#I can't find out why something is structured the way it is from people willing to explain it on that question

[manebioniclegali]

I find it funny that I've been using Duolingo for 200+ days but I still wouldn't really recommend it to most people lol

#i went in with prior spanish knowledge so that helped me #and ever since they removed the discussions it basically demolished the learning experience #I can't find out why something is structured the way it is from people willing to explain it on that question #luckily i follow spanishskullduggery (sp?) on here so that helps #but Duolingo cannot be your main source of learning bc u will end up confused if you're a newbie imo #i am a little hesitant to learn other non romance languages bc duo does not teach you nuance #i.e. it doesn't actually explain 'para' can be used for explicitly or to imply the phrase 'in order to' #i had to find that out from the discussions #i am shocked that one of the most integral parts of learning a language (doing so with other people) was taken away #sab rambles #sab speaks #my brain works well enough with Duolingo but mine is not everyone else's #hence the hesitation in recommendation #anyway im off to do another lesson lol

[sneezypeasy]

Why I Deliberately Avoided the "Colonizer" Argument in my Zutara Thesis - and Why I'll Continue to Avoid it Forever

This is a question that occasionally comes up under my Zutara video essay, because somehow in 2 hours worth of content I still didn't manage to address everything (lol.) But this argument specifically is one I made a point of avoiding entirely, and there are some slightly complicated reasons behind that. I figure I'll write them all out here.

From a surface-level perspective, Zuko's whole arc, his raison d'etre, is to be a de-colonizer. Zuko's redemption arc is kinda all about being a de-colonizer, and his redemption arc is probably like the most talked about plot point of ATLA, so from a basic media literacy standpoint, the whole argument is unsound in the first place, and on that basis alone I find it childish to even entertain as an argument worth engaging with, to be honest.

(At least one person in my comments pointed out that if any ship's "political implications" are problematic in some way, it really ought to be Maiko, as Mai herself is never shown or suggested to be a strong candidate for being a de-colonizing co-ruler alongside Zuko. If anything her attitudes towards lording over servants/underlings would make her… a less than suitable choice for this role, but I digress.)

But the reason I avoided rebutting this particular argument in my video goes deeper than that. From what I've observed of fandom discourse, I find that the colonizer argument is usually an attempt to smear the ship as "problematic" - i.e., this ship is an immoral dynamic, which would make it problematic to depict as canon (and by extension, if you ship it regardless, you're probably problematic yourself.)

And here is where I end up taking a stand that differentiates me from the more authoritarian sectors of fandom.

I'm not here to be the fandom morality police. When it comes to lit crit, I'm really just here to talk about good vs. bad writing. (And when I say "good", I mean structurally sound, thematically cohesive, etc; works that are well-written - I don't mean works that are morally virtuous. More on this in a minute.) So the whole colonizer angle isn't something I'm interested in discussing, for the same reason that I actually avoided discussing Katara "mothering" Aang or the "problematic" aspects of the Kataang ship (such as how he kissed her twice without her consent). My whole entire sections on "Kataang bad" or "Maiko bad" in my 2 hour video was specifically, "how are they written in a way that did a disservice to the story", and "how making them false leads would have created valuable meaning". I deliberately avoided making an argument that consisted purely of, "here's how Kataang/Maiko toxic and Zutara wholesome, hence Zutara superiority, the end".

Why am I not willing to be the fandom morality police? Two reasons:

I don't really have a refined take on these subjects anyway. Unless a piece of literature or art happens to touch on a particular issue that resonates with me personally, the moral value of art is something that doesn't usually spark my interest, so I rarely have much to say on it to begin with. On the whole "colonizer ship" subject specifically, other people who have more passion and knowledge than me on the topic can (and have) put their arguments into words far better than I ever could. I'm more than happy to defer to their take(s), because honestly, they can do these subjects justice in a way I can't. Passing the mic over to someone else is the most responsible thing I can do here, lol. But more importantly:

I reject the conflation of literary merit with moral virtue. It is my opinion that a good story well-told is not always, and does not have to be, a story free from moral vices/questionable themes. In my opinion, there are good problematic stories and bad "pure" stories and literally everything in between. To go one step further, I believe that there are ways that a romance can come off "icky", and then there are ways that it might actually be bad for the story, and meming/shitposting aside, the fact that these two things don't always neatly align is not only a truth I recognise about art but also one of those truths that makes art incredibly interesting to me! So on the one hand, I don't think it is either fair or accurate to conflate literary "goodness" with moral "goodness". On a more serious note, I not only find this type of conflation unfair/inaccurate, I also find it potentially dangerous - and this is why I am really critical of this mindset beyond just disagreeing with it factually. What I see is that people who espouse this rhetoric tend to encourage (or even personally engage in) wilful blindness one way or the other, because ultimately, viewing art through these lens ends up boxing all art into either "morally permissible" or "morally impermissible" categories, and shames anyone enjoying art in the "morally impermissible" box. Unfortunately, I see a lot of people responding to this by A) making excuses for art that they guiltily love despite its problematic elements and/or B) denying the value of any art that they are unable to defend as free from moral wickedness.

Now, I'm not saying that media shouldn't be critiqued on its moral virtue. I actually think morally critiquing art has its place, and assuming it's being done in good faith, it absolutely should be done, and probably even more often than it is now.

Because here's the truth: Sometimes, a story can be really good. Sometimes, you can have a genuinely amazing story with well developed characters and powerful themes that resonate deeply with anyone who reads it. Sometimes, a story can be all of these things - and still be problematic.*

(Or, sometimes a story can be all of those things, and still be written by a problematic author.)

That's why I say, when people conflate moral art with good art, they become blind to the possibility that the art they like being potentially immoral (or vice versa). If only "bad art" is immoral, how can the art that tells the story hitting all the right beats and with perfect rhythm and emotional depth, be ever problematic?

(And how can the art I love, be ever problematic?)

This is why I reject the idea that literary merit = moral virtue (or vice versa) - because I do care about holding art accountable. Even the art that is "good art". Actually, especially the art that is "good art". Especially the art that is well loved and respected and appreciated. The failure to distinguish literary critique from moral critique bothers me on a personal level because I think that conflating the two results in the detriment of both - the latter being the most concerning to me, actually.

So while I respect the inherent value of moral criticism, I'm really not a fan of any argument that presents moral criticism as equivalent to literary criticism, and I will call that out when I see it. And from what I've observed, a lot of the "but Zutara is a colonizer ship" tries to do exactly that, which is why I find it a dishonest and frankly harmful media analysis framework to begin with.

But even when it is done in good faith, moral criticism of art is also just something I personally am neither interested nor good at talking about, and I prefer to talk about the things that I am interested and good at talking about.

(And some people are genuinely good at tackling the moral side of things! I mean, I for one really enjoyed Lindsay Ellis's take on Rent contextualising it within the broader political landscape at the time to show how it's not the progressive queer story it might otherwise appear to be. Moral critique has value, and has its place, and there are definitely circumstances where it can lead to societal progress. Just because I'm not personally interested in addressing it doesn't mean nobody else can do it let alone that nobody else should do it, but also, just because it can and should be done, doesn't mean that it's the only "one true way" to approach lit crit by anyone ever. You know, sometimes... two things… can be true… at once?)

Anyway, if anyone reading this far has recognised that this is basically a variant of the proship vs. antiship debate, you're right, it is. And on that note, I'm just going to leave some links here. I've said about as much as I'm willing/able to say on this subject, but in case anyone is interested in delving deeper into the philosophy behind my convictions, including why I believe leftist authoritarian rhetoric is harmful, and why the whole "but it would be problematic in real life" is an anti-ship argument that doesn't always hold up to scrutiny, I highly recommend these posts/threads:

In general this blog is pretty solid; I agree with almost all of their takes - though they focus more specifically on fanfic/fanart than mainstream media, and I think quite a lot of their arguments are at least somewhat appropriate to extrapolate to mainstream media as well.

I also strongly recommend Bob Altemeyer's book "The Authoritarians" which the author, a verified giga chad, actually made free to download as a pdf, here. His work focuses primarily on right-wing authoritarians, but a lot of his research and conclusions are, you guessed it, applicable to left-wing authoritarians also.

And if you're an anti yourself, welp, you won't find support from me here. This is not an anti-ship safe space, sorrynotsorry 👆

In conclusion, honestly any "but Zutara is problematic" argument is one I'm likely to consider unsound to begin with, let alone the "Zutara is a colonizer ship" argument - but even if it wasn't, it's not something I'm interested in discussing, even if I recognise there are contexts where these discussions have value. I resent the idea that just because I have refined opinions on one aspect of a discussion means I must have (and be willing to preach) refined opinions on all aspects of said discussion. (I don't mean to sound reproachful here - actually the vast majority of the comments I get on my video/tumblr are really sweet and respectful, but I do get a handful of silly comments here and there and I'm at the point where I do feel like this is something worth saying.) Anyway, I'm quite happy to defer to other analysts who have the passion and knowledge to give complicated topics the justice they deserve. All I request is that care is taken not to conflate literary criticism with moral criticism to the detriment of both - and I think it's important to acknowledge when that is indeed happening. And respectfully, don't expect me to give my own take on the matter when other people are already willing and able to put their thoughts into words so much better than me. Peace ✌

*P.S. This works for real life too, by the way. There are people out there who are genuinely not only charming and likeable, but also generous, charitable and warm to the vast majority of the people they know. They may also be amazing at their work, and if they have a job that involves saving lives like firefighting or surgery or w.e, they may even be the reason dozens of people are still alive today. They may honestly do a lot of things you'd have to concede are "good" deeds.

They may be all of these things, and still be someone's abuser. 🙃

Two things can be true at once. It's important never to forget that.

#zutara discourse #the colonizer argument #anti anti zutara #text post #long post #anti maiko #anti mai #tagging just in case #anti purity culture #this is not an anti-ship safe space

[genderkoolaid]

hi! i was wondering if you'd be willing to do an analysis of the aromantic manifesto thats been going around? most of the ppl ive seen so far have been from either non-aro queer ppl or non-loveless aros and i cant find any loveless aros talking about it, and ik thats something youve talked abt b4 (loveless aros i mean) id love to also see your thoughts on it.

So funny enough I saw this manifesto a while ago, but didn't really have any thoughts on it because I had too much trouble reading it for brain reasons, because its just. A lot.

So @spacelazarwolf compared this to lesbian separatism/radical feminism and I think that is pretty apt. Radical feminism takes accurate criticisms of the patriarchy (such as gender as a tool of oppression and misogyny) and comes to the conclusion that gender is, in all forms, inherently oppressive, men are inherently oppressors, and that to personally identify with gender roles or men in any way contributes to oppression, so we must take on political lesbianism to reject this.

This manifesto seems to do the same with amatonormativity. There are real criticisms of amatonormativity in queer spaces here; aromantics have talked a bit about how focusing queer liberation on romantic love as a reason why we shouldn't be oppressed is alienating, and how queer spaces often reinforce amatonormativity. But it then comes to the polarized conclusion that romance is itself oppressive, identification with romance contributes to oppression, and that we must take on (essentially) political aromanticism to reject this.

Which, like political lesbianism, is just... unnecessary? This is not the only conclusion we can come to as a result of these criticisms. And these conclusions prioritize abstract political theory over people's real lives and autonomy. Which is a big reason (although not the only one) why radical feminism fell apart, because eventually women got tired of having to structure their entire lives and identities around acting out Good Political Theory instead of being able to. y'know. Be themselves? But also, these kinds of conclusions are so absolute and polarized. They assume that nothing about gender or romance can grow and be improved.

There are parts of this manifesto I like. The line "The first big ruse of romance is that it is ubiquitous because it is natural, and it is natural because it is ubiquitous" I think is actually pretty cool and can be adapted to all kinds of things; for example, capitalism does the same thing, taking over as much of the world as possible & erasing other ways of life, and then using its dominance as evidence thats its just how humans naturally are. It brings up criticisms of love that are big parts of lovelessness, like the idea that love is inherently a good thing when it can be harmful and still be "love."

But then it takes the... strange path of saying that if people can't help how who they love, then neither can racists and transphobes and fatphobes, which is why romance is inherently oppressive. But like. Even within relationship anarchy, where all hierarchies are rejected, this problem won't disappear. Its a problem of attraction & how social systems shape how we think.

I also disagree with how it frames private vs public life:

Public life concerns the interests of people as citizens and is regarded as a legitimate sphere of social intervention. Private life concerns the interests of people as consumers/individuals and is nobody’s business but those privately involved. While the domestic sphere fashioned by heterosexual kinship relations has been historically designated as private life, queer intimacies have instead been regarded as a matter of public concern due to moral panics associating them with predation and perversion throughout history.

I disagree with this framing of private life as something which is seen as "nobody's business." Maybe that's true on the small scale of social politeness and ideals. But on a systematic level, to me, this is absolutely untrue, and its something I've been doing some thinking about with regards to modeling the patriarchy.

The patriarchy is greatly concerned with the private lives of individuals. In order to keep its control over society in general via gender-sex-sexuality, its important to control how people interact with others. Even heterosexual, cisgender relationships haven't been free from patriarchal scrutiny; the wife must submit to the husband, the children must submit to the parents, and the queers must be kept outside the home. Again, on the level of neighborly politeness, people are going to say "what happens in the home is none of my business." But a relationship where the wife is the breadwinner and the husband stays at home is easily subject to scrutiny because it threatens the patriarchal norms, which causes unease.

Romance, as a construct, is a tool of oppression in multiple ways. But the physical reality the construct is built on top of is not inherently evil. The feeling of romantic love is not inherently corrupt, the same way the feeling of gender isn't.

Their advice for abolishing romance also feels kinda... vague and unhelpful and messy. I'm still not really clear on what "abolishing romance" even entails because most of the things they list can be done while romantic relationships occur. It just reads like they took the ideas of relationship anarchy and made it political lesbianism 2

I, as an aromantic, find the idea of political aromanticism to be pretty gross. I know how it feels to be pushed towards a certain relationship with romance and I don't want to seen it done in reverse, and tbh I don't like the idea of making my identity into a political stance. Being aromantic absolutely influences my politics, but its also my experience as a person. Again, similarly to why it would be uncomfortable to have lesbian spaces be full of women who are not in any way attracted to women but are making a political statement.

It disappoints me that this manifesto's conclusion is that romance itself must be rejected, the same way radical feminism does. Because there are good points here, but all-or-nothing conclusion, to me, is more divisive than connective and that's a big problem. My feelings about gender abolition are that, if we achieve true liberation from the patriarchy, our construction of gender is naturally going to be very different. Perhaps those people will no longer use gender, or they'll just use it differently- but trying to force a specific outcome is unhelpful and clashes with individual autonomy and culture for the sake of political theory. Same goes for this. Maybe in a post-amatonormativity world, "romance" will lose meaning, or at least be very very different. But trying to force that outcome isn't helpful.

Anyways I hope these takes were interesting! Honestly given how much arophobia I've seen I'm worried people are going to see this manifesto and get hostile to a lot of aromantic ideas. So I wanna suggest that people check out I Am Not Voldemort by K.A Cook, which is where the concept of "loveless aros" came from, as well as The short instructional manifesto for relationship anarchy by Andie Nordgren, which created the concept of relationship anarchy. Both of these essays do a much better job at criticizing love & amatonormativity than this manifesto.

#m. #ask box

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love, Pt. 3

I wrote so many drafts for this chapter. But I'm so pleased with how it turned out. I hope you love reading from Altan's POV as much as I loved writing it. He's a little more free and unfiltered in his narrating. Also I'm so sorry that each chapter keeps getting longer!!! I just write and I can't stop until I get to the end! Thank you so much for the lovely comments so far. I'm really really happy to hear that so many of you like these characters.

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 Word Count: 3,025 (average 23 min read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, mention of masturbation, nothing happens....yet ;) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil. Not beta-read. Criticism is welcome, but be sure to distinguish criticism from hate.

Altan POV

One month.

Why in all of the nine hells did I agree to one month?

If I had been smart, I would have said a week. Two at the most.

I was going to go insane.

Ever since I left Drunrag's forge, I could feel him. It was like we were tethered together by an invisible thread and when one of us moved in proximity to the other or further away, we felt the pull and release of that thread. I figured out very quickly that he lived a very structured lifestyle and I started to predict at certain times of the day when I would feel the pull of him.

And every day I would sense it when he would be closer to me and I would hope that maybe he'd follow the pull back to me. To tell me that he changed his mind. That he'd be willing to share one night with me.

Oh Altan, you sap, how quickly you fall for a pretty face.

I knew the symptom's of Drunrag's lordhovid was probably affecting me - I'd like to think of it more as augmenting what I was already naturally feeling...semantics I suppose - but I felt almost immediately that there was something special about Drunrag the moment I saw him.

Gods, how I wanted him. He was...well, everything.

Tall - well over six feet tall and looming. Having stood so near him, I knew he dwarfed me entirely. It felt dangerous, but so alluring.

Dark - Green skin, the shade of deep emerald, textured with dark freckles across his face and on his shoulder. His hair was black, but I caught lines of silver that ran through - it looked to be nothing related to age. It was pulled up into a topknot, but some hairs slipped and strayed into the front of his face. It was tantalizing and begging my fingers to pull his hair free and run through it. 

Handsome - Maybe a bit subjective, but truly, he was exactly my type. His height was matched with a thick build, his body possessing muscle and strength that was built to break me, but I just knew he would hold me so gently.  I saw how his piercing grey eyes noticed everything. They darted around him, taking in everything in rapid order. His tusks were pearly white - well maintained. I wanted to feel them on my neck with those large hands holding me in my place. I imagined what it would be like to be ravished by someone like him.

By all appearances, he looked like what most people would see as a dangerous orc - bound by a god-given oath for power and blood. My home was near where an infamous tribe known as the Wolves of Dirge frequently raided and pillaged for sport - but I found that Drunrag was more puppy than wolf, and I loved him for it.

Oh my Drunrag, if you only knew how many ways I dreamed of you ruining me.

I think I need to change the subject.

My symptoms were mostly manageable. I felt feverish and seemed to be sweating more than normal. I found that I was more irritable and easily flustered by any sudden shifts in temperature. The longer the day went on, I would also develop a pounding headache and a strange dull pain in the pit of my stomach. But I managed. I could stave off a bit of heat and discomfort as I needed to.

It was nights that were the worst.

With nothing to distract my mind or body, I would find myself in a frenzy. The first night I kicked my sheets off of the bed - it was far too hot - and I was near panting with frustration. My entire body was on fire, it felt like it would burn through the bed and I gasped and panted for air, for release.

My mind could only stray to one thing that could take it away: Drunrag.

Whether he believed it or not, I believed him to be something special to me. I avoided calling him my mate, as that would make him uncomfortable to call him that, but I knew there was a connection between us. I wished he could have seen it as clearly as I did.

But he didn't, and I was alone to comfort myself.

As the nights passed one by one, my self-control was dwindling. Each night, I could only see Drunrag in my head. I could close my eyes and imagine his weight as he settled next to me, laying so that my back was pressed against his chest. I imagined his arms snaking around my waist and pulling me towards him. His hot breath against my neck as he whispered to me how wonderful I smelled.

I wondered what he smelled like. Damn, Altan, you should have caught a whiff before you promised to leave him alone for a month.

No. No. Actually, that would have made things so much worse.

My mind refocused on the vision in my head and I imagined his large - such large hands - close over mine and bring them up to my chest where he would curl in and hold me close and let me feel his weight around me as we both fell into a fitful slumber.

Meanwhile, imagining this only brought me an edge of desperation as I stretched out on my empty bed which had no handsome orc man to hold me.

I couldn't deal with this lust alone. Not without him. Not without help. The only comfort I had was his name. His beautiful name.

Drunrag. Drunrag. Drunrag.

Drun.

If I was lucky, I could call him that as he held me. I would say it so sweetly to him, I would never say it in anger. I would hold him in return, his head on my lap as I played with his hair and told him all the gentle things no one ever told him.

Drun, you're so handsome, so stunningly handsome. Drun you're hands are so gentle, I know you could take such good care of me. My Drun, you make my head spin with want. Drun let me touch your hair again.

I laid alone in that bed, wanting, wishing, regretting.

In desperation I tried to pleasure myself, imagining my hands to be equal to Drunrag's - they weren't - and urging the lust to spill over enough to let me rest. I could feel the pressure building between my legs and I began to breathe harder, Drun's name on my lips as I worked myself harder.

But in the end, my body would not release. I could not be satisfied or sated. My body didn't want my own self-pleasure. It wanted Drun. I wanted Drun. If my father had seen me in such a state...I dared to hope that it would kill him with shock.

Why did I agree to a month of this?

I woke the next morning with a headache I could not abate and my body flushed with heat that would not go away, even after burying myself in cold water in the bathhouse.

It had only been four days at that point.

There was no way in any hell that I would be able to last another 26 days like this. Not only was it that I couldn't live like this, but I also wouldn't. My standards were too high to accept this much sweat from so little labour. I stumbled out of the room in the Inn I was staying at, gave a slight polite nod to the innkeeper as I shuffled out.

I'm sure I looked like absolute shit. And for the first time in a long time, I really couldn't give a shit how I looked.

I needed a bath, I needed a meal, I needed to change my clothes. In fact, I needed to leave this town before I stumbled into one of my father's goons.

But I also needed to see Drun again. My body couldn't take it. I followed the pull, not minding who I rammed or tripped into as I got there. I wound through busy streets and ascended down to the lower part of the city near the coast. We weren't anywhere near where his forge was.

I found myself on the docks of the town. The smell of fish and salt-sea air overwhelmed my lungs. It was enough to make a man puke if you weren't prepared for it. Which I wasn't and I found myself flung over the the edge of a dock and heaving my guts out.

"You 'right?" A voice called from behind me.

I wiped my mouth clean and looked up. The morning sun was shining just enough to block any features of the man. I couldn't see much of him besides a rotund silhouette and a tricorn hat sitting askew atop his head. Sailor folk, I could only presume.

"Fine." I said. I wiped my mouth and struggled to my feat.

"Oh, ain't you dressed fine for a day out on the docks." He whistled low. "Fancy."

Not really, I thought. These clothes had gone two days without wash. Though, in hindsight, that's probably much more often than that man ever washed his clothes. I blinked the sun from my eyes and took a closer look.

He was a short, round man with a twinkle in his stark blue eyes. A pipe was in one hand, and the other rested calmly against a pistol on his hip. His shocking white hair and deep wrinkles revealed a man with many years behind him on the sea. He seemed friendly enough.

I smiled back at him, it was nice to have a friend. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. You wouldn't have happened to see an orc gentleman pass by, would you?"

The man pondered for a minute, then shook his head. "Don't believe I have." He narrowed his eyes and looked at me more closely. "What would a fine young lad like you be doin' with orc folk?" He looked me up and down and I saw his eyes lock back onto my face. Something about me triggered and his friendly expression fell. "Oi...you match the description of that Duke's son that's gone missin'. You wouldn't 'appen to know anything about that, would'ya?"

I shook my head, forcing my best grin. "Handsome lad I've heard, but that's all I've gleaned from the gossip." I sidled my foot towards where I felt Drun's presence and began to slide away.

"Now, now son." The man's voice was low now, not remotely friendly in tone. I felt a chill run down my spine before my body began to burn even hotter than before. "The Duke's got a generous reward for anyone who brings his son back home. I ain't partin' with you till I know for sure." His fingers graces the wooden handle of his pistol and he tilted his head, a knowing smile on his face. "If I'm wrong, we split and pretend this never happened."

This man wouldn't hesitate to shoot if I ran, I sensed.. I wondered if my father had put dead or alive on that prize money. He'd likely be relieved to be rid of me.

The smile on my face fell as I realized the trouble I was in. I hadn't expected word to spread so fast.

Then again, I also hadn't expected to stay in this town as long as I did.

Damn you, Altan.

"Sir, please." I said, pleading. "I'm not going back to Durbesk. Help me and I'll double the price my father has offered."

The man clicked his tongue and shook his head. "With what funds? You ain't got shit on you."

He was right, the gold I brought to pay for my room and board was nearly gone and it wouldn't even begin to cover the price my father demanded for my return.

I felt my heart race inside me. I couldn't go back to my father. Fear and panic set in as I saw the man take a step towards me, his pistol now pointed at me.

"As a precaution" He said, his tone was friendly, but I saw the glint in his eye was now a look of wicked greed.

My cries would fall on deaf ears if I begged to him. It wouldn't matter that my father hated my existence and wished me to be a different sort of son. One who would obey him, who aspired to be just like him with a pride and ego that outmatched anyone else. Who was arrogant and spoiled. Who believed money, stature and reputation was more important than music, art, and the simple pleasures in life.

He wanted a son that wouldn't kiss boys behind stables when they were fifteen. A son that wouldn't smile so much and laugh too loud. That wouldn't bring home rodents as pets and nurse them back to health and cry when they died. He had always wanted someone more tough, more heartless and brave than me.

No, this man wouldn't hear any of that. He could care less what sort of nightmares I faced at home at the expense of my father's disappointment and hate in me. And he wouldn't care that the only person who truly loved me - my beautiful mother - was gone and buried in an unmarked grave so that I could never find her.

My mother thought I was perfect the way I was, and told me so. She never wanted me to stop smiling or laughing. She told me my music was beautiful and that it reminded her of her home in the Silverwood. She told me that I was beautiful. Everything I loved about myself I got from her. My eyes, my hair, my heart.

I wish someone would understand how much I missed her. How much I wanted to be with her instead of here...running away from my life to start over away from my father. Away from everything that reminded me of her.

I bowed my head, fighting back the hot tears that I felt brimming at my eyes. Why was I crying at a time like this?

"Please." I said, faint and breathless. "Don't make me go back."

The man looked like he was about to laugh at me, when I suddenly felt the warmth of someone's presence behind me. The shadow of his height fell over me and I whirled around to see him.

Drunrag.

My Drun.

His eyes were like deep silver pools, blazing with the heat I knew was smoldering inside him. He didn't look at me, his eyes were instead trained on the man. I looked down and saw his hands were clenched into tight fists. Under each of his arms was a barrel, which he carefully set down on the dock on either side of him, then rising again to his full height.

"You're his friend?" The man asked, a sour tone in his voice that I didn't like one bit.

Drunrag didn't answer, only sniffed contemptuously before taking a step towards him, shifting around me so that he didn't come close to touching me. I still felt the sizzling heat between us.

"You have no business being here." Drunrag said. His voice was heavy and low, rumbling his chest that reminded me of bear's growl. My body reacted to it strongly and I stumbled back, unsteady and wavering.

"Yeah? And what's your business with him?"

"None of your concern." Drun's voice was level and calm, but I could sense the mounting pressure inside.

"You just want the money for yourself." The man protested, pointing his gun at Drun. My heart began to pound faster. Don't shoot him. Oh gods please, don't shoot him.

"I saw him first." Drun responded. "We can fight on it, if you wish." He cracked his neck side to side, then clenched and unclenched his fists. Muscles, tight from his tense posture, rippled and reacted to his movements. The man's eyes were on them and I watched gleefully as his pistol lowered to his side and his face fell open.

Drun continued. "Get lost...or I'll be cracking each of your finger one...by...one until your bones are ground to dust." He cocked his head. "Won't be much use on a ship with boneless fingers."

Oh dear gods above...that shouldn't have affected me when he said that, should it? I looked down at the barrel and decided it was for the best to take a seat on it. I needed to catch my breath.

"Stupid piece of shit, is what you are." The man spat, "Green shit straight from a horse's soured stomach. Cross my path again and you're gonna see a bullet right between your puny eyes."

I had never wish a person dead or suffering greater than this man. I rose to my feet, rage radiating off me.

Drun turned back at me, his eyes flashing and a deep frown on his face. "Stay back." His voice cracked. "I can handle this." He turned back and asked calmly. "Have you anything else to say before I punch out your teeth?"

The man shook his head and turned away from us, mumbling threats and insults as he shuffled away. Drunrag stood still, tensed and ready for any retaliation.

When the man was gone, he finally turned back. I looked up to meet his gaze, my thanks and gratitude on my lips when I saw he wouldn't look at me. Instead, he walked passed me and retrieved his barrels before turning and beginning the walk off the docks towards the main part of the city.

"Drunrag." I breathed out. I shuddered to hear his name out loud like that. I wanted to say it loud and open like that all the time, for it was the name of my beloved. My hero. My fated partner.

"Don't." He said, his voice dark. "I'm doing everything I can to stop this from affecting us. Give me time and stay away as much as possible." He finally turned, his eyes were still fierce as he looked at me. "Please don't get into trouble again. I don't want to see you hurt."

He walked away from me, barrels in hands. I watched him walk away.

What could I say to him to make him stay?

I remembered then what he told me in the beginning. He didn't want to mate. He made the choice to not do it. It was never about me.

Whatever made me think that I could convince him that I was worth changing his mind for?

I bowed my head, I couldn't bear to see him walk away from me.

#monster boyfriend #orc boyfriend #orc x half elf #dnd inspired #set in faerun #monster lover #monster romance #orc #orc romance #monster fucker #monster fuqqer #slow burn #romance #my fic #writing #gay romance #mm romance #much squealing happened while writing this chapter #can someone give Altan a hug for me pls

[idololivine]

Olivine and Eiden!

(asking because I'm not a very Eiden-centric shipper even though I ADORE him, I just find him a little less troubled than I like for my writing purposes pfff)

uwah you caught me after I turned off my computer to go to bed... mobile post incoming

Eiden is SUPER important to Olivine. I've talked about this before at length, but Eiden is Olivine's redemption, in the religious sense of the word. If Eiden doesn't show up, the temple gets destroyed; and if the temple gets destroyed, Olivine has to turn his back on his faith. There's no reconciliation to be had. But the temple doesn't get destroyed because Eiden comes, and in the process he saves Olivine from his loneliness and despair.

Quote from chapter 4:

Eiden So... *cough*... Father Olivine, are you willing to use all your power to aid me in restoring the altar to its original condition? If we succeed, this area will once again be safe from monsters. Olivine Thank you, oh holy God of Klein, for giving me this chance to atone for my sins...

I once saw someone say that Olivine erased his own personality to become Eiden's sex slave, and I bring this up because it's such a garbage take that it lives in my head rent free. Like, you'd have to actively ignore swathes of the canon text and read the rest in bad faith to reach that conclusion. Eiden's relationship to Olivine has a consistent beat of Eiden doing whatever Olivine wants - in part because Olivine's development is about learning that he's allowed to want things, and in part because Olivine's wants often line up with Eiden's wants (in the horny sense).

Quote from Zest for Life:

Olivine ... Can we really go? Eiden No problem! All you gotta do is tell me your desires, and I'll do my best to make them a reality. After all, you don't ask for much.

I also can't even begin to explain how Olivine hasn't "erased his personality". He's just really really agreeable. He's like this towards everyone, not just Eiden. There's something to be said about how his agreeability is tied to him being raised to fulfill other people's wants, but Eiden truly does not exploit it in a harmful way (see: IF Olivine's intimacy rooms, which focus on him being too much of a people-pleaser and how that's bad, and Eiden is the one who gets him to understand why boundaries are good) and when Olivine rolls with clan member bullshit, it's always played for laughs.

Anyway. Enough about that single dumbshit hot take.

Another common-ish sentiment I see is that Olivine and Eiden don't read as romantic, which I both agree and disagree with. I agree with it in the sense that I read them as queerplatonic, but I also disagree because people seem keen to say they're "just" friends with benefits in a way that implies their relationship is unimportant because it's not romantic. To repeat what I said four paragraphs ago, Eiden is immensely important to Olivine, as the person who freed him from the expectations forced upon him. This one's just on amatonormativity, which is an annoyingly persistent plague in a fandom for a game that does polyamory and relationship anarchy so well.

So that's a lot of Olivine analysis; what about Eiden? It's tough, because as the canon text depicts it, none of the individual guys actually do much to further Eiden's development. It's due to the game's structure: events and intimacy rooms are all centered on the characters, while Eiden learns and reacts to things as an audience proxy. It doesn't leave much room for Eiden development or backstory. The game also can't have Eiden be especially vulnerable with a specific character, because unless the writers manage to spread it out equally, it would imply that one character is the "correct" romantic option for Eiden. A gacha harem game can't show favoritism as blatant as that. (I think their favoritism is super blatant as it is, but that's a different topic.) So, canonically, Eiden's development and support is a group effort spread across all the members. To individuals, Eiden gives more than he gets, but he collectively gets a whole lot from being in a found family dynamic after a lifetime of not having a family. As the game presents it, I can't say that Olivine alone is a driving force for Eiden's development, though Olivine's certainly an important part of the greater whole. AUs are a different ballpark and you can do whatever the fuck you want there.

#asks #zerenovation #nu carnival #nu carnival olivine #nu carnival eiden #eioli #throwing this one in the main tag because this time I Know What I'm Talking About

[alovelyburn]

Do you think the only thing that keeps Griffith and Guts so close together is their miscommunication? I read someone’s tags about them that basically were saying that if they worked pass their issues they would just find out they are completely incompatible and that’s why they never work as a pair in other AUs. I can’t stop thinking about it. Thoughts?

I'm pretty sure I saw that tag while I was bored browsing one day, and my reaction was the same then as it is now - what a weird take.

Okay we're going to address this in two parts - the fanfic/AU thing and the canon thing.

First up! Fanfic/fandom.

The claim that their apparent incompatibility is why they don't work out in AUs is already kind of odd - first of all what AUs are they reading? Because obviously they must mean fanfiction but if they don't think any Berserk fanfic ends with a happy ending for them they must not be reading a lot of Berserk fanfic? I mean I don't read a lot of fanfic and I've run into plenty of happy ending AUs.

But even more than that, speaking as someone who seemingly is incapable of writing a happy ending for them, I think any dearth of happy endings has more to do with the kind of person that tends to gravitate to G/G, really - or rather the tastes of said people - than it has to do with any like inherent incompatibility between their personalities. Because it's not exactly a happy/healthy relationship, so if you're drawn to it you probably enjoy bittersweet things or dysfunctional things or pain, so you might end up writing bittersweet painful dysfunction.

(Ima write a happy ending one day though I just have to locate an opportunity, lmao.)

Anyway that's the fanfic/fandom/au portion. Now let's talk canon.

I think the way Guts and Griffith's personalities interact, they can be incredibly good for each other or they can be incredibly destructive toward each other. I'll explain why I think that in a second, but basically it's just like, you're never going to get a middle of the road relationship dynamic with them.

So the explanation: they can be good for each other because the things one of them wants is always something the other is wholly capable of giving.

Griffith is plagued with self-doubt and thinks he's a terrible person. He's also incredibly guarded and emotionally locked up - he needs someone he can show himself to, good and bad, who won't turn away or think poorly of him because of the things he's done. Guts is absolutely a person who can do that - he doesn't think the things Griffith has been hating himself for are bad to begin with. He's a confidante, a co-conspirator, a cheerleader, and he sees Griffith's positive qualities in a way that Griffith himself struggles to do. Griffith also needs an outlet from the stress of his position, and no one else makes him laugh or relax the way Guts does. Guts also gets Griffith in touch with his own heart, which he spends a great time trying to suppress.

Guts is plagued with poor self-esteem and an inability to believe in his own worth. He has a hard time conforming himself to behavioral standards imposed by others due to his temper and his willfulness. Most of all he wants somewhere to belong, and for someone he admires and respects to respect and value him - he wants to be seen. And Griffith is absolutely the person who can do that - even before they know each other Griffith breaks his own rules to pursue Guts. Griffith provides a kind of structure to his life that he never was able to manage on his own - and still hasn't - but does so without being overbearing or controlling or taking him for granted. And Griffith, the person Guts admires more than anything or anyone, consistently demonstrates how much he values Guts not only as a soldier but as a person. He's also a package deal with the Hawks, Guts' only real family, and not only does Griffith see him, in a lot of ways Griffith can't see anything but him.

I mean that's just off the top of my head, but basically they are incredibly compatible - even the ways they're different are complementary - Griffith's mind strengthen's Guts' passion and vice versa. If they worked it out they really could do anything - secure a kingdom, sure. Leave it behind? Guts is the only one that Griffith could ever choose over his dream.

But there's also the other side of it - the way their fears reinforce and trigger one another when they make a misstep.

Take the actual canon sequence of events that destroyed everything for example:

Guts overhears Griffith saying some shit that didn't even apply to him to Charlotte, and because he has a hard time believing in his own value and worth, he immediately takes it to heart. He accepts the "fact" of his worthlessness as a given so immediately that he doesn't even bother to ask about it. Not Griffith, not Casca, no one. Instead he upends his entire life to try to address that thing that's bothering him. He doesn't tell Griffith he's leaving probably at least in part because he doesn't think it matters that much, but of course it does matter and that's where Guts' insecurity - the way he withdraws to protect himself - ends up triggering Griffith's self-hatred.

Now because of Griffith's self-loathing, he takes Guts' decision to leave via sneakout as a sign that Guts hates him and can't wait to get away from him. He accepts the "fact" of his repulsiveness as a given so immediately that he doesn't ask for an explanation or anything! He just goes into panic mode.

But because Guts is so insecure, he can't perceive Griffith's reaction as a personal issue and just takes it as a sign that he's still useful as a soldier and Griffith doesn't want to lose a tool. So it just makes him double down.

And his doubling down makes Griffith even more certain that Guts hates him because if he didn't why would he be so calm and sure about leaving?

Basically, once one of them is thrown off and takes an emotionally defensive step back, it triggers the other's insecurities which triggers the first one's insecurities and it just spirals into oblivion. Because if one of them starts the bad ball rolling, its very difficult for the other to be rational enough about it to slow the fall.

And so we can say they're perfectly capable of destroying each other, but we knew that because they do in canon.

But the thing is, it's a roll of the dice. Or more specifically, its a misplayed hand of cards or something, like they had everything they would have needed to win but they just made some missteps. And the reason they ended up making those missteps is... Destiny and Stuff.

But if you take the stringpulling deities out of the picture there's nothing that guarantees that they'd have to mess it up. There's no reason they couldn't turn out just fine.

It's a matter of trying to navigate those landmines long enough for the positive/supportive aspects of their dynamic to kind of wear those down a bit, really.

#ask #berserk #griffith x guts #ariel talks about berserk #anonymous

[doublegoblin]

Hi, happy STS~!

As I get closer to finishing my current WIP's first draft, I'm having trouble dealing with the large amount of exposition I need to do before the end. Have you ever run into this problem? How did you deal with it? What's the best way to handle exposition, in your opinion?

(from @tisiphonewolfe)

Well howdy howdy, sorry for the delay in getting back this one had me thinking for a bit.

Like probably everyone else writing a thing; I have of course ran into the issue of exposition. Especially with a world that runs on some differences to our own fundamental rules, new rules entirely, and like this whole structure there have had to be times when I just set down and go "okay this is going to need some kind of explanation."

This kind of issue is compounded by having the POV character being someone who has existed in this reality for a reeeeally long time. Like they have been around for so long, doing the same thing, talking to the same people, that they fall into that fun category of co-worker who knows exactly what needs to be done but they are unable to train anyone well because it's just became so second nature that they go "Look I know how this is done, but I don't think I can walk you through the process" or "Yeah there is a rule about that somewhere but I can't explain why we have it, just, ya know, follow it I guess." Also this said character is disenfranchised with the whole shabang and so they just kind of go through the motions. Like it's fun as a writer because I have to think, is this something they would dwell on or think about? And most of the time, the answer is a no, so the information is there but it isn't brought up in the text because it's a first person narration.

Luckily I sort of have a baked in solution to go. I have what could be considered an audience stand-in with Peter. Fresh faced, head empty, and willing to ask so many questions.

Which leads me to my advice for how to deal with exposition (even without an audience stand-in). Now this isn't a solution I came up but I can't remember where I saw the advice specifically! However, that advice is to bake in the exposition so it feel natural. Like readers are smart and will notice when the info is just kind of dumped on their laps without rhyme or reason other than "this is info you have to know!" First stop and ask yourself, is it really though? Could a reader come to this same understanding given the context clues you put through the story? What sort of ramifications would come from this info being left out? Is it even realistic for your characters to know or feel the need to share? Why does the reader need to know this?

Often we as writers want to make sure we put as much of our blorbos in the text as we can, from the biggest of wars to the tiniest of defect on a mass produced coin. Not everything needs to be fully explained though, hell, in our own lives things are rarely fully explained to us. So sometimes it is better to omit some things in lieu of the holes in logic that may appear scary and "bad" but can make a narrative feel even more alive. There have been entire chapters I have torn to shreds because the info dumping was real and I could feel it.

That brings me to this though, if this is information that is imperative to be known by the reader. Make it feel natural. Like this isn't just have a character who is lacking knowledge ask or something. It could come from a casual conversation where the two parties find a mismatch in historical events, both sides thinking their version is the true one. Or like someone brings up a random little fun fact that is related to the information tangentially. Or heck, if you need to do a massive lore dump, more developed places sometimes have museums or libraries or just somewhere where those interested could learn some history.

Now this is all easier said than done, and the solution can/will change depending on the story you are telling. And like, end of the day to, sometimes you just need to exposition all over the page and as long as it's done very sparingly a reader is likely to forgive it. But the best thing, try to weave it into the story as natural as you can, it not only adds depth to the story but also to the characters themselves.

#thanks for the ask #asked and answered #writers #story teller saturday

[priestessofspiders]

The Masochist

I'm a sadist. I figured I'd just get that out in the open first. Without going too much into the details, it feels extremely cathartic to hurt people. It's something about being in control, about someone else experiencing pain for my benefit, that just makes me feel very, very happy, like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. Of course, it also just turns me on, but like I said, I don't want to get too much into the details of that side of things.

I'm not a monster of course. I don't go around beating people up in bar brawls to get off or anything like that. I'm only interested in acting out my fantasies with willing participants, and I care a lot about consent. I understand that the experience of being hurt can be just as pleasant for some people as hurting them is for me, and in the end I really am wanting all parties involved to be as happy and safe as possible. It's an unorthodox pastime, sure, but in the end it's all happening between consenting adults.

Fortunately for me, genetics blessed me with just the right balance of facial symmetry, fat distribution, and skeletal structure to be considered fairly attractive by mainstream standards. You'd be surprised how many people out there want to get the shit beaten out of them by a beautiful woman. As a result of this, I'm reasonably well known in my local BDSM scene, which is one of many reasons why I won't be disclosing that much information that could be traced back to where I live. It wouldn't be especially difficult to find me.

Because of my relative popularity, I have gotten a little used to complete strangers knowing who I am. It's why I wasn't too surprised when I was approached at a kink party and greeted by name by someone who I'd never seen before in my life. I'll be the first to admit I was smitten at first sight, she was truly gorgeous. I can't exactly explain what it was about her that made her so attractive to me, it's difficult to put into words. I can easily describe her of course; short, red hair in a pixie cut, slender limbs, expertly applied makeup, but this doesn't really explain the aura of almost divine beauty that emanated out from her. Unlike many of the other attendees of the party, she wasn't wearing any sort of fetish gear or even particularly revealing clothing. Just jeans, a gray t-shirt, and an unzipped gray hoodie.

While I'm inclined to swing both ways, I've always had a certain preference for women, but that predilection towards sapphism doesn't mean I'm likely to fall head over heels at the first sight of just any pretty girl. She was special, there was something different about her.

She introduced herself as Julia, and then immediately asked me a question which, in retrospect, should have raised more red flags. Speaking in a calm, measured voice, she asked, "I've heard you hurt people if they ask you to, is that correct?"

It wasn't an incorrect thing to say. She was right, and I told her so, but the phrasing of the question should have bothered me more than it did. Nobody phrases things like that in those sorts of spaces, they use jargon, community specific terminology, that sort of thing. Someone might ask something like "You're the sadist who's into impact play, yeah?" perhaps, but the phrasing of "you hurt people if they ask you to" is utterly bizarre. Nobody at that party would have said something like that. It's the sort of question an 80 year old who was just introduced to the concept of BDSM would ask.

It only got weirder from there. After my affirmative response, she nodded her head thoughtfully and told me she would meet me at my home, and asked me when I would be free. I told her I wasn't doing anything the next day, and she nodded again and said she'd be there at 2 o clock. Then she just walked away. She didn't even ask me for my address, or a phone number, or anything. The worst part is, at the time, none of this seemed in any way unusual. A complete stranger had just told me she was going to come to my home the next day, which she evidently already knew the location of, and it felt completely natural. I can chalk up some of it to a bit of giddy excitement at the prospect of indulging in my more unusual interests with a willing and beautiful participant, but that just doesn't explain it. I'm not an idiot, I know you can't just trust complete strangers because they're attractive. It's like the part of my brain that should have been warning me something was wrong had been completely turned off.

The remainder of the party went as expected, though I was somewhat distracted from my encounter. I didn't see Julia at all for the rest of the evening. I imagine she just left after informing me she was going to come to my house the next day. I left early and went home giddy with excitement for the day to come.

At the time, part of me was worried she wouldn't show up. It's funny, looking back on it now, that the thought of Julia not showing would have been a source of fear rather than relief. But she did, of course. The knocks on my door were perfectly in sync with the alarm I had set up on my phone to remind me of her impending arrival.

I opened the door as casually as possible, trying my best to hide my excitement, and found Julia standing there, smiling pleasantly. She didn't seem to have changed her outfit at all since the night before, either that or she simply had multiple sets of the same clothes like Einstein. To be honest I was a little embarrassed, part of me worried I had misread her intentions entirely, and that this was meant purely as a social call.

I showed her inside politely and asked if she wanted anything to drink, and she gently declined the offer, looking around my house methodically like the camera of a Mars rover surveying an alien environment. There was a bit of awkward silence that I attempted to fill with one-sided small talk whilst she wandered about the house, seeming to scan every nook and cranny. I followed behind, feeling increasingly awkward. Finally, she turned to look at me and spoke simply, "You will pierce my skin with needles."

I'll admit I'd never been especially fond of needle play. It had always seemed too gentle, too tame for my specific proclivities, but that's not to say I was inexperienced with it, and I was only too eager to indulge Julia if that was what she wanted. In the end, pain is pain after all.

Now of course, I gave my whole spiel about safety and consent, talking about the whole "traffic light" system, soft limits versus hard limits, etc. Julia nodded along, still smiling pleasantly, maintaining eye contact somewhat uncomfortably throughout my entire monologue. It was only when I got to the concept of safe words and asked what would work for her when she opened her mouth.

"There will be no safe word," she said.

Now I'm familiar with newbies to this sort of thing who get cocky and insist that they can take it, that they don't have any limits, but this felt different. This wasn't a statement of confidence, this wasn't bragging, Hell, this wasn't even someone with self-worth issues who thinks that getting hurt beyond their limits is what they deserve. This was a statement of fact. There would be no safe word. I wouldn't need one.

I wanted to argue of course. I wouldn't be a safe sexual partner if I just did away with important safety techniques because someone told me they weren't necessary, but my words just seemed to die on my lips as I looked at her unsettlingly calm smile. This was around when I started to fully realize something was wrong, but it was as if I couldn't do anything about it. The stage was set, and there was no changing the role I was about to play in the proceedings. Torturer, enter stage right.

She lay face down on the couch, removing her hoodie and shirt to reveal a completely unblemished back, skin smooth and pale as cream. Despite my growing anxiety, I was still, at this point, somewhat excited.

In case you aren't familiar with the subject, needle play is exactly what it sounds like; it's essentially a somewhat sexier version of acupuncture. I have a set of acupuncture needles with jeweled tips at the blunt end for this purpose, a gift from a friend of mine. I removed the needles from their case, making sure to clean them with an alcohol soaked cloth before setting them on a sterile tray for further use. Once I had prepared all of the needles, I began to gently pierce them one by one into the flesh of Julia's back, arranging them into a symmetrical pattern.

You don't go deep during needle play, as with all properly done BDSM the end goal isn't to seriously injure one's partner, but to explore different sensory experiences. When done correctly, one doesn't even leave much in the way of marks or bruising. Ultimately you're far more likely to receive a scar from an upset house cat from someone who has the proper experience with needle play.

Now, usually folks tend to have a fairly noticeable reaction to being pierced with dozens of needles, even if said needles are only inserted gently and to a shallow depth. While it's certainly not the most painful form of sadomasochism I've indulged in, it's far from mild. There is usually a hitching of the breath, a faint shudder, even moaning if one gets really into it. Julia, however, remained totally motionless, and the steady rhythm of her breathing continued uninterrupted.

I'll be entirely honest, I was a little concerned that I was doing a bad job. The whole joy of sadism, to me anyway, is to see the reaction someone gets from what I do to them, to know that they are feeling these sensations because of me. It makes me feel powerful, in control. To receive no response whatsoever was, frankly, a little embarrassing.

I'd finished inserting the last of the needles when Julia finally spoke.

"Push them all the way."

I shouldn't have to tell you that's not how this works. These weren't short needles, they were several inches long each. Pushing each one down to the base wouldn't just be agonizing, it would be incredibly dangerous as well; I could easily perforate her lungs at a minimum.

And yet, I found my hands moving to the last needle I had pierced her with. I felt myself grasp the jeweled head and begin gently pressing downwards, slowly burying the entire length of the needle into the flesh of her back.

It's surreal, not having control over one's own body, to experience taking actions which you do not want to perform. It's not like watching a movie, you can feel yourself doing it the entire time, all the while you're filled with a dawning horror that you're nothing more than a puppet on a string. To feel your own body betray you is the most viscerally upsetting sensation I've ever had.

One by one, each of the needles were pushed to the base into Julia's back by my trembling, sweaty fingers. I'd like to say there was no blood, that it was as though I were simply pressing sticks into wet clay, but that would be too kind to me, wouldn't it? No, I had to watch as deep rivulets of crimson bubbled up from the dozens of puncture wounds I was inflicting upon my still seemingly uncaring victim. She didn't so much as twitch, just continuing to breath methodically even as I saw bubbles of air form in the blood pouring from those wounds which pierced her lungs. My mind was attempting to retreat into itself, horrified at the loss of control I was experiencing, overwhelmed by the total absence of agency. My face was streaked with tears, ruining the makeup I had put on in the hopes of impressing her. God, to think I once worried about how she would think of me. It took me a moment to notice when she got up from the couch, putting back on her shirt, blood soaking through the fabric.

"Thank you for a very pleasant afternoon. I will be stopping by next week on the same day, at the same time. You will meet me then," she said, sliding her hoodie over the stained t-shirt. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded stack of hundred dollar bills, placing it on the coffee table while I sobbed. With that, she left and walked out the door.

Somehow, by the time I managed to pull myself together, I still had the wherewithal to feel self-conscious about the money. I don't do this sort of thing for pay, I've never wanted to do sex work. It isn't that I have any sort of moral qualms with that, but this sort of thing is basically a hobby for me, one that admittedly is a rather an important part of my life, but it's not my job. Being paid for it felt deeply wrong to me. It made me feel dirty, accepting that money, but it was more than enough to keep me financially stable for a week, and there was no way I was going to be able to go to my day job any time soon after what I'd experienced. I called in sick as soon as I was able to speak without crying.

I spent a while processing what happened. It wasn't just traumatic because of the lack of control, though that certainly doesn't help. I've often been self-conscious about my proclivities, worried that I'm somehow predatory, that I'm a bad person. Something that helps is knowing that what I'm doing isn't really that dangerous, that it's just a bit of unusual fun. Even at my most vicious the only lasting damage are a few bruises. To watch someone have needles pierced into their vital organs by my own hands, it's different. It's not just harmless fun anymore.

I came up with all sorts of explanations for what could have happened. Maybe Julia was a master hypnotist, and she had put me into some sort of trance. She could have replaced my regular needles with telescoping ones, like those prop knives they use in theater. Perhaps she was wearing some sort of prosthetic makeup on her back filled with fake blood. Maybe she drugged me. In my heart of hearts though, I knew that none of these rationalizations held any truth.

A week came and went, and I found myself waiting at my home for Julia. I didn't want to, I tried to call up a friend to stay with, but my vocal cords froze up whenever I attempted to ask them. I tried placing a reservation for a hotel room online, but my fingers refused to let me click the mouse. Even when I tried leaving on foot, I found myself steadily walking back to my house as soon as the clock struck noon. My appointment with Julia would be kept.

When she arrived, Julia was still wearing the same outfit as the last week, albeit cleaned of blood. She held a small package wrapped in brown paper and twine in her left hand. She greeted me by name cheerfully enough, and despite the terror I felt at the sight of her, I found my mouth twisting into an involuntary smile as I welcomed her into my home with a tone of similar warmth. Only the tears flowing down my face indicated my true feelings. My mind kept playing back images of me pushing the needles into her back, of the blood bubbling with the rhythm of her breathing.

She got right to the point, informing me that today I would be whipping her. Even now, I'm still not used to the way she phrases her instructions. When you use the proper terminology for these sorts of things, you're reminding yourself that it's not actually harmful, that it's just, in essence, a game. "Impact play" feels so much less cruel than whipping. But Julia doesn't care about what I feel. She just makes me hurt her.

I went to go retrieve one of the various floggers I owned, deciding I would choose whichever one I thought would cause the least damage, when Julia simply said, "Stop."

Instantly I froze in my tracks, not moving a muscle. I heard the rustling of paper from behind me, the sound of her unwrapping the object she had brought with her. "Turn around," she instructed. I did so instantly, without hesitation, despite how strongly I didn't want to see what she would present me with.

It reminded me somewhat of a discipline, a type of scourge used in certain Christian denominations as an instrument of penance, a tool for the mortification of the flesh. It was composed of seven lengths of slightly rusted chain, with three jagged knots of barbed wire sticking out along each one. She held it out to me, and I took it, shaking slightly. I felt like I was going to be sick. Getting a closer look at the discipline, I could tell that the links of the chain were sharpened to a razor's edge.

I must again reiterate; I enjoy hurting people. I like seeing people in pain, I like seeing people submit their bodies to me, to watch them be hurt because they willingly give me the power to inflict suffering upon them for my own pleasure. I know there are probably a lot of people out there like me who would be overjoyed to spend time with Julia, to be with a partner who truly has no limits, for whom you can do whatever you want to her and she'll just take it, wordlessly. They probably wouldn't even need to be controlled in the way that she does to me, or if they were, they may not even notice it. But I'm not one of those people. I enjoy hurting people, not maiming them.

She took off her shirt again, this time kneeling on the floor instead of laying down. By some terrible miracle, her back showed no scars from our last session. I was once again greeted with that same creamy, unblemished skin. She told me to begin, and I did. I felt my hand clench, white knuckled, around the handle of the discipline, and I began to swing it with all my might against her back. The rusted, razor sharp metal tore into her flesh like a knife through butter, leaving terrible gashes from which blood flowed like the tears of weeping saints. I tried to keep track of how many times my body swung that terrible scourge, but I lost count at one hundred lashes. By the time she told me I could stop, her vertebrae and the back of her rib cage were visible, peeking out from the ruined, bloody flesh of her back.

Like before, impossibly calmly given the utter ruination of her body, she stood up, put back on her clothes, and thanked me for my time, informing me once again that I would be seeing her the same time next week. She left me another stack of hundred dollar bills, more than the last time, and left. I curled in the fetal position upon the blood soaked floor and cried until I passed out.

That was months ago. Since then, it's only gotten increasingly worse.

I quit my job. I have long since run out of excuses to explain my continued absence, and the money from Julia more than pays for my expenses, so I just sent in a resignation email and didn't show up for work after that. I wish I could say it was an improvement, not needing to work anymore, but all it means is I have more time to focus on the terrible things I've been made to do against my will.

Every week is different, some new torture she wants me to perform on her. Each time she is completely healed from the previous session, and each time her requests seem to get more extreme, further from anything even vaguely resembling something remotely conventional. I don't want to go into detail as to the specifics, just reliving our first two meetings is traumatic enough, but it has become increasingly rare for me to use any of my own equipment, instead she usually comes in with some new object wrapped in brown paper and string. A potato peeler, a power drill, a nailgun, a branding iron, etc.

Most recently, the package she brought was small, compact. She unwrapped it to reveal a smooth, black, handgun, a Glock I think, with a suppressor already threaded into the end of the barrel. That session was very quick.

Even with the bullet wound clear through her forehead and out the back of her skull, she kept up that polite, gentle smile. I looked through the newly created tunnel of flesh and bone that marred her otherwise beautiful face as she politely thanked me for my hospitality, informing me that she would meet with me again next week at the same time.

#horror story #horror fiction #horror #nosleep #writeblr

[hyperbolicreverie]

For the fic ask meme: 1, 4, 39 and 49? :D

What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

Hmm. I would have to go with either Lost in Translation, because it's a good snapshot of both my tendency to write languages as well as the way I often structure fics, or Territorial Disputes (Gifts, Unexpected) because it's a good blend of how I do humor, character interactions, and more serious moments. Not the funniest or the most gut-punching moments I've written, but a decent sampler.

What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

Since you didn't give me a fic for this ask, I'm going to go with how Sentinel came out. It's the only time I've written second-person, and it worked so well for a character study for Rayleigh. It doesn't get a lot of attention, but it's still one of my favorite pieces. 39. Is any aspect of your writing process inspired by other writers or people? If so, who?

If there is, I couldn't name them. It's very likely, though, as I am a sponge when it comes to things like that. I like more lyrical, descriptive styles of writing, and finding the right cadence to the words to make those descriptions sing, but I couldn't pin down where or when or why I started doing that.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

I am always working on multiple things, because I can't just ever have one WIP, much to my dismay sometimes. I've got a timeswap fic in the works, and a couple more character-based pieces, and I definitely haven't run out of ideas for my Seas AU yet. But right now, the big thing is a highly-indulgent changeling/fae AU, because I thought devil fruits sounded an awful lot like a fae bargain and the thoughts just spiraled from there. It's the first time I've written anything of this length or with chapters, and I am both terribly excited and terrified of it. It's my NaNo project, and it's 50.5k words and climbing with no end in sight, so...help.

A snippet, in Luffy's POV, chosen because I love these idiots:

Torao looks more tired than normal, wrapped up in a really soft looking hoodie and jeans, his normal hat nowhere to be found and his hair sticking up in every direction. He would laugh, except he still needs to talk to Torao, and that will probably go easier if he’s not mad at Luffy specifically.

He still looks pretty funny, though.

“Hey, Law,” Ace says cheerfully. “Wow, you. You just got home from work, didn’t you?” Torao just stares at him, unblinkingly. “Well, sorry to bother you, but we found someone in need of your assistance on the way over, and…” He gestures at the redhead and his friend, pointedly nodding at the places where he was bleeding from several deep cuts. “So, uh. Yeah.” He scrambles at his pocket, pulling out Sanji’s slightly squished rice balls. “Sanji sent these over for you.”

Torao looks Kid up and down silently. And then, without saying anything, he extremely deliberately slams the door in their face.

Ace sighs. Luffy cracks up laughing.

“Well, fuck you too, Trafalgar!” Kid yells, banging on the door. “Open the door before I break it down and use it to whoop your skinny ass!”

Torao does not open the door.

“Maybe,” the masked guy says, in a tone of voice that reminds Luffy of when Nami is really, really done with him, “maybe we don’t antagonize the only doctor willing to treat you, Kid.”

“He’s fucking insufferable, Killer, I’m going to…”

Abruptly the door swings open again, and Torao is standing there again, looking just the same as before, except with the addition of a large mug of something steaming hot. Abruptly the commotion on the front step stops.

“Sorry,” he says, in a tone of voice that is not sorry at all, taking a big sip of his drink. “I just needed something stronger before I was ready to deal with your bullshit.” He blinks slowly. “Now get in here before you make the neighbors suspicious. And don’t bleed on my carpet.” Looking at Ace, he grabs the rice balls, and without a word turns to walk back into the house.

#rev speaks

[gillianthecat]

He's so beautiful 🥰 And stays beautiful throughout, but don't watch it if you're just looking for pretty boys because a lot of other stuff happens too.

I just finished Alice in Borderland's season 2...

and I have a lot of thoughts, and some (though not as many) feelings about the series.

I think overall they kind of average out to meh? It didn't quite work for me the way that I wanted it to, or thought it should, although I'm not sure if that's because of the series or because of me.

I should be sleeping instead of writing, so I'm going to dump it all out onto the page without regard for order or coherence:

It was surprisingly coherent and logical in the details, which I find these sort of clever shows with central mysteries often fail at. It's very explicitly using the structure of video games. I can recognize it, just from being on the internet I guess, but I've basically never played video games other than the occasional five or ten minutes with my brothers when i was a kid. I don't know if I would have connected more with the show if I was more of a gamer; one of the stories it's telling is "what if you had to live in a video game," which isn't all that immediately interesting to me, although I can see how it's intellectually interesting.

That was kind of my overall response to AiB - at so many moments I could intellectually see what they're were maybe going for, but I rarely felt an emotional connection to any of it. Perhaps it was just my state of mind this week, and not the show's fault. It could also be the tremendous amount of violence and death in the show; I think my reaction to that is to disconnect, dis-invest in the characters because they could be gone at any time. Which, on the one hand is closely related to the themes of AiB, how do you value a life and all of that. On the other hand, since this is a piece of fiction, and not actual lives, it just kind of leaves me disconnected from the story. I kept pausing it and doing other things (even though I was also desperately procrastinating from real life) and in between mostly forgetting about the characters.

In the end it was intellectual curiosity that kept me coming back, both in the world of the story - what was this place they all were? - and also about what exactly the show was trying to say. Because it pretty clearly was trying to say something, not just sweep the audience along on an adventure story. The explicit questions, most clearly stated in Chishiya's arc but also I think present in everyone else's, are "what is the value of a life," or perhaps "what are you willing to do for other's lives?" But honestly those questions seemed kind of boring to me, which is perhaps another reason the show was falling flat. Perhaps if I was Japanese it would make more sense to me, the profundity of it lost in translation, linguistic and cultural. Or perhaps the show just isn't as deep as it wants to be/thinks it is. I dunno, somehow the extreme violence and the basic arbitrariness of everyone's deaths rendered the question as silly. It was trying to be about how people, specifically our various protagonists, take responsibility for the lives of other, balance their desire for survival against the rest of the world. But someone it never felt to me like the show or the characters grappled with the terrifying horror of the violence they endured and witnessed. And I get it, it's so extreme it can't really be processed in the format of the show, which is also at it's heart an adventure story and a coming of age story. But if the show is going to go there, killing off literally hundreds and possibly thousands of people on screen, it really needs to deal with if its going to deal with it.

And the characters did react - Arisu prostate on the floor despondent and blaming himself, obviously traumatized. So I'm trying to figure out why that wasn't enough for me, why it felt shallow. My first idea that it's a cultural disconnect, but I don't think that's it. I think it's because the story is so tightly focused on the protagonists, their losses and griefs and guilts and the life lessons they learn from it all, that it turns the lives and deaths of those thousands of unnamed characters into mere fodder for the protagonists' journeys. Which seems a very video game thing to do, and the opposite of the direction I thought they were trying for. But I'm still not entirely sure what they were trying for, despite the many explicitly stated life lessons in the piece. (Perhaps the many layers of the ending complicates these ideas; I'll get to that in a bit.)

Speaking of Arisu. I liked him, I really did. The actor has a beautiful face, sometimes I just stared at him instead of paying attention to the plot. And I empathize with him as a fellow underachiever. But somehow he didn't work for me as a protagonist. He somehow felt bland. And I don't think it was the actor's fault, he seemed to be doing a good job, and I'm guessing if I saw just a clip of any one scene I would think he worked. It just... maybe the story they were trying to tell simply wasn't the one I wanted to watch. It felt like he was supposed to be an every-man, young and lost and living only through video games, there for all the gamers (gaming men) in the audience to identify with. Much like how I imagine the main character in a video game to be, kind of generic, ready for the player to enter and see the world through it's eyes. But drama series are not video games, and they need a protagonist with more... oh I don't even know what was lacking. Maybe it's not a lack in the character itself, but in the way he was elevated by the narrative for no seeming reason, living out the fantasy of being the special one after all. And the script did explicitly acknowledge this, and I think in many ways it was intentional, but yet somehow that didn't work for me. idk. If there is anyone out there who has a) managed to make it this far into my ramblings, b) seen AiB, and c) has thoughts about Arisu as protagonist, I would love to hear them, because at this point I'm just talking myself in circles.

(And I noticed to that Arisu and bad guy Niragi were counterpoints, opposite paths for the same sort of basement dwelling underachiever, but I don't have many thoughts on it right now. Or maybe Samura, the guy with all the tattoos, was more obviously the counterpoint, but he died and was less narratively significant in Arisu's story.)

I also would have preferred Arisu and Usagi had a firmly platonic relationship instead of heading toward romance. I mean, it seemed inevitable it would head that way as soon as I knew there was a female lead, so I wasn't exactly upset by it, just resigned. And it's not that the actors couldn't do romance, I was quite taken with their chemistry in that final scene at the hospital vending machine. That was actually a romance story I would watch, whatever it turned out to be (again, thoughts on the ending(s) to come).

But it felt so... I don't know, generic somehow. I didn't really get why they each, specifically, were drawn to the other person, specifically, other than that they were the main characters so they had to fall in love. It just would have felt more interesting to me if it was all done out of a deep friendship. Even Usagi's sacrifices and pleas in the final game with the Queen of Hearts would have worked if they were friends instead of falling in love, I think for me the scene would have felt even stronger, their bond and love for each other somehow more intentional rather than just following the predetermined path of a video game, in which the guy gets the girl.

I have many thoughts on

all the secondary protagonists, most of whom I found more interesting than the two leads

the various games themselves (I was impressed at their internal logic)

the final bosses - a serial killer jack of spades and then a literal tea party with Mira queen of hearts. i don't actually know my thoughts on this yet, but i know i have them. And I thought Mira's actor was excellent.

the attempted rapes and other moments of sexual assault (which I don't think were necessarily supposed to read as sexual assault. But I'm still trying to understand Japanese media's attitudes toward and depiction of sex.) I survived watching them by wondering if Usagi's and Niragi's actors were friends, and hoping they were comfortable with each other, because all that licking looked quite awkward.

(that's generally how I survived the most uncomfortable scenes, rape and gore and anything I didn't want to immerse myself in: I thought about the behind the scenes process of filming it)

the cinematography and CGI (was was often quite beautiful)

All the secondary women I loved: An, Kuina, teenage archer Heiya, the two dealers from the game at the Beach, Momoko and her friend, gone but not forgotten, desperate Shibuki, more complex than expected. There were a lot of fascinating women in this show, and I think the story did interesting things with them. But, also their stories were secondary to Arisu's... I don't actually know what my thoughts on that are yet, separate from my generally issues with his protagonist-ness.

Usagi herself. Who started off so intriguing and then got flattened into "the love interest." Maybe that's why the romance bothered me.

Arisu's friends, and their role as sacrifices, both explicitly acknowledged by the script, but also... still somehow not turned into real characters for me, despite them have personalities and backstories.

But also, Machida Kieta! I did not at all recognize him at first. I remembered vaguely some BL actor was in the show but not who, and did a double take when I read that it was him. Also ironic that his opening moment is literally an extensive kiss with women, when there were zero kisses in [redacted to avoid spoilers for those who haven't seen it]. But he was good as completely different character than [redacted].

The mysteries of it all! Just who/what is behind these torture/murders sprees disguised as "games"? And why? There were various theories offered in the show, were any of them real? And could any answer actually be satisfying? They eternal question for shows like this (I remember Lost stumbling so badly I never even finished the last season.) I don't even have theories myself, and I expect I would be disappointed by any particulars. But I also really want to know.

I did wish the characters were more curious/determined to find out what was going on. Which... they were, or at least some of them were (that's probably why An was my favorite. As well as that 8mm film they found.) And that was supposedly Arisu's driving force through it all - to get answers and get home. So I don't know why it didn't feel like enough for me.

oh I almost forgot! the Alice in Wonderland metaphor going on. It works, although I'm not entirely sure what it adds to the story. But I've never actually read the book, and most of my encounters with the story are actually videos of The Royal Ballet rehearsing parts of Christopher Wheeldon's ballet version. Which I haven't even seen in entirety. All of which is to say, I caught I few basics, with the help of MDL (Arisu=Alice, Usagi is apparently the Rabbit, the Hatter, Chishiya=Chesire Cat, the playing cards, the croquet game and tea with the Queen of Hearts). And I think this question of justice and fairness in an absurd world is also a theme in Alice in Wonderland. But if there are other parallels, or any of the other characters have specific counterparts, I missed it all.

And then the ending. I actually deliberately partially spoiled myself for it, which generally I work hard to avoid. But I was struggling in the last few episodes, and I wanted to know if there would be any answers if I kept watching, or if I would just leave frustrated. So I knew about the Joker card, though not the context. And I have to say I was more glad to see it than not, even though I don't want to wait for another season that never appears.

Because I was frustrated by the "it was all a near-death dream explanation." of them back in the real world. One that even they didn't remember, despite all the hard won lessons the characters learned. It's rarely an ending I find satisfying, and it raises so many questions: whose dream was it? Just Arisu's or everyone's? And, as an audience member, I feel like it cheapens all the deaths I had to witness to get there. Yes, I know they were fictional, but, I don't know, it somehow removes all the weight from the story, and then I wonder why I suffered through all that pain if it meant nothing. So as much as I want the characters to get back into the real world I was revealed to see that Joker card emerge on the table, implying they were in one last more stage of the game, controlled by who the hell knows who.

Although all the (conscious) characters seemed happy enough at the hospital back in their real world of the hospital, it didn't feel real to me without their memories of what they had endured, how they had changed from it. Because they had all worked hard to earn those changes, paying the price in literal blood.

That said, in general I'm not a fan of reality slipping media, that keeps the audience guessing on what's the real world and what's the hallucination/simulation/whatever. Alice in Borderland handled it about as well as I think it could. But often reality slipping just pulls me out of the story entirely. Because none of it is real, it's all created in film studies and on locations, and in the graphics computer. So if the show is asking me to determine which of the fictional realities is the "real" fictional reality, I often just through in the towel and go it's all fake. Alice in Borderland didn't do too much of this, so I was able to stay at least somewhat grounded in the worlds they were creating, although this was probably another contributor to that feeling of disconnect I was talking about at the beginning of these musings.

Ok. I have written almost 2500 words and I could probably write thousands more. But I really do need to sleep, and if I save this as a draft it will just hang over me. So here it is, in all its rambling unedited glory. If you made it this far, feel free to ask me questions. I do have vague intentions about writing more, but there's a good chance it won't happen without prompting.

#alice in borderland #my ramblings #full of spoilers #no [editing] we die like men #final episodes #reaction by gillianthecat

[nashibirne]

Where The Wild Roses Grow - An August Walker Story

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Fern) Summary: Don't screw the crew? This doesn't work for August Walker Warnings: Smut, Sex, 18+, NSFW, unprotected sex, oral sex mentioned, kinda soft August This is kinda AU, because August survived the events of MI:Fallout Unbeta'ed! English is not my mother tongue, so consider yourself warned Disclaimer: I don't own August Walker (but he owns me...) Credits: Pics for the header from Pinterest

A big thank you to the wonderful @legendarywizarddetective Honey, thanks for your support, your advice and your opinion. You have no idea, how much I appreciate your help <3 xxx

tag list: @lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights

You can find the next parts and my other fics on my Masterlist

~~~~~

Chapter 1

Fern

I'm bent over my desk, still recovering from my orgasm, while August is railing me hard from behind to reach his own climax. It doesn't take him long. He comes with a suppressed growl that turns into a satisfied moan slowly. As usual he pulls out right after, gives me a playful slap on my naked butt and stuffs his dick back into his pants with a smug smile.

He never undresses to fuck me and he never asks me to get naked. He just hitches up my skirt or dress, pulls my panties out of the way and enters my pussy with his fingers, his tongue or his dick. My clothes have turned into some kind of code with time. If I wear trousers I know he won't touch me, so if I choose to wear a pair of jeans it's my way to say no. If I wear a skirt or a dress he knows he can have me if he wants to. It doesn't happen every day or on a regular basis, sometimes we fuck five days in a row and sometimes we don't for two weeks and that's part of its charm.

Whenever it happens, it is always quick and dirty and pretty good. Sure, there's no tenderness, no cuddling, hardly any kissing but it still is great sex. Satisfying and uncomplicated, no strings attached. I never thought I could enjoy physical love without being emotionally involved, but with August it works somehow. I don't even know how it happened, can hardly tell how this started. 

I used to work at the CIA as a team assistant, he was THE notorious agent, August "The Hammer" Walker, effective, discreet, intimidating, mysterious, larger-than-life. Yeah, I know, this alone sounds sexy as hell and you haven't even seen him. Tall, broad shouldered, dark hair, blue eyes, face like an angel but his signature mustache and the three-days-stubble giving it a dangerous touch. We got along quite well but it was all strictly professional back then. He always kept a distance, not only from me but from everyone and I knew he was well out of my league anyway, even if we hadn't worked together. 

After the disaster with Ethan Hunt I was shocked, devastated even, because I'd never expected him to be a traitor and I was sure I'd seen the last of him after the events in Kashmir. To my big surprise he contacted me a few weeks after. He had somehow survived the fight with Hunt and the explosion and bailed himself out of this mess. I still don't know how he made it, what or who he sold to the government but it must have been a huge deal because they cleared his record and he was free to do whatever he wanted under one condition, he had to leave the country. He chose to make a fresh start in London and to set up a cyber security business with a partner. This partner is Peter Brooks, who is an ex-hacker August knows from some CIA investigations, and they are the perfect team -August sells security, Peter programs it, August is responsible for the hardware, Pete for the software. And a good team needs a team assistant and that was the point where I got involved.

I don't know why he asked me of all people, maybe because he knew I was unattached and because we had already proven that we worked together well. I asked him several times for his reasons but he always shrugged it off. I was hesitant about taking his offer, of course I was, I didn't trust him anymore, he had been public enemy number one and to be honest I was scared. I was afraid of him, of what he could be up to, of the potential for violence he was radiating and his criminal energy in general, but he offered me lots of money, a wonderful apartment in Shoreditch and he promised me that he would never expose me to any kind of danger, that he'd changed and that I would never have to do something illegal for him. I believed him, mostly because I wanted to. I was desperate to add a little adventure to my boring existence and earning much more than an average assistant plus living in one of the greatest cities in the world seemed to be an attractive prospect. Up to now I haven't regretted my decision.

August has kept his word. There are no signs that the company is involved in any illegal deals and as far as I know he is not scheming or hiding something. Actually I'm quite sure of that because we all know that the federal authorities keep a close eye on him and his little business. Moreover we've got to know each other quite well and I imagine that I would know if he was hiding something from me. Maybe I would, maybe it's just wishful thinking but I tend to say that I can judge him quite well by now. That's not surprising actually, considering how much time we spend together, 12 to 16 hours a day, five to six days a week.

How did the sex thing begin you ask? I don't really know. Maybe it was the glances he started to give me, the attention I wasn't used to. I just started to feel good around him, sexy and wanted. Of course it's flattering that a handsome man like him shows interest in someone like me, even if it's just physical.

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one. He travels a lot, is away for days or weeks sometimes and I know he doesn't end up lonely in his hotel room every night. But we have kind of a don't-ask-don't-tell-policy and I'm fine with it.

The first time we fucked was a good year ago and 9 months after I came to London to work for Walker & Brooks SecTec. I wore one of my summer dresses, dark blue with white dots, plain but cute, and August complimented me on my outfit several times that day. He had never done this before. When I was just about to leave he suddenly stood in the doorway of my office and looked at me with a feral grin that gave me goosebumps. "What?" I asked him with a frown. 

"Nothing. It's just...you better not wear that dress again at work." His grin turned into a smirk. 

"Why? You said you like it." I looked down at my body, feeling self-conscious all of the sudden. 

"Right. I like it a little too much, Fern." 

I gave him a sheepish smile. "What's that supposed to mean?" He came closer, standing right in front of me now. 

"It means you look so delicious in that dress, you're giving me a hard time trying to control myself around you." 

I was speechless in that moment and pretty sure that he was making fun of me. In my whole life there hadn't been a single man that had problems with his self control around me. I'm just not the kind of woman that drives a guy out of his mind.

"That's not funny."

"It's not supposed to be funny. I'm serious."

He looked me deep in the eyes, his face was just inches away from mine. Suddenly he grabbed me by my waist and spinned me around, pulling me close to him. "Your ass is so juicy in that dress, your waist so small, your breasts so beautiful, I just can't stop thinking about touching you." He whispered all this into my ear and then I felt his lips on my neck. They brushed the sensitive flesh just lightly. He did nothing more for a moment, and I knew he hesitated to give me a chance to turn him down, to say no to him. I didn't. I said yes that day. I let him kiss my neck. I let him squeeze my ass. I let him caress my tits. I turned around and kissed him and I moaned into his mouth under his touch. I felt how hard he was, how much he wanted me and it was the greatest turn-on. All the dirty things he told me, the magic his skilled hands worked on my body, the sexual energy and the dominance he was radiating from every pore - I was putty in his hands, willing to give him everything...everything I had craved since I'd moved here. I was touch starved, there hadn't been a single date or something because my whole life was like eat-work-sleep-repeat. He fucked me on my desk that day. Standing between my legs -my dress hitched up, my panties lying in the corner of the room- he thrust his big dick into my needy pussy with force and without mercy, giving me one of the most intense orgasms of my life.

***

August

Fern. I know she hates her name, but if you ask me, it's beautiful. Old fashioned in a good way, special, innocent and very pretty. Just like the woman who bears it. You wonder if that's the reason why I asked her to work for me? Because she's so pretty with her long honeyblond hair and the big brown eyes? You think I hired her because I wanted to fuck her right from the start? I'm sorry to disappoint you but you're wrong. I didn't see her that way in the beginning. 

When we worked together for the CIA she was in a relationship anyway. We never talked about it, it was all strictly professional back then, but she had this picture of a guy on her desk, a good looking man with a boyish smile and the aura of an intellectual snob. Eventually the picture vanished and wasn't replaced by a new one so I assumed she was unattached, which was one reason I considered her to be suitable. But the main reason was that she is simply very good at her job. Of all the assistants we had she was the best organized and structured one, she is smart and her quickness is extraordinary. She's friendly and sociable but most of all she is loyal and has integrity. In the old days you'd called her virtuous and that was exactly what I was looking for.

I knew to start a new life, a life as an upright citizen, I'd need help. Help from someone like her, not from someone like my partner Peter who struggles with keeping things legal too. To put it in a nutshell, I needed a moral compass and she was the right woman for the job and she still is. Keeping us on track, guiding us without even knowing it just by her natural sense of justice. Of course it was hard to convince her to trust me and to make her give up her life in the states and to begin anew in London and when she finally agreed it was a big relief.

Yeah, yeah, yackety-yack, you say? But why did you start to fuck her? 

Well, the not so flattering answer is, I did it because I wanted to know if I could. Peter said no. Never ever would a smart woman like Fern fuck her boss, he said when we talked about it one boozy evening. The two of us were celebrating a huge deal and I said something like I'd love to give Fern a special reward for her good work and he laughed out loud when he realized what I meant.

Well, I love a good challenge and there was something in her eyes, a gleam, a spark, that told me she was looking for an adventure, for anything to make her life a little more exciting and I was willing to give her what she was craving. And so it began.

It was supposed to be a one-off, just to prove to myself that I was able to seduce her but after the first time I wanted more. The way she let me fuck her and the way her body responded to mine was just too good to not do it again. She knows it's just sex, I didn't even have to explain it to her, it is obvious. As I said she's a quick thinker and she knows what it means that I don't even strip off my pants, that I just get out my dick to rail her.

Sometimes I eat her pussy before I fuck her, sometimes I make her ride my fingers, but I never undress myself or her. And she doesn't seem to care, she likes it and she never asks for more. She just wants a good orgasm and that's what she gets. She cums easily, she's clearly not one of the women who need a lot of time to have an orgasm, who need a long foreplay and cuddles afterwards and that's great because I'm not the right man for this kind of intimacy. I'm just a man who wants a good, satisfying fuck. I don't need love, I just need sex.

And today she's just given me that. After making her come with my mouth I fucked her hard on her desk and it was great. But now it's back to business, we have a job to do and Peter will be back from his lunch break in a few minutes. Of course he knows what's going on but we never fuck when he's around. I would because it's none of his business what happens behind closed doors but Fern is scared that he could walk in on us. "I could never look him in the eyes again, August. I swear I'd die from embarrassment." That's what she said when I wanted to have my ways with her in my office with Peter working next door one day. Virtuous, as I said. Luckily she's not such a prude when we're alone.

"Here's the Henderson file, I signed the contract. Send it back to them please." She nods and takes the papers from my hand. She's sitting behind her desk, the one I just fucked her on, and I love the thought that my cum is dripping into her panties right now. She never reeks of sex though, I guess she always has fresh panties in her handbag and she washes her pussy in the bathroom when we're done. Well organized and always prepared, that's Fern.

"I need to leave a little earlier today if that's okay. I have an appointment." She looks at me with a smile that I don't return. I hardly ever smile and she knows it. She doesn't take offence and keeps on giving me her sweet smiles that often brighten up my busy days and I appreciate it.

"Sure. What kind of appointment?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Curious much, huh?"

"It's job related...ex agent...you know how it is." I grin and turn to leave because I don't expect an answer.

"Piano lessons." Her voice makes me stop and turn around.

"So you finally decided to do it."

"Yeah. I thought a lot about what you told me. That you're never too old to learn stuff and to start with something new. So I decided to give it a try."

"That's good, Fern. I'm sure you're gonna nail it."

"Thanks, August. To be honest I'm pretty nervous. I still think I might be too old to learn it properly."

"You're only 32 and you don't have to become the next Rachmaninoff."

She laughs and it sounds as clear as a bell. "I'll keep that in mind." "Good girl." 

~~~~~~

#august walker #august walker smut #august walker x ofc #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fanfiction #mission impossible fallout #august walker au #august walker fic

[innuendostudios]

Thoughts on: Criterion's Neo-Noir Collection

I have written up all 26 films* in the Criterion Channel's Neo-Noir Collection.

Legend: rw - rewatch; a movie I had seen before going through the collection dnrw - did not rewatch; if a movie met two criteria (a. I had seen it within the last 18 months, b. I actively dislike it) I wrote it up from memory.

* in September, Brick leaves the Criterion Channel and is replaced in the collection with Michael Mann's Thief. May add it to the list when that happens.

Note: These are very "what was on my mind after watching." No effort has been made to avoid spoilers, nor to make the plot clear for anyone who hasn't seen the movies in question. Decide for yourself if that's interesting to you.

Cotton Comes to Harlem I feel utterly unequipped to asses this movie. This and Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song the following year are regularly cited as the progenitors of the blaxploitation genre. (This is arguably unfair, since both were made by Black men and dealt much more substantively with race than the white-directed films that followed them.) Its heroes are a couple of Black cops who are treated with suspicion both by their white colleagues and by the Black community they're meant to police. I'm not 100% clear on whether they're the good guys? I mean, I think they are. But the community's suspicion of them seems, I dunno... well-founded? They are working for The Man. And there's interesting discussion to the had there - is the the problem that the law is carried out by racists, or is the law itself racist? Can Black cops make anything better? But it feels like the film stacks the deck in Gravedigger and Coffin Ed's favor; the local Black church is run by a conman, the Back-to-Africa movement is, itself, a con, and the local Black Power movement is treated as an obstacle. Black cops really are the only force for justice here. Movie portrays Harlem itself as a warm, thriving, cultured community, but the people that make up that community are disloyal and easily fooled. Felt, to me, like the message was "just because they're cops doesn't mean they don't have Black soul," which, nowadays, we would call copaganda. But, then, do I know what I'm talking about? Do I know how much this played into or off of or against stereotypes from 1970? Was this a radical departure I don't have the context to appreciate? Is there substance I'm too white and too many decades removed to pick up on? Am I wildly overthinking this? I dunno. Seems like everyone involved was having a lot of fun, at least. That bit is contagious.

Across 110th Street And here's the other side of the "race film" equation. Another movie set in Harlem with a Black cop pulled between the police, the criminals, and the public, but this time the film is made by white people. I like it both more and less. Pro: this time the difficult position of Black cop who's treated with suspicion by both white cops and Black Harlemites is interrogated. Con: the Black cop has basically no personality other than "honest cop." Pro: the racism of the police force is explicit and systemic, as opposed to comically ineffectual. Con: the movie is shaped around a racist white cop who beats the shit out of Black people but slowly forms a bond with his Black partner. Pro: the Black criminal at the heart of the movie talks openly about how the white world has stacked the deck against him, and he's soulful and relateable. Con: so of course he dies in the end, because the only way privileged people know to sympathetize with minorities is to make them tragic (see also: The Boys in the Band, Philadelphia, and Brokeback Mountain for gay men). Additional con: this time Harlem is portrayed as a hellhole. Barely any of the community is even seen. At least the shot at the end, where the criminal realizes he's going to die and throws the bag of money off a roof and into a playground so the Black kids can pick it up before the cops reclaim it was powerful. But overall... yech. Cotton Comes to Harlem felt like it wasn't for me; this feels like it was 100% for me and I respect it less for that.

The Long Goodbye (rw) The shaggiest dog. Like much Altman, more compelling than good, but very compelling. Raymond Chandler's story is now set in the 1970's, but Philip Marlowe is the same Philip Marlowe of the 1930's. I get the sense there was always something inherently sad about Marlowe. Classic noir always portrayed its detectives as strong-willed men living on the border between the straightlaced world and its seedy underbelly, crossing back and forth freely but belonging to neither. But Chandler stresses the loneliness of it - or, at least, the people who've adapted Chandler do. Marlowe is a decent man in an indecent world, sorting things out, refusing to profit from misery, but unable to set anything truly right. Being a man out of step is here literalized by putting him forty years from the era where he belongs. His hardboiled internal monologue is now the incessant mutterings of the weird guy across the street who never stops smoking. Like I said: compelling! Kael's observation was spot on: everyone in the movie knows more about the mystery than he does, but he's the only one who cares. The mystery is pretty threadbare - Marlowe doesn't detect so much as end up in places and have people explain things to him. But I've seen it two or three times now, and it does linger.

Chinatown (rw) I confess I've always been impressed by Chinatown more than I've liked it. Its story structure is impeccable, its atmosphere is gorgeous, its noirish fatalism is raw and real, its deconstruction of the noir hero is well-observed, and it's full of clever detective tricks (the pocket watches, the tail light, the ruler). I've just never connected with it. Maybe it's a little too perfectly crafted. (I feel similar about Miller's Crossing.) And I've always been ambivalent about the ending. In Towne's original ending, Evelyn shoots Noah Cross dead and get arrested, and neither she nor Jake can tell the truth of why she did it, so she goes to jail for murder and her daughter is in the wind. Polansky proposed the ending that exists now, where Evelyn just dies, Cross wins, and Jake walks away devastated. It communicates the same thing: Jake's attempt to get smart and play all the sides off each other instead of just helping Evelyn escape blows up in his face at the expense of the woman he cares about and any sense of real justice. And it does this more dramatically and efficiently than Towne's original ending. But it also treats Evelyn as narratively disposable, and hands the daughter over to the man who raped Evelyn and murdered her husband. It makes the women suffer more to punch up the ending. But can I honestly say that Towne's ending is the better one? It is thematically equal, dramatically inferior, but would distract me less. Not sure what the calculus comes out to there. Maybe there should be a third option. Anyway! A perfect little contraption. Belongs under a glass dome.

Night Moves (rw) Ah yeah, the good shit. This is my quintessential 70's noir. This is three movies in a row about detectives. Thing is, the classic era wasn't as chockablock with hardboiled detectives as we think; most of those movies starred criminals, cops, and boring dudes seduced to the darkness by a pair of legs. Gumshoes just left the strongest impressions. (The genre is said to begin with Maltese Falcon and end with Touch of Evil, after all.) So when the post-Code 70's decided to pick the genre back up while picking it apart, it makes sense that they went for the 'tecs first. The Long Goodbye dragged the 30's detective into the 70's, and Chinatown went back to the 30's with a 70's sensibility. But Night Moves was about detecting in the Watergate era, and how that changed the archetype. Harry Moseby is the detective so obsessed with finding the truth that he might just ruin his life looking for it, like the straight story will somehow fix everything that's broken, like it'll bring back a murdered teenager and repair his marriage and give him a reason to forgive the woman who fucked him just to distract him from some smuggling. When he's got time to kill, he takes out a little, magnetic chess set and recreates a famous old game, where three knight moves (get it?) would have led to a beautiful checkmate had the player just seen it. He keeps going, self-destructing, because he can't stand the idea that the perfect move is there if he can just find it. And, no matter how much we see it destroy him, we, the audience, want him to keep going; we expect a satisfying resolution to the mystery. That's what we need from a detective picture; one character flat-out compares Harry to Sam Spade. But what if the truth is just... Watergate? Just some prick ruining things for selfish reasons? Nothing grand, nothing satisfying. Nothing could be more noir, or more neo-, than that.

Farewell, My Lovely Sometimes the only thing that makes a noir neo- is that it's in color and all the blood, tits, and racism from the books they're based on get put back in. This second stab at Chandler is competant but not much more than that. Mitchum works as Philip Marlowe, but Chandler's dialogue feels off here, like lines that worked on the page don't work aloud, even though they did when Bogie said them. I'll chalk it up to workmanlike but uninspired direction. (Dang this looks bland so soon after Chinatown.) Moose Malloy is a great character, and perfectly cast. (Wasn't sure at first, but it's true.) Some other interesting cats show up and vanish - the tough brothel madam based on Brenda Allen comes to mind, though she's treated with oddly more disdain than most of the other hoods and is dispatched quicker. In general, the more overt racism and misogyny doesn't seem to do anything except make the movie "edgier" than earlier attempts at the same material, and it reads kinda try-hard. But it mostly holds together. *shrug*

The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (dnrw) Didn't care for this at all. Can't tell if the script was treated as a jumping-off point or if the dialogue is 100% improvised, but it just drags on forever and is never that interesting. Keeps treating us to scenes from the strip club like they're the opera scenes in Amadeus, and, whatever, I don't expect burlesque to be Mozart, but Cosmo keeps saying they're an artful, classy joint, and I keep waiting for the show to be more than cheap, lazy camp. How do you make gratuitious nudity boring? Mind you, none of this is bad as a rule - I love digressions and can enjoy good sleaze, and it's clear the filmmakers care about what they're making. They just did not sell it in a way I wanted to buy. Can't remember what edit I watched; I hope it was the 135 minute one, because I cannot imagine there being a longer edit out there.

The American Friend (dnrw) It's weird that this is Patricia Highsmith, right? That Dennis Hopper is playing Tom Ripley? In a cowboy hat? I gather that Minghella's version wasn't true to the source, but I do love that movie, and this is a long, long way from that. This Mr. Ripley isn't even particularly talented! Anyway, this has one really great sequence, where a regular guy has been coerced by crooks into murdering someone on a train platform, and, when the moment comes to shoot, he doesn't. And what follows is a prolonged sequence of an amateur trying to surreptitiously tail a guy across a train station and onto another train, and all the while you're not sure... is he going to do it? is he going to chicken out? is he going to do it so badly he gets caught? It's hard not to put yourself in the protagonist's shoes, wondering how you would handle the situation, whether you could do it, whether you could act on impulse before your conscience could catch up with you. It drags on a long while and this time it's a good thing. Didn't much like the rest of the movie, it's shapeless and often kind of corny, and the central plot hook is contrived. (It's also very weird that this is the only Wim Wenders I've seen.) But, hey, I got one excellent sequence, not gonna complain.

The Big Sleep Unlike the 1946 film, I can follow the plot of this Big Sleep. But, also unlike the 1946 version, this one isn't any damn fun. Mitchum is back as Marlowe (this is three Marlowes in five years, btw), and this time it's set in the 70's and in England, for some reason. I don't find this offensive, but neither do I see what it accomplishes? Most of the cast is still American. (Hi Jimmy!) Still holds together, but even less well than Farewell, My Lovely. But I do find it interesting that the neo-noir era keeps returning to Chandler while it's pretty much left Hammet behind (inasmuch as someone whose genes are spread wide through the whole genre can be left behind). Spade and the Continental Op, straightshooting tough guys who come out on top in the end, seem antiquated in the (post-)modern era. But Marlowe's goodness being out of sync with the world around him only seems more poignant the further you take him from his own time. Nowadays you can really only do Hammett as pastiche, but I sense that you could still play Chandler straight.

Eyes of Laura Mars The most De Palma movie I've seen not made by De Palma, complete with POV shots, paranormal hoodoo, and fixation with sex, death, and whether images of such are art or exploitation (or both). Laura Mars takes photographs of naked women in violent tableux, and has gotten quite famous doing so, but is it damaging to women? The movie has more than a superficial engagement with this topic, but only slightly more than superficial. Kept imagining a movie that is about 30% less serial killer story and 30% more art conversations. (But, then, I have an art degree and have never murdered anyone, so.) Like, museums are full of Biblical paintings full of nude women and slaughter, sometimes both at once, and they're called masterpieces. Most all of them were painted by men on commission from other men. Now Laura Mars makes similar images in modern trappings, and has models made of flesh and blood rather than paint, and it's scandalous? Why is it only controversial once women are getting paid for it? On the other hand, is this just the master's tools? Is she subverting or challenging the male gaze, or just profiting off of it? Or is a woman profiting off of it, itself, a subversion? Is it subversive enough to account for how it commodifies female bodies? These questions are pretty clearly relevant to the movie itself, and the movies in general, especially after the fall of the Hays Code when people were really unrestrained with the blood and boobies. And, heck, the lead is played by the star of Bonnie and Clyde! All this is to say: I wish the movie were as interested in these questions as I am. What's there is a mildly diverting B-picture. There's one great bit where Laura's seeing through the killer's eyes (that's the hook, she gets visions from the murderer's POV; no, this is never explained) and he's RIGHT BEHIND HER, so there's a chase where she charges across an empty room only able to see her own fleeing self from ten feet behind. That was pretty great! And her first kiss with the detective (because you could see a mile away that the detective and the woman he's supposed to protect are gonna fall in love) is immediately followed by the two freaking out about how nonsensical it is for them to fall in love with each other, because she's literally mourning multiple deaths and he's being wildly unprofessional, and then they go back to making out. That bit was great, too. The rest... enh.

The Onion Field What starts off as a seemingly not-that-noirish cops-vs-crooks procedural turns into an agonizingly protracted look at the legal system, with the ultimate argument that the very idea of the law ever resulting in justice is a lie. Hoo! I have to say, I'm impressed. There's a scene where a lawyer - whom I'm not sure is even named, he's like the seventh of thirteen we've met - literally quits the law over how long this court case about two guys shooting a cop has taken. He says the cop who was murdered has been forgotten, his partner has never gotten to move on because the case has lasted eight years, nothing has been accomplished, and they should let the two criminals walk and jail all the judges and lawyers instead. It's awesome! The script is loaded with digressions and unnecessary details, just the way I like it. Can't say I'm impressed with the execution. Nothing is wrong, exactly, but the performances all seem a tad melodramatic or a tad uninspired. Camerawork is, again, purely functional. It's no masterpiece. But that second half worked for me. (And it's Ted Danson's first movie! He did great.)

Body Heat (rw) Let's say up front that this is a handsomely-made movie. Probably the best looking thing on the list since Night Moves. Nothing I've seen better captures the swelter of an East Coast heatwave, or the lusty feeling of being too hot to bang and going at it regardless. Kathleen Turner sells the hell out of a femme fatale. There are a lot of good lines and good performances (Ted Danson is back and having the time of his life). I want to get all that out of the way, because this is a movie heavily modeled after Double Indemnity, and I wanted to discuss its merits before I get into why inviting that comparison doesn't help the movie out. In a lot of ways, it's the same rules as the Robert Mitchum Marlowe movies - do Double Indemnity but amp up the sex and violence. And, to a degree it works. (At least, the sex does, dunno that Double Indemnity was crying out for explosions.) But the plot is amped as well, and gets downright silly. Yeah, Mrs. Dietrichson seduces Walter Neff so he'll off her husband, but Neff clocks that pretty early and goes along with it anyway. Everything beyond that is two people keeping too big a secret and slowly turning on each other. But here? For the twists to work Matty has to be, from frame one, playing four-dimensional chess on the order of Senator Palpatine, and its about as plausible. (Exactly how did she know, after she rebuffed Ned, he would figure out her local bar and go looking for her at the exact hour she was there?) It's already kind of weird to be using the spider woman trope in 1981, but to make her MORE sexually conniving and mercenary than she was in the 40's is... not great. As lurid trash, it's pretty fun for a while, but some noir stuff can't just be updated, it needs to be subverted or it doesn't justify its existence.

Blow Out Brian De Palma has two categories of movie: he's got his mainstream, director-for-hire fare, where his voice is either reigned in or indulged in isolated sequences that don't always jive with the rest fo the film, and then there's his Brian De Palma movies. My mistake, it seems, is having seen several for-hires from throughout his career - The Untouchables (fine enough), Carlito's Way (ditto, but less), Mission: Impossible (enh) - but had only seen De Palma-ass movies from his late period (Femme Fatale and The Black Dahlia, both of which I think are garbage). All this to say: Blow Out was my first classic-era De Palma, and holy fucking shit dudes. This was (with caveats) my absolute and entire jam. I said I could enjoy good sleaze, and this is good friggin' sleaze. (Though far short of De Palma at his sleaziest, mercifully.) The splitscreens, the diopter shots, the canted angles, how does he make so many shlocky things work?! John Travolta's sound tech goes out to get fresh wind fx for the movie he's working on, and we get this wonderful sequence of visuals following sounds as he turns his attention and his microphone to various noises - a couple on a walk, a frog, an owl, a buzzing street lamp. Later, as he listens back to the footage, the same sequence plays again, but this time from his POV; we're seeing his memory as guided by the same sequence of sounds, now recreated with different shots, as he moves his pencil in the air mimicking the microphone. When he mixes and edits sounds, we hear the literal soundtrack of the movie we are watching get mixed and edited by the person on screen. And as he tries to unravel a murder mystery, he uses what's at hand: magnetic tape, flatbed editors, an animation camera to turn still photos from the crime scene into a film and sync it with the audio he recorded; it's forensics using only the tools of the editing room. As someone who's spent some time in college editing rooms, this is a hoot and a half. Loses a bit of steam as it goes on and the film nerd stuff gives way to a more traditional thriller, but rallies for a sound-tech-centered final setpiece, which steadily builds to such madcap heights you can feel the air thinning, before oddly cutting its own tension and then trying to build it back up again. It doesn't work as well the second time. But then, that shot right after the climax? Damn. Conflicted on how the movie treats the female lead. I get why feminist film theorists are so divided on De Palma. His stuff is full of things feminists (rightly) criticize, full of women getting naked when they're not getting stabbed, but he also clearly finds women fascinating and has them do empowered and unexpected things, and there are many feminist reads of his movies. Call it a mixed bag. But even when he's doing tropey shit, he explores the tropes in unexpected ways. Definitely the best movie so far that I hadn't already seen.

Cutter's Way (rw) Alex Cutter is pitched to us as an obnoxious-but-sympathetic son of a bitch, and, you know, two out of three ain't bad. Watched this during my 2020 neo-noir kick and considered skipping it this time because I really didn't enjoy it. Found it a little more compelling this go around, while being reminded of why my feelings were room temp before. Thematically, I'm onboard: it's about a guy, Cutter, getting it in his head that he's found a murderer and needs to bring him to justice, and his friend, Bone, who intermittently helps him because he feels bad that Cutter lost his arm, leg, and eye in Nam and he also feels guilty for being in love with Cutter's wife. The question of whether the guy they're trying to bring down actually did it is intentionally undefined, and arguably unimportant; they've got personal reasons to see this through. Postmodern and noirish, fixated with the inability to ever fully know the truth of anything, but starring people so broken by society that they're desperate for certainty. (Pretty obvious parallels to Vietnam.) Cutter's a drunk and kind of an asshole, but understandably so. Bone's shiftlessness is the other response to a lack of meaning in the world, to the point where making a decision, any decision, feels like character growth, even if it's maybe killing a guy whose guilt is entirely theoretical. So, yeah, I'm down with all of this! A- in outline form. It's just that Cutter is so uninterestingly unpleasant and no one else on screen is compelling enough to make up for it. His drunken windups are tedious and his sanctimonious speeches about what the war was like are, well, true and accurate but also obviously manipulative. It's two hours with two miserable people, and I think Cutter's constant chatter is supposed to be the comic relief but it's a little too accurate to drunken rambling, which isn't funny if you're not also drunk. He's just tedious, irritating, and periodically racist. Pass.

Blood Simple (rw) I'm pretty cool on the Coens - there are things I've liked, even loved, in every Coen film I've seen, but I always come away dissatisfied. For a while, I kept going to their movies because I was sure eventually I'd love one without qualification. No Country for Old Men came close, the first two acts being master classes in sustained tension. But then the third act is all about denying closure: the protagonist is murdered offscreen, the villain's motives are never explained, and it ends with an existentialist speech about the unfathomable cruelty of the world. And it just doesn't land for me. The archness of the Coen's dialogue, the fussiness of their set design, the kinda-intimate, kinda-awkward, kinda-funny closeness of the camera's singles, it cannot sell me on a devastating meditation about meaninglessness. It's only ever sold me on the Coens' own cleverness. And that archness, that distancing, has typified every one of their movies I've come close to loving. Which is a long-ass preamble to saying, holy heck, I was not prepared for their very first movie to be the one I'd been looking for! I watched it last year and it remains true on rewatch: Blood Simple works like gangbusters. It's kind of Double Indemnity (again) but played as a comedy of errors, minus the comedy: two people romantically involved feeling their trust unravel after a murder. And I think the first thing that works for me is that utter lack of comedy. It's loaded with the Coens' trademark ironies - mostly dramatic in this case - but it's all played straight. Unlike the usual lead/femme fatale relationship, where distrust brews as the movie goes on, the audience knows the two main characters can trust each other. There are no secret duplicitous motives waiting to be revealed. The audience also know why they don't trust each other. (And it's all communicated wordlessly, btw: a character enters a scene and we know, based on the information that character has, how it looks to them and what suspicions it would arouse, even as we know the truth of it). The second thing that works is, weirdly, that the characters aren't very interesting?! Ray and Abby have almost no characterization. Outside of a general likability, they are blank slates. This is a weakness in most films, but, given the agonizingly long, wordless sequences where they dispose of bodies or hide from gunfire, you're left thinking not "what will Ray/Abby do in this scenario," because Ray and Abby are relatively elemental and undefined, but "what would I do in this scenario?" Which creates an exquisite tension but also, weirdly, creates more empathy than I feel for the Coens' usual cast of personalities. It's supposed to work the other way around! Truly enjoyable throughout but absolutely wonderful in the suspenseful-as-hell climax. Good shit right here.

Body Double The thing about erotic thrillers is everything that matters is in the name. Is it thrilling? Is it erotic? Good; all else is secondary. De Palma set out to make the most lurid, voyeuristic, horny, violent, shocking, steamy movie he could come up with, and its success was not strictly dependent on the lead's acting ability or the verisimilitude of the plot. But what are we, the modern audience, to make of it once 37 years have passed and, by today's standards, the eroticism is quite tame and the twists are no longer shocking? Then we're left with a nonsensical riff on Vertigo, a specularization of women that is very hard to justify, and lead actor made of pulped wood. De Palma's obsessions don't cohere into anything more this time; the bits stolen from Hitchcock aren't repurposed to new ends, it really is just Hitch with more tits and less brains. (I mean, I still haven't seen Vertigo, but I feel 100% confident in that statement.) The diopter shots and rear-projections this time look cheap (literally so, apparently; this had 1/3 the budget of Blow Out). There are some mildly interesting setpieces, but nothing compared to Travolta's auditory reconstructions or car chase where he tries to tail a subway train from street level even if it means driving through a frickin parade like an inverted French Connection, goddamn Blow Out was a good movie! Anyway. Melanie Griffith seems to be having fun, at least. I guess I had a little as well, but it was, at best, diverting, and a real letdown.

The Hit Surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. Terrance Stamp flips on the mob and spends ten years living a life of ease in Spain, waiting for the day they find and kill him. Movie kicks off when they do find him, and what follows is a ramshackle road movie as John Hurt and a young Tim Roth attempt to drive him to Paris so they can shoot him in front of his old boss. Stamp is magnetic. He's spent a decade reading philosophy and seems utterly prepared for death, so he spends the trip humming, philosophizing, and being friendly with his captors when he's not winding them up. It remains unclear to the end whether the discord he sews between Roth and Hurt is part of some larger plan of escape or just for shits and giggles. There's also a decent amount of plot for a movie that's not terribly plot-driven - just about every part of the kidnapping has tiny hitches the kidnappers aren't prepared for, and each has film-long repercussions, drawing the cops closer and somehow sticking Laura del Sol in their backseat. The ongoing questions are when Stamp will die, whether del Sol will die, and whether Roth will be able to pull the trigger. In the end, it's actually a meditation on ethics and mortality, but in a quiet and often funny way. It's not going to go down as one of my new favs, but it was a nice way to spend a couple hours.

Trouble in Mind (dnrw) I fucking hated this movie. It's been many months since I watched it, do I remember what I hated most? Was it the bit where a couple of country bumpkins who've come to the city walk into a diner and Mr. Bumpkin clocks that the one Black guy in the back as obviously a criminal despite never having seen him before? Was it the part where Kris Kristofferson won't stop hounding Mrs. Bumpkin no matter how many times she demands to be left alone, and it's played as romantic because obviously he knows what she needs better than she does? Or is it the part where Mr. Bumpkin reluctantly takes a job from the Obvious Criminal (who is, in fact, a criminal, and the only named Black character in the movie if I remember correctly, draw your own conclusions) and, within a week, has become a full-blown hood, which is exemplified by a lot, like, a lot of queer-coding? The answer to all three questions is yes. It's also fucking boring. Even out-of-drag Divine's performance as the villain can't save it.

Manhunter 'sfine? I've still never seen Silence of the Lambs, nor any of the Hopkins Lecter movies, nor, indeed, any full episode of the show. So the unheimlich others get seeing Brian Cox play Hannibal didn't come into play. Cox does a good job with him, but he's barely there. Shame, cuz he's the most interesting part of the movie. Honestly, there's a lot of interesting stuff that's barely there. Will Graham being a guy who gets into the heads of serial killers is explored well enough, and Mann knows how to direct a police procedural such that it's both contemplative and propulsive. But all the other themes it points at? Will's fear that he understands murderers a little too well? Hannibal trying to nudge him towards becoming one? Whatever dance Hannibal and Tooth Fairy are doing? What Tooth Fairy's deal is, anyway? (Why does he wear fake teeth and bite things? Why is he fixated on the red dragon? Does the bit where he says "Francis is gone forever" mean he has DID?) None of it goes anywhere or amounts to anything. I mean, it's certainly more interesting with this stuff than without, but it has that feel of a book that's been pared of its interesting bits to fit the runtime (or, alternately, pulp that's been sloppily elevated). I still haven't made my mind up on Mann's cold, precise camera work, but at least it gives me something to look at. It's fine! This is fine.

Mona Lisa (rw) Gave this one another shot. Bob Hoskins is wonderful as a hood out of his depth in classy places, quick to anger but just as quick to let anger go (the opening sequence where he's screaming on his ex-wife's doorstep, hurling trash cans at her house, and one minute later thrilled to see his old car, is pretty nice). And Cathy Tyson's working girl is a subtler kind of fascinating, exuding a mixture of coldness and kindness. It's just... this is ultimately a story about how heartbreaking it is when the girl you like is gay, right? It's Weezer's Pink Triangle: The Movie. It's not homophobic, exactly - Simone isn't demonized for being a lesbian - but it's still, like, "man, this straight white guy's pain is so much more interesting than the Black queer sex worker's." And when he's yelling "you woulda done it!" at the end, I can't tell if we're supposed to agree with him. Seems pretty clear that she wouldn'ta done it, at least not without there being some reveal about her character that doesn't happen, but I don't think the ending works if we don't agree with him, so... I'm like 70% sure the movie does Simone dirty there. For the first half, their growing relationship feels genuine and natural, and, honestly, the story being about a real bond that unfortunately means different things to each party could work if it didn't end with a gun and a sock in the jaw. Shape feels jagged as well; what feels like the end of the second act or so turns out to be the climax. And some of the symbolism is... well, ok, Simone gives George money to buy more appropriate clothes for hanging out in high end hotels, and he gets a tan leather jacket and a Hawaiian shirt, and their first proper bonding moment is when she takes him out for actual clothes. For the rest of the movie he is rocking double-breasted suits (not sure I agree with the striped tie, but it was the eighties, whaddya gonna do?). Then, in the second half, she sends him off looking for her old streetwalker friend, and now he looks completely out of place in the strip clubs and bordellos. So far so good. But then they have this run-in where her old pimp pulls a knife and cuts George's arm, so, with his nice shirt torn and it not safe going home (I guess?) he starts wearing the Hawaiian shirt again. So around the time he's starting to realize he doesn't really belong in Simone's world or the lowlife world he came from anymore, he's running around with the classy double-breasted suit jacket over the garish Hawaiian shirt, and, yeah, bit on the nose guys. Anyway, it has good bits, I just feel like a movie that asks me to feel for the guy punching a gay, Black woman in the face needs to work harder to earn it. Bit of wasted talent.

The Bedroom Window Starts well. Man starts an affair with his boss' wife, their first night together she witnesses an attempted murder from his window, she worries going to the police will reveal the affair to her husband, so the man reports her testimony to the cops claiming he's the one who saw it. Young Isabelle Huppert is the perfect woman for a guy to risk his career on a crush over, and Young Steve Guttenberg is the perfect balance of affability and amorality. And it flows great - picks just the right media to res. So then he's talking to the cops, telling them what she told him, and they ask questions he forgot to ask her - was the perp's jacket a blazer or a windbreaker? - and he has to guess. Then he gets called into the police lineup, and one guy matches her description really well, but is it just because he's wearing his red hair the way she described it? He can't be sure, doesn't finger any of them. He finds out the cops were pretty certain about one of the guys, so he follows the one he thinks it was around, looking for more evidence, and another girl is attacked right outside a bar he knows the redhead was at. Now he's certain! But he shows the boss' wife the guy and she's not certain, and she reminds him they don't even know if the guy he followed is the same guy the police suspected! And as he feeds more evidence to the cops, he has to lie more, because he can't exactly say he was tailing the guy around the city. So, I'm all in now. Maybe it's because I'd so recently rewatched Night Moves and Cutter's Way, but this seems like another story about uncertainty. He's really certain about the guy because it fits narratively, and we, the audience, feel the same. But he's not actually a witness, he doesn't have actual evidence, he's fitting bits and pieces together like a conspiracy theorist. He's fixating on what he wants to be true. Sign me up! But then it turns out he's 100% correct about who the killer is but his lies are found out and now the cops think he's the killer and I realize, oh, no, this movie isn't nearly as smart as I thought it was. Egg on my face! What transpires for the remaining half of the runtime is goofy as hell, and someone with shlockier sensibilities could have made a meal of it, but Hanson, despite being a Corman protege, takes this silliness seriously in the all wrong ways. Next!

Homicide (rw? I think I saw most of this on TV one time) Homicide centers around the conflicted loyalties of a Jewish cop. It opens with the Jewish cop and his white gentile partner taking over a case with a Black perp from some Black FBI agents. The media is making a big thing about the racial implications of the mostly white cops chasing down a Black man in a Black neighborhood. And inside of 15 minutes the FBI agent is calling the lead a k*ke and the gentile cop is calling the FBI agent a f****t and there's all kinds of invective for Black people. The film is announcing its intentions out the gate: this movie is about race. But the issue here is David Mamet doesn't care about race as anything other than a dramatic device. He's the Ubisoft of filmmakers, having no coherent perspective on social issues but expecting accolades for even bringing them up. Mamet is Jewish (though lead actor Joe Mantegna definitely is not) but what is his position on the Jewish diaspora? The whole deal is Mantegna gets stuck with a petty homicide case instead of the big one they just pinched from the Feds, where a Jewish candy shop owner gets shot in what looks like a stickup. Her family tries to appeal to his Jewishness to get him to take the case seriously, and, after giving them the brush-off for a long time, finally starts following through out of guilt, finding bits and pieces of what may or may not be a conspiracy, with Zionist gun runners and underground neo-Nazis. But, again: all of these are just dramatic devices. Mantegna's Jewishness (those words will never not sound ridiculous together) has always been a liability for him as a cop (we are told, not shown), and taking the case seriously is a reclamation of identity. The Jews he finds community with sold tommyguns to revolutionaries during the founding of Israel. These Jews end up blackmailing him to get a document from the evidence room. So: what is the film's position on placing stock in one's Jewish identity? What is its position on Israel? What is its opinion on Palestine? Because all three come up! And the answer is: Mamet doesn't care. You can read it a lot of different ways. Someone with more context and more patience than me could probably deduce what the de facto message is, the way Chris Franklin deduced the de facto message of Far Cry V despite the game's efforts not to have one, but I'm not going to. Mantegna's attempt to reconnect with his Jewishness gets his partner killed, gets the guy he was supposed to bring in alive shot dead, gets him possibly permanent injuries, gets him on camera blowing up a store that's a front for white nationalists, and all for nothing because the "clues" he found (pretty much exclusively by coincidence) were unconnected nothings. The problem is either his Jewishness, or his lifelong failure to connect with his Jewishness until late in life. Mamet doesn't give a shit. (Like, Mamet canonically doesn't give a shit: he is on record saying social context is meaningless, characters only exist to serve the plot, and there are no deeper meanings in fiction.) Mamet's ping-pong dialogue is fun, as always, and there are some neat ideas and characters, but it's all in service of a big nothing that needed to be a something to work.

Swoon So much I could talk about, let's keep it to the most interesting bits. Hommes Fatales: a thing about classic noir that it was fascinated by the marginal but had to keep it in the margins. Liberated women, queer-coded killers, Black jazz players, broke thieves; they were the main event, they were what audiences wanted to see, they were what made the movies fun. But the ending always had to reassert straightlaced straight, white, middle-class male society as unshakeable. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy demanded, both ideologically and via the Hays Code, that anyone outside these norms be punished, reformed, or dead by the movie's end. The only way to make them the heroes was to play their deaths for tragedy. It is unsurprising that neo-noir would take the queer-coded villains and make them the protagonists. Implicature: This is the story of Leopold and Loeb, murderers famous for being queer, and what's interesting is how the queerness in the first half exists entirely outside of language. Like, it's kind of amazing for a movie from 1992 to be this gay - we watch Nathan and Dickie kiss, undress, masturbate, fuck; hell, they wear wedding rings when they're alone together. But it's never verbalized. Sex is referred to as "your reward" or "what you wanted" or "best time." Dickie says he's going to have "the girls over," and it turns out "the girls" are a bunch of drag queens, but this is never acknowledged. Nathan at one point lists off a bunch of famous men - Oscar Wild, E.M. Forster, Frederick the Great - but, though the commonality between them is obvious (they were all gay), it's left the the audience to recognize it. When their queerness is finally verbalized in the second half, it's first in the language of pathology - a psychiatrist describing their "perversions" and "misuse" of their "organs" before the court, which has to be cleared of women because it's so inappropriate - and then with slurs from the man who murders Dickie in jail (a murder which is written off with no investigation because the victim is a gay prisoner instead of a L&L's victim, a child of a wealthy family). I don't know if I'd have noticed this if I hadn't read Chip Delany describing his experience as a gay man in the 50's existing almost entirely outside of language, the only language at the time being that of heteronormativity. Murder as Love Story: L&L exchange sex as payment for the other commiting crimes; it's foreplay. Their statements to the police where they disagree over who's to blame is a lover's quarrel. Their sentencing is a marriage. Nathan performs his own funeral rites over Dickie's body after he dies on the operating table. They are, in their way, together til death did they part. This is the relationship they can have. That it does all this without romanticizing the murder itself or valorizing L&L as humans is frankly incredible.

Suture (rw) The pitch: at the funeral for his father, wealthy Vincent Towers meets his long lost half brother Clay Arlington. It is implied Clay is a child from out of wedlock, possibly an affair; no one knows Vincent has a half-brother but him and Clay. Vincent invites Clay out to his fancy-ass home in Arizona. Thing is, Vincent is suspected (correctly) by the police of having murdered his father, and, due to a striking family resemblence, he's brought Clay to his home to fake his own death. He finagles Clay into wearing his clothes and driving his car, and then blows the car up and flees the state, leaving the cops to think him dead. Thing is, Clay survives, but with amnesia. The doctors tell him he's Vincent, and he has no reason to disagree. Any discrepancy in the way he looks is dismissed as the result of reconstructive surgery after the explosion. So Clay Arlington resumes Vincent Towers' life, without knowing Clay Arlington even exists. The twist: Clay and Vincent are both white, but Vincent is played by Michael Harris, a white actor, and Clay is played by Dennis Haysbert, a Black actor. "Ian, if there's just the two of them, how do you know it's not Harris playing a Black character?" Glad you asked! It is most explicitly obvious during a scene where Vincent/Clay's surgeon-cum-girlfriend essentially bringing up phrenology to explain how Vincent/Clay couldn't possibly have murdered his father, describing straight hair, thin lips, and a Greco-Roman nose Haysbert very clearly doesn't have. But, let's be honest: we knew well beforehand that the rich-as-fuck asshole living in a huge, modern house and living it up in Arizona high society was white. Though Clay is, canonically, white, he lives an poor and underprivileged life common to Black men in America. Though the film's title officially refers to the many stitches holding Vincent/Clay's face together after the accident, "suture" is a film theory term, referring to the way a film audience gets wrapped up - sutured - in the world of the movie, choosing to forget the outside world and pretend the story is real. The usage is ironic, because the audience cannot be sutured in; we cannot, and are not expected to, suspend our disbelief that Clay is white. We are deliberately distanced. Consequently this is a movie to be thought about, not to to be felt. It has the shape of a Hitchcockian thriller but it can't evoke the emotions of one. You can see the scaffolding - "ah, yes, this is the part of a thriller where one man hides while another stalks him with a gun, clever." I feel ill-suited to comment on what the filmmakers are saying about race. I could venture a guess about the ending, where the psychiatrist, the only one who knows the truth about Clay, says he can never truly be happy living the lie of being Vincent Towers, while we see photographs of Clay/Vincent seemingly living an extremely happy life: society says white men simply belong at the top more than Black men do, but, if the roles could be reversed, the latter would slot in seamlessly. Maybe??? Of all the movies in this collection, this is the one I'd most want to read an essay on (followed by Swoon).

The Last Seduction (dnrw) No, no, no, I am not rewataching this piece of shit movie.

Brick (rw) Here's my weird contention: Brick is in color and in widescreen, but, besides that? There's nothing neo- about this noir. There's no swearing except "hell." (I always thought Tug said "goddamn" at one point but, no, he's calling The Pin "gothed-up.") There's a lot of discussion of sex, but always through implication, and the only deleted scene is the one that removed ambiguity about what Brendan and Laura get up to after kissing. There's nothing postmodern or subversive - yes, the hook is it's set in high school, but the big twist is that it takes this very seriously. It mines it for jokes, yes, but the drama is authentic. In fact, making the gumshoe a high school student, his jadedness an obvious front, still too young to be as hard as he tries to be, just makes the drama hit harder. Sam Spade if Sam Spade were allowed to cry. I've always found it an interesting counterpoint to The Good German, a movie that fastidiously mimics the aesthetics of classic noir - down to even using period-appropriate sound recording - but is wholly neo- in construction. Brick could get approved by the Hays Code. Its vibe, its plot about a detective playing a bunch of criminals against each other, even its slang ("bulls," "yegg," "flopped") are all taken directly from Hammett. It's not even stealing from noir, it's stealing from what noir stole from! It's a perfect curtain call for the collection: the final film is both the most contemporary and the most classic. It's also - but for the strong case you could make for Night Moves - the best movie on the list. It's even more appropriate for me, personally: this was where it all started for me and noir. I saw this in theaters when it came out and loved it. It was probably my favorite movie for some time. It gave me a taste for pulpy crime movies which I only, years later, realized were neo-noir. This is why I looked into Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and In Bruges. I've seen it more times than any film on this list, by a factor of at least 3. It's why I will always adore Rian Johnson and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It's the best-looking half-million-dollar movie I've ever seen. (Indie filmmakers, take fucking notes.) I even did a script analysis of this, and, yes, it follows the formula, but so tightly and with so much style. Did you notice that he says several of the sequence tensions out loud? ("I just want to find her." "Show of hands.") I notice new things each time I see it - this time it was how "brushing Brendan's hair out of his face" is Em's move, making him look more like he does in the flashback, and how Laura does the same to him as she's seducing him, in the moment when he misses Em the hardest. It isn't perfect. It's recreated noir so faithfully that the Innocent Girl dies, the Femme Fatale uses intimacy as a weapon, and none of the women ever appear in a scene together. 1940's gender politics maybe don't need to be revisited. They say be critical of the media you love, and it applies here most of all: it is a real criticism of something I love immensely.

#film noir #neo-noir #criterion channel

[300yearschallenge]

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3

"Why?" Ingmar's anger quickly gave way to sorrow. "I thought I had raised you better than this. I thought... Why, Viola? Why did you do this?"

"I'm sorry, dad, I--," Viola stammered, "I thought... I don't know. I got careless, I don't know."

"Oh, my heart," Ingmar said, "I can't see you thrown out of society for this. Your mother's soul would never let me rest if I did."

"Ingmar's right," Signhild said, "We need to figure out how to stop this from being a scandal. If anyone were to find out..."

"In theory couldn't we just lie and said Viola did marry and just was recently widowed?"

"But then what happens when the priest asks us about it? Once he finds out the truth we're right back where we started," Ulf said.

"Unless," Signhild said, "Unless the priest didn't find out the truth."

"Are you suggesting we lie to a man of God?" Ingmar asked. "Surely we will burn in hell for such a sin."

"Is it technically lying to a man of God if we just ensure he doesn't ask?" Rosalida piped up. "If we tell everyone in the village our made up story and then let Viola live with someone a bit out of the way from the village he might not ask in the first place."

"That could work," Ulf said, "If we let Viola stay with maybe Josef and we have me and Signhild talk about it in the village then everyone who hears about it should take us at our word."

And thus they all came to an agreement. Josef would take Viola in under the guise of her being recently widowed and expecting. If asked why she wasn't staying with the main family they would all claim they were running out of room, which wasn't necessarily a false claim.

And hopefully, hopefully, this would keep poor Viola from being ousted from society.

.

.

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Historical Info

TW: The sources examines a time in history when unwed mothers were treated horribly, and as such topics regarding the general mistreatment of the aforementioned mothers, infanticide and suicidality are discussed in some of them.

In the 1600s in Sweden (Source in Swedish, sorry) there were very harsh legal and societal ramifications when a man and a woman had a child together out of wedlock.

Aside from being given special, poorer treatment in church (essentially public humiliation) there was often also a fee to be paid as punishment.

This harsh treatment was softened a bit in the 1700s, but the legal, cultural and societal ramifications from the 1600s didn't go away entirely.

It wasn't until 1778 that a law came that said it was legal for women to give birth away from their homes in secret and that derisive names for unwed mothers weren't to be recorded in church and legal documentation.

However! Just because something wasn't legal at the time does not mean that it wasn't done, and it's not unimaginable to think that many women would have gone to great lengths to avoid being punished for a pregnancy they most likely hadn't intended (and who can blame them, honestly)

This source (or it's abstract anyway) states that while a lot of societal and legal structures viewed unwed mothers with hatred and derision there was also more nuanced approaches to the matter. For example there were some communities and families who were willing to back up and help people when scenarios such as these arose, and the Olafssons are definitely the kind of family to be more compassionate than others may have.

#300 years challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 decades #sims 4 historical #olafssons #gen 2 #viola olafsson #ingmar olafsson #signhild olafsson #rosalida olafsson #ulf olafsson #ts4 decades #ts4 legacy #ts4 historical #simblr

[cherry-gemz]

Healing Hands: Chapter One

Summary: You find yourself abroad in London as the Chief of Pediatrics. Everything has been running smoothly until you are faced with an undiagnosed case and the doctor assigned is anything but willing to face defeat. Will you be able treat the child's unknown disease in time, along while facing uncharted waters with love in the workplace?

Parings: Henry Cavill {Dr. Cavill} x Y/N {F!Reader}

Rating: Overall series 18+ only, Chapter is PG

Word count: 2200 +/-

Tags:  @evansamericanass @meowpurrbooks​ @lilithpaijiee @pterodactylterrace 

A/N: Trying something new at writing Henry fanfic. IDK if it’s any good, but either way wanted to start writing. LMK if you're interested, comments and tags welcomed! 💜

P.S. I am no means in any medical field or sorts, so if I get something incorrect on a term or process, bear with me xo.

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You knew that it was a gamble moving to the UK for the Chief of Pediatrics position. But it was time for a change. You needed to leave Eugene, Oregon. Start fresh. There was too much pain there and you had to get away. So when your cousin, who was a nurse from Brighton informed you that there was a need at her hospital for the highly-visible role, you thought why the hell not? You'd score a free round-trip to England of anything and actually see some family you've never met if it didn't pan out. 

Little did you know that you'd fall in love with London: the weather, the people, the imagery of it all. Oregon weather wasn't all too different, so you acclimated well. It had been a few months of you settling in: understanding more of the language barriers despite it still being English. Knackered, cuppa, trollied. 

That is until you had a run in with the division chief of Pediatrics, Dr. Cavill. The staff adored the renowned and painstakingly handsome doctor. And while you could appreciate the view as well, you never were on the same page with his ideals. His defiant behavior of undermining your direction of the unit was becoming a thorn in your side. 

But this time, this time you'd had enough. He mentioned to a patient's parents, while with the speciality case, the hospital could take on their son's situation as priority and receive around the clock care. You threw down the patient's file on your desk and pinched the bridge of your nose. It was a lost cause, you had looked into the patient ever since you started the role.

The child seemed perfectly healthy and lab tests may show no signs of illness. But the chronic pain and fatigue were unexplainable. You empathized, but the poor child has undergone so many tests that at this point it was about providing facts to the parents. And right now, there was no cause of alarm. You weren’t a Dr. House, this wasn’t television. You didn't have the staff to dive into any research or clinical studies. You had a hospital to run, employees to pay, other lives needed saving. 

You picked up the phone to the case nurse on the pediatric floor. 

"Hello? Yes, this is Dr. Y/LN. Can you please remind Dr. Cavill of our 5pm? He's late. Thank you." 

Slowly hanging up on the phone, you turn back to the patient's file. The boy, Jon Foulger, was just shy of his ninth birthday. No positive results for Lupus or Guillain-Barré syndrome. But This case had been bothering you, poor Jon had been in the hospital for three months and still no progress on a diagnosis. While you were never known to give up on a patient, you knew giving false hope to the parents was detrimental not only to the family, but to the same of the hospital's integrity. You were in a high esteemed role now, you knew that you had to discuss further with Henry on his actions. 

Twenty more minutes passed by and you checked your watch. Fuming, you stood up from your desk and headed down to the pediatric floor by the lift. 

As you briskly walk down the hall corridors you can't wait to give Cavill a piece of your mind. You turn the corner and ram right into a brick wall, or so you thought.  Your hands instinctively pick up and see placed on the doctor's firm chest. You immediately flush and lose composure. 

You knew he was a good-looking man, but this up close and personal was a whole other level. His dark hair and curls were fluffy and good enough to touch. His piercing steel blue eyes looked at yours and made immediate contact. His bone structure made the Michaelangelo's David blush. 

"My apologies, Dr. Y/LN. Didn't see you there," his voice was like butter. 

You straightened out your white coat, "Ahem, yes. Well I seemed to have been lost in thought. My apologies as well."

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, almost an hour ago…" you shifted your weight to stand a bit taller. He towered over you with his muscular frame and height. 

"Patient...Jon Foulger. We must discuss the repercussions of your current actions."

"Jon-Jon," he replied stoic. 

"Excuse me?"

"He likes to be called Jon-Jon."

"Well yes, let's go to my office and discuss further, please Dr. Cavill."

"As you wish," he replied and pivoted his heel to the nearby lift.

The rise up to the 12th floor was a quiet one, awkward overall as you knew you had to give a coaching and hated the notion. You missed practicing medicine; while you enjoyed the administration of your position, the thrill of helping others and using your hands were erased with cases of employee performance reviews, reports, budgets. 

He coughed into his fist and then held his strong hands in place in a clasp. 

He finally broke the silence, "Enjoying London?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Have you had any time to take a holiday?"

"Um, no. Been too busy."

"It might do you some good," he replies as he looks to check his watch. 

You huff, "Somewhere you need to be, Doctor?"

"No, just checking the time."

His arrogance irritated you and now you weren't feeling as badly to give him his coaching. 

The lift opened as you arrived at the floor and he held out the door for you to exit first. You nod and walk to your office, your kitten heels clicked on the hospital's linoleum floor and the sound echoed through your ears. 

As you both enter your office you stride quickly to your desk to assume dominance of the room. 

Henry stood near the doorway, admiring your photos and certificates on the wall. 

"I knew you were American, but Stanford Medical? Interesting, thought you were from Oregon. When will you be returning?" You can't read him if that was a compliment or sarcasm. 

"Dr. Cavill, would you be so kind to shut the door," you state firmly and sit down, ignoring his comment about your return to the states.

His brow peaks and he nods, turning to close the door. 

"Please, have a seat," you say. 

"I'd rather stand, thank you," he replies and you know this is going to be a difficult conversation. 

"Well this will only take a moment then. Your recent behavior with the Foulger family, while I commend you for your dedication, has been slight askew with the hospital's protocols."

"Is that so?" His voice dropped and his brow arched. "In what way, Dr. Y/LN?"

You cough as the drawl of his mouth turns upward and you can swear there's a smug smirk across his face. 

"Well...for one...you've promised around the care of the child. Now simply put, we've exhausted all efforts for a diagnosis and until Jon...Jon-Jon…shows any new symptoms, we are at liberty to provide him comfort care for the remainder of the evening, but he will need to be discharged in the morning. We've exhausted him enough with MRIs, blood tests. I'm at a rock in a hard place, Dr. Cavill."

"The rock or the hard place where you give up on a child's well-being simply because you haven't thought to see him as a person? Rather as a number on your statistical analysis of how functioning this hospital is?"

His eyes pierce through you and make your knees grow weak. The nurse staff usually talks about him being a cuddly bear, always making the children laugh and smile. But this man before you, why he's no cuddly bear. He was a beast of a man. A grizzly in fact. 

"Now see here, I will let you know that this case is very important to me. All the children are. But what you fail to see is that for whatever reason you've gravitated to this particular case, you're chasing something that doesn't exist." 

His broad shoulders and strong neck tense at your words. He blinks methodically, as if he's scoping out his prey. No, don't let his charm and rugged good looks distract you. This is a man who is used to getting what he wants and you are a woman who knows perfectly what to do with that.

"And I believe you're blind, Doctor."

"Excuse me?" Your voice was shrill and short. "This is borderline insubordination. I'd be careful with your next words, Cavill."

"Pardon my frankness, Dr. Y/LN, but I've been here longer and know these patients in and out," his voice raised and you could see the hint of a vein showing on his thick neck. "Some of the children come from very poor and debilitating environments. We can't just cast them off once a diagnosis doesn't stick simply because we need the bed or we're done trying!"

"DR. CAVILL," you exclaim and let out an exasperated sigh. His demeanor changed and his upper lip curved slightly. 

“Dr. Y/LN. With all due respect, I think you’re making the wrong judgement call here. Things are not adding up with Jon-Jon, if we just give it a few more days...I feel like we’re making progress and I’ve labored enough research into it-”

"Again, while I appreciate your passion...”

“Passion which you need to show for the patient-”

You raise your hand to silence him, “This is not up to you, Dr. Cavill. As Chief of Pediatrics, this is my call. We will discharge Jon tomorrow if he does not show any new symptoms. If you disobey any further protocols, I will have no other choice but resort to disciplinary action. Do I make myself clear, Doctor?"

You press your hands on your desk and lean inward, portraying your stance. 

"Perfectly," he responded. 

"And another thing, I -" you start, but he turns and abruptly walks out of your office, leaving your door open. 

The nerve! Did he really just do that? Where does he think he's going? Didn't I just tell him I'd resort to disciplinary action?!

You rush out of your office and you see him striding through the hall. His strong posture, shoulders back eluded to years of boarding school perhaps or military. You noticed his fists were clenched and it gave you slight satisfaction that you chipped away ever so slightly at his ego.

It was going to take a lot more than that to send you packing, you thought. 

----------------

The next day came and went. You had confirmed that Jon-Jon was discharged with the floor nurse and while you were relieved to have handled that quite professionally, you knew it did not bear well with the rest of the staff.

You were still getting your feet wet and learning more about your team. It was solid overall, many years of expertise collectively, but they treated you like the outsider you were. No requests to meet for lunch or drinks after work. No camaraderie birthday cards seeking your signature or date night advice. Just the normal days in and out, pulling many late nights in your office, up to the point of exhaustion. You'd collapse in your double bed after work, stare at the ceiling of the small room you rented from your cousin, Laura, and try to drown out all the bustle of seven people in the same 3 bedroom flat. 

Just like any other day, You sat alone during lunch. But that never really was ever a bother being used to it now. You were excited about an audiobook you were meaning to dive into and right when you were about to use your airpods, that's when you noticed him enter the cafeteria. 

His presteen, crisp white lab coat was tight around his build. You could tell he took fitness seriously and wondered what he was hiding underneath it all. You unknowingly licked your lips as you watched him search for a fruit out of the bowl off the commons counter. Curious to know what he fancied: was he into a sweet apple or something more tart like cherries. 

He picked up a peach and squeezed it with his massive hand, making it look quite comical considering his size. His eyes met yours and you quickly looked away, trying to now draw any attention to yourself. You fumbled with your phone as you connected to the audiobook and heart his footsteps approached your empty table. 

"Good afternoon," he said. His voice was deep, smooth, and inviting. Not at all like the day before in your office. 

You play coy and don't bother to look up, fidgeting with your sandwich. 

"Hello," you reply distantly. He made you nervous. Would he bring up yesterday's conversation? Will he continue to look that delectable each day?

He smirked and took a bite of the fuzzy peach. There was a slight crunch as he dug his pearly whites into the rounded fruit. The velvet and thin layer of skin eased off and entered his mouth; he chewed slightly and let the piece swirl around with his thick tongue. 

You peered to look at him and his stare hadn't relented. He took another bite. This time the luscious juice slips out of the white-yellow fleshed fruit and down slightly on his chin. Oh, to be that piece of fruit and have him ravish you that way.  How he’d expertly use his hands over you and taste you with those lips.

He can tell you're still distant, however he notices you're unable to tear your eyes away from him. 

He walks over, closer to you now, and you can smell his cologne: a woody aromatic scent tied with a hint of suede. It's downright delicious and with the mix of the peach, your senses are in overdrive. 

What is it with this man and his ability to excite and anger you all at once? You not only want to put him into his place, you want to do so right here on the cafeteria table and have your way with him.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" He smiles devilishly and places the half eaten fruit on the table next to your phone and walks away. 

Your cringe and use all your might to not look back at him. He's going to make this very hard for you, very hard indeed. 

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fics #romance #london #Healing Hands #enemies to lovers #doctor romantic

[ezrasarm]

Ezra and Cee end up living together because Ezra is totally a cool uncle/willing to train her in prospecting (less dangerous jobs only now that he has a psuedo daughter ans one arm). But he also encourages her to complete her studies. Enter a private tutor who is going to help Cee complete the equivalant of Space!A levels/GED. Ezra can't help but be smitten and won't stop interrupting the lessons. Cee is irritated at Ezra's brainu flirting, tutor is mostly oblivious until she isn't. 😉

Electrostatic Attraction

Pairing: Ezra x Reader

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: 10 ply super soft fluff, chemistry both literally and figuratively, a lack of proofreading

A/N: Sorry it took me a bit to get this out! I had to dig back deep into the traumatic memories of studying for IB chemistry for this one. Also it’s been a while (and I sucked at it then) so don’t quote me on any of this stuff 😂.

“I didn’t know we were expecting company.” Ezra said, a charming grin gracing his lips as he appeared in the doorway with a hefty bag slung over his shoulder. He’d been away on a job for the past week. Nothing too complicated. Just enough to keep the two of them afloat while Cee was finishing up her studies.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until Thursday.” Cee said, glancing up from her textbook only slightly surprised to see him so soon.

“Finished up early.” He said, allowing the bag to slide off his arm onto the floor as he made his way inside. “Nice to see you too, Kid.” Ezra prompted her only to get an eye roll in response. “You gonna introduce me to your friend here or am I gonna have to make our acquaintance myself?” He asked with a charismatic chuckle as he nodded over at you. He’d swear he was being discreet but Cee didn’t miss the way his eyes dragged over you where you were sat in the seat next to her. She’d never seen Ezra’s interest peaked like this so the shift in behaviour caught her a little off guard.

“Right...” Cee squinted at him skeptically for a moment before shaking off the initial shock. “Ezra, this is (Y/n), my tutor. (Y/n), this is Ezra, my...” Cee scrunched up her face a little to consider her words for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know, he’s just Ezra.” She finally decided.

“Pleasure to meet you.” You said with a polite smile as you got up, extending your hand to shake before realizing his wasn’t there and quickly switching hands. This earned you a hearty laugh and a wide smile as he accepted the gesture.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He responded, shaking your hand for a tad longer than customary only for Cee to cough and give him a chiding glare from over your shoulder which told him it was time to let go. “Right, don’t let me distract you two.” He nodded curtly with a smile, his hand raised in mock surrender before disappearing into the galley.

“Sorry about him. He’s not usually like that.” Cee said as the two of you got settled again.

You weren’t quite sure what she meant by that but you shrugged the comment off with a “He seems nice.” Before nodding back at the past paper the two of you had been going through. “Where were we again?” You asked, still slightly flustered by the interaction. You could feel a flush had risen to your cheeks and you weren’t entirely sure why.

“sp3d hybridization.” She reminded you. There she was. Always on the ball. Why did she need you here again? You thought before snapping back into it.

“Right. So you know what I’m gonna ask you.” You said and she peered back at you expectantly. “Bond angles?” The blank expression on her face persisted and despite knowing she knew what you were talking about you folded. It was your job to solidify this information in her head after all. “Okay, so say we’ve got a substance like phosphorus pentachloride. So that’s a single phosphorus atom and five chlorines bonded with polar covalent bonds. And they’re polar because...” You prompt her.

“Chlorine has greater electronegativity than phosphorus.” She finishes for you and you give her a subtle high-five and an approving nod as you go on.

“Right, and each of those chlorine atoms have equal partial negative charges which makes them want to get as far away from each other as possible while still clinging to that phosphorus.” You explain and she nods as though that’s obvious. “So how are those five chlorines going to configure themselves around that phosphorus so that they are all equidistant from one another?” You ask and she squints at you for a moment as she tries to work it out. “Sketch it out.” You remind her, tapping the pad of paper in front of her already filled with scribbles of chemical formulae, Lewis structures and ball and stick models, knowing she works better when she can visualize what she’s talking about. Unbeknownst to either of you Ezra had since appeared in the doorway a fond smile toying at his features as he watched the two of you giggle over the way you tripped up saying “trigonal bipyramidal symmetry” and you challenging her to try saying it five times fast if she was so keen to make you laughing stock for it.

“Okay, you win.” Cee laughed, hands raised in surrender when she blundered her first attempt. Cee liked you, Ezra noted. He noticed the way that she actually acted a bit like a kid around you. She treated you like a friend, not a teacher and he wondered how you did it. He could see you had invested a genuine care and concern in your work which was a rarity nowadays, one which gently tugged at his heartstrings as he took the scene in.

“Alright, review time!” You declare as you notice the time. You always liked to round back to some basics when you finished up your sessions so that she left things on a high note and you really cemented those foundational concepts in place. “So hydrogen bonds.” You cue her and she sighs.

“Haven’t we gone over this five times today?” She asked.

“Then you should be five times better at explaining them than you were when we started.” You say and she gives you a challenging stare for a moment before she nods in defeat and rattles off an unsurprisingly accurate definition of the intermolecular force.

“And London dispersion forces?” You ask and she astounds you once again.

“Last but not least, dipole-dipole interactions- and if you don’t get this I’ve completely failed you as a tutor.” You say.

“The electrostatic attraction between the positive and negative ends of molecules with permanent dipole moments.” Ezra speaks up from the doorframe and you jump slightly at the sound of the baritone in the room before a smile sets on your face. He couldn’t seem to rip his gaze off of that upwards quirk to your lips. Even after such little interaction there was something about you that drew him to you like a magnet. You were smart and quick witted. He could tell that already from watching you bicker with Cee, not unlike he usually did himself. Not to mention you were devilishly good looking, especially in that sage green wrap dress you were wearing that hugged you in all the right places and showed off just the right amount of skin. Few people wore dresses anymore, at least not in his circles, and the custom was striking to him. It made him nostalgic and reminded him of home.

“That’s... correct.” You say after turning to face him fully. You hadn’t had the time to notice how good looking he was when you were first introduced but now that he’d changed from the bulky suit he was wearing when he first came in and he’d cleaned himself up a little, you could actually take in his ruggedly handsome features. Soft warm eyes, a patch of platinum blonde just at the cowlick where his hair parted, a prominent nose, a faint scar on his cheek and a smattering of facial hair across his jawline and upper lip. Maybe it was the laugh lines around his eyes or the seemingly constant perk to the corner of his mouth but something about his demeanour commanded you to be completely enraptured by him.

“Please, make no mind of me, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” And it’s only now that you realized you must have been staring at the poor man. Your face burns bright red with embarrassment as you try to collect your thoughts again.

“No, not at all! I uh- we were just wrapping up.” You stammer out as you begin collecting your things into a neat pile in front of you.

“Cee,” Ezra says and her head flicks up immediately from where it had been buried in her palms the moment he started speaking. “I was about to order takeout, have you got any preferences- say, (y/n) was it?” He asked, even though he knew quite well what your name was. It hadn’t stopped playing on his phonological loop since the moment he’d heard it. God, his voice- the way he said your name almost made you swoon as you went to nod. “You should join us.” He says simply and Cee’s eyes widen like a deer in headlights before she just about snaps her neck turning to look at you.

“Oh, I shouldn’t-“ You begin but he’s waving the the excuse out of your head before you can even come up with it.

“That is if a bewitching woman such as yourself doesn’t have any prior arrangements.” He suggests and Cee is just about ready to hurl her textbook at him if that will get him to shut up any faster. Have you mentioned that you’re blushing yet?

“No, no plans. I-“ You start to say before glancing over at Cee who has a look of controlled horror adorned on her face. ‘She’ll forgive me’ you think to yourself before speaking. “I’d love to.” You say. Ezras pre-existing smirk widens into a broad grin.

“Ezra, come help me find the menus!” Cee declares almost immediately, before leaping up and dragging him by the wrist into the kitchen leaving you slightly dumbfounded in your place.

“You can’t just invite her over for dinner, she has a life of her own-“ She manages to simultaneously whisper and shout once their out of earshot. “Why is your hair wet? Did you shower?” Cee asked bringing her hand up to jostle his mop of damp hair. “For her?!” She just about hissed, pointing back out in the direction of the living/dining area where you were sat.

“What? I just got in from a dig! You expect me to sit around in that filth all day?” He questioned, attempting to deflect her accusation.

“Normally you just pass out on the couch the minute you get in- Ugh, Ezra! My tutor? Really?!” She scolds him and his face softens before he speaks again.

“Just humour me. It’s been...” He pauses a moment as he considers the last time he’s felt this way about someone. “Too long.” He finally decides and Cee scrunches up her face.

“Ew!” She exclaims remembering the way his eyes had traced down your body when you first introduced yourself.

“Not like that!” He reprimanded her, giving her a light swat on the shoulder. “Although, that too.” He shrugs after second thought. This time Cee is the one to whack his arm with the rolled up stack of takeaway menus, but far harder than he had her. “Ow! You pack quite the punch there little bird!” He winces through a soft chuckle before his face falls again and they enter an undeclared staring match, Ezra straightening up and squinting at her slightly when he realizes he’s being challenged.

“Fine! But you have to quit it with the ‘bewitching woman’s and the poorly veiled chemistry innuendo.” She points a finger at him.

“Chemistry innuendo? I gave a definition!” He exclaimed defensively.

“Really Ezra? Electrostatic attraction?” She drawled out like he had. “You don’t think we already know perfectly well where you want to put your lone pair of electrons?” She retorted, eyebrows raised accusingly.

“I don’t sound like that- What does that even mean?!” He squeaks out before he shakes the thought away and refocuses. “Cee,” he sighs. “I do not supplicate much of you often...” he drags out, eyes pleading down at her, who has her arms crossed on her chest.

“Don’t fuck this up.” She says after far too long and Ezra doesn’t even care to correct her language. “I have to see that woman on a daily basis and I will not have you coming in and screwing up my chances of passing chemistry.” She says, waving the menus threateningly at him once again.

“You have my word.” He nods diligently, raising his hand to lay against his chest before Cee storms back out of the kitchen with almost the same intensity as when she entered and Ezra takes a moment to collect himself before following.

It didn’t take too long for the three of you to decide on your order. There wasn’t all that much variety to choose from on the station, no matter how large it boasted itself to be. Your order was ready in a manner of minutes and Cee practically sprinted to the door claiming she would pick it up to escape what she swore was the most embarrassing interaction of her life, watching the back and forth between you and Ezra like the worlds most awkward ping pong match. She was surprised you hadn’t run screaming from the room at Ezra’s completely unsubtle and unpracticed flirting and his off the cuff, frivolous compliments to you but the truth was, you found them extremely endearing. His entire face lit up with pride when you commented on the book collection you’d noticed last time you were here. When you pointed out a favourite or yours that you’d noticed the spine of which was almost completely worn down on his eyes just about bugged out of his head as he pulled it off the shelf to show you that almost every single page had been filled with scribbles and annotations he’d added in the many times he’d reread it. By the time Cee got back, the two of you had managed to inch closer together from the opposite ends of the couch you’d occupied earlier. You were both keeled over in fits of hysterical laughter at some story you were telling about a misunderstanding that occurred with a pupil and their father when you first started private tutoring sessions. You hadn’t even realized your hand had come to grasp his knee as you tried to steady yourself. Just looking at the two of you Cee could have sworn you’d known each other forever. Something about the scene in front of her seemed so natural as she tried to remember why she was so horrified by the idea of you getting along so well in the first place. When you could finally breathe well enough to acknowledge her she set the bag of takeout on the table in front of you before jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

“I uh-“ she gaped for a moment. “I just ran into a friend outside the uh... place. I was gonna go hang out with her for a bit- but you two should eat without me while it’s still hot.” She suggests before either of you can even protest.

“Sure thing.” Ezra nods, still beaming from his most recent laughing fit, he almost misses the wink Cee shoots him before bouncing out the door. ‘That little minx’ he thinks to himself as she disappears from sight leaving just the two of you and the makings of what you would later refer to as your first date.

Masterlist

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added)

@ezraslittleblondestreak @agirllovespasta @chaoticspaceidiot @engineeredfiction @pedropascalito @dreamgirl-67 @wickedfrsgrl @hillarymurray4 @din-damn-djarin

#ezra x reader #prospect #pedro pascal #fanfiction #oneshot #request #prospect 2018 #ezra prospect #ezra fanfiction

[goodbyekillingharmony]

My own interpretation of Qrow's character in V8

also, before we get really into this, of course, there will be spoilers. don’t say i didn’t warn you. also, probably don’t take this too seriously? i wrote this at like 3 in the morning last night and wanted to rework it into something more proper. i tried to make it flow more properly and fuck this may not even make any sense, so bare with me. this is mostly a headcanon i have to get myself through the travesty that is volume 8 and it did make it more enjoyable for me, so i guess that is a plus.

alright, i think i have bored you enough with the unnecessary parts, here we go boys. also, one final thing, this isn’t supposed to undermine shit like part 8 or f//r g//me, or anything of the sort, this was just made as a fun little headcanon that got serious real quick. okay, actually starting now.

I think most RWBY fans have noticed a sudden shift in behavior in Qrow. I don’t really know what the consensus is for this since I hardly, if ever, interact with this fandom, however, for me, until yesterday, it had bothered me heavily. I am a fairly harsh critic when it comes to the writing on the show, purely due to the fact I want to become a writer myself, so I tend to be overly analytical, which can lead to me finding flaws more easily. Nevertheless, even with my mostly neutral feelings regarding Volume 8 right now for various reasons, I persisted. It wasn’t until last night when I really started thinking about this, putting my more critical self aside, and started to look at the bigger picture. Then, an idea had popped into my mind.

Based on someone who has severe trust issues and immense paranoia, I had finally understood, well, at least, theoretically. What if the reason that Qrow is so hostile and, honestly, unreasonable this volume is because he suspected something like this. He suspected Ironwood to do something akin to this. Obviously, not to this severe of a degree, but he felt that like, sooner or later, that this would happen.

What do I mean by this? Well, me and a good friend of mine (@graegrape hi) had gone traversing the RWBY Wikia and found something that honestly kick started the entire thing. 

“ General Ironwood shows concern over Qrow's warning in his conversation with Ozpin in "Welcome to Beacon", which prompted him to bring his fleet to Vale in hopes of preventing conflict in the Vytal Festival. However, this action only served to infuriate Qrow. ’’

Naturally, this had caught my eye. So, we went digging for some screencaps.

When Qrow informed Ironwood and Co. about finding some of Salem's forces, Ironwood had deployed, essentially, his entire fleet, and Qrow was absolutely angered by this; how the hell could he have messed it up so badly?

-

However, at least in this point in time during Volume 3, Qrow doesn’t completely distrust Ironwood.

“ Qrow has commented that he wonders if Ironwood has a heart. Nonetheless, Qrow saves Ironwood from a Griffon in "Heroes and Monsters", knowing the general is innocent of the carnage caused by his automated forces. He shows his respect and loyalty by asking Ironwood for suggestions regarding their plan of action to deal with the invading Grimm, showing that while he may not respect his methods, Qrow does not completely hate him or view him as a threat. ‘’

What was the point of this part of the post, OP? Well, I am happy you asked. I wanted to show just exactly what their dynamic was back in those volumes, almost as a refresher. There is some amount of trust and respect, and there is some amount of comradery there, however, something underlying is starting to brew, specifically Qrow’s reaction to Ironwood’s course of action. My own interpretation of this part? This gave Qrow a proper look at how extreme Ironwood could get, letting it settle in his own mind for a while, making the seed of doubt of Ironwood’s self-destructive behavior plant itself.

══════════════════

The next part of this post will be way more hypothetical. While I will try to provide evidence, this is creeping into more headcanon-ish territory. You have been warned lol.

Well, that’s all of the Volume 2 - 3 stuff out of the way, time to move onto the elephant in the room. Alright, so Volume 7, a favorite for many and I am no exception.

However, even when I have rewatched the Volume at least 3 times at this point, there was a certain scene that had always stuck out to me, and that is relevant to the post at hand, so might as well get it out of the way. I’m sure we all know what I’m talking about here.

The hug.

So, when the hug happened, for Qrow, at least in my own interpretation, it felt like his entire world got shattered.

Ironwood had actually missed him; actually taking the time to tell him that he cared. You could see Qrow wasn’t as tense anymore, actually letting his guard down in front of someone that wasn’t his family. In my opinion, specifally with this frame,

Qrow had started to reflect. To reflect on not only their own relationship, but on himself as well. He, possibly, had his own seed of doubt regarding Ironwood slowly starting to disappear. Something akin to, “Maybe he does have a heart.” or whatever. 

And then, Ironwood, of all people, had betrayed him. It had happened again.

════��═════════════

Suddenly, he was given a reason, at least in his mind, to justify his distrust of others, but of Ironwood especially. He was right in his mind. “Sooner or later, someone close to me would do this. And to imagine it being to such a severe situation too. He did it again.” Qrow was probably devastated. I’m not denying that he wasn’t sad about Clover, he clearly was and I am not going to deny that fact. However, that being his only reason does not sit well with me. His colleague, one of the remaining people in Ozpin’s group, had done this, after he had promised to ensure his safety, planting a false hope within him. Now, he was thrown away like a rag by one of the only remaining members of Ozpin's circle he could get into proper contact with.

Qrow’s sadness turning into anger is literally perfectly in character to him, so it would make complete sense, trying to deflect everything, because he, himself, wants to be right in his own mind; it was a long time coming, it only happened now.

He’s deflecting a lot of the things, pushing it in the back of his mind. He's scared. He has to be alone again. Just when he thought he was finally safe to trust people again, to seek comfort in someone like Clover, the first person he was willing to spill his heart out to, as well; he lost him. So, he uses everything he can to stop his mind from thinking about it. Anger, sadness, blissful ignorance; whatever he can do to ignore it, because he gave up drinking, so he can't use that for coping anymore.

The reason why he’s reacting so extremely is, in my opinion,is not just due to “Oh, well, I saw this coming.”, but also that he is going through withdrawl. He has to do cope using other methods, since he can’t use his former one anymore. He has to feel the full brunt of his own emotions, he can’t numb them down anymore, and to himself, he can’t justify his own feelings. In his mind, the best course of action is to redirect those extremes onto someone else.

It is quite possibly that Qrow had noticed Ironwood’s sudden shift in behavior, making him reflect on himself, too. He sees that Ironwood is walking down the same path that he himself was going down many years ago, but he can’t do anything. He thinks that Ironwood wouldn’t listen to him, considering what happened back in the Vytal festival. Ironwood did not back down in the slightest back then, so why would he now? That type of mentality. He doesn’t bother with it.

(This next part was written by my good friend and honestly? Great food for thought.) 

Qrow’s former emotions mirror those of Ironwood’s current ones. Qrow, back in the earlier volumes, had used alcohol to help ease his mind and block out things he didn’t want to think about. And now, current Ironwood, is only focusing on what’s directly in front of him and blocking out the entirety of Mantle.

In essense, Ironwood had become exactly what he hated about Qrow.

(I rewrote it a bit, but the main idea was all them. Thank you so much for this.)

He is deliberately using everything he can to not think about Ironwood, due to the fact that he can easily become irrational when he does, and he does need Robyn as an ally, so he buries it all down, possibly being self-aware about his own behavoir, but not know how to deal with it.

══════════════════

Well, that sure was long. There could be things I forgot to mention, and I’m not even sure if this is well structured or not, since I’m not used to writing essays, at least, not to this caliber, but I hoped it, at least, made you possibly think about Qrow in a more intiment sense. Qrow’s and Ironwood’s relationship had always been the most facsinating one in the entire show, so seeing it being thrown to the side did sting a bit. But, I hope that there was a good reason for it. I am still looking forward to what V8 has in store, especially with the heavily implied fight, I just hope it’s something more than just Qrow getting revenge for Clover. C’mon, CRWBY! I know you can do better.

If you made it this far, thank you. And please understand I made this out of pure love for the show. I have been a fan for a while now and I only want what’s best for the show. I promise this isn’t just me being a salty Ironqrow shipper lmao Anyway, let’s hope this volume turns out great.

#rwby #rwby volume 8 #rwby spoilers #qrow branwen #james ironwood #ironqrow #?? ish?? #sorry if this is bad lol