#I didn’t realise how much my opinions on it would change so excuse the rambling | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

realcube · 3 years

Text

jealous || kei tsukishima x reader

summary ♡ songfic! kageyama cheats on you and since tsukishima has had to suppress his crush on you for so long, he doesn’t know how to act

song ♡ jealous by eyedress

tw ♡ angst, cheating, cussing, fem! reader, violence

part two ♡ crybaby ( 1 / 2 )

‘you could have anyone you want, why would you want to be with me?’

➼

Tsukishima thought, watching as you finished telling him the story behind your broken nail, waving him goodbye before skipping over to the side of your boyfriend who just exited the changing rooms, probably to go tell him the exact same story.

Although your little stories annoyed the living hell out of him, it pained him to think that you’d share them with some cunt like Kageyama who probably didn’t give two shits.

It might’ve seemed like he was annoyed by your stories too but in reality, your natural charm was enough to keep him hooked on every word you uttered. And that charm was probably the reason you were liked and known by almost everyone in the school - and due to your appearance, it was no surprise that most guys at the school had their eyes set on you.

So this whole time Tsukishima was aware that there would be competition if he was going to ask you out.

➼

‘you know, i’m nothing special. be with whoever you want.’

➼

Tobio Kageyama. Number nine, Karasuno’s first line-up setter - Tsukishima’s teammate. Of course, Tsukishima felt quite bad that he resented Kageyama so much - all over a girl - but in his defence, that girl was (Y/N) and it’s not like Kageyama was humble about it either. In fact, he’d make it a point to talk about all the things he did with (Y/N) whenever he thought Tsukishima was in earshot.

Also, you can’t blame Tsukishima for thinking that you were too good for Kageyama.. because you are. The only reason you two were together was because all the girls started shipping you two together after a video of him as your partner for a rather titillating salsa routine started floating around the school.

The people saying that y’all would make a cute couple gave Kageyama the confidence to ask you out and of course you said yes; why wouldn’t you? Kageyama was the embodiment of everything girls loved: tall, atheletic, passionate (for volleyball), a himbo, cold and emotionally unavailable.

While Tsukishima was almost identical; he was 4 out of those 6 things that girls loved - he wasn’t a himbo, fortunately. Neither was he emotionally unavailable. You even said yourself one time - before you formally met Kageyama - that you just thought he was a flavourless version of Tsukishima.

➼

‘i don’t care. i don’t care.’

➼

Perhaps it was just his ego speaking but Tsukishima was almost certain that if he were to have asked you out before Kageyama, you would’ve said yes.

So, why didn’t he?

Well, he planned on asking you to be his girlfriend the same day that Kageyama did - Valentine’s Day - but at the last minute, he chickened out and the letter he had spent 3 hours making for you ended up in the trash. As for the chocolates he bought, he gave them to Yamaguchi. Curse his crippling insecurities!

To be fair, the only reason Kageyama had the confidence or any interest in you whatsoever was due to all the girls perpetuating the idea that y’all would be a cute couple.

Tsukishima sighed as he recalled the first time you ever interacted with Kageyama. You had a dance project which involved creating your own salsa routine and either filming yourself doing it or performing it in front of the class - you asked Tsukishima if he’d assist you by being your dance partner and obviously he said no. Your next best bet was Hinata, so you explained your situation to him and as you know; where ever there is Hinata, there is Kageyama. So he overheard your dilemma and apparently he took dance classes all throughout middle school so he offered to help. Although you had never talked to Kageyama before that day, you still accepted his offer due to the tricky situation you were in.

It frustrated Tsukishima so much at the thought that if he had just swallowed his pride and danced with you, he wouldn’t be feeling a striking pain in his chest at the sight of you intimately kissing Kageyama while he stood there like a statue.

Once he realised what he was doing, he immediately averted his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips as he tried to convince himself that he was neutral about what he just witnessed.

He didn’t care that you were dating someone who didn’t even care about you. He didn’t care about the fact he would’ve treated you ten times better than Kageyama ever could. He didn’t care about how close you were to Kageyama. He was simply unable to give a single fuck about the fact he still loved you.

➼

‘i don’t wanna know. don’t tell me about your problems if you’re not trying to solve them.’

➼

“And then I told him to fuck off and my mum got all mad and she was like ‘don’t swear at a 6 year-old!’ but then I was like, ‘Mum, he literally-”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, you’ve been rambling to him about your shitty experiences babysitting for a good few minutes now but he was simply unable to pay attention. Not when every time he thought of you, his mind instantly focussed on the bruise you had on your neck which he had merely caught a glimpse of this morning, but that was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach. “Do you ever stop talking? Why not tell these stories to someone who cares? Where’s Kageyama?”

You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back in your chair - by now, you were used to him being a bitch to you but recently, he’s been acting especially rude, even Yamaguchi was taken back at how uncalled for his remark was. “Did I do something wrong? Why are you so mean all of a sudden?”

Something about your disappointed tone made Tsukishima’s heart sink, although he wasn’t sure why that was considering he undoubtedly didn’t care about how you felt - you could start crying for all he cared.

“You’re just way more annoying than you used to be.” That was the first excuse Tsukishima could come up with but if he was being completely honest, he didn’t even notice his change in behaviour. “It’s probably all that time hanging out shittyama.”

“Tsukki!” Yamaguchi snapped, hunching forward over his table to flick his blonde friend on the back of his neck. “I agree with (Y/N), you’ve been kinda crass lately.”

You nodded at Yamaguchi’s statement, “Emphasis on the ass.”

It took every bone in Tsukishima’s body to resist snickering at your stupid comment and keep a straight face, “Can you blame me? (Y/N) is the one who never stops complaining like geez, get a grip - nobody cares.”

➼

‘don’t ask me for my help. fix it yourself.’

➼

Honestly, Tsukishima wasn’t surprised when you ended up calling him at 1am, crying about how Kageyama cheated on you.

I mean, it was clear that he was only with you for sexual relief as he didn’t show the slightest bit of romantic interest in anyone - and you were too blinded by puppy love to notice that his perception didn’t widen beyond volleyball.

In a way, Tsukishima felt quite bad for you as this was your first relationship and anybody would be heartbroken if they were cheated on but somehow he had managed to gaslight himself into believing that he truly didn’t give a fuck about how you felt. That’s why the call definitely didn’t go as well as he hoped.

“Kei..” You spoke in a low voice in hopes that he wouldn’t realise that you were crying straight away but your faint sobs were a dead giveaway. “Are you busy?”

Tsukishima grumbled, sitting up on his bed and sliding his glasses up his nose, not having taken them off as just before you called him he was scrolling through Reddit anyway. “Eh? What is so important that you had to call me at 3 in the morning?”

“Kageyama cheated on me!” You wailed into your phone, struggling to keep it together even when you weren’t with Tsukishima face-to-face. “S-Sorry I called you. I just, um, I just needed to tell someone and the first person I thought of was you.” That wasn’t a complete lie. I mean, you did try calling Yamaguchi before you resorted to calling Tsukishima because Yamaguchi would undeniably be more compassionate in this situation. However, if it wasn’t for Tsukishima’s recent attitude problems, you probably would’ve called him first,

Upon hearing you say that, his heart fluttered - this should’ve been the first giveaway that he still liked you - but he chose to ignore it, sticking to the idea that you annoyed him and he definitely did not want to kiss your forehead, cuddle you under his sheets and reassure you that you’re out of Kageyama’s league anyway.

“Sorry, (Y/N).” Tsukishima spoke softly. This change of tone giving you the slightest bit of hope that you had finally managed to get through to him and maybe he was going to stop being so insolent and go back to being his old self - the Tsukishima that people actually liked.

“Kei..” You mused, feeling your cheeks heat up at how nice and soothing his tired voice sounded. “I thi--”

“But that doesn’t sound like my problem. Good luck in dealing with it yourself, though.”

With that last comment, he hung up, leaving you more upset than you were to begin with.

➼

‘she tried to call me yesterday but i didn’t pick up because i don’t got time.’

➼

Tension was high at practice. Word had gotten out that Kageyama cheated on (L/N) and of course everyone’s opinion on him did a full 180 - nobody wants to train with a dirty cheater.

This news should’ve been the highlight of Tsukishima’s month because not only is (Y/N) back on the market, Kageyama is getting the treatment he deserved for being so horrible to him and (Y/N).

However, Tsukishima was far from pleased with everyone’s behaviour towards Kageyama because now they were all expecting confrontation and since Tsukishima was the one who already had beef with Kageyama, the team thought it would be best if it was him who approached the setter about the recent event.

A horrible idea, in Tsukishima’s opinion. It wasn’t even the fact that he didn’t want to go any where near that milkboy but mostly because he didn’t even know what he’d say to the guy. What do you say in that situation? ‘Hey, man. We’d really appreciate it if you stopped being such a whore. It’s really killing the vibe.’

But lo and behold, here he was, standing across from Kageyama in the empty changing room. Desperately wracking through his brain to find the most appropriate thing to say, which was hard as Kageyama’s stare seemed to burn holes through Tsukishima’s glasses. Also, his mind was already pretty occupied by all the thoughts of how badly he wanted to beat the milkboy to the ground in (Y/N)’s honour.

“What do you want, Tiredshima?” Kageyama inquired, scrunching up his empty milk box and casually throwing it aside, aiming for the bin but it ended up landing a few inches away from it.

Tsukishima tried to resist laughing at the milkboy’s failed attempt to look cool, “It’s-” Tsukishima wheezed slightly as a little bit of that laughter escaped before he took a moment to properly compose himself, “It’s about (Y/N)-”

At the mere mention of your name, the milkboy dipped.

“Uh, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Tsukishima spat, hastily reaching out to grab Kageyama’s wrist, yanking him back as soon as Tsukishima got a good grip on him. Resulting in the usually agile setter losing his balance and falling back, right onto his ass.

“Don’t touch me!” Kageyama roared, rapidly scrambling to his feet, clenching his fist and snarling at Tsukishima who wore an astounded expression. “Do you have it out for me or something? What does (Y/N) have to do with anything?”

It was shocking how well Kageyama managed to paint the situation to make it seem like he was the innocent one when he was the one who broke a poor school girl’s heart after she showed him nothing but love - but Tsukishima wasn’t one to talk since he probably just added salt to her wound, like he always does, and he’d been thinking about it all night.

“Sorry, your highness, but maybe if you hopped off your throne for a moment and came down to reality to join the rest of us, you’d realise that the world doesn’t revolve around you. Do you know how much your shitty actions affected (Y/N)? She called me crying last night and..yeah.” His voice slowly drifted off as he remembered the events that occurred yesterday, you had called him in a vulnerable state and he simply told you to get to fuck.

Kageyama scoffed, brushing off the dust that clung to his clothes from when he was pulled to the ground, “Eh? Maybe you should practise what you preach.” Kageyama growled, baring his teeth - the little nickname Tsukishima had for him seriously made his blood boil. “She’d come to me on the verge of tears because you called her annoying and she thought you didn’t want to be her friend anymore.”

Tsukishima felt his heart tear apart at the thought of himself causing you so much emotional distress but you were half right, he didn’t want to be your friend - the wanted to be your boyfriend. If it wasn’t for a certain setter who’s name starts with ‘K’ and ends with ‘ageyama’, none of this would’ve happened and you’d happily be snuggled up in his arms while he played with your hair but no, Kageyama just had to get his dirty little setter hands on anything good.

“I mean,” Kageyama muttered, having clearly calmed down from five seconds ago, “She was kinda annoying, so I get why you’d say that. That’s why I did what I did, it wasn’t meant to spite her or hurt her feelings. You get what I mean, right?”

The ignorance; it made Tsukishima indescribably mad. (Y/N) wasn’t annoying - although Tsukishima might’ve heavily insinuated it, in the past - and the audacity Kageyama had to say that she was. Also, who in their right mind thinks that cheating is a rational reaction to irritation?

Tsukishima wouldn’t consider himself a violent person but it was as though the bones in his body acted on their own when he delivered a full-force punch straight onto Kageyama’s cheek. And he didn’t regret it for a moment either - even when the milkboy starting pummelling him into the ground - as he figured that someone had to teach the dick a lesson, why not himself?

➼

‘i don’t have time. i don’t have time. i don’t have time. i don’t have time.’

➼

“Kei..hello? I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now but Yamaguchi told me that you were here and..I just wanted you to know that I, uh, am really sorry and I hope you get well soon.”

#tsukishima x reader #haikyuu angst #kei tsukishima x you #tsukishima angst #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x you #tsukishima scenarios #hq tsukishima #kei tsukishima #hq angst #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!!#tsukishima oneshot #haikyuu #kei tsukishima x reader

364 notes · View notes

sapphicwhxre · 3 years

Text

you

♥︎ pairing: ginny weasley x fem!houseneutral!reader

♥︎ summary: ginny distances herself from you because she thinks you love someone else.

♥︎ requested: yes | no

♥︎ warnings: angst, heartbreak, self hate/comparison, total inconsistency since if you're in the trio’s year you wouldn’t have class with ginny + astoria isn’t in ginny’s year but shush its a fic

pumpkin pasties, chocolate frogs, and all your other favourite treats jumped around in ginny’s bag. the gryffindor girl had gone to help ron woo some mystery girl who he’d taken a liking to and stumbled upon his stash of candies. ginny had called it a fee for her services and decided she’d share her earnings with the girl she loved most, both as a friend and more ─ that girl was you and as far as ginny knew, you were completely oblivious to her feelings.

it was a wednesday afternoon so she could only assume you were having your weekly study session with the gryffindor golden girl herself, hermione granger.

the pep in her step made her red hair bounce on her shoulders, her excitement to see you growing with each one she took. ginny turned the corner, finally at your study spot and she paused. you looked emotional, to put it simply, and you clutched what appeared to be a crumpled piece of parchment that someone had changed their mind about tossing.

there was a nervous gloss to your eyes and ginny thought she should leave, letting you and hermione talk alone. but her curiosity and just the way she cared for you got the best of her.

taking a deep breath and not noticing ginny behind the pillar ─ where she wasn’t so much as hiding, but quietly observing ─ you started to read off of the parchment. “there’s no easy way to say this,” you read clearly, but your shy, quivering smile gave away how you felt about reading what was written. was it a letter? had you written it? “but i love you.”

ginny’s heart stopped. she swallowed thickly, uncertain of how to process the sinking feeling in her chest. you exhaled shakily and smiled, biting your lip and staring down at the words you'd written.

“i love your hair,” you laughed, running your hand over your own nervously. “i love your eyes when you’re happy and the sound of your voice. did you know your nose scrunches when you laugh? it’s adorable. i’ve never met someone who brights up my life like you do. i love how you always know what to say and i love that i can be myself with you. i love your heart, you’re everything i adore. i love when i can look into your eyes because mine fill with the love i’ve only ever felt for you. the only thing more beautiful to me is you. it’s that same look that i’ve never been able to tell if you’ve given me back. my thoughts go cloudy when i’m with you. i love you so much. you’re... you. how could i not have fallen in love with you?"

as she looked at hermione’s angel-like face, ginny felt hot drops of some form of sadness more intense than she even knew possible well up in her eyes. hermione’s lips were parted in awe and she was smiling.

hermione granger, brightest, most beautiful witch of her age. beside you, in ginny’s opinion, but you were right. how could you not have fallen in love with hermione?

you folded up the letter and sighed, no longer reading but still going. “even if you don't love me, it was worth every word. i’ve never regretted anything when it comes to loving you. yours, y/n l/n.”

hermione grinned at you, “that was beautiful, y/n. truly... gods, i didn’t know you had that in you.” ginny fled, not wanting to watch what came next or hear what hermione had to say about how she felt for you. she’d break like the porcelain her skin resembled if hermione said she loved you back... if hermione kissed you, like ginny had only dreamed of.

wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks, she hated herself. y/n loves hermione. she just wished she hadn’t listened. she shouldn’t have fallen for you in the first place or let herself have foolish hope. even more foolish to think she could ever win you over when you could have hermione. older, brighter, and beautiful. she was fool, and now ginny believed had paid the price for it.

but had she stayed only a second longer, she’d have heard hermione’s stunned words. “ginny’s going to love every word, y/n, i know it.” bubbling with nerves, you threw yourself to hug her and squeezed tightly, just as ginny turned to steal one last glance at you. “thank you ‘mione, you’re the best.”

you were inaudible from the distance but there you were in hermione’s arms, giggling and chattering. despite the fact that you were joking about her own crush, ron, the sight only made ginny sick. ginny lost her appetite and made her way to her dorm, instead of the great hall where dinner would be starting in just a few minutes.

the heartbroken girl probably would have thrown up right then and there, had she seen you and hermione walk into the great hall. arm in arm, you were practically shaking with anticipation. of course, she’d incorrectly imagined that you’d be parading in with intertwined fingers and smeared lipstick but through a made up mind, it’d look like all the same.

“where’s gin?” you found a seat next to ron and harry, scanning the table for her red ponytail. through a mouthful of food, ron shrugged and answered, “must have gotten held up.” hermione rolled her eyes with disgust, silently scolding him for his ill manners.

you took the opportunity to tease the two. “never invite me to dinner at your home, save the fighting for your kids.” they both blushed heavily and stammered out how they’d never fancy the other, then immediately spewing out offense at the implication. ron huffed and harry spoke over them, rolling his eyes heavily.

“what about you, y/n? i thought you and ginny would be an item by now,” harry didn't really care either way, but it did seem ridiculous for the two of you to dance around dating for so long, especially since he somewhat saw her as a little sister. and truth be told, everyone was curious about you two.

even ron perked up and hermione smirked knowingly. “leave her alone, it’s none of your business,” she announced.

ron narrowed his eyes and started, “hermione, do you know something?” hurrying to stop them from bickering again, you cleared your throat. “i wrote ginny a letter, laying out exactly how i feel for her. now if you’ll excuse me, i’m going to go find her because i don’t think she’s coming.”

you hopped out of your seat, taking some food for her, and left poor harry alone with the arguing lovebirds to go confess your feelings.

you hummed to yourself, going to knock on ginny’s dorm door. her dorm mate opened the door and looked you up and down, glaring angrily. “what do you want?” she crossed her arms and scoffed. taken aback, you blinked and searched the room for ginny, who was curled up in her bed crying.

“excuse me? get out of my way, i need to see ginny. is she alright?” the girl eyed you, as if scanning you for a lie, and she supposed you were sincere in your concern. “she’ll be fine, just give her some space.”

without another word, the gryffindor slammed the door in front of you and you were left staring at the shut dorm, filled with confusion and a harrowing worry. your hand fell and defeated, you shoved your love letter into your pocket.

you didn’t see ginny the next day in class. or the day after that. she wasn’t talking to any of her brothers, you, or harry and had even turned the other way when you waved her down. it was like she was avoiding you and after a week of it, you came to the conclusion that she must be. ginny’s schedule resided in your mind so you set to confront her after potions. a girl with a mission was a force that should never be reckoned with ─ ginny taught you that.

“it shouldn't be too hard if we get some studying in,” ginny was discussing an upcoming exam with astoria greengrass, a slytherin girl in her year. you rather awkwardly stopped in front of the two and watched them part ways, ginny sending you a scarily pissed off glare. the tension could be cut with a knife and you and ginny blurted at the same time.

“you’re avoiding me!”

“i heard you and hermione!”

anger slipping, ginny avoided your eyes. “well that’s why i’ve been avoiding you. i’m sorry, i know i should be happy for you,” she started to ramble and you stared at her, baffled. happy for you and hermione? “i thought i didn’t care, that i could just push my feelings for you aside. it’s just that when you read that letter to hermione, there was so much... love in your voice. it hurt. i want to be the one you love.”

dumbfounded, you realised that she’d thought the letter was for hermione. “oh fuck, ginny no,” you stumbled, making her step back, assuming you were rejecting her. this wasn’t how you wanted to tell her that you loved her, it was supposed to go better than this. “wait! what i mean is─”

“you made it pretty damn clear what you mean, y/n,” ginny sniffled. “i think it's best if i just─” you cut her off with a kiss. you grabbed her face, kissing her like you’d never tasted something so sweet and you just couldn't get enough. she pulled back, breath heavy on your lips. “but... but hermione,” she whispered and you laughed, eyes fluttering shut and head shaking.

“i was reading it to her to practice on you. it was always for you ginny, it’s always been you.” the smile that you missed all week finally enraptured the lips you’d be kissing as much as you possibly can now that you knew you could. “and besides, she fancies your brother.” ginny thought for a moment and then sighed in embarrassment. but she said nothing as she knew you’d only reassure her and she knew this was how things ought to be.

ginny wrapped her arms around you and melted into your embrace, burying herself in your warmth and tugging you closer ─ though with no distance between you two, the gesture wasn’t very efficient. “so you love me?” she just wanted to hear you say it.

“i love you, ginny.”

“i love you, y/n.”

──────♥︎

#ginny weasley #ginny weasley x reader #ginny weasley imagine #ginny weasley angst #ginny weasley fluff #ginny weasley x y/n #ginny weasley fanfiction #ginny fic #ginny fluff #ginny angst #ginny imagine #ginny x reader #harry potter series #harry potter x reader #hogwarts x reader

263 notes · View notes

madamebaggio · 3 years

Text

Note: My dear friend Ully requested -as a birthday present -a modern AU with Gilbert and Anne from “Anne with an E”, just so they’d have a good excuse to properly kiss (You know, since the series has this sweetness and innocence to it).

So, here it is.

****

“Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“Why are you fighting with me? I’m literally on your side!”

Anne took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” She grumbled. “It’s just… I can’t believe this debate exists.”

Gilbert sighed. “Trust me: I get it. But I’m just telling you an argument they might use. I’m not saying I believe this.”

Anne groaned. She loved debates -she really did -but this thing about climate change was making her truly angry.

Miss Stacy had brought to class the discussion about climate change. Anne -foolishly, now she could see -had assumed it was a given and that there was nothing to actually discuss about it, just its very real effects.

How wrong she was.

Billy Andrews -because who else would it be? -had raised his voice to say it was FAKE NEWS!

Really! With those words!

Climate change was fake news. Alarmism. A communist invention against capitalism.

Anne would’ve loved to say she was exaggerating the whole thing, but unfortunately, all of that had been quite real.

So at some point she started arguing with Billy inside the classroom and Josie Pye had risen to defend her precious boyfriend, and Gilbert Blythe had sided with Anne, and…

It’d turned into quite a mess, and Miss Stacy was not happy.

Once she managed to calm her students down, she proposed a proper debate for next class. They’d have to do research, she’d mediate, and that would be it. No screaming, no ‘that’s my opinion’, real information.

At that point, Anne had approved of the idea. That was until Miss Stacy declared she’d be pairing up with Gilbert, since Josie and Billy were clearly a team.

Why? Why did she have to be paired up with Gilbert?

If things were like they were in freshman year, she could go on pretending to hate him. But they weren’t! Now in senior year she…

She might like him.

She wasn’t saying she did! She just might.

As a remote possibility.

Yet to be confirmed. But very unlikely to be!

Nope. No feelings there. None whatsoever…

“Can we take a break?” She asked, her voice a bit louder than strictly necessary.

“Sure…” Gilbert agreed easily enough.

They were studying together in the living room, as Marilla was preparing dinner in the kitchen and Matthew was still at work. Gilbert had been invited for dinner, since Marilla had a huge soft spot for him.

Anne had tackled the task with gusto: she found all the information she could, searched for trustworthy sources, researched the name of scientists and their works and then went even deeper, looking for simple examples -like unprecedented natural phenomena around the world.

Gilbert had been playing devil’s advocate. He was bringing every possible counter argument he’d found, so they could have the answers to them. Logically, Anne knew he was just making sure they were prepared, but every time he said something to discredit what she’d just said she felt like hitting him with a book.

Ever since Anne started noticing that she might like like Gilbert, being around him was complicated. When she was still competing with him for grades, it seemed much easier. Besides, back then, she’d been pretty sure he also didn’t like her very much.

Time and maturity -and yes, a few years in high school did count as maturing -made her realise he’d never really competed with her. He was just amused by the back and forth. Diana and Cole were certain that Gilbert had a crush on her, but Anne had never seen anything that confirmed those absurd claims.

Honestly, most of the time, she couldn’t even phantom what he had on his mind. If Gilbert did like her, he kept his feelings very much under control.

Which convinced her that there were no feelings.

Like… Why would he even like her? She was a freckled redhead. She wasn’t a beauty, and she was okay with that. Things were what they were. Gilbert was really good looking; he had great eyes, fluffy hair and a perfect smile. He could have any girl he wanted. There was no reason for him to like her.

“I’ll get us some lemonade.” She decided, needing a bit of space. She left before he could say anything.

She opened the fridge and found the lemonade, but no Marilla anywhere in the kitchen.

“Marilla?” She called, looking around.

Then she found a note on the counter, saying that Marilla had gone to Rachel’s house for a little bit.

She was alone in the house with Gilbert.

It wasn’t a problem. At all.

She got back to where Gilbert was and offered him a glass. He thanked her and they drank in an awkward silence, sitting side by side on the floor, all their work sprawled in front of them.

Anne was really bad with awkward silences.

“I think we’re going to be okay.” She suddenly said. “I doubt Josie and Billy are putting this much thought in this.” She told him nervously.

“You’re probably right.” Gilbert chuckled.

“I mean, they’re probably just using this as an excuse to make out.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Anne regretted saying them. It felt wrong even saying ‘make out’ in front of Gilbert.

And she was pretty sure he’d just choked on his drink because of it. “Right.” He said, but it came out strangled.

“Not that they’re shy about making out in public.” Anne continued rambling, even though her brain was screaming at her to stop. “I mean they just go at…” She finally managed to stop talking, feeling her face on fire.

Gilbert was extremely quiet, but his shoulders were shaking and after a minute she realised it was because he was laughing.

“Shut up.” She groaned in misery.

He finally started laughing out loud. “I’m sorry. It’s just… This is so weird.”

“Shut up.” She said again, this time with much less heat.

“We should be thankful to them.” He teased. “If they spend all the time making out, we’ll crush them in this debate.”

Anne scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Right. Since we’re here studying and there’s no way we’ll make out so…”

They locked eyes, and Gilbert wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t even smiling.

“We won’t.” He said softly, his eyes focused on her face.

And for some stupid reason, Anne’s eyes fell to his lips, before shooting immediately back up. “That’d be ridiculous.” She tried to force a laugh, but it came out sounding strained.

“Downright absurd.” He agreed.

She narrowed her eyes. “Ludicrous.” She said, remembering their past squabbles over who was the smartest one.

“Preposterous.” The corner of Gilbert’s mouth ticked up.

Anne bit her lower lip. “Outlandish.”

She didn’t know when she’d gotten this close to him, but the next time Gilbert spoke, the words fanned her mouth. “Like a dream come true.”

Anne couldn’t even process those words, because his lips were right there, and then they were on hers and she was…

She was kissing Gilbert Blythe.

It was slow and tentative, only their lips touching and discovering. It was simple and even sweet, until Gilbert cupped her face, and Anne gasped into his mouth.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth and Anne noticed he tasted like sweet lemonade.

Which made her think about Marilla and immediately pull back.

Anne scrambled away from him, making her glass of lemonade tumble in the process. “Oh no!”

She pushed the papers away from it, looking for something to put over it.

“Anne.” Gilbert called.

“Marilla is going to kill me! Lemonade on the carpet!”

“Anne.”

“I need to get something to clean this.” She got up in a flash.

“Anne, wait.” Gilbert stood after her. “We need to talk about this.”

“No.” She turned to him immediately. “We really don’t.”

“We do.” He insisted. “I didn’t mean to kiss you…”

“Of course you didn’t.” Anne scoffed. “Why would you want to kiss me?”

“This wasn’t what I meant. If you let me finish…”

“There’s nothing to say.” She insisted. “We just got caught up and… And…”

His shoulders sagged. “So it meant nothing to you?” He asked, sounding defeated.

“I didn’t say that.” Anne defended herself fast, because she didn’t want him thinking she went around kissing boys just because they were there.

“Then what are you trying to say?” He asked.

Anne crossed her arms. “Why did you say ‘a dream come true’?” She threw back.

Gilbert took a deep breath in. “Screw this.” He marched in her direction, and Anne couldn’t move for the life of her.

And then his mouth was back on hers and she was stumbling back, her body hitting the wall.

Now it wasn’t that innocent anymore; it was intense and open mouthed and Anne had never been kissed like this before. She could only think of him, and his smell and his hands on her waist, her face, her hair -everywhere at the same time.

She sank her fingers on his hair -like she’d always dreamed of doing -and pressed her body tighter against his, wishing there was no more space between them.

She could feel this tingle on her body, something that was growing bigger and hungrier with each shared kiss, until she could only think of Gilbert.

Pulling apart was almost impossible, and Gilbert himself was having a hard time stopping with the kissing. He kept going back to her mouth for one more kiss, one more peck.

It felt like forever before they finally broke apart.

“I meant this.” Gilbert spoke, before clearing his throat -because his voice sounded wrecked. “This is like a dream.”

Anne thought she couldn’t blush more -all things considered -but his words and the way he was looking at her made her blush even harder.

“And now we…” She started then stopped talking, because she didn’t know exactly what she wanted to ask him.

“Now we could try going on a date?” Gilbert offered, although it came out much more like a question.

“A date? Like a real one?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, a real one. Just us.”

“Sounds nice.”

They shared smiles.

“We can also continue…”

“Studying?” Gilbert suggested.

Anne bit her lower lip and shook her head.

Gilbert opened a huge grin. “Ok, that too.”

They went right back to kissing.

And they still destroyed Josie and Billy in that debate.

#madame baggio #one shot #posted on AO3 #modern au #gifs not mine #anne with an e #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #anne x gilbert

19 notes · View notes

the-wlw-cafe · 4 years

Text

Supercorptober - Day 7: Yellow

Read it on ao3 here!

Being cooped up at home while the rest of the world was trying their best to fight a worldwide pandemic was terrifying, no doubt, and even though it couldn’t harm her personally, Kara spent every day worrying about Alex and Eliza, who didn’t have the luxury of self-isolating and working from home. However, if Kara was forced to name one positive about the pandemic, it was definitely the opportunity to spoil her girlfriend for once, instead of the other way round. When even popping down to Noonan’s to get some sticky buns for breakfast was considered a risk not worth taking for many humans, Supergirl could just come in and pick up food for her girlfriend whenever she pleased – though in hindsight letting slip that she was here to pick up food for her significant other maybe wasn’t the best idea. She expected gossip columns to run wild with speculations about the identity of her secret lover. Kara shuddered. She was not looking forward to fessing up about that mistake to Lena.

But now, she was content, having Lena snuggled up in her arms, having started to fall asleep ten minutes into the rom-com Kara had put on – working from home was really messing with her sleep schedule – and idly playing with her hair. Whenever she stopped, Lena would make a disgruntled noise and move closer. Kara wasn’t even sure her girlfriend was aware she was doing it, but she’d rather swan dive into a vat filled with liquid kryptonite than stop. And this was the exact moment she saw it: There, at the root of her hair, the hair was noticeably lighter.

“Lena?”, she asked, head cocked to the side.

Lena mumbled something unintelligible and opened her eyes, blinking at her with the daze of sleep slowly clearing, which Kara took as a sign that she was listening.

“Are you getting grey hair? But no, wait, humans get grey hair in streaks, right, and not just all at once. Or is it actually possible that all your hair turns white without warning? Isn’t that, like, a thing when you’re really stressed, or did I read that somewhere? Wait, Lena, do you feel stressed? Did I not notice-“

“Kara, darling, love of my life, feel free to start making sense any second now, otherwise I’ll go back to sleep. I’ll have you know that despite being the Girl of Steel you’re a very comfortable pillow.”

“Sorry”, Kara said, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck. “I just saw that your hair is getting lighter, like, at the roots.”

Lena stiffened in her arms. “Oh. Well, don’t worry, with the pandemic I just haven’t been able to see my hairdresser for touching up the roots.”

She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the television in front of them. “So, what happened while I was out?” she asked, a clear attempt at distraction. But Kara had known her for too long, and Lena had never made a secret of the fact that she didn’t care much for rom-coms much, in fact, she only tolerated them because she knew how much Kara enjoyed them. But the hero wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily.

“Wait…are you saying that you’re actually a natural blonde?”

“Kara...”, Lena sighed, but her interjection was lost in the delighted squeal Kara let out.

“So that means we can go as each other for Halloween! Just imagine, a Luthor as a Super – come on, the joke potential is right there! Wait, how fast does your hair grow – can you grow the blonde out in time for Halloween? Not that we’ll actually be able to get out, because of, y’know, everything…”

“Kara!”, Lena said, interrupting Kara’s ramble with more force this time.

“Sorry”, she apologised, still grinning at the prospect of amazing costume ideas still flashing through her mind. “I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me, think of the possibilities-“

“Can you just let it go?”, Lena hissed. Kara recoiled as if Lena had smacked her, eyes wide in surprise. Lena cast her eyes downward, examining her fingernails intently.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you”, she murmured.

Kara sat there for a moment, dumbfounded, completely perplexed as to what brought this outburst on.

“It’s okay”, she said, eventually, scooting closer again to take Lena back into her arms, but Lena sprung up from the couch as if she’d suffocate if she couldn’t bring some distance between them. Kara held her arms out for a few confused seconds before realising how stupid she must be looking, and pulling back.

“I think I should get some more work done”, Lena croaked, not being able to hide the hoarse quality her voice had taken on at all, before turning and making her way to the guest bedroom that had served as her office for the duration of her self-isolation period as quickly as she could without running outright. She didn’t turn when Kara called after her, leaving her girlfriend alone in stunned, guilty silence.

“Stupid”, she cursed at herself. Rao, what kind of girlfriend just would just ramble on like that and not notice how much it upset her significant other? A terrible one, for sure. But she didn’t understand why Lena was so upset in the first place, but asking was off the table for now while Lena needed her space to calm down. Apologies were in order, but sitting on the couch stewing in her own thoughts wouldn’t help anyone. A trip to Lena’s favourite Parisian boulangerie however sounded exceedingly helpful.

(“Pour votre petite amie?” the baker asked, grinning mischievously, and Kara broke out in a nervous sweat as she remembered that she also had her little slip-up at Noonan’s to confess to.)

When she returned to their apartment, the door to Lena’s office was open. Still, Kara quietly knocked on the doorframe, trying to give her girlfriend ample opportunity to send her away should she need some more time on her own. No answer came, and as Kara peeked her head inside, she saw that her girlfriend’s desk was abandoned and her laptop was shut. She stood in in the middle of the doorway for a good five seconds, before the sound of the bathroom tap reached her ears. Ah, that made sense. And there she’d gone, worrying about nothing again, as if Lena needed her to be overprotective on top of insensitive today –

A choked sob, almost drowned out by the sound of running water, made her blanch. In a matter of seconds, she was at the bathroom door.

“Lena? Baby, are you okay?”

She received no answer.

“Lena, you’re worrying me, I’m coming in, okay?”

When no objections followed, she gently pushed open the door.

“Oh, baby…”

She found Lena kneeling on the floor, the sink, her hands, and a good portion of the comfy NCU-sweater she’d stolen from Kara smudged with a dark liquid that filled the entire room with a chemical smell that made Kara’s nose itch. Lena looked up at her, seeming so tiny where she was crouched on the cold marble floor, eyes swimming in tears and dark streaks on her face where she’d tried to wipe them away.

“I can’t do it”, she mumbled, “I tried but I can’t do it.”

Immediately, Kara knelt down beside her, pulling her into an embrace.

“My hands were shaking so hard and I dropped the bottle”, Lena sobbed into her shoulder.

“Lena, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay, you don’t have to dye your hair, I’m sorry if I made you feel that way”, Kara cooed, humming softly and stroking her girlfriend’s wet hair, not caring about the way it stained her hands.

“But I do!” Lena cried. “I always have.”

“You don’t have to change your appearance”, Kara whispered into her ear, gently, but without leaving any room for an argument. “Not for me, and not for anybody else.”

Lena didn’t reply, she only clutched Kara’s shoulders tighter as sobs continued to shake her body, and Kara’s string of murmured apologies didn’t let up. Eventually, Lena’s breathing returned to normal, but she made no move to disentangle herself from Kara’s embrace. Kara just waited patiently. Lena would talk to her as soon as she was ready.

“I have my mother’s hair”, Lena whispered, and suddenly, many things clicked into place.

“Lillian hated it. She forced me to dye my hair and made me see a speech therapist to get rid of my accent. She said it was to create a cohesive family narrative, but I knew she hated me, I was four years old and I knew the woman who was supposed to be my mother hated everything about me.”

“Oh, Lena”, Kara breathed, slowly rocking her girlfriend back and forth. “I’m so sorry I made light of something that affects you so deeply, I’m so sorry I didn’t pay attention to how you were feeling.”

“I’d almost forgotten about it until you noticed, and I panicked. I’ve been doing this for so long, I don’t know if I would even recognize myself in the mirror if I stopped now.”

Kara was silent for a moment, before she tentatively asked: “Would you like to try it out? See if you like it?”

Lena turned away, brow furrowed.

“Kara, you saw how I reacted when you brought attention to it. What do you think will happen when the media gets a hold of it?”

“Well, the media aren’t here, are they? We’re all in social distancing, you don’t have to see anybody if you don’t want to, and you have the perfect excuse to try new things with your hair!”

Lena let out a wet chuckle and wiped at the tear tracks on her face, leaving more black smears behind.

“Ugh, I need a shower”, she groaned, while Kara pulled her to her feet. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added: “You really wouldn’t mind?”

Kara took her in, the way she was biting her lip, fiddling with the hem of her sweater, either too exhausted or too comfortable around Kara to hide the signs of her anxiety surrounding this question.

“My opinions on it don’t matter in the slightest”, Kara said, “but if they would, I’d tell you that I love you no matter what, and any hair colour would look incredible on you. I just want you to feel comfortable, baby, that’s all that matters to me.”

Even though she didn’t say it, the relief that went through Lena was palpable, her muscles losing their tension.

“I think you need a shower too”, she purred, dragging the tip of her index finger over Kara’s collar bone, leaving a black trail in its wake.

“Oh, definitely.”

#supercorptober2020 #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl fanfic #wlw fanfic #7 for 7 babey and this one is brought to you by my inability to fathom the fact that katie mcgrath has light hair #if you liked this story please reblog it

10 notes · View notes

ghostlywritten · 5 years

Video

Too Nice To Say Goodbye Pt. 2

A/N: Look, a bias wrecker.

For those, who are waiting on an update for ‘Uncertainty’: I’m having a tough time coming up with an interesting plot, because the third season royally sucked in my opinion. I’m gonna try, but it will take a while.

Words: 3,5k+

Part 1

It took you a huge amount of self control to keep the tears at bay throughout the night. Haechan was fidgeting nervously every now and then next to you, his eyes constantly flickering over as if he was afraid you would blow up at any minute.

You almost rolled your eyes. You were not going to cry in front of anyone. You had never even cried in front of Mark despite all the time you’d shared together so far.

‘Speaking of’, you let your eyes wander to your ‘boyfriend’ or whatever he was right now, who was completely immersed in the show, his arm loosely hanging over Yeri’s back of the seat.

‘They would look good together,’ you realised, noticing the admiring look Yeri would occasionally throw at him. You had known about her feelings right from the beginning. Not that she was mean to you or anything, she was just as nice as Mark. It was the quiet but passionate way she always looked at him when she thought no one was watching.

You felt uncomfortably out of place. As if you were the villain standing in the way of their love. The best friends separated by a third person, because they hadn’t yet acknowledged or admitted their feelings to each other. It was so cliche, it was sickening you.

For the rest of the night you kept to yourself, nursing the one drink you had as you watched the others chat animatedly over mindless discussions. You wondered briefly if they had known all along what you had just concluded for yourself and felt your cheeks warm in embarrassment.

‘I can never show my face here again,’ you thought to yourself as you bid them goodnight after a few hours, the cold air refreshing as you stepped out with Mark in tow. You breathed in deeply, finding it easier now to keep your emotions in check since you got out of that stuffy room (and away from the lovesick eyes of Yeri).

“That was cool, right? Just us chilling, all relaxed and stuff,” Mark commented, sighing blissfully as he fell into step beside you. You had decided to walk the short way to Johnny’s flat earlier but you started to regret it now as it seemed to be a much longer route than you had in mind, not to mention the wind being freezing cold.

“Mhm,” you hummed, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your sweater. Usually you would hold on Mark’s hands as they were always mysteriously warm but it was too awkward now.

Everything was uncomfortably awkward with him now.

Two weeks passed and you were retreating more and more into your shell, shying away from any sort of contact with the NCT gang. You couldn’t help the humiliation you felt, knowing how you were the unwelcome third wheel standing in the way of the best-friends-to-lovers relationship. They were probably all waiting for you to just be left behind and for the actual love to start blossoming between Mark and Yeri.

But although it was quite easy for you to stay away from them and have all these bitter thoughts you just didn’t have it in you to break up with Mark. Your love for him was achingly real and it hadn’t wavered a single bit, despite the situation.

You still smiled when he did, you still laughed when he did, you still gave him a kiss on the cheek whenever you woke up first and you still longed for his touch, even if it was just a simple intertwining of your hands at night whilst he was fast asleep.

You never went as far as that anymore. Never initiated anything when he was fully conscious, not wanting to make him feel awkward. You had to cringe whenever you thought back on all the skinship you had done and how discomforting it must have been for him.

‘When has he stopped finding comfort with me?’ you wondered sadly, trying to distract yourself with some studying. Keyword, “trying”. All you did was stare blankly at the screen of your laptop, rereading a line without taking in its contents as your eyes grew more and more tired with each passing second.

A door opened and fell shut, shaking you awake from your mindless state. “I’m home,” Mark announced and you heard him stop his shuffling as if he was expecting an answer.

You opened your mouth to shout back the usual “Welcome back, love” but the words died on the tip of your tongue and you just pressed your lips together, swallowing tightly.

“Y/N, are you home?” Mark called out, walking further inside.

“I’m here,” you said quietly just as he passed by the kitchen, causing him to jerk in surprise.

“Oh my Jesus, you scared me,” he breathed out, laughing as he held his hand to his heart. Your own thudded out of rhythm upon seeing his dimples.

“Sorry,” you said with a wry smile before you looked back at your screen, pretending to read whatever you had put up. You actually didn’t have to study anymore since graduation came up in a month but it wasn’t like Mark knew about that.

“What are you up to?” he asked, ruffling his black hair as he took out a water bottle from the fridge, handing you one as well.

“Just some post-studying,” you replied vaguely but he smiled anyways, patting your shoulder, “Yo, keep it up. You are going to slay,” he encouraged and you chuckled at his choice of wording.

He had always been a promoter for hard work, cheering you on to keep going when you were close to giving up. You admired and simultaneously felt grateful for that trait as it helped you through the toughest exam periods.

“Thank you, Mark,” you said softly, glancing at him lovingly but quickly averting your eyes, wondering if that had already been too much. Your shoulders slumped slightly. Were you really supposed to tiptoe around your boyfriend like that, thinking over which move was the least loving in order not to make him uncomfortable?

No, you were not. And yet, you couldn’t let him go. Even if it wasn’t fair for the both of you.

You failed to notice his face fall slightly. “Hey, is everything alright?” he asked, placing a hand on your shoulder. You flinched slightly in surprise, causing him to raise his eyebrows. Was that probably the first touch he had initiated in a long time?

“..Um, yeah I’m good,” you said, quickly changing the subject, “And you? How was your day?”

“Oh, it was great. Donghyuck did such a funny move today at practice...,” Mark started off, sitting down on the seat next to you as he rambled about his day as usual. You smiled slightly at his excitement, closing your laptop and resting your head on your hand as you turned to listen to him, using times like these to stare unabashedly at him and engrave his every feature in your mind for the future.

“...and yeah, it was just dope. You should have seen it, Y/N,” he ended, wiping his eye after another laughing fit he had.

“I wish I had,” you commented lightly, not really meaning it. You were perfectly fine with not seeing them again as bad as it sounded.

Mark’s smile faded slightly and he cleared his throat, “Actually, the guys have been wondering where you are. They haven’t seen you in a while...,” he trailed off and your heart skipped a beat. They asked about you? Why? Or was he just using it as an excuse because he was wondering himself? “I never noticed before but you have not been around for movie nights and practices in weeks...” Your heart deflated into a pout at his words and you broke the eye contact, looking down at the counter instead.

“Yeah, I’ve just been busy with...studying and stuff.”

“But...aren’t you graduating in a month?” he asked with furrowed eyebrows.

“You...know about that?”

“Yeah, Donghyuckie told me.” It just seemed that he was going to keep lifting and dropping your heart tonight. How did Donghyuck remember anyways? You had only briefly mentioned it to the whole group.

“Yeah, but I might be called into an oral exam if they can’t decide on my grade,” you lied lamely, sighing inwardly when he nodded in acceptance.

The frown didn’t leave his face though and he scratched the back of his head. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to finish college soon anyways?”

You shrugged, “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big- Y/N, you are graduating!” he exclaimed, “How is that not a big deal?!” You stayed quiet. “Were you just going to accept your scroll without me cheering you on from the crowd?” A smile crept up on your lips, your heart warming at his sweet gesture. Mark was just the nicest guy you had and would ever meet. You could tell he still cared for you even if he didn’t love you anymore. And maybe that was why you held onto him.

Your ‘boyfriend’ grinned back and you couldn’t resist reaching out to him. He stood up, letting you wrap your arms around him and rest your head against his chest. “Just tell me the date and time and I’ll be there,” he muttered into your hair and you nodded wordlessly, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

A month passed and you felt like time had almost reverted back to when you both were deeply in love with each other. Mark had seemed to realise how you were drifting away and even though he didn’t understand why, he never forced you to tell him. Instead he was determined to coax you out of your shell, asking you to go out with him to a new restaurant, playing video games until late at night and refusing to let go of you in the morning.

You tried to guard your heart but couldn’t help but enjoy his attention again and soon you were falling back into his arms, giving in to the urge to clutch onto him like a koala. Especially at the point where you started kissing again. It was the fifth consecutive night you had spent playing Mario Kart together and you were as usual failing to beat him in any round, causing him to whoop after every win.

“Ahh, I guess it should get boring to win against you all the time,” Mark teased as he wrapped his arms around you when you eventually refused to play another round, “...but nah! It’s always fun!” he cackled at your sour expression and you had a hard time fighting the smile from your face.

“Yeah, yeah I got it. You’re the best,” you uttered, playfully rolling your eyes and he squeezed you closer, suddenly causing his face to be inches from yours. Your expression turned somber as you traced all his features with your eyes, poking his dimple. It deepened when he smiled wider, his own dark brown eyes flickering between yours and - your heart fluttered - your lips.

You stilled when he drew closer, his breath hitting your face, watching his eyes flutter close as he brushed his lips against yours before fully placing them on. You stopped breathing, your eyes closing on their own, relishing in the familiar yet foreign feeling of his mouth on yours, his hand on your jaw, his fingers tracing your skin and you couldn’t stop yourself from drawing him closer by his shirt, deepening the first kiss you had shared in a long time. He let out a low groan, his chest vibrating against your fingers and to your delight you could feel his heart race as you ran your tongue over his lip a-

A phone ringing interrupted your sudden makeout session. You broke your kiss, breathing heavily as you looked up into Mark’s eyes. He looked dazed with his cheeks flushed and hair messed up and you had never found him more beautiful than now. “I think it’s yours,” you huffed and it took him a second to focus before nodded absently, grumbling under his breath. He took his phone out of his pocket, squinting at the screen light.

“It’s Donghyuck inviting us over to Johnny’s flat,” he said chuckling, “He’s mad that we’ve been neglecting the movie nights.” You smiled, slowly regaining a normal breathing pattern as you straightened yourself up. “Shall we go tonight? They haven’t started, yet.” Freezing, you thought back on Donghyuck’s comments about your relationship and how the embarrassment you felt the last time you were there.

“Uhh, I’m not really in the mood for a movie,” you excused yourself quickly, faking a yawn, “I’m pretty tired actually. But you go ahead and have fun!” Mark frowned slightly, glancing down at his phone before putting it away, “No, it’s okay. I will go to bed with you.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise but decided not to comment on it. He trotted after you towards your bedroom and you wondered whether you would continue where you had stopped when you got interrupted, your cheeks flushing slightly. No one could blame you, it had been a while since he had kissed you.

“You know, you haven’t been hanging out with me and the guys for a while now...,” Mark approached the subject again as you both slipped into bed.

“Oh really?” you squeaked, cursing yourself for your high pitched voice, “I didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, it’s just they have been wondering what’s up. I told them it’s nothing because...there’s nothing, right?” he asked uncertainly, facing you as you laid on your back. You swallowed down a cough when you found your throat had turned dry.

“No, of course not. I’ve just been busy with graduation coming up and stuff.” Mark nodded in agreement, seeming pleased with the excuse and you bid him goodnight before automatically turning to your side, used to facing away from him now.

But tonight he shuffled over, wrapping his arm around you as he snuggled into your back. He planted a kiss on your head and your heart melted when he intertwined your fingers together in front of you.

“I’ll make sure the guys and I attend your big day!” he said, his voice already sleepy and yet he managed to make your heart burst with affection. It meant a lot to you since everyone else had rejected coming - mainly your parents and close friends - due to busy schedules and such.

You sighed, feeling happy to know you had someone to look at after you accepted your scroll.

But you wouldn’t have someone to look at. As you stood waiting in line in front of the stage, waiting for your turn, you wouldn’t have someone to look at. You would constantly glance down at your phone, waiting for a message to explain why he and his friends weren’t there yet.

You would disheartingly go up the stage, shake the principal’s hand with a tight smile, take a picture whilst your eyes would flicker over the crowd in vain until you had to leave the stage with a hanging head.

‘Something important must have come up,’ you thought, worry clenching your chest, ‘What if he got into an accident?’ You immediately reached for your phone and dialled Mark’s number, growing nervous with each dial tone when he picked up.

“Hey Y/N, I’m so sorry!” Mark picked up, frantically apologising and you sighed in relief at hearing his voice.

“It’s okay, Mark,” you said, “Are you alright? You didn’t get into an accident, did you?”

“No no, it’s all good, I’ve just held up at practice.” You nodded. That would have been your second guess.

“Did you lose track of time again?” you asked good-naturedly, simultaneously hating and feeling fond of this trait.

“Yeah, kind of. It was an emergency,” You nodded again even though he couldn’t see you, “Yeri was crying because she couldn’t keep up with the others. Seriously, I’ve never seen her break down like this before...,” his voice faded into the background for a second as you took in his words, “It took me and the others a full hour to calm her down. Man, she must have been holding it all in for so long...”

“I see,” you whispered, closing your eyes tightly and clenching your hand into a fist.

“I’m really, really sorry, love, for missing your graduation. I know it’s really important!” Mark apologised again and you distantly heard a chorus of ‘sorry’s from the guys, including Yeri, “I can make it to the after party-”

“No, don’t bother, really,” you said, not able to hide the bitterness in your voice. Someone called your name, asking if you needed a ride. You turned over to one of your fellow students, who had been your roommates before you moved in with Mark, and gave her thumbs up.

“Y/N?” Mark asked, a little apprehension colouring his tone.

“I’m not going to stay for long anyway. And you should you stay with Yeri-ah,” you muttered, dying to hang up.

“But-”

“See you,” you ended the call, taking in a few deep breathes to calm yourself. ‘This is your day, Y/N. Don’t let anyone ruin your day,’ you thought sadly.

The party was in full swing, people lingering around in circles with their respective families and friends, chatting up storms with glasses of champagne or wine or whatever they wanted.

To say you felt like the odd one out was an understatement, being the only one without a single acquaintance around, you were forced to stand with your former roommate’s people, akwardly making conversation with them.

“Are you alright?” your colleague would whisper-ask you every minute and you would always nod until you couldn’t even lie anymore with the tears brimming in your eyes.

After an hour you decided to call it a day, realising that you wouldn’t be able to save any joy you had with graduating. Sighing deeply, you watched the puff of air as you walked your way home, finding peace in the silent night with the occasional refreshing breeze. You suddenly felt so tired, tired of pretending, tired of holding on when it was so pointless.

You knew you had to eventually set Mark free and the time had come now. ‘I will ask him to come over tomorrow,’ you decided, figuring he would stay at Yeri’s or wherever she was to keep her company. To your surprise, you saw him standing in front of your apartment door, an adorably confused expression on his face as he searched his pockets. Knowing him, he had forgotten to take them in the first place.

His features brightened up when he noticed you walk over, “Y/N, thank Jesus you are here! I probably lost my keys again.”

“Hey Mark,” you greeted him quietly, slipping your keys into the lock and opening the door without stepping in.

“Hey jagi...,” he called you gently, noticing your distress and holding onto your arm, “I’m really sorry I missed your day. You know, I wanted to be there so bad..”

“And I actually believe you, Mark,” you said, turning to see him smile his beautiful dimpled smile, “But I don’t think it’s enough...anymore.” You watched his face slowly drop as he registered the words.

“Wait- what do you mean?” he asked, stepping closer but stopping when you moved back, crossing the threshold to what was once the home for both of you.

“I mean, we should end it here.”

Mark’s eyes widened, shock crossing his features. “W-what? Why??”

You held up a hand so he wouldn’t get in, closing the door. “Please, just stay over at someone’s else for tonight. I will have my things moved out by tomorrow.”

“Moved out where- Y/N!” he pressed his hand against the wood, preventing any form of barrier between you. By now, you had a hard time keeping your tears in and you just wanted to be out of his sight before he could see them, “ Where the hell are you going? Why are you talking like this?”

“Because you don’t love me anymore, Mark!” you finally shouted out the words that you had kept in your heart, breaking it in the process of finally stepping out of the constant denial. “You don’t love me anymore,” you sighed, this time quieter and more defeated, “I can tell, everyone can tell...and I know you are too nice to break up with me so I’m doing it for you.”

“But I do love you...,” he uttered, his mind racing to find out what made you think that he didn’t in the first place, but the hesitation was clear in his voice.

You shook your head with a sad smile, “You don’t. So please...just go.” Your voice cracked at the end, freezing him into place and you took the moment to close the door on him, and you relationship.

A few months later you would see a heavily disguised boy holding onto a hand of a petite, equally disguised girl walking down the streets, into the cafe you would usually find yourself in and you would immediately realise just who they were, causing you to turn your back on your’s and Mark’s favourite place to go on dates.

End...I guess.

Help me Get Coffee Support?

#nct angst #mark angst #marklee angst #nct mark angst #mark #mark lee #nct imagine #nct oneshot #mark oneshot #mark imagine #nct127 #superm #nctu #nct

135 notes · View notes

x-silver-x · 4 years

Text

Coffee Shop - Seonghwa x Reader x Wooyoung

Seonghwa x Reader x Wooyoung Angst and fluff (?) 1.5K words Y/N - Your name F/C/S - Favourite coffee shop F/T/C - Favourite type of coffee F/K/C - Favourite kind of cake

Masterlist ——————— Y/N was on her way to F/C/S. She went there so often that the baristas knew her order off by heart now, and if there was a ‘Regular of the Month’ award, she would definitely win it each and every month. She loved that place, the peaceful atmosphere, the comfy seats, the scrumptious treats, and of course the exquisite coffee. In her opinion the coffee shop had the best coffee in the entire country. Everyone always flocked to more popular places, like Starbucks or Costa, but to her this place was special. This was also the place where she fell in love. Twice. [One year ago...]

His name was Seonghwa, he was a regular, just like her. He had a charming smile decorated with a black lip piercing, ghost-like skin, piercing icy blue eyes and bleached hair with dark roots barely starting to show.

Usually, when he arrived she was on her way out. They would see each other for a few short moments in the doorway and that was it.

One day when Y/N was on her way to the shop he boss called her and told her that there wasn’t that much work to do so she could have the day off is she wanted. Of course she agreed; it was a day off, who wouldn’t want one?

‘Should I order a slice of cake with my coffee? Hell yeah! I have my first day off in months, this deserves to be celebrated.’

Y/N walked up to the counter and ordered F/T/C and a slice of F/K/C.

“Cake? Y/N you never buy cake. Is it for some kind of occasion? A birthday? Anniversary?” Minseok, a barista that Y/N managed to befriend a while back, questioned.

“Why are you interrogating me?” She laughed, “My boss decided to give me a day off due to lack of work so naturally, I must celebrate.” She smiled slightly tilting her head upwards.

“Ugh luckyyy!” Minseok whined. “If only my boss was like that!” He pouted then nervously looked around to see if his boss heard what he just said.

“I thought that making coffee was your passion?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah, but-” The ding of the coffee machine interrupted him. He poured the hot liquid into an elegant black cup and added some cream (ignore if you don’t like cream if your coffee). “Here you go ma’am!” He joked and passed Y/N the steaming cup with a small slice of cake next to it.

“Why thank you, good sir.” Y/N grinned in return.

She sat down at a table next to the window and began mindlessly watching the people go by while taking small sips of her drink every now and then and nibbling on her cake. This was her time to relax, no need to rush or stress about anything trivial. Just relax.

“Excuse me miss, is this seat taken?” A deep voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“Hmm?” She looked up to see the one and only Seonghwa. “I- uh- no. T-The seat’s not taken.” She stuttered out. Y/N never saw someone so beautiful, sure, she saw attractive people before but she never was so affected by someone’s looks before.

“Then it’s alright if I sit here, yeah?” He asked.

“Uh... Yeah, sure.”

From then on, the two would always meet up in the café and then go to the park, or to the movies, or the beach. However, these little dates were happening less and less as time went on and the love was starting to get one-sided.

[Time skip]

When the time came for the couples’ one-year anniversary, Y/N wanted to do something special. She asked Minseok if he could order a cake to the coffee shop with ‘Happy Anniversary’ written on it. When he agreed, she called Seonghwa to meet her in the coffee shop on Saturday 14th at 6pm. She wanted everything to be perfect, maybe, just maybe, this would re-ignite their love, she really loved him and was hoping to spend the rest of her life with him.

[Time skip 2.0]

Saturday 14th rolled around quickly. Y/N put on a beautiful navy dress, curled her hair, and put on some light makeup. She arrived a little earlier to make sure everything was okay.

“Okay, so when do I come in with the cake?” Minseok double-checked.

“Umm... I’ll show you a sign; maybe when I fix my hair?”

“Bad idea. You fix your hair too often. Just like, look over of something?”

“Okay, I’ll give to ‘the look’.” She said staring intensely into his eyes for a brief second before the two burst out laughing.

“I still can’t believe you guys lasted that long! A year is a pretty long time.” Minseok said after calming down a little.

“What is that supposed to say?” Y/N questioned.

“I- uh- nothing! Forget about what I said...” He panicked.

“Minseok-”

The doorbell sounded. Y/N ignored it since she was busy staring Minseok down, hoping he’d elaborate on what he said.

“Y/N... You might want to turn around...”

Reluctantly, she did. Her boyfriend, Seonghwa, the man she loved was guiding an unknown girl to

their

spot in the café, the exact place where they had their first real conversation, and where they later fell in love. They were smiling and laughing, they looked happy and in love. Y/N’s heart was torn apart that very moment. She could not believe her eyes. Seonghwa not only forgot about their anniversary but he also brought another girl to their special spot in the café.

“That stupid son of a bitch!! I will spit into his coffee for the rest of my days! I’ll mess up his orders and no, I will NOT apologise! Even if I get kicked out!” Minseok threatened. “I’ll bring you some cake, okay? You don’t need to pay for your coffee for the rest of the month, it’s on me, alright?” He said to Y/N in a much softer tone.

“Thank you, Minseok” Y/N sniffled, “but you really don’t have to-”

“Hush now, child. This is the least I could do for you.”

Whilst Minseok was away getting the cake and serving new customers, and Y/N was wiping her tears with a napkin, a man who looked like he’s in his early twenties sat down in front of her.

“Hey, I overheard what happened, and that so-called ‘boyfriend’ of your’s really doesn’t deserve you. You know what he does deserve though? His coffee being spat into, just like that barista said.” Y/N chuckled lightly and the man smiled. “He’s the one with the lip piercing, right?” She nodded cautiously. The man stood up.

“Wait, what are you-”

SPLASH!

“DUDE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” Y/N’s ‘boyfriend’ yelled.

“That’s what you get when you leave your girlfriend on your anniversary and then waltz in with another.”

“Excuse me? You’ve been dating another girl behind my back?!” A shrill voice cut through the now quiet coffee shop.

“Rebecca, it’s not what you think!”

“I won’t hesitate, bitch.” And with that, yet another drink went to waste. The girl stormed out and Seonghwa followed soon after, unable to stand such humiliation. The café went back to its busy self and the man returned to Y/N’s table.

“You really didn’t have to do that, you know...” Y/N looked up at the man, still dumbfounded at what just happened.

“You’re right, I didn’t, but I wanted to. That guy needs to learn that cheating and standing up such beautiful girls such as yourself is not okay. You’re too good for him.” Y/N blushed. Now that she thinks about it, Seonghwa rarely complemented her, if ever.

“Oh! I forgot to introduce myself, I’m Wooyoung.” He smiled and extended his hand towards Y/N.

“I’m Y/N.” She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, and thank you for what you did back there.” A genuine smile spread across her face.

“I’m back! Sorry for the wait but I got caught up with the orders, and then my boss scolded me for talking too much and not working enough, and then I heard screams and next think I see Seonghwa is walking out completely drenched.” Minseok rambled.

“Yeah, Wooyoung over here,” Y/N gestured “sacrificed his drink to humiliate Seonghwa and then his new (ex)girlfriend joined in.” She explained.

“You, my friend, are a legend! I’ll be back with a replacement for your drink and an extra slice of cake in just a few moments.” Minseok patted Wooyoung on the back and leaned down to whispers something to him. “Treat her right or else...” Then he departed once again.

“What did he say?” Y/N asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Wooyoung chuckled. “Will you do me the honour of letting me be your new date?”

“Hmm... I’ll think about it,” Wooyoung held his breath. “Of course I will! How could I say no?” He exhaled, relieved.

Y/N and Wooyoung chatted the rest of the night away, discussing a variety of different topics. She realised that she enjoyed Wooyoung’s company much more than Seonghwa’s. This was merely the beginning of a marvellous love story.

———————

Hello, it’s me again! I decided to post another one of my old fanfics from Amino on here. It went through a few changes here and there but is still the same overall. I would like to remind you guys that my requests are open so if you like my writing and would like to request a fanfic/scenario/imagine/other you can just message me and I’ll try to post it as soon as I can :) P.S Did you like the little vine reference I added? I just couldn’t help myself!

#ateez #ateez wooyoung #ateez seonghwa #kpop #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x reader fluff #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x reader angst #에이티즈 #에이티즈 우영 #에이티즈 성화

3 notes · View notes

jefferoni-quotes · 5 years

Text

Love, Thomas - Hamilton Oneshot

Ship: Jeffmads

Based off Love, Simon

High School AU (obviously)

- - -

Dearest, Grey

July 18th, 2019, 00:03 am

The emails we share never fail to make me smile. I don’t know what it is, but there’s an air of mystery around our conversations. I crave something, more, a deeper connection than Wifi. But, I can settle for now. I speculate a lot, probably to much. I wonder day and night about who you are. Do you attend the very same school as me? Perhaps we happen to share a class, but I just don’t know it...

Sorry, I’m rambling.

What I’m trying to say, Grey, is I think I want to know who you are. I’m intrigued by this other gay kid in my school. Or maybe you’re not even in the same state as me. I don’t know, you never specified. You’re a lot more closed in these emails than me. Maybe I share to much, I do tend to go off in tangents. But I have lots to speak about! With endless possibilities, why stop talking?

Anyways, I eagerly await your reply,

Yours, Magenta

- - -

Magenta,

July 19th, 2019, 6:55 am

I can see where you’re coming from, but I don’t feel particularly comfortable disclosing my identity just yet. Maybe in the foreseeable future, we will be able to meet for real. Who knows?

However, I can say, that I’m in the grand state of West Virginia. Which just so happens to be the exact state that you live in. You told me that information, I promise, I’m not internet stalking you. I just have a good memory. I shall not say more than that at this point in time.

I apologise, I keep going back to the same point. haha...

How was your day? Have you “”came out”” yet?

I hate the term coming out. I don’t think I should have to come out. I should be able to go home and say to my dad, “I got a date.” And he be fine with me going off with a guy. Not that i’ll ever get a date of course.

What’s your opinion on this?

- Grey x

- - -

For Grey,

July 19th, 2019, 7:41 am

Oooooh, and x at the end! I do feel special!

I’m glad you remembered I told you, because I forgot I did. I probably would’ve told you 10,000 times before I finally noticed I’ve told you before.

Coming out? Yeah, haven’t done that. My parents are super conservative and would most likely not be overjoyed to have their son come out as a “gay”. I don’t know if I eve will “come out.” I like your point, but society is heteronormative. Everyone just assumes who we are, and it’s not fair.

You know what we should do? We should come out together! Both of us, come out to our parents. Rip the bandaid off, ya know?

Sincerely, Magenta x

- - -

My Dear, Magenta,

July 19th, 2019, 4:06 pm

Maybe... how and when do you propose we do this?

- Grey x

- - -

Dearest, Grey-Senpai,

July 19th, 2019, 5:28 pm

Tomorrow, as soon as we get home. Walk in the door, turn around, shout up the stairs, “IM GAY AND NOW IVE CAME OUT IM GOING OUT!” Then go hang with some buds or whatever.

Yours, Magenta xx

- - -

Darling, Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 4:21 am

1, kindly never refer to me as “Grey-Senpai” ever again.

2, that’s a very... forward way of coming out... but I like it! It’s a deal!

3, today marks seven months of emails! Happy seven months haha :)

Forever, Grey x

- - -

To, Grey-pai

July 20th, 2019, 4:29 am

1, suggestion noted and changed.

2, today is an important day then... scared? Cause I sure am... I’m fucking terrified... I can feel my heart in my throat.

3, Happy seven months is a very “coupley” thing to say, don’t you think? But despite that! Happy 7 months!

4, why are you up at 4 am?

Sincerely, Magenta xx

- - -

For my dear, Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 5:09 am

1. That’s not really any better, but I shall deal with it.

2. It really is, I’ll keep you updated.

3. I’m sorry, I apologise if I made you feel uncomfortable. I’m very sorry, just don’t be mad ha ha...

4. You were up too, little hypocritical. But if you must know, I was doing Biology homework. My teacher is very strict and she expects homework to be done in a day. I had sport practice so I had to do it at 3 am.

Are you ready? You said you had conservative parents, do you think they’ll be mad? I know my father is rather accepting, but I don’t really know...

Much love, Grey-pai x

- - -

Grey-pai,

July 20th, 2019, 12:47 pm

I’m glad you’ve decided to accept the nicknames. Don’t try to fight it, as you really won’t win.

My parents are kinda shitty, but I don’t think they’ll be mad. Most likely shocked into silence, to which I will storm upstairs, lay face down on my bed until my sister comes upstairs and says my mom wants to talk to me. They’ll be unsure, but accepting.

You play sports? What ones? I play too, but I’m intrigued by what you do. Sorry that I’m prying.

Homework at 3 am has been proven bad for the mind. And if your biology teacher is like mine, I can relate. She’s, quite frankly, and excuse my French, a bitch.

Good luck today!

Yours, Magenta x

- - -

My dearest, Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 1:39 pm

At least your family will respect you! I’m 99.99% sure that you’ll be perfectly fine!

I’m on the athletics team, but I’m honestly terrible at it. It’s not prying. I’ve realised that I don’t share much about myself. I don’t know why I was hiding so much, I want it to feel like you know my personality. Maybe not my face. I don’t want our relationship to change drastically. Over time... I don’t know... I’m horrifyingly bad at making decisions.

What do you play? I’m curious how sporty “Magenta” is. I don’t believe I’ve ever mentioned how much I like that both our names just so happen to be our favourite colours. Well, I assume magenta is your favourite colour. I know grey is the colour I love.

I realise its a horrible idea to try and learn in the middle of the night, but I don’t have any other choice. I don’t want to ruin my perfect score by receiving a detention.

Good luck to you too, Magenta!

Love, Grey xx

- - -

Darling, Grey-pai,

July 20th, 2019, 4:34 pm

I’m currently standing outside my house, and typing this email to distract myself from the bile rising in my stomach. I don’t know why I’m terrified. I’m not so sure why. I know they’ll be fine with it. Perhaps it’s the terror of sharing such a long kept secret. I don’t really know.

Looking in through the window, they’re all watching TV. This feels too... normal. I’ve been taught by society that this should be a big thing! A huge announcement. But no. It’s too... boring. I don’t know.

I’m going inside. Wish me luck,

- Magenta xx

- - -

Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 4:41 pm

Good luck.

I’ve told my dad. He’s cool with it! And I’m so happy!

PS: What sports do you play?

Love, Grey xx

- - -

Dearest, Grey,

July 21st, 2019, 1:34 am

I needed it. My exact prediction came true. They were silent then my ma hugged me and pops patted my back. He said he was proud. They’re accepting!

Congrats to you too!

Love, Magenta x

- - -

Lovely, Magenta,

July 21st, 2019, 1:54 am

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU GO!!

I’m so happy they’ve accepted you!

Sports??

Much love, Grey xx

- - -

Darling, Grey-pai,

July 21st, 2019, 8:33 pm

I’m so happy too!

Love, Magenta xx

- - -

My Dearest, Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:33 am

I’m so proud of you! I’m so impressed that both our families accepted us. I really wasn’t expecting it from the South to be perfectly honest.

All my love, Grey x

- - -

Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:34 am

Also, would it be weird if I said I think I know who you are?

- Grey xx

- - -

Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:41 am

What?

Yours, Magenta x

- - -

Dearest, Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:47 am

You’re on the running team and the volleyball, right? You won gold in the last sports event for both. Friends with that John Adams guy?

Love, Grey x

- - -

For, Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:52 am

how.

what if you’re wrong? what if you’re right? then i’d want to know who you are. but you’re not wanting me to know. that’s not fair, grey. it’s not fair.

- Magenta

- - -

Dear, Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:58 am

I’m sorry. If I’m right, we can set up a time and place to meet. If I’m wrong, I apologise.

Lots of love, Grey xx

- - -

Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 1:01 am

When and where?

Love, Thomas x

- - -

Thomas slammed his laptop shut and pushed it down to the edge of his bed. He ran a hand through his matted, mop of curly hair and exhaled slowly. He thought about if he’d made a horrible decision, but tried to shake it off. The light from his screen peaked through the cracks. He slowly dragged it up to him, the covers crumpling as he did. He pulled the top open.

- - -

Dearest, Thomas/Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 1:12 am

Carnival, 9 pm. Tonight. See you there.

- Grey x

- - -

Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 1:14 am

See you there.

Love, Magenta xx

- - -

He wiped the sleep from his eyes and turned his computer off. He placed it on his bedside table and flicked the bed sheets up to his chin. Thomas laid down, letting his hair fall over his face. He sunk into it, treating it like an ocean of emotion that he could drown in. A place where, once he reached the sea bed, he could lie in peace, without worries or feelings. And eventually, he lulled off to sleep.

Thomas woke up before his alarm and shut it off. It was a Saturday, and he still had 15 hours until he met his long term... lover? Crush? Love? What were they? Hell, he didn’t even know Grey’s name. What if he was some crazy, 50 year old stalker? Then again, he was fast and could either run away or fight.

No matter. He had 15 hours. 15 hours.

Breakfast.

14 hours.

Sitting inside.

13 hours.

Going outside.

12 hours.

Running practise.

11 hours.

Still running.

10 hours.

Lunch.

9 hours.

Panic starts.

8 hours.

Panic intensifies.

7 hours.

Panic calms.

6 hours.

Internet.

5 hours.

And a phone call with John Adams.

4 hours.

Phone call ends.

3 hours.

Argument with Alexander through Twitter.

2 hours.

Quick toast dinner. And then start changing.

1 hour.

More panic.

0 hours.

And he made it. Thomas looked down at his phone discreetly, sticking his hands in his pockets. The browned up grass pressed beneath his feet as he stepped. Someone tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, Thomas! What’s up!” John Adams grinned and leaned on his shoulder.

“Nothing. Just... waiting for someone.” Thomas smiled at his feet.

“Ooooh! Is it that Grey guy you told us about?” John nudged him with a cheeky wink, wriggling his eyebrows like caterpillars.

Thomas shoved him playfully. “Shut up. But yes, you’re right...” He sighed lovingly. “I’m scared.”

“That’s normal, dude.” John assured him, looking over. “When’s he supposed to be here?”

Thomas looked down at his phone again. “Ten minutes ago.”

“Huh.” John clicked his tongue with uncertainty, stepping forward so three girls could scatter past him. “Well, he doesn’t know where you are, for a start. Just give it a bit. He’ll turn up.”

And so they waited.

And they waited.

And then they waited some more.

In fact, it was around 10 pm when Thomas ushered into the big wheel. He hesitantly took a seat, weary of the fact that they were simple wooden benches with a metal bar to clutch onto.

He looked over at the two people that made him do this. Shortly after John had arrived, Maria had too. And she knew something. “Why are you making me do this?”

“Trust me, babe!” Maria yelled, rubbing her hands together with excitement.

“I swear to god...” Thomas mumbled. He was at his wits end, and very close to just giving up and going home.

“Ticket for one, please.” A voice called out of the silence, and the sound of change clanging against the ticket booth echoed.

A weight slid in next to him, and Thomas looked over as the bar was secured. “Grey?” Thomas questioned softly.

“Hi, Magenta.” He smiled graciously, looking straight on as the wheel started turning.

Thomas looked down, then at the boy. “James, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, Thomas.” James smiled, gingerly letting his arms hang by his sides. Thomas’ gaze fell to them, and he reached out, taking James’ hand in his own.

“So, it’s really you?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, but it’s a good thing I always thought you were cute.” Thomas confessed as the ride got higher, eventually stopping at the top, letting them see the view. The moon was rising in the dark sky, which was glowing with street laps and stars. Fireflies buzzed below them and James turned to glance at Thomas.

“I’m glad.” He said happily.

Thomas shifted in his seat to face James properly. “Hey, can I...” Thomas moved a little closer, giving James a chance to say no, or pull away.

James’ face broke out into a grin. “You may.”

He closed the gap, and let his hand cup one of Thomas’ cheeks, the other curving around his waist. Jefferson moved his hands to the same comfortable position, keeping his eyes fluttered closed.

And after ten seconds or so, they pulled back, the distant whooping of Maria, John, Peggy and Aaron rising up to meet them. It became clear that James had dragged his friends along for emotional support too.

“So, how does a movie sound, Grey?” Thomas asked with a beaming grin.

“That sounds wonderful, Magenta.”

- - -

Whoops I got carried away.

Oneshot requests are open too, drabbles are short and dumb, Oneshot take longer. Please please please, when requesting, specify if you want a drabble or oneshot! Thank you and I hope y’all enjoyed!

36 notes · View notes

365daysoftododeku · 5 years

Text

2nd July 2019

Author: Mara

________________________________________________________________

Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe

Todoroki Shouto wondered how he had managed it: since a few months ago, he was allowed to call Midoriya Izuku his boyfriend. According to many of his classmates, they had been somewhat dating for a year, but Izuku had been the one to make it all official. He still had no idea why Izuku chose him. Izuku had admitted he wasn’t sure why Shouto wanted to date him. Apparently, they both had poor self-esteem.

Dating Izuku wasn’t much different than being friends, only they were just a bit closer. Longer hugs, deliberate hand-holding, cuddling. The hand-holding was Shouto’s favourite. Izuku was more fan of cuddling, as Shouto’s dual quirk made his body either hot or cold, depending on the temperature.

cuddling Izuku’s as Shouto’s quirk made his body either hot or cold, depending on the temperature around them.

Yet, there was one thing they hadn’t done, and Shouto wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Did he just ask Izuku to kiss him? Wouldn’t that be awkward? Maybe he should ask Momo, as she knew more than him (she didn’t have an isolated upbringing like him), but that would mean he had to tell her that kissing Izuku was something on his mind, and the idea made him a little uncomfortable. Not the idea of kissing Izuku; that idea sounded wonderful. He wasn’t interested in showing off his relationship.

It was summer, which meant no school and more free time. This also meant that he spent an awful lot of time with Izuku. He didn’t mind, but it made it hard not to kiss him, if Shouto had ever the courage to kiss him. He was supposed to ask.

“Ochako and a few others are already planning the Christmas party,” Izuku said excitedly, arms waving around wildly.

Shouto liked Izuku’s arms. They were muscular and tanned, yes, but he mostly liked the freckles scattered across them. By now, he figured that Izuku was entirely covered in freckles and one day, he wanted to discover them all (and kiss them).

“It’s July.”

Izuku laughed. “I know! On the other hand, they were talking about renting a venue, and these are usually overbooked.”

Last year’s Christmas party had been fine, in Shouto’s opinion. They held it in the dorms, a bit tight, but the organisation had been done well. Though he could’ve done without the mistletoes. They were part of some ridiculous custom that forced two people who were caught underneath it to kiss. Shouto had narrowly escaped having to kiss Bakugo. (that would’ve been the end of the party, with either Shouto or Bakugo burning the room down in panic or rage.)

Right now he could use a mistletoe. He would have a shameless excuse to kiss Izuku with it, he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself by going through the explanation of why he wanted to kiss Izuku—his lips looked really soft—and why kissing him was something that was constantly on his mind (Izuku in his entirety looked really kissable. Aside from the lips, the freckles were really inviting. They were like stars).

Apparently, his brain didn’t get the memo it was July; hot, sunny July. The second the words left his mouth, he wanted to dig a hole and hide in it.

“Mistletoe,” Shouto blurted.

Izuku stopped, hesitated before looking at Shouto with slight worry.

“What?”

Since he already had signed off his public meltdown (hopefully nobody was taping this) Shouto decided to just go with it and see how far he could come. He was quite sure that Kaminari liked to say ‘fake it till you make it’, so he was going to fake it.

“There’s a mistletoe.”

Now Izuku frowned. “It’s summer, Shouto.”

Of course, that was the first thing Izuku was going to say. It was obvious. The sun was beating down on them, they were dressed in shorts and shirts and Shouto was trying to sell Izuku that it was still winter.

“No, it isn’t.”

He supposed it wasn’t illegal to use his quirk like this. He wasn’t causing any harm, hopefully.

After a minute of silence, little snowflakes started to fall around them.

Why was he dating someone smart? Though, on the other hand, Izuku was stating the obvious. It was summer.

Izuku looked up at the snow in wonder. Despite the heat, it didn’t melt and slowly started to pile up on his curls, clinging to the strands as they melted (Izuku’s body temperature was too warm for the snow).

“It’s really pretty,” Izuku said, his breath forming little clouds. “Imagine doing this in the dorm room! It would be like a winter wonderland.”

They had gained the attention of a few passersby. A few people had taken out their phones, kids were gawking and pointing at them.

This was a ridiculous idea, though Izuku’s bright smile was absolutely endearing. So maybe Shouto had failed in asking Izuku for a kiss, but now he was distracted enough to have forgotten about it. So if he just acted if nothing happened—

Izuku spoke suddenly, “there is still no mistletoe.”

So far for hoping that Izuku had forgotten about it.

“Nevermind that, it was stupid.”

Izuku giggled, scooping up some fallen snow off the ground.

“You made it snow to convince me,” he said, letting the fine substance fall between his fingers as if he had scooped up sand instead of snow. “Are you always that dedicated to do something ‘stupid’?”

“No, just forget it.”

“You don’t get it, you’re adorable. You’re making it snow in the summer because you want to kiss me.”

Shouto was sure his heart had stopped beating. Technically, it couldn‘t have because he was still alive, but he wished it had stopped. How had Izuku figured it out? He was quite subtle, wasn’t he?

“How did you know?”

Izuku’s face lit up, “I didn’t. I was just projecting and hoped that you would want to kiss.”

Oh. That was good! Izuku wanted to kiss him. That’s good, great. What now?

“It isn’t like I know how it works,” Izuku babbled. “Well, on paper, I know how kissing works but I’ve never kissed someone before, neither boy or girl. My mom doesn’t count though and...”

Izuku kept on babbling, steadily growing more and more flustered and excited. A pretty thick layer of snow had started to surround them. Most people had drooped off by now, the excitement of summer-snow fading. Especially as it was only locally. Like, really locally. He should stop the snowfall, but he liked Izuku’s excitement.

“You want to kiss me?”

Izuku stopped rambling, taking a few seconds to collect to his thoughts, before nodding.

They awkwardly shuffled closer, and Shouto wrapped his arms around Izuku’s waist. It felt as though the only natural thing to do. Izuku was shivering, and it took Shouto a few seconds to realise that his boyfriend was cold. He didn’t notice the drop in temperature, but Izuku definitely did.

Shouto leaned in and Izuku raised on his tiptoes, causing their foreheads and noses to bump. Izuku giggled and tried again. This time, they managed to manoeuvre better, but their coordination was rubbish. Shouto ended up kissing the corner of Izuku’s mouth.

Their third attempt was somewhat successful. Izuku was clever enough to press his cold hands against Shouto’s cheeks, squishing them, but also keeping Shouto’s head in one place. It was a faint but pleasant brush of lips, though the hug that followed was better, with Izuku burying his nose against Shouto’s neck and his arms wrapped around Shouto’s torso.

He decided that kissing was nice but way too overhyped. He liked this better (it was less awkward, though maybe it was a matter of time before they were able to kiss properly. Why did you have to learn how to kiss?)

~*~

Izuku was quite sure that his soul was leaving his body. Yes, he was aware that despite not quite being pro-heroes yet, they were popular with the public. Occasionally, it would be put into a paper about whatever achievement they did. But never before had he made it to the front page, especially not for something like this. It wasn’t even in a proper newspaper but in a gossip magazine.

From kissing in the rain to kissing in the snow. Future pro-heroes raise the bar for romance.

Only a few days ago, pro-heroes-to-be Deku and Shouto had been caught kissing, surrounded by snow. Yes, snow. The rest of the city was basking in the warm, July sun, but these two lovebirds decided to create their own winter wonderland... No doubt with the help of Shouto’s quirk, which is fire and ice. The two had been seen together a lot in public, but the nature of their relationship came as a surprise. Nonetheless, the two made a cute picture and made us wonder what’s more romantic. Kissing in the rain or kissing in the snow?

Below the article, a picture of him and Shouto kissing (the second kiss, by the looks of it) was printed in full-colour. He was almost tempted to ask for a copy of that picture, because the quality was good and Shouto looked beautiful, surrounded by snow and with snow clinging to his hair and heck, why were his eyelashes even visible? But the desire to ask for a copy of the picture was surpassed by the urge to set the magazine on fire.

“What are you reading?” Ochako asked suddenly, her head popping up next to him.

He didn’t get the change to hide it in time. At least according to the gasp that came from his friend.

“I can’t believe you smooched Todoroki and didn’t tell me about it.”

“There is a reason I didn’t tell you about it.”

“Was it that bad?”

Izuku’s cheeks grew warm at the thought. It hadn’t been bad, but he had been freezing and Shouto clearly knew nothing about kissing, even less than Izuku and that was slightly worrisome.

“We’re still working it out.”

“Imagine Mina managing to get her hands on this thing. It’s over for the two of you.”

Summoned by Ochako’s words, Mina ran into the living room, excitedly waving around the very same gossip magazine Izuku had been reading. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to cuddle with Shouto today, as he was visiting his mother. Ochako was no help either because she just sympathetically patted his shoulder and bolted.

________________________________________________________________

Would you like your work to be featured in the 365 Days of TodoDeku Project? Apply here! (≧∇≦)/

#Story #lavanderstarcatcher #TodoDeku #365DaysofTodoDeku #TodoDeku365 #365 Days of TodoDeku #tddk #Shouto Todoroki #Todoroki Shouto #Izuku Midoriya #Midoriya Izuku #Boku no Hero Academia #BNHA #My Hero Academia #MHA #Todoroki x Midoriya #Shouto x Izuku #TodoIzu #long post

32 notes · View notes

otogetranslations · 5 years

Text

A Sasazuka Essay

Written by one of our most beloved translator: khikari AKA Kujouhikari!

She completed translating mostly all of Sasazuka route in our on-going translation project: Collar x Malice Unlimited!

Here is the link to the original post: Reddit

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1LUA27Rhfe3vyf1Ug_Qi5U1RZXvzwMZ1dT8hX8bEy_RM/edit?usp=sharing

Greetings.

To discuss Ichika in donut's route, we would have to discuss donut himself as well. It is something unavoidable. I have a generally favourable opinion of donut, to be point of being extremely biased towards him. As such, this is purely opinion with that fact established. This post will also be long because I have trouble finding 'concise' in my dictionary.

I played the game in Japanese so my experience might also differ from yours in that respect.

Also, there will be spoilers.

1.) Hoshino Ichika as a person

Basic background (Just so we are on the same page): Hoshino Ichika is a newbie police officer, quite fresh off her graduation. She is only 21 and still does not have that much experience in the workforce. She has impressive accuracy in her aim and handling of guns, however she is not a professional in it (compared to others). Her family is implied, and is confirmed, to neglect and dismiss her diligence and will in a variety of ways. She is often compared with her brother, whom she loves but is on unsteady relations with, after he moved to Tokyo.

Personality: She is an ordinary person with an ordinary sense of justice and morale, is empathetic, and not especially talented. Her most significant trait is her strong will and diligence, working hard for her ideals to come true. She faces things head on, for the better for worse, and tries to confront things that she is uncomfortable with as well. Not being a complacent person, she constantly strives for a better reality within her abilities. She understands what she can do, and what she can't do, very well. She also has extremely low self-esteem due to her upbringing, and was under a lot of stress during the X-Day incidents due to being a newbie, not going well with her family, then the collar happening.

I admire her for all this. She might not be the most powerful, or greatest, or most active, but she does what she can and tries to be true towards herself. She might fail and fall on the way, and even be a hypocrite sometimes, but she is only human. She isn't trying to save the world, she only wants her family safe, and those that she care for to be alright. I admire people who try despite knowing their limits, just as much as I admire those who are active and cause real change.

Also, I find it strange to pick at her hypocrisy sometimes. Her low-self esteem means that she is constantly unable to accept praise as what it is, yet her upbringing makes her yearn for understanding of some sort that she never received from her parents. I think critisizing her for that can be unfair.

I also personally find realistic egotism in characters to be something beautiful, influenced by the many literature I have read. I empathise with them better.

2.) Sasazuka Takeru as a person

Background Summary: Sasazuka Takeru is 24, an extremely talented hacker who moved from America to Japan due to his trauma with his mother. (In the beginning) he resigned from the police due to despairing at the police and the government's methods, in hope of trying to do something himself. He is used to the merit-based system in America, where ability influenced your input in the situation. However, Japan is the opposite, where the number of years you have spent in a corporation is prized over your ability (this can be still quite relevant in modern Japan). The ability to present your argument can be more important than the substance of it in this case, where these incidents have shook up the entire country. Thus, he is highly frustrated and running short on time with little resources to try to solve something important to him.

Personality: I personally empathise a lot with Sasazuka, as I have a similar sewage personality diluted slightly with coke. (I just wrap it up slightly better thanks to books.) He is highly pragmatic and has his priorities on a rigid hierarchy according to his personal investment, and thus can be seen as egostical. In other words, he ranks his individual needs and morales higher than what is important for the 'greater good'.

This means that he sees practical solutions to problems as more important than the decorums and traditional methods of society, and cares little about feelings he trample on. He evaluates every decision he makes with cold harsh logic, and spends no effort on things he deem 'meaningless'. (For example, society values family relations. However, if he evaluates the relationship to have no future, he'd cut it off, even if it is family. He places value on his own judgement and not general consensus.) And thus he is the most morally grey of the main cast.

He is a true neutral, which diverts from the tradition lawful good or lawful neutral protagonists society tends to value. I cannot comment on him much due to the similarities I find. He is neither good, nor bad. You can only measure that compared with your own moral compass, and whether he is against you or with you. (That's how war works, really. Nobody fights for what they don't believe in. Being the enemy doesn't make them wrong, but it doesn't make them right. It's the same for allies. Imperically, right and wrong can only be decided on how many casualties one's actions result in.)

As a person, he is extremely guarded of other people, and does not give his trust easily. There is no point spending time and effort on someon who is either going to betray you or is not worth it. However, this means that once someone has earned his respect, he will always prioritise them over other things. He has time to spare because he has cut off unimportant people, after all. He will go the extra mile to make sure they grow and can be happy independent from him while he accomplishes his own goals. This is true for both friendships and romantice relationships. This makes his relationships either very shallow or very deep, but nobody has qualified for the latter in love so far.

He is also very honest and tries not to be a hypocrite. What he says are usually logical and sound. He just doesn't wrap it up and consider the other party's feeling as much, because he wants improvement. Babying people will cause no progress. He shows his most natural self to the world because of this. Pleasantries might make co-operation more smooth, but they don't solve the actual problem.

His good parts and extra effort are reserved only for those who he deems as deserving.

(Also, this might also help you understand why he chooses to be morally grey and result based. In Australia, the the first British settlers came across the native Aborigines and judged their standard of living to be 'low'. Feeling the Aborigine children to be 'abused' in such a 'lowly' environment, they decided to kidnap the children so that they could have a better life. They brought them to these 'schools' where they are taught the skills to be a servant so that they can have a job in the future and lift themselves out of the 'poverty cycle'. They had good intentions in their opinion, but for the Aborigines, this is just them stealing their children away and throwing poop on their culture.

Doing what seems 'good' depending on societal morals can lead to these situations, and thus the best a person can do is to not betray themselves. I'm rambling sorry, but in this case, Sasazuka would value the result and say that the good intentions are not excusable. Would this make sense?)

3)Finally answering the question (I made you wait long enough.)

Sasazuka's treatment of Ichika: Just would like to address this first. Sasazuka is cold towards Ichika, calling her 'baka neko' idiot cat the first time they meet. The Japanese wording is less harsh than the English equivalent. (There is even a saying that someone more cute the more baka they are.)

Sasazuka is harsh and cold throughout the beginning because of how badly their personalities clashed. Sasazuka is a person who doesn't value meaningless effort, while Ichika tries despite having little experience or ability. For Sasazuka, Ichika should be focusing on something else and not bother him and lower his efficiency. Explaining to her would be wasting time because she is very unlikely to grasp hold of the situation quickly and contribute to it. She may be a victim, but Adonis is a large organisation adept at manipulating the emotion of masses, so she might be just acting. The enemy formally nearly suceeded in bringing the president down...They must have had many spies in government to make that possible, so they have the resource for this little act.

Conclusion: Time spent on her is wasted, and keep information from her as much as possible. Giving her extra information might even cause her to poke into dangerous situations due to lack of experience, thus encourage her to rely on someone more capable and caring like Yanagi-san. It is a lose-lose situation to work with her.

Meanwhile, for Ichika, she knew that she was dead weight, so she wanted to try and help in whatever way she can. She wanted these incidents to stop, and her hope of restoring the gun law is her main motivation in this route. Sasazuka handled the August(?) case which was the reason for this to happen, and thus he was her best shot. Enomoto's cases were to do with internal police conflict, Shiraishi was most likely a dead end, and she knew that she didn't have the ability to keep up with all cases like Yanagi. Therefore she sorted her priorities and decided to try to help Sasazuka.

Having a lot more EQ than Sasazuka, she realised early on that he was trying to do both of them a favour by not involving her. She also knows that he is extremely independant and would find her help to be intrusive, so she opted to help in the only way that would not bother him or slow him down: health support. She tries to do what she can, and hopefully would gain his trust so that she could have other ways of helping, like gathering information the slow way. For her, it's not that she likes Sasazuka over the other people or anything, it's just that she rationally did what she could for her goal to be accomplished.

Here, there is extra tension because Sasazuka is extremely frustrated and rushed because working in the police meant slow results slow action, but working alone meant less resources. People are dying by the day and he understands those deaths as a victim himself, so he wants to do something about it but it's slow. Ichika is under a lot of pressure for reasons stated earlier. Both of them are types to bottle things up and thus they kind of take it out on each other, but Ichika is more mature about the whole thing.

The love part: As to where they both start getting drawn to each other.... Sasazuka slowly opens up to Ichika who constantly tries without overly disturbing him, which makes her comfortable to be with. She respects his abilities and knows her own limits, which he can respect in turn. She might not be talented, but she is doing what she can while taking his preferences in consideration. Her care for her brother is something he admires, because he can't do the same for someone who doesn't return his affections. She...might remind him of his own mother who treated him as more important than her own life, despite him having such a troublesome personality. Thus, he wanted to help her with her brother while getting to know Sera in the process. Win-win. He knows that he is generally disliked, and thus he could test Kazuki's reactions. If he loved his sister, great. If he doesn't, then he'll tell that to Ichika upfront.

He begins to like her because he can respect her, she is gaining his trust, and most importantly, he feels comfortable around her. The last quality is something rare for him to find. (Isn't the ideal relationship being able to eat potato chips together on the couch, watching the same movie and laugh while pointing out its ridiculousness? In real life at least.)

Thus...he kissed her. Not to start a romantic relationship. It is him trying to repay her with his earnest feelings mixed in. Words wouldn't console her, then. (He also has less reservations about it because, you know, America.)

Ichika grows to like him because of his kindness and honesty she sees through his actions. His words can be aloof, but he has never truly abandoned her or led her astray while she was partners with him. He might even remind her a little of Kazuki, who is aloof and tsun as well. Since Sasazuka is opening up to her, some of her big sisterly feelings of taking care of Kazuki seeps through. She grows fond of Sasazuka, who shows more and more of his softer parts the more she gets to know him. (Please remember that she has high EQ and has a pretty good read on him. He's not that hard to read because he is quite straightforward and doesn't lie.)

He is earnest and trying his best, and thus she can respect him too. She admires him for being both diligent and being talented, but on the other hand he is terrible at wrapping his words and taking care of health. Thus, she can't leave him alone, because she admires him and grows to like him.

His support of her helps these feelings grow, and the kiss reminded her that romance yes indeed could exist. With that in mind, she also slowly realises her own feelings of protectiveness and affection towards him.

For both of them, it isn't a sweet romance purely based on love. (Though this can be said for all of the main cast except Enomoto.) For Sasazuka, it is comfort, trust and respect which led to affection. For Ichika, it is admiration, trust and caring nature that led to affection.

However, it doesn't progress to actual romantic feelings as quickly because of this foundation. Just one step short. They have mutual respect, but haven't closed enough distance to reach a deeper relationship.

Therefore, the turning point was when Ichika tried to protect Sasazuka, Sasazuka tried to protect Ichika and his trauma was dug up. This set off the last chain reaction needed for them to close the distance. Later, when Sasazuka confesses that he was morally grey, he trusts her but is also half testing her. He would never change, and he knows that, so he wants to know if she'd be disgusted or appalled. Because of how invested he was, however, he couldn't bear for her to react negatively and cut it off completely, so he made her drunk first. So that he and her both had a way out.

But...she didn't do any of that. She said that he was kind. She asked him to not go down the dark path. She...accepted him. For Sasazuka, this is more than enough reason for his feelings to tilt to romantic affection.

Then she proceeds to cry and he panics. He doesn't want someone who did all this for him to cry, and thus this memory became important for him. Important enough that he could push down the feelings of revenge, because he doesn't want her to cry. He doesn't want to make her, who helped him and accepted him despite his sewage attitude and questionable morals, to cry again.

It is for this reason that he couldn't confess to her that easily, too, which would lead to the tragic love end. He knows that he isn't the best choice and isn't good enough for her to be happy. She makes him comfortable and is special in doing this, and thus deserves the best happiness she can get. He also has the priority of destroying the remainder of Adonis, and thus...

In the good end, his feelings overrode his other wishes and his reason. Love > Respect & Reason, basically. He planned to confess to her on christmas, but she did first, and you know the rest. From then on, his affections are more open, but at his core, he is a person who isn't made of honey, so he is honest, showing his natural dry self.

For Ichika, Sasazuka confessing is a sign of trust, but also something that panics her. Her feelings progressed to love earlier than him, and she called him an idiot for being so stupid. He calls himself mean and morally grey, but she knows the kindness hidden within him. He downplays all his positive sides and says all this to her, expecting her to push him away. Are you an idiot? (I already love you!) So, don't go off to do things that will hurt yourself!

Because of this, the...Sera event affected her deeply. She knew he was on the edge. She doesn't want Sasazuka to stray off. Desperate to keep him in the side of the light, she remembered how he was troubled by her crying, and the fact that he trusted her enough to confess all that. She then threatens him with her tears because...it's the only thing that made him halt and unsure.

But ye I don't have anything more to say on her front, the rest is all in the game, go play the game you heathen!

Ichika in comparison with other routes:

To discuss this, we have to discuss what part of Ichika shines in other routes. Enomoto - Cuteness, initiative, bravery and willing to confront what he was unwilling to face. Shiraishi - She showed her will strongly. Her EQ was high and saw right through him XD. She chooses not to give up on what is precious to her no matter what. She pointed out his wrongs actively. She was so...kind. And cute. Okazaki - High EQ, figured out what Kei actually wanted. Won't take his poop reasons for using her as a reason. Refuses to give up and self sacrificing without being overly so. Cuteness. Yanagi - Willing to face reality and not run away, whether it is with Yanagi or the last boss. High EQ. Takes initiative and does what she needs to do. Shows her compassionate nature and helps Yanagi forward, together. Cuteness.

As we can see, cuteness is the common factor in all of them. She shows the same in donut's route. Nuff said.

High EQ - As shown in my rambles, she shows this very well.

Compassion - yep.

Strong will - Yep, was willing to do anything to improve the situation, even if it meant buying donuts or doing other things.

One thing I think is special to Sasazuka's route is her grasp on her own limits. She knows what she can and can't do, and that's important. It's admirable. She doesn't shove her nose into matters that aren't hers, and she listens well. She is willing to admit that she isn't capable and that's important in the real world.

As for why she might not seem as exceptional...well. It's because Sasazuka is almost never doing the wrong thing, and is always trying to improve himself. Enomoto refused to accept reality. Shiraishi was blind to what he really wanted. Okazaki wanted meaning to his life in a destructive way. Yanagi was stuck in the past and is overly compassionate, so much that he could not move to act.

Sasazuka is always acting to solve the case, is self-motivated, and is grounded in reality. He is mostly a self-completing person. Though his words are sharp, he always does what is needed. He is honest. He doesn't hide his intentions. His main flaw is his true neutral alignment which does not mesh well with his trauma. Thus, he doesn't need to be changed or forced to change like the others. So she could never assume a super active role in this relationship.

For Sasazuka, Ichika represents comfort and somewhere he could properly breathe around. She is someone he respects, and he wishes her to grow into the best version of herself. They might not be equal in ability, but their mutual understanding, respect and admiration makes them treat each other as equals.

And isn't that enough? I find that to be admirable. I think she shines just as much as in other routes, just in a more realistic way rather than an active way. Valuing a more active and interactive heroine is great and all, but I think the writing in the game captures more realistic and...explicit? Not so pure? Love relatively well.

#takeru sasazuka #ichika hoshino #collar x malice

82 notes · View notes

nekoabi · 5 years

Text

On the Verge of a Heartbreak - Chapter 22

Things are really picking up now!!

Pairings: Moxiety Words: 3452 Warnings: Panic attack/Anxiety attack. Anything else, please let me know!

Summary: Virgil is worried and stressed, but his music lessons give him somewhere to escape to.

Virgil was completely unaware as to what had occurred over the weekend with Patton and a bunch of their friends, but he could get the feeling something was just a little bit off or was different.

It was almost as if he could feel each of them watching his and Patton’s every move, trying to catch them as they were talking alone. At least twice on that first Monday, Virgil had rounded a corner to catch Abigal peeking around it. She managed to laugh it off and come up with some sort of excuse, but Virgil could see past it easily.

He was definitely a little suspicious and more than a little unnerved by this all. He approached Ana about it, but they had no idea what was going on and hadn’t really noticed any difference, so Virgil started to doubt himself just a little.

This behaviour continued for weeks with Virgil getting more and more paranoid as the days wore on. Thankfully, he had his space to escape to twice a week with his music lessons.

Virgil pushed open the sound-proof door and immediately felt a sense of relief wash over him. No one would come and spy on him here, none of them would be staring at him and noting down his every move. He could truly relax.

He was a little early, having headed straight there once school had ended, so he set himself down with his guitar and just started to ensure his instrument was tuned properly.

Virgil adored his guitar. If someone were to ask him what he would save if his entire house caught on fire, he would likely reply with his guitar. It was something he was good at, something that he could do to get his mind off everything else in the world, it was something he was in control of. He practiced and cleaned it every day. It was necessary since it was a black guitar, meaning that even the smallest speck of dust or fingerprint would show up, but he loved so dearly that he was happy to simply hold it in his hands.

After checking everything, Virgil leant the instrument against the piano that sat in the room and dug around in his bag for the tattered notebook he still used. He found it and carefully set it up on the music stand of the piano, opening it to a page full of scribbles and doodles. After double checking the notebook was secure, Virgil picked up the guitar once more and began to play.

He easily got lost in the sound. This song had been years in the making. Sure, some of the lyrics didn’t work anymore but they did at the time he wrote them, and he really liked the way they sounded. He was finding it was almost finished, but he was just stuck on small details. A few notes stuck out to him and he wanted to change it, some of the words didn’t flow as well as he liked, but he was getting there.

Virgil didn’t even notice that he’d begun to sing the words under his breath as he practiced and played with the music. He took a pause to dig around in his bag for a pencil in order to change something in his book.

“That was adorable, Virgil.”

Virgil almost screamed as he jumped violently, his body flinging onto the floor as he toppled off the stool in an attempt to turn around and sit up at the same time.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” The voice squeaked, fear lacing every word, “I-I’ll just, just go.”

“No, it’s… it’s okay. You just surprised me.” Virgil was winded from his fall, but he still reassured the person standing in the doorway.

They looked at him cautiously, “Are you sure?”

“Ayana, it’s cool. Just, warn a guy next time? You’re so quiet.” Virgil laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Ayana closed the door carefully, “Sorry…”

Virgil clambered up to sit back on the stool, checking over his guitar that had fallen in the chaos, “Ayana, apologies?”

“I know…” The girl ducked her head, her long hair falling around her like a curtain, shielding her from the world, “I don’t need to say sorry so much…”

They shared a gentle smile as Ayana seated herself on the piano stool, pulling out her own guitar. She was checking it was tuned properly when her eyes caught the notebook that still sat open on the piano. As nervous as she was, Ayana felt comfortable enough with Virgil to lean in and get a closer look. She only read a couple of the lines before she realised this was the song she’d walked in on Virgil playing.

“So… what’s this song for?” She asked, her curiosity not yet satiated.

Virgil quickly but carefully grabbed his notebook and put to his side, his cheeks turning redder with each passing second, “It’s nothing, just something I’m messing around with.”

Ayana flinched at his sudden movement, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry… It’s just… it was beautiful…” She looked up through her hair again, “It sounded like you were addressing someone…”

Virgil looked away and scoffed, face burning brightly even through his usual layer of foundation, “Uh, why would I do that?”

Ayana shrugged and made a soft non-committal noise, turning her attention back to her own guitar, “Maybe you have someone you care about… and you want to tell them… and the best way, you feel, is through music…” She strummed a few notes, her body visibly relaxing. She continued on to play a song.

Virgil watched her through the corner of his eye for a moment, before turning to fully look at the girl. He’d noticed over the years that they’d shared music lessons that Ayana became a totally different person when she played music; she became confident, at ease, relaxed, and it inspired Virgil - not that he’d say it aloud. He understood her, music made him feel entirely different. The only way Virgil could describe it is that he felt like he lived in a different world when he played any instrument, but Ayana was the one to truly show him what that looked like to the outside world. He wanted to show that to people, show people the power that music could have and what it can do to a person, how it can help those struggling the most.

A sudden snap and off-key note snapped both of the students out of their music-induced haze. They stared at the now broken guitar string in surprise. Ayana turned into a statue, looking at the broken string like it was about to attack her and she had nowhere to go.

“Ayana? Are you alright?” Virgil asked gently, trying to catch her eyes once he’d noticed she wasn’t doing so well.

Her voice sounded a little watery, “My brother’s going to kill me. Oh my god. Oh my god, I’m so dead.” Ayana started to ramble, just repeated over and over how she was doomed, how upset her brother was going to be, all the bad things that were going to happen to her. Tears began spilling down her face, splashing onto the polished wood of the guitar and her legging-covered legs.

Virgil wasn’t sure how to handle this situation. He was only now able to handle his own panic attacks, but he’d never tried to help anyone else. He knew he had to try, especially as Ayana’s body began to shudder and rock back and forth. Virgil knelt down in front of her, gently placing a hand on her knee before walking her slowly through some calming exercises he’d been taught by his therapist.

Once she’d calmed enough to stop repeating and was breathing properly, Virgil reached into his guitar cover, “You know, if you need to replace it, I have spares.” Virgil held up the small ring of guitar strings that he’d fished out from the front pocket.

Ayana looked at him as though he were an angel sent down to save her in this exact moment. She let him take the guitar from her grip and he got to work replacing the broken string. She watched over his shoulder as he went about restringing the instrument, “Are you sure it’s okay? I don’t want to take your things…”

Virgil breathed out a laugh, “It’s fine, honestly. I offered and you were completely out of it and upset. There’s no way I’m letting you leave being so freaked out.” Behind him, he could just about make out Ayana’s soft ‘thank you’. It took very little time before the instrument was back in Ayana’s hands, “There, as if nothing ever happened.”

The boy moved to sit back up in the stool, his eyes catching on his beaten-up notebook. He glanced between Ayana and his book, thinking hard. Did he want to involve her? He knew she wouldn’t tell on him or spread it around and he could use a second opinion… especially considering…

“Hey, Ayana?”

The girl lifted her head. She was in the middle of retuning the guitar and Virgil felt a little guilty interrupting her.

“Can… you help me?”

The shy girl looked at him in surprise. “Me? Are you sure?” At Virgil’s nod, she put the guitar down, resting it up against the other side of the piano, “I, I can try… What is it?”

Virgil moved his stool closer to Ayana’s and flicked open his notebook to that page he had open when she’d walked in, “First, you have to promise to not tell anyone about this, okay?”

Ayana nodded and held out her hand, pinkie finger extended. Virgil couldn’t help but grin at her playfulness. He linked his finger around hers and they shook on it.

“Okay, so… this song,” He held the double page open between them, “It is for someone… It’s, kinda… for Patton…”

Ayana made a soft squeal-like noise, “That makes it even more precious…”

Virgil ignored her, “And, I’m kinda just… stuck, y’know. Some of these words don’t work, and some of the notes just… feel… wrong. And I don’t know how to end it… Do you think you could help?”

“Can I…?” The younger girl asked, indicating she wanted to hold the notebook. Virgil released it to her, watching every moment she took intensely. He appreciated that she was so careful with it, as if she might cause it to dissolve by handling it too much. He watched as she pulled her hair away from her face to read the book she’d placed across her lap. There was a fairly long nervous silence as Virgil waited for her to speak again.

“Can I hear it again? Is that okay, Virgil?” Ayana asked suddenly. She followed it up almost immediately with, “It’s completely fine if you don’t want to. I just think, it would be easier to hear it, see how it plays, how you play it, all that. But it’s fine, really, you don’t have to. I was just wondering!”

Virgil laughed again, used to her sudden nervous outbursts. He picked up his guitar and positioned himself comfortably, “It’s cool, I don’t mind playing. I did ask you to help.”

He took a steading breath to calm the nerves that were buzzing around inside him. This would be the first time anyone but himself had heard this song, he never practised it out loud when his parents were home for fear of them asking questions or talking about it to Patton. But this was his chance, and he knew he shouldn’t waste it.

So, he began to play. He played the song just as he’d written it, all the bits he wasn’t a huge fan of and all the bits he loved. He felt himself getting lost into the music once again, but this time he wasn’t alone. Virgil knew Ayana was there with him. Part way through, he glanced up and saw her sat in front of him with her eyes closed, moving in time with his playing. Virgil found it endearing and continued.

The song ended abruptly. Virgil lay his hand down on the strings, quieting them. He raised his other hand to scratch at the back of his neck, “So, yeah… you can see that it’s, kinda unfinished…”

Ayana’s eyes now shone as she looked at him, “He’ll love whatever you do for him, you know that, don’t you?”

Virgil blushed and ducked his head, fiddling with the strings a little, “I mean, I guess… but I want to, make it perfect. It has to be perfect.”

Ayana simply smiled and began to try her hardest at helping Virgil with his song. It wasn’t the perfect way to go about this, considering both of them were anxious messes who didn’t want the other to think they hated their ideas and were struck with paranoia with every attempt at constructive criticism, but they found a rhythm eventually. They worked on fixing what Virgil felt was wrong, starting with the lyrics. Ayana seemed to have a natural talent for working with lyrics and words, which surprised Virgil, but he greatly appreciated it in this moment.

Both students seemed to forget they were meant to be having a formal music lesson at this time and were entirely lost in their creative process. The teacher watched and listened through a crack in the door, a pleased smile on their face. Something about this was wonderful to them, their two best students working on their own project together, without the need of their help. The door was shut quietly, and the teacher returned to their office a little way down the hall, letting the pair continue their work.

It was only once their session time was over that the teacher returned to the room. They still found the two working on their song, but this time they needed to interrupt. As they stepped into the room, the door was left to click shut on its own. The sound caused both students to jump and turn to stare at their teacher.

“I’m sorry you two, but it’s time to head home. Sorry I didn’t come today, I was swamped with just so much work.” The teacher lied, trying to quell the worry they saw on the two students’ faces. “But I see that you two found something to work on today, which I am very proud of. I hope you’ll be willing to show me?”

Both of the kids shared a nervous look. Virgil looked away first and nodded, settling back into the most comfortable position for him to play. The teacher rested against the wall next to the door and watched their student.

The song lasted for a couple of minutes, but Virgil was feeling his nerves throughout the entire thing. This was entirely different from playing it to Ayana; she was a friend that he knew really well, someone he trusted a lot. His music teacher was different. Yes, he’d known them for longer and yes, Virgil definitely trusted the adult, but he still wasn’t completely free emotionally to the teacher.

But he played his song, he played it as best he could through the nerves. He found them fading as he worked through it, finding his confidence with each passing strum and word. By the end of the song, Virgil had almost forgotten he was playing to his teacher. Almost.

There was a beat of silence once he’d finished where he looked up to the teacher through his hair, awaiting critique. Instead, Virgil got a smile and a light applause.

“That was beautiful, Virgil. Did you two make that up right now?”

Virgil shook his head, “N-no… I’ve been, sorta… working on it, for a while, and stuff. I just, uh… I asked Ayana to help, because I was stuck…”

“Well, you two did a wonderful job. I’m sure whoever you’re going to play this for is going to be pleasantly surprised.”

Virgil’s head snapped up and his eyes widened in fear. His face burned brightly again, “W-what! Who said it was for anyone?!”

His teacher laughed, “Virgil. Teachers pay attention. I’ve seen you and your friends around, I’ve seen you with Mr Ashworth. I promise, I have not told a soul and I promise to never tell a soul about this.”

Virgil was speechless. People knew?! Teachers knew?! What the hell! He turned to Ayana, looking at her wildly as if he expected her to debunk that people were able to see his crush but she just avoided his gaze. “Ayana…?” His voice was quiet and dangerous.

“I’m sorry!” She squeaked, ginger hair coming to fall around her yet again.

Virgil groaned, his head falling into his hands. “Everyone knows… don’t they?”

Ayana made a noise that confirmed his theory and Virgil just about died then and there. There was a hand on his shoulder that had Virgil raising his head once more, just to be greeted by his teacher’s face. Virgil pouted, waiting for another bought of ridicule.

“Virgil, you have nothing to worry about.” His teacher said, hand falling back down to rest on the ground where they’d squatted to reach his eye level, “I shouldn’t really say anything about this because it’s none of my business, but-” Virgil had to bite his tongue as he wanted to fire a sarcastic retort right back at his teacher, who simply continued, “I can assure you that Mr Ashworth is showing just as much interest in you.”

This was the first time someone had outright told him that Patton seemed to share the same feelings, and suddenly Virgil felt different. He still wasn’t entirely convinced, but he was sure that was the pessimist in him, he was oddly feeling more confident in his own personal observations.

“Well, it’s really time to head home now, you two. Don’t want you getting locked in here with us.” Their teacher stood, straining as they put effort into getting up off the ground.

The two students gathered their things, thanked their teacher and walked out of the school. Virgil was silently thinking over everything that had happened recently, while Ayana kept glancing at him. Virgil kept noticing her out of the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t want to pressure her into talking.

“Virgil…? Are you okay?”

Ayana’s soft voice surprised him, even though he was waiting for her to speak, “Huh? What? Oh, oh yeah, I’m… fine. Totally fine.”

Ayana slowed down, causing Virgil to stop a little way down the path that lead out to the car park at the front of the school, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about everyone else… I didn’t want to scare you…”

Virgil opened his mouth to reassure his friend, but she stopped him quickly, “Please don’t interrupt! I don’t think I’ll be able to say this again if you do…” Virgil nodded and stayed silent.

“I could see it from the first time you brought Patton over. You seemed so much happier, so much more relaxed… and it was clear it was Patton. And he seemed extremely happy to be with you too. You’re both sweet with each other, both understand each other so well and, the teacher’s right, you two both obviously like each other. That was why I asked about the song when I heard it… I knew before you even told me…” Ayana’s eyes were trained on the ground as she rattled off her speech. She looked visibly upset, “I’m really sorry, Virgil…”

Virgil understood her up until her final apology, “What are you sorry for?”

Ayana shrugged, “For not telling you sooner…” Her eyes flicked up to him as he snorted at her confession.

“Ayana…” Virgil’s arm came to rest around her, giving her a gentle one-armed hug, “You don’t need to be sorry about that. You didn’t wanna stress me out or anything, I understand that. You’re good, we’re good. If I was upset, do you think I’d do this?” He ruffled her hair wildly, causing her to squeak and wriggle away from him with a laugh.

She couldn’t help but smile at him, “No… I guess not…”

“Exactly. Now, get out of here. Your parents will start coming for you again.”

Ayana suddenly tensed again before she began running towards the gate. She turned and waved at Virgil as she left, which Virgil returned. He knew she wanted to stop her eccentric parents from embarrassing her yet again, but he still couldn’t help but laugh. He headed home, his heart feeling a little lighter and his head swimming with information.

Everything was almost ready. He just had to figure out when to do it.

Last Chapter —– Next Chapter

My other stuff: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/myworks Mobile Accessible Masterlist: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/post/181954641376/fic-masterlist

Abigal and Ayana belong to me. Reggie belongs to @not-so-innocent-bi-sander Daniel belongs to @doces-e--tuga Ana, Em and Asher belongs to @fangsandrainbows Sophia belongs to @notalwaysthevillian

General Tag List: @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @didsomeonesayprince @llamaly @justanotherpurplebutterfly @iaminmultiplefandoms @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @lowkeyvirgilobsessed @louisthewarlock @fangsandrainbows @xxladystarlightxx @sleepyssnail @ao-koshka

OtVoaH Tag List: @daughterofsomnus @chaoticcharm-stone-posts@notalwaysthevillian @iamsilentwolf @ab-artist @6tick6tock6 @lesliealiceinwonderland @kiwisandsprinkles @luckybanana948 @planetsandanxieties @nienna14 @theunoriginaldaisy @absolutesandersidestrash @fiive-second-cookies @i-read-by-lamp @analogical-mess @icing-on-my-lasagna @quietwords-loudthoughts @reinefandoms @hanramz-the-fander @sevencrashing @blenderkit17

#Sanders Sides #Fanfiction #Moxiety #Virgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #Anxiety Sanders #Morality Sanders #OCs #Lots of OCs #On the Verge of a Heartbreak #School AU #Human AU #just rambling #my writings

55 notes · View notes

preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

Text

Race, Brand and the Placebo Effect

by Dan H

Tuesday, 31 March 2009

Dan rambles on the vague theme of Racefail~

This is an article about race, but it's going to start off being an article about shampoo.

I have, on occasion, had trouble with dandruff, and as a result have needed to purchase shampoo to deal with this affliction. In my second year of university, I ran out of shampoo, so I went to the local Co-Op and picked up a bottle of Head and Shoulders.

It wasn't until I was on my way back home with my purchase that I realised that the only reason I had chosen that particular brand was that I had been seeing advertisements for Head and Shoulders for as long as I can remember, so that in my mind “anti-dandruff shampoo” was linked with the Head and Shoulders brand on a fundamental and inextricable level.

This was something of an epiphany for me, because it finally made me realise that advertising does not work the way I thought it did. I had assumed, and I think most people assume on some level, that advertisements worked my making you see the advertisement and immediately want the thing advertised. Some adverts do (particularly ads for food or drink if I see them when I'm hungry or thirsty) but that's usually secondary to their main function, which is to get into your head on a subconscious level and make you associate a particular need (anti-dandruff shampoo, a cool refreshing drink, a boost to your fragile self-esteem) with a particular product in a positive way, so that your choices and actions are influenced without your even knowing it.

And it works. If I am generically thirsty and not making a conscious effort to drink more fruit juice, or actively wanting a particular type of drink, I'll buy a coke.

What's even more interesting about this phenomenon is that it works even if you are aware of it. I know that a big part of the reason I drink coke, eat fast food, and shop in Sainsburys is that I've been influenced by advertising, but I carry on doing them anyway because most of the time people don't make informed decisions about things, we just go with our first instincts and our irrational impulses, even if we know they're wrong.

The same concept shows up in all kinds of places. It shows up in the pharmaceuticals industry, people find shiny red pills in bold, brand-name packaging to be more effective than nondescript white pills in generic grey packaging. We respond instinctively to visual cues, and we don't know we're doing it.

I bring all this up, because one of the many semi-irreconcilable controversies that came up during the whole Racefail debate is the dichotomy of race-as-physical-appearance versus race-as-cultural-identity. Heck, the whole thing basically started as a direct result of Elizabeth Bear saying you should write non-white people the same way you wrote white people, and some other people respectfully disagreeing.

Essentially there's two problems. The first is that most characters – particularly most protagonists – in genre fiction tend to be white (and tend to be men). The second problem is that most invented cultures in genre fiction tend to be based on either medieval Europe, modern America or horrendous stereotypes of non-European cultures.

The argument can be made that the latter problem simply can't be addressed by white American or European authors. Hell, it could be argued that it can't be addressed by non-white American or European authors. Nobody can ever really shake off the preconceptions of the culture they were raised in, and you can never really understand a culture that isn't your own. You can know stuff about it, but no matter how much anime you watch you can never know what it's like to be Japanese.

The first problem, however, can be addressed by white, American or European writers, and should be. Again the argument could be made that, particularly if you're working in a created world, race is kind of an arbitrary choice and so is ultimately meaningless. This argument is half-right. In a created world, race is purely cosmetic, but it's cosmetic in the same way that the colour of a headache pill is cosmetic. It's the sort of cosmetic that gets in your head and changes the way you think.

It all comes down to the nature of racism (or, for that matter, of prejudice in general). Prejudice is a lot like advertising: people think that it's all about big, obvious things. You see an ad for coke, so you go out and buy a glass of coke, a black man applies for a job, but he doesn't get it because the guy who interviews him is a big fat racist who hates black people.

I'm going to go off on another tangent here and talk about

Captain Planet

was a well meaning kids cartoon that took an endearingly multiracial gang of kids and had them fight villains who represented various ecological issues through the power of Earth, Fire, Wind, Water and Heart, which together allowed them to summon Captain Planet, who would lay the smackdown on evil villains who wanted to wreck the environment for no clear reason.

My mother really didn't like it.

She didn't like it because she thought it was dangerous to present the idea that problems for which we are all responsible (like pollution) are caused by single “villains”. I kind of think she was right.

I get that you can use a villain to personify something that is “part of all of us” (man) but I think it's actually hard to pull off in practice. Most of the time, personifying a social problem as an unambiguously horrible villain just sends the message that there are “bad people” out there who are polluters, racists, or whatever. This is why Whedon's cardboard misogynists piss me off, this is why the pseudo-Nazism of the Death Eaters was so annoying to me. Pollution doesn't happen because some guy in a cape decided to tip toxic waste into the sea for fun, it happens because guys like me can't be arsed to turn out heating down in the early summer.

The same kind of goes for racism. We all like to think that racism exists because of other people, that somehow there's some kind of rogue group of twenty or thirty hardcore racists out there who are between them responsible for all race issues everywhere, from the lack of Chinese characters in Firefly to the lack of decent Kosher butchers in Oxford. In fact racism exists because racist attitudes are pernicious, self-perpetuating, and all-pervasive.

There's a lot wrong with the Avenue Q song Everyone's A Little Bit Racist (it frequently sounds like it's using that statement to excuse racism rather than examine it - “ethnic jokes are so uncouth, but we laugh because they're based on truth” umm, no they're not, guys). It is, however, an important statement of fact. The reason that a white person is more likely to be hired for any given job than a nonwhite person is not because the person giving them the job is a cartoon racist, sitting there saying “no, I will not hire a filthy mudblood” it's because the person giving them the job is affected by racism on a level so fundamental they don't realise they're doing it. Just like you pass over the store-brand coke for the one in the red-and-white can you have been taught your whole life to associate with a cool refreshing beverage, so you pass over the guy (or woman) who doesn't look how you have been taught your whole life to expect a lawyer/teacher/investment banker/data entry clerk to look.

The really scary thing is that I catch myself doing it. I do, in fact, pay less attention to the opinions of my non-white and female friends. Even though I know that most of them went to Oxford and many of them have degrees in subjects that are actually directly relevant to the the topic of conversation. It's weird as fuck when you catch yourself doing it, just like when you catch yourself unconsciously reaching for a can of coke instead of a bottle of lemonade, or buy Head and Shoulders instead of a cheaper or more effective shampoo.

It all comes back to branding.

Now okay, you can make the argument here that I'm just passing the buck, and to a degree I am. Ultimately my attitudes, my purchasing habits and my behaviour are my responsibility, but they are influenced by the surroundings I grew up with. There isn't a causal link, I don't listen to my female friends talking and think “gosh, I remember this one TV show I saw had a woman on it who didn't know what she was talking about, therefore I won't listen to this person” nor do I think “well Willow knew what she was talking about, so this person must too”. I just have instinctive responses to things which are coloured by the society in which I was raised.

To put it another way, just imagine for a moment that Harry Potter had been a black kid. Of course first you need to get over the fact that it would then be a book about a black kid who gets rescued from his abusive black family by a kindly white guy, but if we assume that Harry was black and the Potter books weren't written in such a way that “Muggle” was effectively a racial slur. You would then have a situation in which the single most recognised fictional character in the world was a black kid (not only a black kid, but a black British kid). It would be huge, just like it was huge the first time they let an actual black guy play Othello. It wouldn't matter in the slightest that Harry Potter didn't listen to hip-hop or talk about Malcom X or use “urban” slang or do whatever else it is that white people seem to think black people have to do in fiction to properly represent “black culture”. The simple fact of the most popular fictional character in the world having black skin would have been huge. It would have changed the way a generation of children thought about race, and it would have changed it for the better. It wouldn't have been a miracle, it wouldn't have abolished racism overnight, but it would have done more good than any three government initiatives you might care to name.

Of course, if Harry Potter had been black, the book might not have sold at all, but that's a whole different problem.

Themes:

Topical

Minority Warrior

bookmark this with - facebook - delicious - digg - stumbleupon - reddit

~Comments (

go to latest

)

http://mary-j-59.livejournal.com/

at 23:19 on 2009-03-31This is really interesting, Dan! The comparison between unconscious racism and branding makes a scary amount of sense. (And you are right about the "Potter" books, as well.)

But the fact that SF/fantasy often seems more racist than other types of lit is another problem entirely, isn't it? A friend and I were discussing this when racefail happened - the link is here, if you're interested.

http://mary-j-59.livejournal.com/40140.html

permalink

go to top

http://viorica8957.livejournal.com/

at 00:31 on 2009-04-01(I keep getting an error message when I try to log in, so I'm using OpenID)

It's a pervasive problem, and one that is worsened by the fact that so many people refuse to acknowledge it. I was arguing with my mother about racism recently, and the argument she kept falling back on was "But don't you see how much has changed since the sixties? There's a black president! There's no segregation! Things are so much better!" It's a defense people use to ignore their own buried racism- "

I'm

not a Nazi/KKK member/skinhead, so clearly

can't be racist."

permalink

go to top

Sonia Mitchell

at 03:20 on 2009-04-01

Even though I know that most of them went to Oxford and many of them have degrees in subjects that are actually directly relevant to the the topic of conversation.

I'd love to bristle more at that than I am, but much as I hate myself for it that's a bit of branding I end up buying into. Whenever my mum says I'm studying in Oxford I have to add 'Brookes, not proper Oxford' just to make it clear I'm not attempting to ride on coat-tails.

Anyway, interesting article. Whenever I'm staying for any length of time with advert game co-players (guess the advert on tv before the product is named) I find myself much more aware of how many don't mention the product until right at the end. Building up the atmosphere/message first and then linking it to the product, cementing it in people's minds on a less conscious level after a few repeated viewings, seems to be the way a lot of things are done.

Which, as you say, is exactly what makes these attitudes harder to spot - they don't come ready labelled.

Mary-j-59 - that was an interesting read, thanks.

permalink

go to top

Guy

at 05:30 on 2009-04-01I think a really interesting example in relation to this question is the original series of Star Trek. For anyone who isn't a total nerd and therefore doesn't know this already, part of Gene Roddenberry's idea for Star Trek was that in the far future, all of our silly, parochial attitudes about race and gender and nationality and so on will have been resolved and looked on much like we look on witch-burnings or the crusades or whatever; we will have gotten over it and it'll just be a bit of ugly but quaint ancient history. And on this basis, he wanted to have a multi-ethnic crew, with men and women in equal positions, and, most importantly, for them *not to make a big deal out of it*, with "episode of the week on gender equality" stuff happening.

Of course, for any of us who watch an episode of Star Trek now, this is a pretty laughable conception of what's going on, because the most important person on the ship is Captain Kirk, a white American male, who is pretty much defined by his adherence to an ideal of American masculinity which is very much "of its time". Meanwhile, he's surrounded by a crew of other white men who are primarily distinguished by their funny accents... and Uhura, who essentially is a telephone operator wearing a very, very short skirt. So from the point of view of making a judgement about whether or not this represents a successful embodiment of Roddenberry's vision, we would stamp "FAIL" all over it in big red letters.

However, I remember seeing a documentary a while ago (possibly "Trekkies"? Anyway...) which mentioned that Uhura was the first black woman on television (either in a regular part or at all, I can't remember) and various well-known contemporary black women talking about how exciting and how important it was for them to see a black woman with a speaking part on TV. By contemporary standards the part seems incredibly sexist and virtually definitive of the whole "token black character" phenomenon, but compared with the standards of the other things on TV at the time, it was very progressive.

So I guess what I'm saying is, people making well-intentioned efforts to move the discourse forward are actually good and important, even if they fail in all kinds of ways to live up to the ideal of what they intend to attain or represent.

In terms of fantasy fiction, I think the clear beacon showing how the representation of people of other "races" (I have to put the scare quotes because I'm one of those who believes the term "race" is not a good descriptor of anything) can and should be done is Ursula le Guin's Earthsea series. Ged is not just a "white character with dark skin", but nor is the culture he comes from depicted as some horrible stereotype of an existing earth culture. It may be the case that in 50 years time people will look back on Earthsea and find it just as gauche as we find Star Trek now, but for the moment I would say it is the gold standard. It's also rather unfortunate that there doesn't seem to be much else around that is even trying to achieve that standard, but... "90% of everything is crap", as they say, and with genre fiction that is probably, sadly, an understatement.

Lastly (I hope that I don't break ferretbrain with such a long comment!) on the "everyone's a bit racist" question, I think there is a grain of truth in that statement but taken at face value I would disagree with it. I think... in my own case, I grew up in a suburb of Sydney where I never saw a black person at all, on a day-to-day basis. In fact, the only black person I knew was my grandfather (who is/was an Australian Aboriginal - but the genes are "dilute" enough in my case that I look absolutely white) who I did not see often. And so as a consequence I think I had all kinds of unconscious ideas about "other races" that I didn't really think about... I guess I didn't have any real sources of information beyond books and TV and lectures at my very left-wing school that took the form of "Don't be racist! For real!" (which were well-intentioned but I think were in their form a bit stupid, rather in the way that Captain Planet is a bit stupid).

Anyway, when the family moved to England we moved to a suburb (and I went to a school) where there were a lot more non-white people around, and I discovered that... a lot of my ideas had been really dumb, as well as being rather unformed. And in some sense, if you were to spell out those ideas in words, you would probably conclude that they were indeed racist ideas and that therefore I was "racist", despite all my intentions to the contrary.

But... I also think that it was that exposure to the actual people that broke down and changed those dumb ideas. And it remains my conviction that all the well-intentioned talk (or even, clever and subtle argumentation and explanation) in the world is no substitute for encounters with real people for breaking down prejudices based on ignorance. I suppose, to go back to your Shampoo analogy, it's kind of like this: the world may be full of explicit, overt messages telling you to buy a certain shampoo, and those overt messages may be supported by hidden and hard-to-unearth ideologies (bright packaging indicates a superior product to those in bland packaging!) but once you actually put the shampoo in your hair, it either works or it doesn't. (There may of course be an effect whereby those social messages cause you to undermine or misunderstand your own experiences, but this post is already waaaay too long...)

permalink

go to top

Gina Dhawa

at 07:46 on 2009-04-01@Guy regarding Star Trek - I entirely agree. There is a lot of fail with regard to the depictions of race in TOS, but as a product of its time, I give it a lot of credit. And about the gender imbalance, it's very interesting that he was specifically told to drop the female second in command from the pilot episode if he was ever to get the series on air.

@Dan I've never been entirely convinced by the argument that a white author can't write non-white cultures, particularly in SF/Fantasy. OK with writing aliens and vampires and wizards, but can't write a black man? Right. I think the key thing people forget is just to have a

awareness

goes a long way. Doesn't go the whole way to fixing the problem, but it's a good start.

In the case of culture, it isn't a case of understanding truly everything about a culture that isn't your own, it's about respecting that culture and not treating like the exotic other. I'm not saying it's an easy thing to do, but hell, if I wasn't to write about a culture other than mine then I have no idea

what

I'd ever write.

Even though I know that most of them went to Oxford and many of them have degrees in subjects that are actually directly relevant to the the topic of conversation.

I will bristle at that, thanks.

permalink

go to top

Arthur B

at 08:27 on 2009-04-01

But the fact that SF/fantasy often seems more racist than other types of lit is another problem entirely, isn't it?

I suspect a lot of this boils down to people using particular ideas or tropes developed by the grand old racist authors of the past without really thinking about where the tropes from and why they are doing it; all they know is "this is the sort of thing that happens in the SF/fantasy stories I like, so they're going to happpen in the stories I write."

For example, it's perfectly possible to enjoy Robert E. Howard's Conan stories in a non-racist way: you simply have to skip the ones which are just blatantly horrible, and treat the others as an inversion of colonialism, in which the simple beliefs of a "primitive" outsider prove to be more powerful and enduring than the hypocrisies of so-called "civilised" people.

There is nothing in this scenario which

requires

that the outsider be a white man from an analogue of Northern Europe, or the corrupt civilisations he encounters have to be Mediterranean/Middle Eastern city-states. But hundreds of Howard imitators, and even more folk who have been unconsciously influenced by his stories, make that assumption every time they use the idea. And that's racist.

permalink

go to top

Andy G

at 10:18 on 2009-04-01"For example, it's perfectly possible to enjoy Robert E. Howard's Conan stories in a non-racist way"

I wondered about this recently when I was reading H.P. Lovecraft - whether we really can "read in a non-racist way" - as Dan says, it's not a matter of racist individuals, but of pervasive racist attitudes in society as a whole. Can we actually manage to remain a detached attitude where we're conscious of how terrible the "racist bits" are while still enjoying the "good bits" on their own grounds? Or are we just deluding ourselves that we're not just indulging a little bit in some unpleasant ideas?

I think you're spot on though about modern authors not reflecting on the dubious assumptions they take from older authors. I especially felt that about Olaf Stapledon.

permalink

go to top

Andy G

at 10:37 on 2009-04-01Oh and there's also a great example

[here]

of the Captain Planet approach to complex world issues.

permalink

go to top

Shim

at 10:58 on 2009-04-01

I suppose there's a bit of difference there, because if I wrote about aliens (or heck, even from an "alien perspective") there's little to no chance of aliens lambasting me in the Sunday papers about my ignorance and stereotyping. Also, because they're not real, there's no objective reality that my writing would fail to reflect. A lot of stories basically take White Middle-Class Anglo-Saxons and jiggle them a bit to make them vampires or wizards (sometimes, especially for wizards, these people are 'Celts' in an unspecified way that is hard to distinguish from WMCAS).

On the other hand, if I try to write about or from WMCAS female experiences, the fact that women actually exist means my writing can be objectively inaccurate. Same for, say, writing about Indian culture. So I think the fact that there is a whole deep, complex culture there that the writer doesn't understand is a real problem; while more understanding can mean they write more convincing stories, you can end up with the situation where people understand things just enough to make massive generalisations, or inaccurate depictions that convince the foreign readers but not the natives.

permalink

go to top

Rami

at 11:24 on 2009-04-01

OK with writing aliens and vampires and wizards, but can't write a black man? Right.

Indeed, I've always found that particularly grating. Mostly that no one seems to even make the effort. And situations like RaceFail can make it worse for white authors who mean well and would like to make the effort but are scared off because the Wrath of the Public might descend on them.

My favorite line from "Everyone's A Little Bit Racist" is

♫ If we all could just admit / that we are racist, a little bit ♫

because I think it strikes toward the heart of a sensitive issue in pointing out that pretty much no one is free from racist ideas -- and if we admit that to ourselves and make a conscious effort, things could be a lot better. Lots of people mistakenly

equate racism with blatantly racist speech or actions

(warnings: PDF, racefail), after all.

For example, it's perfectly possible to enjoy Robert E. Howard's Conan stories in a non-racist way

I was thinking vaguely along these lines recently as well, when I picked up

Triplanetary

, and had to put it down after only a few pages because it was so full of the unconscious attitudes of the 30s and 40s. It may be a classic of science-fiction and have inspired half of the current generation of SF writers and editors, but the racism and sexism were a bit too much for me. It distresses me that, as Arthur points out, lots of modern writers have doubtless picked up a few of the tropes because they "really liked it in the Lensman series" and completely obliviously dropped them, scheming dark-skinned villains and helpless blonde damsels included, into their own work.

think the key thing people forget is just to have a awareness goes a long way. Doesn't go the whole way to fixing the problem, but it's a good start.

Absolutely!

permalink

go to top

Rami

at 11:28 on 2009-04-01

massive generalisations, or inaccurate depictions that convince the foreign readers but not the natives

IIRC, that kind of thing was at the root of the whole RaceFail imbroglio -- when people did exactly that, but refused to admit it.

permalink

go to top

Arthur B

at 11:34 on 2009-04-01

Can we actually manage to remain a detached attitude where we're conscious of how terrible the "racist bits" are while still enjoying the "good bits" on their own grounds?

We'd better learn to, otherwise that's everything from before 1950 down the memory hole...

Or are we just deluding ourselves that we're not just indulging a little bit in some unpleasant ideas?

Firstly, reading isn't condoning. You can read, and even enjoy, something written by someone you disagree with and still disagree with them afterwards; I really like Gene Wolfe but I'm not going to convert to Catholicism just because there was a nice mass scene in

The Book of the Short Sun

Secondly, if the stories have any merit at all there's going to be something more to them than just bigotry. Yes, Lovecraft used the fear of the outsider a hell of a lot. But the fun thing about that particular fear is that it's always going to be with us, and HPL had a clever knack of turning the fear of the outsider into the fear of the outside itself. When Lovecraft was writing about how threatening he found immigrants (

The Horror At Red Hook

) he was being horrid; when he was writing about how the entire universe beyond this placid island we call Earth is a cold uncaring void that is completely hostile to any life that even resembles us (

The Colour Out of Space

) he was being visionary. It's not always easy to divorce the cultural xenophobia from the cosmic vertigo - they're written by the same man, they have the same experiences and agendas shaping them - but I'd submit that it is possible.

Thirdly, there's plenty of Lovecraft and Howard where racism just isn't a factor, or is only a factor if you try hard to look for it.

The Tower of the Elephant

and

At the Mountains of Madness

spring to mind.

I honestly don't think that reading Lovecraft or Howard is necessarily going to feed anyone's inner racist unless they actually

want

to be influenced that way ("Oh man, I totally agree with that but I could never say it in public..."). It helps that they lived in a time when many people simply didn't know better; it doesn't excuse them, but it does mean that both the attitude of the society they came from and their own personal quirks are well-known and out there for all to see. As Dan points out, it's not the individuals who you can identify as being racist bastards who are the problem a lot of the time (although they're usually the ugliest symptom), it's the people where you don't necessarily see the subtext, perhaps because they themselves aren't aware of it.

permalink

go to top

Rami

at 12:00 on 2009-04-01

You can read, and even enjoy, something written by someone you disagree with and still disagree with them afterwards; I really like Gene Wolfe but I'm not going to convert to Catholicism just because there was a nice mass scene

Depends how much you disagree with them, I guess, and how evident that is in the text. I agree you can't dismiss an author entirely because of their attitudes, since as you say there's got to be something other than bigotry -- but if the bigotry is omnipresent it does get pretty difficult. Lovecraft is a good example: I'm sure there were interesting ideas somewhere in The Horror at Red Hook, but because every other paragraph was about the demon-worshipping foreigners I found it impossible to get through and kept wishing I could punch ol' HP in the face. On the other hand, he's only peripherally bigoted (xenophobic, but in a more understandable way) in The Whisperer in Darkness, and that's much easier to appreciate for what it is...

permalink

go to top

Dan H

at 13:18 on 2009-04-01

Crap, sorry about that. It's probably deeply ironic that in an article entirely about the subconscious effects of prejudice on our everyday thoughts and actions, I managed to forget that using "went to Oxford" as a synonym for "knows what they're talking about" is, itself, kinda offensive.

Sorry folks.

To clarify, all I meant was that it was absurd that I find myself ignoring my friends' university educations or other relevant qualifications in place of easy stereotypes about race and gender.

permalink

go to top

Dan H

at 13:39 on 2009-04-01

Lovecraft is a good example: I'm sure there were interesting ideas somewhere in The Horror at Red Hook, but because every other paragraph was about the demon-worshipping foreigners I found it impossible to get through and kept wishing I could punch ol' HP in the face.

I suspect this is one of those examples of White Privilege in action. It's easy for me and Arthur to read Lovecraft (well, easy for Arthur to read Lovecraft, I don't actually like his writing) and say "gosh, this is very racist but I still appreciate it as an artifact from its time." We're in a position where we can condemn racism without it actually harming us. There's a world of difference between reading an old work of genre fiction and saying "hey, those monsters are supposed to be black people" and reading a work of genre fiction and saying "hey, those monsters are supposed to be *me and my family*."

My favorite line from "Everyone's A Little Bit Racist" is ♫ If we all could just admit / that we are racist, a little bit ♫ because I think it strikes toward the heart of a sensitive issue in pointing out that pretty much no one is free from racist ideas

Yeah, I can see that. It's just that a lot of the way the song presents itself is in the language of racist apologism. Remember that the very *next* line is "and we could all stop being so PC!". The more I've thought about the actual sketch, the more I've been bothered by the way it's presented - remember it basically starts with a minority character (Kate Monster) calling out a non-minority character for being racist, and the non-minority character using "well you're racist too!" as a defence (and in fact citing the "but minority rights groups are racist as well!" argument).

But perhaps I'm overthinking it...

permalink

go to top

Shim

at 14:16 on 2009-04-01

Lots of people mistakenly equate racism with blatantly racist speech or actions (warnings: PDF, racefail), after all.

Interesting linked article... overall I tended to agree with the arguments, but at times it gave me the feeling that they were interpreting things in the way that supported their expectations, i.e. seeing racist attitudes that

might

not be there. Given how complicated some of the topics were, and how much discussion of racial issues goes on, it's not surprising to me (for example) that people sometimes argued from several sides, or were less coherent on more personal, complicated questions. I'm also suspicious of suggestions that arguments like "I'm not a black person, so I don't really know" should be lumped in as ways to conceal racist attitudes, and the idea that it might be a valid point in some circumstances wasn't considered. Ditto, say, ambivalence over 'affirmative action', which people still can't decide whether it's beneficial overall and exactly what form it should take. Oh, and I'd have liked some counter-examples of answers that were

not

seen as hiding racist attitudes.

Also, it could really do with proofreading. But enough digression, back to Dan's article!

permalink

go to top

Arthur B

at 14:48 on 2009-04-01

For what it's worth, I don't actually enjoy

The Horror At Red Hook

; I was raising it (not very clearly) as an example of a story that I'd usually just skip because the motivations behind it are entirely too obvious and entirely too ugly.

At the Mountains of Madness

is nice in that the monsters don't resemble

any

identifiable people - not physically, and not culturally - so that's at the other end of the spectrum.

I do think that a certain amount of white privilege is inevitable, but I don't necessarily think it's a problem so long as you're aware that it might be happening and that other people might not see your favourite author in the same way. (It helps to have a diverse group of friends and colleagues as well; "hey, that's meant to be my friend's family" is almost as shocking as "hey, that's meant to be my family".) The most important thing is to read with your eyes open, and to read diversely; I think an exclusive diet of Lovecraft, Howard, and the various descendants and imitators is vastly more unhealthy and likely to blind you to problematic elements in their stories than a more balanced reading range.

A tangent: it dismays me sometimes to see the amount of uncritical fanboyism that surrounds

The Shadow Over Innsmouth

, which granted is a decently-written story but it again has massively problematic undertones; any interpretation of it which doesn't at least acknowledge that part of the point Lovecraft was making was KILL THE HALF-BREEDS is wilfully blinding itself to a really major component of the story, and there's a distressing number of authors who keep reusing the Deep Ones without even considering that angle.

Granted, the angle that people imitate most frequently is the "Oh no, it turns out I am a Deep One too" revelation at the end of the story, but - like Lovecraft himself - nobody ever makes the leap to "wait, surely that means the Deep Ones can't be all bad".

Even people who admit that Lovecraft was a racist

do this. And nobody calls people on it or says "hey, you're just repeating Lovecraft's slurs against miscegenation", presumably because everyone's kidding themselves that the fish people are fish people and can't possibly be a metaphor for something else.

permalink

go to top

Arthur B

at 15:06 on 2009-04-01

To put it another way, just imagine for a moment that Harry Potter had been a black kid.

He was, Rowling just didn't mention it in the books.

permalink

go to top

Andy G

at 15:57 on 2009-04-01@ Arthur: I did enjoy Lovecraft for the kinds of reasons you said (otherwise I wouldn't have kept reading) - and felt that I could "pick and choose", appreciating and analysing without necessarily condoning. But equally, I was aware that some of the bits I now found uncomfortable I would never even have noticed a few years ago - because I only really imagined racism to be overt KKK-style hatred, as Dan terms it (and Lovecraft does occasionally go there) - and yet even back then I would have prided myself on being able to detach myself from condoning the "racist bits" of the stories, which I now realise are far more pervasive. That's why I hesitate a bit before saying I can definitely remain a detached, objective attitude without colluding in the questionable ideas and imagery. Even if we can distance ourselves from stories by regarding them as historical artefacts, I'm not sure that we can do that completely successfully while still enjoying them as stories.

I also wonder whether it's sufficient to find the bad bits "unpleasant", "uncomfortable" or "distasteful" (from the perpsective of white privilege) but keep reading anyway - I mean, at what point does the text simply become so irredeemably bad that the only thing to do is just not to keep reading? Again, I didn't feel that with Lovecraft, but is that a defensible position?

Hmm ... basically, I do kind of agree with you, but am niggled with doubt, because I wonder whether what I'm really trying to do is give myself an excuse to enjoy books and films that I really shouldn't.

permalink

go to top

Gina Dhawa

at 16:11 on 2009-04-01

To clarify, all I meant was that it was absurd that I find myself ignoring my friends' university educations or other relevant qualifications in place of easy stereotypes about race and gender.

Sorry, Dan, if my hackles got raised. It's one of my buttons.

This. People have different levels of privilege (white, class, education, etc) and that's such a big deal with regard to how their mileage will vary at what they will personally be able to deal with in texts.

permalink

go to top

Gina Dhawa

at 16:19 on 2009-04-01That's not to say I condone racism or any other kind of bigotry in texts, just that I find it understandable that people who don't themselves necessarily hold bigoted views can find things to enjoy in texts that do.

permalink

go to top

Arthur B

at 16:33 on 2009-04-01

It varies for me. I have, in fact, stopped reading Robert E. Howard stories because they were pure out-and-out bigotry. On the other hand, I read

The Horror at Red Hook

all the way through. When I do keep reading, it's normally for one of two reasons (or a mix of them):

- The story has something more to it than racism.

Red Hook

is awful for many reasons, one of them being that there really

isn't

anything more to it than the racism.

The Shadow Over Innsmouth

is, in many respects, just as racist, but it also features other ideas which are sufficiently interesting - and have exerted a sufficient influence over the horror genre - that those ideas are both worth salvaging and engaging enough that reading the story doesn't

exclusively

evoke discomfort.

- The story is useful for understanding the author, and I'm interested enough in the author to want to understand them.

Red Hook

as a story is terrible, but as an insight into what Lovecraft was thinking during his brief and unhappy tenancy in New York it's valuable.

permalink

go to top

Dan H

at 18:11 on 2009-04-01

He was, Rowling just didn't mention it in the books.

I see what you did there.

permalink

go to top

Dan H

at 18:44 on 2009-04-01Also:

Just reading the article you linked to Rami.

It's kind of terrifying, isn't it.

permalink

go to top

Shim

at 18:45 on 2009-04-01

He was, Rowling just didn't mention it in the books.

Hmm... I reckon there were enough references to his tousled mop of hair, and looking pale, to make that problematic.

East Asian descent? Native American? Inuit? Totally possible.

(this leads me to something Dan mentioned once; racism discussions always leap on to Black/White dichotomies even though it's not the most obvious one for everyone. I'd argue in Britain that Chinese or South Asian ancestry is much more common, certainly in the north)

permalink

go to top

Arthur B

at 18:49 on 2009-04-01look he's albino with really messy hair

you are racist against albinos you are

you want to kill them and turn them into

medicine

and that's wrong

permalink

go to top

Shim

at 21:56 on 2009-04-01What a wasteful idea! Everyone knows that albinos are best used as ruthless assassins.

permalink

go to top

Dan H

at 22:15 on 2009-04-01

I'm also suspicious of suggestions that arguments like "I'm not a black person, so I don't really know" should be lumped in as ways to conceal racist attitudes, and the idea that it might be a valid point in some circumstances wasn't considered. Ditto, say, ambivalence over 'affirmative action', which people still can't decide whether it's beneficial overall and exactly what form it should take.

I personally found it fairly clear from most of the examples that the actual opinions of the inverviewees were, if not racist, more likely to be perceived as racist than the opinions they tried to express.

It's things like the fact that pretty much all of them disagreed with affirmative action (which I'll admit can't be taken as racist in itself - it's a specific government policy and there's probably several reasons to disagree with it) but that none of them actually felt that they could *say* they didn't agree with affirmative action.

One of the things I've noticed in my recent Rambling Thoughts About Prejudice is that there's a lot of things that people are willing to condemn utterly (or support wholeheartedly) in the general case, but not in the specific. "I have nothing against interracial marriage, but I'm a little bit worried about the children" or "I support affirmative action, but obviously you can't let a better qualified white guy lose out to a black guy if it's a job he actually wants."

Ironically the person that comes out best is the seventy year old woman who says straight up "I'm against interracial marriage, but if my daughter married a black guy I'd still support her."

permalink

go to top

Shim

at 22:44 on 2009-04-01

Indeed. Sorry, I'm not clear enough... it was the way the arguments were presented that I found dodgy, rather than anything in the analysis of the examples given; it seemed like they might be generalising from "this person said this, and in context of everything else they said which I have only partially printed here, they seem racist, so I think it may be tactical" to "this kind of language is a tactic to cover racism". The usual extrapolation problem arises. That's kind of why I'd like to see a comparison with non-racist people discussing the topics.

I found the paper a bit rambling (ooh, diminutive) and sometimes incoherent - for example, as basically a scientist I'm used to things with statistics and explanations of the experiment, rather than launching into an argument peppered with examples. Also I think it mixed up the names in at least one place (Andy/Mickey)?

I've had three goes at articulating why I agree with you about the old woman, and can't get one that covers all my feelings, so I'll leave it as "Yeah".

Back on the article... I remember the Captain Planet thing coming up in a PSE class about ethics, on the lines of whether there were actually specific Evil people. A surprising proportion of the class (upper sixth) were really set on this idea and did

not

respond well to questions like "so do you honestly believe that Pol Pot never did a single good thing?" or "exactly what characteristics distinguish between the Evil people and everyone else?".

permalink

go to top

Dan H

at 23:17 on 2009-04-01The paper is a bit rambling, and does make a bunch of assumptions (you can't really go from "these white people said this" to "white people say this") but I think it highlights some interesting points. I thought the example with "there is a firm which is 97% white" was a really interesting one, because a lot of the arguments people made were basically "you can only say their hiring policy is racist if you have met their HR guy and you know that he, personally is a racist".

Which brings us neatly back to Captain Planet and the depressingly common belief that there really are Bad People out there who do self-consciously Evil things Because They Are Evil.

permalink

go to top

Wardog

at 23:24 on 2009-04-01I'm not saying anything constructive here because I'm quite frankly *terrified* since it's such an incredibly complex issue. But I just wanted to mention that I found the article interesting and the comments equally so.

I was also really worried we were going to have our own small-scale racefail but I'm relieved we only had a highereductionfail instead.

permalink

go to top

Rami

at 00:04 on 2009-04-02

That's kind of why I'd like to see a comparison with non-racist people discussing the topics.

I don't remember exactly where I was linked to this paper from, but the two studies mentioned in the paper (from which the interviewees were drawn) tried to measure prevalence of racist attitudes based on survey responses, and found very few sets of responses that appeared minimally prejudiced. I think it's because of this that the paper makes the assumption that the interview responses are evincing racist attitudes, even where the responses themselves could be seen as ambiguous.

I've had three goes at articulating why I agree with you about the old woman, and can't get one that covers all my feelings, so I'll leave it as "Yeah"

I'd say it's because she was honest ;-)

the depressingly common belief that there really are Bad People out there who do self-consciously Evil things Because They Are Evil

I don't doubt there are people out there who are and do; I think that, as you say, the problem with Captain Planet et al is that they encourage the belief that the little actions of every day (not turning off the lights properly, etc) are perfectly OK, and that the Badness is distilled into the Evil People and that they are the only ones to blame.

permalink

go to top

http://roisindubh211.livejournal.com/

at 03:50 on 2009-04-02The Tarzan books are a little horrifying- I was pretty young when I read them and completely believed that racism ended in the sixties, but even then I understood that something strange was up with all the beautiful blonde women (and beautiful, blond Tarzan, of course). Why the hell would any ape (except humans) think a blonde was attractive? Later on in the series the racism gets more overt but its still ridiculous when its just "look how pretty and superior we are!"

My mom used to laugh whenever I watched Captain Planet and said I was being brainwashed.

permalink

go to top

https://me.yahoo.com/a/x4HhAM1souauxovBXQn5IheyvJm6KIO2jP8MPvM5#590f1

at 03:53 on 2009-04-02Andy G.:

I mean, at what point does the text simply become so irredeemably bad that the only thing to do is just not to keep reading? Again, I didn't feel that with Lovecraft, but is that a defensible position? Hmm ... basically, I do kind of agree with you, but am niggled with doubt, because I wonder whether what I'm really trying to do is give myself an excuse to enjoy books and films that I really shouldn't.

I enjoyed Taming of the Shrew when I saw it performed twenty years ago in college. Then I watched it again within the last two years. It sickened me. When Katherina obeyed whatshisname, I booed, but only loud enough for my wife and maybe a nearby audience member could hear.

Unless the play is promoted/listed as one of the tragedies, I won't see it again.

Perhaps the harder question is: is it making an excuse for the racism rather than for the enjoyment of the read.

The language the theater used excuse the production of TotS was that it may *appear* offensive to the modern audience and that it was the norm for the time. But that's donkeyshit. Disney's Song of the South won't be 're-released on dvd/blueray for only a limited time' even though it was the norm for the time because it *is* offensive to the modern audience today.

permalink

go to top

https://me.yahoo.com/a/x4HhAM1souauxovBXQn5IheyvJm6KIO2jP8MPvM5#590f1

at 04:14 on 2009-04-02

It all comes back to branding.

But the people that do the branding are members of the dominant culture.

Though arguably, that has been changing especially within last couple of decades. Well, at least to some degree though not quite for the better. Fucking BET.

- F.Dillinger

permalink

go to top

http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/

at 20:01 on 2009-04-02

But perhaps I'm overthinking it...

Honestly, thinking about it at all lead to overthinking, because although that song from Avenue Q gets quoted *all the time* in discussions of race, it doesn't really seem to be saying anything simple about race at all except in the title. It includes characters talking about actual racism that they experience (Gary Coleman "can't even get a taxi"), apologetics ("stop being so pc"/"ethnic jokes are based on truth") and some things that honestly sound like they know perfectly well they're defending racism: people make judgements about race not about "big things like who to buy a newspaper from, but little things like thinking Mexican busboys should learn to speak GODDAMN ENGLISH!"

In the end the song is kind of a big mess of things you've heard people say about racism, but without a clear pov. The clearest point actually is that everybody's racist and that's okay, but there's other stuff in there too...and also racism is such a hot button word it's hard to imagine using it to be completely positive. Also yes completely about the way it starts off with the idea that a minority is being "racist" to ever focus on its own group without including the majority, the "reverse racism" claim. Blech.

And regarding the rest, yes--in some of the discussions about sci fi I remember somebody mentioning the mystery genre and that shows a real difference. Where sci fi and fantasy has in many ways stuck to their traditional white guy roots, I don't think any mystery fan would say that they really expect the detective in any series to be white or male. I'm not a huge reader of mysteries, but even knowing the genre a little it seems like creating detectives from different backgrounds has become totally common. I guess since the detective is always going to have certain standard qualities (smart, analytical, observant, insightful etc.) people are eager to branch out in other ways looking for how they are different and how their differences affect how they solve crimes.

Where as fantasy seems still so stuck in the whole colonial project mentality...you've often got the race that's our pov race, who seemings white and British or American, and then you've got these other races who are all far more alike than the main race is. To us HP as an example, you couldn't really say what a Wizard was like personality-wise, but you could do that for a House Elf or a giant or a goblin or a centaur...

permalink

go to top

Arthur B

at 20:57 on 2009-04-02

I think sometimes it is colonial, and sometimes it is an attempt to be pseudohistorical. People have this odd idea that in the medieval period nobody travelled at all, and while it's true that 90% of the population never travelled much under normal circumstances a) that's still kind of true today in many places, and b) even though that was the case, you never had a situation where you had the English people who lived exclusively in a place called England whose borders were always much the same as they are today, and neighbouring them the French people who lived in a place called France with borders much like today's, and so on. People moved around: rich folk travelled and became merchants and sometimes settled in cities where the money was, poor people went on pilgrimages and were drafted into their lord's militia when time came to go to war, and enormous numbers of people ended up becoming refugees from plague, famine, and war - and that's just in medieval Europe.

This is not to say that our cultures aren't more diverse today than they were back then. But they were significantly more nuanced and heterogeneous than the sort of fake-medieval societies that sub-Tolkien fantasy hacks crank out. Writing realistically diverse societies is

achingly difficult

, and many people just don't try. (Which is wrong of them.)

permalink

go to top

Dan H

at 02:04 on 2009-04-03

The clearest point actually is that everybody's racist and that's okay,

It's the "but that's okay" that I have trouble with. Or rather, it's the way *in which* it's supposed to be okay. I'm okay with the idea that "it's okay" to have racist attitudes in the sense that everybody has them, and having racist attitudes doesn't make you a bad person, just somebody who needs to be a bit more aware of race issues. The song, though, seems to imply that racism is just plain acceptable.

This might be a bit overly-analytical, but the song basically involves a bunch of minorities complaining about racism, then being revealed to be hypocrites. There's a fine line between humour about racism, and humour that is just plain racist and I fear that EaLBR strays into the latter camp.

permalink

go to top

http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/

at 02:35 on 2009-04-03

t's the "but that's okay" that I have trouble with.

Sorry, I wasn't clear there--neither am I. I don't think that the clearest message being "everyone (including minorities) is racist and that's okay" is a particularly good thing.

permalink

go to top

http://descrime.livejournal.com/

at 17:52 on 2009-04-03re: Captain Planet clip: Oh God, that was so bad I had to stop watching at the 30 second mark. I think I watched CP as a kid. Obviously I wasn't a very bright child.

I thought the firm question was stupid, to be honest, if the only information they are given is that a firm is 97% white! Draw inferences!

I once worked for a small business that employed 5 people. It was 100% white. By the paper's logic, the owners were horrible racists. But the population size of the firm is too small to use statistics like that.

Also, what industry is this firm in? If a 20 person video game development company employes 19 males and 1 female, is it sexist? The population of video game designers is heavily skewed towards men and 20 is still a rather low number to be applying statistical inferences to.

If a hospital's nurses are 97% female, does that mean the hospital is discriminating against male nurses? To figure that out, you need the percentage of male nurses in the area to compare with.

Now, I did do an internship at a ~170 person, publicly traded company and every single position of importance was filled with a white male, and that did seem suspicious.

If a firm is 97% white, all that statistic tells us is that is could be racist, not that it is racist no matter how obvious the author of the paper finds that conclusion. Similarly, even if the company has reached that magical percentage that means diversity, it doesn't mean the company /isn't/ racist.

My aunt works for a large "diverse" company, 600 employee, and she told me about a month ago how a group of white coworkers had hung voodoo dolls from their desk lamps (as in mimicking lynching) in response to a black coworker reporting on some previous misbehavior they had done (I don't really remember the details). The company had no real policy to deal with the situation and basically tried to sweep it under the rug.

I thought the paper was interesting in that it showed some examples as to how people have developed a method of speaking around an issue that is impossible to discuss in our society.

I also thought it was interesting that people who reported having friendships with someone who was part of a minority group were much less racist towards that group. Which would suggest to me that diversity in elementary schools is probably one of the most important things we could do to help promote understanding.

I thought his methodology was a little suspicious for what he was trying to achieve--an honest discussion of racial prejudices. A stranger asking you questions to your face on a sensitive topic (which he obviously have strong feelings for) is hardly likely to promote honesty and is probably a large factor in the nervousness and stuttering the subjects showed.

permalink

go to top

Arthur B

at 18:11 on 2009-04-03

If a 20 person video game development company employes 19 males and 1 female, is it sexist? The population of video game designers is heavily skewed towards men and 20 is still a rather low number to be applying statistical inferences to.

Wait, what? I know it isn't very fair to blame individual game companies for an industry-wide bias, but wouldn't it be completely fair to criticise them if they made no effort to address that bias?

permalink

go to top

Dan H

at 19:31 on 2009-04-03

I think you're actually making a classic mistake here, which is to make the focus of a discussion about prejudice the question of whether or not specific *people* are prejudiced instead of whether prejudice is at work in a given situation.

If a games development company is 95% male, whether they have 20 employees or 200 there's something wrong. Is it partly the fault of the industry? Probably, but not entirely. Roughly one in six

World of Warcraft

players are female, the proportion of women in your hypothetical company is one third that size.

There is, actually a serious issue here. An interesting statistic is that when people are asked to judge what a "balanced" gender mix looks like, they tend to settle on a male:female ratio of about 2:1 with anything more than that being perceived as unfairly biased towards women. Even

Buffy

follows this pattern, with the core cast of the first series being two girls (Buffy, Willow) and three guys (Giles, Xander, Angel) for a 60-40 split in one of the most female dominated shows on mainstream TV.

Part of what I've been trying to get at with the article above is the idea that it's all too easy to condemn prejudice in general, while making excuses for it in every specific instance. You actually

can

take the fact that only 5% of a company's employees are women as evidence of sexism. Evidence isn't the same as proof, but if your first reaction to the suggestion that your hiring policy might be sexist is to go on the defensive, you're never going to make any progress.

permalink

go to top

Shim

at 22:54 on 2009-04-03@Dan

agreed. I do think the response depends on exactly what question is asked (and due to editfail/vagueness of the article I'm not sure) and how the interviewees interpret it; someone might say that racism was definitely at play (in the industry as a whole, in the education system...) but not necessarily conclude that the company itself is definitely racist. But as you say, it would be a pretty good place to start.

Re: gender balance; a similar rule applies to time-per-student in the classroom. Teachers of either gender judge a "balanced" lesson as one that gives far more time to boys (cf. "Language Myths", Bauer & Trudgill - let nobody say I make airy claims). Observers, students etc. also follow this pattern. Giving equal time is a major problem for teachers even when made aware of it and leads to people claiming the lesson is dominated by girls.

permalink

go to top

http://arkan2.livejournal.com/

at 22:30 on 2009-04-06Another excellent essay, and great discussion, too.

Yeah, it's scary what advertisements can do, without being able to influence people through “subliminal messages.” Ever seen

The Ad and the Ego

? Heavy stuff.

And then of course, there's Naomi Klein's

No Logo

…

You're right, Dan, this is exactly how racism works. And sexism, heterosexism, classicism, ableism and all the rest. Until those types of oppression are completely eradicated, they'll be with us to some extent, but the first step towards making the solution is identifying the problem.

I also agree that you can't learn Japanese culture by watching anime, but that's not the same as saying you can't learn it at all. You can't learn everything about Japanese culture, or even just a subsection thereof—but then, this applies even if

you yourself are Japanese

. Nobody can know everything about a culture, their own or anyone else's.

Fortunately, authors don't need to do that much, any more than honest anthropologists do. How should an author in the United States go about writing a story set in modern India with modern Indian characters? To which I would reply: the same way said author should go about writing a story set in medieval Europe (or a decent knock-off thereof): research. Of course, cultural imperialism and cultural misappropriation are dangers that rear their ugly heads in the former case, but I think if the author comes at it with the right mindset (including but not limited to sympathy, sensitivity, awareness of probable pitfalls and a continentload of caution) they can pull it off (though you can't please

every

one).

I have the same problem with Whedon's Misogynist-Of-The-Week depiction of sexism as you do. Audiences in my experience tend to process characterization first, symbolism second. (A strongly feminist friend of mine who is also a major Whedon fan once tried to sell me some argument about how incredibly feminist the symbolism of the female characters in

Firefly

is. I'm betting she'd say the same about

Dollhouse

. My reply would be that even if so, the straightforward characterization is rather less feminist, to put it charitably, and that counts for a lot more.)

I'm sure

Harry Potter

could've sold if Harry had been black, or brown, or any other known shade of human skin. Whether it would've been such a cult phenomenon is a different problem. (Who knows, it might've been. And yes, that would've done more than probably any ten government initiatives. And what if he'd been Arabic …?)

people making well-intentioned efforts to move the discourse forward are actually good and important, even if they fail in all kinds of ways to live up to the ideal of what they intend to attain or represent.

That's a very good point, Guy. I believe I maybe try harder than Roddenberry to be progressive on issues of race, sex, sexuality, class and all the other -isms, but if in 100 years' time people aren't looking at my fiction and finding a dozen holes in it at first glance, I'll be one disappointed ancestor. I'll be disappointed because it will mean that a) the culture will not have progressed so far as to outpace anything I could even imagine at my most radical, or b) that I never ended up actually publishing any fiction (or at least none worth looking at). To some extent, whatever I do will be a product of its time, just like the

Star Trek

OK with writing aliens and vampires and wizards, but can't write a black man? Right. Indeed, I've always found that particularly grating. Mostly that no one seems to even make the effort. And situations like RaceFail can make it worse for white authors who mean well and would like to make the effort but are scared off because the Wrath of the Public might descend on them.

Yeah well, white privilege means that you can ignore all that and not have to worry too much. Whereas if you're a person of colour (say, Arabic) and you piss off the white folks, Allah help you. (There are exceptions like Salman Rushdie, of course, but they are very much the exception.)

I for one do care about public opinion of people of colour, but I think it better to take that risk and at least try to be part of the solution than play it safe and know for sure that I'm perpetuating the problem.

Firstly, reading isn't condoning. You can read, and even enjoy, something written by someone you disagree with and still disagree with them afterwards;

This is a good point, Arthur. I recently read Michael Crichton's

State of Fear

, and, for various reasons, have been obsessing over it for months. It's a pretty mediocre thriller, but I have an intense love/hate relationship with the discourse. Some of it I agree with, a lot of it I don't, but what really gets me is that Crichton sets himself up to make his points in a way that should get even the readers who don't agree with him thinking, then lets most of it dissolve into a tired political rant. I felt like I would've enjoyed the book more—should've enjoyed it more—even as I was disagreeing with it, but Crichton failed to try hard enough to connect with the skeptics (which is ironic considering we're presumably the one's he's addressing).

… Although, as Dan points out, there's a difference between something being disagreeable and something actually insulting you as a person because of the social group you happen to belong to, especially when there is a looong history of insult and oppression of people from that social group.

On the other hand, as we're agreed that in a racist society everyone is racist to some degree, all the fiction we produce is probably going to be racist in some way. So if we can't find any merit in racist works, then Arthur's suggestion of throwing out everything before 1950 is too conservative by half.

So basically, I guess, it all comes down to degree of offensiveness and personal taste. If you can find merit in something, I'd say there's probably some merit, although I reserve the right to withdraw my condone-ance (there doesn't seem to be a proper word for that) if the merit you find is something along the lines of e.g. “All Arabs are evil.”

As Dan points out, it's not the individuals who you can identify as being racist bastards who are the problem a lot of the time (although they're usually the ugliest symptom), it's the people where you don't necessarily see the subtext, perhaps because they themselves aren't aware of it.

Damn, you people are good at making excellent points with incredible clarity.

It helps to have a diverse group of friends and colleagues as well; "hey, that's meant to be my friend's family" is almost as shocking as "hey, that's meant to be my family".

That's my viewpoint too, and something I feel slightly guilty about not cultivating more some of the time. However, I do think there's a bigger difference than you suggest, Arthur. I have a lot of close friends who are queer, but when I see something homophobic, the fact that “they're talking about my friends” doesn't spring immediately to mind. Similarly, when I see something blatantly anti-Palestinian, I don't immediately think of my Palestinian-American friend.

I agree that it helps to have friends who belong to the insulted group in question, but maybe not as much as you suggest.

To put it another way, just imagine for a moment that Harry Potter had been a black kid.

He was, Rowling just didn't mention it in the books.

Or in the liner notes to the movie script. Dumbeldore's sexual orientation on the other hand …

the depressingly common belief that there really are Bad People out there who do self-consciously Evil things Because They Are Evil

I don't doubt there are people out there who are and do;

Well I for one, don't doubt the exact opposite, and think that's a

very

dangerous philosophical road to venture onto. Of course, it partially depends on what definition of “Evil” we're working under, but still …

re: Captain Planet clip: Oh God, that was so bad I had to stop watching at the 30 second mark. I think I watched CP as a kid. Obviously I wasn't a very bright child.

Me neither.

And yes, racism is amazingly adaptive when it comes to rhetoric.

I've heard elsewhere that positive exposure tends to dilute one's own prejudices at least. So yes, diverse elementary schools = very good idea.

Part of what I've been trying to get at with the article above is the idea that it's all too easy to condemn prejudice in general, while making excuses for it in every specific instance.

Like all other types of basically immoral attitudes/behaviors/actions. War/torture/murder/rape, people can (and too often do) excuse away the patently inexcusable when it gets down to specifics. If anyone has any suggestions on how to get people to stop doing this I'm listening.

very

attentively.

#Ferretbrain #Minority Warrior #Captain Planet #Avenue Q #Dan H

2 notes · View notes

kababage95 · 6 years

Text

Why don’t women trust “male feminists”?

So I should preface this by saying that I have no expertise in this area. I haven’t studied this subject in any great detail and these are purely my opinions. And so, having said that, we begin.

I know you shouldn’t answer a question with a question, but why should they? Men, even those that claim to be feminists, have given women no reason to trust us. I’m not saying that there aren’t true male feminists out there, I like to think that I myself am one, but the trouble is, how do we sort out the liars? Unfortunately, there are a number of men out there who in every way, appear to be the real deal but who, in private, revert back to sexist comments and worse. It’s a sad, but all too real state of affairs that there are men out there who say what they think women want to hear as a way to get into their pants. They say what they think they need to say to prove that they aren’t exactly what they are. And the problem is, many men out there are extremely good at appearing to be what they aren’t; it’s not until they are locked in a room with a woman that their true nature becomes apparent. So how are women supposed to trust men claiming to be feminists? Truth is, it’s safer for them not to. And as a male feminist, I‘m not offended by this because I understand it. The only people that are likely to be offended by the fact that women don’t automatically accept that they are feminists, are those who are pretending to be a feminist for one reason or another.

And here’s the thing, as a male feminist, it is SO easy to get defensive when women call you out on your bullshit. Because you wouldn’t ever do or say anything sexist right? Wrong. Everybody does and says sexist things, and it is usually unintentional, I myself did it a couple of weeks back. I was playing d&d with a group of friends and accused the enemy of “running away like a little girl”. It was totally unacceptable and I am lucky enough that I have friends who are willing to call me out when I do that shit. You have to realise that if a woman is telling you that you are being sexist then chances are you are being sexist. We have to listen to what they are telling us because we haven’t lived life as a woman and so have got no idea what its like to face sexism every hour of every day. So if a woman is telling you that you have done or said something sexist then you need to accept that, in the vast majority of cases, she is right and you are wrong.

Once you have accepted this, it’s time to consider your response. It’s not enough to just accept that what you did/said was sexist and promise not to do it again (news flash, you will). You have to really listen to what you have been told and then think about it; and by think about it, I mean really take the time to consider the reason behind what you said. It is only by accepting that what you said was sexist, and really thinking about the unconscious bias behind your own thoughts, that you can start to make changes in your behaviour. And its possible that you didn’t even realise that you were being sexist and for the most part, whilst it’s not acceptable, it is okay; the woman calling you on it isn’t doing it to make you look stupid or feel bad, she is doing it because she wants you to change. And so don’t get annoyed with her (you’re the one being a douche after all); chances are, she understands that you didn’t mean what you said to be sexist, but without women willing to call men on being sexist, where would we be? The truth is, sexism is so deeply ingrained into the fabric of society that sometimes, it’s difficult to see it.

Please don’t misunderstand, I am categorically not saying that sexism of any form is okay. It’s not. And there are no excuses. The end. What I am saying, is that when a woman calls you on having said something sexist, you cannot afford to dismiss it. That is exactly how society remains the same which is not acceptable, we all, men and women, have a responsibility to try to change the institutionalised sexism. And this is important so listen up, as a man, you have just as much right, and arguably more of a responsibility, to call out sexism when you see it. There will be a number of people reading this who are of the opinion that it doesn’t affect them so why should they call it out. They don’t do sexist things but ultimately it isn’t there problem… Bull. Shit. One of the most famous sayings out there is that “evil triumphs when good men do nothing” and this applies here as well as it does anywhere else. If you aren’t part of the solution, if you aren’t willing to call people out for doing and saying sexist things, then you are part of the problem.

This post came about as a result of a conversation that I was witness to between two of my best friends this morning. They were talking about sexism and the way that men in general behave and my first reaction was to get defensive and moan about how they were generalising all men and that I wasn’t like that. I quickly realised that that is an absurd reaction and so instead I have spent the last 4 hours thinking about why I had that reaction which in turn lead to this post. I am more into feminism than most of the guys I know, and I am still a complete novice compared to literally any woman on the planet. I could spend years studying the history of feminism and feminist theory and they would still be the experts because they live their lives in a society that accepts sexism as a part of everyday life which means that I, as a male, can never hope to exceed, or even come close to their level of expertise.

I am aware that I sort of (completely) left the original question there but once I started writing it just kinda snowballed so sorry about that! If you got to the end, thanks for spending your time reading my ramblings, if you didn’t read it all and skipped to the end, that’s cool too, just so long as you took something away from what you did read, I’m happy!

#feminism #sexism #male feminists #waystoimprove #what are friends for

464 notes · View notes

bellarke · 6 years

Text

And so the Feeling Grows

Bellarke Christmas Calender 2017

December 23rd:

by Rosie [bisexualbellamyblake] [ao3]

Word count: 7538

Rating: M

Thank you so much to Rosie ♥ for participating in our bellarke christmas. Please go and check out her other great work.

In general, Christmas is a sucky time to be in unrequited love with someone.

Not that unrequited love is ever that great, but the holiday season always makes it sting a little bit more. With the seemingly global sense that the end of the year is also the most romantic time of year, a lot of annoying practices start to take place when the weeks tick over from November to December: extended family and friends start wanting to know if you’re seeing anyone new, every movie on TV begins centring a couple falling in love over the holiday season, and going to any shop ever means having to look through stands of items that would apparently be perfect for a significant other.

Which is annoying, but usually tolerable.

Specifically to Clarke, this Christmas is a sucky time to be in unrequited love with someone, because the person she’s in unrequited love with also happens to be the person she’s eight months pregnant with.

And specifically to Clarke, it’s because that person is Bellamy, and today she has to come to terms with the unfortunate reality that she is still stupidly attracted to him when he’s wearing a ridiculous Christmas sweater.

Seriously, the combination of Christmas and pregnancy is not a good one.

“Are you seriously wearing that?” Clarke asks, after she manages to get her voice working again. She may have been standing by the door for a few long beats, eyes roaming over him, taking in the stupid tight red and white knit he’s got on, the pattern of reindeer and Christmas trees somehow not looking awful on him.

Bellamy looks over his shoulder and grins. He’s in their still mostly bare nursery, tape measure in one hand and a notepad in the other, and the fact that they’re about to go baby furniture shopping probably doesn’t help with how fond of him she is. Not that much does, these days.

“To your mum’s Christmas party? Probably not,” he teases, and Clarke rolls her eyes. “But today, yeah. That was the deal, wasn’t it?” He asks, which is technically true, but Clarke didn’t think he’d actually follow through with what was mostly just his response to her petulant grumblings. “You wear that one and I wear this one?”

She looks down, huffs out a short laugh at her own Christmas sweater. It’s not as ridiculous as Bellamy’s, could probably even be considered nice in different circumstances, but it still feels a little silly when it’s stretched over her very ballooned belly. But Bellamy bought it for her, so she’s wearing it. And apparently he’s wearing his one too.

“Yeah, I guess it was,” Clarke says, looking back up to give him a fond smile. “Anyway, you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, yeah.” He slips the little notepad into his back pocket before walking over to her, a hand unsurprisingly finding her belly as he presses a kiss to Clarke’s forehead. “And how is little Persephone today?”

Clarke laughs, ducking her head with a smile. “Bean is doing just fine. Woke up early this morning, but didn’t get too active until I was up myself, so that was nice.”

“Very considerate, Persephone,” Bellamy says, giving her belly one last rub as he grins teasingly at her, and seriously, it’s really, really unfair of him to do that to her.

So yeah, Christmas can suck it.

She had been sleeping with Bellamy for about a year when she found out she was pregnant, and it happened in what was probably the most clichéd way possible: sitting on the bathroom floor with a positive pregnancy test in her hand, about two weeks after realising she had fallen in love with him.

Which was honestly just really inconvenient timing.

He reacted basically how she expected, shifting from shocked to supportive before Clarke had even finished her rambling confession, and they decided that night that they were going to keep the baby and raise it together, as best friends. Which was a term that felt all too significant to Clarke, when Bellamy said it, and the part of her that had hoped that this might give her the courage to say something quickly died, leaving a bittersweet sense of happiness and excitement as Bellamy placed his hand over her still-flat stomach.

“We’re doing this,” he had said, almost a question, and Clarke had nodded, even managed a sincere smile. He was still her best friend, and that would always be enough.

“Yeah,” she said, placing her hand over his and squeezing. “We’re doing this.”

They saw the baby for the first time a week later, and both of them teared up when their little blob appeared on screen, when they heard the quick beat of its heart.

“You’re eight weeks along,” the ultrasound technician had told them. “Your baby is about the size of a kidney bean.”

And so they started calling their baby Bean.

The following months went by quickly, Bean growing bigger, Clarke getting a proper baby bump, and Bellamy beginning to buy tiny baby clothes and proceeding to send photos of them to her with an array of heart and smile emojis. Baby names started being discussed, and it wasn’t long before he was suggesting ones in the same vein as Octavia. Augustus was the easy one to start off with, but in a matter of weeks he’d flown through Hera and Neptune, Vulcan and Demeter, always managing to make Clarke lose herself in a fit of giggles, unable to help herself when he so seriously sung a lullaby to their dear Hermes. And when Bean started moving about, kicking and punching, she also grew used to Bellamy’s hovering, how much he loved touching her belly, talking to the baby and playing little games with it, always so loving and close.

None of which really helped with the fact that she was stupidly in love with him, but not much did; these were all just little things that she was slowly getting used to, that were becoming part of her routine.

He asked her to move in when she was six and a half months along, adorably formal as he went through what appeared to be a rehearsed speech outlining why it was a good idea, and two weeks later they were packing up her stuff and moving it into the room Miller used to reside. The spare room would become a nursery, which, as Bellamy pointed out, would allow him to be there whenever she or Bean needed. And so she grew used to that, too; sharing Bellamy’s space, seeing him sleep-rumpled before work each day and sitting at the kitchen bench to watch him cook each night, going grocery shopping and bickering over food choices and hanging out on the couch to binge watch something on Netflix.

And it all felt so good, living together and getting ready for the baby, Bellamy buying a photo album to put the first ultrasound pictures in and Clarke getting a onesie with I LOVE MY DAD printed on it, placing bets on whether it’d be a history nerd or an art nerd, that Clarke’s heart felt like it was just on a continuous cycle of bursting with excitement and love and fondness.

And now she’s wearing a stupid Christmas sweater that he bought her, while they’re shopping for Bean’s room, and honestly, she will admit that her life is a bit of a mess.

“Okay, so, yeah, I think we should get this one.”

Clarke startles, blinking up from where her eyes were fixated on Bellamy’s arms, to find him looking at her expectantly. Apparently she’s missed some of the conversation, but that’s not really surprising. His Christmas sweater is really and truly distracting.

“Hm?” She asks, and he huffs out a small laugh, eyes fond as he looks at her.

“This one,” he prompts, hand moving to the side of her belly to turn her to the crib in question, because he loves any excuse to touch it. It doesn’t really help with her being distracted, but it’s still nice. Unbelievably so.

“Yeah, this is a good one,” Clarke agrees, looking the crib over again. They’d done their research before shopping, and have looked at the various choices carefully in person today, and unsurprisingly, she was leaning towards this one too. “Plus, I liked the matching changing table we saw earlier,” she adds, nodding towards the previous section of the store. “And it goes with the dresser you’ve already got, so — colour co-ordination.”

“The most important aspect of a newborn’s bedroom,” Bellamy teases.

“Shut up,” she says, receiving a bright, happy grin in return, one that makes her melt a little bit.

Which is basically how the whole day has gone so far, just a series of Bellamy-interactions that have been simultaneously the best and the worst. His excited enthusiasm mixing with an adorable seriousness about anything baby-related. The fact that he can’t seem to stop touching her, even though they’re in public, always wanting to keep a hand on her belly, always so close. How he keeps talking to the baby, asking what its opinion is when they can’t agree on inane things like which Winnie the Pooh wall-art is best, trying to get a reaction to whatever he wants.

It’s honestly a surprise she hasn’t been more distracted, but she has had six or so months to get used to this side of Bellamy. By the time Bean arrives, she’ll probably be a pro.

“Okay, so, this crib, the changing table you liked, and then we just needed a stroller and a car seat, yeah?”

“Just that, yeah,” Clarke says, letting her head drop onto his shoulder and feeling his hand come up to rub at the nape of her neck. They’ve been here for an hour and a half, already, and he knows how quickly she gets tired on her feet these days. “I might need a power nap before we put any of this up today,” she adds, as his nails go to scratch at her scalp softly. “So be prepared for that.”

Bellamy chuckles, and Clarke makes herself stand back up, return his fond smile with a tired one of her own. “I’m prepared,” he assures. “But if you need a pick me up, I did see something earlier that I reckon you’ll like.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I’ll show you,” Bellamy says, and he takes her hand before leading her to the part of the store housing children’s toys and accessories, making her increasingly suspicious. “Now, you gotta close your eyes first. The reveal is as important as the item.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” Bellamy counters, raising his brows until she does as he asks and closes her eyes, but not before she rolls them at him pointedly.

And then he’s gone, pulling his hand from hers as he does something about a foot away, from what she can tell, coming back in less than a minute and shifting her slightly so she’s apparently standing in the right direction.

“Okay, open,” he says, and when she does, he’s holding a little wooden carving of the letter ‘A’ up to her face. A smile grows immediately; after months of this, she knows exactly where it’s going, and Bellamy doesn’t disappoint. His own grin is huge. “Okay, so picture this: crib on the wall opposite the door, and just above it—” He gestures for her to look behind him, and she snorts as soon as she sees what he’s set up. The same little wooden alphabet carvings sitting on a ledge, spelling out H E P H A E S T U S. “Hephaestus. Definitely a good name.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she says again, and Bellamy grins.

“And yet, you still love it,” he throws back, and she shakes her head with a laugh. “And it helped, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, it did.”

“And now you’re ready to spend another two hours deciding which stroller is best?”

“Of course I am,” she says, biting back a smile as she squeezes Bellamy’s hand in thanks. “Let’s go find ourselves a stroller.”

Thankfully, it isn’t actually two hours. Between deciding on both a stroller and a car seat, it’s another hour at the store before they’ve decided on everything, and they manage to get it all paid for and packed into Bellamy’s car in another twenty minutes. Clarke’s still considering passing out on the drive home, but Raven texts as soon as they’re on the highway, and she’s feeling nice enough to hold out on her nap a little longer.

Raven: How fancy is “smart casual” in your family though Like, if I don’t rock up in a gown will I be turned away at the door? Srs answers only

Clarke: You don’t have to wear a gown, but that’s on the condition that your outfit contains colours like “mauvulous” and “zesty lemon” And is low-key ugly so rich ppl think it’s the new trend Think multiple types of fabric

Raven: Damn I knew it

Clarke: But actually, basically what you’d expect Probably no jeans and sneakers, but jeans and boots with a nice top will do

Raven: I guess that’s do-able What’re you wearing? Maybe i’ll just wear the same thing, but like, a hotter version

Clarke: Dick I don’t know I’ve complained about what I’m wearing to this party so much that Bellamy bought me this sweater yesterday and said I should just rock up in it [Img attached]

Raven: What the fkuc He bought you a fucking christmas maternity sweater??? And you’re wearing it??????

Clarke: It’s really comfy Shut up And besides I made him wear this in return [Img attached]

Raven: God you two are disgustingly together You’re literally wearing matching christmas sweaters what the fukc

Clarke feels herself flush, and can’t help but glance up at Bellamy, but his eyes are still focused on the road ahead of them, and he’s softly singing along to the Christmas carols on the radio.

Clarke: Shut up For that I’m making you go shopping with me next weekend But seriously, this kid won’t stop growing, and it’s making it impossible to choose something to wear in advance, unless it’s sweats with a very elastic elastic band

Raven: With boots and a nice top?

Clarke: Now I’m making you buy me lunch too

Raven: Yeah yeah Go make out with your “roommate” If only in the hopes that both of you will take those stupid fucking tops off

Clarke: [middle finger emoji] I fuckin WON’T

The thing is, Clarke knows Bellamy loves her.

They’ve been best friends for too long for her to think otherwise, have been there for each other through various shitty times, break ups and crises, that there’s no way Clarke could doubt it. He loves her, and it’s enough; his friendship has always been and will always be enough. She’d never want to ask him to give her something he doesn’t want to, would never want to risk how important he is to her, and so if they just continued down the path they’re on, continued being best friends, partners in every way but romantically, and raised their child together, she’d be happy.

As long as he’s in her life, Clarke’s good.

But right now, she’s thirty-five weeks pregnant, lying in Bellamy’s bed, with his arm wrapped protectively across her belly, and it’s a little hard not to want more.

Clarke: [Img attached]

Raven: Is this your way of telling me you finally figured your shit out?  Like, hey, here’s a pic of us in bed after we had sex all last night

Clarke: No I couldn’t even have sex all night if I wanted to, I’d get too tired

Raven: Pregnancy sounds awful

Clarke: Not always great, no  I couldn’t get to sleep last night bc of the storm  And I still feel like I’m crashing in miller’s room while I’m here And I made the mistake of knocking on bellamy’s door and complaining about it And he told me to come sleep with him and then proceeded to rub my belly and READ TO ME  To like, relax me idk  Anyway I woke up like this

Raven: What the absolute fuck You realise this isn’t normal right Like normal people don’t behave this way  Fuck I don’t understand your life

Clarke: Neither tbh

Raven: Okay but none of this explains why you’re basically naked

Clarke: I’m wearing pants And my top rode up during the night I promise I’m still wearing clothes, you just can’t see

Raven: A likely story If I could be bothered I would send a gif of “cut the bullshit, and share the damn bed”

Clarke: I’m literally in his bed right now

Raven: The implication is that you’re sharing the bed to GET LAID

Clarke: Whatever Stranger things was really good tho wasn’t it

Raven: Don’t change the subject

Clarke: I thought it was the natural progression of the conversation

Raven: It wasn’t, but I’ll let you off the hook Still on for today?

Clarke: Definitely Pick you up in an hour?

Raven: If it takes longer I’ll assume you couldn’t force yourself to get out of bed

Clarke: [Middle finger emoji]

To be fair, Clarke does give herself another minute before she tries to slip out of bed, and even that is mostly fuelled by her desire to prove Raven wrong. Unfortunately, as she tries to go, Bellamy’s hold on her tightens, and he pulls her back to him. She huffs out a small laugh as he wakes a little, hiding his face in her shoulder.

“Bellamy,” she says, soft so he can get back to sleep once she’s gone, receiving a hum in response. “I need to get up. I’m meeting Raven in an hour.”

“Mm-kay, princess,” he mumbles, still half-asleep, but he loosens his hold enough that Clarke manages to push herself up and out of bed.

She lets herself watch him for a moment, once she’s up, just taking in the sight of him, topless, hair a mess, sleep-rumpled in bed, looking so goddamn good it’s unfair. It’s not an image she’s witnessed in a long while, and it’s a little overwhelming, after sleeping in the same bed as him for the first time since she found out she was pregnant. And it was so easy last night, no awkwardness, both of them so effortlessly comfortable with one another, but she knows how it is: there’s obviously just a lot of left over ease with this kind of domesticity from when they were sleeping together.

“That doesn’t even sound like a real sentence to me,” Raven says, when Clarke shares the theory, and Clarke huffs, hip-checking her friend as they make their way to the less-awful maternity-wear stores. “I’m serious. It’s definitely not a thing. There’s no way I could wake up in bed with Finn and be all — comfortable with it, just because we used to share a bed all the time.”

“But you and Finn didn’t end on great terms.”

“At least we actually broke up,” she says, pointed. “Not that I’m — Finn was a shitty boyfriend, no doubt, but we actually had a conversation after what happened, spoke about it and ended things. You and Bellamy stopped having sex and haven’t even acknowledged the fact that you were fucking for like, over a year. It’s not like that doesn’t make shit awkward, too.”

“It’s more that we’ve got something else to focus on, I think. Like, having a kid together is a lot to organise, and we’ve mostly just been — getting ready for it, I guess.”

“What you’re describing is avoidance.”

“Probably,” Clarke agrees, before sighing, running a hand over her face. “But just let me have it, okay? I’m trying not to let my subconscious get its hopes up that Bellamy might — you know.” She groans. “Unrequited love fucking sucks.”

Raven chuckles softly, before taking Clarke’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Babe, I know I’ve told you this before, but I swear, if you said something, I’m about 99% sure Bellamy would combust with happiness right on the spot. You may not realise what you two are like from the outside, but I do. And it’s not just the baby, it’s just — how Bellamy is with you. How you are with each other.”

Clarke’s throat goes tight, and she swallows heavily as Raven’s words settle. It’s nothing her friend hasn’t said before, but for some reason it hits harder than usual. Still, she doesn’t want to think about it now, and so she just settles on clearing her throat and moving on.

“Okay, enough about this, tell me your relationship goss instead. Does Jaha know that Wells is dating you yet, or is that gonna be a fun Christmas surprise as he tries to set him up with someone else?”

Raven snorts a laugh, giving Clarke a knowing look, but thankfully she’s feeling kind enough to talk about her own stuff, and the conversation continues on from there, as they begin looking for clothes that will ideally fit over Clarke’s belly. It’s a long process that involves various shops and a stop for lunch where Clarke curses Bean’s desire to make clothes shopping literally impossible, but eventually they find a dress that works, that actually looks really nice.

Raven wolf-whistles, and Clarke bites back a smile as she looks at herself in the mirror.

“Yeah, that’s definitely the one.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow, catching her eye in the mirror. “So now we should find you something similar, but hotter?”

Raven snorts, shaking her head. “Nah, I’ll let you have this one. I’m still holding out for a dress made out of at least four different types of fabric.”

Clarke laughs. “Yeah, that’ll probably look better anyway.” She does her equivalent of flattening down the dress, which is more like feeling up her belly, and grins. “But I still like this one.”

“Clarke, if you’re not out in five minutes, I’m naming our kid Chronos.”

Clarke frowns, leaning back from the mirror. It takes her a minute, but she gets there. “The God of Time?” She calls out, smiling fondly when there’s a pause before —

“Yes!”

She rolls her eyes before focusing back in on getting ready. It’s not like she’s even taking that long, but Bellamy hates being late in the best of circumstances, let alone when it’s to her mum’s Christmas party. He’s never really accepted Clarke’s assurance that Abby likes him, and maybe Clarke should tell him about all the unsubtle hints her mum’s been dropping lately, about her and Bellamy just trying being a regular couple, but she’s not sure it’s come to that just yet.

If he’s still worried in a year’s time, she’ll give it a go, but for now, she’s keeping it to herself.

Ten minutes later, she’s done, thankfully with no more hassling from Bellamy about the time. She doesn’t love getting dressed up regularly, but once or twice a year it can be fun, and tonight’s actually looking promising. Bellamy, Raven and Wells will be there as back up, and Clarke’s actually excited to see some specific members of her extended family. Plus, she looks hot. The dress she bought is dark navy and long-sleeved, and it fits snug without being too tight. She’s got tights and boots on, because it’s winter and therefore fucking freezing, and her lips are stained red, with the rest of her makeup simple.

All together, she looks good, and it’s an exceedingly nice feeling whilst very pregnant.

She gives herself another half minute to get all her stuff together before heading out to meet Bellamy, passing the nursery and feeling her heart swell as she sees it mostly set up now, with a crib and changing table, a bookshelf and a dresser. They’re still putting all the smaller stuff in, still deciding on little pieces of art and which mobile they want to set up, but it feels so good, seeing how it’s come together. But Bellamy would probably be very dramatic it he found her ready, just standing in the nursery doorway, would probably tell her she’s sending him to an early grave, and so she makes herself continue on into the lounge room before he has gets the chance, finding him scrolling through his phone on the couch, dressed nicely in a good pair of navy trousers and a well-fitted blue shirt. His curls are in slightly more order than usual, and his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose, and he looks so handsome that Clarke can tell she’s going to get distracted staring at him tonight.

But at least she’s prepared.

“Are you ready?” She asks, and he snorts a laugh, standing up from the couch.

“I was the one who was trying to hurry you up.”

“And yet here we are,” she says, going to grab her coat, and she looks over her shoulder to shoot Bellamy a teasing grin, only to find that he’s stopped a few feet from her, and is looking at her with an expression she can’t pin.

And no matter how good she was feeling just a minute earlier, she can’t help but feel self conscious as Bellamy looks her up and down, eyes focusing on her belly for a long beat before he meets her gaze. She hasn’t tried being this dressed up whilst pregnant, hasn’t had any reason to, and it’s a little intimidating, now that she’s standing right in front of him.

“Do I look okay?” She asks, after a moment. “Not too — pregnant?”

Bellamy clears his throat before a small smile pulls at his mouth, gentle. “You look very pregnant,” he tells her as he walks up to her, voice a little teasing. One hand unsurprisingly finds her belly, a touch Clarke always appreciates, and his eyes flit over her face as his smile widens. “Very pregnant and very gorgeous,” he continues, soft. “You look great, Clarke.”

She feels herself flush, head ducking down to hide her slightly ridiculous smile, and when she looks up, there’s a glint in his eyes that has Raven’s words echoing in her mind.

“You sure? There’s still time for me to get the sweater you bought.”

“But then I’d have to wear mine, too,” he reminds with a chuckle, bringing his free hand up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “And I’m sure. You’re beautiful, princess.”

She would say her breath hitches, but she’s not sure she’s been breathing at all since he walked over to her. She doesn’t know how to respond, and silence stretches between them for one beat, and then two, before Bellamy smiles again, something almost wistful about it, before he lets her go and steps back.

“Come on, we better go now if we don’t want to be late.”

Clarke nods, feeling a little like the axis of her world has shifted just slightly, and follows Bellamy out of their little house. He takes her arm as they walk down to his car, since the ground’s a little icy and he’s overly protective, and opens the passenger door for her too, waiting until she’s sitting before he goes to close the door.

She grabs hold of his arm before he has a chance though. “Bellamy?” She says, a little loud and a little quick, needing to come up with something to say before they leave.

“Yeah?”

“You look — you look really beautiful, too,” she says. “I like your shirt.” The words somehow sound even worse aloud than they did the half-second they were in her head, but all he does is snort a laugh, and shake his head with a fond grin.

“Thanks, princess. It means a lot.”

He’s teasing, letting her off the hook, and Clarke smiles a little helplessly, before letting him go. He shuts the door and makes his way to the driver’s side, getting the car in gear and pulling onto the street to make the half hour drive to her mum’s place.

Clarke: You’ve broken me Bellamy said I look nice and my brain shut down

Raven: Only nice? Poor game, blake

Clarke: Okay, he said beautiful But still, my brain shut down and I’m blaming you for breaking me

Raven: I read this text to Wells and he legitimately laughed for like 30 seconds “I hope those crazy kids get their shit together”

Clarke: Your mockery is appreciated I’ll see you soon

Raven: If you don’t make it I’ll assume you pulled onto the side of the road for a quicky

Clarke: Stop using that line Also [Middle finger emoji]

They’re still one of the first people to arrive, despite Bellamy’s stressing, but it gives them time to talk to her mum and Marcus properly, for Bellamy to give them the bottle of wine he brought and for Clarke to try and shake off what both his and Raven’s words are doing to her and for Abby to insist on taking photos of them together.

“Your last Christmas before baby is born,” she says, as she snaps one of them in front of the perfectly-decorated Christmas tree, and Clarke feels Bellamy’s hand flex on her hip. It’s pretty amazing to think about: this time next year, they’ll be parents, getting ready for Bean’s first Christmas.

Other guests start pouring in throughout the next hour, until the living room is warm and lively, filled with people drinking and laughing and dancing and talking. Clarke’s pulled into various conversations, and by extension, Bellamy is too, and unsurprisingly a lot of them revolve around the baby. Questions of when it’s due, if they know the gender, whether they’ve landed on a name yet (she tries her hardest not to share an amused look with Bellamy, but when he leans in and whispers Chronus to her, she does have to hide her laughter in his shoulder).

They hang out with Wells and Raven once they arrive — Clarke unsurprisingly getting teased relentlessly when Bellamy goes to grab them champagne — dance together when her favourite Christmas song comes on, and even get roped into playing with some of Clarke’s cousins’ kids, none of which is really helping with how her mind is kind of spinning, how she’s hyper-aware of Bellamy’s every touch, of his every smile.

She makes it through to eleven before she’s tired enough to pull the pregnancy card, and after a long line of goodbyes, she and Bellamy manage to escape. She’s dozed off a little by the time they get home, and when he shakes her shoulder lightly to wake her, she opens her eyes to find him smiling at her fondly.

“Come on, princess, probably better to pass out in bed than sleep all night in the car.”

“If you say so,” Clarke sighs, letting him help her up and keep an arm around her going back into the house. It’s still slippery out. “I might just pass out in bed with my clothes still on, though,” she says sleepily, as they flick the lights on and she shrugs off her coat. “I’m not sure I have the energy to change into my pyjamas.”

“You’ll be uncomfortable,” Bellamy says, and she snorts a soft laugh, sending him a fond smile as she feels them come back to their centre. His returning one is wry. “You know I’m right.”

“I know you’re ridiculous,” she says.

“And yet, you’ll thank me when you don’t wake up in the middle of the night cold and uncomfortable. You hate wearing constricting things at night,” he reminds, and sometimes it is a little annoying how well he knows her, how much he listens when she complains. “Especially with Bean.”

“Fine,” she relents, making sure her voice is a grumble, because she knows he loves when she’s petulant. “But you’re helping me get out of the dress, because it took me like, five tries to get the zipper all the way up, and I’m not putting myself through that again.”

Bellamy chuckles, ducking his head before giving her a fond grin. “Whatever you say,” he says, indulgent. “I’ll lock up first.”

Clarke nods, and goes to start getting ready for bed. She washes her face first, and then brushes her teeth, because she knows that as soon as she’s in her pyjamas she’s likely to just collapse in bed and pass out, but soon enough she’s back in her bedroom, pulling off her boots and tights as Bellamy knocks on her door. He must’ve followed a similar routine, because he’s shirtless, only in his pyjama pants, slung low on his hips, and a little bit of toothpaste is still in the corner of his mouth.

And suddenly Clarke realises that this is a very bad idea.

But she’s asked him for help, and he’s said yes, so she smiles, turns her back to him, and pushes the hair from the nape of her neck.

And it feels so familiar, with it dark outside and in the quiet of night, having Bellamy touch her.

His hand finds the top of her dress, and the rough pad of his thumb runs lightly over her neck, making her shiver, and it’s like a jolt to her system, this heightened awareness of her body, of what Bellamy’s doing to her; what he always does to her.

He brings the zipper of her dress all the way down, the air cool on her now exposed back, and they just stand there like that for a lingering moment, Clarke feeling herself sway backwards slightly, into his warmth.

He lets his hands fall and she turns around, looking at him to find a flush to his cheeks, a flustered and maybe even guilty expression that has her heart beginning to race. He meets her eyes for one long moment before stepping back and turning to leave, but she catches his hand before he can.

And suddenly, it feels so simple.

“Bellamy,” she says, her voice coming out soft, pleading.

He meets her eyes again, but this time his gaze doesn’t waver. It feels like there’s both a question and an answer in there, all at once, and it makes it so easy to step forward, into his space as much as she can with her belly between them, and rise up onto her toes to press her mouth to his.

She remembers the last kiss they shared exactly, at their first ultrasound together. After seeing Bean for the first time, hearing its heartbeat, and feeling overcome with emotion, Clarke had reached out to Bellamy, tilted her head to bring her lips up to his. It was short but sweet, intimate, and like sleeping together, they never acknowledged it, and haven’t done it since.

Now, though, Bellamy melts into her, lets out a soft and familiar sigh as his free hand moves up to her face. He cradles it gently, before tilting her head slightly to deepen the kiss, and Clarke lets herself fall into it too, lets her hands slide up into his hair, curl into it and tug a little, just like she knows he loves. Lets herself part his lips with her tongue, kiss him deeper, harder, longer, until she can taste the champagne he’s been drinking, until she needs to tilt her head back to draw in a few shaky breaths.

She makes herself look at him, his eyes dark with lust, but with a glint of something more there, too, something heavy that makes her heart burst. He’s as wrapped around her as he can be, one hand on her side, thumb absently rubbing her belly, and the other now at the base of her neck, keeping her close, and there’s a long moment where they just watch each other, soft and unobtrusive, a warmth building between them, before they’re both moving again, Bellamy dipping as Clarke rises. And it’s quicker this time, him swallowing her whimper with a kiss that’s desperate, that feels like it’s pouring seven months of separation into it. It’s hot and wet in seconds, a perfect combination of tongue and lips and teeth, and it sends a rush through Clarke’s whole body, one she hasn’t felt since the last night they spent together, before she told him she was pregnant.

She presses against his chest, and he pulls back for a moment, smile confused.

“Bedroom,” she murmurs, already leaning back in when he chuckles.

“We’re already in a bedroom,” he points out, but she’s already shaking her head.

“Your bedroom,” she insists, pushing him again, until he catches up and starts walking them to his room instead. “I don’t like my one,” she says, between more kisses. “It still doesn’t feel like mine. And your bed is more comfortable.”

Bellamy kisses her one more time, laughing a little as he pulls back properly, smile so wide it feels like it could split his face in two. He pulls her into his room and shuts the door, despite them being the only ones here, and unsurprisingly it slows them down.

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes moving across her face like he’s trying to memorise her, memorise the moment. “Because I don’t want to move things more than you want, but — fuck, Clarke, you gotta be sure.”

He sounds about as wrecked as she feels, in the best way possible, and Clarke leans up pointedly, claiming his mouth in a slow, loving kiss. When she pulls back, she’s smiling, and Bellamy’s responding one is the best thing she’s ever seen.

“I’m certain,” she says, taking the opportunity to pull her arms free from her dress, tug it down over her baby bump and let it slip onto the floor, leaving her only in her underwear.

And it feels a little like being in the dress again, the way his gaze shifts, moving down her body and once again lingering at her belly. He’s seen her in various states of undress, of course, and is very familiar with her bare baby bump, but it’s different from being this exposed to him when they were sleeping together, different from laying on the couch with her top up so he can have some baby time. It somehow feels more intimate, puts Clarke in a more vulnerable state than she’s used to being in front of him. But Bellamy’s eyes find hers again, and when he smiles, she’s not sure she’s ever seem him so filled to the brim with happiness.

“God, you look good,” he says, something like awe in his voice, and Clarke chokes out a slightly watery laugh. It’s all a little overwhelming, despite how much she wants this, despite how good he’s being. “I don’t want you to think, pregnancy’s like — a kink for me, or something. But fuck, Clarke, it’s been so hard to keep my hands off of you these past few months. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

This laugh comes out stronger, and she steps forward to slide her hands up Bellamy’s chest and to his shoulders, his skin warm under her touch, as she leans up again to kiss him again, long and deep and perfect.

“Better start making up for lost time, then.”

And he does, kissing her until she melts right back into him, walking her back to his bed like he used to, helping her settle onto it gently, so achingly careful with her.

And it’s both familiar and new, being in bed with him again. A combination of ease from their past experience with each other, and working things out around her belly, but of course they figure it out, until it’s comfortable, until it’s good, until Bellamy starts mouthing at her jaw, starts dropping kisses down her neck and onto her chest, until he’s unclasping her bra and sucking a nipple into his mouth, careful because of course he remembers she might be sensitive.

He learns her new body slowly, indulgently, touch reverent and mouth achingly loving, shuffling down and leaving kisses until he’s back right between her thighs, parting her slowly and licking into her, driving her crazy with his talented tongue and fingers. She comes twice with him settled in the cradle of her thighs, fingers curled tight into his hair as he brings her over the edge, and when he kisses his way back up to her, he’s unsurprised that she catches his mouth in a desperate kiss, licking her taste off of his tongue like she used to.

And still, after that, it’s easy. She’s done her research on getting off by herself whilst pregnant, just to be safe, and reading about sex was a natural progression to that, so it’s not hard, telling Bellamy which positions are best for them, and it still takes some getting used to, of course, still re-learning each other, but it’s still just so good.

And when he spoons her from behind, mouth on her neck as he presses into her, it’s perfect. Shallow thrusts that have her arching into him, that have her skin alight with pleasure and need and happiness, his fingers at the apex of her thighs to bring her up one last time. She tilts her head back before she comes, finding his mouth in a hot, desperate kiss, and he follows as she clenches around him.

They’re both panting by the end of it, and after Bellamy pulls out Clarke gets up the energy to turn over and face him.

His hand finds her belly, moving over it gently, and she smiles.

“I’ve missed that.”

Bellamy chuckles, ducking his head with a rueful smile. “Yeah, I’m not sure why we stopped.”

“Because we’re idiots,” Clarke says, but she feels like she could burst with happiness, and when Bellamy finds her hand, slips his fingers between hers, that feeling doubles.

“I, um — I was planning on saying something before you got pregnant,” he says, voice low and a little rough. “But it felt like too much, once you told me. I mean, fuck, I was having enough trouble trying to ask my best friend if she wanted to date, let alone my best friend whom I’d just gotten pregnant to date.” Clarke laughs softly, and Bellamy’s responding smile is a little helpless. “Miller called me an idiot about fifty times. I’m pretty sure he moved out just so I had an excuse to ask you to move in. But, yeah—” He clears his throat, takes a breath before he continues. “I just wanted to say, it’s not just because you’re pregnant, and that we’re having this baby together. I love Bean, too, don’t get me wrong, but I fell for you before that. I love you. Just you.”

And it’s impossible not to lean in and kiss him again, impossible not to feel overwhelmed with how much she loves him.

“Yeah,” she says, and it’s incredible how easy it feels now, after months of worrying. “I love you, too. And I’m really glad to be having this bean with you.”

“Little Poseidon?”

Clarke grins, can’t help but break into a small fit of giggles. “We can discuss it in the morning.”

Bellamy grins too, wraps him arm around her and pulls her in close. “Sounds perfect.”

Clarke: [Img attached]

Raven: Do I want an explanation?

Clarke: Say what you said last time

Raven: God you’re needy, gimme a sec Is this your way of telling me you finally figured your shit out? Like, hey, here’s a pic of us in bed after we had sex all last night I’ve copied that word for word btw

Clarke: Proud of you And yeah, it is

Raven: Congrats on the sex And I’m glad you figured this all out before bean is born Bc really, that would’ve been a clusterfuck

Clarke: Probably But I’m glad I won’t have to find out

Raven: Wow pregnancy has made you sappy

Clarke: It’s true [Img attached]

Raven: Jesus, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Bellamy smile so hard Now stop texting me and go make out with your boyfriend

Clarke: Yeah, good plan

She puts her phone down, places her hand on top of Bellamy’s, where it’s unsurprisingly rubbing over her belly. Bean is already up and active, and he presses down on where their little foot is poking out, just saying hello.

“I think Bean knows,” Bellamy murmurs, and Clarke laughs softly, shifting to look at him properly, take in his happy, sleepy grin. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen anything better, and she can’t help but lean in to give him a sweet kiss.

Bean shifts, and Clarke pulls back to laugh.

“Yeah, feels like it,” she agrees. “Maybe just knows I’m happy.”

Bellamy swallows. “Yeah?”

“Stupidly so,” Clarke says, a little helplessly, and his grin widens, slow and perfect. “Best Christmas ever, definitely.”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy says, pulling her back close, lips finding her jaw, leaving a trail of soft kisses. “I reckon the next few will give this one a run for its money.”

(And on Julia’s first Christmas, Clarke can’t help but agree.

Her husband is a smart man.)

#bisexualbellamyblake #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 fanfiction #bellarke fic #bellarke #the 100 #bellamy and clarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #bellarkechristmas2017 #bellarke christmas calendar #by rosie

56 notes · View notes