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1800duckhotline · 17 hours

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https://www.tumblr.com/1800duckhotline/748414044204154880/i-seriously-think-this-show-was-created-in-a-lab?source=share

hi! im not able to send you dms but i really want to know what you think about hazbin. i downed the entire thing in a day out of morbid fascination of seeing how that artstyle animates, but the quality of the script and handling of the structure of the show are so dogshit that the show has been lodged in my mind. and my friends who i can rely upon for their thoughtful analysis are not people who would watch it.

basically Hello Send Help

Honestly you summed up most of my plights within the show already, its just dogshit all around flaming and whatnot and i cannot believe there's 30 years old who eat this slop up. i can forgive teenagers for liking it (i am very self-aware as someone who read fucking homestuck when i was 13) but i cannot forgive fully grown adults for thinking this show has any sort of nuanced or well-written story

i finished watching the show feeling less aggravated by the designs and visual dev of the whole thing (though obviously its still really bad), and instead more by how insultingly and exhilaratingly bad the writing was.

i could literally take out my blocknote review of the whole show starting from ep 1 to ep 8 but i want to spare my friends who dgaf about hearing about this show. so ill just try to resume concisely my thoughts using my notes as crutches

this will be a very long one and again to spare people of pain ill put it under a readmore

vivienne medrano does not care about the female characters in her own show. idk about helluvaboss and i honestly dont want to watch it unless someone watches it with me, but from what i hear hazbin hotel was supposed to be the show "focused on the girls" while helluva boss was supposed to "focus on theboys". you'll never guess what happens in this show. the main 2 girls, who are supposed to be protagonist, are completely flat characters, that are given the slightest margin of spotlight THE LAST TWO EPISODES OF THE SEASON, and no 8 episodes isnt a justification for the dogshit writing they have. vaggie is the "angry mean militaristic lesbian of color who also coddles her white girlfriend" and charlie is "goody two shoes who doesn't use her powers as literal PRINCESS OF HELL because it's 'too mean' and who is babied and is also written like a baby that doesnt know how to act besides being 'positive and whimsical'". they are literally a ship trope shipped together because idk.

most of the development in the show is handed onto the guys, obviously, as they get the most songs, most exposure to their backstories, and most interactions that are somewhat written less one-dimensionally than the girls. (not to say the guys aren't also walking ship tropes for fanfic purposes). like you can't spin this in a way that doesn't sound bad, the men just get more spotlight and that's a fucking fact. so much for "focus on the girls". fucking SIR PENTIOUS GETS A SONG AFTER HIS DEATH, GUYS

none of the angel vs hell lore makes any fucking lick of sense, and i dont mean to say it needs to be biblically adjacent, it just doesnt make fucking sense even in the "original" lore it is constructing. how is hell supposed to be a threat to heaven when hell denizens dont have access to heaven?? this question alone makes anyone question what the hell the exterminations really are for. also, like, i really fucking hate adam, he's literally the most annoyingly written villain, like he's not even funny in a trashy way. if you want to make your main villain a hypocrite who's also a massive misogynist and sexist, writing him like a frat bro makes sense if your story is set in a college campus. this is HEAVEN AND HELL. all of his lines are just stupid and senseless for the context this all takes place in (also like lute being essentially a tradwife for him is literally such a stupid choice, if you want to make a meaningful commentary about misogyny among women this isnt how it works)

all of the sin and pure shit and repenting deal is like... literally awful. for a show that prides itself on owning the bigots who think gay sex and doing drugs and doing crimes is all inherently evil, the writing really does not do itself a favor of subverting this real-world bigoted way of thinking. as unintentional as it might be it kind of just reinforces it when the character they decide to 'repent' is fucking angel dust, a literal sex worker stuck in a cycle of abuse with an abusive rapist pimp and who does drugs as a way to cope in his life. because obviously sex work (and bdsm) is inherently sinful and disgusting and the only way to repent is to give up disgusting gay sex and sinful drugs and just stick it to the abuser that has you literally by the leash! i dont think this was intentional but it comes off as hilariously stupid and straight up tactless. (also we don't talk about how the storyboarded for the song poison apparently also drew rape comics of angel dust and valentino before as a kink thing)

oh on the topic of valentino, i dont fucking get people liking him. he is literally shown to be abusive and a rapist. people will see a thin man who's not straight and hump his legs like their life depends on it. at least he isnt white but i'd actually say this makes everything worse because vivienne medrano LOVES making the characters in her show of ambiguous ethnicities/backgrounds and ends up making most of the awful ones, of color. again dont think this is INTENTIONALLY done but it still comes across as horrid nonetheless. whew!!!

also i hate alastor in all types ways sauces and forms. he exists to attract fangirls and rabid fans who love tumblr sexymen. other than his design being tremendously aggravating, he's literally just fucking useless, and i hate that the show tries to shoehorn in halfway that he's supposed to be a "dad figure" to charlie when he literally never has done anything dadlike for her in the whole show (and yes i watched the pilot, i still dont think this counts). the only saving grace for alastor is his voice acting. everything else needs to go. there is no saving this one

and, on the topic of alastor, i'm not the first one to point this out but something about him owning husk's soul (the one character being voiced by a black VA, who coincidentally also has a design that is conveniently ambiguous with him being a fucking. winged cat furry demon ig) has like some really bad vibes about it that i can't quite put my finger on. i'm not entirely qualified to like dissect the issues this whole show has with like... the way certain implied characters of color act within it (i say implied because vivziepop is allergic to giving the main characters of her shows actual dark skin colors that arent grey, except maybe some one-off side characters) but it was just so jarring i had to mention it

i also hate lucifer because again, made for purely fanfic ship tropes and rabid fans who are obsessed with 'pathetic sopping wet cat men' with that signular character trait. his persnality is: Depression and Dad. I literally hated every fucking moment in this show where he was in a scene and was treated as "just some guy". same with charlie. Like the lack of authority they have for a supposed KING AND PRINCESS OF HELL is just... i dont know? stupid?

conclusion is that i hate the show, i will however bee seeing season 2 just because at this point im in it for the long run, its just like, other than the visuals being awful; it was legitimately the least aggravating part for me (THIS DOESNT MEAN I LIKE THEM, I DONT, I HATE THEM TOO) but the whole writing is just... wow. i just don't understand how they got a24 to back this up. like you cant make this shit up this bad even if you tried. and im sure there's a trillion other things other people have more eloquently explained in how and which ways they are bad; these are just some of my thoughts.

my concluding statement is that i also feel really bad for people who do entire rewrites of this thing as 'fans'. i dont get it. like i get doing redesigns because it can be an exercise and because lets be real, like, everyones design is bad, hardly anything is salvageable or makes sense. but rewriting... guys please just make your own stories from scratch. at the cost of being told "omg this is just like hazbin hotel!" you have to persevere and just write your own shit. because doing the redesigns means unpacking heaps of 'lore' that doesnt make any whatsoever sense...

#i REALLY dont want to tag this #i hope the shartbin fartel fans dont find me not bc im scared of them but because i have shit to do now. i gotta work ok?#asks #almost forgot to disable reblogs omfg

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casstr8 · 2 months

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Cass | 24 years old | White | Bisexual

Males

I thoroughly do not support males. I don’t see the point in supporting my oppressors. I don’t see how it would be wise of me to support the ones who have abused me since I was born. All males are the same. Males look at me and see me as lesser than them because I am female with breasts they can assault and a vagina they can rape. I walk around this world knowing males are violating my body at every waking moment. I will not support these creatures.

Dating/Fucking/Breeding With Males

I also do not support dating males and I personally do not support women who involve themselves with males willingly. I have history with abuse at a young age and do not like it when women appropriate mine and other women’s traumas to excuse their behaviour. If you were not actually abused or groomed into it, it was a willing choice. Away from abuse, I do not support dating males, especially having sex and breeding (I use this word because the act of having sex with a male and creating babies is the literal definition of breeding) with them. Giving your body to a male, your oppressor, is unfeminist (and dangerous). The entire concept of heterosexual sex to males is having a hole made for them to put their rotten appendage in. No amount of deluding yourself into thinking you’re in control will change that. All men view your bodies as sex dolls and that your vagina was made for their rotten appendages to rape. Breeding with males is inherently disgusting and revolting. Creating life is selfish and destructive to feminism and society in general. Mothers (I also believe mothers are not perfect and in most cases, are not in a position to be feminists) will birth violent males and coddle them through their entire life, enabling them through things like rape and abuse. Fathers will teach them women are buyable and rapeable. Mothers will birth females who are destined to be victims of these males. Mothers will pressure their daughters to essentially become slaves and be sold off to males. They will become hostile and abusive if their own slavery leaves them resentful. Fathers will view their daughters as maids and slaves as well. Even if you’re “not like this,” there is no way to raise a male correctly so that he won’t rape and abuse women. They are born like that and this society is literally built for them. They will be like. Every. Other. Male. And as a feminist, you should know there is no way to truly save a girl/woman from female terror. All of that, along with the glaring fact that doing this act, with your oppressor, is just not at all feminist in any way possible.

OSA Delusion

Not be a “as a..” person, but please bear with me. As an OSA, I think it’s offense the amount of radfems who have came out of the woodwork to claim it’s hard for OSAs to not fuck males. Not only to me, but lesbians as well to claim that your inability to close your legs is in any way, shape, or form the same as oppression or the struggles of being homosexual. Claiming to be a radical feminist and admitting you lack the ability to control yourself sexually around males is really sad. But it’s disgusting how you are trying to push this narrative into feminism that is supposed to be radical. If you cannot control yourself sexually with males, you need to heal. Not try to normalize giving your body to your oppressors in a community and movement that is based in separatism. I should not be told by “radfems” that I’m just a traumatized little girl from being sexually tortured and the cure is to open my heart back up to males and fuck them.

“But What About Rape Victims?”

Speaking of rape and abuse victims, I also do not like being used as a golden card as a rebuttal to this bullshit. I have been abused by males and raped by them and I am fully capable of understanding that it was not my choice and these discussions are not aimed at rape and abuse victims. Women who have never experienced these things will use mine and other women’s traumas to hide behind their own inability to be the least bit “radical.”

Bisexual Women and Lesbians

On the topic of OSAs, even for radfems who fight with gendies everyday on how bisexual women dating males are not “q slurs,” some of you still think bisexual women with heavy SSA preference are the same as lesbians. I have a heavy SSA preference currently but that does not make me a lesbian, nor do I understand what it’s like to be a lesbian. I have male repulsion and penis repulsion due to being abused and raped and seeing how this is not only common but literal male innate nature. It is not the same as for lesbians. They don’t have a reason, they just aren’t attracted to males. Too many bisexual women will have traumatizing or honestly just bad relationships with males and instead of healing from it normally, they start polluting lesbian spaces because they can’t admit that they are still OSA. If you had real attraction for a male, you are still bisexual, not a lesbian. Real lesbians do not date and fuck males in the wake of lesphobia/homophobia. It is a bisexual behaviour. OSA women are pressured from birth to fuck males by their parents and peers and because you are attracted to them, it sometimes comes naturally to do so. You are a victim of misogyny, NOT lesphobia. Stop harming lesbians and wasting their time by larping as one.

Febfems

On the topic of “febfem,” I think it’s just a more normalized way of saying “bi lesbian.” I view it as overcompensation personally. I am female "exclusive" as well but I don’t really see the need in using that term. I think most febfems get carried away with it and genuinely think it’s a real sexuality, like gendies with pansexual. I also see a lot of radfems grouping them in with lesbians to the point it’s inferred they are being called the same thing. I can also imagine it’s frustrating for lesbians to once again not have their own spaces, let alone conversations. Febfems have constantly been obsessed with male media and will eventually date males. This is why I personally think it is a form of overcompensation because I have seen so many febfems on radblr alone obsessing over males and ending up dating them anyways. Circling back to the bi lesbian part, some febfems genuinely feel as if they are “in theory” lesbians. I think it’s a lot more normal to just call yourself bisexual and then explain if you “need.”

Pregnancy/Abortion

Back to the breeding paragraph, I think pregnancy is inherently revolting. I have been through this trauma myself and there was never a good part of it. Pregnancy is dangerous and fatal. Pregnancy will ruin your body. Pregnancy and giving birth will traumatize you. All the women who claim it is not are deluded. I am pro-abortion, not pro-choice. I do not believe some women should have a choice as a lot cannot make informed decisions. Especially with girls, aka children. Abortion should be mandatory for all pregnancies. I have been through a forced abortion before and trust me, it will never be as “scary” as dying in childbirth. Do not have sex with males if you do not want to get pregnant. The “pregnancy shouldn’t be a punishment” is bullshit because pregnancy will always be a consequence of sex that can literally kill you. If you are able to get an abortion, then get one. Stop having sex with males.

“White Women Misogyny”

Obviously I am a white woman. I understand I have privileges and that even though I have been oppressed for being a woman, there was never a time I was being oppressed for being a WHITE woman. I see a lot of discussion on radblr about how white males are normalizing the misogyny of white women. I believe some discussions can be had but they need to actually matter and be in good faith. Not tacked on to misogynoir or when woc are talking about their experiences in general. Those white males view woc as pets, especially black women. So many white males get off to having a black gf/wife and literally view them as their slave. I don’t like how often white radfems act like this misogyny against white women is “newly normalized” and why it’s a pressing matter, since this misogyny coupled with racism has been normalized against woc for hundreds of years. If you are more focused on the “white” part, then it’s falling into “you can be racist to white people” territory.

Lesphobia

I do not stand for any version of lesphobia. including but not limited to and also not in any order...

bisexual women refusing to admit they oppress lesbians

bisexuals inserting themselves in lesbian only spaces and conversations

bisexual women larping as lesbians

bisexual women using comphet as an excuse to larp as a lesbian

bisexuals women claiming lesbians are not real women because they don't experience osa experiences

bisexual women appropriating lesbian terms

Lesbians who were assaulted/raped with no prior and current attraction to males are still lesbians. "Lesbians" who had prior attraction to males before rape/abuse/bad relationships and became penis/male repulsed are bisexual. There are no unique, off-limits individual experiences to explain outlandish internet jargon that harms lesbians. Lesbians do not have "fake" attraction to males in the face of homophobia and they especially do not fuck males. You live in a society that wants you to fuck males and because you are osa, you were able to do that. You are a victim of misogyny, not lesphobia/homophobia.

Why I Initially Left Radblr

Honestly, I left radblr for all these reasons. There wasn’t an exact moment I left per say. I had been slowly pulling away from it and stopped following a lot of radfems because I did not feel comfortable with what they were saying. I came into radblr broken and still healing and needed a place that won’t center males. I soon realized this was not group therapy and a serious movement that calls for action. I learned and even though it was hard sometimes, I learned and learned and learned. And I still haven’t learned as much as I should. I have taken control of my life and actions and I feel so blessed for that. But eventually, like I said, every other day there was a new discussion that exposed a lot of lesphobia and racism. A lot of radfems who were popular and viewed as the “celebs” of radblr during my activity were barely radical themselves. Not only that, but incredibly lesphobic too. This woman is actually really racist. This woman thinks bisexuals suffer more than lesbians. This one thinks lesbians aren’t real women. This one has been fighting on the front lines for lesbians but has actually been a deluded larping bisexual this whole time. This one thinks women should die in childbirth because of cells. I can go on and on but so many radfems on radblr end up being fake, like how it usually is on the internet to begin with. I just got tired of it and stopped interacting all together honestly. I went off and did my own thing before leaving tumblr entirely for other personal matters.

Why I Came Back

Honestly it was an impulsive decision to start interacting with radfems on radblr again. I have been so angry for so long because I felt so betrayed by these women. But it’s been over a year and I’ve been seeing glimmers of hope. I know there are well-meaning radfems out there who have never lost the plot so I decided to come and support them.

Major Edit: My last paragraph is currently not my stance anymore. I know there are probably a lot of well meaning radfems on here but the ones who are actually influential and contribute the most have no problem defending and even spreading lesphobia. I no longer support radblr ENTIRELY anymore and have no intentions of supporting the community itself, instead JUST the level headed bis and the actual lesbians who detest it. I will still participate in it on my personal account @psyquinz but just through reblogs with my responses or through comments. I am NOT a radfem and most of “opinions” are not in a feminist/political sense as my “beliefs” are the truth.

- being around males no matter who they are (bf, husband, friends, family, etc) is dangerous and this truth is not feminist theory and it is not attached to polilez garbage. supporting males no matter what is “not all men” propaganda and i do not support it no matter who you are.

Last Updated: March 30, 2024 at 12:18pm

#radblr #radical feminism #radfem

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dwellordream · 4 years

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I'm loving all this great discussion you've got going on about Rhaenyra Targaryen. How would you have preferred GRRM to have written her? What could have given her greater nuance and made her less "total hot mess" and more "nuanced and possibly tragic antiheroine"? Thanks for your generosity in answering all of these questions!

Thank you so much! I hope I’m not annoying people with my constant complaints about Fire and Blood haha. Just as a whole I think Fire & Blood would have benefitted as being a series of interwoven novellas, not a mock-medieval-history of the past 300 years of Westeros. GRRM’s greatest talent as a writer, imo, is in how he develops characters as nuanced and realistic people with understandable ambitions and fears through their own perspectives. That’s lost out on in F&B. Occasionally it breaks into more ‘novel-like’ scene descriptions, but overall it’s supposed to read as a dry historical text, only it’s an often contradictory, absurdly biased, all over the place, relying on shock value dry historical text. I get that part of the whole idea was to present various viewpoints of certain characters and events and ‘leave it up to the reader to decide’ who they were inclined to believe, but really it’s just more of a vehicle for misogyny than anything else, since we exclusively get the viewpoints of a couple of very sexist maesters and... Mushroom. Yay. Okay for example if I was going to handle Rhaenyra’s character while still hitting the basic plot points of her story (and this is not me saying I think I’m a better writer than GRRM or that I ‘know his characters better’, it’s just my personal interpretation), I think my goal would be to humanize her to the audience of readers while not shying away from her darker moments. She’s supposed to be controversial and provocative. However that doesn’t mean she has to be totally 2-dimensional or such a hot mess. I think I would start by emphasizing Rhaenyra’s position for the first 10 years of her life. She is the coddled, cossetted, and beloved only child of Viserys and his adored wife Aemma. She has never had a sibling, she’s never had to share any attention, her parents dote on her, as does all the court. Of course she is going to be spoilt, high-maintenance, proud, and temperamental when she doesn’t get her way. However, Rhaenyra is not just a bratty princess stereotype (or, she doesn’t have to be). She is also an extremely brave and determined little girl. She is extroverted; she likes socializing and being around people, she’s confident and assertive and used to having her voice heard. At the age of seven, she single-handedly tames and bonds with a young dragon. That is an extremely impressive feat for a child. You can’t argue, bully, or demand your way into riding a dragon, a wild beast. Rhaenyra had to show some serious grit and tenacity to do that at such a young age, so she’s not just this puffed up little fragile flower who wails when she doesn’t get her way. Rhaenyra also has a great relationship with her father. He doesn’t seem to hold the fact that she is his only child and a daughter against her; he praises and shows her off in front of his court, he makes sure she is always by his side. Rhaenyra is used to being honored before everyone. She is her father’s cupbearer, she is present while he holds court, she is exposed to a high level of adult political interactions and basic courtesies. She’s probably pretty bright for her age, and has a keen understanding of who is who and what everyone at court’s relations to one another are. She’s not been kept locked up in a nursery playing with toys, she is seen as an active member of court and her father’s little shadow. She also likely has a very good relationship with her mother Aemma. Rhaenyra is Aemma’s pride and joy, her sole surviving child after the trauma of a very young marriage and multiple miscarriages and stillbirths. Aemma has no close siblings of her own, and never knew her own mother Daella; no doubt she prizes her relationship with Rhaenyra and hopes Rhaenyra does not experience what she did as a little girl, growing up without a mother and only much-older half siblings in the Vale. Then there is her Uncle Daemon. Daemon is the ‘fun’ relative little kids adore. He doesn’t treat Rhaenyra like a child, he doesn’t condescend to her, he brings her back all sorts of exciting and interesting toys and gifts, he takes time out of his day to spend with her, he takes her on outings and makes her feel special and loved. He’s not always busy with the mundane aspects of ruling that her father likely is, he’s not caught up with his own wife and children, he has all sorts of wild tales of adventure and mystery. It’s easy to see why Rhaenyra loves him so. Then Aemma dies. No doubt this is a horrible shock to Rhaenyra. She’s a little girl, just eight years old. She’s not necessarily that familiar with the harsh realities of pregnancy and childbirth, she just knew she was getting a little brother or sister, and now her mother is gone, just like that. Aemma died during the birth. Rhaenyra never got to say goodbye, and her little brother dies a day later, compounding the grief and horror. Her father is heartbroken and reeling, and her favorite uncle is out drinking and whoring. But Rhaenyra is named her father’s heir. Her mom might be gone, but her dad still loves her, and he loves her so much, in her eyes, that he is willing to buck the precedent that set him on the throne (passing over Rhaenys) in order to name her his heir. She’s Princess of Dragonstone; a whole island! Despite her grief and rage over her mother being ripped away from her, this is probably thrilling for a little girl. She’s going to be queen one day. Everyone loves her and wants her to be happy. She’s going to be the first Targaryen queen in her own right. Doesn’t that make her special and chosen? Then a year later her father remarries. Rhaenyra likely isn’t happy about this; her mother has only been dead a year!- but she is willing to try to get along with her new stepmother, Alicent, who probably seems like less of a mother and more of an older sister figure, just a teenaged girl of 18. Alicent is smart and pretty and Rhaenyra remembers her from court as a very small girl. Her father is Rhaenyra’s father’s Hand, someone Rhaenyra probably knows well, maybe even considers almost family, having grown up seeing him all the time, exchanging gifts at holidays and birthdays, attending tourneys with his family, etc. Then Alicent gets pregnant, something 9 year old Rhaenyra probably wasn’t really thinking about. She has a son, and people are saying he will be king, that her claim doesn’t matter. Then Alicent has another son. She doesn’t have time for Rhaenyra anymore. She’s not Rhaenyra’s mother. She has her own sons, and Aegon will be king, even though it’s not fair, even though Father promised she would be queen, even though Mother is dead and never coming back. These are three major events happening in short succession in the life of a precocious little girl. Rhaenyra likely feels hurt and confused and angry. Sure, her father hasn’t officially declared Aegon as his heir, but Alicent and her father are pushing it, people Rhaenyra thought she could trust. Who is she supposed to rely on now? Well, there’s Uncle Daemon, who suddenly seems like less of the fun uncle, almost like a big brother, and more of.. something else. He doesn’t treat her like a little girl anymore, he calls her beautiful and encourages her to show off her good looks and charm, assures her that regardless of what her father says or does, he will always care for her. She can count on him! And Ser Criston Cole, her longtime crush- well, he just sees her as that spoilt little girl. She’s growing up! She’s not a child anymore but he just doesn’t get it. She’s certain he feels the same way about her, that he loves her back, but his vows and white cloak are in the way, and he won’t stop seeing her as the little princess, not a girl of sixteen, a woman grown! She doesn’t have a mom to talk to this stuff about, but there is Uncle Daemon, and he knows pretty much everything about love and seduction; that’s why there’s all those wild tales about him. If she asks him to help her show Criston that she’s a woman now and wants to be treated as such, he wouldn’t turn her down, would he? Besides, he treats her like a grownup. He thinks she’d be an amazing queen. Father and him fight all the time, but Father’s blinded by his love for Alicent- she’s manipulating him! Uncle Daemon gives her advice, and she tries to impress Criston, but it backfires. He leaves her feeling humiliated and rejected. It’s not fair, she’s the princess, she’s supposed to be good at everything, but he acted like she was wrong to try to show him how much she cares and wants to be with him! Now he won’t talk to her anymore, and Father is sending Uncle Daemon, who seems like her one true friend, away from court because of some stupid rumors that he ‘deflowered her’. Alicent is saying she should be married to Aegon, her half-brother who she can’t stand; he’s a spoilt little creep, always groping servant girls and kissing up to their father. Dragonstone seems like the escape she needs from all of this, but Father is threatening to strip it from her unless she marries Laenor- Laenor who she knows isn’t even into women! They’re not even close friends. He doesn’t want to marry her anymore than she wants to marry him, only their fathers are insisting on it. Daemon’s gone and she has no idea when he’s coming back, and Harwin is sweet and says he loves her, but he would have never been accepted as her husband. Still, at least he’ll never leave her or turn on her, the way everyone else has. And that is basically how I would cover Rhaenyra’s childhood and adolescence in a way that I think at least gives her some understandable motivations, some nuance, and some real emotion beyond ‘she threw a fit when she didn’t get her way’.

#fire and blood #rhaenyra targaryen #ask

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got7-markjinson · 4 years

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All I Want For Christmas is: Thursday [Jinyoung]

Pairing: Reader X GOT7 Jinyoung Genre: Fluff; Word Count: 2k+

Summary: Grumpy Ticket booth seller Jinyoung just wants to be left alone. But found someone who he wants to be with.

[All I Want For Christmas: is a GOT7 collab]

A/N: I’m sorry this came in late. I got sick these past few days. This one’s also short but I hope it’s enough for the holiday drabble! ^_^v (Happy birthday to me, too!)

If you would tell young Jinyoung how he would grow up to be, describing the current adult Jinyoung to him, he wouldn’t have believed you. And young Jinyoung believed in a lot of things.

As the youngest of the Park siblings, Jinyoung was coddled. His parents make sure he gets the gifts he wants for Christmas, setting up everything to make it look like Santa has placed it nicely on his socks the night before.

Him reaching adolescence is a different matter. As the only male heir of the Park family, expectations were high. And that meant he needs to grow up quicker.

Choosing to move into the city since he got into college, it seems that nothing goes well for him though. His grades were mediocre at best, and he never even got a stable job after graduation.

Not living up to his family name, he always makes excuses to miss going home for the holidays. Anything would be better than having them ask how he is and have him blatantly lie every time that he’s doing great! That their only son is NOT always stuck in between jobs and is DEFINITELY doing what he loves.

Which is why he’s here. With a few friends from college, he has signed up for the White Miracle Market.

Of all the places he could’ve setup, he chose to man the ticket booth for the Daily Christmas shows. It suits him, he doesn’t need to produce anything. He doesn’t even need to pitch for sales, as the posters for the daily shows are already setup on the website and posters are plastered on all the corners of the market since day one.

The little interactions he had with the holiday visitors would only amount to questions from “What day and time would a particular show be up?” or “How much for a group ticket?” and an occasional “Is there a student discount?”

Most of the time, he would just tap on the schedule and price list clearly printed and plastered on the glass in between him and the visitors. He clearly doesn’t know why people don’t check first before asking. Does the holiday call for people to think he would be accommodating? Does his face look like he wanted to talk to them? He couldn’t tell.

Hell, even with his friends are showing up every now and then invading his booth.

Just the other day, Jaebeom crashed, sharing his concerns on being stuck on a special order from his toy making shop.

“We only know one other person who’s an expert on this crap.”, Jinyoung tells him. Crass and unfiltered as how he usually talks.

With a defeated sigh, Jaebeom replied, “Yeah… it’s time for me to go to her.”

Her? Jinyoung was thinking of Yugyeom but he guessed Jaebeom just thinks what he wanted to. Maybe it was the girl from the crafts shop that he has been crushing for a while. And maybe Jinyoung doesn’t care if he was misread. As long as it would make Jaebeom leave him to his booth in peace.

“I just don’t get it,” Bambam complained to him on another occasion. “Most women love me. I’m handsome and charming. How was she so put off by me on our first date?”

“Let me put it this way.” Jinyoung thinking a visual representation would help pulled out a ticket and pen and drew two lines, “This line is the group of women that are interested in you. And this line right underneath is the group of women you’re interested in.”

“I don’t get it.” It was clear Bambam doesn’t, looking at his blank eyes.

“They’re parallel lines, Bambam. They never meet.”

“So?”

“So, you’re fucked,” Jinyoung stated, matter-of-factly. Maybe in this language Bambam would finally understand. “Now, go away.” Instantly shoving Bambam out of his space.

And today, another uninvited guest just waltzed in on his booth, screaming loudly, “Jinyoung! She outsold me… AGAIN! Could you imagine this face? Being outsold?”

“I clearly remembered you’re selling chocolates and not beauty products, Jackson.”, Rubbing his temples with his fingers, he tried to call out his inner peace. He literally just talked to him a while back on overstepping boundaries when he and Youngjae had a fallout. He thought there wouldn’t be another issue with Jackson for another week or so, but Jinyoung must have been asking for too much. But this is really testing his patience. He clearly shouldn’t be thinking of murdering his friends for disturbing his personal space.

“I am! But still! This face should be able to sell anything!”, Jackson huffed, “If you wouldn’t be so selfish and buy some of my chocolates, my sales would’ve done better, y’know.”

“That’s it! Get out, Jackson!”, Jinyoung finally lost it. It was the final straw. Him? Selfish? After all him listening to his friends’ petty woes. Barging into his space like it’s their own, without care that he would like to be left alone. It’s not like he’s Santa Claus. Right, they have a resident Santa Claus, why not they go to him instead?

He put out his “STAFF ON BREAK” sign early to take a breath. Away from the space, and hopefully escape from his clingy friends. He went behind the theatre of where his booth was strategically placed beside of.

Even if he sold the tickets, he never has personally watched any of the shows so this is the first time he would go here. He was expecting the theatre to be empty as the shows usually starts late, but he was surprise to hear voices coming from the stage. He went closer and saw that there was only one person there, changing voices to play different parts of the play.

It was surreal. You looked like a painting standing there with your makeshift costume, your hair disheveled from moving around on all the edges to perform each act alone. Beads of sweat on the corner of your face twinkle from the bright lights of the stage. He was in awe.

You turned around and paused mid-sentence on one of your lines when you got startled to see another person there.

“Oh! Sorry to disturb your practice.”, he uttered.

“No. It’s okay.” You breathed in relief. And then offered a chuckle, “I just got a little jumpy. Maybe I had too much coffee this morning.”

You smiled when you recognized him and involuntarily, he smiled back.

“I knew it! You can smile, too!”, you joked.

Jinyoung was caught off guard, and he gave a puzzled expression on his face.

“You’re Jinyoung, right? The one from the ticket booth?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You just always looked so… professional.”, you were looking for a better word than that. “Passive.”

“Oh.”, Jinyoung realized his face does show his lack of enthusiasm when he sells tickets. “Yeah, I just don’t think I mingle well with people.”

“Would you like to read lines with me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well… It might help you practice things to say to people if you read lines. Right?” You say, hoping that lame excuse would hide the fact that you just wanted to get to know him. That you wanted him to stay longer. God, you have been crushing on him for a while and you need to seize your chance! In fact, you even auditioned for one of the Christmas shows ever since you bought a ticket from him last Christmas, wishing to see more of him. “That is, if you’re not busy of course.”

And that’s where it started. Jinyoung usually didn’t take notice of the show titles and when it’s held. But now, he gets excited on Thursdays. The days you perform.

It has been the usual afternoon that you’re rehearsing on the empty theatre with Jinyoung. He sometimes reading the lines with you, but he mostly just observes. However today, he was quiet and as you ended one scene and walked towards the audience, you see him asleep on one of the seats. You smiled to yourself and quietly walked down out of the stage and sat beside him.

Cupping your face with one hand, you just looked at his steady breathing. You whispered. “Jinyoung…”, you reached out to fix a strand of hair out of place and continued with your monologue. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I really wanted to tell you something...”

You cleared your throat. “I actually liked you. A lot.”

Internally, you were cursing yourself for feeling so embarrassed confessing to a person asleep. But right now, this is the only thing you can do. You continued “I thought I’m okay with just looking at you from afar but… But since I have been spending time with you these past few days. It makes me want more. I’m scared you won’t like me but it’s okay if you don’t like me back. I just wanted to say this in person. Maybe… Maybe this Thursday I’ll be brave enough to tell you. Wait for me, then. Okay?”

You quietly left the theatre. And slowly, Jinyoung’s eyes fluttered open.

He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe someone like him would be liked by someone like you. His heart clenched, his body warmed, a certain happiness he has never thought he would have washed over him. He needed to tell it to you first. How you make him feel. That you changed the way he looked at things in this supposed to be hell of a holiday. That a loser like him would ever find this happiness.

Thursday came again.

But as he watched the show, he was surprised when your role was being played by someone else. The show ended with no signs of you. He waited. Until all of the audience and actors were gone. Until the theatre was empty. But there was no you.

He couldn’t have dreamt it all, could he? Were you ever real?

Days gone by that he hasn’t seen or heard from you and he doesn’t know what to make of it. He had never made attachments before, so he doesn’t know what he feels right now, and it just makes him lose sleep.

One day, Jinyoung woke up late, not that he was usually excited on coming to work for the holidays, but he was usually on time. One might say that he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Feeling cranky and a little naughty when he passed by the chocolates stand on his way to the ticket booth.

“Don’t you want to try a line or two on me?”, he mischievously asked the lady owner of the chocolate stand opposite Jackson’s.

“I don’t play that dirty,” came the reply.

Jinyoung was amused and then picked up several bags of chocolates from display with a yell from Jackson from behind “Oi, Jinyoung! What the hell?! Get over here!”

After shoving the money into the seller’s hand, he let out a quick, “Thanks for this. Not only will I have something to get me through the hell that is my shift, but I got to piss off Jackson, too.” Before running off to escape from Jackson.

Jinyoung laughed to himself as he seated inside his booth, seeming pleased with his prank on Jackson until he saw the calendar on his desk. Thursday. It was Thursday once again.

He sighed. And with a knock on the glass, a voice asked. “How much for two tickets for the 10 AM show?”

“I’m sorry but there’s no shows at 10 AM.” he responded, confident on the schedules as he memorized them by heart. As he uttered the words, he looked at the early bird ticket buyer.

He was speechless.

“Did you miss me?”, you say.

Without a word, he ran outside the booth to look at you face to face, only to see you in crutches. But it didn’t stop him from hugging you, which is so unlike him, at all. “God! Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry.” You say as you breathed his warmth. “I was clumsy, and I slipped, and I fell, and I broke my leg.” You chuckled at the events. It sounds funny as you were saying it out loud.

This time, he laughed with you, “You what? How could you have done that?”

“I know. I don’t know.”, he pulled away and is now looking at you with clear eyes, whisker-like wrinkles underneath and a wide smile on his face. This is the most beautiful he has ever been.

“Don’t you ever. Ever. Leave. Without telling me again.”

“Listen, Jinyoung. There’s something I actually wanted to tell you before.”

He put a finger on your lips to stop you and he shook his head. “I wanted to tell you something first.”

He dropped his hands and took yours, “I like you, Y/N. I like you a lot. If you let me, I would like to get to know you more.”

“I would like that”, you replied with a grateful smile on your face.

He enveloped you in a hug again, the warmest of all the hugs in the world.

#got7 #got7 writing #got7 jinyoung #park jinyoung #got7 fanfic #got7 jinyoung fanfic #got7 fluff #got7 imagine #all i want for christmas #got7 christmas collab #christmas collab #got7 scenarios

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aswallowssong · 4 years

Text

Whumptober (Sickfic) Day 8 - Hospital

This got way out of hand y’all, but here we are!

SCRC AU

Read on AO3

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Both women were clad in sweatpants and hoodies, JJ’s hair in a loose ponytail while Kit’s braids were falling out.

JJ was the only one she’d called.

The blonde dropped into the chair next to her, taking her hand and squeezing gently. The worry could have been coming from anywhere, they were in a hospital, but it surged when JJ took a breath.

“What happened?”

What happened? Kit wasn’t entirely sure. Reid had been off work a few days. Actually, she’d kicked him out of the bullpen that Monday when he was coughing so aggressively she swore he was going to crack a rib if he didn’t go home and lay down. It had sounded wet and congested and gross, but she assumed he’d picked up whatever cold was making its way around. He’d be fine if he just got some sleep like a normal person, and he’d be back by Wednesday. Gideon had even driven him home.

Then Hotch had told them Reid was out sick again on Thursday, which was concerning, but not enough for her to be overly worried. Some people caught things worse than other people. He was probably taking an extra day to be completely back to normal before facing them all again. He already got so much flack for being the youngest; the baby. She’d thought he was just avoiding being coddled when he didn’t need it.

At least that’s what she’d thought until he was calling her at one-thirty in the morning, his breaths coming in gasps and wheezes as he asked for her help through what sounded like strangled sobs. She’d scrambled from her bed and basically grabbed the keys out of Monty’s hands as she walked through the door, shoving her glasses on her face and babbling something half-intelligible about an emergency.

It had taken her exactly three minutes to get to Spencer’s apartment in the dead of night, which was weird, because she hadn’t known that he lived anywhere near her. It took three more minutes for her to decide he needed more medical intervention than she could give him in his apartment. He was shaking and wheezing and coughing disgusting colored phlegm into the sleeve of his hoodie, skin on fire with eyes panicked and bright.

It took six minutes to get him down to the car, and another twelve to drive to the hospital closest to them. She’d walked him into the ER she’d worked in for a year and a half before the academy, no idea who was the Head, and no idea what to do except flash her badge and relay as much information as she possibly could to the nurse behind the desk.

They’d taken him away as soon as they saw that Kit was supporting most of his weight, his gasping and coughing causing the nurses to move with an urgency Kit almost missed. She just wished it wasn’t due to the fact that Reid, Spencer, was struggling to breath.

She’d found a corner to cry her eyes out in as soon as they’d taken him away from her.

“They, um. He’s in a room. They took him away from me and wouldn’t let me go with,” she said slowly, not really answering JJ’s question. “They wouldn’t let me go with.”

“But what happened? To Spence?”

Kit told her as well as she could, mind moving at seven hundred miles an hour. Things were fuzzy as she remembered them. Spencer’s breathing. Monty calling after her. His hands gripping hers so tight it was painful as she drove through the deserted streets of the district towards the hospital she knew so well.

JJ didn’t let go of as she spoke, running her thumb along the back of Kit’s hand. “You did everything you could,” she said quietly. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“I…” She shook her head, starting to ramble as she processed. “I sent him home Monday, remember? He was supposed to be back Wednesday and then he wasn’t. He wasn’t back today, yesterday? It’s Friday now I think, but it’s still today. It’s still Thursday and he didn’t come to work and I thought, maybe he was just waiting. But then he called me and he was struggling to breathe and I did what I could.”

She looked up at JJ’s eyes, her own pooling with tears like they had before. “I did everything I could, but he was in respiratory distress. It’s the middle of the night. I don’t have supplies like that in my backpack. I couldn’t help him.”

“You did,” she assured, squeezing Kit’s hand again. “You got to his apartment and you got him here.”

“I should have checked on him today. During the day. On my way home.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I should have done something else. You’re my responsibility. All of you.”

JJ shook her head, moving so that both her hands were holding Kit’s. “Don’t do that. No one else checked on him either. This is on all of us.”

“No, it’s on me.”

“Kit-”

“Spencer Reid?”

A voice called out from the doorway of the waiting room. An older nurse was standing there, giving the two girls a kind, sympathetic smile. They were the only two there, so the nurse must have known they were the ones there for Reid, but Kit appreciated the professionalism. Something concrete in a time where nothing felt like it was making a lot of sense.

“Yes,” Kit said quickly, swiping her tears away under her glasses and taking a deep breath as she stood. JJ stood as well. “Is he okay?”

“Are either of you immediate family?”

Both girls stood still for a moment before they both shook their heads. “I’m JJ, and this is Kit. We’re-,” JJ said before Kit said quickly. “We work in the same department at the FBI headquarters. I’m the one that brought him.”

The nurse nodded before starting into her spiel. The one Kit had given plenty of times before. “Mr. Reid has moderate bacterial pneumonia. He’s being given oxygen and intravenous fluids and medication to work on the dehydration and the fever. Once his sputum test comes back, we will be able to start him on a regiment of antibiotics.”

“He’s allergic to carbenicillin,” Kit said quickly, a hand drumming against the fabric of her sweats. The nurse smiled at her kindly. “We caught that on his file, yes. It was recently updated.”

Kit nodded quickly. “I did that a few months ago.”

“It was thorough,” the woman said, never losing her calm, kind front. “Now, I’m sure you’re glad to know that your friend is okay, but I am sorry to tell you that visiting hours don’t start again until ten. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you then, if he’s awake.”

“Wait,” Kit said quickly, catching on to her meaning, “We can’t see him now?”

“Neither of you are family, so no, I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait until the morning.”

“He doesn’t have any family,” JJ said with the same speed and determination Kit had spoken. “He has us. And Kit just brought him here, and he was scared.”

The nurse shook her head, Reid’s file tightening in her hand. “I’m sorry that you’re upset. The only people who are allowed immediate visiting hour exceptions are immediate family, like a spouse or a parent, or a listed emergency contact, in the case of a patient with no familial ties.”

“Well, who’s his emergency contact? We’re not leaving him here alone.” JJ’s eyes were full of a fire Kit would say lined up pretty well with what Gideon always said about her.

If her eyes really looked like that, maybe he was right to say she was trouble.

The nurse sighed quietly, opening the file and scanning. She tilted her head as she read the name on the file. “Emergency contact for Spencer Reid is… Dakota. Dakota Col- Colg…”

“Colghain?” Kit asked, eyes wide and eyebrows pulled together. The nurse nodded. “Sure, that could be it. Do you know her?”

“I am her,” Kit said, stunned. She pulled her badge out of the pocket of her sweatpants, flipping it open so the woman could see her name printed clearly along with her picture.

“Well why didn’t you start with that?” The nurse said, waves of true annoyance coming off of her. “You can come with me, but your friend has to leave until visiting hours start again.”

Kit promised JJ she would call as soon as she could before following the nurse down the cold hallway. Goosebumps erupted along Kit’s arms as they passed door after door, the walk from the ER to General Admissions being so eerily familiar, but so foreign at the same time. She’d lost a young man in room 302, and an elderly woman in room 246. She’d walked down the hallway a million times, she just didn’t think she’d be doing it again. Not as a visitor.

The nurse opened the door to Reid’s room, and Kit had to swallow back the whine threatening to escape. He was paper white, hooked up to an IV with a nasal cannula situated in his nose, pumping oxygen into his fluid-filled lungs. The guilt was hitting her in waves, and she didn’t move for a moment.

This is your fault. If you’d checked on him today, or if you’d given a shit on Monday past the fact that the coughing was annoying everyone, he wouldn’t be in this situation.

“It’s alright,” the nurse said, her annoyance ebbing as she watched Kit stand there with wide eyes. “It can be hard for some people to see all these IVs and machines.”

“I’m a Charge Nurse,” Kit said quietly, using the terminology she knew from the hospital, not the academy clinic. “I’ve just never seen him look like this.”

Kit sat in the chair by Reid’s bed for almost an hour before he shifted, his breath catching and leaving his coughing and sputtering as phlegm tried to work its way out of his lungs. She moved to the edge of the bed quickly, helping him sit up and passing him a bin that he could spit the offending mucus into. She let herself be thankful for one moment that it was her and not JJ there with him, not knowing JJ’s comfort level with all things medically gross.

“You’re okay,” she said quietly, one of her small hands pressed steadily between his shoulder blades. “Get it out. That’s your job right now.”

“Hurts,” he choked out as he continued to cough, and Kit sighed, rubbing gently across his upper back. “Yeah, I know. Not a choice, though. I’m not going anywhere, just try to breathe when you can.”

It took minutes for him to get control of his lungs back, though he wheezed with every shallow intake of air. He looked at her with glassy, fever bright eyes, his eyes moving slowly around the room before he said quietly, “What did they say?”

“Bacterial pneumonia. They’re putting you on antibiotics and keeping you here at least twenty-four hours. So, really, Saturday morning.”

“I’m allergic-”

“To carbenicillin, I know. I told them.”

Reid seemed to relax slightly at that, knowing that whatever they gave him to combat the infection in his lungs wasn’t going to be his end. Kit helped ease him against the thin mattress again in a position that wouldn’t allow him to drown in his own illness.

It was quiet, save for the occasional cough from Spencer. Her hand was gripped around his, the overwhelming guilt and confusion building as time went on.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, and he opened his eyes to look at her with puzzlement. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I should have given a shit when I sent you home on Monday, and I should have checked in on you today. We probably could have avoided this whole, ‘scary fever can’t breath’ thing.” She was looking down at her hand that was playing with the seam on her pants, the hand holding Reid’s already as tight as she dared.

Reid shook his head lazily. “I’m sorry I waited so long to call you. I knew there was something wrong-” He cut off with a few harsh coughs before he continued. “Earlier. I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t have bothered me,” she insisted, feeling like she was really looking at him for the first time. He was young, like she was, and he didn’t have any family. It dawned on her that she was his emergency contact. Not Gideon. Not even Hotch. She didn’t know if up until that point she would have called them friends.

But she was the one sitting in his hospital room at nearly four in the morning. And in his hospital room at four in the morning she wasn’t so sure he was a minion or a spy. He just looked like a scared young adult. Just like she was.

“Why is it me?”

“Hm?”

“Why am I your emergency contact? Why isn’t it Gideon?”

Reid didn’t speak for a moment, the air flooding with his sadness. “I asked him. He said no,” he said, voice quiet and trembling with tears that wouldn’t fall. “I should have asked you, Dakota. I shouldn’t have just done it. I’m sorry.”

There was another bout of silence before she nearly whispered, “You can leave it.”

He turned his head to look at her, something like distrust in his eyes. He wasn’t sure. He thought she was joking, or poking fun. She could see it.

“I- what?”

“You can leave it. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?”

“No, Spencer, I don’t. Thank you for calling me.”

He stared at her for a second before nodding just slightly, gratitude filling the space between them.

“Thank you for coming.”

#Brenna writes things #or at least she tries #Criminal Minds #SCRC #Whumptober Sickfic 2020 #sickfic #day 8 hospital #Gosh Spencer needs a hug #Kit does too

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geraltcirilla · 4 years

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Your latest daisy/sousa gifset ? Gorgeous, is the quote you used from a showrunner chloe or is it like from someone in the fandom also ie agent carter, everyone was white like the two main female characters were right and so was everyone else, and I don't think it had anything to do with the time period there are shows set way before that are 1000% more inclusive like anne with an e or black sails also no lgbtq characters although that's an issue aos had as well

Thank you!! :’) The quote I used is from Maurissa Tancharoen from this interview with Hypable. I’ll go ahead and give you the entire Daisy portion of that interview because it’s filled with gold.

On the romantic side of things, Chloe Bennet (and several of her co-stars) couldn’t be happier with Daisy’s choice of Daniel Sousa as her partner.

“He’s so stable, and so supportive, and so willing, and so understanding of who she is,” Bennet says. “[Daisy needs] that kind of stability in her life, and that support. And I think it doesn’t hurt that he’s a strapping young man!”

“She has become such a kind of a power house, physically,” Bennet continues. “I love that he kind of brings her down to Earth a little bit.”

For Enver Gjokaj, Sousa’s relationship to Daisy’s power was a crucial factor in their developing bond.

“They don’t seem to have a lot of [things] in common,” he notes, “But the fact that he’s attracted to strong women, and that he’s worked with strong women in his past, and that’s who he is — I think that becomes the foundation for a relationship. The fact [that Daisy’s power is] not threatening to him at all, that that’s actually a positive, that… made total sense to me.”

“And [Gjokaj] played it with such a quiet confidence, and just you’re so grounded,” Bennet continues. “Sousa is so grounded in himself, and he’s not threatened by her as an entity and by Quake, and it actually finds it slightly amusing. which I think is really sweet, actually.”

Clark Gregg also expressed a certain relief at Daisy’s choice, which he feels reflects maturity on the part of friend and castmate Bennet.

“One of the things that happens, especially when you do play a character for 200 years as I have… is that the life and art blend together,” he says, noting that it was challenging to repeatedly “watch Chloe/Daisy go through these various things and get her heart broken, and have people die.”

So “to have Enver show up and create — recreate — the new version [of Sousa], dealing with different kinds of stuff, was just cool!” Gregg says. The character’s new incarnation on Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. was “tough. Not calling attention to himself. It felt so real, and I love so much what he did, and the way that [he and Chloe] just kind of quietly backed into this thing that everybody has been rooting for. [It’s] such a testament to their work in the chaotic final season, and how lucky we were to get Enver. It’s just facts!”

For their part, showrunners Jeff Bell, Maurissa Tancharoen, and Jed Whedon felt it was critical that their cast of female characters be seen as much more than partners in relationships, regardless of how matters concluded.

“They’ve had relationships [but] we never defined them by that,” says Bell. “But Daisy hasn’t had great luck in the past, bad things that happened or it hasn’t worked out. And so when Enver showed up, it was more than we could have imagined. We’d hoped that they would have chemistry, and the fact that it worked so well was great.”

Bell also observes that even more significant than the romantic developments was Daisy’s re-formation of a new kind of family for herself.

It was important, he says to let Daisy’s sister “Kora come over at the end and [give] Daisy family to continue. So it wasn’t just ‘Now I have a boyfriend!’ It was like she had a new unit. I think that was something that happened organically through the force of the storytelling that was a nice thing that we hadn’t foreseen.”

“The whole drive of Daisy’s character arc was, she was in search for her identity. She was in search for her family and where she came from,” agrees Tancharon. “And what she stumbled upon was new one, and so at the end, it’s very clear that she is actually starting her own little family in space, with the man she loves and her actual sister.”

I really love this interview and I’ve loved EVERY interview the cast has done post-series. I don’t think I’ve ever shipped a couple quite so beloved by every single cast member, even people totally uninvolved like Clarke Gregg and Elizabeth Henstridge. This interview was especially sweet because Maurissa confirmed that Sousa and Daisy are in love, which we all though but it’s nice to get the showrunners backing that.

Re: Agent Carter, even when it comes to the female characters Peggy Carter was the only one listed as main cast. Peggy, Jarvis, Jack, Sousa, and Dooley are main cast, Angie, Dottie, and Ana are credited as reoccurring. And Angie was only in s1 (she made a brief cameo in s2 in a dream sequence), and Ana was only in s2. Only Dottie was in both seasons 1 and 2 and she was a villain. So I don’t think I can even give Agent Carter credit for having white women in the show. It’s really bad if you can’t even have white women in your main cast.

Agent Carter had an issue with lack of women, lack of BIPOC cast, and lack of LGBT characters (like you said AOS also has that last issue). The writers of the show actually claimed at the time (because even back then people were calling them out for this) that they were just being “truthful to the time period”, which we all know is a crock of shit. As you said BIPOC and LGBT didn’t suddenly spring into existence in the 2000s and lots of other period piece shows include them as characters.

Also as I said in my previous post, the writers have this unsettling need to woobify and coddle bigots because “they’re a product of their time” and the writers are constantly justifying their behavior and actions and trying to make them seem sympathetic.

But not only that, the feminism felt incredibly shallow and performative.

For example, one of the famous “feminist” lines of the show was “I know my worth. Anyone else’s opinion doesn’t really matter.” Peggy said this after Jack Thompson took all the credit for her work and effort in s1. I remember at the time people were livid because that was a terrible message to be sending women and girls. It’s okay if a man steals your work so long as you believe in yourself...? No. Hell no. That’s not how society progresses forward. Peggy should NOT have accepted that outcome and should have FOUGHT Jack to demand he give her her proper credit. But she didn’t. She rolled over and took it, and we as an audience were supposed to applaud her for it.

Another “feminist moment” is when Sousa catches Peggy helping Howard Stark and the SSR think that she’s a terrorist. So after they arrest her they all take turns interviewing her and she calls them out, saying: “I conducted my own investigation because no one listens to me. I got away with it because no one looks at me, because unless I have your reports, your coffee, or your lunch, I’m invisible.” Except this isn’t exactly true. She wasn’t invisible to Sousa and she didn’t get away with it because he literally caught her. Since episode one Sousa was investigating a strange blonde-haired woman with a scar on her right shoulder who he believed was helping Howard Stark. That woman was Peggy. And he actually figured that out in episode 1x05 and tried to arrest in her 1x06. Given that this is only an 8 episode season Sousa knew about Peggy for almost half the season, but was hunting her for technically the whole season. How is that you being invisible? How is that you getting away with it? How??

Peggy continues and says: “You think you know me, but I've never been more than what each of you has created. [At Dooley] To you, I'm the stray kitten, left on your doorstep to be protected. [At Jack] The secretary turned damsel in distress. [At Sousa] The girl on the pedestal, transformed into some daft whore." This statement was also weird as fuck to me because Sousa never thought she was a whore, never called her a whore, and never accused her of being a whore, etc. When the SSR found out Peggy was helping Howard Stark they were trying to figure out why she would do it. A working theory was she was in love with him (a fair theory given Howard’s a bit of a womanizer and actually has hit on Peggy in the past). So Sousa (along with literally everyone else interviewing her) accused her of having an affair with Howard. But somehow only Sousa received that scalding drag, when technically it was true of everyone. Also how was he viewing her on a pedestal when he called her out all the time (during their “quirky banter”) and once again, investigated her for terrorism. Some pedestal huh. (This quote actually bugs me a lot because some people to this day will reference it as a reason to hate Sousa - “He was obsessed with her and then when he thought she was with Howard he called her a whore!” That never happened, that’s Peggy’s false version of events. I have eyes and a working brain and I watched the season myself and it’s simply untrue.)

Peggy will just say stuff that sound Cool and Empowering but if you break it down and analyze it, make no sense and mean absolutely nothing. It’s just cringey.

And let’s not even get in to the ableist implications of Peggy fantasizing about Sousa suddenly having two legs and being able to walk perfectly. That was her romantic vision of him. A version that could not only walk, but dance. Who throws aside his cane like it was just an accessory. Okay.

I really did not like Agent Carter at all (problematic stuff aside the actual plot sucked) but I watched the whole thing because I was a fan of Peggy Carter and Jarvis and I really wanted to make it work. When it was cancelled I didn’t cry about it, I was actually relieved I wouldn’t have to watch a third season. That show was just such a cringey, embarrassing mess.

Sorry for the long rant about it. It’s been a long time since I talked about this show and it still bothers me to this day because people reflect on the show so fondly and are still making petitions to bring it back as if it’s wasn’t a heaping mess.

Thank God Sousa was saved from that show. lol

Disclaimer to anyone reading this: Me hating the Agenter Carter show is not me hating Peggy Carter. Obviously I love my mans Sousa, and I also love Jarvis and Angie. I loved a lot of the characters and my issues with the show has to do with the showrunners and the writing.

#ask #anon #long post #Anonymous #mine #text

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livingmybestfakelife · 4 years

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The Man With The White Horse

Summary: There were many situations that split mother and son apart, but this might be something that just might separate them forever

Paring: Michael Gray x Reader

Oneshot

gifs by bonniebird

It was currently forty degrees and steady dropping so it was safe to say that it was cold, too cold to be outside having a conversation that could have been done indoors, but his cousins insisted that they have a word with him outside so he reluctantly followed them through the double doors and onto the wide open yard, their heavy footsteps crushed the thick snow beneath them, Arthur had to catch himself from slipping on a piece that was hard as a rock, Michael pulled out a cigarette hoping that it would warm him up a little, but would still rather be in the house, so whatever they wanted to tell him they would have to do it quickly and had better worth freezing his balls off.

“Alright, what is it? What’s going on?”

“How about you take a sip of this gin aye Michael?”

“Since when are you a gin drinker? Whiskey is more your preference”

Arthur shrugs and passes him a glass that he had already poured, he takes the glass from him and swirls the liquid around a little before taking a sip, the other two look on to see his reaction

“Mm it’s good, a little sweet but it’s alright...so is this what you dragged me out here for, to have me try some gin?”

John snorts and goes to pat him on the shoulder

“No, but we’d hope it would loosen you up a little, you’ve been crunching numbers all week, it’s time you let loose, it’s Friday night Mikey”

“I’m aware of the day of the week John, now what’s up with the both of you? You’ve been acting as if you’ve got something to hide all day, hell you all have, my mum won’t even look me in the eyes, fucks going on?”

The families suspicions behavior didn’t go unnoticed by Michael no matter how hard they insisted there was nothing wrong, but they knew he was too smart to be played a fool, so they thought they might as well spill the beans, he would find out the truth eventually

“Michael, we’d each had gotten a letter earlier this week, you had gotten one too but...”

“Hold on, what letter?”

It was silent again, the only sounds that was filling in the awkwardness was the crickets and an owl, it was somehow making him more colder, he hated when people would try to sugar coat what they were trying to say, he’d much rather them speak frankly, like Tommy and Polly did.

“Arthur, what letter?”

“A letter from YN’s uncle, asking for a meeting”

“Okay, so what happened to my letter then?”

“We couldn’t let you see it Michael, he was pretty aggressive in yours”

“Why would he be aggressive? I didn’t do anything wrong”

“Yeah we know that be he...”

“Would you fucking quit it with that! Tell me what’s going on, I’m sick of being out of the loop!”

His eyes were wild and frantic, he wore built up irritation and stress all over his face and in his voice, this family was going to be the death of him no doubt about it

“He thinks that you were behind YN’s assasination attempt”

“HE FUCKING WHAT?”

“Now calm down Michael”

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down, why the fuck would he think that John? I love YN more than anything in this whole fucking world, more than I love myself, why would I want to hurt her!”

Arthur goes to grab his shoulders in an attempt to calm him down a little, but the action does nothing and he shoves him away, he didn’t want to be coddled like a child, he was way beyond being a kid, now in his mid twenties with more base in his voice no longer the mild mannered teenager that showed up on Polly’s doorstep, he was a grown man, a homeowner and a fiancée who would one day be the mother of his children, he could handle just about everything that came with being a man, but being accused of wanting to off his woman was something he couldn’t stomach.

“Michael, I’m serious lower your voice, you want your nosey neighbors to hear ya?”

“Then why are we out here? Let’s discuss this inside!”

The three men headed towards the door, Michael was about to open it only for someone on the other side to do it for him, out walked his mother with a look of concern on her face, she seemed to just get done breathing hard and tried to collect herself, she placed her warm hands on his face and expected him, she had indeed hard the shouts of her son from inside, she had came over to visit for the evening to discuss some last minute wedding plans with you, all hope for a peaceful evening quickly ended and she knew the reason why, it’s been eating her up inside, making her heart ache and stomach turn, she’d been dreading this moment for a while now, she thought she was careful but apparently not enough, it was all out in the open now, only God could save her now, but she hasn’t spoken to the good lord for a very long time.

“Michael, honey what’s the matter?”

“Arthur spoke up for him

“Let’s talk about this inside Pol”

She wraps a hand around his arm and guides him inside, the warmth from the fire that was lit in the living room instantly smacked him in the face, it soothes him for a moment and for a split second he’s not as angry as he was, but was still irritable, he wanted answers and he wanted them tonight, from either Polly or anybody.

“Son, you’re freezing, come sit down in front of the fire, YN just made some tea”

He moves himself out of her grasp and heads to the living room to find you taking a sip of your tea then putting it down once you notice him, the smile that forms on your face puts one on his, Michael walks quickly over to you and grabs your hands to lift you up, you’re surprised by his action as he does in a haste, you stumbled into his arms as you let out little squeal.

“Michael what’s the matter, what are you doing”

“We’re leaving”

“What, why what’s going on?”

“We’re going to New York, should’ve never left, knew coming back to this fucking city would be a mistake, fucking cursed I’m telling you-“

“Michael! What are you saying right now?”

Polly has tears in her eyes and turns to look at her nephews, they give her sorrow looks and feel sorry for her, they both already know her big secret and knew that if it were ever reach your family and Michael then the Shelby’s would be in a whole lot of trouble, they had enough enemies as it is, but none of them compared to the ones that they now made with the YLN’s, most importantly Richard YLN, your late fathers older brother and the patriarch of the YLN family, what he says goes, his power and influence made Thomas Shelby look like he was a little boy playing pretend.

It took a lot for Michael to even earn his trust, first business wise then personal because he wanted to date the mans favorite niece, the pretty girl he had met at one of Tommy’s gala’s that he was hosting, he remembered how your beautiful pale pink gown made you look like an angel, your very delicate and expensive pearls and diamond earrings added some elegance to your look for the evening, he’s seen some beautiful women before but there was something about you that reeled him in more than the others did, and it wasn’t a feeling of lust, this was something he couldn’t put into words, you were just it for him, he could feel it, right then and there he wanted you, hell even needed you, he hoped and prayed that another man didn’t already have claim to you, even if he did, he’s Michael Gray, he’d always gotten what he wanted, he had a bright future ahead of him and you were going to be apart of it.

“Michael please let’s just sit down and talk about this, there is no need to run of back to America, the both of you are not going anywhere, especially not YN, you remember how pissed Richard was after you dragged her away the first time”

“Yeah, that’s nothing compared to now mum, he fucking thinks that I tried to get YN killed, he’ll never forgive me now”

“Wait, w-what the hell is going on?!”

“Well go on mum, tell your soon to be daughter in law that her uncle for some reason believes that I was behind the her being kidnapped and nearly killed by the Owens brothers, oh and why the fuck would he think that anyway?”

You look to Polly for answers, she looks over at you as well and takes a step forward but he holds a hand up signaling her to stop

“Tell us about the letters mum, the ones that were sent to all of us but was hidden from me”

“Michael I swear to God I didn’t know it would go down the way it did, we made a deal they said that they wouldn’t hurt her- oh my God”

Her voice was shaking and she couldn’t finish, clinging onto John who held her tight, Arthur once again speaking up for everyone

“Polly made a deal with the Owens boys, it was suppose to be simple and no one was suppose to get hurt, Tommy made a bad deal with them and lost some money, they assumed that we betrayed them and stole money, so to get their payback they threatened to kill a family member...”

He trailed off and before Michael could tell him to keep going Polly looked up and continued

“I met with the eldest brother, I made a deal with them to not kill anyone...but to instead kidnap a member, and to do only that, keep them locked away somewhere until we could figure out what had went wrong, he swore no one would lay a finger on her, but his trigger happy little brother shot her, I can’t tell you how sorry I am, YN sweetheart you know that I care about you love, b-but there was no other way around it, it wasn’t suppose to happen this way-“

Michael ran over to her like a mad man, yelling and swearing like he was possessed, his anger, pain and betrayal clouded his thoughts and his body went on autopilot, he tackled his mother to the cold floor and wrapped his hands around her throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, in that moment he felt nothing but hate and resentment for her, all these years of bonding went down the drain along with any love he’d ever felt for her.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH, YOU FUCKING WHORE, HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME HUH? YOU FUCKING SCUM”

His strength was unmatched by Arthur and John who tried desperately to remove him from on top of their aunt before he killed her, he could hear your faint cries from across the room begging him to stop

“MICHAEL YOU’RE GOING TO KILL HER STOP IT”

Her eyes were turning red and so was her face, she scratched and punched but nothing helped, finally giving up she let him continue to try and choke her to death, she deserved it, and if there were anyone she would rather take her life it would be her precious baby boy, her little Michael.

Finally he was pulled away before she could close her eyes, she gagged in an attempt to let oxygen get into her lungs, her throat was already forming a nasty bruise, you cried, then Polly then Michael, he cried and screamed and banged his fists on the hard wood floor.

“I wish I never came looking for you, this family...this family is the worst thing to ever happen to me”

He whispered but she could hear him as if he said it in her ear

“Michael, oh my god”

You ran over to him and collapsed by his side to hold him, as much as you were hurt by Polly’s confession you still didn’t want to see her be harmed in that way, especially not by her own son, John and Arthur checked over Polly who gently pushed them away and got onto her feet with whatever strength she had left

“I’m sorry, oh my boy I love you”

“Get out of my house, ALL OF YOU GO”

The boys helped Polly to leave but not before you had your say

“I can’t promise you that Uncle Richard won’t come for you Polly, I suggest you be the one to run off to America”

She still has her hands caressing her sore neck, nodding in acceptance of her fate, and with that they left, you and Michael looked at the door, he was still breathing hard and his hands were still in a choking form, you reached down to hold them and looked up at him

“Michael, for heavens sake”

“No one and I mean no one comes above you, if I won’t do it then Richard will, and with the way your family does business, choking her would’ve been a less painful death”

You nod your head because that’s the only response you could give, Richard would find out the whole truth eventually, and when he does, Polly Gray would be no more.

#michael gray imagine #peaky blinders imagine #michael gray

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ava-jones · 4 years

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Jen and Ava have a duel

Practice challenge fic pt 2.5

Ava sighed as she walked towards the garden she had seen from her window. It was a little more put together than her wild gardens of Sumner, but it would do.

She stepped out and looked at some of the flowers, it was quiet. She had never found a quiet place in Angeles as long as she had lived there. It was a nice change. She turned to walk down another path when she saw another selected. It took her a moment but she vaguely recognized her as Jen Li. She was one of the people on her managers "do not speak to" list. However, Ava really liked to stick it to her manager so she approached the lost in thought Jen.

"Oh hey, sorry I didn't realize anyone was out here.” She apologized but secretly was hoping to make a friend here. This would be a very boring job if she was on her own all the time.

Jen straightened and turned away from her, “It's okay. I'll just head in.”

Ava felt her older sister instincts kick in as Jen sounded troubled, “No wait, are you okay? You look a little uneasy. Not to like, pry or anything but I've been told I can lend a good ear.”

“No, I... It's just been a lot. They never let you have a moment to breathe.” She replied before mumbling something to herself.

Ava couldn’t help but laugh. This was a place to breathe for her. It wasn't as free as Sumner, sure, but she didn’t have to deal with stalkers waiting outside her house, or cooperating with sleazy men, “Sorry, this has just been-like my vacation away from never being able to breathe. I don't know if you recognize me or know of me but I'm Ava Jones. My work keeps me pretty thrown around like this so I might have a few pointers if you'd like some?” She offered, sitting down on the bench next to Jen.

“I mean, if you want to,” she responded before smirking, “and I like Friday.” She added.

Ava rolled her eyes at the comment of her oldest song, “Thanks. It might be my greatest shame but at least I have the excuse of being 15 when I made it.” She then thought for a moment as she tried to find the right words for her advice. “Well for me, I generally find, like a - and please don’t think I'm an Angeles hipster for this- but a 'zen' place. Like I have a pretty big garden backyard because it makes me think of my garden at home in Sumner. So, for you what's a time or place where you just feel really at peace?”

She took a moment to think, “whenever I'm in my apartment and I'm completely immersed in an essay while my music plays on shuffle. I can just forget and focus on where I know I want to be.” Ava thought she sounded like a good potential friend.

“I get that. When I write a song I'm in a totally different place too. Wouldn't get essays though since I dropped out of high school.” Ava paused for a moment trying to find the next way to help her, “Do you have any topics of interest you'd be able to write on while here?”

She laughed, “Maybe. You think they encourage individual thought here? Because I doubt they'd like my essays.”

“I mean I don’t think they've discouraged it. Whichever person marries the prince will end up queen so they probably want someone with a brain.” Ava thought out loud not really having considered the topic before.

“A brain with only shared opinions maybe.” Jen half joked.

“Well what ideas do you think they'd dislike of yours? You don't seem particularly threatening. I doubt you'd suggest whipping out a guillotine.” Ava added genuinely wondering what ideas she could have that would really be that out there.

Jen laughed, “ You have no idea. What about you? Do you have any opinions you'd be admonished for?”

She had to think for a moment as she hadn't really had a moment to consider anything but work since she was fifteen, “hmmm, I'm not really political. There are obvious things like women's equality, especially in the music industry. It's really shit right now. But other than that I can't really think of anything. Maybe an easier opportunity for caste growth? But i dont think I'd be hung and quartered for that.”

“Maybe not. Some people might want you to be, but... Sorry, you said you don't care about politics,” she shrugged, “Guess someone like you wouldn't have to.”

My eyebrows furrowed at her second comment, what did she mean someone like me? “I mean I don't not care, I just haven't really had the time to think. Also what's that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it's not like pop stars like you need to. People like you can get by because nothing affects you.” I was in shock for a moment. I grew up in a town of mostly 4s and lower. I was very aware of the effects of economic disparity and the flaws of illea. Just because I hadn’t considered them recently did not mean I was unaffected.

“You literally just met me. You don't know the first thing about me. Jen Li, right?” I double checked, running through all of the info I knew about her. Maybe she had a family member who was an 8? No. Someone died of poverty? No.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“So in my line of work, I have to expect any questions in interviews and have answers prepared. Therefore, when the selected were announced I received basic information on each of the selected. What's your caste again?” I asked, knowing full well that she’s a three. A higher caste than I was for most of my life.

“I'm a Three.”

“Mhm, and where do you go to school?”

“Something about the way you're speaking sounds like you already know.”

“Yeah but you don't seem to be aware of it. You go to Yale, an extremely expensive school, you're also a three, wealthy enough that they picked your caste for all selected to default to after elimination. So I'm really sure that the economic disparities of our country greatly affect you personally enough for you to have an opinion, whereas I clearly don't.” Ava huffed in anger and stood from the bench, “I'm not really a fan of close minded, wealthy hypocrites, I meet enough of them in my line of work, so I'll see you around.” Ava said, turning to leave.

Jen yelled after her, “At least I do something with my privilege. Unlike you, I don't strut around on stage while being paid millions of dollars.”

Ava turned around. She could yell how she’d fixed her family's farm, how she’d paid for the medical costs for Michael, how she kept everyone in her town fed and housed, how most of her money went to charity because she was very aware of the struggle around her as she had grown up in it. But she held her tongue, “You don't know the first thing about me, your assumptions show you as judgmental and arrogant. Add those to the list of reasons I'll be taking my leave.”

Later that night Ava was enjoying a cup of tea in her room when Emily-Rose burst in sobbing. Ava and Emily weren’t really friends, but they did know each other so Emily must have come to her as her only friend here so far.

“What’s wrong?” Ava asked as she sat down her tea. Emily spent the next few hours crying and telling her how she had tried to befriend Jen. As soon as Jen came up she knew this would be bad. Emily being the blissfully ignorant girl that she is, brought macarons as a welcome gift for some of the girls, she was always so desperate for validation. Jen saw this as a display of wealth instead of an invitation of friendship and rejected it. Emily, never being raised around 6s handed the box off to the maid without speaking or looking at her. Enraged Jen stood from her bed and shoved the box back at Emily and told her she was being disrespectful to her maid. Emily was confused so she tried again and asked the made if she could throw away the box, an act that both would upset Jen as she was throwing away perfectly good food and not doing it herself- despite the fact that Jen had a maid and clearly was not doing somethings herself either, Jen called Emily a bitch and she ran off crying. After hours wondering what she did wrong Emily appeared at Ava’s door. She spent the next few hours crying in Ava’s bed until she tucked her in then stormed off to Jen’s room.

She banged on the door, “Open this fucking door you shithead!”

Jen’s maid opened the door and looked horrified which caused Ava to feel a bit guilty about the late hour, “Oh sorry, I figured she would have dismissed you for the night.” She apologized. She would have waited for this, but she really would rather get over with her last time speaking to Jen Li. She walked in and walked over to her bed, “Wake up!”

Jen sat up and dismissed her maids question about calling security, “What do you want?”

“I have a question for you? Were you raised by bears? Do you have any idea how to be polite at all! I mean I was raised on a farm and I've seen pigs have better manners to do. What do you do when someone offers you a gift, Jen Li?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about Emily-Rose White and her dumbass macarons. Of course they're extra and yes she can be a little annoying. But when someone offers you a gift, the polite thing to do is to take it and move on even if you don't want it. The rude thing that you did do is refuse it adamantly, then even worse, all the person who gave you the gift a 'bitch' which by the way the use of that word is a whole other discussion.”

Jen looked up in shock, “She treated my maid like a dog. I don't respect people who don't respect others, especially because of their caste.”

That’s rich (like Jen). Ava laughed before speaking again, “Well then you shouldn't respect yourself! You assumed that because I am a two that I am snobby and hoard money. I donate most of my money, I was born a four, and my closest friends who I live with are sevens. And yes Emily is spoiled, and I will speak to her about that, but escalating a situation by calling someone who is simply ignorant does not help anyone. You are arrogant and cruel and someone, unfortunately me, has to speak to you about that before you go making more well intended people cry themselves to sleep.”

“She's old enough to know better. None of us are children, and I'm not going to coddle a bunch of Twos just because they were raised that way. It's not an excuse to disrespect someone in a lower caste. I don't care about ignorance.”

“So instead of try to help and understand another person you'd rather call them a bitch and make things worse? And she's 19 and extremely sheltered, I wouldn't say she's gained the wisdom to know any better. Also no one is asking you to coddle all I'm asking is for you to be fucking polite. You didn't have to assume I knew nothing of economic struggle, you didn't have to shove Emily around, slam a box into her and call her a bitch. There is a difference between not tolerating disrespect and acting disrespectfully back at another person.”

“I didn't slam a box into her.” Ava rolled her eyes knowing that was untrue,

“So you didn't shove a box of cookies at her repeatedly? Because at least she handed them to your maid.”

“You're making it sound like I assaulted her. She's the one who barged into my room without asking.”

“Oh okay so if someone comes into my room and gives off bad vibes, I can shove things at them and call them a bitch. It's perfectly polite and respectful?”

“That wasn't the reason I did it!” God arguing with her is like talking to a child Ava thought.

“It doesn't really matter the reason you did it. Because again, there is a difference between not tolerating disrespect and being disrespectful. You could have said "Hey Emily, that wasn't right. I know you didn't grow up that way but maids are people and need recognition in order for it to be polite" Instead you shoved a box at her, she tried again not knowing any better then you called her a bitch. Which by the way the whole thing could have been avoided if you'd just taken the damn present like a sane well mannered person.”

“Okay, whatever. I'm sorry. But maybe she should've tried dealing with her problems instead of running away like a child.”

“Not everyone's a stone cold ass who can handle being treated the way you treated her. She apologized and has spent the last thirty minutes crying to me about how horrible she feels. You didn't allow her an opportunity to realize what she had done wrong before being an aggressor. And I'm not the one you need to apologize too I'm just the one who has to clean up your mess.”

“Why don't you just go back to your adoring friend and mind your own business, Ava? Just because you're famous, doesn't mean I'm going to listen to you. Get over yourself.” Hah! She’s telling me to get over myself? Clearly she hasn’t heard a word that’s come out of her mouth.

“It doesn't matter if I'm famous or not I'd be in this room yelling at you just the same. I'm not even really friends with Emily, I just don't tolerate people being cruel and disrespectful especially ones I have to live with. Just because you're a three doesn't mean you know everything and you need to start thinking from other people’s perspectives!”

“I never claimed to know everything, and I do think from others' perspectives, but excuse me if I don't listen to just another privileged Two who got her little feelings hurt.” She probably has no friends.

“You don't need to listen to Emily. Emily doesn't want anything from you. You need to listen to me. Since apparently the only perspective you think you can understand are lower caste people, as I've lived as a four the majority of my life I can tell you, you're not listening to anyone, you're only looking through your perspective, and you're hurting well intending people because you're one of the most casteist people I've met. I've said all I need to say. Sleep well in your rich bed with your maid next to you miss I-hate-privileged-people-and-am-going-to-lash-out-at-them-because-clearly-I-don't know who I am!”

Ava groaned and turned around slamming the door behind her. She went back to her room and threw herself down in a chair where she would be sleeping through the night and prayed that Jen would be gone soon or she would.

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aishissaart · 4 years

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Quarantine made me read this book- GONE WITH THE WIND BY Margaret Mitchell.

And here's my review

(which clearly nobody asked for but eh)~

It takes guts to make your main character spoiled, selfish, and stupid, someone without any redeeming qualities, and write an epic novel about her. But it works for two reasons. First of all you wait for justice to fall its merciless blow with one of the most recognized lines in cinema ("frankly my dear, I don't give a damn"), but you end with a broken and somewhat repentant character and you can't be pitiless. Secondly, if you were going to parallel the beautiful, affluent, lazy, spirited South being conquered by the intellectual, industrious North, what better way to do that than with characters who embody those characteristics? You come to feel a level of sadness that the South and Scarlett lost their war and hope that they will rebuild.

I enjoyed the picture of pre-war South outside of what you learn in history class approved by the nation that won the war. If the South had won, we would have an entirely different picture painted. A story of lush lands and prosperity abounding with chivalry and gentility by a (too) passionate people. If you visit the South today, you can see that all these generations later the wounds of the war and the regret at losing the way of life are still fresh. But if it had not been the civil war, it would have been by other means that the lazy sprawled out way of life would have been conquered by our efficient, compact, modern lives.

I enjoyed the picture of plantations that did not abuse slaves to the extent that you read about in many memoirs. There was still a disrespect in that they viewed "darkies" as ignorant and childish and worthy of being owned, but there were those who cared for those in their trust. And the North who came down riling up the lowest of the slaves to flip the oppression did not want any contact with a race they feared. Prejudice takes many faces. Slavery is such an important part of American history, but I don't know that I agree with the format in which it is taught (at least the way it was taught to me). We take young, tolerant children and feed them stories of racism and abuse and then tell them the world is naturally prejudice (that they are prejudice) so don't be. White children start feeling awkward and aware and black children start feeling mistreated and aware. We manage to teach children about Indian and Holocaust history without the same enthusiasm to end racism by breeding racism. There has to be a better way. But I digress.

I also enjoyed Mitchell showing the volatile formula in which the KKK was aroused, that it wasn't just a disdain for free darkies but a need to protect their women and children from the rash anger now imposed on them through this new regime. Not that there are any redeeming qualities in the KKK, or even the Southern rash justice by pistol shot to curb wounded pride, but it was interesting to learn the wider circumstances in which it arose. The entire picture of the Southern perspective from the hierarchy of slaves to the disdain of the reconstruction was enlightening. The post-war difficulties, that sometimes it's harder to survive than die, were some of my favorite epiphanies of the story. What everyone in the South went through, both white and black, after everything was deconstructed and they didn't know how to rebuild. It wasn't just about freeing slaves but about rebuilding an entire way of life and sometimes change, even good change, can be this scary and destructive.

My one complaint about the book was at times the description was lengthy. I'd get a grasp for the emotions of Scarlett that are supposed to describe the emotions of all Southerners or the description of the land at Tara as a representation of the rich red soil all Southerners love and then Mitchell would go on for paragraphs or pages rehashing that feeling to pull the most emotion out of you. It worked, but sometimes I think she could have done so in fewer words.

I view Scarlett as a representation of the South in which she loved. She did not care from whence the wealth came or believed that it would ever end. Because she was rich and important, she would conquer. As the Yankees attempted to rebuild the South, fresh in their embitterment at a war they did not want to fight, you can both see their reasoning and feel for the Southerners who were licked and then stomped on in their attempts to gain back of their life. You see that in Scarlett. On one hand you don't pity her and think she needs a lesson in poverty and on the other hand you want her to survive. Either she can lie down and cling to her old ways or she can debase herself and rebuild. Survival, not morality, is her strongest drive.

Oh Scarlett. We all know people like her. People who unscrupulously use their womanly charms to get ahead and carry a deep disdain for those bound by concepts of kindness, morals, or intelligence and most especially for those who see them for what they are instead of being manipulated. People who care for nobody but themselves and who find enjoyment in life not in what they have, but in conquering the unattainable that is only desirable because it is out of reach. I loved how Mitchell showed Scarlett's decline from a religious albeit not believing girl who allowed her rationalization and avoidance to carry her from one sin to the next of intensifying degree. An excellent portrait of the degradation of character.

Initially I thought she was the only character who wasn't growing, actually digressing. But by the end she does grow up. In no regard is this greater than in her eventual desire to be a mother. Turning from her ravenous post-war desire to survive to her acceptance of life and the people around her as the way they are, eventually Scarlett grows into the person she was meant to be. As did the South. Prideful and resentful, eventually they had to accept that they lost the war and take what was given them and try to make it work.

Scarlett realizes that Melanie is not the weak, cowardly girl she always assumed but the most courageous character in the book and one who gets her means by influence and persuasion instead of Scarlett's uncivil ways. It is Melly, not Scarlett, who could get anything she desires and her heart is not her weakness but her greatest strength. Finally Scarlett values the importance of love and sees that it does not make one weak but deep to possess it. OK, I won't go that far. She's not intelligent enough to analyze love, but she grows up enough to fall for it anyway, to realize she needs people.

She sees Ashley not as the strong, honorable character she had always esteemed but the weakest and least honorable character in the book. Anyone who would tease another woman with confessions of love just so he could keep her heart and devotion at arm's length is not truly honoring his marriage vows. The greatest gift he could give his wife was the knowledge that he loved her. And we all know that like any pretty toy, once Scarlett had taken him, she would have discarded him. The debasing knowledge that he is not fit for a rougher way of life doesn't endear him. For all his intelligence, he could have picked himself up by the bootstraps and made something of himself if he wanted to survive. He is a representation of the Old South that had to die but many couldn't let go of, even today. That's the sadness of the loss of the Southern way, still longing for the past instead of moving forward.

Then we come to Rhett, the only character with the ability to conquer Scarlett, who was quite the devil. Just like the ladies in old Atlanta I found myself at times entranced by his charms, but often I did not like or trust him. I was often torn about the way he constantly encouraged Scarlett to fall another wrung on her morality ladder and mocked her emotions, mocked all of Southern civility. What annoyed me most about him was that he showed love by coddling his wife and child until they were spoiled, dependent, but not grateful, and this was his idea of being a good father and husband. And yet I sympathized with him and was often amused by him. More than anything I enjoyed his intelligence as a way for Mitchell to introduce the Yankee viewpoint, using his sarcasm as satire. I loved the whole discussion of his not being a gentleman and her no lady.

More than anything I saw his slow conquering of Scarlett's heart as a parallel to the slow enveloping of the South by the North until they realized they were dependent on their conquerors but could still maintain their fierce spirit, a marriage of North and South. The fact that she could never fully understand him shows the divide between to two philosophies. But does the South lose in this blending? Can't they adopt the intellectual ways of the North and still maintain their civility? Just like Ashley, they would rather have dreamt and remembered than changed.

The characters in the book are so vivid that like or dislike you cannot get them out of your head. There are no more vibrant characters in the history of literature that Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler. There is a reason this book is a classic. Everyone should read it at least once in their life to appreciate the civil war and understand the sadness and loss that enveloped the country.

#books #booklr #book review #review #gone with the wind #margaret mitchell #quarantine

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umbillicalnoose · 5 years

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i think that you would think im pretty and would like my poetry and i want to share it with you. im shy.

to be honest, im very apathetic these days. im not the nice “cutesy baby flower petal boy” i used to be. a lot has happened & im bitter & sullen & all in all, a pretty shitty friend/person to know. i used to possess some redeeming qualities, believe it or not, even if they were construed by the subconscious in an attempt to be likeable - a facade, even tho its only a facade, is still tangible, still there, is still something, even if not authentic. is poorer character forgivable in the name of presenting more authentically? but nah. that makes it sound like im putting effort into being a better person, which im not. im just sort of fried & done. its been a very long time since i played the role i built for myself on here of the “small fawn boy who wants to help girls” lmaooo. how embarrassing. altho, i was just a kid, & i guess, if you had a tumblr as a teenager, you went thru some cringe (i know the use of that word has fallen in on itself & adopted its own definition but for lack of a better one) ass phases, whether it was kinning or malingering mental illness or oh fucking christ, all that gender bullshit, etc etc. from what ive observed, tho, loosely following kids im still casually friends with that i met on here, i think we’ve all managed to Grow The Fuck Up, at least a little. most of us have jobs or r in school or have partners - growing up & moving on is a very surreal experience to watch/go thru. im moving at my own pace & ive accepted that - im still currently using & starving myself & concocting a suicide plan every day but at least i use clean needles as much as possible, i actively & honestly do strive for the bare minimum calorically, & um able to work with the mentality of “well ill have this when i need it but todays not that day” a lot more readily, in relation to suicide shit. ive finally found a therapist who Really Gets It, is a frontrunner internationally on ritual & extreme abuse & mind control. its pretty incredible what a few years with a good therapist can do. anyways. im sorry, i know you didnt ask for all this & im not even sure why i divulged. i guess, what tipped me off, was your attempt at sounsing “cute” - dude, cut that shit out, i promise youll be a lot better off. & i know everyone interchanges aspects of their personality based on who theyre talking to/who they percieve themselves to be talking to, but i feel like not a lot of people give enough credence to the internet & its hand in shaping/molding young people, kids, vulnerable dumbasses, especially tumblr (tho, i get that its a relatively new phenomenon) - u get a bunch of the “weird”, “alternative”, ““ostracized” kids together on a website, of course its gonna nurture a culture of hypervalidatoon & pretending to be sick in order to fit in to the point that its not an act anymore & exacerbation of symptoms & basically, just sucking each others dicks, sitting in ur own shit, & never ending coddling. & then, you have the older group of kids, who have played this game before but instead of helping or ignoring the Dumbshit kids, they indulge their own normally-buried-but-unleashed-by-internet-anonymity sadism/human instinct to just be fucking dicks & so now you have this vicious cycle of anger & hatred & fucking melodrama up the urethra. im sorry, i know im comig off as/am being harsh but god fuckin dammit yknow? also, this isnt directed at you, specifically, more of a generalized thing, @ myself included. so uh. i mean, if u still wanna share it with me after reading all this, id be happy to read ur poetry. i used to be over the top nice & then reverted to Major Asshole & am now trying to find that sweet middle spot - honoring & allowing myself to share my pain without putting it on others. which is really hard!! cuz becoming a Dick was difficult in that it forced me to be more honest with my true self & as such, more vulnerable - now in trying to become Kinda Nice again because despite being a pulsating scrotom, ive had the intense desire for friendship & human interaction, while simultaneously doing things that i was consciously aware was pushing others away - but then, if i pretend to be nice, where does that authenticity i worked for & was so scared of go? & i dont mean telling someone their new haircut looks nice even when it doesnt - thats just not being a dick. but i guess, those r the normal trials & tribulations of any relationship & adolescent developing identity. which is weird too - dealing with “normal” issues, i mean. whats the point if your life/limbs/breaking point arent at risk? whats the point when your best friends already dead. im sick of people calling "survivors” (despise that word, so fucking female-originated & overdramatic) “brave” & “strong” - surviving is not brave or strong. its just survival. you wouldnt call an animal brave for running for its life from a predator but you would call a dog courageous for going into a burning building to save its owner. premeditated action on the notion that you are probably going to be hurt is brave. being subjected to pain with no choice is not. theres no “silver lining” or anything “good” to be drawn from it either - sure it may have made x a more compassionate person or made y more introspective & gentle but you know what would have been even fucking better??? if the shit hadnt happened in the first place! let x be an asshole & y be self absorbed - the “benefits”, so to speak, do not outweigh the cost, not by a long fucking shot. its not only patronizing to hear garbage like that, but a slap in the face to know that anyone could possibly see anything good coming from that nightmare & that the characteristics, good or bad, you developed either in response to or as a result of, are worth praise. dont tell me im strong for doing what i had to to escape a torture chamber - tell me im perseverant for studying my ass off & passing that test last week. in the words of one of my dearest & most fucking brilliant friends, “pain doesnt owe me/you purpose - the need to intellectualize & assign meaning to pain & death is not only futile, but harmful.” & honestly, i think that it stems from weakness (in most cases - i realize theres a plethora of other reasons such as those who r just desperate for something to hold on to or r hyperintellectual & analytical or who have been pressured by external “support” systems to find the “good” etc etc) - while the majority of people view the person who “can find the good in everything” (strictly speaking only in relation to trauma/tragedy here & more in denunciation of those that celebrate this trait as opposed to vilifying “survivors” who respond this way, though in my experience, its very very very rarely the “survivor” that perpetrates this ideology ) as strong, i sort of see it as a weakness - their inability to sit with & absorb their own pain or that of others is so strong that not only do they have to frantically pull rainbows out of the teeth of a meat cleaver, they also have to exist within this strange (tho, not malicious - more subconscious) superiority complex. like, nah, dude, some times shit is just awful. you cant tell me anything fucking good came out of a four year old girl being kidnapped, gangraped, & tortured for two years, before being impaled & left to die on a stake. her mom opened a non profit organization? oh well thank fucking god for that!!! those that believe the latter to be more “enlightened” or whatever the fuck r the same people who say shit like “dying is easy - living is harder” & i get that that its supposed to be interpreted metaphorically for the most part - giving up is easy, trying isnt (which also.....isnt true??? admitting defeat & fully accepting the fact that ur fucking helpless is beyond hard lmao???) - but pretend youre somewhere, anywhere outside ur sunny little fucking yoga studio full of white women whos biggest issues r the pta & johnny whos failing math, & lets say your life is in real, imminent danger, a gun is to your head & i want you to not scream or cry or beg for ur life since dying is “easier”. if dying is so easy, why do the majority of ppl cling to it with such desperation - why is suicide illegal? why do some ppl go thru 100s of chemo treatments even tho the doctors say theyre just prolonging the inevitable, ppl who cut off a diseased arm so it wont spread, those who walk dozens of miles every day for food & water, etc? & i know & understand the survival instinct better than anyone, even when i wanted to die more than anything, my natural instincts would kick in with no conscious neural input & id do what i had to do. im not condemning those who cling to life (ok - a little. ur wasting resources out of ur own fear. but i also realize thats just me being a Fucking Asshole As Always cuz technically, im doing the same thing tho its more due to lack of opportunity rather than fear. i just think, societally, death should be more normalized, discussed, & not made out to be so unknown & scary), instead just reprimanding those who say shit like that (inspirational facebook quotes). especially cuz most of the ppl who do spew that shit have never gone thru anything even remotely difficult - their worst nightmare is a Big Scary Black Man grabbing them on the street, mugging them, & touching their tits. & i also know that these stupid ass sayings are to be applied to bullshit like exercise & fitness (“no pain no gain” is another one of my Favorites) & not fucking torture or even just ur run of the mill rape, even that would probably smash the rose tinted banana republic shades off their beverly hills tanned faces. but ive heard the no pain no gain one a handful of times in the last few weeks, specifically from doctors performing procedures in preparation for my bottom surgery. & i know its supposed to be encouraging & they have no way of knowing, but its just like, buddy, u have no idea who youre fucking talking to. & im starting to understand what THEY mean when they say it - pain with a reward is infinitely more tolerable than pain just for the sake of pain; like, a tattoo, it hurts, but u know, when its done, its gonna be sick as fuck. when u r able to fall back on the idea that its for something u rlly want, its A Lot easier to handle as opposed to pain thats Just Pain - theres no reward for it except, i guess, that the more u experience it, the closer u r to the end of it lmao. i mean, i still hate when ppl say it cuz for most of my life, pain was just pain, & the “reward” was the opportunity to go home at the end & so whenever ppl say that, my mind just immediately resorts back to that & im just like haha fuck u. but im trying to remember my experiences r definitely not universal & im starting to sorta understand what they mean i think. but, flipping gears here, & going back to the sentiment of “everything happens for a reason”, the base philosophy of psuedo deep Fuckwads - a girls dad didnt fuck her “for a reason”, everything doesnt happen “for a reason”. like ok, hypothetically, the kid he impregnated her with & that she was forced to have at 12 may surpass all odds & not become a homeless junkie & instead become a world renowned doctor who finds the cure for cancer. but she wasnt raped repeatedly from the age of six for that “reason”, no matter what anyone says & honestly, the liberation of the masses does not justify the suffering of one, especially a child. in my eyes at least. but again, im a bitter asshole. sorry i just Went The Fuck Off here oh my god.....if u read all this, thanks, pal. if not, thats cool too. but yea, send me ur stuff, id totally be down to read it. as for me potentially thinking ur cute, i have to look at my disgusting shitstain of a “face” every goddamn day so everyone else to me is fuckin aphrodite. but im also tryin to not put so much worth into physical appearance- its not something that should be complimented cuz its just smth a person was born with which is the same reason it shouldnt be insulted. this is gonna sound gay & stupid but i personally find that a persons essence & personality really permeates. you can meet someone who, objectively, isnt all that great looking, but once u get to know them, u really see their beauty - how the sun catches in their hair, their dilated pupils looking up at u from under long eyelashes in the dark, the birthmark on their right shoulder that they despise but that is so Them, the gap in their teeth, etc. & idk how to phrase this without it sounding like “well ur ugly but at least ur a good person”, cuz that only reiterates the societally indoctrinated emphasis on appearance & my kneejerk reaction to assure the person in question that thats not what im saying is only another result of that!!! its inescapable!!! but no, really, its not just a matter of “its on the inside that counts” - physically, they change or maybe, actually this is more likely, when i first meet them, my “default” eyes r just looking for features that i know im immediately attracted to (tall, blonde, sickly as in sunken eyes sticklike pale but still looks like she could & will beat the shit out of me) but as i fall in love or get to know them better, my eyes adjust & i notice & adore the beauty that was there all along. so uh. idk if ill think ur “cute”. but probably, yes, ill think ur an angel.

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huntertales · 5 years

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Part One: Aren’t You Kids A Little Young? (Freaks and Geeks S08E18)

Episode Summary: The reader and the Winchester brothers investigate a recent set of murders that appear to be caused by a vampire, and are surprised to learn that teenage hunter Krissy Chambers is involved. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,676.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

There was never any rest for the wicked. The same analogy applied for you and the boys. After everything that unfolded a few days ago with searching for the angel tablet and finding out what happened to Meg after she disappeared over a year and a half ago, it all ended in the direction you tried to avoid. Cas ran off with the tablet and the demon you hated since your first year of hunting died at the hands of Crowley. You got back to the bunker to recuperate and decided the next morning of what you were going to do about finding your angel. It turned out Dean had other ideas.

He found a case for all of you, thinking it might be best to keep busy until Cas showed back up again. By the "we" he meant Sam and himself. The older Winchester thought you'd take the chance to sit this one out and take some time to treat yourself to some much needed rest. Kick your feet up and enjoy some alone time while the boys worked on this case. You hadn’t been up to your normal speed since you started the first trial. You could say you were feeling fine all you want, but the evidence was clear in your actions. And the part where you were coughing up blood on more than one occasion. When he told you were going to sit on this case, you laughed in his face. You didn't care what Cas said. You knew your body. And it felt perfectly normal. Well, good as one might feel in your position.

You were feeling more tired than usual and feeling sluggish as time went on from doing the first trial. It was hard to tell where the pregnancy symptoms stopped and the effects of the trial took over. Cas did say the baby was okay. You felt the normal symptoms of what a pregnant woman was supposed to be going through. So, you took it as him saying you were okay enough to take part of your normal life. You were going to be fine in the end of things. Your motto of going through all of this was no pain, no gain. You were going to do the rest of the trials and continue hunting like normal. Nobody was going to tell you otherwise.

The case Dean found was state bound after he mentioned something about the police finding a couple of dead bodies on the side of the freeway in a town a few hours away from Lebanon. You didn't get too much information out of him when you asked, but there was something about the case that sounded supernatural enough for his attention. You and the boys pulled up to the police station in your usual formal clothes, ready to interview a few police officers to figure out more details. You patted around your pockets to make sure you had your usual assortment of things; fake ID, phone, some money and a knife stashed in the waistband of your slacks. Your memory was starting to get a little frazzled from all that you were juggling.

"So, what are we looking at again?" You spoke up when you saw the Impala pull up to the police parking lot and stop, thinking it would be a good time to go over what it was that all of you were getting yourselves into. Dean grabbed the newspaper from the front seat and stretched him arm over his shoulder to hand it to you. You skimmed the article he found. “‘Two young women found on the side of the freeway with their throats ripped out.’”

“Sounds vampy to me.” Dean said, taking a guess at what might be to blame for these deaths.

“Yeah, maybe.” You agreed with him.

"Listen, Y/N." You glanced up from the newspaper you were still reading when you heard Sam speak your name. Hearing the tone of voice he was using on you made you lower the paper to your lap, you had a feeling you knew what he was going to say before the words came out of his mouth. Sure enough, you were on the right track. It seemed the younger Winchester was trying his attempt at getting you to sit this hunt out for the sake of your health. "If you want to head back to the motel because you're not feeling up to it, I'm sure Dean and I can handle this ourselves."

“What?” You asked him.

"You know,” Dean continued on with what his brother was trying to say, deciding to be more blunt to get their concerns across. “the trials, what Cas said, that you got what he can't cure."

“Which means what, exactly?” You questioned the both of them.

"Well, I don't know. You tell us." Dean said. "Are you okay?"

"For the millionth time, I'm fine. The real question is, are you two okay?" You deciding to turn the tables around on the brothers so it was them who was being bombarded for how their well being was. Neither one of them expected for you to switch the attention towards them. You raised your brow, patiently awaiting their answers. "Cas dinged you up pretty badly, Dean. And Sammy, you've been awfully quiet lately. I just want to make sure the both of you are okay.”

"What, like our feelings?" Dean asked you. You nodded your head slowly, biting your bottom lip to keep yourself from smiling from how he was reacting. "This isn’t a sharing circle, Y/N.”

"Of course it is. You two are constantly bugging me. It's only fair I return the favor. I mean, we could make a big thing out of it. You can get me some tea and rub my aching back. Sam can feed me bonbons.” You said, coming up with an idea better than theirs. Your over exaggeration was for them to understand even a fraction for how stupid it was when they bombarded you with questios about your constant wellbeing. “If you guys insist on coddling me, you might as well go all the way. Show me your vulnerable side. We can even watch ‘Steel Magnolias’ to get in the mood and have ourselves a good cry.”

“Okay.” Sam had enough with your sarcasm. He opened up the passenger side door started to get himself out, mumbling a remark under his breath from how you turned this all into a joke. “Eat me, Y/N.”

“And you know what. We’ll just talk it out.” You went on, trying your hardest not to laugh when Sam slammed the door shut behind him with his brother not too far behind. You got yourself out and followed after them to the station. “Good talk. Nay, great talk! Very healthy!”

Dean told you to shut up when you approached the police station and walked inside to the busy late morning rush of officers talking among themselves and shuffling around cases that needed to be solved. You flagged down an older sheriff when you saw him speaking to the receptionist you couldn’t quite catch the conversation topic of. The three of you introduced yourselves and flashed him your badges and fooled him into thinking you were federal investigators here on official business. Lucky for you, he had a clue why all of you were here this morning.

"FBI? You're here about the lady killer murders, aren't you?" The sheriff asked. You politely smiled at the ridiculous thing that came out of his mouth, taking you a moment to figure out he was talking about the two murders of the females from the article you read just a few minutes ago. It seemed he wanted to jazz things up to get the public’s attention. "I coined it myself."

"Congratulations. What can you tell us?" You asked the man.

"Well, both victims were female, under twenty-one, and here's the kicker—they were drained of all their blood." The sheriff explained the case details to all of you while he lead you through the station and back to his desk to continue going through the rest of the information left out of the article. Sam was intrigued with the detail, pretending he found it odd. "Exactly. We found that strange, also. But then last night, things got even stranger."

"Last night?" Sam repeated after the sheriff.

"Yeah. We set up a security cam on Fuller's point for safety purposes. It's where our local young people like to go make out.” The sheriff said. “Last night, things got crazy."

The sheriff turned around his computer monitor around to show you and the boys footage of what appeared to be another murder that took place just hours ago. You watched the scene unfold when he hit the play button; a grainy black and white video showed you a scene of what appeared to be a girl struggling to get away from a man that was dragging her out of her car window. Before she could get hurt, someone came up from behind and...beheaded them with a machete. You managed to act surprised at what you saw unfold. It didn't take an idiot for you to realize the three people on the security footage were hunters working your case. Rookies from your guess after they failed to set up a piece of bait for the vamp before they went in for the kill.

“Hell of a thing, ain’t it?” The sheriff asked.

"Uh,” Sam managed to keep his composure from what he witnessed, knowing it was more than what the sheriff was suspecting. “you I.D. any of these people?"

“Well, not yet. Crime scene was empty when we got there. No vic, no nothing.” He said. You had to admit these hunters were smart enough to clean up their messes before the cops got there, but the footage was enough for them to get stopped before they even tried leaving the state for another case. The sheriff pulled up the video to show a perfect shot of one of the hunters. A girl who had to be a teenager. “I’m thinking it’s some kind of cult or drug thing. So I put a statewide A.P.B out on these three about an hour ago.”

“We’re gonna need you to call that off. And we’re gonna need this footage.” Dean told the sheriff after finding the face on the screen all too familiar. The older man was taken back at the rather bold request. “Sheriff, why do you think we’re here? You just crossed streams with a federal investigation. Now, I suggest you cooperate, call off your A.P.B, or you’re gonna find yourself in a world of hurt.”

You didn’t know what came over Dean that caused his sudden outburst of authoritative tone of voice demanding things to shed some light off the three people that just committed a murder in the eyes of the law. The sheriff was a little speechless at how his case was being ripped out from his hands, but he obliged. You were out of the station not even ten minutes later with the search called off and the only security footage of that night in your possession. You made your way back to the Impala, still a little curious about Dean’s urge to cover this girl’s tracks. You were all for helping out a fellow hunter, but something about this seemed personal for the man.

“So,” You pushed open the door to the station and headed outside with the boys following right behind you. “What was that all about, G-man?”

"It's about someone we met when you were gone and got themselves messed up in all of this." Dean said. "Sam, you remember Krissy Chambers?"

“Yeah, the vetalas case, right?” Sam remembered why the name sounded familiar to him. “They were working that truck stop by the freeway. She and her dad helped us shut ‘em down.”

"Right, and then he promised to go civilian so she wouldn't grow up to be a hunter. Well, guess who the star of this snuff film is?" Dean waved around the DVD case in his hand. You listened to the conversation unfold while you headed to the backseat. Either Krissy’s father took back his promise to give his daughter the life she deserved. Or she wanted to play hunter herself.

“Come on.” Sam said, finding the first outcome a little hard to be true. “Maybe he doesn’t know she’s doing this.

“What, sneaking out in the middle of the night to go hunt monsters with the apple dumpling gang?” Dean asked his brother. “Is that what kids are doing for kicks these days?”

“Okay. Then maybe he knows.” Sam guessed what was going on. “And he’s helping her out.”

“What, get caught on ‘Candid Camera’?” Dean asked. It was an amateur move even you knew better than to make when you first started hunting. For someone who had a parent who was a hunter and was showing her the ropes didn't seem likely. Something was going on with that kid, and Dean was determined to put a stop to it. "Let's just go find her before she gets into any more trouble."

You opened up the backseat door and got yourself inside the Impala to track down this Krissy Chambers before she got herself hauled off in handcuffs. It brought up the debate of what the right thing a parent should do when they were hunters and they had a family of their own. Shelter your child and never tell them about the supernatural, or do you get them involved so they're always prepared for the creature lurking around the corner?

It seemed the route of parents trying to get their children to keep away from the dark side was the ones who want it the most. Your mother tried her hardest to have you never learn about such things. Jo Harvelle grew up with her father as hunter and a mother who constantly fought tooth and nail to never see her daughter follow in those footsteps. You wondered what kind of reason Krissy had to get herself involved in such a dangerous lifestyle. If her father was around, you had a few choice words for the man of letting his daughter put herself in danger like this.

+ + +

One of the perks about tracking down the Scooby gang in a small town like this was that they needed a place to crash while they conducted research and planned out their next move of attack. Night fell when you and the boys changed back into your street clothes and got a list of two available motels that were the only place for visitors to spend the night while they were in town. The three of you checked out the first one and ran by the description of Krissy to the clerk, making sure to flash a few twenties to get him to tell the truth. When he admitted that nobody of that description checked in over the past few days, it meant you only had one more place where she could be hiding out.

Sure enough, after sweet talking up the man at the front desk and handing over a small wad of cash, he gave you the exact room number of one Krissy Chambers after she flashed him a fake I.D. that made her older than she obviously was. Another rookie mistake on her part. When it doubt, use fake names to cover your ass and stretch the truth just enough to fool the person you were trying to pull a fast one on. You thanked the man and went on your way to find the room where she and her group of friends were using. Sam picked the lock to the room and quietly pushed open the door, you following right behind him as Dean lingered back.

You looked around to see it was abandoned from the lack of a soul at the moment, but it was clear they had been here from unpacked bags and their laptop sitting on the table still open. As you made your way over to see what they had been looking at before ditching, you felt yourself momentary pausing in your actions at the sound of a gun's safety clicking off. You turned your head to the side to see Krissy Chambers in the flesh, pointing a loaded gun at Dean. You and the boys were the least bit intimidated at the predicament you ended up in.

“Hey, Krissy.” Dean greeted the younger kid.

“What are you two doing here?” She asked, surprised to see two familiar faces standing in her motel room of all places.

"Saving your bacon, that's what." Dean told her.

“Does it look like my bacon needs saving?” She asked him a sarcastic tone of voice.

“If you don’t lower that gun, it will be.” You warned her.

Krissy turned her gaze away from the Winchesters and to you, a strange face she hadn't ever seen before until tonight. Her abrasive attitude and your requests didn't make for very good first impressions on one another. “Who the hell are you?”

"Y/N Y/L/N. I'm presuming you're Krissy." You introduced yourself to her. You pointed a finger to the weapon she was still holding she never made an effort to put away to make all of you feel just the slightest bit more welcome. "Aren't you a little young to be playing with guns?”

“That’s none of your business.” She replied. You scoffed at her attitude towards you, half tempted to rip the weapon right out of her hands to knock some sense into her thick skull. “Wait. How’d you find me? I paid cash everywhere.”

“Only two hotels within a twenty-mile radius, and we paid cash, too—just more.” Dean told the kid.

Krissy rolled her eyes in frustration when she was ratted out by the old man running the front desk. She thought the extra forty bucks she slipped him would be enough to keep his mouth shut. It seemed the little trick didn’t work. She clicked the safety to the gun back on and dropped her arm back down to her side. “Freaking clerk.”

“Krissy,” Sam looked around the motel room trying to find any trace of a parental figure staying with her. “Where’s your dad?”

“Dead.” She informed you. You were taken back at hearing what happened to her father. As you were about to tell her you were sorry about her loss, but Krissy’s grieving period was long over. Or she had one hell of a poker face she was giving you to get out of her hair. “Well, let's do this again, like, never. Now go. We got this.”

“We who?” You asked her. “And got what?”

Krissy answered none of the questions you bombarded her with all at once while you and the boys tried piecing together what kind of operation she and her friends were putting on. Krissy told you she was hunting a vampire, which made little sense to you considering you saw them take down one just the other night. You had a feeling there was a little infestation in town they were trying to take care of themselves. Krissy headed back over to her laptop and begin to watch something, you headed over to see she was overlooking a live feed of her friends while they conducted something on this hunt. From the looks of it, they were picking a lock to a motel room.

You watched as they gained access inside and cautiously headed forward, cautious about the chance the monster they were hunting was waiting for them inside. You noticed they even had audio to go along with their way of hunting. All though you weren’t giving out any props or congratulating them on choosing to hunt, you had to admit they were using technology to their advantage. Streaming the hunt and constant communication with one another for when things went south and needed some backup.

“We're in. The room's clear.” You heard a female voice come from the computer’s speaker as she narrated what she was doing. “Nobody here but a vic.”

You saw a girl come into view on the screen, she was tied up to the bed and gagged from letting anyone figuring out what kind of predicament the vamp left her in. You crossed your arms over your chest and watched as the kids work, letting them at least have the satisfaction of rescuing the girl before she got hurt. While things appeared to be going as planned, things quickly escalated to worst case scenario wen Krissy's hunting partners found themselves having unexpected company. You saw one of the teenager's cameras spotted the vamp that was standing in the motel room, looking rather pissed off when he saw them trying to take his food. You didn’t care if they were the most experienced hunters for their age, you and the boys bolted out of the motel after you saw Krissy make a run for it to help her friends.

The boys barged in first with guns drawn out to slow down the vamp at least enough for all of you to finish him off. You and Krissy were just seconds behind and managed to get into the room to overpower the monster in numbers with six against one. While it looked like there was no way he was going to get out of this alive, the vamp knew there was one way to escape and see another day. He used his abilities against all of you when you saw the vamp running towards the window. All that was left behind was broken glass after he jumped to the street below. Dean tried to get a clear shot at the vamp while he ran off towards a blue van parked right across the street with the engine running, but it was no use.

“I got him!” Krissy declared.

You turned your head at the right time to see the kid running out of the motel room and after the vamp, thinking she could take him all on her own. You didn’t waste a second following right behind her while shouting that she wasn’t going to do this alone. Dean heard your voice and saw the both of you disappear from his sight and after the vamp, making him become overwhelmed with anger. Krissy should have been nowhere near this hunt in the first place, and you were in no shape of running after a vamp. He let out a frustrated breath and found himself running after the both of you, hoping he was fast enough to catch up before anything happened.

Your body might have been going through all sorts of changes, but you were able to keep up with Krissy long enough to follow her down a flight of stairs through the motel and to the empty streets where you saw the vamp trying to make a run for it. You checked to make sure you had your weapon ready when you saw Krissy pull out what you thought was a gun, thinking she was going to shoot to slow him down. You caught up with her right as she took her aim and pulled the trigger, sending him dropping to the ground like a sack of flour. When you saw him suddenly groaning in pain at what she had done, you figured he wasn't shot with regular old bullets. Krissy had a trick up her sleeve to get him right where she wanted him.

"How about a heads up the next time you decide to run off?" You heard another pair of footsteps behind yours, making you look back to see that it was Dean. He had raced down the same path you had taken fast as he could to try and catch up with the both of you. You noticed he was slightly out of breath while you were composed after the run. Just a few days ago you couldn't fight a demon without becoming dizzy, now you were acting like you were fine. "How did you manage to keep up with her?"

"I got a head start." You said, shrugging your shoulders at the lack of answers you could provide for him. You turned your attention over to Krissy, slightly curious as to what she was holding in her hand if it wasn't a gun like you originally suspected. "How did you manage to drop him so quickly?"

“Darts filled with dead man’s blood.” Krissy told you.

"Huh. That's..." You found yourself honestly impressed with her idea of how to inject venom into a vampire's bloodstream without having to get close to them. You swore you saw the ends of Krissy's lips stretch into a smirk when you complimented her. "not a bad idea."

"Where's the blue van?" Dean asked the both of you. You furrowed your brow slightly from his question, wondering what he was talking about. You looked around the street to see that it was empty of a van that he saw from the window. "The blue van that he was bolting to."

You had no clue what he was talking about, you were more concerned at the vamp at your feet that needed to be taken care of before the dead man's blood wore off and he was hungry for revenge. You pulled out a knife from the back of your jeans, ready to take care of this for good. Before you could take a step, Krissy stopped you. You gave the kid a confused look at what she was doing.

“This is not your kill.” She said.

"What are you talking about?" You asked.

Krissy's friends came jogging over to where the three of you were with Sam following behind the both of them before you could finish the job. It seemed that the girl wanted to be the one to separate the vampire's head from his neck. And for a good reason why. She approached the vamp with her machete drawn with the blade pointing at him, ready to use it on him. “Three months ago, this blood banger snuck into a house and killed three people in their sleep.”

“What?! No!” The vampire shouted, trying his hardest to defend himself. “I didn’t do that!”

"One was a woman—never hurt anyone!" She went on, ignoring the monster's pitiful attempts at trying to gain sympathy with his blatant lies. The other two, a brother and sister."

The vamp shook his head, not understanding how this was connected to him. You looked away from him and to the girl standing over him, having a feeling she was talking about someone she knew deeply. The victims she thought he was responsible for. "I don't know what you're talking about."

“I came home from a friend’s house, and I found him. They were my family!” Her voice broke when admitting the people she was talking about was her own flesh and blood, viciously murdered at the hands of this monster. The vamp pleaded for his innocence to the five faces staring at him, letting this teenager hold a weapon near his face. None of you were falling for the crocodile tears, the girl he had trapped in his motel room didn't make you think he was above murdering a family for a quick meal.

You flinched when you saw a girl who probably wasn't even voting age take a machete and slice off a vampire's head clean. This wasn't a sight you wanted to be exposed to, for a child to be at the other side of the weapon and the one who beheaded a monster she shouldn’t know about at all made it worse. To the three teenagers, this felt like a sigh of relief. A horrible pain allowed to finally start healing. Krissy stepped forward to her friend and placed a hand on her back in support, whispering to her that everything was going to be okay. The grief she felt was over.

“We need to talk to you privately.” Dean told Krissy, pulling her away from comforting her friend.

Krissy didn't look too pleased from the conversation she knew was going to happen the moment she saw the Winchesters come back into her life and saw how it ended up. As she walked over you and the boys, her other friend stepped forward and stopped her from going over to you. He looked at the three of you suspiciously. "You know this guy?"

"Yeah." Krissy said. "We have a past."

You watched as Krissy and Dean decided to go somewhere more private to discuss how she ended up hunting after her father was killed, how was what the older Winchester needed to find out. You and Sam got to work of disposing of the body before anyone could figure out what was going on. While doing so, you learned the name of Krissy’s friends—Josephine and Aiden. The three of them were reunited together not only because all of their families were murdered by vampires, because of someone who took them in and looked after each of them like his own children. You listened to everything and how they ended up here, trying your hardest not to show your disapproval at how they got involved with something dangerous like hunting.

When you were their age you were studying for the SATs and worrying about college, who you were going to take to junior prom. Not tracking and hunting a vampire after they murdered your entire family. Well…for a short time you lived in that blissful world where the supernatural was just things you read about. Until your attention shifted to learning everything you could about the things that went bump in the night, helping the Winchesters track and find cases for them. A handful of years later you were out on the road hunting, but it was different. You were an adult when you made the choice of becoming a hunter. You took baby steps, getting your revenge on the monster that killed your parents years later.

Even then, that’s not why you got involved in the first place. Hunting wasn’t about searching for the thing that ruined your life and killed your family. There was so much more they still had to learn about. It was about helping others in time of need and making this world a little bit of a safer place. Dedicating your entire life knowing there wasn’t a chance you could ever get out and live a normal life. You had to cling to every scrap of happiness you could find, and constantly look over your shoulder in fear you might end up dead from an enemy you forgot. You found yourself having to stop thinking about the topic form the things crossing your mind. Because it went against everything you were fighting for to have.

You hoped Dean could talk some sense into Krissy before she and her friends were the ones you were disposing of their body after they found themselves a monster’s victim. While the boys grew up in the lifestyle and you were learned the ropes on your own, it seemed the kids had someone who was giving them something you never had. A balance of the hunting world, and a home to come to afterwards. It all felt too good to be true. But it seemed these kids hit the lottery on being able to balance both worlds.

You kept yourself busy and somewhat helpful when you offered to pop the trunk and get everything ready for when after Aiden and Josephine finished wrapping up the vamp's body in plastic and duct tape. When you saw Krissy brush past you from the corner of your eye, you turned your head to see Dean and her came back from their little talk. You and Sam decided to let the teens finish up the work in favor for a little talk of your own. They were the ones who wanted to be involved in this, they were going to—dirty work and all. You took one more glance over at them to observe how they worked together, knowing you couldn’t deny they were pretty decent for being only teens.

“What happened?” Sam asked his brother, wondering how the talk went.

“Teenagers,” Dean grumbled, still ticked off from the attitude he was given by Krissy when he shared his concern for what she was getting herself involved in. “That’s what happened.”

“She tell you about Victor?” You wondered.

“Yeah.” Dean said. “What do we think?”

“Well, didn’t we meet up with a hunter named Victor one time in Spokane?” Sam asked.

"That's a long time ago." Dean said, knowing that hunt was from a hunt at least a handful of years back. All the cases you took felt like they blended together at this point. The faces you met along the way and the connections you made with a hunter didn't stick in your head, which was the reason why the name didn't sound all too familiar. "I haven't heard about him since."

"All right," You said. "So, these kids are—"

"Dangerous and off their meds?" Dean guessed. "Yeah, no kidding."

"So, what?" Sam asked, wondering what your next move was going to be for tonight. "We go and talk with Victor?"

You weren’t going to oppose giving this Victor a piece of your mind about what he was doing for these kids and getting them involved in something dangerous as hunting, let alone running around looking for the thing that killed their families. A few minutes later the three teens were calling it quits on the hunt after a job well done. They stashed the body into the trunk of their car and decided to head home before it could get too late. You and the boys followed behind them, eager to see how all of this dynamic worked out for them. And if it was all too good to be true.

[Next Part]

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monsieur-darling-blog · 5 years

Text

The Stripper in Stuart Weitzman

I met Charlotte under distressing circumstances. I had quit my job at Jimmy Choo in November of 2016 and had just acquired a new position at the department store, Nordstrom, in Nashville. I knew I was over qualified but didn't know what the fuck I wanted to do yet (I still don’t) so I latched on to the first thing that was offered: a part-time salesman, also known as “Stylist”, in the designer shoe department.

Like most people, I was really nervous my first day. One of my good friends was a manager in that very department (hence why I receive the job offer anyway) but I still had the feeling that this new opportunity was probably going to end in destruction. Case in point, it was my FIFTH (!) job that year. I had been a waiter at three different restaurants (two with my boyfriend at the time, which is another story entirely), worked for Jimmy Choo, and now this. Was I going to be good? What were the other “Stylists" going to be like? I'm not sure why I cared so much. You would have thought I was enlisting in the Peace Corps and just landed in a strange, third world country rather than started at a shitty department store.

But I had no reason to be nervous. I was surrounded by people just like me. We were all young, reasonably-attractive, completely coddled by our upper middle class parents. In short, we were fuck-ups who had no idea what was going on in the “Real World.” All we cared about was what Alessandro Michele was doing for his next Gucci collection and where we were getting drinks that night. We acted like we were the fashion experts in Nashville, and I suppose, to a point, we were. We were selling the most expensive luxury items (Louboutin, Saint Laurent, Chanel, etc.) to the most stylistically challenged women I’ve ever encountered. The truly wealthy women in Nashville were all the same: White. Blonde. Skinny. Didn't go to college. Trump voters. Into heavy branding. These women were all happy to spend their misogynistic and homophobic husband’s money. And they ate up whatever we told them:

“Oh my god, this new Chanel bag is EVERYTHING! I can't believe it's only $5000!” or “I know these Louboutins hurt, Ms. Henderson, but I really think you're going to be the talk of Swan Ball!” Of course, Nordstrom doesn't have a return policy, so once these ladies ate our bullshit and got home, they realized they'd been played by money hungry twenty-seven-year old's and returned that shit.

Our paychecks were always up and down because of it. One week, I'd make $3000 in commission. The next week, I'd have $20,000 returned in worn stilettos and my paycheck would be about $400. Because of this company policy (where you will always be negatively impacted by returns at any time because Nordstrom wants to always “take care of the customer” - I fucking hate Nordstrom as a company, FYI) my coworkers and I banded together and became very close friends.

That brings me to Charlotte. She was one of the first people I met once I made it through my hellish five day training classes. She was always turtlenecks with Prada Mary-Jane's and her hair messy. Upon first glance, I thought that she was okay. Hipster, yes. A psychopath who enjoyed making everyone uncomfortable at all times, no. But I was so wrong.

“HI! I'm Charlotte! What’s your name? Where are you from?” She said. Her energy level was alarming, but I was the new kid, so I attempted to make polite conversation and a good first impression. I told her my name (Mathew) and where I was from (Vermont). Only two seconds had passed before she blurted out, "Are you gay?”

Lucky for her, I was secure enough being a flaming homosexual that I didn't give a shit about her question. I told her that I was and she said, "Oh, gay men normally don't like me.” RED FLAG.

Weeks went by and I maintained a polite but distant relationship with Charlotte. I would be sympathetic to her stories about her relationship with her boyfriend. I would listen to her talk about wanting to leave Nashville and express the same sentiments. But I always maintained a guarded relationship with her for two reasons:

1) She offended nearly everyone in the department, and

2) I just couldn’t stop thinking she was homophobic!

She would perpetually make these comments to me about how I was her only gay friend. How gay boys never liked her. How she didn't like going to gay bars to watch grown men dress as women. I started to think that maybe, in a past life, she had been a repressed gay man and was taking it out on me. What was her issue with gay men? Did she ever stop to think that maybe gay men didn't like her because she tainted the relationship from the get-go?

Whatever her reasoning, she took my sympathy about her love-life for genuine friendship and started acting like we were super close, even though I definitely did not feel that way. She flashed her tits at me one day at work, and shook them in my face, and asked me what I thought about her body. She called me to discuss how hot a boy we worked with was and how she wanted to fuck him. She started talking to me about her relationship woes, and because I didn't want to be rude, I listened, nodded, and agreed with whatever she said.

Eventually, she moved to New York, and to be honest, I was relieved. I wouldn't have to stand around listening to her anymore. It’s not like I hated her (at that point), I just didn't think we had very much, if anything, in common other than we worked at the same place. She had days where she was an enjoyable coworker, but a lot of the time she just made me feel awkward. I didn’t think we were going to see each other for a long time, even though I had planned to move to New York only a few months after she did.

However, I did see her, much more quickly than I expected. In May, I hopped on a plane and took a vacation here in New York. The trip was meant to scout apartments but it pretty much resulted in me binge-drinking every night and buying bunk cocaine on the street from a black man outside of Vodka Soda. I came to New York with two of my closest friends: William and Lucia. Will and I had secured an airB&B in East Harlem for the duration of our trip. However, we only had one bed, which meant Lucia needed to find a place of her own.

Lucia's relationship with Charlotte's relationship was just as weird as my own. Lucia and I bonded early on over how much we didn't like Charlotte and laughed about all the awkward shit she did to us (like the flashing.) But as time went on, Lucia let go of whatever tension she felt, and accepted Charlotte as she was: the annoying girl who made her uncomfortable, but probably not a completely terrible person.

Lucia asked Charlotte if she could stay in her downtown apartment. Charlotte said yes. Before I knew it, I was in an Uber with Will and Lucia, headed down from Harlem into the thick of Manhattan to Charlotte's apartment building. The area was beautiful. Trendy, hip, and lively, exactly what you should think of when you think of Manhattan. I was so excited to be in New York and in this cool part of the City that I forgot who we were reuniting with.

Lucia called Charlotte to let her know we were outside of her apartment building, standing in the warm 90 degree weather (this was a record high day for May in NYC), starving and ready to get the vacation started. But of course, Charlotte didn't answer. It took Lucia three tries to get through before Charlotte had opened up her apartment to us.

“HI GUYS!” Charlotte said, and hugged each of us. She invited us into her apartment, a fifth floor unit with four rooms (a bedroom, kitchen, living room, and bathroom) but without air conditioning. She kept rambling about her roommate, who let her stay there for free, and said, "Can you believe I have all of this? Can you believe I have this?”

I couldn't believe it. I couldn’t believe how fucking hot it was in that apartment. If it was 90 degrees outside, it must have been 105 inside this place. I wanted to get out of there. I was also, yet again, uncomfortable! Even her living quarters made me feel uncomfortable. She had a sculpture of an erect penis mounted on her wall. Books were strewn everywhere - on the table, on the floor, on ledges, and not in a chic artistic way. In a dirty way. The sink was full of dishes. Don't even get me started on the bathroom. All the while, she was acting like she lived in Buckingham Palace and kept chanting, "Can you believe I have all of this?”

Lunch time was here. Lucia, Will, and myself were all starving after our three hour flight from Nashville to LaGuardia and two hour Uber from LaGuardia to Harlem. As we stepped back outside into the bright sunlight on that one block in Manhattan, Charlotte said, "I know exactly what we should do for lunch. I know the best brunch place and it's totally vegan!"

I don't eat vegetables. I might be twenty-eight, but I still don't eat my veggies. Thank god, Will came to my rescue and said, "Let's go somewhere where we can all eat.”

Charlotte paused and said, "I know just the place! And it’s very New York! The guy who works there is always like 'FATHER! DAUGHTER! SISTER! MOTHER!'" She made strange pointing gestures like we were the father, daughter, sister, mother!

Will and I exchanged glances and silent laughs before proceeding to this magical, "very" New York brunch spot. It turned out to be a small but cute bakery a few blocks down from Charlotte's apartment. Our waiter was also our chef. He cooked me up the most delicious cheddar and bacon bagel. Meanwhile, Charlotte immediately began filling us in on everything happening in her life in New York.

“So I've been working at Barney’s doing freelance embroidery..." yada yada yada… “I’ve been sleeping with this older man…" yada yada yada… but the best part was when she started eating cream cheese with her bagel after announcing that she was vegan and saying, "What! If you're on vacation, then I'm on vacation, so I can eat whatever I want!"

After that, she said, "I've got a big announcement.”

"What?" Lucia asked.

“Well, I really want to go to the strip club tonight. Because I think I'm going to start stripping. I've really been thinking it's probably the best way for me to get some quick extra cash and I want to go to grad school. So I want to see what it's like. There's one close to here. And I don't care about having my tits out.”

Normally, I wouldn't judge someone for stripping. I've had friends in the past who have had to do it. However, there had been multiple times where I heard her slut shamming our coworkers. “She's such a dumb skank,” she would say, or “This is what is killing feminism” after looking at an Instagram post of our colleague in a revealing outfit from the night before. Then she would laugh. No, cackle is the right word. That very moment, when she announced she wanted to be a stripper is when I realized how much I actually disliked this person. In that moment, I realized that all she had was her fake veganism, her fake feminism, and her fake life. I called her a hypocrite under my breath and proceeded on with lunch, deciding that it was probably better to stop discussing her future profession before I really went off. We got our checks and paid but not before Charlotte skipped tipping our waiter. Remember when I said I was a waiter? Yeah, at that point, I was wishing I had never met this person. I dropped a couple extra dollars on the table. We got up, left, and I didn't see Charlotte again for the duration of my trip. Thank god.

I didn't think very much about her very much after that. It was later that I was informed that she felt bad for me and William. Apparently, she didn't like knowing that we would be moving to Brooklyn when she had "all this" in the East Village. I thought about what she had and compared it to my situation. I decided that I would rather live in Brooklyn than live in squalor like she did. I would rather spend 20 minutes on the subway than walk to work from that shithole place she slept in. And I stupidly voiced that opinion to four coworkers one day when I was back in Nashville, while casually mentioning that she wanted to become a stripper and had bought Stuart Weitzman booties for the new job.

At the time, I didn't think anything of it. Or care. So, I went about my day, and the next few months without thinking about what she was up to. I think I only spoke to her twice before I myself moved to New York. One time was for her to rant about her ex-boyfriend and the second time was me asking her tips for finding an apartment. On the day that I moved, she slid into my DM’s. Here is our entire conversation:

“Charlotte: Driving to NYC?

Me: Yep!

Charlotte: Not bringing a car tho right??

Also will is your best friend but he is also gay

Is that not weird? Or are you both not each other’s type

Sorry for ignorance

My questions never bother you so I like to ask haha

Me: No, and haven’t you ever had a friend that is a boy that you haven’t fucked?

Charlotte: Lol ya, you *upside down smiley*

Idk if someone is attractive and we get along super well? It usually develops into something

ESPECIALLY if there is drinking involved”

I never responded. Why did she care what my relationship with my best friend was? Fuck that bitch! I hated her! And yes, Charlotte, your questions DO bother me. I squatted in Bushwick and vowed to never see her again. I figured we would just drift away from each other. After all, we both wanted very different things out of living in this city. But no, Charlotte needed to intrude on ANOTHER first day of work for me.

I moved to New York because of another job offer. I knew that I wanted to get as far away from the South as I could so I was very surprised when I got offered my old job at Jimmy back, but this time in the fashion capital of the world. I was excited, ecstatic really, but my nerves were worse than they had ever been on that first day. I felt like I had made it. I was at the highest position in my field - RETAIL. Ugh. But whatever, a job in Manhattan is a better job than anywhere else. I made sure I knew exactly what trains to take, and made sure to get on them early just in case I got lost. I had a shiny new title with an illusion of glamour backing it and I was going to make sure it was the perfect fucking first day. The day passed slowly with lots of training. It wasn't until lunch that things really picked up and I almost shit my pants.

I checked my phone to see four missed messages and a phone call from Charlotte. This is what they said:

“Ok A: fuck you

and B: I refer you to things in NYC and you act like my friend and then you go around saying you don’t like me and that I’m a stripper now

How about I just tell people you moved to NYC to be set up by an elderly gay man and that I think you’re a twat, like duh fuq is your problem

And my apartment is disgusting? I hope you rot in Bushwhick and I’ll continue chilling in Manhattan and the Hamptons. PEACE. Fucking fake motherfucker.

”

To which I responded,

“You are psychotic.”

Almost immediately, the phone at work begun to ring. My new coworker answered and then said, "The phone is for you?” His face practically said, you-are-brand-new! You-don't-have-clients! Who-is-calling-for-you-asshole? I snatched the phone from him and checked the caller ID. Area code: 615. It was a Nashville number. I answered, embarrassed as fuck, knowing what was coming, and said, "Hello this is Mathew" while my new boss stood three feet away. Surprisingly, rather than hearing her scream, Charlotte hung up on me! I went to check my Instagram. She blocked me. And then Facebook. Blocked there too. It looked like she was done speaking to me. I was relieved, though I didn't understand why she decided to call my new work.

But then, one-by-one, my friends starting texting me. Charlotte was apparently "really pissed off" at me. So much so that she mentioned coming into my work and punching me in the face. That's when it clicked. She had called to see if I had started my job yet. She was walking to SoHo right then, I knew it! I probably had fifteen minutes. In another one of her texts during her rampage, she mentioned to one of my friends that she hated “prissy gays.” I waited, very anxiously, for her arrival to cuss me out on my first day of work, punch me in the face, and get me fired. I spent ten minutes shaking. I was angry, nervous, and could not believe some fucking cunt decided to tell her about my stupid gossip THE DAY I STARTED MY NEW JOB. Like! Congrats on your new job! Now let me fuck your world up real quick!!

After freaking out in my head, I decided it would be best to warn everyone working with me that day, so I told my coworker and my new boss about the psychopathic young woman with frizzy hair that might come in and assault me. Thankfully for me, my boss threw her head back, laughed, and said, "I can't deal with this on your first day!”

Charlotte never dropped by that day. I was so thankful she didn't fuck up my first day I almost thought she was a good person. She really had every right to be angry. She could've punched me in the face and I would have thought it was merited. I told people her apartment was disgusting. I told people that she bought Weitzman boots to strip in. And now I'm writing this story. I was guilty of my crime and felt the repercussions as a knot in my stomach. One of these days, she’s going to find me waiting on the train platform and smack me or push me down onto the tracks to be hit. I have yet to face our problem head on (mainly because she's blocked me on all platforms) and for the sake of atonement, I need to. Like Hilary Duff says, I need to "come clean!"

It's not like I didn't have chances to fix this. I had one when another old coworker, Keith, was visiting New York a couple weeks ago from Nashville. Keith was not my friend, ever. I hardly ever spoke to him and when I did, it was because he initiated. He wore funny hats because he was "so alternative.” Basically, Charlotte and he were meant to be best friends because of how much they both sucked. I am not 100% sure Keith told Charlotte that I had announced to all of her old coworkers that she was stripping in Manhattan, but I think he did. I was amazed that he showed up to my work randomly one day during his visit. I did not understand why he would come visit me, considering he was my top suspect that told Charlotte what I had said. Had I not been working with a client upon his arrival, things might've ended differently. I might've said something like, "Get the fuck out of my work space you fucking piece of shit." Or I might've summoned Lauren Conrad's infamous words, "YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!" But instead I asked why he was here and what his vacation plans were. I was cold, distant, and felt like I made it pretty clear that now we weren't working together we did not need to have a relationship, but still attempted to maintain an aura of politeness.

What I should have told him was to forward a message to Charlotte. And tell her that I wasn't sorry. Because I am a bad person. I know that I shouldn't have done the things I did. I made another person feel like shit about themselves, mostly because they made me feel like shit about myself! But we weren't ever really friends! She didn't like me and used me as her gay accessory, I imagine to prove to herself that she wasn't secretly homophobic. I used her to show that I could be friends with everyone, even when those people were unanimously disliked. The fact is we were ALL shitty people! Keith is included in this. I will never apologize for being a “prissy gay" and telling people behind her back what I really thought of her. She should never apologize to me for making me extremely uncomfortable every time I was around her. And should Keith apologize for running his fat mouth? Probably, but I'm using this post to let it go.

This whole situation has resulted in the best advice I have been able to give myself: hold. your. tongue. You never know who's around and you never know what people really think about you. I was in a very comfortable setting with coworkers that were friends, but I didn't think about the coworkers that were not my friends. Do I think Keith would've told Charlotte that I was telling the world about her stripper job? Probably not if he had liked me. I wasn't nice to him, so why be loyal to me? But I could've avoided the entire thing if I had just kept my own mouth shut and privately hated Charlotte like I had been doing. I didn't need to get coworkers involved. I'm not sure why I did. Probably because I have a superiority complex and didn't want people to think Charlotte was actually living her best life in Manhattan while I “rotted in Bushwick.”

I am not that girl. Charlotte said she felt bad for me being in Bushwick. I would not let her "feel bad" for me when I was figuring my shit out in New York City. So I ratted her out and let everyone know exactly what kind of person she is. I think, maybe subconsciously, I wanted her to find out what I said. And by doing so, I let people know exactly what kind of person I am: a not very nice one.

I haven't seen Charlotte at all since I've moved here. I know that eventually I will. William saw her one day walking into a Chipotle. That’s been my closest encounter with her. I purposely avoid her neighborhood for fear that she'll be around the corner. I have absolutely no idea what I will say to her when that day comes. Will I say "Hello?" and let the past be the past? Or will I walk forward, pretend I don’t know her, and go about my day?

#writing #personal essay #essay #funny #long reads

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searchingwardrobes · 6 years

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Captain Swan is My Favorite Rom Com

The Storybook

A Captain Swan AU of The Notebook

Here is my first re-release from last year’s Captain Swan is My Favorite Rom Com. Remember, the official kickoff for this invent is Memorial Day (Monday, May 28th). Tag any movie AUs #csromcom18 and tag me as well so I can reblog.

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Major Character Deaths (come on ya’ll, this is the Notebook! So just grab the tissues already . . . )

Word Count: 5,000 +

Ao3

Allie Calhoun smiled as she saw Killian Jones walking towards her down the hallway of the nursing home. He had a thick leather-bound book tucked under his arm like he always did as he approached room 301. He came every day to read to Emma Swan Jones, even though Allie was the only nurse who thought it did any good.

“He’s lost his mind as much as she has,” the other nurses would say, “believing he’s Captain Hook and his wife is the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. Believing that silly book of fairy tales is real.”

But Allie knew better. She was Emma Swan Jones’ regular nurse, and she was there to see it every time she remembered. She didn’t remember every day, or even most days, but because there were days that she remembered, Killian Jones kept coming to read to her. Even though he started every day with his wife looking at him as if he were a stranger.

And yet hope was what Allie saw in his eyes as he nodded to her, like every other day, and asked, “Are you ready, lass?”

Allie grinned, returned the nod, and opened the door to room 301. Killian Jones had paid extra so his wife could have this room – a suite all to herself with a window seat in front of a beautiful set of bay windows. “She needs to have a view of the sea,” he had insisted, “it will calm her.” And though most of the staff had rolled their eyes, he had been right. Emma sat there now, gazing sadly out at the water, a lost look on her face. Her hair was still long, though now silvery gray, and her lithe figure was now gaunt, her skin papery thin and wrinkled. Yet Allie watched as the face of Killian Jones transformed. He beamed at his wife with sparkling eyes, as if nothing in the world were more beautiful. His own skin was leathery and wrinkled from many hours in the sun, his once dark hair now a dull, mottled gray. His steps were hesitant now, his gait stiff, his muscles softened and weak. Yet he still flirted with the nurses, winking and using his still plentiful charms to weasel them out of an extra helping at meal times or trying (in vain) to get out of taking his heart medication. His eyes were still the same sparkling blue of his youth, and his face though softened and lined, was still a handsome one. “I still look devastatingly handsome,” he would joke, “especially at 380.”

Emma turned her head slowly as Allie entered the room, Killian following closely at her heels. Emma frowned at the two of them, a startled look crossing her face.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” Allie was quick to reassure her, “this is just Mr. Jones. He’d like to read to you today, if that’s all right.”

Emma Swan Jones had such advanced Alzheimer’s disease, that she didn’t even remember her own name. Whenever Allie slipped up and used it, she got agitated that she didn’t know who she was. So both Allie and Killian avoided using it. Emma rose from her seat and came cautiously forward, examining Killian with suspicion.

“Do I like him?” she asked, fixing her gaze on Allie.

Allie tried not to allow herself to smile, but her lips twitched anyway as she exchanged a glance with Mr. Jones. “Yes, I think you like him okay.”

Emma shrugged, “Well, I suppose I have nothing better to do.”

Killian let out a breath. Some days Emma refused to see him at first, or even at all. Maybe today would be one of the good days. He gave Emma a cautious nod of his head and gestured gallantly at the tea table in the corner of the suite.

“Would this suit you, m’lady?”

Emma snorted, “Who are you, freakin’ Prince Charming?” Killian and Allie exchanged another amused glance at that. “I’ve already had my breakfast. I was enjoying the view, so if you want to read, you’ll have to sit over there,” she continued, gesturing towards a comfortable chair catty-corner to the window seat.

“As you wish,” Killian replied softly, watching Emma’s face closely. But she barely glanced his direction at the familiar phrase. Allie’s heart went out to him, though she knew it was much too early in the day for Emma to remember anything. He seated himself in the chair, cleared his throat, and began, “The Pirate and the Princess. Chapter One. Once Upon a Time, there lived a lost boy and a lost girl, separated by realms and time . . . “

Allie was in and out to check on her patient in room 301, lingering when she could to listen the story she had heard bit by bit a hundred times. The other nurses called her a daydreamer who wasted too much time coddling the fantasy of two senile patients.

Emma sat for most of the beginning of the tale gazing out at the water, as if she were only half listening. But when Allie came in to give Emma her supplements, she turned her head in Killian’s direction with interest.

“Wait, did you say he bandaged her hand with his teeth?”

Killian removed his reading glasses to regard his wife with an amused grin and an arched eyebrow, “Yes, that’s how the story goes.”

“Hmph,” Emma snorted, turning once more to gaze out the window, “completely unnecessary. This pirate thinks he’s God’s gift to women, doesn’t he?”

Killian chuckled at that. Emma turned back to look at him intently.

“They’re going to fall in love, aren’t they?”

Killian nodded his head slowly, his gaze never leaving his wife’s. “Yes,” he said softly.

Allie let a long moment pass as the pair of them gazed into one another’s eyes, but then Emma’s green ones glossed over, and she looked back out to sea. “Um, ma’am,” Allie said to her gently, “It’s time for your walk.”

“Oh,” Emma said almost sadly, rising with the aid of Allie’s hand to her elbow. She studied Killian’s face for a long moment then said, “Could perhaps . . . he take me on my walk?” A blush stained Emma’s face as she leaned over and whispered to Allie, “He is awfully good-looking, isn’t he?”

Allie chuckled, “Yes, I think he is, and I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

Allie could tell Killian Jones was attempting to hold back his enthusiasm as he rose eagerly from his chair, “I would be honored m’lady. Perhaps Ms. Allie could bring the book down to the bench by the water, and we could continue reading there?”

Both women nodded their consent as Killian offered Emma his arm. Allie’s heart swelled within her as she watched the elderly man guide his elderly wife out of the room. She picked up the leather volume where Mr. Jones had left it and clutched it to her chest. Oh to be loved like that . . .

*********************************************************

Later, when Allie brought a blanket and two hot chocolates for the Joneses, Killian was reading about Neverland, with the pounding of the surf as background noise. “As you wish the pirate managed to stutter as he touched his lips in awe. Suddenly, he knew with startling clarity that he was in love with Emma Swan.”

“A one-time thing?” Emma interrupted.

“I beg your pardon?” Killian inquired, peering up at her over the rim of his reading glasses.

“She called the kiss a one-time thing. I don’t believe that for one second, do you?”

Killian bit his lip to suppress a smile, “Well, I don’t know. She’s a princess, and the savior, after all. He’s nothing but a pirate.”

“How can you say that?” Emma argued vehemently, “If he is, he’s a pretty lousy villain if you ask me. Saving women’s hearts and going around rescuing little boys.”

Killian pressed a hand to his lips, “Well, I suppose we’ll have to see.”

When Allie returned to escort the pair back to room 301 for lunch, Killian was just ending the scene at the town line.

“You know,” Emma remarked as she walked back across the grounds, “when she said Good, what she really meant was that she was falling for him.”

“Oh, you mean after he told her not a day would go by when he wouldn’t think of her?” Killian asked as if the story wasn’t intimately familiar to him.

“Of course,” Emma scoffed.

Killian laid his good hand on Emma’s which rested in the crook of his left arm. Allie, walking behind them, wanted to cheer when Emma didn’t pull away. “Well,” he said, “perhaps they’ll get their happy ending after all.”

******************************************************

Over lunch, Killian read about the pirate finding the princess in New York, about how she was hesitant to drink the memory potion, and the flying monkey that tried to kill the princess. Emma gasped at that revelation, then said with a shake of her head, “I knew something wasn’t right about that Walsh guy.”

The pair lingered over lunch as Killian continued the tale. He was just finishing the part where the princess became angry with the pirate because he didn’t tell her about the wicked witch’s curse when Allie had to come in and interrupt them. She bent to whisper in Killian’s ear that he had visitors – he and Emma’s children and grandchildren. They wanted to see both of them, but Allie would leave that up to Killian.

“I have visitors,” Killian explained to Emma as he put away his glasses and closed the book.

“Oh,” Emma said, her face falling, “the story was just getting good.”

He reached across the table and grasped his wife’s hand, “I’ll be back to finish it, I promise.” But he quickly saw that his reassurances were doing little to quell her rising panic. Some days the Alzheimer’s had his wife reverting back to the tough as nails bail bondswoman who trusted no one. Other days, she reverted all the way back to being a little lost girl again. Today seemed to be one of those days.

“Would you like to meet my friends?” he asked tentatively. When her face lit up, he gave a tiny nod to Allie that he had judged correctly.

“That would be nice,” Emma answered simply, trying to mask her obvious excitement.

Killian took her arm again, and they all headed downstairs, but it quickly became clear that Emma was still wrapped up in the story.

“He was only trying to protect her and Henry.”

“Who?”

“Hook. He thought if he said anything, Zelena would kill them.”

“Oh,” Killian said with a nod.

“Although,” Emma said after a brief pause, “what he should have done was tell that witch to go to hell.”

Killian laughed a pure, free, happy laugh. It was so like his Emma that it felt as if the sun were out after a long, dark storm.

Allie hung back, just in case Emma needed her, as the couple approached the small crowd seated on Adirondack chairs in the facility’s courtyard. Killian could tell their grown children were surprised to see their mother, and he prayed they would follow his lead. He patted Emma’s hand as he met each child’s gaze.

“I’d like you to meet my children and grandchildren,” he informed Emma, “or some of them, anyway.”

“Oh!” she replied, smiling brightly, “All of these are yours? How wonderful.”

“Yes,” Killian answered, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. He avoided eye contact with his children, knowing he would see hurt there. Their own mother didn’t know them! “This is my oldest daughter, Haley, my younger daughter, Clara, and this is my son Charlie. And these two little ones are Clara’s twins, Mary and Margaret.” Emma shook hands with each young adult in turn, smiling with detached politeness. But the Jones children played along, despite how much it hurt them to do so. “And this,” Killian continued, “is my oldest, Henry.”

Henry was having the most difficult time holding it together. He stayed slightly removed from his siblings, his shoulders rigid. He shuffled forward reluctantly as Emma extended her hand. Henry took his mother’s frail hand in his, his eyes immediately welling up with unshed tears.

“My my,” Emma said as she shook Henry’s hand, “you don’t seem old enough to have such a grown son!”

“Dad’s a lot older than he looks,” joked Charlie to break the tension.

They all insisted that Emma join them, and Killian helped lower her into a cushioned rocker that would be more comfortable for her. As soon as she was seated, little Mary scrambled into her grandmother’s lap. Clara scolded her, but Emma, though shocked at first, held the little girl tight.

“No, it’s okay,” Emma told them, “she’s a precious little thing.”

An awkward silence descended on the group, everyone nervous that they might say the wrong thing. Mary turned in her grandmother’s lap to pat her cheek, and something about the gesture caused Emma to get uncomfortable. Killian could see the beginning of panic settling on his wife’s features, and he hurried to retrieve Mary. Emma’s hands fluttered nervously at her throat.

“I . .. I’m getting awfully tired.”

Allie was there in a moment, and she helped a relieved Emma out of her seat and began walking her back to her room. As soon as their mother was out of ear shot, all of the Jones children leaned towards their father in concern.

“Daddy,” Haley began, “you can’t keep living like this.”

“Like what? I’m right where I belong.”

“What do you mean, dad?” Charlie argued, “You are in excellent health. There’s nothing for you here.”

“Nothing!?” Killian exclaimed, “That’s my true love in there,” he argued, pointing back up the hill where Emma had gone.

Clara leaned forward, resting a hand gently on her father’s knee, “She didn’t even know us, Daddy. Her mind is gone.”

Killian shook his head firmly, “No, it’s not. I read our story to her every day. And some days, she remembers.”

The Jones children all looked to Henry for help. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, “Come home with me, Dad. Back to Storybrooke. Grace and I have plenty of room now that the kids have all moved out.”

Killian shook his head sadly, “You too, Henry? I thought you of all people –“

Henry cut him off. “This isn’t a memory curse. This is medical. Alzheimer’s. There’s no cure.”

“Your mother and I have faced every obstacle the same way – together. I won’t leave her now. Besides, what is there for me in Storybrooke? Everyone is gone: your grandparents, Regina, Belle, Smee. I’m the last of the fairy tale characters, Henry. Frankly, I’m eager to join my kin. Your mother is the only reason I still have breath.”

His jaw clenched as he took in the wrecked expressions of his children. He knew his words hurt, but they were true. He and Emma had made solemn vows to love each other for all eternity. He intended to never break that vow.

************************************************************

Emma’s face lit up when Killian entered her room after her nap. She had settled once again in the window seat, and she gestured for Killian to take up his spot in the chair nearby. Allie was in and out as Killian read for hours. “Hook begged the princess not to do it, but she simply pulled him close, pressing his hand to her breast. I love you she breathed, then before he could respond, she pushed him backwards. He watched in agony as the black tendrils swirled around his beloved, their eyes locked on one another. Until the darkness blocked her from view. Then the black cloud disappeared, and in the empty space, a dagger clattered to the pavement. Emma Swan was etched upon the blade.”

“I’m not going to like this part of the story, am I?”

Killian startled at the sound of his wife’s voice, she had been quietly listening for so long. He gave her a sad smile, “No,” he told her honestly, “I don’t particularly like this part myself.”

She sighed so deeply, he glanced with concern at Allie.

“Do you want me to stop reading?”

“Actually, ma’am,” Allie interrupted gently, “it’s time for your dinner.”

“Okay,” Emma said softly, her gaze drifting to the carpet. Then she looked up at Killian, “Will you stay for supper too? And keep reading?”

“Aye,” he answered simply with a nod. Emma’s face seemed to startle at his answer, and for one second, he thought maybe she was remembering the day she found out he had traded his ship for her. But it passed almost as quickly.

Through dinner Killian read about Emma’s time as the Dark One and her desperate choice in the middlemist field as he lay dying. He hated to read the part about their fights as Dark Ones, but he plowed ahead, forcing his voice to remain steady. Dinner came and went, and time seemed to stand still. Allie hovered in the doorway because this was when Emma’s behavior could sometimes become erratic.

“Hook gave Emma a half smile and a nod, assuring her that it would all be okay,” Killian read, voice thick with emotion, “so with tears streaming down her face, Emma ran him through with Excalibur. As she pulled the sword free, the darkness fled, and the sword turned to ash and blew away on the wind. Hook crumpled forward, and Emma fell with him, sobbing over his body as his life ebbed away.”

Killian stopped his reading at the sound of a sob from Emma’s throat. He looked up to see her with tears streaming down her face. “It can’t,” she sobbed brokenly, “It can’t end like that.”

Killian quickly reached out for her hand and grasped it, “It doesn’t,” he assured her, rubbing his thumb in circles across the back of her hand, “I promise you, Emma, this isn’t how the story ends.”

It was Allie’s gasp from the doorway that alerted Killian to his mistake. He had used Emma’s name. His blood froze in his veins as he watched Emma’s face. She first looked confused, then she looked long at their joined hands, then she looked up at him. Her expression had cleared, and for the first time in many days, Killian saw love reflected back in her eyes. Still, he waited, holding his breath.

“It’s us,” Emma breathed. “The story – it’s us!”

A sob escaped Killian’s throat, “Oh, Emma, my love!”

“Killian!” Emma gasped out, rising from her chair so fast, it clattered to the floor.

Killian was there in a heartbeat, catching her in his arms. She kept saying his name over and over, touching his face, kissing him with the same passion they had always shared. From the doorway, Allie wept too, covering her face with her hands.

“How long have I been cursed?” Emma asked once they finally pulled away from each other.

Killian tucked a strand of her silver hair gently behind her ear, “This isn’t a curse, Swan. You have something called Alzheimer’s disease.”

He drew her closer as full comprehension dawned on her features. She wept into his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair. She pulled back to look up into his face.

“How long do we have?”

“I don’t know, love,” he answered honestly, kissing her gently on the forehead. “Sometimes you remember for a few hours. But often, it’s only a few minutes.”

She gave him that determined smile he knew so well, and with a crooked grin, told him, “Well, pirate, let’s make the most of it.”

Killian waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, “If you’re referring to more enjoyable activities on your back, I’m afraid that isn’t the wisest idea.”

She rolled her eyes and slapped him in the chest, once again the wife he knew and loved so well, “I don’t mean that, Captain Innuendo.” She drew closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, “Would you like to dance, Mr. Jones?”

“I would love to, Mrs. Jones,” he smiled back, taking her hand in his and placing his prosthetic at the curve of her waist.

“Because you know,” Emma told him, “there’s only one rule: pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

The Joneses had completely forgotten that Allie even existed; they never did on nights like this. And this – seeing this play out before her eyes on those nights – was the very reason Allie was the only nurse who believed.

As Killian led Emma around the room in an intricate waltz, she began to sing:

Tomorrow is uncertain

Who knows what it will bring?

Killian spun her and began to sing as well:

But one thing is for sure, love

With you I have everything

Then the two sang in perfect harmony:

A happily ever after

Is the way these stories go

Emma sang back, gazing adoringly into his eyes:

Used to think that’s what I wanted

But now I finally know

There’s no storm we can’t outrun.

The years seemed to melt away as Killian sang to his true love:

We will always find the sun.

Allie watched, mesmerized as the two played out a fairy tale musical number before her very eyes.

Leave the past and all its scars

A happy beginning now is ours

Killian clasped Emma close to him, swaying and humming to the music in their heads. But the moment ended far too soon. He felt Emma stiffen in his arms, then she stumbled backwards, shaking her head and mumbling.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, Emma, honey –“

But before he could reach for her, comfort her, she became hysterical.

“Get away from me!” she screamed. “Help! Help!”

Allie attempted to quiet Emma’s screams, but soon two more nurses and an orderly rushed in to assist. Emma screamed louder as the orderly held her pinned in his arms so another nurse could administer a sedative. Killian rushed forward, hating to see his wife filled with such terror, but one of the other nurses shoved his book roughly into his arms and sent him stumbling into the hall.

“You and your stupid book just make things worse,” she shouted at him.

Killian sagged in agony against the wall, pounding his fist against the wood in frustration. Tears coursed down his weathered face as the image of his wife’s face in that last moment tortured him. She looked at him like he was something hideous and terrifying. Maybe the other nurses were right; maybe it was cruel to try and help her remember. He stumbled down the hallway, the leather book tucked once again under his left arm.

***************************************************

Killian was awakened later that night by footfalls near the bed. He grumbled in frustration. Couldn’t the night nurses leave him bloody well alone? But then he was startled as the bed dipped down slightly and an arm snaked around his waist.

“Emma?”’ Killian asked tentatively as he rolled over to come face to face with his wife. This had never happened in the entire two years they had been living at the nursing home. He was completely unsure how to proceed.

“Yes,” Emma whispered with a smile as she cupped his cheek, “it’s me.”

He knew he should tell her to leave, but her face and voice seemed so like the Emma he knew, he simply pulled her closer to him. It had been too long since he held her as he slept. Too many months spent in a restless sleep because his true love was so close – just down the hall – yet so far away. They lay there, just holding one another close, for the longest time. Then Emma whispered into the darkness.

“Killian, do you think our love is strong enough to take us both home, together?”

He pulled back enough to look her in the face. The moonlight reflected in her eyes, which shone with such deep conviction. He smiled back at her as he thumbed the dimple in her chin.

“I think our love can do anything we want it to.”

Emma gave a single nod and snuggled closer to Killian, holding him tight. “Then let’s go home.”

“As you wish.”

**********************************************************

Emma’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself in an eerily familiar place: in Charon’s boat, sailing to the shores of the Underworld. But this time, she wasn’t afraid. Her true love was there, right next to her, holding her hand. When the boat reached shore, Killian got out first, then reached to help Emma onto shore as well. They turned and found a familiar face to greet them.

“Arthur!” Killian said with a smile, slapping the other man on the back in greeting.

“It’s about time you two showed up,” Arthur quipped, "everyone is eager to see you again."

“Everyone?” Emma asked, confused.

“Why, your family, of course.” Arthur answered with a wink, and he turned and gestured towards a walkway leading into blindingly bright and beautiful land.

Emma smiled at her husband and grasped his hook tightly. He smiled at her in return. Then they walked forward into the light. Together.

One minute they were walking across the stone pathway, and the next they were in a field of middlemist roses. Emma looked at Killian and gasped. The sound made Killian look in her direction, and he was startled as well. They were both young again. As a matter of fact, they looked exactly as they had in Camelot; Emma in a white lace dress and a crown of white roses, Killian in the fancy brocaded leather duster and red vest. Across the field, a white horse seemed to be waiting for them.

Killian flexed his now muscular arms, and Emma laughed at his antics. Her laughter turned to giggles as he scooped her up in his arms. Emma looked around as he carried her to the waiting horse. Everything here seemed brighter than she remembered, more . . . real. She suddenly realized why. This wasn’t Camelot at all. It was heaven.

Killian set her on the horse first and then mounted behind her. With a “hiya!” he set the horse off at an exhilarating gallop towards a castle that glittered on a distant hill.

“Where are we going?” Emma shouted into his ear.

“Just like Arthur said. We’re going home. Home to our family.”

**********************************************************************

Allie’s heart was heavy as she entered Killian Jones’ empty room at the nursing home. When she learned that Killian and Emma had both passed away in their sleep, together, her emotions had been mixed. She knew it was what they wanted, but still . . . she would miss them and the incredible love they shared.

Killian had left strict instructions that only Allie was allowed to clean out his things. So Allie set the cardboard box down on the empty bed with a sigh and got to work.

Allie was almost finished, kneeling on the floor in front of the bottom drawer of the room’s wardrobe. She pulled the familiar storybook out, but her finger caught on something as she did so. Curious, she rested the book on the floor and looked more carefully inside the drawer. The bottom seemed to tilt a bit. She pushed on it experimentally, and it gave a little. She pried at the edges, and eventually she was able to open a hidden panel at the bottom of the drawer. Allie shook her head with a smile.

“Pirate!” she muttered, laughing.

There were two thin leather chests inside. One was square, and the other was long and rectangular. Inside the first was a cutlass, just like pirates wielded in the movies. Allie set it inside and opened the square one next. Inside, nestled in a red satin lining, was a shiny, steel hook. Allie gasped as she slowly took it out. She held it up to the light, turning it this way and that, her mouth hanging open in shock. She had believed the story, but to actually see the hook of Captain –

“Those are my grandfather’s things!”

Allie let out a yelp at the sound of the voice in the doorway and dropped the hook. It clattered loudly to the floor. She scrambled to her feet, and her breathe caught in her throat at the sight of the young man standing in the door. He was so handsome, he took her breath away. His straight blonde hair, feel rebelliously in his eyes, which were a bright blue. His chest was broad, and just standing there angry with his hands on his hips, his biceps rippled with strong muscles. He strode forward and snatched the hook up off the floor, waving it angrily.

“Who gave you the right to go through my grandfather’s stuff?”

Allie folded her arms indignantly across her chest, “Your grandfather, actually. He left clear instructions that only I could oversee cleaning out his things.”

“Well, he left instructions with the family that his grandson Noah Jones had to come and . . .” The young man, Noah, apparently, trailed off and started to laugh. He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling, “Really, grandpa?” Then he looked Allie in the eye and extended his hand, “You must be the nurse Allie he was always going on about.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Allie answered, as she took his hand. It sounded cheesy, but a spark seemed to pass between them. Suddenly, she put the same thing together that Noah apparently had. “Oh my god! What did he tell you about me?”

Noah grinned, not seeming to mind his late grandfather’s matchmaking schemes at all, “He told me you have the heart of a true believer.”

Allie regarded him with an arched brow, “Mhm. And you, Noah Jones, are you a pirate or a prince charming?”

He shrugged, “They say I look a lot like my great-grandfather. But I say I have a bit of rogue in me.”

Allie smiled in return, “Or would you prefer dashing rapscallion?”

He leaned forward, so close Allie could feel his breath against her cheek, “Go out to dinner with me and find out.”

All those days of hearing the love story of Killian and Emma Jones, Allie had wondered if true love like that could be real. With Noah, she found out it was. Just like fairy tales. And when the lights flickered the first time they made love, she learned that magic was still real, too.

And just like Emma Swan and Captain Hook, they had many happy beginnings . . .

@shipsxahoy.

@bethacaciakay.

@galadriel26.

@teamhook.

@catsophia.

#csromcom18 #captain swan is my favorite rom com #cs ff #movie au #summer fandom event #notebook au

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a-magpie-witchling · 6 years

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What's the deal with the drama surrounding that slur? What happened?

SUMMARIZING A LOT(yes, I promise the long post is summarized. If you support me, it would mean a lot to me if you read it, since people turning a blind eye has been the problem)

The context

There’s a game, and in the game there are 4 characters, two of them are poc and two are white. One of the white ones and the other two are friends and in a part of the story in a flashback they were making fun of the other white guy who is an utter piece of shit but is dying of a plague the main trio is looking the cure for, since the whole country is basically dying of it. A person pointed out that the bullying’s not very hero-like of the main trio, since they’re supposed to be the good guys and just look like a bunch of incompetent idiots while bullying the guy who has brought them together with the objective of healing him and by proxy healing the whole country. So far in every flashback of the story these three are seen fooling around, chit chatting, having sex, taking vacations, etc. The trio consists of a doctor (the white guy), a wizard, and a countess. Now the doctor and the wizard have been seen kinda… trying? To cure the plague, but just barely. The countess however hasn’t been shown doing anything of actual value, even though theoretically we know she’s ruling the damn country. But so far we’ve only seen her in her down time.

The problem

I didn’t know the person that pointed this out. I don’t agree with their point but I did say that this is an issue that takes place a lot with false representation in media, especially with women, especially with women of color, and almost always with queer women of color. They’re written as these amazing badasses in paper, and then when it comes to the story their overqualifications don’t *do* anything because advancing the plot is something left for cis white male everyman protagonists.

So we’re left with this unused resource that is just there as a token Strong Minority Representative Character™ that has no actual use in the story whatsoever and that is just there to make minorities including women shut the hell up because what else could we possibly want!?

This is a problem. A big one. And very similar to queerbaiting. I’m sure there must be a name for it.

So I pointed out that the countess is a black woman who is in the highest position of power in the setting and yet we’ve never seen her *do* anything related to that. She has lost her memory in game, so we see her drinking wine with some courtesans a couple of times, but what about law making? What about actual leadership? And this is especially troublesome in the flashbacks in the game because back then she was the only ruler and had her memories, so she was at the top of her game and still we’ve only seen her literally drink tea or wine, take a vacation, get drunk and splash in a fountain with her friends, and talk about eating delicacies.

We know theoretically that this isn’t everything she’s doing, because logically it couldn’t possibly be, that this is just her in her downtime. But then people say “this is NOT a strong queer female character of color” and they have the canonical backup of “she’s lazy and does nothing”. And this is something caused by poor writing.

It’s called dissonance of framing.

Theory: powerful queer black woman who is the leader, strong character.Screen time: queer black woman who does absolutely nothing of use with her time or extremely big skill set, token minority character.

The drama

The drama started because I pointed this out and immediately found people were calling the OP racist. As I said, I don’t know this person, at all, but in their page they had bio info that said they were from the Netherlands. They were really pissed at them because they used the word “colored” instead of saying “of color”. So I pointed out that if you’re gonna call someone racist, it can’t be because of the accidental use of a racial slur when they’re not native English speakers.

I was told then that they refused to listen to me for coddling a racist, to which I answer “I’m not, I don’t know this person, if they have been racist (turned up they were) to fucking hell with them, but I’ve seen this happen in real life and it got ugly very fast because non-conservative American young people or Americanized foreigners that are in constant contact with them (see most of Tumblr) forget that sometimes there are culturar barriers that aren’t easy to break especially if you speak different native tongues. I always give the benefit of the doubt because in my country the N word is used to say sweetie or darling, and I’ve seen a black girl break down in tears and be very rightfully pissed because she spoke Mexican Spanish (I think) but that didn’t mean she knew this particular cultural gap, and nobody around her thought of explaining it or being mindful, to quote just one of a dozen examples. We need to give people some leverage if a single misused word can end up ostracizing them. If I see them being racist, I’ll bring the torch. Else we could be incurring in racism or xenophobia ourselves.”

These people said that they would not read what I had to say.

They said that I had to learn to shut the fuck up.

They said that I should learn the language.

They called me a dipshit and told me I wasn’t valid.

After calling me a dipshit and telling me to shut the fuck up, I told them that I didn’t expect to have a conversation with them because they were two 19 yos one dissing and the other one hollering “TELL EM BESTIE!” in the back, and then they said they wouldn’t answer to me more because “I was being condescending”.

And this happens all the time. These people have never seen my face. They know I’m latina though. They’re both half white and trying to tell me I’m not interested in POC because I coddle racism, which is, again, not true. I’m saying I don’t go for the throat if I see an honest vocabulary mistake being made. They tell me I would know the difference if I was interested, because I’m on Tumblr and it’s a word you come across all the time.

I’ve been on Tumblr for 3 months.

Guys, colored is a 50′s racial slur, it’s not something you hear every day. I have been a fluent English speaker for almost a decade now, and I found out the word ‘colored’ existed just one year ago playing Bioshock Infinte, a game that takes place in the 1910′s. This is a mistake I could have made a mere year ago!

So, clearly, it’s not a word you get to hear every day. Shit, the first time someone called me a wetback I had to google it.

But these people refused to hear anything I had to say. They’ve been in the fandom of this game for a much longer time than I have so now I’ve been cut off entirely. I was ostracized, insulted, removed from a discord server, given the entire cold shoulder, all for saying that I won’t immediately think someone’s racist for accidentally using one of the dozens upon dozens of racial slurs that exist in the English language when they’re not a native speaker. When I started digging I found this person was being in fact quite racist, so I told them to go fuck themselves and then blocked them.

Damage is done, though. And honestly? Who the fuck cares. I know what I said, I know what I think, I know I am right, so these people can eat a dick given that they chose to not hear.

And that’s why I say that screaming BLATANT RACISM at a single easily made vocabulary mistake by a non-native English speaker is a big setback in the cause of fighting actual blatant racism.

But the truth is that it’s better this way. It’s gonna sound like I’m victimizing myself, but honestly, if I had to choose, I’d choose a non-racist (as much as one can actually be, of course) be ostracized and called racist, than an actual racist being excused and coddled.

So yeah, that’s what happened.

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rilenerocks · 5 years

Text

Back in the old days, when I listened to music, except for radio time, I listened to whole albums. This was before the internet, before mp3’s, just plain old before. Over the years, Michael began to compile cassette tapes and then CD’s that were eventually called House Favorites.

They represented the tastes of all of us in our family with something on them for everyone. We listened to these on road trips and eventually, I got used to the order of the songs on them, which replaced the order of songs I expected on the albums from which they’d been extracted. Then the IPod came and along with that was the “shuffle.” So any song could come along at any time until there really wasn’t any order at all, no expectations for that next tune. That was okay. Ultimately Michael loaded 2502 songs on one of those 30 gig early version IPod devices with the scroll wheel which miraculously still works after too many years to count. Although I now have the contents of that IPod on an external hard drive, I don’t think I’ve ever heard all the songs on it. That shuffle just does its random thing. The summer after Michael died I listened to it every day as I prepared exhibits for his celebration of life.

I discovered Pete Yorn, someone I’d missed during my busy mom and work years. I wound up buying his CD’s which was ironic as we’d sold Michael’s vinyl and CD collection which numbered in the thousands, only the year before.

He’d saved a few hundred of our absolute favorites but, after listening to the Ipod, I realized that there would be hidden gems I’d discover as I moved through his collection which had burgeoned over time. I actually when to St. Louis to see Pete Yorn this past year, a posthumous gift from Michael to me.

I’ve just returned from a road trip. I’ve set a goal for myself – to see all 50 states in this country before I die. I only had two left in the eastern portion of this vast space, Alabama and Mississippi. I can’t say I was particularly eager to go these last two as I have really negative feelings about their political persuasions, but a goal is a goal. So I took off with my sister as my companion, along with that trusty Ipod. Recently, I wrote a post about feeling like riding in a car is like zooming along in a time capsule. The only chores you have are focusing on your directions, paying attention to traffic on the road and letting yourself get lost in your mind, often having thoughts stimulated by music. At least if you’re like me. Podcasts and books are also ok, but I like to sing and I like to get carried to the places that music evokes. This trip was about 1400 miles round trip. Lots of places to explore both outside and in your interior. We stopped in the southern part of Illinois and explored part of Shawnee National Park, Garden of the Gods.

There’s no doubt that immersion in nature is soothing to the soul. We ate delicious barbecue and managed to cross both the Mississippi and Tennessee rivers on day one. In Tennessee on day two, I was fascinated to see my first cotton fields in bloom. Some cotton was picked and stored in shiny pastel bales. I had to pull over and grab a few bolls that had blown away and were caught in the grasses and weeds along the highway. So soft and white, yet emotionally evocative as you could easily imagine slaves with sacks slung across their backs on hot days, picking and picking until their backs and feet ached and their fingers bled.

The GPS I was using always seemed to direct me to two lane highways, many of which took us off the beaten path, through small towns where you could get a feel for how average people in the state live. Tennessee was supposed to be a pass through state. We were being instructed to make turns on side streets which required some concentration. I was turning right in one such place, when to my left I spotted one of those brown historical markers that said Shiloh National Battlefield. I braked, stopped and checked the distance from where we were and found that we were only 25 miles away.

Shiloh was a hugely significant and bloody battle that occurred in the Civil War’s western theater in 1862. One of the most talented generals in either army, many of whom were sought by both sides as the war began, was killed at Shiloh – Albert Sidney Johnston. You may think that I’d been doing a little research to come up with this information, but the truth is, I just remembered it. From the time I was about 10 years old, I’d started reading lots of books about Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War.

I can’t specifically recall what the hook was for me, the idea that slavery was allowed and coddled in this country, the fact that fellow citizens and neighbors lined up in the heat and the cold and marched straight into each other’s withering hail of cannonballs, grapeshot and musket fire or the fact that thousands of people did that for four years. I don’t know what it was. But what started when I was a young girl stuck.

All through my life, I read book after book, and did lots of research, not for school or a career, but to try and understand what was for me, an inexplicable waste of human life, when civilized ideas and changes should have worked instead. Over the years, I was lucky enough to go to several battlefields, to feel the ghostly presence of the dead, to imagine the hellish sounds and the chaos and the impossible gore and suffering.

I’ve been to Gettysburg which was almost a religious experience as I’d read dozens of books about the battle and had a strong grasp on the topography of the battlefield. Back in 1980, Michael and I had been trying to get pregnant and my doctor suggested we take a vacation and distract ourselves from that goal. We drove out to Colorado and went to a small town called Redstone to stay in a converted lodge that used to house mine workers. We went on a horseback ride up into the mountains, where I was promptly tossed off my horse, injuring my back.

The next day, I could barely move so I sent Michael off for a hike, while I lay in our bed, reading the book “High Tide at Gettysburg.” Over the years, I continued to read and was able to travel to battlefields in Virginia, Maryland and Georgia. Many of my women friends couldn’t understand my fascination with this war which didn’t seem in keeping with my political leanings. Me neither.

But on it went, the endless fascination. I had always wanted to go to Shiloh. So instead of heading to Tupelo, Mississippi to Elvis Presley’s birthplace, we were on the battlefield. A lot of my memories of what I’d read came flooding back. The countryside is beautiful, wooded and peaceful with deer wandering through the meadows and trees, in between the many monuments and markers which described the progression of the battle. The day was warm and breezy and the atmosphere was remarkably hushed in light of what madness we knew was occuring a mere 157 years ago.

Not very much time has gone by on a relative scale. After a few hours, we left there and moved on to Tupelo where we’d resume our itinerary the next day. But I found myself a bit dazed by that visit and managed to scour the maps to look for more Civil War sites that we could squeeze into our plans. I was happy, excited and grateful that my sister was enjoying the experience as well.

But I was also puzzled. What happened to my war? This interest which had stayed with me for most of my life had gotten away from me. As we drove along, from historical site to historical site, with the redolent music playing in the background, carrying me from memory to memory, I couldn’t find the place in time where this constant preoccupation had slipped into the recesses of my mind. It wasn’t like I never thought about it. But I stopped pursuing my passion. Then I started thinking about other interests that I’ve shunted off to a corner somewhere.

I still have a long way to go in Native American studies even though, again, I’ve read quite a bit. I was an avid college basketball fan and in recent years, I’ve been completely out of that loop. I remember when Michael’s illness blotted out everything. I put all my intellectual energy into cancer, science, studying immunological drugs. Did I lose my focus back then, when my caregiving skills were in high demand by both Michael and my aging mother? I really don’t know. But as I’ve thought about this some more, I realize that I’ve perhaps set aside some valuable tools that might make coping with being a widow more palatable for me. Sometimes things just slip away without you being aware of what’s happening. I want Michael to come back which is an utter impossibility except for the curious otherworldly feelings I get sometimes. But I can get my war back. And who knows what else? I’m going to make another list of goals. And then I’m going to hit the road again.

Where’d My War Go? Back in the old days, when I listened to music, except for radio time, I listened to whole albums.

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