of view which is by itself far more relevant than both “Death Wish” movies. The most problematic part of this entire movie is that racial violence that is involved with African Americans as well as Hispanics seen as not only the other but as the enemy and the villains of the piece without the requisite background on the disparity in wealth or the racism that exists within the community – even though in one aspect Willis is seen ‘broing’ it up one scene then brutally gunning people down in the next. There is also the issue of violence carried out in others names as well as the fact that we see, not only in this movie mind you, that revenge is an acceptable act if you feel bad enough. My opinion on this movie is one that is based on social realities and not some kind of escapist fantasy that surely by now we have moved past. The problem of this being escapist is that it is set very much in a real world with real people – even the parts where we see personalities commenting on what is happening is absurd as well as placing this movie in a real setting – something that is far more dangerous than you might initially think. The reason being is that means the actors, production and the studio are making a statement in reality, that revenge and taking the law into your own hands in a violent way is perfectly acceptable – however you should make your own mind up, mine has been.

If you are wanting to watch an entertaining Bruce Willis movie with action, suspense and thrills then you should revisit the ‘Die Hard’ franchise which is still entertaining all these years later. I would not recommend “Death Wish” at all, I was not only bored but found myself making fun of it not long after it started, it is one of the worst movies I have seen in a long time and definitely is the worst movie I have seen this year. This is the kind of exploitative movie that should make everyone involved embarrassed for thinking something like this belongs in 2018 – if it was reframed or had some dense themes there would be a credit to having made it, but alas there is none so please watch something else.

“Death Wish” is out now on DVD & Blu-ray.

Bruce Willis stars in a scene from the movie “Death Wish.” The Catholic News Service classification is O — morally offensive. The Motion Picture Association of America rating is R — restricted. Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian. (CNS photo/Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Pictures) See MOVIE-REVIEW-DEATH-WISH March 1, 2018.

DVD/Blu-ray review: “Death Wish” (2018) "Death Wish" (2018) Thriller/Action Running Time: 107 minutes Written by: Joe Carnahan Directed by: Eli Roth…

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beatrice-otter · 7 years

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Thoughts on racism, sexism, and fandom: How to Suck Less

I've been in fandom for almost twenty years, and here are some things that are true of pretty much every fandom I've seen: There is a lot more sexism, racism, homophobia, ableism, anti-semitism, etc., in fandom than most of us would like to admit, and the vast majority of it is unconscious. People (mostly white, etc.) THINK they're being perfectly unbiased and fair, and they really, really aren't. Their unconscious prejudices are shining through. And it sucks. We, collectively, suck. But here's something I think most people miss: when we talk about this stuff, the point is not to make people feel bad. It's not about who's a "good," non-racist person, and who is a "bad" racist. It's not about proving who's "pure" and who's not. (Or at least, if that's why you're doing it, you're a really screwed-up self-righteous asshole.) IT'S ABOUT CHANGE. Because the thing is, we are all swimming in a sea of racist, sexist, queerphobic crap all the time. We can't change the larger culture (at least not by ourselves), but we CAN change fandom. I know, because fandom has gotten better about this stuff over the last twenty years. There is still a LOT of room for improvement, but it's better than it was. And it can get better than it is. But not if we ignore the problem or sweep it under the rug or get defensive. The first step in sucking less is to realize that you suck in the first place. The second step is figuring out how to suck less. This post is about that second step. This post is about how to take the knowledge that, yes, we have some problems, and work to make those problems smaller. This post is about how to work through that, grow as a person, learn to suck less, and still have fun in fandom while you're doing it.

There are a lot of posts out there about how to be a good ally. There are also lots of posts out there about avoiding racist/sexist/ableist/whateverist tropes in fic. And there are a lot of good posts out there pointing out that fandom gets WAAAAAY more interested in able-bodied neurotypical cisgender white men than about any other character. We all know what the problems are, or at least, we should. But I think there's a need for "okay, I want to be more inclusive/suck less, how do I do it" on a broad level before we get to the nitty-gritty of "these are tropes I should avoid or be careful about." Namely, how does one get oneself to be fannish about characters that all one's cultural conditioning is screaming at you to ignore? First, some basic principles. 1) This is fandom. It is supposed to be fun. This should not be like that terrible assignment from your least favorite teacher in school, fandom should be fun. 2) We've all been marinating in a stew of racism/homophobia/sexism/ableism/antisemitism/islamophobia all our lives. Even if, on a conscious level, you disagree with any given ism, your gut has been conditioned to prioritize white able-bodied cissexual neurotypical men over everything else. 3) Racism and sexism suck, and sucking is bad, and it makes fandom NOT fun for those on the receiving end of it. We should all be trying to suck less, both as a goal in its own right and because we want fandom to be fun for EVERYONE. 4) It is possible to work at sucking less while still enjoying fandom. 5) The higher we are in the kyriarchy, the more damage your sucking causes, and the more we are protected from that damage. So, like, a white person is part of the power structure that causes and benefits from racism; we're less likely to see it, more likely to cause damage to others because of it. BUT we also have a lot more power to change things for the better. It's not up to black people or Latin@s or Asians or Roma or LGBTQ people or people with disabilities or Jews or any other oppressed group to fix things--they're not the problem. The ultimate responsibility is up to Whites to suck less. (This doesn't mean that, say, a Black person can't suck--just that they are WAY less likely to damage others through their suckitude.) So the question is, how do we as White people have fun in fandom while sucking less? Fear not! It's actually pretty simple, you just have to make that a consistent priority. Let's define Principle 1. How is fandom fun? Well, for me, fandom is fun because there are shows and movies and books that I love, and I love reading and writing fanfic and meta about them, and squeeing about them with my friends. I find all of those activities fun. I hope you all do, too. I want you to keep on finding those things fun. BUT there is a problem. We are conditioned by our society to value men more than women, Whites more than any other race, able-bodied neurotypical people more than disabled and/or neurodiverse people, etc., etc., you can all fill in the hierarchies that our society has tried to instill in us (and has probably succeeded in instilling more than you realize). The preference for white men in fandom isn't any worse than in other places in our society. It's true, and I think it's important to remember. The problem comes in when we leave it at that. "Well, it's not my fault, and anyway even if I AM conditioned to pay more attention to white men more than anything else, this is fandom so I should be able to just ignore that and go on like always." Aaaaand then you continue to have fun, but you keep sucking, and hurting people in the process. We have all been conditioned to favor whitedude above everything else. By which I mean, our society privileges stories about able-bodied neurotypical white men above stories about other people. A white man who has super incredible abilities and can do all the things is Batman, a white woman with all the same qualities is a Mary Sue, and is usually depowered to make room for the male hero, to boot. And characters of different ethnicities, or religions, or with disabilities, don't even have it that good. We think stories about white men are interesting because ... those are the stories we've read, watched, listened to the most. We're used to them. We've been taught all our lives that these are the good stories, the stories that matter. And so most of us have learned to prioritize those stories on an unconscious level. And we show that in our choices, which shows we watch, which actors/actresses we think are hot, which characters we write about. The good news is, that's conditioning. It's not some inborn genetic thing, it's how we've been trained. And we can train ourselves differently! It starts by being mindful. What we consume shapes us, right? So keep that in mind when you choose what you consume, what movies, what books, what TV shows, what fanfic. I'm not saying "don't watch your favorite show if it's got too many white men." But let's be real: some TV we watch/read because OMG ITS TEH BEST EVAR!!1! and some we watch/read because it's fun and some we watch/read because our friends are and some we watch/read because it's better than other things we could be doing. When you're making a choice between two shows/movies/books that will probably be about the same level of entertaining, go for the one that's less ALL WHITE MALE. This is the age of the internet, where our choices are much greater than they've ever been before. When you're browsing Netflix on a Tuesday night looking for a fun movie to watch, give higher preference to diverse shows. Not in an "OMG, I can't ever watch anything with white men again, no matter how awesome it is!" way, but rather in a "I've seen so many movies about White Men(tm) in my life--is this one going to just be more of the same? Are there other options I might enjoy?" way. When you've got a variety of options and they would all be enjoyable, go for the ones least likely to reinforce the WHITE STRAIGHT ABLEBODIED NEUROTYPICAL CIS MALE IS THE DEFAULT AND BEST inside your head. What this can look like in practice: I like Marvel, but I am not a big enough fan to watch all of their shows. I pick and choose and leave myself time for other shows as well. On Netflix there are two Marvel shows I could be watching that are roughly comparable: Daredevil and Luke Cage. Both are about urban superheroes, but Daredevil is white and Luke Cage is black. (Also, Daredevil has some really terrible Yellow Peril stuff.) So I watch Luke Cage. I enjoy it. I'd probably enjoy Daredevil, too, but I don't have time for everything, and so I prioritize. And I don't treat it like I'm taking my medicine and forcing myself to watch something because it's more socially just and not because I like it. I go in expecting to have fun. And you know what? Usually I do. Another example: back in 2011, I needed something new to be fannish about. I had enough time to be fannish about one television show in addition to the stuff I was already fannish about. There were two shows premiering that fall that looked interesting to me, both rather similar: Grimm, and Once Upon A Time. Both were urban fantasy. One starred a white man, one starred a white woman. I chose the one starring the woman and went in to it prepared to love the show. Not grudgingly, but "ooh, this could be fun." And I loved it. If I hadn't, I would have stopped watching it after a couple of episodes and switched to Grimm. That was always an option; I wasn't watching OUaT to be masochistic about "doing the right thing." I was choosing which of two interesting options to give brain and heart space to, and I was going in to it with a brain and heart open to being pleased. If, despite that, it didn't please me? I'd move on to the next thing. Plenty of other fish in the sea. But I started with the less-whitedude option. What this does is it gives brainspace to new possibilities. It erodes the assumption your hindbrain makes that white men matter more than other people do. It erodes the assumption your hindbrain makes that white men are more interesting. The more attention you pay to people outside the cultural norm, the more interesting you find their stories. When you do this, you are actively re-training your cultural conditioning about who matters and who is interesting. And you are having fun while you are doing it. This has two ways that it will erode your suckage in fandom-related ways. First, it increases the number of people likely to be in non-whitedude fandoms, which is a slight counterweight to the overwhelming whitedude nature of fandom in general. One more person reading the fic and (hopefully) commenting. One more person posting about it, whether you do meta/art/fic/gifs/fanmixes/videos/whatever. Second, if you do this consistently over a long period of time, you will find that your instinct to always focus on white male characters will erode. Your background assumption of who is interesting and who isn't will start to shift. Do this with the fannish content you produce, as well. You have a tumblr? Give preference to reblogging women and people of color. If you see something about white guys that is AWESOME AND SQUEEWORTHY, go ahead and reblog it and enjoy it while you do. But, you know, a lot of times we reblog stuff that's interesting but not full-on capslock squee, right? Stuff where it takes a second to decide if you should reblog or not. Where you could go either way. And in those cases, make a conscious decision in favor of diversity. Stuff about white men? If it's in that "should I reblog this?" category, don't reblog it. Stuff about anyone else? Do reblog it. When figuring out new content to post, do the same thing. AWESOME SQUEEFUL STUFF? Post away! Interesting but not incredible? Give more weight to stuff about women and people of color and queer people and disabled people and neurodiverse people and Jews and Muslims and all the rest. It's not about harshing the squee, or putting your fannish tastes through some kind of quota system. It's about balance. Trust me. The world and fandom both have PLENTY of whitedude stuff, they'll get along just fine without more. But there's a shortage of everything else, so that's where the focus should be. And you can do the same with fanfic! Again, I'm not saying "never read your favorites!" I'm saying, be mindful. Are you a big Captain America fan? Check out the Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanov and Maria Hill fic in that fandom, and keep your eye out for more. When you do so, consider filtering out Steve/Bucky stuff occasionally. (http://ift.tt/2oUmoPT) After all, presumably you already read a lot of S/B. Your goal isn't to find fics where Sam is in two scenes to get the Whitedude together or help them work out their shit, but fics where Sam gets to really shine. As himself, not just the sidekick to the whitebro. And don't do it grudgingly; do it with open heart and mind, ready to embrace Sam in his awesomeness. This isn't to say you should never read whitebro fic, if that's your thing, but rather that there should be a health(ier) balance. This isn't about forcing you to choke down your bitter fannish medicine; it's about expanding the things you love. It's about creating more opportunities for joy and squee. And when you read those fics, comment on them! Spread the love! Authors who write about women or people of color tend to get fewer comments on those fics than on stories focused about white male characters, which is discouraging. Share the love; kudos and comment. A comment saying "Good fic" is great, it doesn't have to be long and involved. This holds true for all your fic, by the way, not just the fic where you're consciously diversifying your reading habits. Reading a Steve/Bucky fic and the author wrote Sam well, or Natasha, or Maria, or Rhodey, or Dr. Cho? Tell the author! Point that out specifically. Doesn't have to be elaborate; "I liked Sam" is fine. The point is to reward people for being more inclusive. When you find a particularly good fic based on a certain woman or character of color, check out the author's page. Chances are, they've got more like it. If they do, and you like their work? Subscribe to them so when they write something, you see it. Again, the goal is to still have fun with awesome fic, but shifting what you consume to be more diverse. Because that will shift your internal default away from the Straight White Neurotypical Ablebodied Man that our society tries to push as the default. And that will affect how you see the world both in fandom and out of it. Part of the fun of fandom, for many of us, isn't just about consuming content, it's also about creating it. I love writing fanfic. And here's where a lot of peoples' asses start to show, and where they start whining about how they just write what they write and they only get plotbunnies for whitebro. And that may be true, but again, this is something you can actually change. If your brain doesn't come up with plotbunnies for characters of color, or for women, or for lesbians, or for a mixed-race canon couple, or for disabled or neurodivergent people? You can work on coming up with plotbunnies on your own and train your brain in the process! For example! Say you are a fan of The Flash. For every episode you watch, come up with one plot bunny for a non-white male character. You don't have to write it; that's another step down the road. It doesn't have to be something huge. The first step is getting your brain used to generating plot bunnies for characters you normally wouldn't. If Iris had a big part in that episode, think up a story idea for her. What was she doing while Barry was fighting the villain of the week? How's things going at work for her? If Joe had a big part, think up an idea for him. If there was an Iris/Barry moment, think up a story idea for that pairing. Wally, Cisco, Caitlynn, Lisa Snart, you get the idea. If you're a Supergirl fan, come up with a story idea for Hank or James or Renee Montoya or M'Gann each episode. You don't have to write it, the goal for this part is to get you used to thinking of these characters as people with stories. People you are interested in. I mean, if you get a great idea and want to write it, awesome, but step one is to get your gut and your hindbrain primed to think about these people and care about their stories. You've already been primed to care about and think about white male characters by everything you've seen and read and heard since you were a baby, but there's been precious little priming you for everybody else, so a little extra effort is probably going to be needed. The next step is similar to the choosing-fandoms step, only for choosing plotbunnies. You will probably have some ideas that just yank you over and demand to be written, so write them. But if you are anything like me, there are also times that you want to write and have a lot of different ideas you could write, you just have to decide which. And in that case, you can probably guess by now, give more weight to the non-whitebro options. If you have four plot bunnies you could write, and two of them are about white male characters and one of them is about a white woman and one is about a character of color? Give more weight to the woman and (especially) the character of color. I'm not saying "you can never write white men again!" I'm saying that in your decision-making process, recognize that the rest of the world is weighted WAY THE FUCK IN FAVOR OF WHITE ABLE-BODIED NEUROTYPICAL CIS MEN, so to provide balance, we should be weighting in favor of everyone else, and giving the most weight to the people that society gives the least weight to. The things I've outlined in this post don't magically get rid of all that social conditioning overnight, and they don't magically fix everything. What they do is they give you a place to start, and aim you in a direction so that, if you work on it over time, you will suck less while still having fun in fandom and making it more inclusive. And the more people who do stuff like this, the less fandom will suck over time.

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