#love pieces where i start at some arbitrary point and then just let my emotions take over | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yoonpobs · 3 years

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we don't talk together | myg

pairing: min yoongi x oc

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, growth! exes that remain exes

words: 2, 842

summary: it's hard to say it's over

What they don't tell you about goodbyes is that it isn't the end.

It's far from the closing of a book. Goodbyes are the itch that urges you to pick up an old book from the shelf just to feel what you first felt when you re-read certain parts of a book; the same remorse you felt when a character you grew attached to didn't get the ending they deserved. Or, maybe it was the villain that was misunderstood—your own heart wishing to reach out to the sad soul that couldn't even be recognised when all they do is speak.

But some books will end up dusty, forgotten, tucked away in the corner of your shelf; or in the most drastic of cases: lost.

"The park looks ... different," Yoongi speaks up for a lack of a better conversation starter.

You hum. What would you say? That it wasn't the same from when we used to spend our Spring's blended into Summer's until it got too hot for us to lay in each other's embrace?

It was still too fresh even though it's been nearly a year.

"There are more dogs," You point out the moment a tan pomeranian runs past the two of you, the owner an old couple laughing away under the cherry blossoms.

He nods, fingers stuffed in his trench coat. You note that it's the same one he wore on your anniversary, plans abandoned when there was a mix-up with the reservations until the two of you stumbled across a hidden gem that soon became your go-to date place.

You will yourself to look away so no more memories can resurface. It seems like every part of your life has somehow seamlessly intertwined itself with traces of Yoongi that it was impossible for you to exist as just yourself.

"How are things at the firm?" He asks after the two of you walked side-by-side in complete silence as more and more chatter fill your ears.

"It's ... going," You chuckle dryly.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at you, shooting you a brief glance over until the two of you reach a bench. You dare say it's muscle memory that dragged your heavy feet into the direction of the only bench that you've known in the park. The compressed reminder of the initials of your names that you carved as teenagers likely still staining the years old wood. It was meant to be an emblem for wisdom, the ring of growth that meant to be the endgame for the two of you.

You almost laugh in bitterness and how literal the metaphor was.

"Everything okay?"

Yoongi takes the first step to sit on the bench because he always did. Ever the gentlemen when he opened doors for you, let you into the car first, waited until you stepped ahead of him to trail behind like a shield.

The first date, first kiss, first confession.

The first one to decide that it was over.

"My boss is just being sexist, as usual. I thought I'd get used to it after spending two years there but ... there are some things that you just stay unfamiliar, you know?"

It was very like you to speak in double-entendres without intending to. But it was also like Yoongi to pick up on it, especially after years of learning all the best and worst parts of you; he was and probably will be one of the few people in your lives that will always foresee your next move.

The two of you sit a fair distance apart on the bench even if it was a battle for space anyway. You didn't have the liberty to lean into his embrace anymore and he wasn't in the position to say that it was okay for you to breathe, to relax.

"You shouldn't get used to those remarks. There are times where you learn to grow used to constructive criticism but if what he's saying makes you question your worth because of very arbitrary reasons like your gender then that isn't criticism, nor is it constructive. It's bigoted and chauvinistic."

You look down to your thumbs as you fiddle with it, his words comforting you. It was woeful that you still chased validation from him even after learning to be that person to yourself.

"Yeah, I guess."

Then how did you get used to things?

If time didn't make things familiar then what did? Was it not the five years with Yoongi that led you to see him build an empire for himself all the while destroying the relationship that you had? Or was it because he was the person that you thought of doing the most minuscule things?

"By the way," He clears his throat, eyes still set forward, "Namjoon says hi."

You raise an eyebrow, surprised to hear the name of a mutual friend—or more appropriately, friend by association and acquaintance when that link was broken.

"He knows that you're with me?"

Yoongi nods his head.

"I needed to let someone at the studio know and ... well, he's the only one that knew of our situation."

You chuckle bitterly.

Of course. The suggestion of his work only made your heart drop because as much as you wanted to be supportive of him, even after the break-up, the name of his studio or songs only reminded you of the battle that you helplessly lost.

"You can tell him that I'm still a text or phone call away. No need to play messenger," You return.

The atmosphere is more reflective than awkward. You know that the two of you had your pieces to say, your own narrative to tell but neither brave enough to break the calm that you were settled in. It was a nice difference from the way that things ended, and you supposed that you were similar enough to believe in a mirage than the inevitable truth.

But you didn't call him out after six months to sit in silence to walk away with your heart feeling heavier, nor did you invite him out just to remember what it feels like to have him next to you—even in complete silence.

"Would you have really quit?"

This time, you gather all the bravery that you've built over the past few months to ask the question that has been mulling in your mind since the night you decided that it was officially over.

It was a painful break-up. Even if you expected it when Yoongi came home earlier one night with bags under his eyes and his keys that he usually left at the studio because he knew you'd always be home to open the door for him.

"I'm sorry?" He seems taken aback.

You don't blame him. You've always been more passive in dealing with confrontation due to your conflict-averse nature—but that didn't mean you didn't get angry or annoyed—or hurt. But if you learned anything, it was to stop asking yourself questions that you'll never have the answer to.

"Would you really have left the company to save our relationship?"

You chose your words carefully. Instead of saying to be with you, knowing that he lost the love, he had for you somewhere along the way—you point out the one hole that he held on to for the sake of stability. The one thing that was constant in his life with how unpredictable the music industry was.

"Yes."

Somehow, the answer doesn't make you feel better because even with time apart you knew he was lying to save your face.

"You don't owe me anything to lie to my face, Yoongi." You frown.

Yoongi sighs, rubbing his hands across his face as he leaves your statement hanging in the air to mull over his answer.

You prefer the silence that way. It showed that he was at least listening, or cared enough to decide his next set of words. Nothing like how much it pained you to acknowledge the responses you got from him when you were crying were just out of obligation than sincerity.

"No, I wouldn't have."

You nod your head, expectant of the answer but you needed to hear him say it himself rather than drowning yourself in ruminating thoughts of how there was still a semblance of hope that he would've given it up for you, for your relationship—or the life that you were meant to build.

"I wouldn't have asked you to, anyway." You confess.

Yoongi turns his head to look at you and for the first time since you've met at the park, he notices the absence of a necklace around your neck. The necklace that you never took off. He wants to comment on it, ask where it went or if you've pawned it off out of pettiness but he held no remorse towards you. You were tolerant with the break-up even as you sucked in your tears when he knew that it killed you on the inside. Yoongi didn't have the heart in him to ask you.

"Oh."

"You were the one that said you'd quit so we could stay together," You say softly.

Yoongi doesn't respond as he looks back to the night where the two of you sat down to talk about the standing of your relationship. It was a rollercoaster of emotions that started off with an amicable discussion that eventually led to the two of you yelling until you surrendered to your tears and just left the battle completely.

He said a lot of things that night. From things that he's been bottling up for months, to things that he's always wanted to tell you and things that he didn't remotely mean, and things that he's regretted the moment it left his lips.

"I guess I did."

You sigh, leaning back into the bench as you observe a couple walking in front of you, passing your bench as they share an ice cream on a cone; bickering on who'd get the first lick. To anyone, you and Yoongi would've looked just like a couple that has reached a comfortable point in your relationship where intimacy was just sitting next to one another.

But you admit, there was something oddly intimate and heart-breaking about sitting next to someone you've loved with your whole heart and feel nothing but ... weightlessness. Like the burden of your concerns was lifted ever so slightly just being here.

"I wouldn't have made you choose between your relationship or your dream, Yoongi. I would never have done that to you."

Yoongi knew you would never have made him do something as abhorrent as that. You were far too understanding. But you had wanted from him too, that he wasn't willing to provide just yet. He didn't know if it was because of the expiration date to your relationship or because of the stress he was under at work—but he convinced himself that it was you that was asking for too much instead of him compromising too little.

"I ... I know," He whispers, "I'm sorry."

You purse your lips. You try not to let your emotions appear on your sleeve. You were tired of allowing your face to speak before you did. You needed to use the voice you had.

"I loved you so much, Yoongi," You murmur, "I loved you so much that I would have taken anything I could've gotten with you just so I could be with you."

Yoongi stays silent at this.

"I didn't mind if you spent more time at work than at our home. I just wanted to know if I was ever in the picture when you were talking about the future. I know how much you love music and I supported you through every audition and failure ... and to know that I was just—" You swallow, the words still painful to say. But you needed to make your peace with it, "—that I was just someone that would wait for you instead of your partner. That's when I knew that you didn't love me the way I loved you."

Yoongi chokes to speak up but you shake your head.

"No, Yoongi. You loved me, you did. But somewhere along the way you stopped and you just pretended that we were okay even when I was trying my best to fix the seams. I wasn't your girlfriend anymore, I was just someone familiar to you and I didn't deserve to feel that way." You tell him sternly.

Yoongi surrenders to his silence as you take a deep breath to continue.

"Maybe I loved you too much in a way that you couldn't understand."

"_______, don't say that—" His eyes widen when he tries to reach a hand to yours to comfort you, but your body language remains stoic as you keep your hands in your lap.

"—and that's okay Yoongi. I loved you but not in the way you needed. I'm not here to make you feel bad about what I chose to do on my own because it wasn't my fault that I couldn't be what you need." You say sadly, but a small smile on your face as you finally say the words that have been eating at you for months.

"... okay," Yoongi accepts.

"We all have different ways to love and be loved. I loved you and that was enough for you at one point but love isn't all a relationship needs. You loved me too, in your own way and I accepted that but just because it was enough for me doesn't mean it was enough for us." You glance over at him to see him staring at you intently.

"I'm sorry that things turned out this way," Yoongi says softly, eyes gentle.

You wave him off.

"I don't think I'll ever love someone as much as I loved you, though," He confesses, eyes returning to the scene in front of him filled with different colours of life that seemed to look vibrant under the Spring sunset.

You shake your head and chuckle softly.

"You say that now but you'll meet someone one day and you'll remember all the reasons why you love in the first place. And it'll be enough for you, and them."

He shrugs, a small smile itching on his face.

"I really did love you," He says, "But I'm sorry for not being honest with you. I owe you that much of an apology."

"We're not here to forgive or forget, Yoongi," You look at him kindly, "We're here to move on."

He purses his lips and hums, nodding his head.

"I hope you get that promotion at work you were talking about months ago, ______." Yoongi offers, a gentle grin marring his face.

"I did," You shrug.

It feels liberating to have achieved something and only feeling content by acknowledging it yourself. Months ago, you would've hurt at the fact that Yoongi didn't know. But the change you welcomed after the end only showed you that there was a new path for you to walk on.

His eyes widen, but eventually, he chuckles and shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like knew it.

You push yourself off the bench, dusting your hands on your pants as you offer him one last smile before you say goodbye for the second time.

"I hope you find someone who you'll love more than you ever did with me." You tease.

He rolls his eyes.

"Impossible," The grin on his face is easy, and your heart still clenches at the nonchalance, but you don't expect the feeling to go away so easily—nor do you mind. It just shows that you needed to wait and that you were willing to do it.

"Of course you will. You're a musician, Yoongi. You need a muse," You smirk at him as you turn around, a small wave on your hand to say goodbye.

As you walk away and his body gets smaller and smaller from your vision, you turn around to say:

"We don't talk together is a beautiful song."

Yoongi's smile is genuine, and so is his goodbye. A gentle acknowledgment of his hand as he stands up himself, walking to the other direction of where you were headed.

You still had a love for Yoongi, and you suppose you always will. Just like how you would feel pleasant when rediscovering a childhood hobby that triggers a fond memory, or how you love different things in your life in different ways. Whether or not you love someone more than you've ever loved Yoongi isn't your concern, because when love comes in one form, it goes in another.

When you still take the same route you'd usually take with Yoongi after your walks back home, you pass the cafe you used to frequent to see that it's replaced with a new bar. You smile fondly to yourself, shaking your head.

You loved that place.

But eventually, you'll find another cafe with a beautiful interior and a latte to match, and you'll love it too.

#bts fic #bts imagine #bts fics #bts imagines #bts yoongi #bts fluff #bts angst #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi exes #yoongi imagine #yoongi fic #yoongi breakup #angst #fluff #yoongi #min yoongi x reader

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ziracona · 4 years

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Dwight/Jake wedding headcanons maybe? They deserve it.

For sure!

It’s a couple years down the road. They’ve been living in the Indiana house with Adam, while the others orbit in and out from Springwood and Lockport and Haddonfield and Indianapolis and Bloomington and New Jersey and Missouri and New York and such every few days. It’s peaceful and fun there for them. Woods, big house, familiar smells and people and memorobelia and Ron’s grave and markers added nearby for Vigo and Alex and Lisa and Sujan and the person from the lab with no name and the survivors who came before them and never got to be buried. It’s home. They’re just chilling, Dwight and Jake talking with intent but also very relaxed about something while Adam edits a sequel in his easy chair, deep in edit mode, when Jake calls over, “Hey Adam, do you want to be a best man, or do you want to marry us?”

Which Adam hears the wrong homophone for for a second and almost takes him out before he realizes they meant the other version of ‘marry’ and remembers how to breathe again.

He stutters out a, “Well, I, uh—I mean, I can do whichever you’d prefer, but I’m not ordained. In. Anything. I know I did Min and Nea’s, but—”

“—Yeah, we know, but we just need it to be legal,” Jake shrugs, “and we don’t want a stranger at the wedding period, so someone’s getting ordained.”

“I think you can get ordained online in like an hour,” adds Dwight helpfully, “and we’re not religious either, but—and now that I’m saying this it was Meg so that means I should make sure becuase sometimes her memory for numbers is uhhh bad, but she told me like a week ago you only need ten people to officially get your new religion recognized. And we could be ‘the survivors’ or something. I don’t know I believe in much, but I believe in that.”

Jake nods. “Whatever is true, this group of people can rip a hole in the fabric of the universe for each other. I’d ascribe to that.”

“I kind of like that,” says Adam, “I would too. But if we have a spiritual ‘leader’, wouldn’t Ace be a better choice than me? Or Jane?”

This is considered a good point and they debate between Adam, Jeff, Tapp, Jane, and Ace for a bit, [Philip is also briefly considered, but they realize just as fast he’d be overwhelmed and stressed by having to do it & mercifully swap him to another role], then decide on Ace, who’s always been the kind of...not exactly dad, not exactly uncle, but not not those things, and certainly some kind of an early spiritual or morale core for them, parentish figure, and a comfort and hope leader for them all. Also, they know he’ll get a fkn kick out of being ordained for this.

Dwight takes Quentin as his Best Man, Claudette his Maid of Honor, and Jake takes Nea as Matron of Honor, Andrew as Best Man, and Meg as Maid of Honor. They decide fuck it, and it’s kinda Parks & Rec (an argument used by and against Jake many times the next few weeks) anyway, and also both take Adam and Philip as Best Men because fuck it, it’s too hard and also wedding rules are arbitrary and made to be broken, and so then Jake adds Kate as a bridesmaid, Dwight adds Laurie, they realize the number of survivors is dwindling dangerously and decide fuck it, our wedding is for us might as well be fkn weird and cool, and add David, Min, Tapp, Jane, Jeff, and Laurie as groomsmen and bridesmaids too. This still leaves Michael, Anna, Sally, Benedict, Susie, Jeff’s three Legion kids, and everyone’s families which is like fkn a lot of people, to be audience party (sans Nancy, who is pleaded with to be wedding party and run the music pre-reception because the number of people that they want involved /and/ who won’t give in to or be tricked by Meg into some kind of terrible flash mob stunt is very small, and in fact, basically is just Nancy. She is happy to do it and thinks their desperate reasoning is hilarious).

They break the news to Meg and Claudette and Ace first (after Adam), ask Ace to marry them, and tell Meg she can run post-weddding/reception music however she wants, except the songs for a couples dance & parent dances. She is /thrilled/. Claudette is very happy and cries. They call up Quentin & Nea to add to the conversation and Jake says Nea and Meg and Susie are in charge of setting up the wedding because he knows they’re gonna fight him for the role anyway, but they have to throw whatever they can together with only the stuff they own already and $50, they want only family & the other survivors/their families at the wedding, the service short and sweet, and to have it at the cabin, by the river. Meg loses her mind with indignance and joy together, and goes buckwild. They hit thrift shops for fairy lights and streamers and more.

Everyone is thrilled to be asked, Jane says “about time,” and Philip can’t think of anything to say and gets overwhelmed emotionally and taken off guard to be asked to be a groomsman. It’s sweet. Everyone with fashion sense takes everyone else shopping or through their wardrobes for fun wedding clothes and to at least have accent pieces that match a color theme. (Complimentary blues, yellow/gold, and pinks to the grooms’. More on that). It’s super fun & they make a fashion show of it. There’s no matching in form, just color, which is just the best version anyway there’s really no goddamn reason to spend thousands of bucks on a wedding when you could just have a funky cute good time with the people who love you & no stress.

Jake picks a deep blue hanbok (bc the hottest Jake I’ve ever seen is the one @eggchef did for lunar new year & the note in the tags about an actual hanbok has been banging around in my head ever since), and when they’re going through stuff for Dwight, he comments a pink one is surprisingly nice because it’s not the color he’d expected to think about, and Jake remarks offhand that if they do deep blue and pink they’ll be stealing their girls’ looks, and the second he says that, they both know there’s no other choice now. Dwight gets a light pink suit and a tie that matches Jake’s blue. They’re adorable and both look exceedingly handsome.

The wedding is short and perfect. Ace does a great job, it’s a nice day, and Meg works wonders with her $50 budget and (notably obscenely large) preexisting store of party supplies, + help from her mom who is passing down the legacy of being the best tiny budget party planner on earth. It’s very open, but with near arches and dangling glass and prisims that cast rainbows everywhere, lots of meaningfully chosen for their blessings and symbolism flowers and flower chains from Claudette. It’s a little reminiscent of the birthday decorations Min and Nea did plus the prisims, and that accidentally makes all the survivors super emotional like 1 minute in.

Only the moms get to speak in the wedding (besides Ace and the grooms), and Andrew and Meg and Nea and Quentin and such all gotta save their roasts for the reception. It’s sweet. Ace knows them super well and it shows in the best way. The grooms write their own vows, and both echo their statements in the hatch tunnel without knowing the other was going to do so too. Jake starts with an “I am deeply, unendingly, ridiculously in love with you,” and Dwight brings in a, “I wouldn’t be who I am without you.” They end it with Dwight saying, “Will you still stay with me, now that it’s all over? Through whatever we’re thrown to next?” And Jake replying, “Wherever you go, I’ll always follow.”

I cry.

The reception is a party by the house. It’s just a huge prepared buffet made by the family who can cook, so no one has to sit and wait. Meg starts the music with Cascada’s Evacuate the Dance Floor because she doesn’t “want to see people dragging their feet like a bunch of fuckin weenies, I want asses on that dance floor!” There’s a lot of 90s and early 2000s pop, but also many many classic dance songs. Lots of ABBA. Lots of it. Everyone has great fun. Min, Nea, Susie, and Meg made the playlist, except for a few of the specific dances. Muriel Fairfield’s mother-son dance with Dwight is to Song For Ten by Neil Hannon because he knows she’s a sweet big emotional nerd and it’s the song she wants, and he’s willing to do it, and she sobs and is a mess but also the happiest she’s been since the day she got the call he was alive.

They have literally zero idea where they’re going when they drive off for a honeymoon. They’re like “Uhh so I’ve been looking at our complete and utter lack of wedding structure and planning as a good thing? But we might have overstepped that a little here....”

Dwight drives while Jake searches the web for LGBT safe honeymoon locations because there’s nothing that would ruin a trip more than that not working out, and reads off a list and Dwight is like, “Wait wait holy fuck, I though you meant what US cities or maybe Canada. Switzerland? Do we even have cash for the plane fare somewhere like that?” And Jake just looks at the page silently for a few seconds, shuts the laptop, and without expression says, “...I really hate this, but I’m gonna let myself be a rich boy, just once.”

They take Andrew’s jet to New Zealand (Jake calls him and listens for 2 minutes then just monotone goes “Okay but you owe me for being a dipshit for fifteen years,” and they get the ride). Jake picks a relaxed pace and some scuba diving, some hikes, but no overnight camping. Lots of just seeing the world and holding hands and grinning at how absolutely breathless and shocked Dwight is at every chunk of nature like nothing he’s seen before. They are disgustingly, blissfully happy.

#ask #anonymous #dead by daylight #in living memory (fic)#in living memory #ILM spoilers #long post #parkfield #dwake #Jake park #Dwight Fairfield

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1zashreena1 · 4 years

Text

The Homicide is Hot -12

18+, m/f/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess struggles with her own morality. But all cats are gray in the dark, right? Oh, and Diego has an epiphany.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Literal murder guys, seriously*** Protective Diego, feels, a blow job, plus size woman+fit man, insightful and helpful Julio, f o r e s h a d o w i n g

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you would like to be tagged or removed.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

gif by @el-cheung

"Its hot when he's homicidal." There. You said it.

Okay but remember that time when he stabbed two dudes and carved an ear off of a third? And you were gonna like, die if you didn't blow him IMMEDIATELY???

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME.

Wait, wait. Maybe this is … good? That is not the correct word but you know what I mean. If I'm going to be with someone in his position then I need to be able to handle everything that entails, right?

You glance over at TMP, the small stuffed panther is facing you on the breakfast bar. You know its ridiculous, but you feel like he's watching you. It only takes half a second, but you flip the stuffie around so he can't be a voyeur just like his namesake.

The small dry erase board in your lap reflects sunlight back up into your face. Its covered in anxious scribbles regarding last weekend, you're desperately trying to sort them into some semblance of helpfulness. It isn't going well.

I already know he is in love with me, straight out of the horse's mouth. Lol 'horse'.

Seriously. You cannot go one day without a dick joke.

I love him. I mean, how can I claim to love someone if I don't accept all of them? He doesn't maim indiscriminately, it has a point. Is it justified? I don't know. Do I trust his judgment on it being justified? I think I do. I guess the better question is: Do I care?

I'm already in it. He's paying half my bills, he already paid off all my debt. I've accepted so many gifts with the knowledge that they were bought with laundered drug money. Hell, every article of clothing I'm wearing right fucking now was purchased by Diego. Also, he said that those guys lost a shipment to the tune of EIGHTY THOUSAND DOLLARS, so you know, that's an accessory charge. At this point, even if I decide I have some arbitrary moral high ground, I'm definitely rolling around in a ditch, legally speaking.

You've always known that your morality was a bit off center than most people's, but being with Diego has put it into sharp relief. There are so many things that are illegal that you just don't care about. And your very visceral reaction that night was irrefutable proof.

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

Last weekend

Diego does not like the cold. The heat in the SUV is turned way up, you already closed the vents on your side of the backseat. You're on your phone, pretending to ignore the massive hand sneaking under the hem of your dress while your legs are flopped over his lap.

Diego rumbles at you, the phone comes down just enough for you to peek over the top at him.

"Yes? Is there something you would like, my Murder Panther?" Your smirk is damn near audible as you question him.

His eyes trail down to your lap then back up before he answers in a growl, "There is something I would love." The rockiness of his voice never fails to make you quiver just a tiny bit.

Just as those long fingers brush your thong his phone chirps. Repeatedly. And then starts ringing.

Diego snatches the cell out of his jacket pocket and hisses at the screen. Not good, you think. He answers it with a tirade of Spanish, shoots you an incomprehensible look, then retreats from you. Nooooo.

Being the only one in the car who doesn't speak Spanish is its own variety of delightful hell. Bastian and Julio are exchanging meaningful looks in the front while you just have to wait. Diego has gone quiet, which is utterly terrifying.

He disconnects the call, then passes the phone to Julio, who shows it to Bastian, who then changes course.

Diego reluctantly pulls your dress back down as you drop your feet to the floor. He raises a thick arm and tucks you into his side underneath it before kissing the top of your head apologetically.

"We have to run an errand."

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

The warehouse looks like it came straight out of a Law and Order episode. Its abandoned yet eerily lit from the inside, there is a suspicious assortment of motley vehicles parked outside, and two tattoo covered dudes toting semiautomatics appear as you pull up.

"Please tell me those belong to you." You mutter quietly. Your immediate concern is Diego's safety.

Diego gives you the shark smile. "The men or the guns, Princess?"

In the dark, at this incredibly sketchy location, and with the threat of violence thick in the air, he is actually a little bit scary.

You swallow the apprehension and glare at him with a raised chin. "Yes." You snap, crossing your arms in a stubborn huff. Holding his gaze right now is kind of intimidating but you manage it.

"Si, everything here is mine." His voice is hard as steel but the hand that comes up to grip your chin is gentle. It takes a second for you to realize that he is including you in that group. And that you like it.

You take in his features, those eyes are black in the darkness, but the silver in his beard glints in the partial moonlight. The defined jawline, his long straight nose, those perfectly framed velvet lips, thick brows and even thicker hair. So fucking gorgeous. Cupping his bristly cheeks, you whisper one requirement, "Just make sure to come back to me, baby."

Diego leans his forehead down on yours briefly, then kisses your nose. "Wait here for Diego, my Princess." His voice is dark and dripping with emotion. Julio opens the car door from outside and Diego steps out, adjusting his jacket and tucking the abalone-inlaid gun into his pants. He doesn't look back as they walk away.

Bastian steps out and closes the driver's door to smoke. The only door left open is the rear passenger next to where you sit. You're too preoccupied to stay focused on your cell. You look up to see that Bastian is on his phone, Probably his boyfriend checking on him. You can certainly understand that.

Faint voices float out of the open warehouse garage door, but everything is in Spanish. You slide down to the pavement and pace slowly. Its been almost twenty minutes, should you try to check on him? Each lap of pacing takes you ever closer to the empty doorway, purely by happenstance of course, until finally, finally, you can see people inside.

There are three men kneeling on the floor, surrounded by at least two dozen others armed to the teeth. There are more guns than you have ever seen in your life, all being handled casually. Diego paces slowly in front of them, rattling off some rambling array of options, judging from his tone. Whatever he just said must have been unfavorable because two of the kneeling men start crying and begging. I should not be here.

Diego digs both hands deep into his pants pockets, as though searching for a lost item, only to pull out the larger of the switchblades that you know he always carries. Ambling forward, he snatches the man furthest from you by the hair and yanks his head back. The angle looks excruciating, but what happens next is infinitely worse. The blade glints under the overhead lighting as Diego slides it smoothly across the man's throat, triggering a cascade of red.

Diego just slit his throat.

Diego just killed that man.

Diego just committed murder.

You're frozen. Think. Think. If you move now someone will hear your shoes, you stuff a hand into your mouth just in case you make any noise. Your plum dress and black booties should blend into the night, thank fuck the dress is longer so there's less gleaming pale leg to reflect the moonlight.

I should go I should go back to the car I should go home. Your thoughts are racing but you can't look away as Diego skirts the rapidly expanding pool of blood and approaches the next man. He leans down to listen to the doomed man's pleas, one huge hand on his shoulder in mock comfort. Almost faster than your eyes can follow, Diego stabs him three times in the chest. The man coughs, then chokes on blood. Diego nudges him backwards to the floor with an expression of mild disgust before he can cough blood onto those exceedingly expensive shoes. The noise of his death is a quiet gurgle.

You can't feel your legs. Your stomach plummets and your heart rate leaps. This is Diego. This is my man. This is who he is and what he does. And this is what happens if you wrong him.

Just like I'm doing right now?

Sudden understanding makes your palms sweat and your jaw shake. Breathe. I trust him. You know, all the way down to the bottom of your soul, that he would never do anything like this to you.

I'm different.

I'm special.

I'm important.

I have power.

The thrill of getting away with something courses up your spine.

All of these men are his to command, available at his beck and call, and his to dispatch as he sees fit.

And you? Diego belongs to you. This powerful man chooses to kneel at your feet and pleasure you with his mouth, he dotes on you with gifts and gourmet dining, he waits for your text responses with baited breath. You want nothing more than to belong to him.

Movement snaps you out of your own head; Diego is approaching the last man, all confident stalk and predatory grin. A different feeling settles low and deep in your abdomen. Murder Panther. MY Murder Panther.

Diego strokes over the man, no, this one is younger, the young man's hair. He is definitely an adult, but hasn't been for very long. Diego is whispering in his ear, the guy nods frantically and tilts his head toward you. You watch in morbid fascination as Diego carves off his ear.

Diego wipes the blade off on the man's shirt, then pats him on the head as he walks off casually. He gestures to the group as he puts the knife away and they close ranks to help the lone surviving man to his feet and carry him off.

Before you can jolt your body into retreating Diego turns to head your way. He glances up… and sees you.

His face, Oh no. Shock, horror, dismay, annoyance, and finally, determined resolution all cross his features in under three seconds. He uses his broad body to block you from his men's view and marches you back to the SUV. "Get in." He snarls, but he doesn't push you.

You slide all the way across the backseat to crash against the opposite side and Diego follows, slamming the door behind him and locking it. He scrubs a hand down his face and turns to you, expression grim.

You can't imagine what you look like, Probably a scared little bunny. But what you feel like? Oh, that is a different story. Damn near everything about what you just witnessed was so fucking hot. The actual homicides were kind of 'meh' (What is wrong with me???), but his power and ability and danger? Those you are definitely into.

He looks simultaneously defeated and defiant. "Well?" He barks with an expectant gesture. "This is me. This is what I do. You call me Murder Panther, but its different to see, isn't it, Princess?" The way he spits out his pet name for you hurts. He's lashing out in fear. He thinks I'm gonna run.

You keep your eyes locked with his as you reach out to his leg. He flinches at the contact but stays stiff. Your voice is smoky and dark, "I need you. Right fucking now. Give me your dick."

For the first time since you've met, Diego is speechless. His jaw hangs open while he watches you sink to your knees in front of him. Seemingly paralyzed, he just blinks as you rip his pants open and yank the material down over his hips. The instant you achieve clearance for his cock your mouth is on him. Your moan must vibrate the entire vehicle its so loud.

"Princess!" He finally gasps. "You. What. Fuuuck, what is. Oh, hell yes." His hips jerk and you dig your nails into his lower abdomen. He is fully erect in seconds, a little confusion isn't enough to cockblock Diego. Big hands flit through your peripheral vision erratically before settling on your head. The angle is finally correct and you slide him all the way down your throat, he practically howls with it. "Ahh, h-haaa. Jesus fuck, that feels so good. Shit, shit. Princesss."

The way he calls for you, writhing with it, is almost too much. You moan back but don't stop bobbing your head on his length. Firm suction intermixed with sporadic long licks of your broad tongue have him leaking steadily in no time. Your left hand cups his balls, squeezing gently just to feel him tense up. He's salty, but not bitter. You want it. You need him.

Your right hand snakes down to hike up the dress. Once it’s over your wide hips you spread your knees so you can sink down onto his shoe. He doesn't notice at first, not until your hips start rocking in time with your suction.

He grabs a fistful of hair to get your attention. "Are. Fucking christ woman, are you riding my foot?!" His eyes are huge, mouth open to pant.

You nod tightly, "Mm hmm." The moan vibrates all along his cock, causing his hips to rise off the seat.

"Ohh, oh fuck. You're so wet. I can hear it." He groans as though in agony. The thrusts begin to pick up pace and you grind down onto him. Your mouth can open just wide enough to accommodate the majority of his girth, you already know your neck is going to kill you tomorrow. Worth it. The skin of his cock is silky slick with both of you, he glides across your tongue easily but it requires pressure to fit him down your throat. Its like consuming fire, you're burning up from the inside out and its painfully perfect.

In the darkness of the unlit SUV you can't see anything, you can only hear Diego moan and pant while your nose is buried in the soft hair on his lower belly. The intensity of being engulfed in his scent drives you to distraction, you grind down hard on his foot and you're so, so close. His hips lift off the seat to push deeper and you ride his motions, swallowing around the head of his cock. One enormous hand sinks deep into your curls, he pulls gently just because he knows you like it. His purr is deep, "My perfect little Princess."

That's all it takes. You drop your entire weight onto his foot to shudder and whine as an orgasm rips through you. Hips jerking in time with each spasm deep inside, you ride out all the waves without ever breaking rhythm on his dick.

Diego is frozen in shock as he realizes what just happened. He pulls you off, much to your whining disappointment, to stare down at you in awe. He stutters a little, "Good. Girl."

The instant he releases ringlets you dive down onto him with renewed vigor. The emphatic praise only spurs you on even stronger. Everything is wet; his dick, your mouth, his pants, your chin, the seat, your dress, his shoe. Everything. The sounds, the way he tastes, you're desperate to have him.

"You want this? You want Diego?" His voice is so rough, so harsh. You nod tightly and moan for him, high pitched and hoarse. "Princess, so damn good, take it. Take all of me. Fuck, you look goddamn amazing on my cock." His hands stroke endlessly over your hair, his hips are jerking harshly and you know he is close. "Shit. Shit shit shit. Come," he is gasping, panting, "Come again for Diego, mi amor." His body stiffens, his legs shake, the grip in your hair tightens, and his head drops backwards to the seat as he pours down your throat in scorching jets.

Diego collapses, boneless and breathless, but you don't release him. Your right hand shoots down between your legs to work your clit furiously while you continue suckling softly.

"Yesss," he sighs upon noticing your actions. His voice drops low, overflowing with sinful threat, "You come for Diego. Pretty little Princess, all mine. Follow orders, come on your Murder Panther."

It breaks you. Your whole body seizes up as you wail for him, clenching down on nothing in painful ecstasy. Finally relinquishing his cock, you flop face down into his lap with an exhausted groan. Diego melts back into the seat and you both just lay there, panting.

Diego raps on the door window but stays slumped down and loose-limbed.

Bastian unlocks the SUV, then pops the driver's door to stick his head inside. "Yeah, boss?" The blonde studiously avoids looking lower than Diego's face. You can hear Julio chuckling behind Bastian.

"Fuck the club. Take us home." Diego decrees lazily. You sputter joyful laughter directly into his pants.

You ride home curled up in his lap, snuggled into that salt and pepper beard you love so much while Diego feathers kisses all over your face, the knife cradled in your hands.

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

Diego stumbles down the stairs the next morning, yawning hugely, only to find Julio in the kitchen, unashamedly raiding the fridge. Bastard, Diego chuckles.

"Manito! We need to talk." Julio gets right to the matter. "Before Gordita gets up." He adds pointedly.

Uhh, what. "Fine. Talk. Also, are you eating carrots at 10:12am??" That is disgusting.

Diego plops down onto a barstool and stares dejectedly at the espresso machine until Julio rolls his eyes and turns it on for him.

"Look, you need a check, eh?" Julio sighs but stands firm while Diego side eyes him suspiciously. When no objection comes, Julio forges on, "She saw you murder two people and cut an ear off a third last night, right? And her response was to blow you in the car? Fucking ride your foot to come, what, twice?"

Diego smiles dreamily, "Yeah. It was a good night." So. Much. Licking.

Julio passes him the steaming mug, "If you don't put a ring on it, pendejo..."

Diego nearly drops the mug as his closest confidante walks off into the living room.

Shit, Julio is right.

#damnit diego #murder panther #rough me up then dick me down #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #zash writes #some whiplash #feels and dick #dick and feels

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theoldsongsandtales · 4 years

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Disclaimer: I know we don’t actually meet Sil at any point before ESO so you can consider almost all of the lore on him second hand and even ‘fictional’ but he was set up that way; he was set up to be a loving god.

Disclaimer: This is rambly and not even all my thoughts but I said I would do it. I feel like I’m forgetting something but, ah well.

I think one of my gripe? with CWC is that not only does it make Sil seem a lot less caring for his people, it also seems - not consistent? sometimes?

In, Luciana’s journal we get,

“Why do you think things happen?” he asked. I told him I didn’t understand the question.

“Why are we sitting here talking? Why does young Marius exist? Why do I reign over this place, while you convalesce within it?”

I sat quiet for a moment, then replied: “Because that’s just the way it is.”

His cold face melted into one of his solemn half-smiles. “Exactly.”

This is 1E 2712 (Maybe), and sometime around 1E 2730 (Maybe) when her son dies we get,

When I reached the Throne Aligned, I found Sotha Sil sitting on the stairs leading to his seat of power. He didn’t even look up.

“I know why you’re here,” he said.

“Marius is dying. We have to get back to him as soon as possible!”

He stood up and pursed his lips before speaking. “I’m sorry,” was his only reply.

We stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, I shook my head and whispered, “I don’t understand. My body was ruined and you healed me. It’s only Marius’s heart that needs mending.”

Seht approached, placed a brass hand on my shoulder and said, “You misunderstand. It is within my power to heal Marius, but circumstances make it impossible. I grieve with you, Luciana.”

I looked up and there were tears in his eyes. I felt a great rage rise up within me. I reached for my hammer, and lifted it above my head just before Seht whispered a banishing word and sent me hurtling back toward the surface.

Marius died two days later. Sotha Sil remains in the Cogitum Centralis to this day.

He’s,heartbroken at this, but apparently so set on ‘it was to be like this’ that he’s not going down to save the life of this child (which is fully in his power) nor do anything to comfort this grieving mother’s sorrow.

Because it Has To Be Like This; I only saved you Luciana so you could save my City, your son doesn’t have a part to play, I can’t help him.

And this is all, in 1E 2712 (to the best of our knowledge)

We get ‘Sil remains in the Centralis to this day.’

This can’t be right, we know he at least makes the Pact in Oblivion and still takes at least a few trips to Red Mountain. She seems to at least know when Sil is out, because she states in a quest that when he’s gone the City goes into a slumbering mode. Does she mean Sil hasn’t been seen since her son died in the City proper? Varuni and the other Apostles talk about him never being around, so maybe?

But, speaking of his Coldharbour Compact -

I’ve always thought of it as his attempt to keep Ald Sotha, Gilverdale from being repeated, maybe a response to his dear friend Almalexia seeing the horror unfold in a vision and ‘Sil, look what happened,’ and putting himself through the hell that is standing in Coldharbour with 8 daedric princes mocking, scorning, and making you miserable all so he could keep Nirn, not just his own Dunmer people, but all of Nirn safe - because again, he was set up as that kind of person.

ESO brings into context, Did he know he ‘Had’ to make it? Did he see Dagon’s attack? Molag Bal and Mannimarco’s scheme? That’s - a lot of personal trouble, even for a demi god to go through when he’s making his own perfect world because Nirn is corrupted and then apparently only certain people get to live in said, actual city because they have talent.

We don’t know what Sil offered them; I’ve seen everything from ‘I’ll destroy you and the Mundus too.’ to individual gifts (a ESO added book seems to imply that Herma Mora at least got some sort of knowledge), to his own soul, or pieces of it at least. Again, a lot of trouble and personal effort.

There’s also the condition of the CWC. Only certain people living in the City proper and the rest out in this wilderness with hostile creatures or in a slum where apparently the children go cold sometimes. I know this can be waved as Sil gave the Apostles the starting blocks and wanted them to figure it out but someone who at one point said,

‘The old gods are cruel and arbitrary, and distant from the hopes and fears of mer. Your age is past. We are the new gods, born of the flesh, and wise and caring of the needs of our people.’

He’s seen how it is to be cast out; his two most beloved friends - he’s seen what they’ve gone through, he knows what he has been through, he’s seen war at that point he’s advised against it he’s fought it, he - knows. And, I guess I just want to know what changed him from that, to, allowing his apostles to let others suffer if that’s the case - and if he’s doing it intentionally, ???

Also - SPOILERS - in one quest they are literally killing citizens of the city, they are literally killing them to make sunshine, are you telling me that Sotha Sil knew that was happening and, ah well, it has to.

And, also, his memory stars, … not exact wording,

‘Factotums will need a voice. … Perhaps something, comforting.’

‘My Friend, what have I become?’

‘You can’t care too much, how else will they learn to fend for themselves?

‘Our Soldiers are useless against the Dwemer machines, we’re sending these Mer out for slaughter.’

‘We’ve cursed them all. They will be cast out, disgraced!’

All sound like at some point he cared, he cared a lot. The planisphere memories also make it sounds like the memory stars were early on, that he started casting out his memories/emotions early.

I guess it boils down to - did something happen at some point, to make him like this? So focused on a set thing, less compassion, more numbers and work and distance? I know it’s confirmed? He had a wife at some point, was that it? Did the Compact do it? Are we ever going to see that? Am I going to have to spend the rest of my life sending letters to Zenimax and Todd and ‘please for the love of nirn tell me about sotha sil, give me your notes, please i’ll sign a contract.

I could talk about how much, how much he seems to love, and a million other things about Sotha Sil but this is already too long so maybe another day but,

TLDR: I love Sotha Sil, he’s my favorite; I love the idea of this man who suffered and seen his friends suffer and wanted to be a god, wanted to fix everything, wanted people to have good lives - not just those of his own kin but everyone - someone full of love, and while I respect ESO, I wish we had gotten that.

#long post #Sotha Sil

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priorireverte · 3 years

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Congratulations Ash!

Your application for Katie Bell has been accepted. Katie is a character I’ve rarely given much thought, frankly, but I’ve completely fallen in love with her already. You’ve given her so much depth and involved her so closely in everything that is happening. I can’t wait to see what she gets up to!

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME & PRONOUNS: Ash, she/her.

TIMEZONE: PST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I reckon I am about a six or seven out of ten. I am constantly on mobile and accessible for plotting, but prefer to do all of my replies once I am home from work and have access to a computer.

ANYTHING ELSE: I have ten plus years role-playing experience and I am looking forward to this amazing opportunity to potentially write Katie again for the first time in years. She was one of the first characters I ever wrote in the Harry Potter world and holds a very special place in my heart.

CHARACTER DETAILS

NAME: Katherine Emery Bell ( Katie Bell )

BIRTHDATE: 21 April, 1978.

DEATHDATE: 10 October, 1997 N/A, still alive and kicking.

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Katie is a cisfemale who uses she/her pronouns. She is bisexual, as she was taught to love and embrace everyone for who they were at a young age. It doesn’t matter what they are; she only weighs who they are inside.

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood.

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor.

OCCUPTATION: Unspeakable, Death Chamber.

FACECLAIM: Poppy Drayton, though I might want to switch if accepted / after having some time to sleep on it.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND

POSTBELLUM

Like many, Katie too has scars from the war. They are weighted far heavier than she cares to admit and she carries them with her everywhere. In the pocket of her favorite cloak, tightly wrapped around her not just for warmth, but security too; on her broomstick whenever she needs to escape from the static background noise; or to one of her best mate’s houses where she is sure to find relief at the bottom of a shared bottle of fire-whiskey.

Katie shies away from intimacy’s pervasive touch. She does not give her trust away so freely like she once did as a carefree girl. Every instinct to share a piece of herself and love others is met with restraint. These are a few of the repercussions she faces because of the damage inflicted on her. She has been to a dark place; tethered between the realms of life and death while being neither here nor there. She clawed her way back to stable ground, though there are times she questions its permanence. In fact, if anything the war has taught her everything is fleeting. Now she leaves claw marks on everything, but can’t seem to hold onto any of it.

Practically everyone she knows has been touched in some way by the war; some of their scars running far deeper than her own. She lost friends and a part of herself, but many had it off far worse. Katie tries not to linger on her own pain and psychological trauma for that reason. At the end of the day, she survived; the heart beating in her chest confirms she is alive despite sometimes feeling anything but.

Since the war came to pass five years ago ( though at times it feels like a separate lifetime ago ), Katie has channeled her experiences and emotions into molding a successful career as an Unspeakable where she works in the Death Chamber. Since her brush with death at seventeen, Katie found herself unusually fascinated with the subject matter. She spent six months hospitalized in St. Mungo’s, a majority of which she was at what felt like death’s door. She swore she did die, but that was a difficult pill for her to swallow—let alone anyone else, so she kept that secret sealed tightly under lock and key. Katie figured that was the better alternative than being labeled crazy.

It took a long time for her to cope with what occurred, and even longer to bring up the occurrence with those closest to her. Being cursed certainly had its affects; it changed who she was and what made her tick. When she returned to Hogwarts and participated in the final quidditch match of her school-career against Ravenclaw, the game did not give her the same adrenaline filled rush it once had. She unknowingly battled depression and PTSD that year struggling to hold onto all the things she loved. They no longer provided her with sustenance, but she confused these arbitrary feelings with lackluster consequences from a progressive war with what felt like no end insight.

PERSONALITY

As a girl, Katie was known for being carefree and reckless. She was an untamed spirit who had not yet learned about the world’s cruelness. She had no reason then to be the emotionally guarded woman she would become. The final years of the war forced her to grow up much sooner than she ever planned for herself. Her overly-competitive demeanor was combated by a sudden instability. Trust no longer comes as easily for her as it once did. When she was imperiused during her last year of school and subsequently cursed by the Opal Necklace, she felt like she lost a part of herself. She no longer enjoyed many of the same hobbies she once did. She questioned everything, from the motives of her friends to the intricacies of life. She was no longer left in control, but instead reeling with trust issues in the present day—the most concerning being the lack of trust she feels in herself. It is an unspoken feeling, but it looms above her like a dark cloud.

Since being cursed, Katie has been keenly inept at desensitizing and disassociating from reality whenever it doesn’t fit perfectly in the box she has crafted for it. The war left her jaded and its scars provided an unwanted resilience she transformed into armor. She has survived many battles, but even the ones she lost were never for naught. They each made her stronger—just a mere fraction of the woman she will become, but still knowingly has many lessons to learn before fully evolving. However, Katie is plagued with self-doubt. Perhaps that is what holds her back from achieving her full potential.

Katie is now far more reserved than she once was. Her desire for love and ability to share it with others has diminished since she was a child, muted by a perverted sense of drive. She has a bad habit of shutting not only the world out, but those closest to her too. It can be a lonely road at times, so she throws herself into her work with hopeless abandon. She is driven and sees every project through to the very end. Ironically though, her never-ending need to answer life’s most challenging questions is exactly what holds her back from living life to the fullest. She has a one track mind and can become so preoccupied, or short-sighted, she forgets to hold onto what is really important.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY

Katie grew up in a happy family with very relaxed core values. Her parents always demonstrated love to her and her brother, Christian, even when they weren’t the most deserving or receptive. Olivia and Rhys Bell loved each other fiercely; that was one consistent factor in Katie’s life. As the youngest Bell in the family of four, she was spoiled and fussed over more than she cares too admit. She recalls all the arguments and tiffs her and Christian got into over the years—a trait that seemed to follow the pair into adulthood. Their parents on the other hand hardly ever fought. Katie believed there must be occasions they clashed with one another, but it was evident they were far more emotionally reserved than their children. They made a point not to fight in front of them, which always raised the question of where their children’s argumentative tendencies came from.

It was important for Olivia and Rhys to make their children feel empowered starting at a young age. They wanted to instill in them a strong sense of confidence that would allow them to break through any obstacles in their way or complete whatever task they set out on. As survivors of the first wizarding wixen war, and Olivia being a muggle-born, it was imperative to them their children didn’t embody the same fear or embrace any limitations as they once did. This nurturing mindset is exactly how Katie got into flying. Her father gifted a toy broomstick to her one Christmas when she was no more than six years old. She can recall the sheer horror on her mother’s face that morning; it was evident she was not in on the surprise, otherwise there probably would have been no broom at all that year. Christian had received one a few years prior and Olivia’s excitement over the matter quickly disintegrated when he lost control and spiraled into their garden trellis. Christian didn’t fly again until his first year lessons, however his sister’s abilities came far more natural than his own.

Once Olivia realized her daughter was more agile than her first born, she quickly warmed up to the idea. After she mastered and eventually outgrew the dainty toy broomstick, it was her mom who splurged for her first trainer’s broom. Katie excitedly whipped the new broom around their property, memorizing every trace of it from the new safe haven she had discovered. Flying became an escape for her. Quidditch always brought much excitement, but flying was what truly made her feel at peace with herself. Over the years she fully mastered the skill ( while running through her fair share of broomsticks ), and Katie knew she had her parents to thank for supporting her in spite of themselves and pushing her forward every time she wanted to quit. Though her quidditch career eventually faded away, her love for flying never wavered as her unconditional love for her parents and brother never has.

Present day, Katie and her family still share a special bond. Her parents continue to support all her endeavors even if they don’t necessarily agree or understand them. At times Katie is aware there is a disconnect between them, but it is something she can’t seem to avoid. Olivia and Rhys witnessed their daughter go from a bubbly and charismatic girl to someone almost unrecognizable at times, but since the war is still so fresh for everyone it has become easier to turn the other cheek.

HISTORY

Katie always considered her life very ordinary. Her parents worked hard to ensure her and her brother had a good life. They were a close-knit family and, though they got on her nerves on occasion, there was nothing she wouldn’t do for them. Katie recalls her childhood fondly. Olivia read books to both her children frequently, however Katie found herself to be easily distracted. Her head would wander to the sky where she would pluck shapes out of the clouds. Christian was the calm and retentive child—it was much easier for their parents to hold his attention. Katie on the other hand was a bumbling ball of energy since she was of crawling age. She would color the walls or demolish Christian’s toys if left unattended. It was much easier to hold her attention whenever baking was involved. Katie had a knack for sweets, though the thought of giving her more sugar didn’t always appeal. Still, she somehow persuaded her mum into baking cookies with her often. These were some of the best days of her childhood.

As soon as Katie was gifted her first toy broomstick, a spark ignited. Flying undoubtedly was her first love. Whenever her and Christian had a sibling squabble or he was getting on her nerves, she would run to her broomstick immediately and take flight; and when it was his time to leave for Hogwarts and she was left behind for three more years, flying became her therapy and release. It remedied the loneliness.

When it was finally time for Katie to head off to Hogwarts, her natural charisma and energetic personality really shined through in all she did. She made friends quickly and they became a forefront in her life. She fed off the energy of those around her and subsequently became a member of numerous school clubs. Joining the Gryffindor quidditch team her second year was the highlight of her entire school-career. She considered those initial years to be the best of all; her original teammates quickly became a second family to her. It was a feeling that still echoed long after their glory days on the quidditch pitch.

When Lord Voldemort returned, Katie found herself at a loss for words. She considered Harry Potter a friend and teammate. No one in her inner circle doubted him nor did she, however she did have a difficult time comprehending just what that meant. Cedric Diggory was also a friend; like many, seeing his body in the aftermath of the Tri-Wizard Tournament was Katie’s first brush with death. It was evident to the then fifteen year old that only something vile and cruel could take the life of someone like Cedric—someone with so much potential. She jumped at the opportunity to join Dumbledore’s Army for that reason. She believed in the cause and, reflecting on the pain the first war put her own parents through, Katie had to believe there was a reason she wound up here when she did.

Katie genuinely did not believe anything could be more difficult than that period of time, but her seventh year was one of the most challenging of all. Katie was not sure when the trip to Hogsmeade went awry on that beautiful fall day. There was excitement in the air despite the frigid temperature that brought the first snowfall of the season. That is one of the only memory’s Katie holds onto from that day. She later woke up in St. Mungo’s where she was told she had been for six months recovering from a fatal curse.

With a hoarse voice and fear filling her eyes, Katie asked the first healer she saw if she was dead.

The healer laughed as if she made some kind of joke. “ No honey, you’re lucky to be alive. ”

Lucky to be alive.

Except the problem was Katie didn’t feel anything, least of all alive. She spent the last six months in a foreign place, but didn’t feel nearly as lost or confused there as she did now that she was back in the earthly dimension.

The phrase continues to haunt her six years after her near-death experience. Maybe the Healer was right and she should feel lucky, but she doesn’t. Now that the war has come to pass, she is riddled with guilt. She cannot walk away from what happened to her six years ago despite making it out of the war alive. That alone should be enough reason to celebrate, but it is not. There are too many unanswered questions and Katie understands better than most who survived the war that everyone is borrowed time. She cannot unsee the place she spent six months of her life trapped in. She is desperate to understand it and even more desperate to know if the souls of her lost friends now inhabit the same space.

OOC EXPLORATION

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

This group captivated my attention immediately upon discovery. The Trio Era is what originally got me into role-playing Harry Potter and the Marauders is what kept me, so this role-play truly is the perfection combination. I have been looking for a group to join for some time now and your group has one of the freshest and most unique concepts I’ve ever seen! Plus, it is obvious the passion and care that has gone into creating this group. I am excited to potentially be a part of the journey and see where the story takes us all together.

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS

CHARACTER CONTRIBUTION

Katie possesses a lot of versatility with her character. She naturally has an outgoing and charismatic personality, and is quick at adapting to her surroundings. She has always been an integral part of whatever community she is a part of—ranging from her time at Hogwarts on the quidditch team, in the dueling club, or Dumbledore’s Army; to her career beyond the castle’s walls. She has proved herself a loyal friend to many. I think her experience being cursed by the Opal Necklace makes her an imperative character because she has knowledge from that ordeal others might not be equipped with, which she has channeled into a career within the Ministry of Magic as an Unspeakable.

I headcanon that when Katie was cursed by the necklace during her seventh year, she spent a large portion of her time in St. Mungo’s unconscious. During this period she had an out of body experience where she thought she was dead. She tightly holds onto the secret that she visited what may be known to some as limbo, purgatory, or the underworld out of fear of being labelled crazy. She doesn’t dismiss her experience though; she clings to it, and it to effects every aspect of her life.

Katie’s brush with death made her obsessed with the idea of it. Since the war’s conclusion she has tried to dissect the mechanics of life and death, but had no success. Everyday feels the exact same; she is capped out with little to show for her efforts. That is, until the first of the returned makes their appearance through the veil. This ignites a new obsession in Katie all over again.

PRESENT

“ Have you heard? ” A stocky Unspeakable buzzed with excitement as he pushed passed Katie and exited the elevator lift.

“ Heard what? ” The woman quipped in his direction as she rubbed her tired eyes, but by the time she gathered her senses he was already hurrying off down the corridor. Katie shrugged her shoulders back and dismissed the interaction before continuing along in the same direction. Unusual occurrences were the norm in this part of the Ministry so she didn’t think much of it. She was already getting a late start on her day anyway so she decided to quicken her pace as she rounded the corner leading to her dual office/laboratory, where she was forced to stop abruptly when she came across a throng of other Unspeakables littering the hallway. Katie quirked a brow upon the realization everyone was huddled near the Death Chamber.

“ What is going on? ” She asked the same Unspeakable who she spotted standing nearby.

“ You don’t know? ” Emerson gaped, which annoyed Katie slightly. “ They are saying someone has returned through the veil. ”

“ What do you mean ‘returned through the veil?’ I didn’t realize we were trying to send anyone to the other-side— ”

“ No, someone no longer living returned through the veil. They came back from the dead. ”

“ Impossible, ” Katie uttered in protest, but her own near-death experience quickly replayed in her head. She was only seventeen when she swore she too briefly died, so maybe it wasn’t impossible for the dead to return after all.

“ No really, a boy was found wandering the corridors naked this morning. Creevy is what they’re calling him. ”

Katie stood silent for a moment as she processed what she had just been informed. “ Someone came back to life? Through the veil? ” The witch repeated as her dark eyes swirled with sudden intensity. Emerson merely nodded. “ I sure picked a hell of a day to be late. ” She concluded completely gobsmacked.

“ You won’t make that mistake again, ” Emerson chuckled before disappearing off into the crowd to try and sneak a closer look.

And he was right. From that day forward, Katie was never late again. She always put her best foot forward when it came to her career, but the stakes suddenly felt like they had been raised even higher upon the departed’s return. The one thing she now knows for certain is that this might be the only opportunity she has to find answers to the questions that have been tormenting her for the last six years—and she doesn’t plan on letting this moment pass her by like she did unwittingly the last one.

#prioriacceptance #katie bell

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explosionshark · 5 years

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Thanks for recommending Gideon the Ninth! It was so good! Do you have a book rec tag I could check out? :)

honestly i should, huh? i’ve read more books than probably ever before this year and i’ve talked about ‘em intermittently, but not with a consistent tag. i’ll recommend some right now, though, with a healthy dose of recency bias!

sf/f

the priory of the orange tree by samantha shannon - a truly epic fantasy novel with one of the most beautiful, satisfying f/f romances i’ve ever read. the novel takes account nearly everything i hate about fantasy as a genre (overwhelmingly straight, white, and male centric, bland medieval European settings, tired tropes) and subverts them. incredible world-building, diverse fantasy cultures, really cool arthrurian legend influence. one of my favorite books i’ve ever read tbh.

gideon the ninth by tamsyn muir - which you’ve read, obviously, but for posterity’s sake i’m keeping it here! sci-fi + murder mystery + gothic horror. genuinely funny while still having a super strong emotional core and more than enough gnarly necromantic to satisfy the horror nerd in me. makes use of some of my favorite tropes in fiction, namely the slowburn childhood enemies to reluctant allies to friends to ??? progression between gideon and harrow. absolutely frothing at the mouth for a sequel.

the broken earth trilogy by nk jemisin - really the first book that helped me realize i don’t hate fantasy, i just hate the mainstream ‘medieval europe but with magic’ version of fantasy that dominates the genre. EXTREMELY cool worldbuilding. i’ve definitely described it as like, a GOOD version of what the mage-vs-templar conflict in dragon age could have been, with a storyline particularly reminiscent of “what if someone got Anders right?”

this is how you lose the time war by amal el-mohtar and max gladstone - i’m not usually big on epistolary novels, but this one really worked for me. spy vs spy but it’s gay and takes place between time traveling agents of two opposing sides of a war. the letter writing format really plays to el-mohtar’s strengths as a poet, the unfolding love story is weird and beautiful. it’s a really quick read, too, if you’re short on time or attention.

empress of forever by max gladstone - i just finished this one this week! if you’re in the mood for a space opera, look no further. imagine if steve jobs was an asian lesbian and also like not a shitty person. this is where you start with vivian liao. you get the classic putting-the-band-together arc with beings from all across the universe, your romances and enemies-turned-friends and uneasy alliances all over the place. really satisfying character development and some extremely cool twists along the way. it’s just a fun good time.

the luminous dead by caitlin starling - this one rides the line of horror so it’s closest to that part of the list. it reminds me of the most inventive low budget horror/sci-fi films i’ve loved in the best way possible because it makes use of the barest narrative resources. it’s a book that takes place in one primary setting, featuring interactions between two characters that only meet each other face-to-face for the briefest period. the tension between the two characters is the most compelling part of the story, with competing and increasingly unreliable narratives and an eerie backdrop to ratchet things up even higher. the author described it as “queer trust kink” at one point which is, uh, super apt actually and totally my jam. the relationship at the center of the book is complicated to say the least, outright combative at points, but super compelling. plus there’s lost of gnarly sci-fi spelunking if you like stories about people wandering around in caves.

horror

the ballad of black tom by victor lavalle - we all agree that while lovecraft introduced/popularized some cool elements into horror and kind of defined what cosmic horror would come to mean, he was a racist sack of shit. which is why my favorite type of ‘lovecraftian horror’ is the type that openly challenges his abhorrent views. the ballad of black tom is a retelling of the horror at redhook that flips the narrative by centering the action around a black protagonist.

lovecraft country by matt ruff - more of what i just described. again, lovecraftian themes centered around black protagonists. this one’s especially cool because it’s a series of interconnected short stories following related characters. it’s getting a tv adaptation i believe, but the book is definitely not to be missed

rolling in the deep / into the drowning deep by mira grant - mermaids are real and they’re the ultimate deep sea predators! that’s really the whole premise. if for some reason that’s not enough for you, let me add this: diverse cast, a romance between a bi woman who’s not afraid to use the word and an autistic lesbian, really cool speculative science tangents about mermaid biology and myth.

the haunting of hill house by shirley jackson - it’s halloween month so i’m thinking about hill house again. one of the greatest american ghost stories ever written. especially worth the read if you follow it up w the 1964 film adaptation (the haunting) and then the 2018 netflix series.

the hunger by alma katsu - i’ve always been fascinated by the donner party even though we now know the popular narrative is largely falsehoods. still, this highly fictionalized version of events scratched an itch for me and ended up surprising me with its resistance from the most expected and toxic racist tropes associated with donner party myth.

wounds / north american lake monsters by nathan ballingrud - nathan ballingrud is my favorite horror writer of all time. one of my favorite writers period regardless of genre. in ballingrud’s work the horror is right in front of you. you can look directly at it, it’s right there. but what permeates it, what draws your attention instead, what makes it hurt is the brutally honest emotional core of everything surrounding the horror. the human tragedy that’s’ reflected by the more fantastic horror elements is the heart of his work. it’s always deeply, profoundly moving for me. both of these collections are technically short stories, but they’re in the horror section of the recs because delineations are totally arbitrary and made solely at my discretion.

short stories

her body and other parties by carmen maria machado - tbh i almost put this in w horror but there’s enough weird fiction here for me to be willing to straddle the line. it was really refreshing to read horror that centered queer women’s perspectives. the stories in this collection are really diverse and super powerful. there’s an incredible weird fiction piece that’s like prompt-based law and order svu micro fiction (go with me here) that ends up going to some incredible places. there’s the husband stitch, a story that devastated me in ways i’m still unraveling. the final story reminded me of a more contemporary haunting of hill house in the best way possible. machado is a writer i’m really excited about.

vampires in the lemon grove by karen russell - my friend zach recommended this to me when we were swapping book recs earlier this year and i went wild for it! mostly weird fiction, but i’m not really interested in getting hung up on genres. i don’t know what to say about this really other than i really loved it and it got me excited about reading in a way i haven’t been in a while.

the tenth of december by george saunders - i really like saunders’ work and i feel like the tenth of december is a great place to start reading him. quirky without being cloying, weird without being unrelatable.

misc

the seven husbands of evelyn hugo by taylor jenkins reid - there’s something really compelling to me about the glamour of old hollywood. this story is framed as a young journalist interviewing a famously reclusive former starlet at the end of her life. the story of how evelyn hugo goes from being the dirt-poor daughter of cuban immigrants to one of the biggest names in hollywood to an old woman facing the end of her life alone is by turns beautiful, inspiring, infuriating and desperately sad. by far the heart of the book is in evelyn finally coming out as bisexual, detailing her decades-long on/off relationship with celia st. james, another actress. evelyn’s life was turbulent, fraught with abuse and the kind of exploitation you can expect from the hollywood machine, but the story is compelling and engaging and i loved reading it.

smoke gets in your eyes by caitlin doughty - a memoir by caitlin doughty, the woman behind the popular ‘ask a mortician’ youtube series. it was a super insightful look into the american death industry and its many flaws as well as an interesting, often moving look at the human relationship with death through the eyes of someone touched by it early and deeply.

love and rockets by los bros hernandez (jaime and gilbert and mario) - this was a big alt comic in the 80s with some series within running on and off through the present. i’m not current, but this book was so important for me as a kid. in particular the locas series, which centered around two queer latina girls coming up in the punk scene in a fictional california town. the beginning starts of a little sci-fi-ish but over time becomes more concerned with slice-of-life personal dramas.

#book recs #long post #SORRY IF THIS IS MORE THAN YOU WANTED #obviouslyending #book tag

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carriemaya · 3 years

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Stuff as Sacred: The Spirituality of Things

Hyperspirituality alienates us from our physical environment. Space for our belongings cultivate belonging.

Last week, I wrote a piece about moving into my forever home.

Until my mum and sister officially find a place, though, my boxes remain unpacked; stacked in the far corner of what’s technically my room but definitely doesn’t feel like mine.

And I think this is because I don’t have the freedom to take up space yet

Yes, little bits here and there: I can clear out the shaving cupboard and put my toiletries in there. And I can connect my laptop to my mum’s WiFi (which is great because I work on the Internet).

But I’m struggling.

I’ve been living out of bags and boxes for nearly three months now. And not being able to unpack properly (or at all in some cases) causes my mood to drop. Not having a desk to work at makes me feel anxious. And not being able to let my cat Ferdinand out of the one room he’s living in because my mum’s dogs have free range of the house makes me sad.

I love her dogs. They’re beautiful souls. But I struggle with dogs, personally, in terms of cleanliness. Definitely more of a cat person. So sharing space with a giant one who’s tail is as strong as my right arm, and another who sheds every three seconds, just makes me feel dirty, claustrophobic, and a little bit powerless.

It’s not one’s fault. It just is what it is for now. But this waiting period has me thinking about the way that having space to survey, define parameters for, and then curate and personalise is a form of freedom.

Here are a few musings on the topic.

SPACE. As in the cosmos. As in outer space. As in not on earth. As in not here. As in out there. As in atmospherically incompatible. As in can't breathe. As in floating. As in ungrounded, and vast, and ever-expanding. As in unfathomable. Unknown. A dark forever ocean of unknown. As in it makes us feel small in comparison. Because we are small in comparison. Space as in no thing. Earth as thing. Earth as in map. As in scribbled with arbitrary borders. As in I wonder if aliens looked down at us, they’d mistake the checkpoints we've erected at state lines as our altars to separation. Earth as in location. As in a place that exists at a specific point in space.

If I don’t have space, I don’t have freedom. And if I don’t have space, I can’t locate a point within it to create place. And without place, I cannot make a home.

EARTH. As in place. As in tether. As in force of gravity. As in a touchstone between somewhere and nowhere. As in the statue of David not the slab of marble from which he was sculpted. As in this (not that) and here (not there). Earth as in terrain. As in planes, meadows, mountains, oceans, and deserts. As in soil. As in oil. As in metal, crystals, nutrients. As in sowing seeds and yielding produce. As in dependant on it for survival. As in solid. And surface. Earth as in habitat. As in trees, rivers, rocks, sky, wind, mammals, reptiles, and insects. As in ecosystem. As in bodies and breath. As in human creation. As in building shelter. As in hunting and gathering. As in making fire. As in eating. sleeping, reproduction, ritual, information, education, commerce, government. As in culture. Culture as in hub. As in cauldron. As in us. As in art that rings true. As in language. As in feeling understood by you. As in feeling heard by you. As in feeling so heard by you that here is where I want to be.

As in resonance.

If I don’t have space, I don’t have freedom. And if I don’t have space, I can’t locate a point within it to create place. And without place, I cannot make a home.

If this is true, then it must also be true that having infinite space can’t be freedom. Because if I have space without any definition whatsoever, then what I am isn’t free but lost. And the opposite of being lost is being where I belong.

BELONGING. As in connection. As in emotional ties. As in memories; sharing them and making them. As in trust. As in knowing I'm not going to be hit or punched. Or yelled at. As in communication. Belonging as in voice. As in what I have to say matters as much as what you have to say. As in apologising when we hurt each other. As in saying I love you. As in saying well done. Belonging as in generational. As in wisdom passed down from grandparents to parents to grandchildren. As in shared history. As in doing whatever it takes to keep the tribe safe.

Making place within space should be a negotiation, a dance. Never an act of Imperialism.

HOME. As in a point and place that exists within the vast space of earth as terrain. As in house. As in a pocket of thing in the fabric of no thing. As in eating the root not just the leaf. As in compatible atmosphere. As in I can finally breathe. As in habitat. As in ecosystem. As in the culture that exists beneath my roof. Home as in mine. As in not yours. As in occuppied not vacant. As in territory. As in protection from the elements. And landlords. As in tether and force of gravity. As in doors. That lock. As in ownership. As in home. As in home. As in home. As in home. As in home.

Space becomes place when it’s occupied. House becomes home when it’s occupied. Terrain becomes territory when it’s occupied.

* * *

I can’t decide if I made the right choice by listing belonging before home. Should I have put it the other way around? I don’t know. These two concepts confuse me and scare me.

Maybe because I’ve never had a good grasp on matter.

Space is what I know. It’s the familiar daydream of floating in the ether.

The Christianity I was raised in taught me that the body, possessions, money, and even the planet weren’t as important as “living in the spirit”. It instilled in me a doomsday fear of putting stock in anything that I can’t take with me when I die.

If I stay hovering above the ground in the heavenly realms, I can let God move me wherever He wants to. Because I have surrendered my agency to Him. I stay alienated to my physical environment out of obedience to my Divine call.

In a nutshell: I feel like the physical realm is an upside down world. I cognitively understand its importance, but on an emotional level I struggle to care about it (hello terrible relationships with food, money, and housing).

Belonging and home? They’re the worldy, human, ungodly realms of density.

Sending my spirit earthbound is to bind myself to sin, retribution, and hell.

This is the deep programming that’s starting to rear its ugly head as I begin to get used to the idea of occupying a house in forever-home fashion.

I want to TRULY believe in the sacredness of life on earth. And maybe learning to make a house my home can help me to do this.

I’m in the process of surveying the walls, floors, and cupboards. And when they’re empty, I’ll make them my own through personalisation—an act born of freedom to choose; curating the feel and flow of my home with colour schemes and carefully-placed possessions.

The off-white Victorian-style clock that I plan to sit on the fireplace mantel.

The Boston Fern I plan to hang from the ceiling in the bathroom.

The makeshift alcove I plan to create from the unused window in the living area.

What if stuff is sacred?

What if the house is a voicebox and possessions are the voice?

What if the freedom to set up my belongings is what creates place for me to belong?

What if, because I matter, so do the things that matter to me?

1. What are the stories you tell yourself about the importance of you body, possessions, and physical existence?

2. Do you feel your life shows that you value both spirit AND matter?

3. In what ways can you bring greater balance to your relationships with both spirit AND matter?

4. If you're struggling to find this balance, where can you turn for help? If you don't know straight off the top of your head, is there someone who can point you in the right direction?

#journaling prompts #journalling prompts #lifestyle #possessions #sacred space #mental health #housing #homelessness #homeless #spirituality #healing

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kendrixtermina · 4 years

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Sigh. Chibnall.

Jodie Whittaker and demographic realism

So I want to make clear that I have no problems whatsoever with Jodie Whittaker’s performance - the character seamlessly kept walking across the screen, she has great energy, love the steampunk goggles.

Honestly I’ve always believed that giving existing characters a demographic change is not really as revolutionary or helpful as ppl think; New characters and stories (esp. told by writers of those samedemographics) solve the problem much better. Keeping specificity is often better than losing it, and the character still has a background (from an “advanced” civilization that used to do dirty deeds and is still kind of uppity attitudes, a character who’s decided to be against that attitude but still needs to be knocked own from the occasional uppity moment; It makes sense for them to look like a british dude, and they have the freedom to go wherever problems like sexism and racism don’t exist so... ), and will be linked to its origin. But at worst something that will look dated in a few years like the 80s outfits, the show’s done dated and crowdpleasing before; There’s no hard reason not to do it and I expected no quality dip.

It certainly worked as as attention grab, the premiere drew a lot of attention but that only lasted as long as it took for the reviews to go sour. But one of the main good things its proponents said could come of it was to help the lack of female anti heroes. So far she really didn’t get to anti hero much; It’s not Whittaker, it’s the scripts.

I want to make this clear: Varied demograpics are good;

This is why I kind of hate the term “diversity” is one of those vague euphemisms if you mean “demographic representation”, “social equity” or “demographic realism” just say that.

In a way this is a good thing, it used to be only the best boldest writers who could get away, noadays it has become acceptable to have varied casts. And that’s how it should be artshouldn’t have to have to pass some arbitrary quality standard to simply reflect reality. But as the rebootverse and star trek discovery should’ve proved realistic demographics can’t replace good writing. Sometimes lack of realistic demographis is associated with bad writing because both come from play-it-safe more-of-the-same consummerism focussed sameyness, often someone who goes against the formulas has a solid vision which makes them good, and focussing on ignored topics and perspectives can yield new ideas (consider stuff like Wonder Woman, Get Out, Black Panther... which were just good, novel movies) but you could have a super interesting memorable story where everyone is a medieval european monk, but the characters are differentiated by personality, attitude, beliefs, or something where the cast ticks all sort of all demographic boxes but the characters are 1D and the story trite and predictable

On the one hand you get those gamergate adjacent fanboys who make “diversity” and “good writing” out to be enimical opposites and then you have the purists/antis who treat any critique of writing to be founded in having something against realistic demographics. You need both!

Series 11

There were good things about it: An attempt at leastto do more of your classic thought provoking space operas or going back to the shows’ pulp fiction roots, covering some historic periods/topics other than the classic historical fiction tropes (they got a pakistani writer, had Yaz and Ryan discuss social topics among themselves etc.), the emotional story centered around this family coping with a loss, having Ryan sort of be the “main” companion and the one the rest of the team is protective of

But overall the reason I didn’t rush to watch s12 as soon as it came out is that it was a bit... bland. The team interacted mostly with each other; The Doctor had more charge with one shot characters like King James or the Solitract than she really did with the companions. Graham was such a missed opportunity. Remember how everyone loved the dynamic with Wilfred? No attempt to strike a bond over how they’re the older party members, or the professional xenophile trying to nudge the bilbo baggins like reluctant hero? We’re told the Doctor really likes Yaz, and I believe it cause she always liked people like that, but are we shown?

For all that Moffat and RTD were very different writers with different strenghts and weaknesses, both were very character-driven writers, and that was really missing here a bit.

Some ppl said they didn’t give Yaz enough screentime or personality - but the thing is, they did try. They just failed. They let her make little remarks here and there about her homelife, they just never really assembled into a whole beyond buzzwords and inspirational platitudes and the Standard Companion Traits. I didn’t get a read on what she’s about or who she’s like until the pakisan episode where she unlike Barbara, Donna etc. immediately accepted that the past can’t be changed. Ah, I finally thought, she’s a very responsible dutiful person.

Everything lacks edges and defining moments.

So far, I didn’t sweat it. I though, ok, not everything can be the high-concept character driven spec fic epic type of story that is my personal favorite. Every time there was some addition to the mythos in any way someone cried ruined forever. When the time lords first appeared. When the time war was introduced.

The classics too were lower on the character driven ness; Still good pulp fiction content. (imho the character concepts themselves were often pretty good, just not used to the fullest and some of the actresses were treated crappy backstage)

I thought “okey, it wouldn’t be good to break with the tradition of making the sussequent incarnations contrasting”

I did think that there was much liberty with the additions which the others did do only towards the end when it feltmore earned, but, the addition of say, sisters, isn’t too disruptive

Series 12 and the Timeless Child Nonsense

The frustrating thing about this is that it COULD have been good.

The Master teaming up with the cybermen to try and take over Gallifrey is precisely the sort of story the classics would’ve done.

“Your society is founded on a shady secret and exploitation of the innocent” is a good plot twist especially in these times. The Master finding that secret and using it to his advantage - also very him.

Imagine what it could have been like if it had been approached from the perspective of someone who, for all that they were a rebel, still sort of profited from being part of that society, someone who wants to take responsibility for that past and would maybe have to make some tough choice to let the exploitation victim go because it’s right even if it has cosequences for themselves and their civilization.

but then you ruin that by immediately taking the protagonist out of that society. They and they alone are the victim.

like this plot could have been good except for the twist that the Doctor and the timeless child are the same.

Not connecting it to existing lore about the earlier war game days, everything with Omega and Rassilon, that bit about the Time Lord becoming what they were through exposure to the untempered schism... that might be forgiven. Even if it does stretch the suspension of disbelief that every single piece of sci fi scanning equipment in the show didn’t pick anything up; Not to mention that it destroys the stake on every heroic sacrifice or death prophecy plot, every time a companion or oneshot character took the bullet, the whole “out of regens” plot...

This is not me being mad about things being added or changed, but this being done in such a way that undermines the philosophy, the whole flavor...

Yes, the MC is mysterious, the 7th Doctor arcs did a lot with this etc. but doesn’t spelling something out this clear not deplete rather than add to that? It#s a definite answer even if the final origin isn’t clear.

But they’re so much else.

The trickster hero accomplishing great deeds with planning, guile, improvisation and duct tape, the implicit value that ressourcefulness trumps raw power.

The rebel, different because they chose to be or made themselves to be such through their adventures, sticking to their own values in a close-minded society - who embodies & encourages thinking for yourself in every situation and universal plot, who battles enemies like the Daleks and Cybermen that represent comformity

Yeah they have many names yeah they take out gods... but all this was the result of their actions & path in pursuit of knowledge, and also, as Moffat once stated, the funny part is that behind all the fearsome reputation is wit and duct tape.

The fish in a small pond who started out a misfit, failed their tardis driving exam... etc. and often made a point that they didn’t want immortality or endless godlike power. That’s meaningless if they had it to begin with.

The explorer who wanted to see more than their corner of the world.

The ANTI HERO that’s made alltogether too tragic here, too absolved from their uppity civilization

All that is wiped away if they were this special creature to begin with.

Where WAS the philosophy, rly? The big humanist speeches that made me love the show.

Going Forward

So I think - I HOPE - that this in particular will be treated like the “half human” thing from the TV movie or the now josses additional origin stories from the audios, or be handwaved under the “you cant get it wrong cause everything is in flux” carpet

It’s the Master effing with her to pay her back for the half broken chameleon arch thing.

It’s possible the Child actually existed, long dead or trapped somewhere - again, dirty mystery at the bottom of a stck-up society is a good twist. but this shouldn’t be more than another maybe in the multiple choice past not a definite answer.

Also, i hate this line of thought but I can’t stave it off: Why is is now that the MC looks female that we get this vulnerable, passively victimized tomato surprise rather than something with an ugly but definite choice in it.

I will probably ignore it - parts of me resents this cause “your civilization is based on a lie” could be such a good plot twist (then again the existing twists to that end from the classics and End of Time do enough rly) but if i have to choose between that and the basic meaning of the character....

#Doctor Who #timeless child #chris chibnall

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inlovewithdisaster · 3 years

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JUDGE PROFILE: ZOEY YING

the only sane judge on this panel! ahem, uh, i mean. out of the three judges attending this contest, zoey ying is the one with the most experience, both as a coordinator and as a judge. she’s been registered as a contest judge ever since she won that grand festival at age 11, and though she had to work a few side jobs along the way, she’s had the time since then to devote her entire heart and soul into coordinating. on top of her status as top coordinator, she’s an olympic-level figure skater who also loves skating for show, and she has trained several of her pokémon to be just as good while skating in their appeals. she has so much invested in the performing arts--she lives and breathes them in every aspect of her life. can you believe this girl is still considering law school?

as a judge, she is level-headed, honest, and above all, professional. she can be fairly blunt with her critiques, and she’s not afraid to let you know if you’ve done a bad job; in the past, she used to be a tad like simon cowell herself. but over the years, she’s gotten better at framing her critique as helpful rather than negative. it’s not impossible for her to develop some serious beef with the way a contestant comports themselves onstage; after all, she’s only human. but her strong sense of obligation always overrides it: she never lets foul emotions get in the way of doing her professional duty. in conclusion? i’m not fucking kidding when i say that zoey is the only judge whose score would be an accurate reflection of your muse’s actual ability. zoey for best girl.

LIKES.

it’s rare for zoey ying to be as flashy as her companions tobias and ursula during a performance, and it’s rare for her to like performances along their lines as well. true to her modest nature, zoey values simplicity and efficiency in a performance; she wants peoples’ and pokémons’ talents to shine through without giving the impression that they’re trying too hard. she appreciates technical complexity, but along more elegant and understated lines; too many bold visuals with no substance will bore her.

like tobias, she also enjoys more cerebral performances. appeals with symbolism and messages that you really have to think about in order to appreciate. while she’s not as educated as he is and won’t pick up on obscure references to, say, poems by little-known authors or cultural details that aren’t widely available on google, she’s smart enough to make insights about the meaning of a piece, and smart enough to reward you for them. (although if you make references to chinese history and culture, that’s right up her alley!)

she loves appeals where pokémon get to show off talents other than their moves! several of her ‘mons are figure skaters, so of course she’ll love to see that, but if they got any other things to showcase--ribbon-dancing, baton-twirling, instrument-playing--then she’ll give you a heaping dose of points!

as a chinese woman, she does have very high standards for the aesthetic of your performances. her ancestral country, after all, is the one that produced that unforgettable 2008 olympic opening ceremony, and our nation has also produced such marvels as coaching dozens of deaf dancers to flawlessly execute a dance based on the goddess of a thousand hands. being chinese has sort of spoiled her when it comes to the performing arts, and that is the sort of thought and effort she expects out of the people she observes onstage. again, though, she prefers simple yet powerful visuals. this 2008 olympics performance of 2,008 drummers chanting a line from confucius’ analects? flawless. but if the drums started changing into psychedelic colors while they were doing it? too much.

finally, she loves detail. she has an eye for the intricacy in simplicity, the beauty that comes not from the largeness and boldness of a statement but rather the nuance which makes it so powerful. elegant details that don’t overstate themselves with complexity appeal to her.

DISLIKES.

her fellow judges tobias and ursula are all about trainer participation in appeals. canonically, however, zoey has been shown to dislike performances that have too much trainer involvement in proportion to pokémon involvement. (my memory can be pretty awful sometimes, but this is one of the things that stands out in it.) since this is a showcase, in which the spotlight is more on the trainer and not the pokémon, she’s more lenient. however, if the performance is like 90% trainer and the pokémon are reduced to mere stage hands, she’s going to have an issue.

she also absolutely loathes performances that she finds to be “too loud,” no matter how well they’re done. whether it’s the loudness of the music or the loudness of the color, you can bet she’ll have something to say about it.

unlike tobias, who loves breaking the rules and greatly enjoys a good roast, zoey is very strait-laced and traditional, and will dock points of anything that she finds to be too controversial in its messaging. this includes sexual themes. unlike ursula, who finds her head easily turned by performances that are sexual or romantic in nature, zoey tends to find explicit content quite objectionable. she’s most likely asexual, like the mun, so suggestive content such as jules’ performance in the last ILWD will make her go “?????” at best, or be distasteful and unprofessional to her at worst.

a special note: as an ace-questioning woman, one of the reasons she thinks she’s ace is because she’s never been invested in romantic content. she will look at a romance-centered performance and think “that’s nice,” just like with every other performance. but if you’re expecting to move her to tears by depicting a heartbreak or the story of star-crossed lovers, you’ll be disappointed. moreover, romantic subtext--especially gay and lesbian subtext--will fly right over her head. (really ironic if you think about it, considering she’s judging a valentine’s contest.)

also due to her straitlaced traditionality, she’s not as much in favor of artistic experimentation as tobias is. while an avant-garde performance will excite him, she’ll probably just find it weird.

also unlike ursula, she doesn’t have much taste for cute and frilly things. her brand of femininity is more reserved, and she finds popping pinks and flouncing lace to be overdone and cliché.

she just really doesn’t like too much color contrast or color brightness in general. and if the colors are bright and contrasting? good fucking luck.

speaking of contrasting colors--whereas ursula will get bored by a monochrome performance, and whereas ursula likes her colors to pop, zoey is more drawn to muted pastels and greys. she also likes themed palettes instead of the arbitrary explosions of color that characterize many an amateur performance, so color-coordinating your outfit and the shades of your moves will do better in her eyes.

#ilwd2k21 #ilwd2k21updates

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lilithsgayadoptednephew · 4 years

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To Be Daumerling

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Not Rated Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings M/M Complete Work

Master List

Chapter 11

He was still small.

Not that he'd ever been a big guy but... standing before the man who'd done this. He felt small as a mouse.

When the angels had returned him to his original size he was relieved. So relieved he practically jumped up and down in celebration. He reached for high shelves, picked up chairs just because he could, and yelled.

Good Lord he screamed.

Finally after 6 days, he could be heard.

When he spoke people responded, their voices didn't rattle him, he spoke and raised his volume until they were the ones covering their ears. Needless to say they were kicked out of the library. It felt so good to be back he didn't even think as he hugged Lucifer around the neck.

Lucifer was stunned, his first instinct to push the human away. But he didn't. He stood for a moment and felt MCs body pressed against his. Still much shorter than Lucifer, but not nearly as small as the last few days. His bones so breakable yet he stretched his arms up to meet the demon with no fear or restraint. Lucifer wrapped his limbs around the human's waist and felt MCs weight settle in his arms. At normal size he fit perfectly, like a puzzle piece.

They said their thanks to the angels and returned to the Devildom to confront the culprit. Now they stood before Diavolo himself. They'd found him in the very same room where everything had started. Staring forlornly at the model castle by the empty fireplace. His expression when they greeted him wasn't surprised, just displeased.

MC felt very small indeed under the disappointed gaze of the Devildom prince, but he felt a shift. Glancing down for less than a moment, he saw something that made his heart grow. Lucifer had lightly linked his pinky with MCs, a quiet reminder he wasn't going to leave the human to an uncertain fate.

MC returned his gaze to the prince and suddenly it didn't seem so piercing. Suddenly Diavolo didn't look so big.

"I should've figured out sooner exactly where you'd gone…" Diavolo practically whispered, casting his gaze down to the week old remains of the shattered wine bottle on the carpet. Lucifer looked away but did not apologize. "How could you have betrayed me?" Diavolo spoke as Caesar might have to Brutus.

"I didn't know it was your doing" Lucifer defended sharply, Diavolo just narrowed his eyes. "At first…" the proud demon admitted reluctantly. Diavolo shook his head violently, advancing a few steps.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was? I thought I'd lost him in the Devildom. I thought I'd killed him, Lucifer!" Diavolo was in full demon mode now, his voice breaking like a vase on tile. Lucifer's eyes blew wide...he did understand. He thought he'd killed MC in the drain. His resolve snapped as he heard his friends desperate anger at what Lucifer had done.

"My... Diavolo I'm sorry." He breathed, but he couldn't bring himself to say any more. It wouldn't have done any good. Diavolo was about to continue yelling when MC stepped between the demons.

Lucifer's resolve was failing, but MC was unmoved.

"You shrank me" MC hissed, Diavolo blinked at the sudden change in conversation.

"MC this isn't about you" he dismissed, but MC was not impressed.

"Not about me?" He hissed and took a step closer. Lucifer put a hand on his shoulder.

"MC let me handle this–"

" Sit down " MCs voice struck the demon like a backhand and he immediately dropped into the armchair beside him. Diavolo took a step back in shock. MC took a moment to calm his shaking limbs before practically falling to his knees in apology. "Lucifer I...I'm so sorry I have no excuse."

"It's ok"

"–i didn't even think I–what?"

"It's alright" Lucifer's voice held an emotion MC was certain didn't actually exist. Carefully he stood back up.

"I...well….ok if you say so…" he turned cautiously back to Diavolo.

Lucifer's head spun. The craziest things happened around MC. Like shrinking really small, or making him feel even smaller, but this was by far the craziest.

MC hadn't used the pact.

Returning his attention to Diavolo MC felt his rightious anger return.

"You were going to keep me prisoner. Alone. Possibly forever." He accused, pointing a finger. Diavolo's offence was painfully evident in his face.

"Alone? I was going to keep you safe here with me!" He shouted. "you should be fucking honored." His voice seemed to layer menicingly as he stared down at the human. MCs gaze did not waver.

"Thank you"

Diavolo opened his mouth to retaliate but stopped short.

"Excuse me?"

"Thank you" MC repeated. "I know you don't go to these lengths for just anyone, so thank you but I must decline." He continued. Diavolo opened and closed his mouth for a moment before responding.

"You can't just decline"

"Yes I can, it's called a human right" MC said simply. Diavolo seemed to calm visibly, he really was interested in human culture.

"What's that?"

"It's one of the many rights I have as a human. 'no one shall be subjected to arbitrary arrest, detention or exile'" Lucifer closed his eyes in embarrassment, was the human actually trying to envoke human laws? Diavolo looked at the ground, then back at MC.

"You think I'm... imprisoning you?" He sounded really genuinely hurt, MC sighed.

"Well aren't you? To keep someone against their will is false imprisonment at best." His voice was calculated as he made his case. "And since you moved me from the house of Lamentation to do it, I'd say it's kidnapping at worst."

"But you're just a human, you don't even know what's good for you" his voice was grossly sympathetic.

"The first right disagrees, see we are all born free and equal with our own thoughts and ideas" he spat back readily.

"Maybe on earth, but in my kingdom you don't have a clue. Like a silly pet" he cooed.

"Again wrong, 'Everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law.' human right number 6"

"Says who?!" Diavolo whined.

"The United Nations" MC deadpanned, Diavolo rolled his eyes.

"You're not going to win this argument."

"Why? My case is airtight and backed by the law. Honestly I can't believe I have to spell it out that you can't shrink people and keep them in isolation" MC laughed. Diavolo grimaced.

"It's not isolation! You have me"

"Well I need more than that." MC shot, no longer caring if he hurt the prince's feelings. Diavolo winced like MC hit him. "Anyone would need more than one person in their life"

"What about three?" Diavolo asked quietly. MC was thrown, that was a random number.

"Three isn't enough either" MC said at length. Diavolo looked back up at him.

"Barbatos, Lucifer, and my father." Diavolo said quietly. Lucifer looked down at the sound of his own name. MC raised an eyebrow. "Though I suppose...my father isn't much of a person anymore." He laughed mirthlessly. MCs eyes widened as he understood.

"Those...those are the only people you talk to?" He asked incredulously. Diavolo's ears turned pink.

"No no! I throw parties and galas and talk to lots of people... business people…" he trailed off. MC leaned against the chair Lucifer sat in.

"So you only have three friends" MC corrected himself. Diavolo still looked embarrassed.

"Barbatos has no interest in being more than my servant, my father is definitely not a friend, and Lucifer?" He looked at the offending demon sadly and Lucifer held his gaze. "I can't grasp exactly what I am to you honestly" he admitted.

Like invisible ink exposed by heat, a different picture of Diavolo's intention began to form. He was lonely. Who knows how long it had been this bad, he was so lonely he tried to trap a friend.

MC looked around the room and suddenly Diavolo's castle felt much larger, much emptier. It eerily resembled the soulless foam and card castle MC had walked through that first night he was small.

Suddenly he missed the house of Lamentation. The family dinners and continuously lively halls. Always someone waiting to drag MC away for something or another. That house was his home, he couldn't imagine living like the prince.

"Do you have to live here?" He asked cautiously. Diavolo looked up from his inner musing and blinked.

"Why?"

"This place is the problem, you're trapped here. Can't you live somewhere else?"

"Where would I go?" Diavolo asked quizzically. MC threw a pointed look at Lucifer and he stood suddenly.

"No no no, MC what you're suggesting is out of the question." Lucifer dismissed.

"Why?" MC asked innocently.

"Because there's already too many of us" he reasoned.

"You welcomed me readily" MC twirled a strand of hair. Diavolo's eyes lit up as he caught on.

"But...we have no extra rooms" Lucifer said resolutely.

"I could have MCs old room" Diavolo pleaded.

"No I'm staying too" MC waved his hand at the prince.

"You can't, not whi–"

"You shrank me and kidnapped me" MC stayed flatly.

"Yes b–"

"You owe me" MC insisted. Diavolo grumbled playfully but relented. "Consider me an immigrant, official resident of the Devildom."

"No!" Lucifer interrupted. "We simply do not have the space or accommodation for anyone else. That is the end of it." He crossed his arms, effectively ending the discussion.

0Diavolo was moved in by the weekend.

MCs room was completely taken over by the prince in his excitement to live anywhere with roommates. He had to seriously thin out his luggage when he realized he would only have one room to himself, but he loved everything about it. "The real housemate experience" he called it.

Lucifer was less than thrilled to have his boss living with him, but Diavolo's enthusiasm eventually grew on him. At the end of the day he couldn't let the prince continue living in his empty castle after learning just how lonely he was. Yet one problem still remained.

Where to put MC?

Naturally every brother volunteered to share their room, some even fighting over the opportunity. In the end Lucifer trumped all of them declaring MC would move in with him.

At first this was exciting but...MC wanted his own space. He'd shared rooms before with siblings and whatnot but never someone as possessive and pushy as Lucifer. As patient as MC was, Lucifer simply was not a good prospective roommate.

He was thinking about the situation and coming to terms with it as he walked down the halls. Alone since many of the brothers were on the town or in their rooms.

Light from the artificial Devildom sky glowed softly through the window, casting peach patches onto the carpeted hall floor. His privacy and solitude were things he'd always cherished, that's why he chose this remote hallway for his walks. He'd walked it before but never had he stumbled as he did now. Feet fumbling over each other to regain balance he careened right into a bookshelf. Dust filled the air as the ancient structure toppled to the floor.

"Damn" MC rubbed his head and began gauging how heavy the shelf was. Maybe he could set it back up. It must have been there for a long time since the wallpaper behind the shelf was a completely different color.

No not wallpaper, a door.

Reaching cautiously to the knob the curiosity got the best of him. Carefully he stepped inside. He felt at the wall in the dark for the lightswitch. Flipping it he saw something unexpected but familiar.

Liliths room.

He had no idea there was another door to the deceased angels tomb. The white sheets covering the furniture swayed like ghosts as he padded quietly through the room. Warm and inviting scents of dust greeted him, as if the room was happy to see him. In an instant his decision was made.

0His eyes rested on the intricate woodwork of his floor. His wake up call was on its way and he wouldn't budge until it arrived.

The delicate clicking and squeaking of the bats outside the window were more melodious to his ears than any morning birdsong. He waited in content silence.

Knock knock knock knock

Mammon knocked four times before swinging into the room. Still in his pajamas.

"MC! You better get up cause it was your favorite Mammon's turn to make breakfast." He plopped down on the edge of the bed and waited as MC ran a comb through his hair.

Every Saturday morning Mammon sprinted all the way to MC's room to wake him up for breakfast. The door MC had found on his walk all those months ago was pretty out of the way so he appreciated the demon's enthusiasm. He was among the first to get used to the idea of MC taking Liliths room.

As they made the trek back to the kitchen MC couldn't help but smile to himself. He had a tournament to continue with Levi after breakfast, then he was going to check out the new book cafe that just opened with Satan. Nothing was so perfect as a lazy weekend with the family.

As the smell of bacon met his senses and the sound of breakfast chatter grew louder, MC closed his eyes. Walking without haste, He felt found.

#obey me!#obey me fanfic #To Be Daumerling

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idkwhoiamanymorebutwtf · 5 years

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Peridot: Why she’s not around often, and why there’s still hope.

K, so I love Peridot. I love her so much. More than life itself. Why is she just..never around? Back in season 4, during the whole zoo arc, she had a lot of use? Like, she could have avoided any issues getting there for starters, being a technician. And she’s more accustomed to how homeworld works than the others? When Aquamarine and Topaz were kidnapping people, she wasn’t there to help rescue the humans, or when Steven got back. And the fact that she was the one who provided Homeworld with a list of names? That’s good fodder for her character! She got Steven kidnapped! Cmon, she’s gotta have some sort of reaction! But no. Nothing until Raising The Barn. Lapis left and that opened the door for more development when it came to Peridot. But what did we get? One episode of her being sad and then nothing until Made Of Honor. And like??? Where was she when we found out about Rose being Pink Diamond anyway? I mean, she was living under the same roof as the gems! Then there’s the fact that she had such a minor role in Reunited? And only got her star because the whole cast was due for a makeover, which just completely took any sort of focus away from her star! Which we were all waiting for her to get for three years! What did she do in the movie? It was a good opportunity to get more of her. Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl were incapacitated at the time. Steven didn’t have his powers. Peridot could have finally had a chance to be a part of saving the world! She should have been! She knew about the injector Spinel used, and the writers could have at least tried to act like she was doing something! But instead she. Bismuth, and Lapis all stood and stared at the injector for what, forty something hours?!? I swear, that scene where Steven says, “I have no more friends to help me-”, completely forgetting about Peri and the other’s until they’re shoved in his face, was leaked audio of the writers forgetting my girl exists.

Now, I have a lot of hope for Peri in season six, because the writers- weather they did it on purpose or not- set her up for a lot of character growth. Some people see the way she was written as lazy too. Her being so happy-go-lucky, joky, and fun? It’s been seen as poor writing by many people. But I see something behind it. Because her character has become forced. And i’m certain the crew noticed it. Who didn’t? I still love her, but that’s just because i’m literally obsessed with her. But in all my obsessions and dozens of rewatches of every episode she’s in...i’ve noticed something that changed the way I see her personality.

Peridot has a very self destructive personality. It’s not shown there at the surface, but throughout the whole show, there have always been notes of it. Back when she was a homeworld gem, despite what her initial ego may suggest, I am under the impression that Peridot was pretty low ranking. She places herself above Pearl’s, but not much else? I’ll assume they’re more valued than Ruby’s, because Ruby’s seem to be considered pretty expendable. But like? She places Quartz Soldiers higher than herself, and while some of them, namely Jasper, are respected, we’ve seen from the way the Amethyst’s at the zoo are treated that they aren’t typically very high class. And her original devout loyalty to homeworld means she’d probably already have practically no self esteem with her lower ranking and homeworld’s obsession with conformity? Plus Peridot didn’t have any powers and that can’t help at all. And yeah, when shd joined the Crystal Gems she had to denounce the whole system, but her entire life before that point, her inferiority was a f a c t to her. Joining the Crystal Gems must hay have helped her views on life and her morals, but I’m not sure she became any healthier as a person? Like, yeah the Crystal Gems taught her basic values and morals. But they didn’t teach them to her in a way that made sure she understood, they just kinda got mad at her when she messed up and let her figure it out herself. I’m not saying the Crystal Gems did anything wrong. But like..she really learned that it was fine for people to inflict arbitrary rules onto her without justifying it and then get mad when she breaks their silent rules. Like when Amethyst supported her making fun of all the other Crystal Gems and then got mad when Peridot made fun of her. Obviously we all know making fun of people to their face is wrong. But she didn’t. And the way she learned was too vague because she just learned that if you upset someone it’s always your fault and that you don’t need to understand, just to blindly apologize so things are okay again. And in the episode Too Far, Peridot tries so hard to make Amethyst laugh. To please Amethyst. It’s why she ended up insulting Amethyst in the first place! Her need to please starts showing itself very clearly at that point. Now, the Crystal gems only ever taught her how to be a good person. But that changed. Enter Lapis Lazuli. A deeply traumatized gem. A gem who was irritable and emotionally volatile. And Peridot, who was taught by homeworld that she didn’t matter, and by the Crystal Gems that other people did matter, and had a right to be angry at her whenever they pleased for reasons she didn’t understand, was absolutely vulnerable to how Lapis acted. Now, she clearly doesn’t go out of her way to please people she doesn’t know. But she did know Lapis. She had an overwhelming desire for Lapis to like her as well. And so we leave a gem whose bound to be very sensitive and have countless triggers (and is prone to angry or emotional outbursts)...alone with a gem whose all set up not to stand up for herself and that when someone’s upset at you, do anything you can to make it right, and it’s absolutely your fault. Immediately after being left with Lapis, though, her personality hadn’t changed into the wacky funtime dorito a lot of my fellow fans (and the critics too), like to criticize. And that’s because it wasn’t until Too Short To Ride that the final piece of her self sacrificing, horribly self-destructive personality came into place. If you don’t recall, there was a scene where Peridot was upset. At first Amethyst just..comforted her. But, well, when Peridot didn’t immediately feel better and fake joy for Amethyst...her tablet was nearly thrown into the sea. This was treated as completely fine and normal. And Peridot, i’m sure, suffered for it. Because there came the idea that things worked out better if she was who people wanted her to be. Peridot changed after that. Amethyst had punished her for being sad. And Lapis must have taken it poorly if Peridot ever got angry. Those things combined with the rest of her character arc? Of course she started trying to lighten the mood whenever she could. Of course she dedicated herself to being happy and silly and making sure everyone else was alright. And this is deeply written into her subtext, most notably in Raising The Barn. Now, at first I thought that episode was meant to highlight that Lapis was a very bad ‘friend’ (or gf, however you wanna read it), to Peri. But well...the show never treated it like that. They never treated lines like “i’ve been bending over backwards for her” or “I can’t tell her how I feel” or “There are things I should tell you, but I know they’ll upset you, so I don’t say those things”, and of course “We don’t matter. Lapis needs us”/”We don’t have a choice in this.” like they were about Lapis being toxic- even emotionally abusive to an extent, which is how I initially read it. Lapis never learned a lesson. No one said Lapis did anything wrong. Of course, I do still think Lapis was wrong there (she made the choice that they were leaving without consulting Peridot. She got angry at Peridot for lying to her when she had no right to. Etc), but now I realize that it wasn’t just Lapis being awful and having no consequences.That episode was there to shove this aspect of Peridot’s personality in our faces. And most of us missed it completely. Of course, it makes sense, seeing as many things Rebecca and the other writers weave into the show are only there in hindsight. It took me twenty views and multiple rants about how the way that episode showed their relationship was pointless, to realize just what the point is. And what’s more? In the climax of the episode, Lapis leaves. Peridot is emotionally open with Lapis, the thing she’d been afraid to do, the thing that goes against her self destructive way of thinking...and Lapis leaves. That is why I am 100% sure Peridot is still stuck in her self destructive behaviors with no one noticing and no real support system to help her deal with it.

So yes, the writers set her character up perfectly for the future. Weather they meant to or not. We’ll only see if it was bad writing or a perfect setup once the show is over. And well...I hold out hope that this was purposeful. Because if there’s one thing I know about Rebecca Sugar, it’s that she’s a genius at story and character writing. There’s no way she didn’t mean for this to happen. Or at least, that she hasn’t seen the open door and decided to take that opportunity. I have a lot of respect for Rebecca, and I want everyone to know she will most likely do our Peri justice.

I would love to have any thoughts? Weather they’re agreeing with me, adding to my thoughts, or criticizing what I said. I would love any discussion on this topic because it’s been bouncing around my head for a long while now.

#steven universe #peridot steven universe #steven universe theory #kinda a theory?#not really

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lazulifoster · 5 years

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An Unexpected Visitor (Loki X Reader) Part 2

Prompt: Sex by The 1975, Million Dollar Man by Lana Del Rey, and If I Never See Your Face Again by Maroon 5 feat Rihanna

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Swearing; angst; arguing; mild sexual content

Word Count: 3k+

A/N: Inspiration from my Spotify Playlist again lol I think I say this every time I post something but sorry if its a slow burn, I actually have a lot of ideas for this fic but I like a slow build ;) Hope you enjoy part 2 if there are typos, from the bottom of my heart, my bad :)

Brief Summary: Loki and you dated back in college before he up and vanished. You have moved on with your life, even started a family, but an unexpected visitor makes his way back into your life.

||5 years earlier||

“Shall I compare thee to a summers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.” “Loki…” “Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out, even to the edge of doom.”

Loki.” “…by heaven, I think my love as rare as any she belied with false compare.” “LOKI! I’m going to fail this quiz if you don’t shut up and quit reciting Shakespeare!” “Oh, hush, love. There is no reason to study, anyway. You know all the answers already.”

“I just want to double check and make sure. Because last time this happened, I practically failed my quiz.” “I seriously doubt you’re capable of failure, Y/N. Besides, your beauty alone deserves to be glorified at every waking moment.” “ Oh pleeease, your flattery won't work this time.” “Won’t it?” Loki leaned in close to me, placing gentle kisses along my neck, causing my will to study to wane dramatically.

Loki then pushed my notes and books of my bed, and we both rapidly undressed, making me completely forget about my upcoming quiz.

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

“You better start fucking explaining yourself, Loki!”

I began a feeble attempt to reel in the myriad of thoughts flooding my mind. My emotions were a chaotic blend of utter confusion and absolute joy. Loki was here, in the flesh; holding me, kissing me, and telling me we belonged together.

I had pictured this moment so many times over the years, and nothing was happening like I had imagined it. But as much as I missed Loki and secretly yearned for his over the years, reality slowly crept in. Loki was gone far too long to go without explaining himself. I needed answers. Lots of answers.

“My love, I promise you, I will explain everything, but this is hardly the time or place—” “Oh no, no, I am not playing games with you Loki! The “time and place” is right now! You’re the one who left and decided to just randomly show up out of nowhere!” My voice cracked, and I forced myself to hold back more tears, annoyed at myself for getting emotional again.

“I need to know what happened to you, Loki. You owe me that much.”

I could see Loki felt guilty. I knew that behind his devil-may-care attitude and playful demeanor he felt awful for deserting me. I started to feel sorry for getting heated with him again. The Loki I knew would never just leave without a legitimate reason. But suspicious thoughts kept lurking in my head. He’s just trying to manipulate you. I shook the feeling aside, I already had too much to think about. I reached up and rubbed my hand through his beautiful black hair.

“I’m sorry, Loki. I’m just—I don’t know, there is a lot to take in.”

Loki gave a slight grin, placing both of his hands on my waist.

“As much as I’d love to chat with you about everything that's happened, darling, your mum has prepared something for dinner that smells absolutely delicious, and it would be a shame to let all her hard work go to waste.”

I gave a slight chuckle. Loki was right. If I wanted to know the full story, it would be best to wait till my parents and ex weren’t around. Also, I hadn’t eaten all my food at the restaurant with David, so I was actually quite hungry as well.

“Fine. But this isn’t over.” I reminded Loki. He nodded and leaned forward and gave me a soft peck on my forehead before both of us walked in the house. Neither my mom, dad, or David noticed Loki had ever left; still speaking with his illusion.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Mom asked suspiciously

“Oh yeah—um—no I didn’t.” I stumbled over my words like a nervous school girl. Keep it together.

Rachel waddled up to me babbling what sounded like, “Mama.” She wasn’t really speaking yet, but her little attempts always made me so proud. I picked her up off the floor, and she looked around at us five adults standing around talking. Rachel’s eyes met Loki’s, to which Loki made a silly face at Rachel, causing her to laugh loudly. The brief moment between them made me and my parents chuckle. Seeing Loki interact with Rachel made my heart melt; it was almost too adorable for me to handle. The sweet moment ended abruptly however when I looked over at David and saw an irritated scowl cross his face. Knowing David’s temper, I cleared my throat to break the building tension.

“So…what did you make for dinner, mom?” “Oh, just some roast chicken with mash potatoes and Brussel sprouts, nothing fancy.”

“A regular feast, I cannot wait to try, Mrs. Y/L/N.” Loki smiled

“Well, come on in the dining room then, we don’t want the food getting cold.” Mom began ushering us to the dinner table.

“I already ate,” David interjected.

Mom, still walking away, yelled behind her, “Well I guess you can go home then, David.”

My dad laughed from the dining room at my mom’s sassy comment, making David looked at me and whispered, “What the hell?”

"It’s ok, we’ll talk later. I’ll text you.”

David gave me an annoyed look but decided it would be better to leave before he left my parent's good graces entirely. David gave Rachel a quick kiss goodbye and made a quiet exit.

When David left, all of us inadvertently let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Finally got him out of here, goodness gracious,” Dad grumbled.

“Dad, can we not…”

“I just want a relaxing family dinner with all of, it’s been too long.” Mom was beaming. Sometimes I wondered if mom loved Loki more than I do.

Did.

My mind was still an absolute whirlwind. Barely an hour ago, David and I were at dinner, talking about our daughter’s future and reconsidering where our relationship stood. Then I see Loki’s car in my parent's driveway with his stupid “God of Mischief” vanity plates, next thing I know were kissing, uprooting so many feelings I had pushed down over the last 3 years; and now Loki was eating dinner at my house like we had years ago. My emotions were a constant ebb and flow or fury, and affection One moment, I suppressed every urge I had to cause a scene and demand answers from Loki. The next, I wanted Loki to take me in his arms again and to pick up where we had left off. I still couldn’t comprehend how someone who I spent almost every day with since I was 18 to just suddenly vanished. I mean, I knew about Loki being a god. I knew about his brother, Asgard, and the Avengers. I didn’t know everything, but he had told me bits and pieces and opened up to me over the years. I also knew he would have to leave occasionally concerning “family squabbles” and things concerning the Avengers, but he would always let me know ahead of time and would even send his illusion to check in on me.

The leading theory I had settled on for Loki leaving was I thought I scared him off because of the last conversation we had. Petty, I know, but I couldn’t think of anything else it could possibly be.

I remembered every detail about our last conversation, probably because I played the moment repeatedly, trying to figure out what went wrong.

It was almost the end of the semester. Loki and I were in a local coffee shop, close enough to the college to walk, but not close enough where it was bombarded by other collegians studying for finals. Loki was actually helping me study for my other classes besides literature. I was studying for a freshman world geography class, an easy elective I took to boost my GPA. We had both ordered our drinks (Loki drank an Italian roast, black, and I had a cortado.)

While he was helping me study the countries of the Eastern Hemisphere, I looked up at him.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married? Or have kids?”

While Loki took a sip of his coffee, his eyes quickly shifted to me.

“I mean, one day. I’m not saying to me—or anything—um, I was just curious. Plus I’m bored of studying.” I gave an awkward laugh, trying to hide my cheeks turning a bright shade of crimson.

Loki bit his lip and tilted his head up and looked off in the distance. I felt like I could actually see wheels turning in his head. Then he spoke.

“I honestly cannot answer that.”

“Oh…”

“Well, I don’t know, truthfully. Marriage seems so, arbitrary to me. Especially, as a god, time means nothing to me, but to Midgardians, time is so precious, so you decide one person to spend that time with until your dying breath. So if I were to marry an Asgardian, I would be tied to them for possibly, millennia. And if I was to marry a Midgardian, they will have already lived a quarter of their life. I’ve been alive far too long and have learned there is no point in getting attached to something I cannot keep.”

He spoke so matter-of-factly that it almost brought me to tears. Was that all I was to him? A mere mortal with 25% of my life over. I felt foolish for thinking I could be more to him than a Midgardian “friend with benefits.”

Pretending not to be hurt, however, I nodded nonchalantly as I listened to his rant and took a sip of my drink. He continued.

“I could see myself having children though, one day.”

“So you can’t see yourself getting married, but you can see yourself having children? Alrighty then.” I laughed, accidentally letting my hurt feelings slip into my reply.

“Do you see a problem with that, love?”

“No, not at all, to each his own. So kids huh?” He looked at me and gave me a rueful grin.

“I would love to give my children the childhood I always craved.”

I gave a sympathetic groan and reached out for his arm and gave him a gentle squeeze. I didn’t want to press the issue further. I knew how sensitive he was about the subject. After a few moments, Loki spoke again, looking directly into my eyes.

“Did you ask me that, because I am someone you would want to marry?”

My eyes inadvertently widened and swallowed a little harder than necessary. I felt a little uneasy because Loki refused to break eye contact with me.

“Honestly, Loki…” I felt instant nausea from my nerves.

“Yes?”

“You are someone I want to marry. Why wouldn’t I? You’re amazing, you’re well read, you’re kind, but more importantly, you’re my best friend, of course, you’re someone I would want to fucking marry! I don’t care if I’ve ‘lived a quarter of my life’ already if you love someone you choose to love them no matter what!” I spoke a little louder than I intended too because a few coffee shop patrons turned their heads toward our table.

Loki chuckled at my obvious embarrassment. I gave an awkward half-smile and placed my hands on my face as if trying to wipe away my blushing cheeks. Loki grinned at me and brushed a few strands of hair away from my face before he spoke again.

“Well, darling, I am very flattered.” He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Now how about we get back to studying? You need to do well on your exam.”

The quick change of subject confused me for a second before I agreed with him and I began to study for my exam again. After a while, I was ready to go call it a day. Loki offered to give me a ride home, but I initially declined and told him I’d walk; partly because that day was uncharacteristically mild for winter and I wanted to enjoy the lovely weather; also I was extremely embarrassed about the conversation we had inside the coffee shop. But Loki insisted that he take me home and I, not in a mood to argue, I caved. The car ride was awkward, neither of us said anything the whole trip which generally wouldn’t be all that unusual, but because the conversation did not go as planned on my part, I felt that maybe I had crossed the line. When Loki finally reached my driveway, he parked his car and looked at me.

“Y/n, I want to apologize if what I said hurt you. Please don’t misunderstand me, I care for you deeply. I may not know what the future holds but what I know for certain is that you belong to me, and I belong to you, no matter what happens.”

I smiled at him, exhaling a breath I held in the whole car ride; thankful for his reassurance. Loki and I never had any labels in our relationship which was alright for the most part because I knew he cared for me, but every once in a while it was nice to hear him tell me how he felt. Even if he did think marriage was just a quirky Midgardian tradition. But one part of what he said caught me off guard: ‘No matter what happens’”? What does that mean? Ultimately, I shook it off as me being too analytical and leaned in to kiss Loki.

“I love you too, Loki.”

I stepped out of his car and waved back at him, “See you tomorrow!”

He waved back at me and drove off. That was the last time I saw or spoke to Loki.

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

Dinner with Loki and my parents went as well as expected. The meal mom prepared was delicious, Rachel only threw half of her food on the floor, and mom and dad bombarded Loki with questions.

“So where have you been, Loki? We were starting to worry about ya.” Dad said, giving Loki a pat on his back.

“I have been rather busy with work, I’ve done a little bit of traveling, and also spending time with my family.”

I rolled my eyes. I swear to god he better not lie to me like that when he accounts for the last few years.

“Well, it’s good to have you back, Sweetheart.” Mom cut in, “Will we see more of you?”

Loki looked over at me when he answered, “Yes indeed. I’m not going anywhere as long as I can help it.”

I rolled my eyes again, trying to hide the smile forming on my lips.

Once dinner was over, leftovers and dishes put away, My parents said their “goodnights” and left for bed. I also excused myself for a brief moment, needing to get Rachel ready for bed. Before I carried Rachel to her room, Loki reached for Rachel’s little hand, “Goodnight little love, thank you for showing me all your toys this evening.” Rachel babbled incoherently and gave Loki a smile showing all the teeth she had.

“I think somebody likes you” I smirked, “Say ‘thank you Loki for playing with me’”

Rachel babbled again while Loki lowered himself to her eye level, giving her his undivided attention.

“Well, it was my pleasure, Rachel. Have pleasant dreams.”

I left and tucked Rachel into her little bed, and she fell asleep shortly after. As she slept, I stared at her for a moment before heading back to the living room. I thought about how adorable Loki was with my daughter. Interacting with children seemingly came so naturally to him. I also wished that David would be the same way with Rachel. He was a great father in that he worked hard to provide for her, but that was the only way David showed he loved her, especially after we parted ways. David wouldn’t play with her, and would hardly make time to spend time alone with her. He blamed work for not being around Rachel as often as he should. David worked for his father’s law firm. Influential attorneys defending the most guilty and the richest. I know Rachel was far too young to understand the nuances of a father/daughter relationship, but whenever David would walk past her or halfheartedly acknowledge her, I could see in her little eyes, that it hurt her.

I made my way back to the living room and saw Loki sitting on the couch, waiting for me. He stood when I re-entered the room and made his way toward me.

“I should probably get going, I know we could all use a restful nights sleep.”

“We still need to talk—”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Loki gently interrupted, “Why don’t we meet in the morning for breakfast, we can go anywhere you want to go.”

“Well, my parents can’t watch Rachel tomorrow, they both have something they have to go to, so if we go anywhere, Rachel will have to come.”

Loki’s face lit up, “That sounds delightful! We shall make a day out of it then.” His hand reached down placed his palm on my face like he had earlier. This time I didn’t swat him away, instead, I wrapped my arms around him. I missed feeling his body against mine. Loki pulled me in closer and rested his chin on top of my head.

Sadly we were interrupted by my phone vibrating. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw a text from David reading: Hey, we need to finish talking when you get a chance. We couldn’t with that guy hanging around. Text me back ASAP.

I groaned. Loki peaked at David’s message and scoffed,“‘That guy’? Charming.”

“You have no idea,” I replied, more to myself than Loki.

Loki’s face turned concerned, “What do you mean?”

“Ugh, he’s just—sometimes he’s a dick, but otherwise he’s alright. He makes sure Rachel is taken care of, so that’s all I care about.” Giving me a dubious look, I reassured Loki that I was fine and that David was just annoying sometimes. Reaching for my hand, Loki made his way toward the front door.

“Well, I better go, love. I look forward to spending the day with you and Rachel.” Loki pulled me close and kissed me on the lips before closing the door behind him. I peeked out the front window and saw him stoop down into his car, rev his engine, and drive off. What have you been up to, Loki Odinson?

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

David, back at his penthouse apartment, reclined in his Eames chair, sipping away at bourbon and fiddled with his phone. He had searched the name “Loki Odinson” over and over on Google but only found references to Norse Mythology.

Who the fuck is this guy?

David exited his Google Search and began scrolling through his contact list until he found the name, Darren. He pressed the call icon and waited for him to answer.

“Hey David, you’re up late.” “Darren. I have a favor to ask.” “Anything Chief, what do you need?” “I need you to look into someone for me, the name: ‘Loki Odinson.’”

“You got it, boss. I’ll see what I can find.”

Darren ended the call, and David went to his iPhone photo album. He scrolled through his pictures until he found an old picture of Y/N.

This stupid bitch better be careful. She’s gonna get her heart broken all over again.

Taglist:

@imasultforlokiandspencerreid

@crescent-night

@portietomednalynn

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson #loki friggason #loki laufeyson #marvel mcu #loki smut #marvel #loki #loki fandom #avengers #latenight #loki fanfic #tom hiddleston

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secretgamergirl · 6 years

Text

Let’s talk about how Ranma is trans, part 3

Continued from Part 2.

The main thing going on in Volume 21 is Ranma getting drawn into a cheerleading contest. I’m only bringing this up because my gut says there’s going to be a while because I have something to talk about, and it’s a good reminder that stuff like this is absurdly common in this series, and I’m not desperate enough for examples to need to grasp at straws like this:

Ranma’s compulsive competitive streak rationalizes everything going on this page, and doesn’t particularly provide any evidence of her actually being a girl, beyond her prioritizing this victory over the humiliation and dysphoria a boy would be subjecting himself to in going down this road (which includes spending a week dating Kuno on the next page).

Now, the fact that this arc ends with Akane giving a heavy sigh at how this was Ranma’s plan A, personally going the direct route of just throwing on some kendo gear and participating in the actual martial arts competition Ranma felt compelled to cheerlead for, inspiring Ranma to cheer for her instead, and confess her love for the mysterious stranger she thinks is some mystery guy before she’s unmasked, that’s pretty telling.

Like, I don’t actually see a longterm relationship between the two of them ultimately working out, but it’s not hard to imagine this series ending with them getting married, and I can only picture that wedding ceremony with Akane in a suit and Ranma in a big poofy bridal gown. I mean, I’ve read the actual ending, and that’s still the only way I can picture it, you know?

... oh and Volume 22 picks up from here, with the gasping crowd pondering if Ranma is in girl mode when they have sex. This is relevant here as a reminder that at this point Ranma is totally out of the closet. Everyone knows about the whole curse thing, and it’s been like 18 volumes since she last attempted to pretend she was some mysterious stranger when publicly in girl mode. Also while totally off the mark of how physically intimate these two are, I appreciate that this random guy in the crowd has my back on how obviously Akane would top. That’s generally the rule of thumb when trans women date cis women by the way. There’s obviously exceptions, and I don’t want to get too sidetracked here, but, random crowd guy’s imagination is much closer to reality than most people’s.

V22C2 however is very, very significant to my whole thesis here, being the introduction of Ranma’s mother, seen here fishing Ranma out of the river after she “accidentall” falls in by walking on a faulty chain link fence:

I already got into things with Nodoka here in part 1 of this series, but seriously, this whole arc here is hard for me to get through now. A mother who is outwardly incredibly sweet and kind, especially towards total strangers, while quietly deeply conservative about traditional gender roles, and who threatens to kill her own trans daughter if she deviates from the “manly man” role she envisions for her hits entirely too close to home for me today.

Also for some reason, since starting this series, like a dozen people have gotten upset with me for referring to Genma being abusive in the same fashion, but aside from the general abusive nature of that relationship, no, the suicide pact of manliness was totally his idea. People just edit their memories because we’re all conditioned to blame women for everything.

So now we’ve got this flashback to having an infant Ranma “sign a contract” by pouring ink on her hand and letting her slap a piece of paper as Nodaka reminds everyone how seriously she’s taking this. Ranma blurts out “Ranko” as a cover name to avoid being outed to her. Real trans people almost never go that route, but it took me years to work out what I wanted to change mine name to officially. You take your time and keep thinking about it girl.

Ranma’s reaction to this information is getting, justifiably, quite angry at Genma for making this agreement, as she is now forced to deceive her mother, instead of immediately coming out to her. By the way, here’s Ranma getting mad at Akane for referring to her as manly and handsome in boy mode. Like, yeah, mitigating factor that you’re lying to prevent her from getting murdered, but it is incredibly painful to hear that sort of misgendering crap from people you care about in any circumstances.

... OK I don’t want to waste my whole scan pasting budget on this book when there’s still so many to go in this batch, but I could paste in every page. Nabiki of all people (Akane’s sister, sells candid nudes of Ranma to dudes who have crushes on her) refuses to go along with the lie here. When asked how Ranma spends all her spare time fighting (which is technically true), she corrects that to spending all her time running around in increasingly feminine costumes. Some “they were saying Boo-urns” later, Ranma asks her what the hell, and turns out she isn’t just trying to be a jerk. Her mom’s long dead, and the thought of Ranma missing out on a serious emotional reconnection to her mother because she’s scared of how she’ll react to her “son” being a girl. On the one hand, that is a surprisingly sincere and real feeling bit of character development for an otherwise largely one-dimensional character who normally comes across as a heartless jerk. On the other hand, SCREW YOU NABIKI! YOU DO NOT OUT TRANS PEOPLE TO THEIR ABUSIVE FAMILY LIKE THAT! IT CAN GET PEOPLE KILLED, AND YOU ACTUALLY KNOW THAT!

Soun encourages her to stay closeted around her, but try and form as much of a positive connection as she can otherwise, which is a much healthier approach. Mostly this means hanging out with her in girl mode hoping she doesn’t catch on. She tries actually approaching him in boy mode, usually thwarted by shenanigans because this is a comedy. The one time she actually reaches her though, just before introducing herself as her “son,” she hears her speculating that maybe Ranma is avoiding her because Ranma really isn’t manly.

... OK I could stop this whole analysis on that first panel there. This isn’t subtext at this point. That’s not performative dialog. That’s Ranma talking to herself about how she feels better embracing her femininity, as she voluntarily activates her “curse,” having realized that she is so undeniably, fundamentally female that she can no longer convincingly pull off pretending to be a boy.At this point in the series, she’s clearly no longer an egg in heavy denial. She has had that contemplative moment every trans woman goes through eventually where we break through every lie we told ourselves about who we really are growing up, accepted who she really is, and knows you can’t ever go back at that point. Good for you Ranma, I know how hard pushing past that emotional wall can be, especially when it means alienating family like this.

The rest of that volume is light gag stuff, although there is a bit where Ranma ponders if she’s changed in some fundamental way where girls no longer like her. Volume 23 brings Pantyhose Taro back He’s still an openly transphobic creep, I still hate him. Ranma still glares at him over the slurs, but notably never tries to defend herself by claiming to be a guy. Oh and Nodoka shows up again, to teach the girls to cook. Complex feelings from Ranma there, obviously.

Also, I’m not going to throw up a scan for this one, because I’m trying to avoid pages with topless girls, but a good chunk of this volume involves Ryoga accidentally hitting Ranma with this magical Cupid’s Arrow type fishing rod, causing her to fall in love with him, and... yeah it’s made pretty clear that she prefers to be in girl mode if she’s going to sleep with someone.

Volume 24 introduces Herb, the final curse victim in the series, having fallen into the same spring Ranma did. Herb however is clearly a guy. He’s actually doubly cursed, having been hit with a magic ladle that locks people in curse forms unless hit with a matching unlocking artifact (which Ranma is also hit with, and a couple others as this arc goes on), but rather than going “Welp, I guess I’ll start wearing cute dresses and dating guys! every time I can rationalize it even a little!“ he... wears really form-concealing clothes and does his best to not even let his own underlings know he’s cursed.

That arc stretches into Volume 25, followed by a really arbitrary fight against a new teacher, with a goal of sealing away her terrifying fighting technique, just because, which everyone gives up on after a final gag. Writing gets kinda sloppy in some of these later story arcs, motivation wise. I was going to say the Herb arc makes a really strong case for genderfluid vs. female for Ranma (and again, we can totally share representation here), because other than fixing that curse freeeze, there is literally no motive for them to fight, but... that’s pretty common in the back half of the series. Fighting for fighting’s sake is Ranma’s overriding motivation in general, which is why I keep passing on using most fights as evidence.

Volume 26 is about fighting a hydra and centers characters who aren’t characters. Akane looks good in drag. See again my wedding outfit thoughts.

Volume 27 is also a lot of wacky gag stuff not really focused on Ranma. I need to break all this text up though so, Ranma buys a new bathing suit for every beach trip.

Volume 28 is 100% about some random one off villain showing up in town, pretending to be Ranma, to steal something from Nodoka. You’d think I’d have more to talk about, considering, but it doesn’t really move the plot forward at all.

Volume 29 is all throwing stories to neglected side characters.

Volume 30 starts off by giving Ryoga a new love interest, in the hopes of being able to maybe pair people off in actually healthy ways, but THE HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS.

Yeah that’s just a random gag to hit the reset button (Ranma helped him avoid another girlfriend-doesn’t-know-the-cute-pig-is-you thing, see) but I’m coming in way under budget on images and way too serious on tone so the shipping will continue. But seriously she misconstrues that and leaves and he can’t find her again because of the easily lost thing.

Not a whole lot more to say here. Hinako, the teacher Ranma arbitrarily fights actually comes back a LOT for a character I forgot even existed, introduced this late in the series. Nodoka shows up again towards the end here, and they go all “5 second rule!” with it but she’s kinda putting the pieces together here:

This look at the original manga run concludes next time. I mean, in the sense that I’m going to run out of manga to reread. In the sense of proving my overall point, that happened the second I hit this panel:

#trans reading #ranma 1/2 #ranma #trans

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yeoldontknow · 6 years

Text

In Absentia

Author’s Note: hello!! welcome back to chanvember! i hope everyone is having The Best Time. this story, like IWTN, will also be very unlike the standard bits of writing i do. this piece is very loosely based on George Orwell’s 1984, and i hope...wow i hope you like it because my word i loved writing it. Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Summary: In a city where love is a considered a disease and a crime, you are arrested and forced to undergo treatment. While in prison, you think on all your happiest times with Chanyeol. Genre: sci-fi; angst; romance; some smut Rating: R Warnings: dark themes; explicit sexual situations Word Count: 4,294

I wish I could just...stop. I wish my heart would let me.

If someone else could be in this room with me, I'm sure they'd see my face - take in my sagging eyes and leather skin binding hollow bones together - and call me insane. If someone were here, I’m sure they’d try to talk to me, ground me in some kind of brittle reality that reminds me of all the ways I am little more than a sinner. Maybe, if someone were here, I would listen. Perhaps, I could even be persuaded to believe them. But I am alone, in this ten by ten cell.

Desperately alone.

Sometimes I wish I would die. I get pushed to that limit when the agony becomes too much to bear, when they hold me down in that transcendent moment when you can feel your life slipping between your fingers. In that moment, you think strong enough to hold on, but in the back of your mind, you know doing so means accepting the pain of actually being alive, and life itself becomes an all encompassing suffering for an indeterminable amount of time. It feels like it could go on forever. That's when I want to let go.

But I won't.

I will never let myself slip away. Often, it feels so easy and simple, and the knowledge that everything would end nearly drives me to finally giving in. But to die means I would forget and that I would be forgotten.

And I don't ever want to forget.

In truth, that's what they are doing. When they drag me from this cell, down the hall, and into the sterile white room; when they strap me into the chair; when they place the neurocipher onto my head, all they really want to do is take my memories. All of them, they are not picky, uncareful and unorganized, they take like vultures at a feast. They don't realize that doing this forces my heart into cardiac arrest and traps my brain in a stasis of constant stroke - or maybe they do and they just don't care. In the end, I think probably the latter.

It's like they're hungry for them, ravenous beasts of the police force who cannot, and will not, ever know or feel the love I have. I was stolen and beaten, arrested and gagged while unclean hands moved along my skin because I fell in love. Because I admitted to being in love and having love returned. The city mocked me, called me an imbecile and a traitor, because I knew it was the highest offense. I knew, we all knew. Rather, we know.

Love. The vicious affliction. Turns strong men into broken shells of their former selves, and leaves women in ruins; turns empires into ash and sends humans out to die for its cause. Love is a disease that can not be cured and so, the great country of Great Aeritum has set out to exterminate the symptoms. Valiant, maybe, if you’ve never truly lived.

And this is how they do it. Sucking the memory and the feeling out of the body, the soul, until nothing is left. Slowly, they have been feeding on every memory I have of him. They take him from me, and there are countless moments I can no longer recall, but they leave behind the sensation until that too comes undone. Without something tangible for my brain to hold or caress my emotion dissolves into a fog, until it dissipates completely.

At this moment, there are few memories left I am able to cling to. I reach for and grasp at them now, curled in on myself, desperate and needy to mold them into my bones. It's been six weeks and I can sense that a year of joy has been ripped from me, a lucid cavern of remembrance opening in my mind as a chasm. In the depths of my chest, I feel the seeping void where each of our shared seconds used to reside, and with the calloused threads of my mind I can almost touch the hole as it tries to form a scab.

To keep him as close to me as possible, I have etched our story into the concrete walls of my cell. I broke a small stone beneath my bed, sharpened it to a point, and each night since my first session I have taken to carving our story into my surroundings. I'm running out of space as quickly as I'm running out of time, and soon my words will bleed onto the floor.

Soon, they will all be just words.

You would never admit it, but you were positively aching for Chanyeol to take your hand. All polite smiles and boyish blushes, Chanyeol remained the picture of a gentleman even when his jubilant laugh gave away his true intentions. But even still, regardless of personality, he would never openly reach for you, fearing the EDA would find and arrest you both, separate you, a torture in and of itself. Instead, you settled for walking side by side, your fingers brushing in a nondescript pattern.

He walked you home, neither of you saying a word, both somewhere aware that speech was not needed. You bowed your head, smiling to yourself as the sound of his grey worker fatigues became the soundtrack of your final minutes together. It had, for intents and purposes, been an utterly exquisite first date. Unable to follow the conventions of the classic romantic stories you were taught in school, yet wholly unable to remain apart, Chanyeol had taken your to the game center where your played a virtual reality martial arts game until the city's curfew descended upon your pleasure, cutting the evening short.

And while in your own reality, neither of you could reveal your feelings, Chanyeol had displayed all that was necessary when he allowed his character to sacrifice himself for yours - four times.

When you approached your door, Chanyeol cast his eyes to the pale wood and gazed longingly at the entrance, a small sigh escaping his chest. Biting your lip, you choked an offer for Chanyeol to come inside down your throat, forcing it to die a silent death in the bowels of your lungs. With the CCTV's now inside each room of a citizen's house, there truly was no privacy and it would not be long before you would be discovered. Instead, Chanyeol nodded a quick goodnight and shook your hand.

As he walked briskly in the direction of his own home, you clenched your fist together to revel in the sensation of his warm skin. It was then you became aware that Chanyeol had slipped a small, folded note into your palm. Unable to contain your excitement, you turned towards your door, back facing the city’s cameras, and discretely unfolded the paper.

I wish you knew how badly I want to touch you; I wish it could be more than this. Yeol

I've come to loathe the morning, the slamming of the steel door against the wall shattering my brief moments of peace. They drag me by my ankle, crude and barbaric, out of bed and onto the floor. The most efficient alarm system I have ever come across. During my early days here, I would fight their hands only to injure myself in the process. Eventually, I stopped the struggle and started to anticipate the pain of the fall. No matter how weightless I become, it always hurts.

It's the anticipation that causes the most pain. Waiting for the door to open; waiting for the greedy hand upon my skin; the fall; the tug of my flesh along the floor; the leather straps around my wrist. The fear never seems to lessen.

When I'm strapped to the chair, they always say the same thing.

"Prisoner 100101. Y/LN, Y/F/N."

Same arbitrary numbers. As though my identity is binary code that happens to translate to alpha-symbols.

"Guilty of: Romantic relations. Infected with: Emotional Deterioration."

A disease to cause the guilt, a sickness to devour the blame. I wish they saw that the only thing that had deteriorated was my nationalism.

I pick concrete out of my nails as they slip the helmet over my head again. The contraption has become a ceremonial headdress that lays bare my moments for my captors to feast. A deranged emotional buffet, I think of it. Sometimes, like today, I am bitter and I hope my thoughts, my feelings, my memories taste sweet. I hope they get drunk on them, and, then, I hope they die from their unsatisfied grief.

Other times, in the moment before their great feed, I imagine my memories are glass and they are broken into pieces by the electricity of voracious envy. These shattered pieces are the crumbs my captors crave.

They flick the switch and I am left bereft.

‘Chanyeol, it's two in the morning! What are you doing?’ you whispered, though your voice carried into the night, anxious and eager.

‘I'm taking you to the Veldapark!’

‘Someone will see! Are you insane?’

Hushed voices and soft giggles were the limits to your volume. Anything too loud, and the world would hear the truth. The world would hear you.

Even in the bleakness of your surroundings, the grim, sickly black of the night, you could see his beaming smile. ‘Not at this time of night, trust me.’

Fond suspicion and a warm smile masked by the dark. Suddenly, you were overwhelmed by affection. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you've done this before?’

‘Because I have. And this is the only time of night we'll get to see them.’

‘Yeol, I'm more worried that someone will see us - wait, who is them?’

‘You'll see.’

A park made of cement, no greenery left anywhere in the city. It tried to remain beautiful, a place where children would feel the soft hands of freedom as long as they were innocent. A jungle-gym, a slide, sculptures of ancient landmarks big enough to jump through. History frozen in time.

‘I still don't know if this is a good idea.’

‘We have 30 minutes before the CCTV turns its attention back to us.’

He tossed a blanket onto the ground, placing you in the very center of the Veldapark.

‘Come. Lay with me.’

There was no room for hesitation, not that you would. He was inviting, open, warm. In that moment, you found you craved only his voice, his arms, his soul.

‘I still want to know how you know so much about this,’ you sighed, coming to nestle beside him.

‘Shh. Just trust me.’

Fingers laced with fingers, and you were silent again.

Understanding, as gradual as one might assume it is, is a sensation that demands immediate attention. You, waiting patiently in the darkness, abruptly understood what Chanyeol had meant when he said "them," and your only natural response was to stifle your amazement and channel it to your fingers in increased pressure. Chanyeol responded in kind, nuzzling into your neck as though the sky was not spectacular, as though somehow you were the majesty on display.

As long as you lived, you knew in your heart you would never forget the magnificence that can be found in a meteor shower.

When I return to my cell after each session, I feel as though I am suspended in water. Never in my life have I felt so vacant, yet I am always filled with the detached remnants of longing. What I know is that I'm missing a piece of my life, what I don't know is how much is gone - I do not know what is gone. I could recall all my remembrances but nothing ever seems amiss.

That's when I crawl to the borders of my cell. Before me are a thousand tales that seem to belong to someone else, but as long as I remember him, as long as I remember us, I can smile in the knowledge that these forgotten encounters happened. I like to run my fingers over the words and imagine I'm touching our timeline, or that he can feel the tips of my fingers tracing the curvature of his lips.

There's an innate sadness that comes with these diary entries. When I read of how he touched me, how he kissed me or loved me until I couldn't say no. In these moments, I ache for the day they happened. In an almost existential way, reading of my past self gives me distance enough to feel as though these were never my moments to remember - they happened to someone else, and therefore were not not mine. Are not mine. Not anymore. How can I be possessive over something I don't remember? I no longer have attachment, merely a misguided nostalgia. Assumptions of a life departed from me, dead and rotting.

Most days, after my therapy sessions, that's when I see him - rather, don't see him at all. I see his hands. They slip through the slat in my door with a food tray, always warmed in secret so I can have at least one hot meal a day. I rush to the door to take it from him and I'm never shy about letting my fingers hold his, if only for one second. I can always tell if they're his hands or not. Always.

I should hate him. I wish that I could. He let me go, let me take the fall for something of which he was equally guilty. His cowardice made itself known in my time of need. But the agony of punishment would have been worse for him by at least a hundred fold. When an employee of the government breaches the laws they have sworn to uphold, why should they be shown any mercy?

And besides, there's something oddly comforting about knowing he's my warden. My darling Chanyeol. Standing guard outside my door without ever allowing himself to cross the threshold. He is not valiant, I do not think this brave. I simply relish that the absence of me in his life causes him equal torment. That’s the comfort, I suppose. The knowledge that we ache alone yet, paradoxically, together.

After I slip the empty dinner try back out the door, that's when I take my makeshift chisel and start to carve the remaining pieces of our lives.

‘I want your mouth on my neck,’ you gasped, fisting strands of dark hair between your fingers.

A groan escaped Chanyeol’s throat, his lips diving onto flesh only to pause and halt their kisses. ‘I can't do this. Not again.’

Inside his chest, his heart was breaking, you could hear it in the way his voice splintered as he spoke. His forehead came to rest against yours, and you your hands held tightly to his arms, an anchor for all his lost and wayward pieces.

You ignored the pang of jealousy that burrowed in your stomach, choosing not to think of the other person Chanyeol did this with. They were nameless, and therefore nothing, an inconsequential absence. He was yours now, this was your turn. ‘You can,’ you breathed, fingers kneading crescents into his flesh. ‘I'm telling you, we can do this. I want you to.’ If permission was what he needed, you would give it endlessly.

Your bodies came together, two immovable states united in their faction of love. Skin and flesh riding tidal waves of exalted desire rhythmic, gluttonous, and sublime. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced, and you found clarity in that moment to focus on the feel of Chanyeol’s fingers on your spine. How he held you as though he were keeping your seams together, body breaking apart as it attempted to contain the love you felt for him.

Above you, he looked into you, deep into the trenches of your wasted heart, and loved colours back into your bloodstream. Tears pooled in his eyes, making his brow furrowed as he thrust into you, slowly, gently. He trembled, then, lips pursed as he focused on you, worried and adoring. This stillness caused you both the unsatisfied sting of pain, hears and bodies begging to merge into one.

It became a sensation you would venerate until the day you died.

‘It was always you.’ The whispered words tumbled from Chanyeol’s lips as he thrust mercilessly into your pliant body, and you could sense the fear and the reverence with which they dripped.

It would always and only ever be him. In turn, it would always be you.

And, in a brief moment of naiveté, you were sure nothing could stop you.

I can't seem to find enough air in this cell. Not anymore. I can feel the quaking of my skin, of my lips, as I inhale and exhale shaking breaths.

I've only got one memory left. Just one.

I'm frantic to find an escape. I would claw my way out of this room and leave my written words behind to live with our last day, alone only in a corporeal sense but forever existing beneath his warm touch. One final day, the most important, the most dear to my heart.

In six hours, they will rip it from me and leave me in ruins. Without it, without him, I will be half of who I am. Without the memory of this torture I will not be the person I've grown into, and I will revert to the person I have come to despise. I am everything, if nothing, but a person comprised of the scars of my experiences.

The only window is covered by a glass screen. I have grazed my knuckles to bleeding with the number of times I've tried to break it. The door has only one external lock. I am trapped in this room with the only thing I hold dear, and the only thing I have left to lose. In its absence, I will wither.

I'm not sure when I drifted to sleep, but I am woken, as usual, by the slam of the door.

I become a small, petulant child, screaming my pleas and twisting my ribs so I can take one last look at my live-in diary. This is the last time these words will matter, the last time I will read them and feel the loss of him coat the linings of my atoms.

I have nothing to hold on to as I am pulled from the room, my fingers digging and sliding for purchase along the floor. Tears begin to sting my eyes, and I am briefly detached from my body as I hear the sound of my own gasping sobs echo off the high ceilings. A strong hand thrusts itself into my chest and I am winded, quickly silencing my vocal chords.

Before I have time to process what's happened, I find myself thrown into the chair. With what little oxygen I can get into my lungs, I force myself to find energy and thrust myself out to run away. Immediately I'm caught and returned, strapped in tightly while powerful hands on my shoulders force me to remain seated. Hot things burn my cheeks, turn my flesh into fire. Tears, I assume. It appears I still have it in me to cry.

The only thing I can do is postpone the loss. I will give them anything.

Memories of my time in nursery school.

The day I failed a history exam.

My triumph when I beat James Dellary in the game station.

These things are meaningless. I don't need them.

Take them all. Take everything. Leave me alone with the only moment that matters. The only thing I will ever need.

The only thing I can never have.

‘I love you.’

Chanyeol whispered the words slowly, in time with his thrusts into you, eyes shining with affection. He glistened with it, let the words help him shimmer.

A shiver rippled through your muscles, a quake of romantic intention, and you held on tightly to the skin of Chanyeol’s strong back. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you felt your eyes begin to water as your heart brimmed with love and need.

‘I love you,’ you whispered in return, lips gliding over the tendons beneath his skin. You kissed them, if only to keep yourself from weeping.

You both fell quiet, and you clenched your eyes shut as you listened to Chanyeol’s gasped breath so close to your ear. The whine in his throat told you he was was unsure how long he could hold back, your hips thrusting up to meet his in an uneven pace. You were craving speed, and he was craving you.

It took several moments for Chanyeol to growl and pull you into a sitting position, your legs wrapped gingerly around his lower spine.

‘Look at me,’ he breathed. ‘I want your eyes on me as you come.’

You obeyed, keeping your eyes wide open as his deft thumb found your clit and began to move in circles. His touch unmade you, pulled you apart and wove you back together, your muscles tightening around him as he brought you to the edge. Soon, your world was falling off its axis, but Chanyeol held you fast and held you hard. In his eyes, you learned to swim, in his soul you learned to breathe. There was warmth here, unmarred by the concrete skeleton of the city and turning the surface of your skin into oil, sweet and slick, gasoline for the bed upon which he loved you.

The strength and power of your orgasm nearly crippled your senses, a cry erupting from your lips as you clutched to him. But still, you looked at him. Still, you saw him.

‘My love for you could make the world,’ he muttered against your lips as you trembled around him, his own heart racing beneath your palm.

And then, a door was shut.

Everything shattered.

Today is the day I can go home. I have never felt such relief in my life.

No one has told me what my crime was, but they assure me that I have been a most excellent prisoner. My good behavior has offered me a full cure and I have been promised I will never be here again.

Sitting up on my bed, I stretch the tension out of my shoulders. I can't remember the last time I slept in my own bed, and I'm eager to return home. Though I have to admit, I have grown quite accustomed to the sterile white walls of my cell.

I gather my civilian clothes and change quickly out of my prison fatigues. The rough fabric of the blue uniform will not be missed, and I am relieved I will no longer feel so itchy.

In what feels like no time, I am being collected from my cell and handed a glass board that displays a release form. I run the stylus over the glass and sign my name. Everything should be processed before I even step out of the prison. I’m eager to smell fresh air, eager for the grey and the routine of my life.

In a moment of nostalgia, I glance back one last time at the cell that has been my home for six weeks. It's only then that I notice something is wrong, but I can't place it. I furrow my brow, trying to quell the sensation that is flooding my veins. It's akin to the fear that one has left the faucet running. But I know this cell. There is no change. As long as I can recall, it has always been white. Perhaps I am just too attached.

I'm led out the door by a grim looking man, thin lips and a receding hairline. He flanks me to my right and I wonder momentarily if he has ever smiled. He takes me to a man behind a desk and hands him my prison card. Within seconds, the few possessions I entered with are returned to me and the weight of my house key in my hand has never felt more welcome.

With downcast eyes, I turn to exit the door, ready to return to my old life. It's then that I bump into someone dressed in a warden uniform.

"I'm sorry, sir!" I exclaim raising my eyes to meet his. "I wasn't looking, I -"

I'm drowning in compassionate brown, chocolate right and sweet. Warm and….home. My heart seems to stop for a second, and the gravity in my stomach disappears, leaving me in a moment of sheer weightlessness.

I have never seen anyone so beautiful or so familiar. I have never felt like someone belonged to me. At my sides, my fingers tremble and twitch, desperate to have him and take hold of him. I want to pull him to me, pull him into me, and for one passing second I think he yearns the same.

But, in a flash, the sensation is gone. And I blink.

"It's fine," the stranger says. "I see you're going home! Good for you. It's about time."

"Yes," I nod slowly. "Six weeks is a long time."

"Perhaps I'll see you on the outside?"

There is a wave of hope in this man's voice, and I want to affirm his wishes.

"Yes. Perhaps."

He takes my hand, and it feels like it belongs there. "My name is Chanyeol." He smiles brightly and I'm blinded.

"Y/N."

He nods as if he knows.

Of course he does. He works here. I assure myself I'm being silly.

I turn to leave and, for some reason, I feel his eyes burning a hole into my back.

I'm positive I'll see those eyes again.

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