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fancy-rock-dove · 8 months

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Thoughts on why the main relationship in TGCF manages to be full of tropes that are trash-associated but is also deeply compelling:

There are SO MANY nuances of the complicated power dynamics and self-sacrifice in Hualian’s relationship that could’ve been cringily unhealthy at so many points and THEN they just WEREN’T. Not ever. Not once

Every time I revisit this novel, I remain so impressed with MXTX’s capacity for nuance. These two are so gone on each other. Hua Cheng literally worships Xie Lian like a god. They would commit atrocities for each other. There are literally characters in the novel who worry about the sheer, unconditional trust Xie Lian gives to Hua Cheng no matter how many secrets he has. In a lesser writer’s hands, this exact dynamic is unhealthy to the point of atrocity: one becoming an unmoored monster and the other both enabler and victim. The shadow of this dynamic is hinted at in the book 4 flashback but it is specifically not allowed to actually become that. Never do we see even a shade of that relationship slip into the book itself, because that’s not how it really is for these two, not even in the darkest flashback moments.

Many narratives in which this level of devotion is present, it would be accurate to call it blind devotion, which becomes uncomfortable for the sake of the follower and unhealthy for the development of their love interest, but here the devotion is so continuously and unfailingly anchored not in looking the other way (the damaging nature of doing so being one of the core themes of the novel) but is conversely about seeing clearly and understanding fully.

So when Hua Cheng does things like offering to take the plague sword and release the disease on Yong’an himself, it actually has the effect of letting Xie Lian see the effect these choices are having on himself more clearly. It was absolutely necessary that Wu Ming not say “let me do this because you want it done” but instead say “I would do this if you needed me to and you didn’t want to because I independently understand why you want this”, because then, refusing him is a real reflection for Xie Lian on himself. There is self-sacrificing devotion in the relationship, but only for the sake of their actual wellbeing, never just while following a blind desire to do what they say.

Like, Hua Cheng can refuse Xie Lian. That’s a pretty foundational thing that happened. He does refuse him things from the beginning, even in the most basic, relationship-defining things. Xie Lian asked him to forget him after the burning of his temples and he refused, and here we are now. It’s a devotion to each other’s wellbeing, that also manages to be so without either of them assuming they know better than the other what that person needs or wants. The only time Hua Cheng actively sacrifices himself (which Xie Lian definitely wouldn’t want if asked) it’s in pursuit of the goal/outcome that XL wanted/needed to happen.

There manages to be complete devotion to each other, and also deep respect for each other’s choices and judgement, and those things…. often don’t coexist in fiction. Like, Hua Cheng introduced nothing if not agency to Xie Lian’s life. In the grand majority of the side arcs, often the “twist” in the mystery we’re exploring is some variation on “was someone forced to do something? No, they had agency!” And whether what they did with it was bad is also very much up for debate. The backstories and current stories of our protags were often journeys in recognizing that they’re not absolved of personal responsibility for lack of easy options, and show them winning by choosing to wrest back agency instead, even to their own detriment. “Take the third path”, “no paths are bound” etc. are catchphrases of our main character for a reason. Sometimes the best option still ended in tragedy, but it didn’t compromise their integrity. I LOVE “no paths are bound” as a tagline for this book and a catchphrase for Xie Lian, because it ALSO ties the good things about the main relationship into the main themes of the book. Hua Cheng’s goal is not just to be able to protect, which he probably could have done as an ordinary super ghost, but to be powerful enough to put every single possibility on the table for Xie Lian. Hua Cheng needed to be the Most Powerful, because he decided that if Xie Lian wants to do something, Hua Cheng needs to be strong enough to make it happen, needs to make it so that that every option, every path, is always under serious consideration. He literally made it so that any roll of the dice was an equally good outcome (Which is the best rationale for designing an OP character I’ve ever heard in my life). He’s not preventing danger, but instead increasing his agency in the face of it. Essentially “If what you end up choosing is MORE DANGER then I’ll be unhappy about it but I won’t stop you, I will work to make that path walkable too. I’m not here to keep you on a path, I’m here to open and smooth the one you most want to use.”

And, moreover, both people are able to be insanely cool and insanely powerful and be looked up to by the other, because while the power dynamics between them, perceived or real, could’ve been uncomfortable at many points, they WEREN’T. The people involved are on even footing even when they think they’re not. There was never a time when their presence wasn’t good for each other, even before Xie Lian knew to pay attention. Even in Hua Cheng’s very earliest appearances in the book 2 flashbacks, it’s really notable that he had enough effect on Xie Lian and his well-being that he appears multiple times in Xie Lian’s memory of those events, even though he had no idea who he was, or even that all his appearances were the same person.

MXTX really seems to grasp what’s attractive about these protective/super-powerful-boyfriend dynamics in fiction, why they often go badly wrong/make fiction bad rep of healthy relationships, and then SHOWS THEM IN THEIR HEALTHY FUNCTIONAL FORM INSTEAD so we’re free to love what we love about them. At the end of the day, we’re shown the way the best of these things all ideally point to love and concern for the other person as they are, before any considerations of their role in your own life or what they do for you. BUT with the expectation of reciprocal respect and latitude to do what you need to do as well.

I’ve never seen another story do this quite so well with such so-often-abused tropes and dynamics, and it’s one of the reasons that the romance in particular makes this work so near and dear to me.

It kinda reaffirmed my ability to see these things I naturally love seeing in love stories as healthy, reasonable forms of affection and devotion when based in an actual healthy relationship. When much, much fiction that treats similar dynamics badly makes me want to feel bad for enjoying aspects of them.

So seeing THIS relationship be what it is was a validating, freeing, and clarifying experience.It basically explained for me why I like these things, and elucidated why, for me, they fit into my paradigm of ideal romance and devotion, even (especially) when they can be problematic if treated wrong.

In essence, seeing these tropes done well is also an exercise in seeing what was missing in cases where they were damagingly removed from context, and thus understanding their key aspects and the core behind their impact. This book actually literally kinda reframed the way I conceptualize romance by helping me put together how many of the tropes I love in romances actually fit into an ideal relationship.

A spring cleaning of my thoughts if you will.

An ordering of my conceptions.

And I bonded with it deeply for that.

And yet it is also trash, who would’ve thought.

(it is self-aware, culture-savvy, meta-commentary trash for the most part, that clearly leans into it with fond intention, so I really do not mind it. It manages to be genre bending while expressing only love for its own genre and why it is the way it is. No disdain here. Only love for things as they are.)

#wow you can tell I originally wrote this ramble at like 3am RIGHT after my very first reread of the novel way back when #sharing it anyway #I stand by the observations #though I may come back and edit this with more receipts later #during my 5th reread perhaps #tgcf #hua cheng #xie lian #hualian #my pre volume 7 tgcf opinions #tossing my thoughts into the void #long post #tgcf spoilers #just to be safe

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twinanimatronics · 3 months

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Saw the shit you got for sams ships and for fucks sake, people really don't seem to get that 1) robots aren't blood related and therefore they can choose to say yeah no I don't see you as a sibling/cousin/what have you and actually never did in the first place, I just felt pressured to put a label on what I am to you and it felt like I had to choose a familial label (to my understanding that seems to be what happened) and 2) aro ace people can date. Like...insisting that people not ship aro ace characters because "it invalidates their sexuality" is ignoring every single aro/ace person out there who does date (plus you mentioned Moon's questioning his sexuality anyways so like...bruh). :/ Aro aceness is a spectrum and a very nuanced and complex one at that. There's so many ways one can be aro ace. Aro aceness is not about whethwr you date or not it's specifically about feeling little to no or otherwise limited romantic and sexual attraction. That can range anywhere from sex and romance repulsed to indifferent to absolutely loving dating and sex (and that kind of aro ace isn't limited to specifically demiromantic and/or demisexual people either, you can have absolutely no attraction to a person while still enjoying dating and/or being intimate with them)

Mini rant over now oof, I hope you're doing ok :( ppl give each other way too much shit over something as inconsequential as a ship between fictional characters, it really is ridiculous (still absolutely baffled at the fact that people have sent literal death threats to people who ship sun x moon (og version just to clarify lol) like man please chill out)

It’s really just reskinned oncest anyway if you think about it. Fnejfjejd

And I literally got called aphobic for it with someone going aroace people are always guilty of being aphobic to their own community

Like—

What???

Over shipping fictional characters???

Dana, Bruja, and I are all on different ends of the aroace spectrum.

And yeah, I heard about all that :<

The sad thing is when I looked at some of the blogs that are reacting so hatefully, a majority of them were 16 year olds.

Which… I guess explains the lack of critical thinking and emotional competence.

They’re youngins and I can guarantee once they’re in their early or later 20s they’ll look back and feel embarrassed by their actions.

God knows I do

#shipping discourse

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margridarnauds · 11 months

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To clarify how nervewracking being online can be when you’re in this kind of job:

Like, we want to be enthusiastic about the texts we study! Great! I’d love to do nothing but write 100k words of fanfic about my favorite medieval Irish texts! ....but, especially with the less studied ones, that would tie it directly back to me because it isn’t like people wouldn’t be able to narrow it down.

And then you have the thoughts of “If my colleagues find this, will they think less of me? Will I become a laughingstock? Will they be able to see the divide between me as a genuine fan of this material VS me as a scholar?” Academia actually IS aware of fanfiction these days, yes, to the point where we’ve had a couple of papers look at some of the texts from the angle of transformative work, and a few of my colleagues + professors even know I do write it, but there are limits. If I write a fanfic featuring a particular character as queer and then write a paper about a queer interpretation of them, will I be judged as just wanting to force my interpretation of that character onto them because....I have a ship? I take some amount of personal pleasure in it? I enjoy the medieval texts that I have to read multiple times as stories alongside whatever cultural or literary value they have and can talk about them on both levels?

Every time I bring up that I’m writing a queer retelling, not a fanfic, a proper™ retelling™ of a medieval Irish text, people act like I’m writing gay porn. And there wouldn’t be anything wrong if I was! But that’s not what I’m writing. Now imagine that with the sometimes lurid connotations of fanfic. It’s fine for straight male scholars for decades to sexualize female characters or extensively analyze all the swords and spears that show up as phallic symbols, but god forbid you write content where there’s any hint of *enjoying* it if you aren’t a straight cis male.

Alright, let’s say I don’t write fic about the field, it’s gone, it’s out the window, I give up on it. If someone is super dedicated, they can still figure it out. What about any E Rated fic I write at all? Will they think less of me for that? Will they read it purely to find something to pick apart? What about 5 years down the line when I’m dealing with the job market? Will they take one look at my application and, even if they’re aren’t homophobic, decide that I just Don’t Fit The Image They Want to Convey? What about 10 years from down the line when I have students? What about 30-40 years down the line when I’m (hopefully) a senior scholar, or at least....okay, an older scholar? Will what I write be the subject of grad students snickering at conferences? “Professor X, when they were a grad student, wrote slash fiction!” I’ve seen grad students making fun of each other’s social media, this is something that is a legitimate risk. And this is me talking about the generic term “slash fanfic” -- this is not going into things like A/B/O fanfiction that, while they’re wildly popular, are often associated very much with a level of fandom cringe. This is not talking about sexual expression, which, tbh, should be protected anyway.

Plenty of people in my field adopt false names online for the sake of their privacy, as much as they can get, at least. Plenty of us hide or obscure our names. But the truth is that anything we do is a risk. And it shouldn’t be this way and of COURSE it’s biased against AFAB and queer academics (do you KNOW how many times I’ve been to a conference where the subject matter is just....Straight Male Writers™ writing poems or stories about medieval Irish texts that we then have to analyze because they’re Part of the Canon™ now? While I have to fear for my career for writing...oh wait, very comparatively mild queer content that generally acknowledges that women are people), it makes me furious every time I think of it because it is so *deeply* unfair to the point that I start to shake a little bit like a chihuahua whose rage has exceeded its body mass, but...I don’t believe any of us have delusions that these are the rules we’re playing by.

...you go into this sort of thing because you’re passionate about it and then you find that you have very few ways to express that passion.

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zumwhy-plays-minecraft · 1 year

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hiii i just read the second chapter of "the gold" and it was very good!!!! but im kinda confused about a name mentioned

so orpheus is wilbur, theseus is tommy, protesilaus is techno... who is euros? is it missa??? whether it is or not pls tell me why youve chosen that name for whoever it is since you have so kindly tempted me to

!!!!! YES!

Omg I didn’t think anybody would actually come talk to me about these buckle your fuckinh seatbelt Nonny cause I Have Thoughts And I Must Scream!

But first I should probably tell you that you are absolutely correct in all of your assumptions! Well done on matching the names to the people they belong to! Im going to take that as a sign that they sort of make sense!

Because that’s the case with the names, right? They make sense! Each name has a purpose and a very specific meaning and connotation attached to it.

Take Tommy / Theseus. Theseus is a mighty hero, the “greatest hero of Athens”, the one who united the warring African city states underneath his banner, a great hero by all accounts, only to be banished by those he considered friends, abandoned, and ultimately murdered. The storyline sounds a little familiar, right?

But the parallels don’t stop there! Techno / Protesilaus! Protesilaus is an unsung hero of the Iliad, the one who leads the way for all of the other warriors to step foot onto Trojan shores and make their mark.

And of course we have Philza / Zephyros, with our lovely Western Wind- the only one of the four winds to have a wife, commonly depicted with wings, associated with spring and this the color green… I hope you’re picking up what I’m putting down!

Because there are other associations that you can make, other patterns you can pick out, if you look! (Like, for example, you’ll notice that of the lovely lovely characters that we’re looking at that have been canonically given these Greek names, the ones that tend to get into the most trouble are the ones with the names of mortals, whereas the ones who are less inclined to be dragged into conflict have the names of gods… but I digress, as that’s probably more of just a funny coincidence and/or me misremembering what happened, and, you know, when Theseus is the one doing the dragging into conflicts, the data is a little biased but what am I saying this isn’t an actual interpretation/statement about anything- I’m making claims but I’m not married to them you know? Im just Having A Good Time, feel free to tell me if I’m Completely Wrong LMAO-)

So I essentially just took these patterns that were already starting to form, and expanded them! Techno and Tommy were given the names of Greek heroes who had similar themes, so Wilbur became Orpheus. Why Orpheus? You ask. Quite simple! A musician who changes the world with his words, a poet, if you will, who could cause even gods to pause to listen to him, who has a habit of attempting to meddle with the balance of life and death… you see where I’m going with this?

Then Philza, a god, has three mortal ‘sons’ (depending on what sort of interpretation you’re using but again I digress I digress for the sake of the fic they’re like biologically related but yanno whatever fiction is made to be interpreted!! Just have fun with it!!), but he is not the only one who’s got kiddos anymore, no sir!

Now for the Missa / Euros connection, you do have to stretch a bit, I openly admit it, especially since Euros is not a very well documented god At All. Euros is the East Wind, associated with autumn and sunrise, and generally (please feel free to take this with a grain of salt, I’m a first year classics minor I Barely Know What I’m Talking About Please Feel Free To Correct Me) regarded as one of the gentler of the four winds. But! If we look at Philza’s connection with Death (Mumza), and we say ‘hey, maybe that’s the reason he’s all birdlike, which is one of the major reasons he’s one of the winds’, and we look at Missa, there are two very big connections with Death that we find:

1. Mans is in a platonic polyamorous relationship with Death. Good for him! This is the like SUPER explicit connection

2. I mean he’s a skeleton. Or dressed like a skeleton. Also there’s the whole ‘angel’ thing. Death connection.

So. If we claim that Philza is a wind because of his connection with Death, and Missa is also connected with Death (and Phil), it only makes sense that Missa is also a wind, hence, Euros.

Now I could go into my whole idea about the place that Death/Mumza (and by extension, the names) has in the Connected SMP Universe in my head but that would take For Fucking Ever, so instead I will just thank you Profusely for letting me ramble on about these silly little guys, and leave you with Two Fun Facts!

1! I do have Greek names picked out for our lovely lovely kiddos, just for funsies.

2! I also have someone who I think would fit Boreas very very well, but as he’s not in the QSMP he won’t be showing up! (But I’d be down to hear ideas for other people y’all think would fit as our fourth and final wind! I’m just like. Collecting. Bird MCYTers. LMAO.)

#zumwhy rambles #sorry this is so long I got really excited haha #ask #answered #anonynous #qsmp #Philza #tommyinnit #techno #technoblade #Missa #Wilbur #Wilbur soot #missasinfonia #the gold - qsmp

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twisted-tales-told · 3 months

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🔥 ??

This ask game

On a completely unrelated note

Anyone on marauders TikTok at this point I simply do not trust. I don’t like your vibe. Your existence irritates me and I can’t wait for life to knock u off your high horse a bit. Not like a lot, but enough to make you bearable to share the planet with.

People have taken the marauders fandom way too far and way too seriously and I think it should all just burn down.

Erase it all. Give it 5 years to cool off.

Also snape is not that bad?? Yall are fucking CRAZY in your hating him but hyping up Barty. Crazy. Insane. “He bullied children” well your guy tortured Frank and Alice longbottom and fucking killed people for the sake of blood purity. Therefore I challenge you to come up with a legitimate excuse and not some random fictional morale code?? Like why is that the line. Why is that your reason. “He bullied children” for gods sake do you hear yourself??

At least be creative jfc.

I think there’s a lot of nuance to Snapes story, especially with aspects of class, privilege, gender (being a white male vulnerable to extremist ideology due to upbringing and life experiences)

ALSO ITS FICTION

It’s fucking fiction. I say where the story is interesting because it’s MY blog.

Anyways this will probably be my last ever marauders post so I’m going out with a bang.

The reason there’s so many male fics is because creating characters from just a name is hard and not really in the nature of fanfiction and the only marauders era fleshed out characters are Sirius black and Remus Lupin because they’re the only ones in the Harry Potter books.

Like what yall have done creating depth in all these side characters is truly phenomenal but ohmygod the way you attack people so quickly for just writing m/m ships in this space where the only canon fleshed out characters are the men is INSANE. Thats literally what brought them here. You’re the weird one. And be weirder!’ Be weirder enough to write the W/W fanfiction with those little one fact character skeletons. I support you this is the place for that!! Stop being mean to other people and show some initiative or I will fucking fire you. With actual flames.

ALSO let people make fan films, don’t let people make fan films. Maybe it’s a scam, maybe it’s being written by criminals from their prison cells. Maybe it’s just people out here trying to do a group project like this is school. Stop. Caring. It’s none of your business.

I have never cared for cosplay, you do you boo but it’s not my thing. I do think it’s fucked up when you treat them like the character though and mess with their lives as human beings. Maybe try being normal, or pursuing a career in becoming a shitty therapist because you seem to care a whole lot about other peoples business.

Read fics because you like the summery or because you found it at 2 am in a comment section or ao3s page. Dont read fics because it’s “the it fic” right now. That’s bordering way too close to fast fashion trends and that is not allowed here. You are breaking the non-capitalist rules of our weird nerd hub.

You are not going to like the hyped up TikTok book.

Let that philosophy apply here.

Also This is not a book. It is a fanfic. Treat it like someone brought home made cookies to your doorstep. If you bite it and spit it in their face because you forgot to tell them you had a nut allergy or you wanted brownies instead it is your bad. You should have asked about the nuts, and you should say THANK YOU YOU MADE ME COOKIES.

Anyways goodbye forever marauders fandom it was fun I love all you silly little characters. I made lifelong friends, I laughed I cried I puked in my mouth a little (—meg from supernatural) but mostly you made me realize how fucking stupid it all is and fear for our future as a civilization.

#sorry if you’re offended by this also I don’t care

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anonymous-person-in-hellhole · 1 year

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I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it anymore!

I can’t keep writing for Bubblegum Cookie anymore! They’re so tiring to write for, their design is so stupid, and their story with Clotted Cream is so boring, I could rip my fingernails off out of boredom!!!

Not to mention, OC x Canon, this disgusting bullshit is so toxic and delusional, like get a grip, these aren’t real people, they’re fictional characters and nothing more, not to mention that these bitches are Cookies, for God’s sake!

I hope my friends on this site, like @minecraftninjerkid, @thunder-jolt, and anyone else who’s been entranced in this disgusting act can be disillusioned and join us who are free from being so horrible, and join us in the Kingdom of God!

*pfft* I can’t do this anymore!!!

Happy April Fools, I am all-in on the cringe, and NO ONE WILL MAKE ME STOP BEING FREE!

#bubblegum cookie #oc x canon #disgusting #i can't believe i was so stupid #/j #/nsrs #happy april fools ;)

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

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two | lily love

(purity, innocence, loss, grief)

part one / part two

Pairing: Akashi Takeomi x Sano! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, the older brother’s best friend trope but make it soft, discussion of virginity loss, corruption kink, size kink, smoking, soft sex, cunninglingus, one smol slap

DISCLAIMER: virginity is a stupid social construct created by men to control women. Don’t listen to anyone who says losing your virginity to a stranger/casual hook-up is a sin. They’re the sinner here, for thinking that they have any say over your body and worth as a human being. The discussion of virginity here is for the sake of fiction (fanfiction about a 2d man, for fuck’s sake) so don’t take it seriously, please.

Length: 3,9 k (guess who's back on their bullshit)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Akashi Takeomi was not a good man. He wasn’t Sano Shinichiro. He wasn’t a leader, a charmer, a saviour. Takeomi was a schemer, a shadow, a side character. He had vice thumping through his veins, fuelled by the cry of his name by a crowd. He was the moon to Shinichiro’s sun, the darkness that gave Shinichiro light. He was War where Shinichiro was Peace, the roar of battle and crack of bones that followed soft words and failed treaties. Akashi Takeomi was not a good man, and when he opened the door of his apartment to you that following Saturday afternoon, he was once again reminded of his ruinous sin. He cast heavy shadows across your sweet character, the light from his apartment spilling over his shoulders and shimmering on your skin as you stood before him. But his darkness was deeper, undivine, drowning you from head to toe.

“Hey, doll,” sin split his smile, simmering as you shyly grinned back at him. God, you were gorgeous. So sweet and lovely in a little sundress that Omi wanted to do nothing but tear off your trembling form. Or fuck you in it, hiked over your hips, the hem in your mouth, muffling the moans and murmurs of your sin. Omi clenched his jaw, the unlit cigarette in his lips twitching with his self-restraint. “Hi, Omi,” you mumbled, adjusting the small overnight bag on your shoulder. The older man noticed, tilting his head. “You gotta good alibi, little one?” he teased, but a tremor of sincerity ran beneath the sentence. He could not bear the thought of his best friend, your brother, barging in, and breaking the unholy sacrament that lay between you and Takeomi. You nodded, “I’m at a sleepover, and Emma is covering for me,” you gave a close-mouthed smile. Takeomi’s brows rose. “Emma-chan knows?” he gulped. You shook your head. “She knows I’m out seeing a boy, she doesn’t know who,” you sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose, “she even tried to pack my bag – so if you find anything weird in there, it’s Emma, not me,” you dropped the offending bag to the floor, toeing off your sandals as Omi closed the door behind you. “Little girls aren’t meant to know this shit, right?” Omi frowned and you nodded. “Blame Gramps, he wants her to be aware, so he gave the little ones “the talk” very young.” “Did he give that little monster the talk too?” “Mikey? Yeah, although, although the little shit already knew everything. You know how Waka brags about the girls he gets,” you shrugged. Takeomi groaned, herding you to his ‘good couch’, already imagining the horrors Mikey and Baji had heard from his smooth-talking friend. “Jesus Christ, the kids are only, what, eleven? They should be playing with action figures, not learning how to fuck,” Takeomi grumbled, flopping opposite you into his other couch, the one with the suspicious stains and cigarette scorch marks. You gave Takeomi a scrutinous glance, “And what were you doing when you were eleven, Omi? Were you already a lady-killer?”

The man across from you snorted, his nose scrunching sweetly, causing your ribcage to contract. “Not a fuckin’ chance, sweetheart. Was too busy fixing up motorcycles and getting Shin out of fights for girls. Plus, you know how shit Shin is with girls. That applied to me too,” he grinned wryly, reminiscing on those high-blooded glory days. He squirmed into the pocket of his sweats, pulling out a lighter and igniting his cigarette with a soft puff.

“So,” he started. “So,” you winced, suddenly awkward despite the silent comfort that still sat between you. You gulped, “How are we going to do this?” Takeomi let a solid stream of smoke free from his mouth, hungry eyes watching his prey through the white whisps. “That’s up to you, sweetheart. Do you still want to do this? You don’t have to,” he swallowed down the acid bubbling in his throat. “We don’t have to do anything, just sit and watch a movie…” he sighed, “and then I send you home, and we can pretend that nothing ever happened.” Not likely. Not when he knew how sweet you tasted, not when he knew sacred your little pants and moans were to his desecrated ears, not when you were so close, curled up on the couch just in front of him. “Is that what you want, Omi?” you nearly stammered, biting down the black bile that rose in your throat. But you steeled yourself, ready to leave, to take your dignity and virginity with you. You glanced to the man across from you, who was pensively smoking. He doesn’t want this. You decided then and there to leave. You stood. “That’s okay, Omi,” you clawed the words from your chattering teeth, “I’m sure Waka wouldn’t mind, he doesn’t seem to care much about who he sleeps with.” You turned to leave, reaching for your night bag, arms outstretched to grasp at your last hope.

A calloused hand gripped your wrist, long lithe fingers chaining your arm to your side. Takeomi was behind you. “Wait, doll,” he hoarsely spoke, silently shadowing you with his frame, silky hair tickling the back of your neck. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he confessed, hands curling over yours, lacing his fingers to where you stretched out your hand. You wanted to turn, to look at him, but he wouldn’t let you. So, you looked down instead. “You won’t hurt me, Takeomi,” you could feel his breath hitch across your back, his cigarette long left behind in an ashtray. “I can, sweetheart. I’m,” he sighed, “I’m not a good person. And you’re, well,” he gulped, “you’re precious.” You felt the air leave your lungs in a rush. You tried to turn again, to see the truth in his wild-coloured eyes. But he wouldn’t let you. Instead, he rested his forehead on the back of your head, his breath fanning across your back. You shivered. “I want this, Omi. I want you,” you spilt your confession softly, barely audible above the sound of your breathing.

And then you were facing him. He kissed you, hard, sliding his hands up your arms to grip your shoulders. He hated this. He loved this. He hated the way you just let him have you, your mouth parting in a gentle gasp, letting him push his tongue into your mouth with ease. He loved this, the whimper you let out as he dug his fingers into your shoulders, the little hum you gave him as he spun you to sit on his couch. You plopped back into the cushions, and suddenly Takeomi was grateful for the plush cushions Senju had insisted on laying all over the place. You looked lovely, loveable, splayed out on the softness of his couch, in his house, in his arms.

He leaned over you, placing his hand just below your jaw to kiss you, his thigh coming up to part your legs. He glanced down and groaned at the sight of you, the skirt of your sundress riding up, exposing the soft expanse of your thighs, the fabric barely skimming the tops of your legs. He kissed you more, stealing the air from your lungs with each nicotine-laced kiss, the sweet scent of the cloves lingering around you in a warm hazy glow. You sighed, looping your arms around his shoulders, clutching at the loose material of his black shirt, losing yourself in the slow, sensual movement of his lips against yours, pushing at nipping at your lips until you were swollen sweet. He laid feather-soft kisses across your face. “You’re beautiful, little one,” he rasped, slipping down your body to begin kissing at your neck. His hands began to wander, slowly skimming down, squeezing and rubbing at all the silken skin he could reach. He sucked at the hollow of your collarbone. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you squirm and shudder beneath him.

His hands came up to cup your breasts, pulling a startled gasp from your pretty mouth. “This okay?” he asked, careful of every noise you made. “Yes,” you breathed, “yes, Omi.” He slipped the straps of your dress from your shoulders, lifting your breasts from the dress to knead and grab at your plush tits. “Gorgeous, fuckin’ gorgeous,” he hummed, sucking at your nipple, listening to the sweet keen you made as he tugged his teeth slightly at the flesh. He began to hike up the hem of your dress, one hand wandering as the other rolled your nipple between lithe fingers.

You whimpered, closing your plush thighs around Takeomi’s hand, causing a low rumble to catch in his throat. God, you were soft. Soft, and silken, and sweet, oh so, fucking sweet. “Open up for me, babygirl. Be a good girl f’me,” Takeomi shifted back, both hands moving to spread your thighs, his fingers dipping deep into your flesh. You tried to cover your face then, bringing your hands over your eyes. Anything to avoid that glimmering glittering stare, that hunter’s gaze that fixed you from between your thighs.

A sharp sting had you flinching and pulling your hands away. Takeomi had slapped your thigh. A huge hand was quick to grip your hands and tug them over your head, pinning them to the pillowy cushions. “You will not hide from me, doll. Especially not now,” he grumbled, “Hands stay here,” he instructed, and you nodded blinkingly in response. “Atta girl,” he gave your cheek a peck before settling himself between your silky thighs. “Watch me when I make you cum, yeah?” he hummed, and you nodded. He pinched where he’d slapped you earlier, “Words, sweetheart. Use ‘em.” “Yes, Omi,” you mumbled, and he gave you a crooked smile. He shifted his eyes down to where your legs came together, and he hissed at what he saw.

White lace. White lace lay over your cunt, all neat and modest swathes of snowy softness over your hips, all tied together with a little bow just below your belly. “Fuck,” he glanced up at you, now noticing the matching bralette that he’d shucked down with your dress. “This for me, little one?” his long lithe fingers slid below the elastic of your panties, barely brushing your tummy as he ran the pads of his fingers along the hem. “Yes, Omi,” you said meekly, careful not to break free of his piercing stare, “do you like it?” you ventured. A string of curses fell from between his teeth, “Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, “ I love it,” I love you. He peppered kisses across your stomach, hooking his fingers below the hem of your underwear to pull them off. You helped him by raising your hips, missing the way Takeomi secreted away your underwear into his back pocket. Guilt tinged at the back of his mind, but he brushed it off, more focussed on what lay before him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss your clit, his eyes never leaving yours. He couldn’t stop looking at you, gazing at each little gasp to puff past your lips, watching every twitch and flinch fall across your face. He sucked gently on your clit, carefully separating your folds to fully see your tight entrance. You tensed at the cold air hitting your cunt. “Ssh,” Takeomi hushed you, lapping over your entrance in a thick stripe of his tongue. You shivered. Forested green gazed at you as he began to eat you out, suckling and licking at your clit and occasionally dipping his tongue past the tight walls of muscles below.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he kissed your inner thigh, pausing to suck a dark mark in the inner sanctity of your thighs. He pushed a single finger into your velvet tightness, sighing as you clamped around him. You whimpered, unsure of the feeling as he scissored in a second finger. He sucked on your clit, running his tongue in gentle circles around the nerves. You shuddered, strawberry sweetness filling your body as Takeomi pressed up against your walls, each slow pump of his fingers brushing over the place that had your curling around his crooked fingers. You hummed, loosening around his digits, allowing your cunt to be stretched out by his prying fingers. You took deep breaths, filling your lungs from their furthest end to the tops of your tits, the entire time keeping contact with Takeomi’s wild green eyes. Their iridescence bewitched you, coaxing you further and further into a haze of dark green lust. You moaned, each pass of his tongue sending electric shivers down your spine, each suck of his lips twitching your legs on either side of his head. You were growing closer, a fact exacerbated by Takeomi’s thumb beginning its slow stroke over your clit after his done.

“Omi,” his name spilt out in a chartreuse sigh, your eyes barely daring to roll back before returning to his steady gaze. Takeomi worked you towards a climax, his movements languid and lazy as he tried to soothe your soaked cunt with kisses. He smiled at the desperate way you blinked back salt-shimmered tears, the sides of his mouth as crooked as his conscience, as depraved as the dark thoughts that swirled around inside his head. “You close, doll?” he asked, speeding his thumb up until your chest heaved. You nodded shakily, the words barely bumping out of your babbling lips. “Yes, c-close, close, close,” Takeomi increased pressure on your pulsing clit and you scrunched your eyes shut, “Cumming!” you keened, a myriad of strawberry suns bursting in your lower tummy, bubbling up in bright colours that set every nerve alight. You twitched and shuddered, your skin burning with every slow stroke and lap of Takeomi’s tongue over your pulsing pussy.

“Good girl,” Omi cooed, crawling up your body to kiss you, spilling your slick into your mouth with a silken gasp. He groaned, gripping your hips and flesh, his hair splashed in inky waves around your head. Eventually, he pulled back, his skin shimmering with a mixture of spit and your slick. You reached for him, even as he pulled away, tugging him back by the collar of his tee to bring your lips to his once more. Shudderingly, shakingly, Takeomi giggled you upright, holding you beneath your arms and struggling to keep you on your feet. You laughed then, letting him guide you to his bedroom and flop down on his bed beside you, your eyes meeting in a glimmering chuckle as you both looked at each other.

Silence fell over the pair of you, soft and sweet, barely brushing at the edges of your consciousness as you rolled over to face each other. You kissed, holding his jaw and humming, just enjoying the feel of his lips against yours. This was different. This was right. This was nothing like the few girls Takeomi had fumbled around with before. The way you looked at him as if he was all that mattered, as if you loved him, that was enough to throw Takeomi further into his damnation. You weren't here for the God of War, for the Black Dragons Vice, for the raw power pumping through his veins. You were there for him, for the terrible jokes he made to cheer you up, for the tag team habit of teasing your older brother, for the linked pinkies below tables and beneath sleeves.

Fuck, he loved you, and he’d be damned if you left his apartment unaware of exactly how he felt. But the same slick words that normally fell from his silver tongue, came out in clumps of sticky honey, falling clumsily over his tongue until all he could do was kiss you as if it was the last thing he’d do. Briefly, he rocked back onto the heels, pulling his tee shirt over his head. You gasped, seeing the big black dragon that swirled over his pale skin, clawing across his clavicles in thick black ink. “It’s beautiful,” you breathed, reaching out to run your fingertips along his scarred skin. “You like it, doll?’ Takeomi tilted his head, smiling inwardly as you nodded girlishly. You felt your cheeks grow warm and decided to rid yourself of your remaining clothes. You tugged your bralette and dress, Takeomi catching your hands as they tangled in the cloth above your head. He leaned in, hand holding your jaw as he dropped a deep kiss upon your parted lips. He helped you out of the crumpled clothes, giving you only a moment to answer a breathless “yes” before he had you bouncing on your back, soft against his starched sheets. You were bare before him, fully exposed for the first time. You tried to cover up yourself with your hands, but Takeomi lifted your wrists up and over your head. Then he settled himself between your legs, and you could finally see him. “Um, Omi,” you started, mouth suddenly dry. “Yes, sweetheart?” he layered his love down on you, peppering your face with soft kisses, nipping at your lip as you mumbled, “You’re, um, you’re big,” you gulped. Takeomi paused, holding himself over you with a hand beside your head. He hadn’t thought of that. “We can stop whenever you want,” he offered, but you shook your head. He nodded then, taking in the steeled expression in your eyes as his final warning. He reached across to his bedside table and pulled out a condom and lube. “No condom,” you huffed, “’m clean and on the pill,” you reassured. Takeomi frowned at you but threw the condom to one side before dolloping a generous amount of lube on his twitching cock. He breathed in. “You’re so beautiful, my love.”

And there it was, the lily-white petals of your lust, your love, and Takeomi was the one to colour you red, spilling your virginity in scarlet sighs. He entered you slowly, inch by inch, breath by breath, cradling your head into the crook of his neck as he claimed you. Your entire being burned, a red string pulled taut and then snapped as Takeomi completed you. You could feel his tip just inside your walls, throbbing hot and heavy, his hips rocking deeper with each exhale until your bodies met. Salt lined your lashes, trickling down your cheeks whilst you gasped. Takeomi let out a muffled groan into your hairline, then ran his nose along your cheekbone, pressing his forehead to yours. The hand at the back of your neck moved to gently wipe away your tears. "Hush, little one, it's okay, you're okay," he soothed, "you're doing so well for me, you're such a good girl f'me" Your heart shuddered and Takeomi felt the warm velvet of your cunt constrict at his praise. Your delicate hands murmured up his back until your palms came to rest on his shoulder blades. your chest breathed against his, and he listened to your heart thunder through his ribs. "You can move, Omi," it's barely a whisper, more of a sob, and Takeomi immediately stole your words away with a slow kiss. "Not until you're ready, sweetheart," he pulled back a bit and fighting his own need, he continued, "We can stop if you want - if you're hurting -" "No!" it poured out louder than you intended, and your scorching skin smouldered. Takeomi gave you that wide-eyed look of astonishment that you so dearly cherished, that boyish look of sheer surprise that had you stumbling for words and spitting in stutters. "No, Omi," you repeated, "feels good, um, just be slow, okay?" Those lightning eyes softened to a summer shower, and his mouth curved into a slow smile. he rained kisses onto your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and then your lips. "Of course, my doll," he gruffed, "anything for you."

And he meant it. Takeomi did not live for much. at least he did not live for himself. He lived for Shinichiro, and the dreams in those dark eyes. He lived for Waka and Benkei, for their future, their fight. He lived for his little sister, still so wide-eyed and unknowing. But mostly, in this moment, and for as long as he had held you so close to his heart, he lived for you. Your love, your smile, the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the way tears rolled down your cheeks as you clutched desperately onto him. He wished he could hold you forever, tuck you into the echoing hollows between his thudding heart and smoke-stained lungs, and feel you with every heave of his breath and pulse of his veins. for you to become a part of him, just as he was a part of you, tangled in your loving limbs, deep within your soft heat.

He pumped deep into you, moving as slowly as he possibly could, his green eyes never leaving your face. He watched as your brows constricted and then relaxed, your gorgeous mouth opening and closing as you panted on his cock. He spared a brief glance downwards, and groaned, entranced by where your two bodies became connected. Your tight cunt barely took him, your folds thick and puffy against the swell of his cock. And you were warm, so unbelievably warm, despite the thin sheen of sweat that graced the two of you.

He reached down and began to trace circles around your clit, feeling as your pretty pussy clenched and clamped down on him, praises spilt from his lips in poured wine. You were golden, coloured in glittering, burning light, each nerve in your body ablaze with want and wanton lust. With each thrust, each carefully spun circle around your clit, you were growing closer and closer to the edge, near enough for your spine to arch beautifully into Takeomi’s chest. “You gonna be a good girl and cum f’me, yea?” Takeomi increased the pressure on your clit. You felt fit to burst, your body filled with saccharine sweetness and tangy brightness. You came with a cry of Takeomi’s name, a sound that would haunt Takeomi for the rest of his days. Your warm walls clamped down on him, almost forcing his orgasm from him in a rush. You came in a shower of white stars, your body static and burning, filled to the brim with Takeomi’s hot seed. You were sated, lost in a soft warm haze that only had you barely registering that the sun had long sunk below the sleepy horizon. Takeomi pulled out from you with an ill-concealed groan and flopped beside you.

Carefully, quietly, Takeomi cleaned you down and tucked you beneath the covers, lighting a cigarette and sliding beside you into bed. You curled up to him, soft and content. And Takeomi knew then, as you sighed into his chest, lashes kissing soft cheeks, you’re breathing deep and gentle against him. He knew he didn't want to be just your first. He wanted to be your first, and your last, and your always But as much as he knew he wanted your always, your eternity, he couldn't, shouldn't.

Because Akashi Takeomi wasn't a good man. and you were a star he could never reach. You were leaving, living, growing into a future brighter than his dark. Who was he to keep you in his shadows, when you could outshine the sun? But he gripped you tighter, folding you closer into him, wrapping his arms around you until he could feel your heartbeat into his chest. Because Akashi Takeomi wasn't a good man, and he was selfish, and for now, he would have your brief forever

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I do not own Tokyo Revengers, or any of the related characters. Tokyo Revengers is created and owned by Ken Wakui. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of Tokyo Revengers belong to Ken Wakui. Please do not copy, re-use, or distribute this work as your own

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#takeomi akashi x reader #akashi takeomi #takeomi akashi #takeomi akashi smut #takeomi smut #takeomi x reader #tokyo revengers takeomi #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #praise kink cw #fem reader cw #size kink cw #virgintiy loss cw #corruption cw #cafe employee #killingmoon n/s/f/w #killingmoonmoon tr

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ben-trickey · 1 year

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The Myth-Making Marketing of Amina al-Sirafi

Shannon Chakraborty’s 2023 novel The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi thrives off the tension between the focus on accuracy in historical narratives and the embellished storytelling of myth and legend. The plot of the novel features the notorious former-pirate and nakhudha (shipmaster) Amina al-Sirafi telling the story, in her own words (“even if they’re rude”), of how she was lured out of retirement for one final life-changing opportunity. The story itself takes place in and around the medieval Indian Ocean and directly discusses the interwoven cultures of the countries of northern Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. While most of the book is directly from Amina’s perspective, Chakraborty frames the narrative by including the character of a scribe named Jamal, who is writing down Amina’s accounts of the novel’s events. Jamal opens and closes the novel as well as including interludes throughout that provide collected folktales and historical documents that add context and weight to Amina’s adventure. This deliberate attention to the myth-making present alongside historical evidence is highlighted best by the end of Jamal’s introduction: “But for the sake of honesty, another truth will be confessed. Her adventures are not only being told as evidence of God’s marvels. They are being told to entertain.” Chakraborty, a self-described “lover of history,” is intentionally leaning into the historical conventions of the storytelling present in fantastical collections of tales like One Thousand and One Nights, and the marketing and design of the book emphasizes Amina and Jamal’s connection to this storytelling tradition.

After the success of her first series of books The Daevabad Trilogy, it’s clear that Harper Voyager (the fantasy and sci-fi imprint for HarperCollins) went all in on the marketing of The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi, the first book in a potential new trilogy. Helped by Chakraborty’s active social media presence on Twitter and Instagram, the marketing campaign for the novel officially began in September 2022 (six months before the novel’s release) with a cover reveal posted on social media by Chakraborty, Harper Voyager, and Tor.com (a prominent online publisher of Fantasy and Science Fiction), though it’s worth noting that Chakraborty had been posting about her process of writing and publishing the novel for months prior (such as the “page passes” I’ve included below).

While the cover already evoked the kind of legendary pirate story readers might be looking for with its giant tentacled sea creature attacking a pirate ship, Chakraborty and Harper Voyager UK utilized the release of the UK cover, an allusion to the Islamic illuminated manuscripts of the medieval Middle East, to emphasize the historical fantasy narrative of the novel. October also began Harper Voyager and Harper Voyager UK’s giveaways to advertise the novel, including foil proofs with the illuminated UK cover.

In January 2023, Chakraborty and Harper Voyager began to advertise pre-orders for the book, including some copies that came with dagger-shaped, wooden bookmarks somewhat resembling Amina’s khanjar, which she received from her pirate grandfather. This limited offer of bookmarks played into the aesthetics of the pirate fantasy of the book while also encouraging readers to pre-order for a chance to get a gift unique to the book that any reader could use.

In February, alongside an excerpt of the book, free to read on Tor.com, Chakraborty released the image of “The Map of the Great Indian Ocean” showing the setting of the novel, while also incorporating historical references as easter eggs in the illustration. And on February 28, a brief book trailer was shared on Chakraborty’s social media alongside the book’s release.

With the benefit of one successful trilogy under her belt and the marketing team at Harper Voyager, Chakraborty was able to create an aesthetic and narrative for her medieval pirate, historical fantasy novel months in advance of the book’s release. The marketing’s emphasis on visual posts and artifacts that readers could look at, win, and potentially buy provided a clear sense of anticipation for the story that inspired readers to learn more, discuss online, and pre-order the novel. Chakraborty had a clear intention with the structure and design of the storytelling, alluding to medieval Islamic folktales and pirate legends, and the marketing reflected and effectively built upon that intention with the design of its six-month social media plan.

#sa chakraborty #shannon chakraborty #amina al-sirafi #the adventures of amina al-sirafi

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lucasbarr · 1 year

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I feel like HBO Velma was the anthesis of everything the fan tag HBO SPN (that the Supernatural fandom created) stood for.

Ok here me out (more under a read more because this got out of hand)

Now I understand one is an actual series and one was a little fandom experiment but i still think it’s something to behold. As a fandom, everyone came together to created this fictionalized gritty HBO reboot of Supernatural. They understood the assignment of capturing those hallmark staples of HBO and apply it to the existing Supernatural formula. However, even with this everyone still had an understanding of keeping with the characters’ characterization (even if it varies on the show).

You had a much more gritty way of showing hunts, the horror behind the things that happen (which makes sense). You had the grace the angels possess being addictive to humans (amazing concept). The themes explored like said addiction and the exploration of Sam’s hell trauma having much greater weight (totally cool). It took everything from the existing IP and expanded upon it in a way that fit with the HBO formula whilst still keeping the integrity of everything Supernatural stood for.

And then we have HBO’s new animated show Velma… which doesn’t understand the course material at all. 😬

HBO’s Velma doesn’t do any of that at all. The basics of Scooby Doos is that they are a group of friends who solve mysteries together. AND THEY COULDN’T even do that! Not to mention they completely ignored existing characterization of the characters that have existed for the last few decades.

How do you disregard decades of work when you’re utilizing an IP that is beloved by multiple generations?

It’s almost like the writers in this show decided that they wanted to make a Scooby Doo show but realized early on they hate Scooby Doo?! The show treats the characters like they’re this awful thing! Fred’s a mysognist, Daphne’s a shallow mean girl, Velma is terminally online and Shaggy is too much of a simp and they completely disregarded his iconic nickname!

The Scooby Gang are beloved by so many that for you to go ahead and rock the boat so much they the internet unties against your show means that you’ve messed up but time!

And like the worst part is all is that they’ve probably been rolling in the hate watching and hate bashing. Because any publicity is good publicity. They knew they were going to get hate for the diversity and for it being ‘woke’. Personally, I don’t seem a problem with the racebending but I know they producers understood what they were doing when they put this out. I’ve no doubt they intend to to play the victim and accuse everyone else is wrong because why would a show like this be bad? 😑

And what sucks the most is that this could have been amazing if they stuck to the original Scooby Doo formula! FOR GODS SAKE ITS AN ADULT SHOW! They could have capitalized on the ‘Let Fred say FUCK’ meme! It could have been as funny and fresh as Harley Quinn but instead we got…whatever this is.

The ONLY good thing about this is that Sam Richardson Got the Shaggy Seal of Approval From Matthew Lillard. Because that’s freaking wholesome and probably made his day. Like good for you Sam!

#scooby doo #supernatural #spn #hbo spn #hbo supernatural #hbo velma #velma #ophelia talks #ophelia tag

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memoriastellarum · 1 year

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kaname x tatsumi I guess!

Send me a ship and I will explain why I do or don't ship it

This is one of those things I could talk about forever... I just have so much to say. Apologies in advance, but this is not going to be very organized. Read more because I made this way, way, way longer than expected. Some screenshots included because this is one of those cases where I think the characters themselves say it better than I ever could do for them.

tl;dr They’re each other’s first real friend after each spending a lifetime of struggling to connect with anyone on a personal level, and no matter how you look at it, they’re very, very special to one another.

What my followers will probably learn about me quickly is that I am just a sucker for endless devotion in fiction, especially when it’s misguided or reckless. They’ve got that in spades here. Within the short bounds of the one and only story Kaname features prominently in, you see his shift from desperately reaching for Tatsumi to help him-- just like everyone else around them-- to being the one to say he will protect Tatsumi and he will be the one to help Tatsumi. He goes from being desperate for absolutely any way to regain what he’d lost, to throwing it away for Tatsumi’s sake once he reclaims it. And as for Tatsumi, you see him change from someone who is recklessly, terrifyingly giving-- such as kicking everyone else out of a shared living space just to give Kaname, who he doesn’t know, the privacy to speak when he’s upset-- to playfully biting back when Kaname scolds him for not taking care of himself, and being able to be selfish in ways he hasn’t been able to express anywhere else.

One of the reoccurring things that people say about Tatsumi is that he would love anyone, he would forgive anyone. One of the reoccurring things people say about Kaname is that he was Tatsumi’s most devout follower. Whether or not these are true, it’s easy to see that their connection is special, and quite a bit different from what the characters around them see. In fact, Kaname himself gets bristly when called “one of Tatsumi’s followers.” That’s because, essentially, he isn’t.

Kaname isn’t a follower looking to Tatsumi for succor or salvation. He has his brother for that. There’s even a part where he mentions that he sees his brother as his god (Which. We don’t need to get into that. Standard Enstars dialogue LOL) And his brother is giving him evidently flawless instructions on how to have the entire school under his thumb, taking Tatsumi for everything he’s worth. It works, too! Kind of. The big wrench in the plan is, simply put, Kaname’s feelings about Tatsumi.

After they spend a bit of time together (or, as other characters put it, after they become practically inseparable) it’s no longer about regaining his place. He does regain his special student status, thanks to his brother. That could-- and should-- be the end of it. But somewhere along the way, Tatsumi’s dream becomes his dream-- although, it might be just as accurate to say that Tatsumi, himself, becomes his dream. He believes enough in Tatsumi’s ideals that he’s willing to throw away his own goals to help make them a reality. He lies to his brother about his progress. He spreads himself thin and performs poorly on many of the jobs he takes on, despite special instruction and all of his hard work. And, despite how he’s already struggling, he does everything he can to alleviate Tatsumi’s pressure, at high cost to all of the excruciating effort he’s put in thus far.

Side note: it seems Kaname is one of only a few, and perhaps the only one, to be concerned enough about Tatsumi’s declining health to actually really try to help. I should point out that Tatsumi won’t let anyone help him, although it seems a few people may have offered. He’d been in and out of the hospital a few times before finally giving in and leaning on Kaname. And that’s something in and of itself. Tatsumi steadfastly refuses to allow anyone else to take on any burdens for him. The reason why Kaname is different, from Tatsumi’s perspective, is because he’s the only one who is trying to walk beside him on his level, rather than follow behind him with him as the leader.

Kaname believes in the kind of person that Tatsumi truly is, most of all. More than what he hopes to accomplish with his revolution, and more than the seemingly endless forgiveness and boundless love. Despite how he seems, Kaname is a very vulnerable (and frankly, childish) person and is drawn more to Tatsumi’s kindness than his progress, which is the thing that sets him apart in the end from everyone else who follows him. By the end, it’s not all about Tatsumi’s groundbreaking success as an idol anymore. It’s about the personal conversations they’ve had. It’s about their connection. In short, it’s because he cares deeply about Tatsumi that he’s willing to go to extreme lengths for him, not as a follower, but as a friend.

It’s in Tatsumi’s nature to do his best to conceal his pain and bear it alone, as already stated. During his revolution, there was no possible way for him to conceal it, as his health-- physical and mental-- was frequently in such crisis that he was hospitalized. But many of his first interactions with HiMERU seem to convey someone who is deeply pained by the distance between himself and his friend. It slips through mostly in wording. There’s a time where he seems a little taken aback by HiMERU not remembering the conversation where Kaname first told him his real name, as he says it’s one of his most precious memories. He brushes it off by saying that it makes sense that HiMERU wouldn’t remember, and that it’s been so long that it makes sense that things have changed, but the way and manner he continues to talk about it says to me that it does trouble him. He’s very quick to show his support for HiMERU, in a way that isn’t really shown for anyone else but his own unit.

I really shouldn’t get into the whole HiMERU thing because that will probably double this post’s length. But rest assured, I have a lot of thoughts on THAT, too, and how the heart of their miscommunication is solely, 100%, love for Kaname and how differently they experience that.

I think the best way to say what I want to say about them is to post a little of their final conversation, which I absolutely will. I absolutely recommend taking a look, especially if I did a bad job of convincing you.

#ANON LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE... I'm feral and unsocialized.#long post #I mean it's under a read more but still.#Out of Character.#Meme Response;#okay okay okay i gotta post it now i gotta stop #''THAT'S ALL THERE IS TO IT'' will never fail to get my heart acting up #tatsukana

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projecthipster · 2 months

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Pulp Fiction

You've seen this on a hundred t-shirts, but why?

“Whether or not what we experienced was an According to Hoyle miracle is insignificant. What is significant is that I felt the touch of God. God got involved.”

Somehow, I turned 26 without ever having seen Pulp Fiction. I guess I vaguely knew that this was some sort of violent, amoral movie that college freshmen (emphasis on the men) loved for being subversive. And committed as I was to some sort of soft-revolution folk-listening bike-riding Wes Anderson form of hipsterdom, it wasn’t that I hated the idea of Tarantino, but he was never on my radar aside from watching Inglorious Basterds on cable one night. And now that I’ve actually sat down and watched Pulp Fiction in one sitting after years of posters and memes, I have to say whta I didnt fully expect to say: I get it. I think I totally get it. My persona’s not going to be uprooted by this movie, but if this was the first thing I ‘d seen that wasn’t, like, Michael Bay, I can see how it would have that impact.

A few years ago I might have filled this review with thoughts on whether violent crime in movies, perpetrated by the protagonists, was problematic. But truth be told I’m a bit tired of the vaguely neo-puritan concept that a story’s quality can be evaluated with a sort of demerit system, by going over a script with a comb of fine moralistic teeth and dropping points for every problematic aspect. I could easily do that to Pulp Fiction, and in the interest of fairness, let’s do that briefly here. Few strong female characters: debatable, given how memorable repeat Tarantino collaborator Uma Thurman is as a nostalgic-fun-chasing gangster’s wife and washed up actress, but let’s say point off. Every time Samuel L. Jackson, John Travolta, and Bruce Willis gun down people in cold blood: point off. The entire ending to Bruce Willis’ segment: several points off. Tarantino writing a speech of a white guy standing in his kitchen spouting racial slurs like Pitchfork writers spout baseless comparisons to earlier albums, and then casting himself as that white guy: many, many points off. You can decide for yourself whether you want to take points off for the foot fetish. Was that fun? Are we purified?

I couldn’t say exactly why I’m over this neopuritanism. Maybe it’s the algorithms, censoring anything with naughty bits for the sake of greater appeal and therefore greater profit, forcing a sort of childish doublespeak. I don’t think there’s a single scene in this movie that could survive unedited on Tiktok. No one in Pulp Fiction is unalived. They die. What’s more, they fucking die. Working around that even for progressive reasons all smacks too much of more classical conservative censorship. There’s a classic interview from around the release of Kill Bill that I found before I queued up the movie. A fusty-vibed pundit does her best to take down Tarantino with accusations of corrupting youth through senseless onscreen violence. He rallies back, more convincingly, that even kids can separate movies from reality better than the moral crusaders tend to assume. Why all the violence? Because it’s so much fun, Jan!

And as I watched this apparent frat bro classic, as I was swept into the sheer style of it all, with the classic music and the funky directing and the whip-quick dialogue that swings between incredibly casual and over-the top theatrical, while I didn’t feel myself turning into a frat bro, I felt my inner Jan wither away somewhat, because, yeah, it IS fun! Pulp Fiction is two and a half hours long, and it feels both longer than that for the amount of stuff in there, and shorter than that for its headlong galloping pace. No, the gangster protagonists aren’t good people. They shouldn’t be role models. They don’t need to be. They’re lurid, florid, edgy clowns, and it’s fun to laugh at them while also being a little scared for them, because if they’re shot, then the fun ends. That was the appeal of the pulp fiction of a century past, of cheap crime novellas sold on tables outside train stations that crumbled quickly into paper dust. As in that namesake fiction, Tarantino’s characters navigate a world divided into Their People and shrieking innocent bystanders, with the ratio tilted rather more to the former than you’d expect. Their stories branch and weave together, wrapping back into a thematically cohesive nugget where it all began. Each of them is a little movie in its own right, introducing us to characters in scenarios that spiral into wild climaxes.

One of the problems here is that not every branch of the tree is created equal. We start with the bits I’ve seen in memes for decades. Vincent and Jules, buddy hitmen, talk about burgers and track down some dudes. Jules taunts one, plays linguistic games, and recites a fictional bible verse before shooting him through the head. Vincent takes his boss’s wife, Mia, out to a fifties themed diner. Until I watched Pulp Fiction for real, it should be said, I had this impression that it was a period piece. It’s not, it turns out. It’s set in the early nineties, when it came out. It just so happens that every damn thing onscreen throws back to decades previous. The screen itself feels soaked in nostalgia. Maybe that’s part of why it feels timeless. What’s timeless when it’s created will always be timeless. What’s timely fades. Going back to the diner, for example, Vince and Mia enter a dance competition that feels right out of Grease, which yes, I know, was a period piece too. That leads to this climax involving a big adrenaline syringe.

You see why this is all hard to summarize in a linear manner?

The chemistry of Travolta, Jackson, and Thurman is a great source of the aforementioned all-important Fun through all this. It’s a drop down to suddenly turn to Bruce Willis’ corrupt prizefighter and his character-free doe-eyed French wife, even if that segment does climax the last way you’d ever possibly expect. It mostly all wraps back together at the end, though, with a truly tense final standoff. One thing I like, a closing grace, is that all this blood and swearing and needless slur-dropping ends not in the most violent shoot out yet, but in a calm and simple act of mercy. It’s like the end of The Catcher in the Rye, where you can see a little bit of character development start to seep in, colouring everything previous as explanatory preamble to this little bit of worthwhile change.

There’s a touch of hinting at the role of the author as God in fiction, too. The main catalyst for this all-important change, the change that structures the whole rambling multi-threaded movie, is a coincidence that saves Jules’ life. He calls it a miracle, views it as an Act of God. That’s supposed to be Against The Rules of screenwriting. Acts of God, which within worlds of fiction are obviously Acts of the Author, show the hand of the author, and so inherently call attention to the unreality of the story. But maybe, this movie is saying, that’s sometimes ok. There’s a confidence to rapping on the fourth wall a bit. By making the audience aware of the unreality of the story– something even done as early as the title in this case, it has “fiction” right there in it– the work makes them aware of the craft inherent in creating the fiction they’re watching. You only want to do that if you’re damn sure the craft is good. Thankfully, in this case, it is.

One of the great defining factors of Hipster Fiction, I’m finding, is an appreciation for the auteur, for a story as a product of a singular mind even when, as in the case of a movie, it’s really the product of hundreds of people working together. That stands in contrast to fiction pushed out of homogenizing studios and record labels and publishing houses, eager to erase the most dramatic and therefore potentially polarizing flourishes of the author into a marketable mainstream. That’s why I don’t mind the quirks, even the weird ones, as much as I might. Tarantino is singular, and the weird foot shots are a signature because he’s a weird dude about that. That’s the sort of thing that would be ironed out of a focus-grouped, less auteur driven, less hipster movie aiming to satisfy everyone.

That ending, and the touching on the author’s Godly hand, cements Jackson’s melodramatic gangster Jules as the closest thing this all has to a bit of heart. A bit of heart is nice. It’s not why we’re here, though. We’re here to watch John Travolta talk about burgers, dance the twist, and shoot people.

I give this hipster movie four dorm room posters out of five.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the eleventh list, The Greatest Films For Hipsters.

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#pulp fiction #hipster #quentin tarantino #movies #films

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