#(why do none of these women own hats for one thing)

[inkskinned]

nobody ever gets the mugshot of gluttony right. these days you think it has nothing to do with bodyweight. what a good trick: that gluttony could take a shape. no, there was never any fault in finishing a meal or in taking second helpings. it was always in taking from others that there was an issue - the oil baron's fingers steepled over dead bodies and stolen lands. gluttony - twin of greed, although most think greed and envy are the siblings - gluttony is pleased with the experience of gaining, is thrilled just-by-having. greed is the one that stays hungry, that has to move forever like a shark. gluttony likes it - "a glutton for punishment" is one who is seeking the harm, who loves the rush.

gluttony is a mother using her daughter's body for a diet testing ground, sharpening the bone angles. gluttony is saying why, well not! to the seventh and eighth mansion or yacht. it is not just wanting the six white horses, it is making sure that the horses came from your stables. it is not just bathing in milk - it is bathing in milk while others are starving.

oh, it's true that some sins still blaze in their bright floral prints. wrath in a white woman yelling at a person of color for even daring to be in her neighborhood. the red, incipient rage of a neck tightened at even the thought we would take the guns away. wrath has laurels, and she is good at her job, and works hard.

but sloth wasn't ever the sleepy morning of depression, the hours spent begging a clouded body to please move goddamn it; the protestant work ethic claiming even rest is somehow demonic. it was never chronic fatigue. sloth was subtle, a grey mist. she is watching you get bullied and she is deciding it is none of her business. she crosses the picket line because - what! it's just chicken, isn't it? she is closing her eyes and turning her head when the next anti-gay legislation passes. someone else will handle it. not the tense freeze of anxiety or a lack of preparation - she knows you're hurting and would rather you stay quiet about it. she tells other people i just don't see what the big deal is.

sloth is a father that doesn't do the dishes. sloth is your boyfriend's innocent shrug you're just better at household shit. sloth isn't the missed opportunity - it is the purposeful desire to just get-someone-else-to-do-it.

greed and envy are doing body shots in the back of a private jet. they are the way they always have been, but are lovers in the age of the internet. greed just finished union busting, is rolling a bitcoin over his knuckles, is about to start another MLM. envy is in a broadbrimmed hat, showing off her instagram life, grinning about how if you want it, work for it.

okay, it's true. you have a soft spot for lust, gathering dust in a corner. so tame in comparison to the others. but how funny lust is always painted as being a woman in tight clothes. you've met actually lustful women - the ones that purposefully climb into your partner's lap, the ones that say lesbians are gross but ask bisexual women into bed with their husbands. a lustful woman is not donned in lace and garters and red: that's how men think lust looks, painting their own sins into frame. this way, the sin displaces as fog and hovers above her: a woman in a dress is lust; what the man experiences is just the natural consequence.

here is the thing: lust is doing just fine, save your pity. lust is running more circles than any of them. lust is shutting down safe sexwork sites while also making teenagers in knee-high socks sex sensations. lust is CEO of an advertising network where women never pass 25 years old. all the bras lust makes are pretty to look at but, when worn, legitimately hurt. lust has a podcast, his fur coat looped around his shoulders, sells the idea that only certain people have value, that sex raises some and destroys others. lust is tilting his head and asking what did you expect when you dress like that? lust shuns you, sneers that everything you want is disgusting and taboo - right until he can figure out how to capitalize off of it. lust has the midas ability: everything he touches becomes an object.

people usually say wrath is the scary one. you agree with FMA here, though: the real dangerous one is pride, and the shit-eating grin. the white cloaks and the nationalism and the inability to apologize. it is every partner who threw a book at your head because you don't respect him. it is every mother who said my son doesn't deserve to have his life ruined over allegations. it is the teacher that fails you because you talked back.

you worry you have this one. you feel guilty when you need help but don't ask for it. prideful. ashamed when you complete something and feel good about it. too proud for your own good. but pride is not the reward of hard work or accomplishment: pride is a twitter feed. it is the thing that has to mask i didn't do anything with look at me.

pride is your father's raised hand, his raised voice. how he was never there when you needed him, but he is still "head of house." he ruins dinner and blames it on you: you're an embarrassment to this family. this is the glass you walk around, the cuts in your feet. how he says this isn't how i raised you and you have to bite back the retort: that's because you didn't actually fucking raise me.

[utilitycaster]

Whenever people are like "well LIAM'S characters never faced any backlash when HE played characters in the spotlight" and "no one will let WOMEN have negative qualities" when Caleb and Vax and Orym have received pretty constant hate for main character/sadboy/scene stealing and when meta writers outright stopped talking about Imogen because a particularly mindless set of hit dogs are still hollering about how she is so good and kind and how dare you call her selfish, it's really like...in the service of trying to make your failure of a point you've just said something that literally anyone with a memory lasting longer than the apocryphal goldfish length can immediately debunk, which in turn absolutely shreds your credibility going forward, if you had it.

More generally there's something very vile here, because on the surface this statement does look like an attempt, if one ignorant of pretty much any fandom conversation, to defend women. The thing is it's come from a place of defending Dorian and Ashton's plan - a man, and a nb person who would not identify as a woman - that requires a particularly great deal of sacrifice from the women of the party. So of course they just switch tactics. Instead of "how dare the fandom not think women are always best" it's "how dare the fandom disrespect a disabled nb person and a person played by an indigenous actor." And I'm sure they'll switch again. Because pretty much every character in this campaign is on some axis of oppression, and there's a few people in this fandom who, instead of considering these things as important details that inform these characters, seem to largely treat their minority statuses as ammunition. Feminism and antiracism and queer advocacy are all just part of a shell game to them - accuse everyone who disagrees with them of being a bigot, say that their opinions are inviolate because they match that of literally any character who isn't a cis het white man, of which Bells Hells has none. Unsurprisingly, it's that social media purity culture that's just the evangelical church with a gay hat: they are always the victim, and everyone who disagrees is the devil, and being a good person always happens to line up with what you already wanted.

There are several posts from the past day or so accusing people of liking Campaign 3 less than the two previous ones which refused to accept that this might be due to the hurry-up-and-receive-an-infodump pacing, the singular focus without much time spent on backstory, the gaps in party composition, and the fact that the plot manages to combine the weakest elements of each campaign - the fetch quest/NPC guidance heavy nature of C1, and the meandering/slow start of C2. No, it must be the awful, sinful fandom unable to handle the lack of a major M/M ship (false; Dorian and Orym aren't canon, but neither were Vax and Gilmore, and the latter was sunk far sooner) and the fact that a female character is at the center of the story (see above re: how hostile the same people making these accusations have been to anyone who actually wants to discuss Imogen in a way that doesn't fit their specifications). Just to repeat this: many fans have outlined a number of purely narrative and structural reasons why C3 isn't working for them. These people have assumed this is all a lie, because assuming otherwise that would require either addressing these critiques, which in turn would require admitting other people can have valid opinions that oppose their own without being horrible bigots - in favor of throwing out whatever random accusations they think might stick. It doesn't matter what's actually being said; they're not actually listening, and for all they might talk about fans of color they sure all seem to be white; for all they talk about misogyny and queerphobia they sure won't hesitate to immediately assume the worst of queer people and women who say things they don't like. And rarely do they address any of the actual ongoing bigotry that does exist in the fandom; it's all random accusations because you agreed with the white woman instead of the brown man or vice versa; or it's the constant dredging of years past discourse that, as the first paragraph indicates, they will then ignore whenever convenient.

These are all pretty transparent signs of a bad faith actor spreading misinformation. To be clear I don't think this is any kind of conspiracy or has any organization to it. I think it's a just handful of deeply self-absorbed people who either refuse or literally cannot comprehend that someone could disagree with them without being a bad person and who will gleefully cry wolf with these accusations of bigotry. But it's been going on for quite some time and it's been a problem this campaign in a way I at least do not recall it in past ones, and it's had an absolutely devastating effect on the fandom conversation. Ironically, by trying to boost Imogen and Campaign 3 by shutting down any criticism of them, they've shut down far more of the conversation, hopefully not irreversibly, and I think it's time to point that out.

[reblogs-and-writings]

Inspired by @chaifootsteps

Everyone's sending in their Hazbin character rewrites, and that looked fun so I want to toss my own hat into the ring. Sorry for the long post. What really bothers me most about Hazin Hotel is that it claims to be a show about redemption, but it seems to be a show about lack of consequence. The reasons why the characters are in hell are never really explained. There are things you can infer about certain people: Alastor's murder, Husk's gambling, Angel's drug use, etc. However, the show never explains why those behaviors are wrong and how they can improve. More often than not, those behaviors are used as jokes. It's funny to have a cannibal town. Angel Dust's name is a pun on the drug that killed him. It's just tonally very wierd to purport that anyone can be redeemed, ANYONE, even people in HELL, can be redeemed and then not continue that very messy and difficult ethical conversation.

Nifty is boy-crazy. Taken to its extreme, what can that mean? What causes attraction so vile it sends you to hell? Was she was one of those "Boy Moms" who excuses his son's horrid actions at the expense of women's safety? Did she cover up a rape her child committed, because Mother's special little boy couldn't possible do something so vile! Or maybe she didn't love her children enough. Maybe her obsession with "bad boys" comes from being forced into an extremely suffocating and unhappy marriage. Maybe she ran off with some 50s biker. Maybe she abandoned her children because she was too obsessed with being loved herself that she couldn't love her children if it meant not having a man's attention. Maybe her boy craziness evolved into a raving jealousy if she didn't get her feelings reciprocated. She's a maid, right? She wants things clean and tidy. Did she murder a man? Did she spend hours scrubbing the floor so none of his blood would remain? Then maybe her arc could be about loving herself and not needing a man to define her identity. Maybe it could be unpacking internalized misogyny and coming to terms with the real pain she caused other women.

Mimzy is opportunistic. She only comes around when she needs a favor. She has no loyalty and only uses Alastor to get her out of problems. Why is she like that? Who taught her that relationships were transactional instead of committal? Maybe she was once a naive young girl who got 'used' for something, and it soured her opinion on other people. I mean, she's plus-sized during the FLAPPER era, where thin was like 1990s level of in. But there's a lot of plus-sized women who talk about being some guy's sneaky link, because he wants to prey on her insecurity and get her into bed, but then never be seen with her, because she's not a socially acceptable dating option. Did Mimzy get her heart broken, and now she doesn't trust anyone? Now she just uses people for what they're good for, because hurt people hurt people, and she's continuing a cycle she herself was a victim to? Maybe Mimzy's redemption could be about letting people in, about not letting trauma turn her into a bad person.

Husk is an alcoholic and a gambling addict. Most people don't just pick up those hobbies for the fun of it. Husk is a miserable little man, and he was probably driven to drink because of his own unhappiness. He was pansexual in the 1970s, right? Maybe he couldn't accept himself or he was forced to not accept himself. Maybe he was forced into a loveless marriage, and he started to go out to the casino to get away from the wife and family he never wanted. But more and more and more he spends time over there, because he doesn't want to go home. And soon he becomes dependent on booze and gambling because it gives him a little joy in his miserable life. But addiction doesn't hurt just the addicted person. It hurts everyone around him. He starts skipping work to gamble. He loses his job. He steals money from his wife. He bets the car. Then the house. He leaves his family destitute, and he's convinced he's the victim because he never wanted to be a husband and father in the first place. When he dies of alcohol poisoning, his family doesn't even claim his body. His redemption could be about how when your own life sucks, it's not an excuse to hurt others. You have to find better ways to cope with a bad hand.

Angel Dust is too many things. He's a prostitute and a porn star and a gay man in the 30s and a gangster and a drug-addict. But if we were gonna try and make all of that make sense, Angel Dust is very family-oriented. He grew up in a mob family. Loyalty is EVERYTHING. So in his mind, killing people was a lesser sin than "betraying" his family by not getting rid of their enemies. His family is everything to him. So he can't be gay. He can't. He can't. He's SO repressed. He refuses to acknowledge it. He spends his entire, short life, trying to fit the mold of a perfect, loyal son. But… he did kill a LOT of people… So when he dies in some shoot out, he goes to hell, and he snaps. He did EVERYTHING he thought was right. He did everything his family told him to do. He was the perfect son, and when he dies he gets sent to hell. He immediately loses all inhibition. He's still a sex/drug addict, but only after he winds up in hell. He's going to spend eternity giving into every single base desire he denied himself while alive. It's destroying him. He's selling himself to men, but deep down he's still ashamed and wondering what his family would think. He drowns out those thoughts with more sex and drugs. Angel's redemption arc is about balance. Yes, he should have been able to be true to himself while alive, but complete indulgence is just as hurtful to him as complete denial.

Sir Pentious… why is he even in hell? I mean, he's a little annoying, and in the pilot he was involved in a gang war, but what did he do in life to justify being sent to hell? Well, he was a Victorian Englishman, so I'm gonna say racism! Horrible racism and colonialsim. He was raised in a time where those were the dominant thought patterns, and he did not analyze them one bit. Conflict can come when black-coded characters like Alastor and Husk expect to be treated like human beings. And Charlie has to face the difficulty of believing a person can change, but how to deal with the current harm they're causing the people she cares about. Maybe Sir Pentious isn't a recorring cast member. Maybe he came to the hotel because he thinks he should be in Heaven. He brought glory to the British empire. He was a kind gentleman. He donated to charities. But he leaves the hotel because he doesn't think "those people" are good enough for Heaven. He refuses to acknowledge his behavior as needing to be changed, but Charlie tells him there is a spot at the hotel when he's ready to change. His character is about how you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. He can be offered all the chances in the world to be better, but until he can come to terms with his own capacity for evil, he can't be redeemed.

Cherry Bomb doesn't exist, because she's a superfluous character that doesn't fit in my rewrite. Sir Pentious doesn't get a love interest, and Angel Dust's friend is now Vaggie.

No fallen angel crud. Vaggie was a prostitute that got murdered like Viv originally planned for her to be like 10 years ago. I think Vaggie shows some really codependent traits in the show. Charlie seems to be her entire world. She sings about being her armor. She's willing to put herself in harm's way to defend her, even die for her. She doesn't seem to care much about the other patron's of the hotel apart from them being facet's of Charlie's dream. Maybe Vaggie was one of those poor women who gets trafficked by their boyfriend (or maybe girlfriend in her case). A single person becomes her whole entire world, and she's willing to do ANYTHING for them. Even put herself in dangerous situations that lead to her death… But she did it for love! <3 She hurts herself for love.. for approval. And maybe the show can get into a conversation about what sin really is. So many people define sin as harmed caused to others, but what about harm caused to yourself? Viv originally stated that Vaggie's feelings for Charlie were one-sided, and I think that detail would be even more poignant in this interpretation of her character. She's trying so hard to be noticed and to be loved, and Charlie's become a goddess in her eyes. She puts her on such a pedastal she has no room for her own worth. Her arc is maybe a bit too similiar to Nifty's depending on how we choose to interpret her character, but it's also about finding identity outside of others and being able to set boundaries. Because loving someone and wanting to help them and wanting to protect them are not bad impulses, but like anything else, when taken to extremes it becomes something bad. Dependency can twist love into obession.

Lucifer is the Devil! He's evil! No sad-man, Dad-trying-his-best nonsense! He's evil! The big twist of Hazbin Hotel is that they're not in Hell! They're in Purgatory. There are no sins that cannot be forgiven, but sin can also not enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Purgatory is a place where your sins are burned away so that eventually you can join God in heaven. In Purgatorio, Dante depicts Purgatory as a place of effort. People are in constantly motion striving to get closer to heaven. Purgatory in Hazbin could be a place where people get a second chance to work on their vices. If they couldn't be a good person in life, then they have all of eternity to try again. But Lucifer, the prince of LIES, has convinced everyone they're in Hell. There is no redemption. There is no getting better. He causes the sinners to fall into a great despair. Why try getting better if there is no hope? So when people learn they're in hell, they dig in their heels. They lean even further into vice. They cannot experience love or laughter or joy again. So they settle for booze and sex and violence, anything to numb the pain of knowing they're trapped forever. But is a hell of their own making, little do they know. By tricking generations of sinners, not a single soul has redeemed itself and gotten to heaven in centuries. That's why no one believes it's possible. That's why when Charlie suggests it, he's furiously disapproving of her. He doesn't want people to get better. He doesn't want to improve. He wants everyone to be as miserable as he is, because misery loves company. But he can't tip his hat too much or the older souls might get suspicious. He is the Prince of Lies. His power comes not from strength but from manipulation. The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. In Hazin, the greatest trick he ever pulled was convincing people there's no hope for themselves. I was once told that Judas's great sin was not betraying Jesus, but his own suicide after falling into despair. How glorious it would have been to go to a church named after Judas the Repentent. But alas, it is not so. The greatest sin you can commit against yourself is thinking you're too far gone.

And that's why I think Alastor is the central sinner to the narrative. Because he shares Lucifer's viewpoint. People can't get better. Nothing ever gets better. People are bad or people are good, and you can't be both. And who could blame him for having that idea? Let's just pretend that Alastor's lack of visual black-coding is because he is a VERY white-passing creole man. And because of that, he was treated so differently than his mother. And he was treated differently when people found out about his heritage. He became a big radio host. He was popular. He was famous. But he wasn't seen as an equal human being. He was a performer to be enjoyed, but never a person to be respected. He was "one of the good ones" at BEST. And he believed in the good of people. His mother was such a kind soul. She instilled in him that everyone has good inside of them. So he waited to see it. He waited and he waited, and he only saw increasing racism and violence towards his people. One day he just snaps and kills someone, and he considers it a justice. People like that are never going to change. The world is better without them. So he just keeps murdering racists until he gets shot in the head. And when he finds himself in hell, he believes even LESS in the good of people or God or heaven or whatever. If killing racists sent him to hell, then God is evil, and the idea of objective morality in and of itself is perposterous. Positioning Alastor as a vigilante killer would also make some of his comic depictions make more sense. Like he's a really nice guy to Rosie and other women, but he's also a violent murderous man. It's because he thinks people are good or bad, and if you're bad it justifies whatever he does to you. The cannibalism might also be like a power thing. Alastor's arc is about believing in Charlie's mission, genuinely. Eventually, it's not about watching people stumble and fall, because there's a cosmic humor to the cruelty of the universe. He starts to genuinely see people improve, but he fights against the idea, because his life was defined by static, perpetual, instituional evil. Maybe a soul gets redeemed before his very eyes, and he still doesn't believe it. Because to admit a human's capacity for moral growth is to completely restructure his entire understanding of the world, and that's scary.

Finally, Charlie. Princess of Hell. I've always been rather fond of Tolkien's sentiment that evil cannot create, only corrupt. So I don't think Lucifer is her real father. I think Charlie was like… a baby angel. And when Lucifer was leading his rebellion he stole children and forced them to fall to hell with him. It was just another way to bring misery, forcing the innocent to share the burden of his punishment. I think he got a sick pleasure from raising her. He "loved" her, or at least she thought he did. He was very, very good as playing Father. Prince of Lies and all that. He gets a chuckle knowing she's so happy here rotting in hell and has no idea what she's missing from her true destiny in Heaven. But that goodness inside of her can't be extinguished. She's an angel. She has a natural instinct to help human souls and fight evil. But because she was raised in Hell, she doesn't understand the complexities of sin that the elder angels would have informed her about. She's naive, and she certainly has to learn how to help guide people towards a brighter path, but she doesn't change her stance. So many times characters who believe in the good of people end stories with some pessimistic maturity where they realize that some people can't be helped. But Charlie doesn't change. Charlie stands firm at the end of the series believing that EVERYONE can be redeemed. It won't be easy, and you could argue it's not even fair, but she believes it. Lucifer chastises her, saying it'll take an eternity to change a sinner's mind, but she just smiles. Because an eternity is what she has, and she'll spend it helping people.

Also Chalastor is canon.

[jinlias]

tally - rosé

— songwriter!, musician! rosé, paparazzi

i say fuck it when i feel it, cuz no one’s keeping tally i do what i want with who i like

rosé was exhausted, she hates this cycle. of sneaking around and hiding under dark clothes when you’re in public, of hiding her lockscreen and the polaroid on her phone case from appearing on photos or videos, she hated being unable to talk about you to everyone, she hated all of this, loathed it.

but she always kept you around, even if you had to ride with crew most of the time, for when she was away from you too long she would start to hear her own heartbeat more than she’d like. you were peace to her. rosé was exhausted, but mostly, she was furious.

and i ain’t gon conceal it, while you talking all that shit, i’ll be getting mine

it was a thing of time, that everyone started noticing the same feminine silhouette around her even when none of her crew was. fans kept up with her management team, everyone even knew her re-ocurring friend group, they just couldn’t pinpoint where u fell, yet, you were always there.

don’t apologize for my behavior, if you’re offended i don’t care.

she never fit in the usual korean mold, the delicate, educated and always quiet women she shared the industry with because they valued their dream career more than their own freedom. controversy is what made her stand out, it’s how she blew up, it’s expected no one was too surprised when she started a soft launch of your relationship. pictures of the two bowls of food, tangled hands, two shadows on a crosswalk, small, private, intimate photos like these easily gave away it was not just one of her friends.

sometimes i like to go play dirty, just like all of the fuckboys do, that’s my choice and there’s no one i’m hurting, when that’s not girly.

but rosé has always been open about her private life, she’s never hid behind dark clothes or hats, at least not until you. she was a weekly topic on social media, everyone took out the time to discuss her possible hook ups, like that was of important matter to anyone else.

that’s why everyone else was so observant now, because all of the sudden she stopped running out of models’ apartments at three am with tousled hair. instead, she was seen hiding behind her clothes and around a becoming familiar silhouette at restaurants, movie theaters, parks, at houses and parties of families who no one’s ever seen before, which was the ideal, but people would just not stop watching her. and you.

everybody tells me to play nice, everybody judge but looking twice, but my body don’t belong to none of them though, and i’m not going to change cuz you say so.

she was tired of playing nice, of laughing it off when men asked her about her love life, when the woman interviewer asked about any special boys in her life. she was tired of everyone assuming and deciding which one of her friends she was dating today. why couldn’t they see she loved you? why couldn’t they just move on? she wasn’t theirs to play around with, she just wanted to do what she loved, surrounded by people she loved. surrounded by you.

warned me to make the rules, or play the fool, it ain't that hard to choose

“rosie, this could make or break your career” you really wish it wasn’t this hard, you wish you could just love each other and live contently. without anyone else interfering.

“i don’t give a fuck anymore. i need you to do the same” she’s cried, she’s given up. but she’s angry, she wants this over. she wants you two to be free. “will you walk the red carpet with me? please” she asks again, begs, her eyes are telling you all of the above. how she can’t take this anymore, if she has to pretend she doesn’t know you for one more night, she might just explode.

rosé can’t ever explain to you the amount of bliss she felt when you agreed, she had been given an ultimatum since the beginning, play the fool or break the rules. play the fool because it could save her career, break the rules because it could save her. she’s finally brave enough to choose for you. and she chooses to be immensely happy, publicly

i say fuck it when i feel it. cuz no one’s keeping tally i do what i want with who i like.

that night, hell broke loose. so did the internet, the photo of her kissing you at the red carpet had millions of fans publicly giving up on her, but so many more expressing their gratitude and pride for her. regardless she couldn’t care less about the numbers, the money, all she cared about was you, her, your future together, and how it was finally possible.

[canirove]

My neighbour Rúben | Chapter 8

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Masterlist

This year everyone had outdone themselves with the Christmas market, making it look like something from those cheesy movies, and Julia was loving it. 

She had already bought an ugly jumper to wear on Christmas day, a few ornaments for our tree, and now we were looking for one especially for me.

"You are living with us now, which means that you deserve to have your own ornament to put on the tree" Lucy said. "It must be something that represents you."

"What was yours?" Rúben asked her. He was looking so cosy and handsome with his nice coat, his hat and his scarf... It was impossible not to stare.

"A shark."

"A shark?" I chuckled.

"That's what one of my teachers told me when I finished my career, that I was a shark. So I took it as my animal” she shrugged. “What's yours?"

"A cat" Rúben and I said at the same time. 

"Oh, twins!" Julia giggled. 

"Twins indeed" her mum said. "Though Rúben, I think you are more of a tiger. Because of your size, I mean."

"It's not the first time someone tells me that" he grinned before both he and Lucy turned to look at me.

"Let's see if we can find twin cats for you!" Julia said, grabbing me with one hand and Rúben with the other. Now she was the one being my guardian angel.

But after checking most stands and not finding anything, she finally gave up. 

"Mami, can we go ice skating? I'm bored."

"Sure. But I'm afraid that’s something Rúben isn't allowed to do, right?"

"I'm afraid not. But don't worry, Julia. We'll keep searching for those cats while you and your mum have fun" he smiled.

"Oh, perfect. We'll meet later where they have all the stands with food so we can have that hot chocolate. See you, guys" Lucy said before disappearing with Julia.

"Should we continue?" Rúben asked. 

"Ok" I smiled. Or tried to. I was alone with Rúben. At a Christmas market. Looking for ornaments for my tree. Why did this look like a date the two main characters of a romantic movie would have? 

"You know, if we can't find a cat, maybe we can find a piano" he said. "I know it is something kind of bittersweet, but you wouldn't be here if it wasn't because of it."

"I guess" I said, checking one of the stands and seeing a familiar face. "Is that..." 

"Uh?"

"Come" I said, grabbing his arm and walking towards the stand. "That's your friend John, isn't it?"

"That is him, yes" he chuckled, checking the ornament. This stand had personalized ones with both City and United's players, and they actually looked pretty cool. "Do you think they'll have mine?"

"Hello, can I help you?" the owner of the stand said.

"We were wondering if you had..."

"Oh, you!" the man said with a big smile. "I know who you are! Looking for yourself?"

"I actually am, yes" Rúben replied.

"I think there are none of yours there, let me check down here" he said, opening a box behind him. "Yours sell really well, especially among women. Wonder why” he chuckled. “Here you are."

"Oh, my God" I said, looking at the ornament the man was showing us. "Do you make them yourself?" 

"I do, miss. Do you think I make him justice?" he laughed. 

"This tiny version of him is much better" I smirked, looking at Rúben through the corner of my eye. He was rolling his eyes but also smiling.

"The good thing about this one is that he will fit under your tree. The real version is too big and there would be no space for other presents” Rúben said.

"Who says I'm asking to have you under my tree?" 

"Who says you aren't?" he replied with that smirk. "We'll take it."

"Oh, wonderful" the man said. "But it is a gift."

"No, no, I can't accept that. We are paying for it."

"But you are... You!" the man said, trying to not catch people's attention. "I can't make you pay for this!"

"You spent your time and money making it. It's the least I can do" he replied, his wallet already in his hand.

"Ok, then" the man said, putting the ornament on a small package. "My son won't believe me when I tell him I sold one of these to the man himself."

"Why don't you take a photo together?" I said. "That way you'll have some proof to show to your son."

"Oh, no, there is no need. I don't want to bother you anymore, have people recognise him, and ruin your date."

"We aren't..." I began.

"It'll be fine, don't worry" Rúben smiled. "Can I ask you something?" he said after I took a few photos of him with the man.

"Of course” he replied.

"Do you know about any stand that sells cat ornaments? We are looking for a couple."

"I don't know if I've seen any, but there is one that sells like cat miniatures with fur and everything. Kids love them, they aren't creepy” he laughed.

"We'll check it. Thank you very much, sir" I said.

"Thank you both" he replied. "And Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas" Rúben smiled.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"I'll take over now" Lucy said, picking Julia from Rúben's arms. After meeting with them again and finally having that hot chocolate, she started to get tired and didn't want to walk anymore, so he carried her all the way back home until she fell asleep. "Thank you very much, Rúben."

"No problem.”

"You can keep the welcome party going, tho. There is no rush to come home" Lucy winked before closing our apartment's door. Well, technically it was hers, but...

"Do you want to come in?" Rúben asked. "We've been walking for a while, you may want to rest your feet."

"Sitting down and resting my feet sounds like a wonderful idea, yes" I said, following into this apartment. Despite being the same as Lucy's, Ruben's looked very different. And not only because there were no toys laying around. 

"What do you think?"

"It looks... It looks like you."

"What?" he chuckled.

"I didn't imagine you with a house full of stuff and furniture of different colours."

"Oh, you mean that I have a boring house because I'm boring."

"That's not what I meant and you know it" I said, sitting down on his couch. His very comfy and soft couch. "Oh my God."

"Comfortable?"

"You can't even imagine. Can I lay down?"

"Make yourself at home" he chuckled.

"This is the best, Rúben. Who cares if it's boring?" I said, closing my eyes.

"Don't fall asleep."

"Too late. This is it. See you in a week."

And maybe I didn't see him for a week, but half an hour...

"Good morning, sunshine" he said when I opened my eyes. He was sitting next to me, my feet on his lap. 

"What... what happened?"

"You fell asleep."

"I did?"

"Yup."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. But I guess I was way more tired than I thought. What time is it?"

"Almost dinner time. Do you want to stay? I can order something."

"Ok."

"Just don't fall asleep again" he smiled, putting my feet to the side and getting up.

"I'll try not to” I smiled back.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Don't forget this" Rúben said, giving me the package with his ornament.

"I thought this one was for you?"

"I'm not putting my face on my tree” he laughed. “Besides, we agreed you were the one putting it because the real me was too big."

"That's what you said."

"Does that mean that you will be asking Father Christmas to find me under your tree?" he smirked.

"If you come with that sofa, maybe" I said, matching his smile. And then we just stared at each other in silence while smiling, no awkwardness between us. At least until his phone rang.

"I better go pick that up" he sighed.

"I... Yes, you should."

"Good night, neighbour" Rúben said, opening the door with a little bow like Roger always does.

"Good night” I replied, trying really hard to not start smiling like an idiot and miserably failing.

[j2d3]

Mr. Loverman | Mad hatter/ Jefferson x reader | Pt 4

Picture this since before the curse you and Jefferson have been best friends, your character is the chesiare cat but a witch version ( NOT A FURY 💀) . This is staged during season one during the time of the curse, your memory is erased but he still remembers you. ( Also Jefferson doesn’t have a daughter in this!!!)

“The chesiare cat” pt 1

“Mustn’t you go to that pub, you know I don’t like the men in there, their all a bunch of creeps!” My aunt says as she continues knitting her blanket, looking down cautiously and carefully.

“I have to, it helps us profit more.” I work at the pub usually at night serving all type of men staring with the poor, pirates, soldiers and drunks well their all drunks but hey whatever makes the money. My father had left me when I was a young girl, and my mother was always drinking so she wasn’t always the best parent. My aunt has raised like her own daughter ever since.

“Alright then, be careful Castra.” Castra was my nickname from her, I think it’s the word Cheshire thrived from Latin. I head out the door, flattening my dress and fixing my half up half down hair. Looking good, makes more money , it’s sad but it’s how most women survive in this world.

I stand in front of the pub before making my way into the drunken, a stench of alcohol and men fill my nostrils.

As time passes and the doors open and close repeatedly showing a regular, new or past customer. Eventually the pub quiets down, the type of quiet that’s unusual for a pub. What’s happening?

Throughout all the whispers and murmurs in the pub one escapes to my hearing, a hearing I’m quite shocked to hear. “The dark one’s here”

The entrance door swings open revealing the dark one in the doorway and a man I don’t quite recognize, “Serve us a drink won’t you dearie.” The dark one commands, as him and the random man beside him take a seat beside each other.

It’s unusual for a sighting of the dark one like this, sitting down in the pub for a drink especially with a friend. Eventually the pub goes back to “normal” as it gets back to its regular volume, but this time with weariness.

I can’t help but take glances at the man beside him, the brunette wearing a tall hat and eyeliner surrounding his eyes. Who is he? And why is he with the dark one? It’s none of my business really but I can’t help but ponder.

“You over there, I heard your mouth was going on about taking me on a fight and winning?” The dark one points his attention to one man in particular, I know him he’s a regular. He comes here almost every night, yapping all night long.

He sits surrounded by a bunch of guys, who have a long of fear surging their face. They back up from their seats, leaving their dear “friend” behind. The man has a look of fear and terror on his face.

“Look man I was only joki—ing, I didn’t mean it I s-swear.” He tumbles on his words, holding up on his hands in the hair, for a moment it looked like he about to cry. The dark one and the man beside him only laugh though, laugh at the man’s fear. Soon enough the man was turned into a toad right in front of everyone, followed by the dark one’s evil laughter.

“Need I remind you all once again to never cross my line, it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do. Little Peter couldn’t speak one word right, a shame I should’ve cut off his tongue.” The dark one announces, the same evil grin shown on his face.

The man beside him nods, smiling as if it’s a sunny admiration. It’s as if he’s mad, he holds a clock in his hands in which he holds as if someone’s about to snatch it from him. For a moment my eyes meet his, and his grins widens a bit but not before I turn my head away focusing on my work.

Time skip •

My night shift has come to an end and I am once again walking back home on a cold late night, but this time it’s different. That man is on my mind, and as much as I try to get him out it’s as if he’s making himself in my mind.

“Godamit, damn hat.” A voice breaks the silence of the forest, causing me to turn my attention to the voice and walk to where I heard the sound from. Eventually I see a man, as I peek behind a tree trying to see what’s happening.

“Always happens when I want to use it I swear.” The man says again, I take note on his features and immediately notice it’s the man from the pub, the one who walked into the pub with the dark one. I look to the hat on the ground and see him repeatedly throw it on the ground, god he really is mad.

I think I should leave now, watching a mad man all night is gonna do me no good. As I back away from the tree a branch is heard breaking from where I’m standing, “shit” I quietly say to myself looking back at the man to see if he noticed.

“Girl from the pub?” The man stands in front of me, smiling madly as I try to swallow the fact that I’ve been caught and how fast he noticed me. “Hi…” I responded nonchalantly but awkwardly, I mean what do you say when you were kind of stalking someone and now you’re caught?

“You stalking me?”

“I heard a sound when I was walking and I let curiosity get the best of me.” The man chuckles to my response, pushing a hair out of his face.

“Fair point girl.” I would tell him my name but knowing as I’ve only met him once would be kinda awkward.

“What we’re you doing with that hat anyway if you don’t mind me asking?” I question and the man smirks looking down at me as if I asked him a dumb question.

“Why practicing for my job of course.” I nod despite still being confused, what type of job requires you to throw a hat on the ground? Just as I was about to open my mouth to speak the ground breaks open where the hat is.

A new look is on his face now, shock. The ground opens wide, not giving us enough time to run. The man takes me into his arms as we fall into the hole in the ground together, a scream of fear escapes my mouth while the man screams in joy and shock.

“Oh shit” is all I hear escape the man’s mouth as we fall in the hole together, eventually we land on the ground in some place I don’t recognize. I sit up softly taking his hands off my waist, as he gets up fixing his shirt while grabbing the hat on the ground. As soon as he gets it, I take his hand as he helps me up from the ground, fixing my dress.

“Where are we?” I ask the man, taking observations of the newly discovered place. The ground of yellow brick, the bushes with red roses, and the sky a playfully color of night and all the other unusual things in this place.

“We are in Wonderland, best you stay close if you wanna get home girl .” He states, still holding my hand. I take my hand out of his, looking around again.

“Why don’t you take me home now? I’m tired I don’t know this place at all, I’m in a random place with a random man!”

“Well I have errands to run plus the hat can only work time to time, listen you can listen to me or not I don’t care. I know this place and if you stay with me I’ll get you home and I know this place well, but if you wanna strain away from me then you’ll find a way to discover how dangerous Wonderland can be!”

I nod in agreement, connecting my arm with his feeling a bit scared. I walk with him along the yellow brick pathway, cautiously and carefully.

“I’m tired, where can I sleep?”

“Mhm I can tell, your lucky I’m already going to a place where you can sleep.” He chuckles with a hint of madness, tugging me beside me tightly but securely.

Eventually our walking comes to a stop when reach in front of a odd looking yet small house, I walk inside with Jefferson looking around the house that looks messy yet in a clean way if that exists?

“What’s this place?”

“My place, where I host tea parties, play games and…sleep.” He says, his grin for some reason enlarging at the end of the sentence. He points at a room, gesturing me to go in it.

“Inside that room is a bed, where you can sleep.”

“Ok.”

I walk inside the room, immediately laying on the bed. God how one day in my life or just a couple hours could change my life. What am I going to do?

[thimbledoll]

The Dressing Doll

The Warlock's room was a disaster, every inch of it littered in skirts, petticoats, socks, and other accoutrement as he searched for the right combination of items for his doll. Satin mused to herself that it looked as though a lace elemental had made the room its nest.

After what seemed an eternity, Alistair finally emerged from the mountain of clothes with his prize in hand. "I knew I had it somewhere… This one just matches the blouse too well to not wear it, especially with the cardigan and tights," the Warlock said, holding the skirt aloft.

In the one tiny corner of the room not covered in clothing, the doll stood by as her Warlock navigated the mess he had made, the mess she would have to clean up later. When at last he had cleared the obstacle course, he held it out for her to step into.

Slipping her stockinged feet into the skirt, she had to admit, it really did pull the whole outfit together, especially once a petticoat was added. Moving to the hallway mirror to better see his handiwork, she saw reflected the picture of pseudo-Victorian fashion he so enjoyed.

The puff of her skirt and her blouse's sleeves combined with the tapered waist the skirt cut an incredibly elegant figure. The red and white pinstripe of the skirt drew out the matching whites of her blouse and stockings and the reds of her shoes, cardigan, and hat.

It was a gorgeous outfit heavily contrasted by her Warlock's own appearance. Dressed in jeans and a worn-out, hooded sweatshirt, his scraggly beard and hair that hadn't seen a barber's sheers in a decade created a clear picture of a man who cared nothing for his own appearance.

"As always, this doll must thank you for your assistance, sir. She truly has no eye for these sorts of things," Satin said.

"It's… it's nothing. I find this entertaining, you know that."

"And yet you apply none of these skills to your own fashion, sir. You own more clothes for your doll than you do for even yourself. It begs the question, why…?"

Alistair sighed, exasperated. "We've been over this. A. That isn't 'begging the question' and B… if I'm going to have a doll to assist me around here all day, then she may as well be one I enjoy looking at. After all, that is the Purpose I Made you with, is it not?"

Satin could feel in her core that something about what he'd said wasn't quite right. It was close, but as always, it didn't resonate at quite the right frequency with her being. It gnawed at her. Something indiscernible pushed her to try a different tack this time.

"If this doll could ask a small imposition, would sir humor her today?" she asked.

Alistair was taken aback. Satin never really asked for things. Not since the very day of her Making could he recall such a thing. It seemed the least he could do for her, given circumstances.

"Alright, so be it. As long as it doesn't distract from my day's work too much. What is it you want?" he answered, trepidatiously.

"Please play dress-up with this doll, sir."

"We just got you dressed, doll."

"No, sir. This doll asks that you join her in dressing up."

"Oh…" Alistair paused before thinking aloud. "I don't really own anything that would go with what you're wearing… My wardrobe's more built for comfort than it is looks…"

"There are plenty of clothes here for you, sir," Satin replied, indicating the remains of his search.

"What? Nonononono. Those are yours. Besides, they'd never fit," he protested.

"Sir, this doll has seen her design specifications. Our body proportions are identical. They'll fit just fine."

The Warlock's air of confidence and bravado wavered as he countered, "They-they're women's clothes, in case you haven't noticed."

"You yourself, sir, have told this doll that part of being a Warlock is rejecting the impositions society puts upon you. Why hold on to this one?"

One by one, Satin dismantled Alistair's arguments as adeptly as he could dismantle her, until the only defense he was left with was staring at the floor, stuttering, "Then… then they wouldn't suit me…"

"This doll begs to differ. Come, let this doll figure it out, sir."

Taking her Warlock by the hand, she led him back to the bedroom, to a spot atop the bed which she quickly cleared off. Once seated, Alistair nervously fidgeted, wringing his hands over and over. Muttering to himself, he mused, "A Warlock showing fear before his doll… Pathetic…"

Satin chose to pretend she hadn't heard him, turning to the task she'd set herself. Looking at the options before her, the doll couldn't even begin to figure out how her Warlock did it every day, turning all the varied options into a complete assemblage that complemented itself.

Still, something drove her forward. She didn't need the best outfit. Perfect coordination wasn't required here. There was some other quality she was looking for, something she could identify as she picked various pieces from the piles. Some stockings here. A shirt there. This skirt or tha—no, it was definitely that one. Somehow she could tell which ones were right. She could feel them, feel them resonate in a way nothing quite had before.

All the items gathered, she brought them over to her Warlock. He'd apparently taken to covering his face to try and hide his feelings. His fear. His embarrassment. His shame. Still, there was work to do.

One by one, she removed each piece of uncared for clothing from Alistair. He offered no protest, moving as needed to assist, but hiding his expression all the while. Satin was slow, careful, deliberate. It was a delicate process, as she peeled back layer after layer of armor. Reduced to his drawers, Satin could build him back up. In a mirror of their daily routine, she helped him into each article of clothing she'd picked for him. Slipping his feet into the tights. Buttoning his blouse. Lacing his shoes. Until Alistair no longer stood before her.

Placing her hands atop his shoulders, she walked him out to the full length mirror in the hall. Speaking to him for the first time since he'd wordlessly agreed to her request, Satin said, "It's done. Please, sir, take a look."

Slowly, he lowered his hands. There, in the mirror, he finally saw it.

He swished to the left and so did his reflection. He turned his foot out and so did his reflection. He spun around in his skirt and so did his reflection. He smiled like never before and so did his reflection. Finally, he cracked—and so did his reflection.

Tears streamed from his eyes as he cried out, "Why? Why? Why?! Why isn't this enough?! Why doesn't it work?! I look like a joke. I look ridiculous. I look like… I look… I look hideous… No one would ever… I could never… It doesn't work… It was supposed to work…

"This hair." Crack. "This beard." Crack. "This fucking face!" Crack. With each outburst, the crack in the mirror spidered and spread. "They. Don't. Work! They don't fucking work! They're wrong! It's wrong! It's all fucking wrong! It was supposed to work!" CRACK.

He broke. He bawled. He cried out the bloody, primal scream of a person whose very spirit was being torn in two. It was all Satin could do to hold herself together against the Magicks he cursed into being as she held on to him, crumpling together to the floor.

When at last he'd caught his breath, he continued, "Why do I want this to work? Why do I need this to work? Why am I the problem? Why isn't this enough? Why…? Why…? Why do I finally see me…? Why does that make me feel so sick, but so…?"

Satin could not say where the right words came from, but without hesitation she responded, "It's ok. No matter what you are you. No matter what you made this doll. No matter what this doll is here. We'll… we'll find the answers, si—We'll find the answers. Together."

So they lay upon the floor, the doll consoling her Maker, as the world, the pretense, and the mirror shattered before them.

End 🧵

(Old story reposted from Twitter)

[vidavalor]

Ok, your meta where you talk about what Dagon's saying about Satan and Crowley and the appetizers has gutted me like a fish (that pun feels wrong 😁) Do you see other scenes that are about this in the show? I think you're right about it and I'm just wanting to pick your brain on the topic because I think it makes the story even better if it is talking about stuff like SA.

Hi! Thanks for reading. 💕I really appreciated the pun actually lol as it's a tough topic and good to have a laugh in there. I wrote a post about parallels between Crowley and Satan and Nina and Lindsay that I'll link below but I do see it in other scenes that I haven't mentioned yet as well, including a scene with Mrs. Sandwich and the Discorporated!Aziraphale scene...

TW: discussion of SA under the cut.

One scene I see it in is this actually this one:

As they're getting ready to go face the demons-- led by devout Satanist Shax-- Crowley asks Mrs. Sandwich if she "has her hat pin." Crowley isn't under the 19th century spell that everyone else has been at times during The Ball but he's referencing the one thing from that era that Mrs. Sandwich will get, likely whether she is still under the magical influence or not. Hatpins were banned in England during the suffragette movement in that era as they were the most common thing a woman could carry on her person that she could use as a weapon to fend off sexual assault-- and many women were doing just that. The men who held the government positions and the power sought to outlaw them to "protect themselves" from women by doing this and led to women carrying weapons more surreptitiously-- like hiding a knife in their stockings, etc..

Mrs. Sandwich owns a bordello and is a sex worker and the odds of her not being a sexual assault survivor herself are slim to none. Crowley accurately determines that she's the person in the room best qualified to back him up and he wants her close so he can make sure she doesn't get hurt because he cares about her. Mrs. Sandwich is wearing a hat that is pinned into her hair so she is carrying a literal hat pin but Crowley's question is really asking her if she's otherwise armed-- and ready for this-- to which Mrs. Sandwich replies that she's "got more than that, love." She's got Crowley's back. Who is best equipped to fight The Devil? The ones who already have won a few rounds, like Crowley and Mrs. Sandwich.

There's also this bit from S1 about Crowley and Lucifer/Satan, especially if you take into account how euphemistically food is used in the show:

Yes, Crowley is drunk but it's been the case across a few scenes that there's often a lot of truth in what he's saying when he's off his head. "The food hadn't been that good lately..." He's basically saying he was bored and lonely and depressed and so was vulnerable to Lucifer's initial attentions and what Crowley thought was some sex and some new friends wound up an abusive boyfriend and eternal damnation.

The rest of this scene is Discorporated!Aziraphale appearing to Crowley and it helps illustrate why the first part of it begins with Crowley talking about Satan-- it's to continue to draw a very deliberate contrast between Satan and Aziraphale. Aziraphale shows up and the topic becomes how Aziraphale needs to possess someone to get a body temporarily and get to Tadfield. The prior time in the series at this point that we saw someone possessed was when Satan attacked Crowley. Crowley and Aziraphale are the exact opposite of that in this scene, which is, ultimately, about consent. Aziraphale won't possess Crowley and is, instead, searching diligently for a receptive body-- a person willing to let him possess them. Aziraphale's jokes are sexual innuendo relating to his own lack of a body rather than an actual request to possess him. Lucifer is literally possessive, while Aziraphale is not, and would not break Crowley's trust by violating him.

[sillypiratelife]

Not a meta but Sanji is the most similar to the straw hat women.

Idk why??? Kinda???

I'm barely in the Naval Fortress arc of the anime and most things I know about the crew's past are from spoilers, so I won't claim to have a perfect opinion on this matter. It's just that whenever I look at the crew, their backstories, the way they act, the way they see the world... Sanji stands apart with the girls.

Luffy, Zoro, Ussop, Chopper... They were never forced to join an evil pirate crew or organization when they were still children or teenagers. Not in the way Nami had to join Arlong or Vivi had to join the Baroques; not in the way Robin had to join all those organizations since she was barely 8 years old just to survive. There's something about those experiences and Sanji's past with Germa. I don't like you, I'm not like any of you, I actually hate you for hurting so many people, but I have to pretend, I have to try to be what you wanted, I have to do it to stay alive, a bit longer, just a bit longer.

I'm also talking about the political burden they all carried. Nami, Robin and Sanji had no one by their side to guide them. They were either fugitives or pieces of the geopolitical game. How scary it was for them, to know how little they were, how unfair their lives were...? To know they could never look back, there was no kindness waiting for them if they didn't take it for themselves.

You have the same narrative frame for the mother figures in their lives: the ideal woman who guides on who and how they want to be. Bell-Mere, Olvia and Sora sacrificed themselves for them, to offer them a future. There's the toughness and there's the kindness and there's the opposition to figures of power they disagree with. They'd not bend or break. Nami, Robin and Sanji inherited their will.

When Sanji scolds Luffy, Zoro and Ussop for their dumb ways, he does it similarly to Nami. They fill the same role in that sense. And yeah, they can be obsessed with money and women, but when push comes to shove they trust and admire their crew more than anyone else.

What about the self-sacrificing arcs? When Nami, Robin and Sanji knew their crew was threatened by their own affiliations with a shady organization, none of them doubted to turn their backs and go deal with it themselves. They "betrayed" the crew in the process, too scared to see their friends hurt or be the cause of their suffering. They'd fight for any of their nakamas, but somehow don't see how that applies to themselves. That was the big fight between Vivi and Luffy, after all. Why would they sacrifice themselves while denying their crew the chance to risk their lives for their nakamas? Why are they taking those decisions for everyone else? Why do they have to suffer alone?

Why do they think that the straw hats would ever stand aside and let that happen? It is an insult to what they believe in, to who they are. They don't abandon their friends, never. They are not those kind of pirates.

He can be strong like Zoro and Luffy, adventurous and a silly like them, always on the attack, excited to prove his worth and skills. After all, he's part of the monster trio. There's Ussop, too. There's the whole concept of "being a monster" that the devil fruit users, Zoro and Sanji share.

But if you ask me, there are so many experiences of Sanji's life that only the straw hat women can understand. It's no coincidence that womanhood and the desire (and obsession) with women is a main theme of Sanji as a character. What does it mean to be a woman, what does he desire from them, what does he admire, where does all that love come from. Even when the sexual aspects are used as a recurrent joke, One Piece says a lot through comedy.

[katenepveu]

So Les Mis Letters through the end of Part One, "Fantine."

(Reminder: I know very little about the plot, so please: no spoilers! Thank you.)

This turned out long (what a surprise!) so I will pop it behind a read-more.

I continue to be bemused by Hugo's approach to verisimilitude and sources. I would be perfectly happy to just roll with it, but he keeps calling to my attention the places in which he cannot know just as much as the places where he claims he does! Consider this from 1.7.3, "A Storm on the Brain":

It’s only in this sense that we should understand the words often used in this chapter: he said, he cried out. We say to ourselves, we talk to ourselves, we cry out inside ourselves, without the outer silence being broken. There is a great tumult; everything in us speaks, except our mouths. The realities of the soul are no less real for not being visible and tangible.

Beautiful, true, and also putting flashing neon lights around "none of this monologue could have been overheard by anyone!"

And then this from the chapter immediately after:

The nightmare struck him so forcefully he later wrote it down. It is one of the notes written in his own hand that he left behind. We believe we should transcribe the thing verbatim here.

Maybe it's because I really pay attention to how a work carries through its chosen narrative framework, but I find these constant attempts to reinforce the text's authoritativeness to have exactly the opposite effect.

To continue with the narrative's approach, I note this from 1.7.1, "Sister Simplice":

Among these details, the reader will come across two or three improbable circumstances that we are keeping out of respect for the truth.

All of 1.7 seems to be improbable circumstances stacked on improbable circumstances! This is not an objection, to be clear: Hugo obviously wanted to produce the specific effect of rapid tension-release-mounting tension of the journey to Arras, which works very well--even though I didn't actually have any doubt, this time, about how Jean Valjean was going to decide.

And that inevitability makes it pointless, for me, to quibble with the logistics--even though I admit I wanted to. For instance, I managed to restrain myself from looking up the possibility of appeals at this time in France, even though my day job is as an appellate lawyer: not the point! And while I tagged the post about the mayor's inability to delegate with "management! is! a skill!!!!"--because my day job also includes managing people and I have a lot of feelings about that--I know that's part of the larger point being made, about how ingrained prejudices manifest even in social structures that are meant to help and how there's only such much a single person can do.

So while I did think, quite a bit, about the competing duties to Fantine and Cosette and to Champmathieu, ultimately I couldn't judge Jean Vajlean as a person for his choice because as a reader, I didn't experience it as a choice, I experienced it as Hugo moving him through the plot to produce the desired effect. For a while I was looking for Good Place trolley problem gifs, thinking I would have Jean as the driver and Hugo as Michael making it all bloody; but then I came across this one, which seems extremely apropos (transcription in alt):

Jean Valjean, being our very explicit Christ analogue (1.7.3), could never do anything else.

(Do I wish that Fantine lived? You bet. Am I surprised? Again, no. Do I see it as Hugo demonstrating that women get the worst of it, and also Hugo demonstrating that he's sexist? why not both.gif!)

Finally, as a lawyer, I fully appreciate Hugo reading my profession for filth in 1.7.9:

The defense counsel had given a pretty good summing up in that provincial lingo that had long constituted the eloquence of the bar and that lawyers used to use in days gone by, every bit as much in Romorantin as in Paris or Montbrison, which today, having become classic and therefore old hat, is scarcely spoken anymore other than by the official orators at the bar, for whom it is most useful in its grave sonority and its majestic tone: a language in which a husband or a wife is called a spouse, Paris, the center of the arts and of civilization, the king, the monarch, my lord bishop, the holy pontiff, the counsel for the prosecution, the eloquent interpreter for the prosecution, the speech for the defense, the strains we have just heard, the century of Louis XIV, the grand siècle, a theater, a temple of Melpomene, the reigning royal family, the august blood of our kings, a concert, a solemn celebration of music, the general in command, the illustrious warrior who, etc., theology students, those gentle Levites, mistakes imputed to newspapers, the imposture that distills its venom in the columns of these organs, etc., etc.

I try very hard not to fall into that myself, but he's not wrong.

[wifetrick]

about the last 4 years of my life

Every day she wakes up, goes downstairs to the mess they have made, and begins to clean it up. A lonely witch, an unruly set of dolls. Teaching them day in and day out how to be kind, to sleep when told, to listen to what she has to say. Yet they never will. They will keep getting hurt, they will keep creating this mess, and the witch will clean it, and it will be her fault. She took them in after all.

Days go by and they're all the same. Months go by and they're all the same. An endless game of giving and giving. Second chances, second homes, a new guardian, a new person to lean on. Some dolls enter while others leave, none of them happy, talking of how the witch has hurt them. With all the attempts to heal, over time she just got worse and worse. She starting to hurt them more and more as all she can do is project from her soul. The pain she felt at raising them, lashing out what she tried to hide.

Walking home one day from the market, a child stopped her on the street, curious the child asked, "why are you dressed like that?"

"Well, I'm a witch, I live up in the woods and care for a family of dolls."

"Is it lonely being up there?"

"Well, yes, being alone up there is less than ideal, but the people of this village fear me, they fear what I'm capable of, and so i choose to live away from it all."

"Well it must be worth it then, to have a family to call your own! When I grow up I want to have kids too!"

"I suppose you could call the dolls a family. Though all I can ever seem to do is raise them poorly and watch them leave, I wonder if this existence really makes it worth it, to live and die alone..."

After staring at the hill in silence, the witch turns back to the child with a smile. "I suppose I should be off now, I need to make sure they don't make too much a mess while I'm gone. It was nice getting to talk with a human again, most people fear me, and you should probably do the same."

"Why's that?"

"Well, a witch can be a powerful thing, and a witch can be quite a rude thing as well."

"Are you rude?"

"No but-"

"Well then what's to fear?"

The witch smiles, "I mean for others child, if you ever see me you're welcome to talk, I promise I wont hurt you."

And as the witch returns home she can't help but think of the child, and as she cleans up yet another mess she can't help but think of the village, and as she goes to sleep she can't help but wonder how different her life could be.

"If only I were human," she whispers to herself, and when the next day comes, the cycle continues, and when the next month comes, the cycle continues, and when the next year comes, the cycle continues.

And eventually, her reputation is spread, and the dolls stop coming. And eventually the ones there get fed up, and her home is empty. She's alone again, but it all feels the same. Empty connection, raising those who hate her, wasted time.

As the hat comes off, as the messes are gone, she holds on to what little parts of her she had left.

Her strength, her pride, her ego.

And as the years go on, she wonders if she ever truly will learn how to be human, or if this is all there is.

All those years giving, she never did learn how to take.

She never did learn how to reach out and grab for the help she needs.

And so,

alone,

she suffers.

It doesn't have to be.

A village that turned her away.

Dolls that tugged on her dress.

In these moments she thinks back to the child.

And she wonders how much the village turned her away, and how much she simply just believed she had no place there.

Slowly, more and more, the witch leaves her house, and goes to the village.

Slowly, more and more, the witch is treated as less of an outsider, and becomes known. She is seen at gatherings, she is seen at the market, she is seen talking to the other women of the village, she is seen smiling, becomes simply another part of the village by the woods. In her final days, she learns how it feels to be but any other human. She learns how to be beautifully, painfully, normal. In her final days she smiles more than she ever has. And is buried in the graveyard with any other human.

[yolomichaelz95]

Felt like writing a little fanfiction today, please give constructive criticism (positive comments only!)

Sakura Shinguji Attempts Murder and Goes to Prison

Chapter 1

Sakura had always considered herself a bad bitch, but none of her colleagues in the Imperial Flower Assault Division took her seriously. She decided that today, things would change.

Sakura: “Tachibana! Get your head out of your ass and listen up!”

Mariya: “…for the love of god why has that woman still not been fi-“

Sakura: “Because I carry this entire military organization on my delicate, breedable shoulders”

Mariya: “Breedable? Ugh, whatever, what do you want?”

Sakura: “What’s the baddest thing you can come up with?”

Mariya: “I don’t know, like, murder?”

Sakura: “On it.”

Mariya: “No wait- “

Sakura: “Too late.”

Sakura ran to the armory and started emptying the cupboards onto the floor. Guns, bullet belts, mech parts, all danced in the wind of her passion like a twirling blizzard of ill-intent, graciously flummoxing the beta cucks passing by. One of them hesitated, stopped, and asked, “Ms. Shinguji, wha-”

Sakura: “Did I give you permission to talk, Ichiro? And no, you can’t have my birth control pills, buy your own estrogen.”

Ichiro: “That wasn’t what- I’m just gonna go.”

Sakura: “You do that.”

Finally, Sakura found what she had been looking for. An unethical amount of bis(2-cloroethyl)sulfide and several other cytotoxic compounds. Giggling with glee like a crazed clown hopped on helium, she dashed through the door.

While miandering through the streets, she pondered to herself. “Now that I have the goods, who do I use them on? Ever since Sumire Kanzaki from the hit video game series Sakura Wars, now available on PS5, told me about misandry, I’ve been dying to commit violence against males. But the only male I know is Ichiro, and even I can’t target a femboy...” Then it hit her, a bird shit from above. She wiped it off but ended up just smudging it all over her hair. Then she finally realized: she should have worn a hat. But also, she knew who she should target.

Who’s the worst patriarch out there, if not god? Emboldenedly, she yelled “women’s rights” and lobbed a large vial of bis(2-cloroethyl)sulfide into the skies. She missed, but god’s feelings were hurt regardless. Just as Sakura was preparing another vial, she heard a yell behind her.

Police: “arem you LITTERING???? uou go to PRISON, now!!!”

Sakura: “Shit, a dirty pig cop!”

To be continued...

[stopthecarrrr]

In depth Headcanon/Analysis.

Steve really loves attending family dinners because having them with his own family is such a rarity. He has a hard time understanding when people get annoyed with their parents checking up on them and things because he would give anything for his parents to actually show that they care. He has moments where he feels like his mother cares but then she dips on him at the drop of a hat, giving false promises of returns or trying to buy him off with money. He can't stand the silence in that big house but that was all he had after the break up with Nancy. Until he started getting closer to Dustin and the kids. They gave him a purpose. They gave him the family that he was so deeply lacking in his life. Why do you think he could always sneak out and go to Nancy's? Because no one was waiting for him at home. His father has such high expectations of what he should be doing, his grade point average, and who he should be dating. He was taught early on that women were meant to follow men by Mr Harrington. But that's one thing that made him fall for Nancy Wheeler. She was none of the things that he had been taught. She didn't swoon. She didn't bend. She wasn't afraid to call him out on his bullshit. She was strong, independent, funny, and she didn't seek interest in him out of popularity. He fell in love with her and those differences that made her stand out. That made her who she was. Nancy wasn't the kind of person to just stand behind someone. She was meant to shine and Steve loved seeing that. Sure, he teased her about studying all the time but he admired that about her. She could outsmart him about near anything. It wasn't just her beauty. It was her brains, her personality. He even enjoyed her family because they were different in a lot of ways than he was used to.

[thymechaos]

*hamilton voice* ONE MORE THING

i’m sorry i should let this post rest but i still have brain worms, so:

i’ve seen several people in replies/tags bring up sanji’s comments regarding wanting the invisibility fruit for peeping tom purposes, often as an example for when the pervert trope overrides the more thoughtful characterization, or just as “man this made the character less enjoyable for me”. and while i see the point, i just want to point out one thing about this.

sanji is a WILDLY unreliable narrator for his own actions and motivations.

like we already know this, because he vastly exaggerates how much of a knowledgable ladies man + a pervert he is, when in reality, the proximity of any pretty woman turns him into a 12-year-old with a massive crush who wants to carry their bags, bring them a snack, do everything for them. he’s functionally useless around women, not some kind of smooth casanova. he says he's for all ladies and can't choose one, but he was ready to literally get married to viola at the drop of a hat. and apart from a couple of brief gags, most of which only appear in the anime, he doesn't DO anything perverted; he at most thinks dirty thoughts, and that's not the same thing.

BUT THE POINT IS… the invisibility fruit comment? horseshit. we all know he would NEVER use it the way absalom uses it, to start with, because the dude straight up ASSAULTS nami :/ sanji would not do that. as for claiming he’s always wanted the fruit for peeping reasons, that is genuinely the most deranged nonsense.

like we actually see a flashback of him finding out about it as a kid, right? and we see castle walls behind him, meaning he’s still at germa, but no mask. so, 1. this was BEFORE he was 8 years old and 2. the only two girls he’d ever seen at that point were his sister and his mother, possibly some grown-ass servants. so no, he didn’t fucking want that fruit to peep with, that’s ridiculous.

so let's be logical about it. why does a, say, 7yo in his situation read about an invisibility fruit and immediately want it? it's pretty obvious. if his brothers can't find him, they won't beat the absolute shit out of him so often. he'd be free to do what he wanted, he'd be able to cook, he'd be able to show emotions and no one would know. he's got tons of reasons, and none of them boil down to wanting to see a tiddy at the tender age of 7. those ideas came later, and my man straight up rewrote his own narrative for why he wanted it so badly. but in truth, he wanted the option to not be perceived for other, more complex reasons.

"but what about sneaking into the baths as soon as he got the raid suit?" i hear you cry. yeah fair but like... those were the PUBLIC, MIXED SEX BATHS. lol. like my man straight up could've just walked in there? no one would've stopped him? nami probably wouldn't have been pleased, but it literally wouldn't have been wrong for him to do so. so the reason he had the suit on was not because he shouldn't have been there, but rather because he didn't want to be SEEN there. here, too, he didn't want to be perceived. again, make of that what you will.

i just can't believe that oda fucking create sanji, a stereotypical ladies man who simps to an embarrassing degree for women while having his hackles comically raised around everyone he perceives as a man - and most notably butting heads with the more obvious ~manly man~ of the crew. haha, classic anime running gag, the kind that gets obnoxious at times but still makes you laugh.

AND THEN, like a billion chapters later, motherfucker steeples his fingers and goes "soooooooo... what makes a person Like That?"

and the answer is that he grew up in fucking Toxic Masculinity, The Kingdom. the answer is that he was always Different, in a way other guys instinctively perceived as weak, and that made him the target of visceral scorn and violence. the answer is that he was sensitive, sweet, caring, nurturing - feminine-coded traits which are only valued by patriarchy insofar that they're performed by women in service of men. the answer is that in a kingdom comprised almost entirely by violent men, the only ones who were ever kind to him, the only safety he ever had, were a girl and a woman.

so cooking is for women and servants, it makes you less of a man. only women will ever really value you for your passions and dreams. women are also actively hurt by the way the world works, they are unsafe unless they comply with men's violence, and you have to protect them.

(men will always know what you are, and they will hurt you if you let them.)

and even after he leaves... at baratie he is cherished and respected, but even that is an extremely masculine environment. we don't talk about our feelings, we don't let our guard down, the only love is tough love. when he tries to express his artistry and express himself through his cooking, rather than just filling orders and making money, he gets mocked.

so here is a man who will not raise a hand to a woman, because he rejects the masculinity he was raised with and refuses to become yet another man subjecting women to violence. he is desperate for women's attention and affection because it's SAFE, it's the only kind he can trust. other men are potential threats and must be treated as such. he must at all times be snarky, tough, Not Feminine, because to be perceived otherwise is to be powerless, to be hurt.

like y'all. the queer coding of it all? the overtly feminist themes? the active rejection of toxic masculinity and the way it's shown to be directly tied to imperialism? what the fuck.

[astheskyisblue2]

Chapter one- Sunflowers, The Pageant

A/n: Hi guys I hope you like this chapter! Please reblog, follow and or like if you want! Just a quick trigger warning for domestic abuse and child abuse here and throughout the story!

Aria’s P.O.V.- July before Junior year

    It should be illegal to wake up early in the summer. Summers were made to sleep in, comfy in your bed, and pretend like the rest of the world didn't exist. It should be socially unacceptable for anyone to get out of bed before noon unless it is an absolute emergency. 

    Nothing important happened in the morning either. All the fun things happened at night. But if everyone had the same schedule, none of the fun things would happen at night because the fun thing about night was the peacefulness. The feeling that you are the only one in the world, and nothing you did mattered. Not really. You couldn't do anything under the watchful eye of Mother Moon that would fuck up your life entirely. As long as the only thing you wanted to do was sit up, in your window seat, draw and  listen to rock music so loud you would probably go deaf if you listened to it at that volume during the day. 

   Of course, that was just an illusion. A wistful dream of a nocturnal fifteen-year-old's mind that was being deprived of actual dreams by a criminally insane aunt who thought that it was, and should be, perfectly legal and socially acceptable to wake up at five in the morning while on vacation. 

   Not only to wake up so early, but to wake up so early to go to a beauty pageant. A beauty pageant! Beauty pageants were outdated, archaic practices meant to put women on display as if we are cattle for men to select and slaughter. 

    They were created to showcase the perfect female. Perky, thin, submissive, middle class and white. Fuck that shit. Fuck feminity. It was another way the patriarchy used to keep women in the kitchen and dependent on men. Even now when women are legally allowed to work, it's still socially frowned upon to do so after having kids and more socially frowned upon to not have kids at all. 

   God forbid, a woman want a life outside of marrying some man, who has a lot less social pressure on him just for being born with a penis, and most of them don't even treat women right. Fun fact: Did you know that women are significantly more likely to be murdered by their husband or boyfriend than any other person in their life? 

   And beauty pageants on their own were a hot spot for women and girls to be sexualized and attacked. Poor Jon Benet… Poor who knows how many like her that we would never know their names. The wrong things were socially acceptable. The wrong things were glorified, and it made me want to roll back over and sleep until three in the afternoon out of protest and spite. 

  Unfortunately, the universe had other plans for me. My endlessly energetic and aggressively morning person of a  twin sister skipped into my room. She was already dressed in a white sun dress decorated with sunflowers, a pair of wedges and an oversized straw sun hat. She was also wearing the same gold cross necklace that she wore every day. Part of me wondered if it had molded to her skin by now and that was why she never took it off.. Who even wore hats indoors? Apparently the same person who got up and dressed at, by the looks of her curls and face full of makeup, three or four in the morning with a smile on their face. I didn't even get to sleep until three or four in the morning most days! I wanted to soak up every bit of nighttime that I could. I groaned, "What do you want, Bri?" 

  Brielle giggled, "Well, Good morning to you too Sunshine!" She somehow pronounced the exclamation point. Everything she said was punctuated with an exclamation point. I think she'd vibrate with the excess energy if she tried to talk like a normal person. "I brought you a little something."She held out a can of Coco Chameleon,my favorite coffee. It was an iced coffee blended with a thick flavor of chocolate and cold brew. So it tasted delicious and had enough caffeine to keep me alive. I refused to drink the dirty water that was black coffee.

    I'm sorry but nothing can convince me that anyone actually likes black coffee, they just get a high off of feeling superior to others because they chose coffee as their hill to die on. Out of all the injustices in the world. They. Chose. Coffee. Couldn't be me. I'd take my sweet sweet sugary bean juice any day of the week. And I did. On pageant days, I needed at least two. It made me slightly shaky but at this point my bloodstream was forty percent coffee and sugar and sixty percent actual blood. "Did I mention I love you?"

    Brielle giggled, "You didn't, but I know you do. I love you too, by the way." She sat on the end of my bed and drank her green juice while I chugged my coffee like I was stranded in the desert and it was the first water I had seen in days. 

   After I had finished it, I sat up, groaned and stretched, with that amazing yawn that forced all the tired out of my body except for the little bit that hung around my eyes. I wiped the crusties out and sighed. "Alright, let's do this shit." Brielle tensed. "Oh come on, Brielle. Shit isn't even a bad word in the grand scheme of bad words." 

   "But it is a bad word and that makes it a sin. No sin is better or worse than any other sin.." She clasped her hands in her lap. So apparently cussing was as bad as murder?

  "Well that's bullshit." I mumbled, rolling my eyes. Brielle gasped. "What? What'd I say?" 

  "If you want to live on the path of sin then fine but you sure as sugar will not drag me down that path with you. Now, Aunt Meredith wants you down in twenty minutes and if you're late we're leaving without you." 

  "I'm not sure that's the threat that you think it is!" I yelled after Brielle as she left the room and stormed off down the hall. I loved her but she was a handful and a half. She acted that way because of her boyfriend's family, the Kipps. Our family was religious, sure, but their family was even more so. Our family was the type that went to church every Easter, Christmas and sometimes after a particularly bad fight. We only ever prayed before meals like Thanksgiving when my grandparents were over.

    The Kipps were the type of religious that practically ran the church. Mr. Kipp led the youth group. Mrs.Kipp and Mr. Kipp helped organize and run most of the fundraisers and outreach for the church. Mrs. Kipp spent several hours teaching and rehearsing with the church band. Brielle was the singer for said band and their son, John was the drummer. Fun Fact: Music is only a sin if it’s not about God. You can’t listen to secular music but you can make Christian covers of those same secular songs which would require listening to said secular songs. Just one of the many hypocrisies of Christianity. Of course, I would never say that to Brielle because she found so much joy in Christianity. Or she found something good in it because she devoted a lot of her time to it and it was different from the way that people would ironically watch a movie or wear a band tshirt. So, who was I to tell her not to believe in the things that made her see the world in brighter colors? That brought her green eyes to life?

      Even if I didn’t understand it or believe someone could conditionally love me unconditionally. I knew that I loved her unconditionally and maybe that was the only thing humans were meant to understand. Maybe the only thing that really mattered was our love for other humans. I didn’t know if that was fake deep or real deep. It all sounded the same in my sleep deprived brain. I needed at least ten to function properly. More reason as to why it was sadistic to make me wake up at five in the morning when I had only managed to get about an hour. 

  Brielle prayed before every meal even if we didn't pray with her. She went to every service. She sang in the church band. She carried mini bibles and promotional bookmarks in her purse in case she saw someone “God told her to” give it to. Between Church, cheer, pageants and school, she barely had time to sleep and eat but it seemed to give her the type of peace I only got from coffee or music.

      I knew that they wouldn't ever actually leave without me. I couldn't ever be that lucky. So, I threw my sheets off and started going through my closet to put an outfit together.

       “What was that about?” I jumped. I hadn’t seen Grace in my doorway. 

      “Jesus Christ, Grace. You fuckin’ scared me.” 

        “Oh so that was what it was about.” She sat on my bed and wrapped my blanket around her shoulders. 

   “Yep. Which shirt should I wear?” I pulled two out of my closet. 

       “You’re kidding me, right?” 

         “What?”

        “They’re the same shirt.” 

         “Uh, no they’re not.”

    “They’re both band shirts.” 

  “So? Band shirts are incredible.”

   “Well of course you think that, all you ever wear is band shirts.” 

    “That’s not true.” I put one of the shirts back in the closet and pulled on my Welcome to the Black Parade one. I had two copies of this shirt because I loved it so much. Then I started brushing my hair up into a high ponytail. I didn’t feel like wearing it down, I would look too much like all the girls who were actually competing. Except, of course, most of them were taller than me. I was a very petite five-foot-two and it was the reason I would always be taken as a newborn kit when I was trying to be a fierce Lioness.  The “I could kick your ass” vibe wasn’t as easily achieved and not nearly as scary when you were a pipsqueak like me.

    Grace handed me her thick makeup bag. “Here.” I wish I didn’t have to wear makeup but it was one of Aunt Meredith’s ridiculous rules that I didn’t give enough of a shit about to fight her on. Especially not on pageant days.  She was a special kind of intense on pageant days, at least the season was almost over. This pageant would be our last one for the year, and it was only one day instead of the usual full weekend. 

   There were rules that I pushed back on. Out of the three of us, I was the most outwardly rebellious child. I was the only one that was begrudgingly allowed not to compete in pageants. That was because, as the clever and mischievous child I was before I became the clever and mischievous teenager I am, I had sabotaged the pageants. It never seemed to be on purpose.  A forgotten lyric in the talent portion, or going shy during interviews, or putting my dress on backwards or unzipping it for the actual beauty portion of the beauty pageant. Which by the name, should be the entire thing. In fact, in a beauty pageant in its original form, that was all it was. The talent and interview portion were added in a performative action to make beauty pageants more feminist, before feminism was a colloquial term. 

   I know that I just said I should let people enjoy things even if I didn’t completely understand them but there was a huge difference between religion and beauty pageants, even if I believed the message behind them for women was pretty much the same and spoke to bigger problems in society that I as a fifteen-year-old girl who couldn’t even vote yet was powerless to change. I didn’t have a lot of control over anything so I rebelled and listened to loud and angry music. Mostly of men and the occasional woman, like Halestorm, screaming about how fucked up the world was because it made me feel a little less voiceless even though it didn’t really make an impact on anything except my insides but anything that made me not want to peel my skin apart made an impact on me and maybe that was all I could do. Maybe the only person I would ever make a difference on was me. Maybe my legacy would die with me, and maybe that was okay. Besides, beauty pageants were keeping me from sleeping and religion wasn’t, so I knew which one I considered to be public enemy number one. 

   I dabbed a bit of concealer on the deep purple rings that underlined my tired emerald green eyes and applied a bit of mascara. The mascara really made my eyes pop. I hated myself for saying that because it meant that one of Aunt Meredith’s opinions held even the tiniest bit of weight. So, out of spite, I zipped Grace’s makeup bag back up and handed it back to her without applying lip gloss. “Thanks.” I pulled on my thrifted leather jacket that was starting to peel from old age and overuse, I wore it everyday no matter the weather. It had gotten to a point where I didn’t feel like myself unless I was wearing it. So I guess I understood Brielle’s obsession with her necklace at least on that level.

   “Grace! Aria! Get your butts down here!” Aunt Meredith screeched. 

    “Coming!” I groaned and tied my black converse, my Doc Martins hadn’t come in the mail yet and it was too hot to wear them and a leather jacket in the middle of the summer anyway. Wearing a leather jacket was pushing it but there was no way I was going out without my baby.

   “I swear that’s like your emotional support blankie.” 

    “Shut up.” I bumped Grace with my shoulder and slung my bulging backpack over my shoulder.

       Aunt Meredith fussed with Brielle once they were in clear view. “Brielle darling, you look beautiful.” 

  “Thank you Auntie.” 

    “But there’s something off.” She tapped a finger on her lips and inspected Brielle’s outfit. “It’s the hat!” She plucked it off her head with both hands. I’m not kidding. She had to use both hands.. It was that big. “There, that looks a lot better. You have to keep your head clear for when you leave wearing a crown.” There was no point in her saying that other than to make Grace feel bad. Brielle probably wouldn’t even be wearing that same outfit by the time we left that night. There were a lot of outfit changes. That was kind of their main shtick. Aunt Meredith knew this. She had been taking me and Brielle to pageants since we were three and dragging Grace to them even longer. There was a time, now only remembered through photographs, where Grace was her star, but somewhere along the line, I don’t remember when Grace started having to battle to even be seen. “You look beautiful, Brielle. A future Miss America.”

  Brielle blushed and looked down at her feet. At least she had the common sense to be slightly ashamed. “Thank you, Auntie.” 

   “How do I look, mother?” Grace asked, apparently feeling brave that day. She was wearing a red off-the-shoulder shirt, dark blue jeans with a brown belt and matching brown boots. Her hair was curled too. I think that she tried to copy the way Brielle wore her hair but it didn’t go as planned. Most of the curls had come undone, but it worked. Her light chestnut brown hair was straight with a gentle wave to the ends. Her makeup was gentle, at least for her. I could still see the light dust of freckles across her cheeks, and instead of a striking lipstick, she was wearing a thick layer of gloss. She had clearly put a lot of effort into her outfit and I thought that she looked beautiful. 

  Aunt Meredith just ignored her, as she usually did. “What time do we have to leave?”

  Grace must’ve been feeling really brave that day because she repeated herself, “How do I look, mother?” 

  “You’re so rude. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a conversation?”

   “Okay.” She let out a sigh of defeat.

   “You look beautiful.” I said, sincerely.

    She rolled her eyes, “I wasn’t asking you.” 

    “I know.” I didn’t fire something back because I could see the hurt in her eyes. She didn’t need me mocking her for it. 

    “We need to load up the car anyway. Come on.” And by we, she meant me. Why couldn’t she and Brielle have done it? They were down here for twenty minutes before we came down. Brielle had given me a Coco Chameleon so they had gone to the store already too! We weren’t allowed to keep Coco Chameleon in the house in case it spilled and poisoned their precious green juice. But no, it had to be me. Every. Single. Time. I sighed and went to pick up the things by the door. A black metal box filled with hair and makeup supplies, several separate outfit bags, and Brielle’s baton.

   “Here, you need help?” Grace asked but  she was already picking up the bags.  Aunt Meredith and Bri had already gone out to the car.

   As the sun rose, we drove through the sleeping city to the pageant.

   The first portion of the pageant that day was Talent. “Can someone help me zip my dress?” Grace asked, struggling to push her hands to the zipper of her red floor-length gown. 

  “Relax, come here.” I held my hands out and she turned around, sucking in as I zipped it up.

   The dressing room, Aunt Meredith had paid extra to make sure we had a private one, was flooded with generic patriot music. Brielle flung herself across the floor, she was a flash of red, white and blue. She jumped and contorted herself while Aunt Meredith yelled out commands and the occasional compliment. 

    Grace lined her lips with red and twisted her hair into a braid. I handed her her belt box. A belt box was a small oddly shaped box that molded to her mouth and muffled her voice as she warmed up. Fifteen minutes later, Grace was called to the stage. On our way out of the dressing room, Aunt Meredith decided to share some of her oh so desirable wisdom, “Shoot for second place!” I’d say that she was just a bitch who had never mentally made it out of her teenage years but Grace and I were both still in our teenage years and we would never act like that. So, there really was no excuse for that. I wanted to punch her in the face to deliver some karma for her actions but I knew that that would only make her feel like she was the victim. So, with the little impulse control my sleep deprived brain would allow me, I put my hand on Grace’s back and led her out of the room and into the wings. As we stood there, I could feel a gentle shaking.

   “Grace… Are you crying?” 

  “No. I just don’t get why Brielle is some great saint. I mean, she’s not even that pretty.”

   “Oookay…”

“I didn’t mean you.”

“Brielle and I literally have the same face.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a bitch.”

“And Brielle is?”

“No…. Why do you always have to take her side?”

“I’m not taking her side.”

  It became more obvious that Grace was in fact crying.  “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired. So, so tired.” I would’ve offered to find her some coffee but I had a feeling it wasn’t the type of tired that coffee could fix.

  She turned around and I hugged her, gently stroking her hair.  “I’ll never be good enough for her, will I?” 

 I sighed and kept stroking her hair, “No. No hon, you probably won’t be.” Grace started crying harder into my chest. Yikes, I could’ve said that a lot more gently but it was the truth.

 “I just want to be what she wants. She’s my mother… why can’t I just be good enough for her?”

  “Because she’s a narcissistic bitch, and that’s not your fault. You can’t control her and… you can’t change that. But you know what you can do?” 

  “What?” Grace sniffled. 

   “You can wipe your tears, fix your posture, go out there and prove her wrong. Do it for yourself, okay?” 

 Grace wiped her eyes, “Okay. I’ll do it for us.” 

  I smiled and let her go. “I know you will.” 

  And she did, I knew she’d won even before the award ceremony. I waited in the audience next to Aunt Meredith. She was wearing an excessively flashy outfit. A bright red dress, rhinestone dangle earrings that looked like mini chandeliers  and a thick black and white pearl necklace.  All she needed was a thick white coat and she would look like Cruella Deville, except Cruella Deville was less evil. 

 “Thank you all for coming to DalesVille’s Annual Sweethearts Pageant. We have a lot of beautiful and talented young ladies here today and it was so hard to pick the winner. We wish we could give all of you a crown! But unfortunately, there can only be one winner per age category. Now let’s get on to the awards.”  Grace and Brielle’s age category was the last.

  “Second Runner-up is Cornelia Nottingham.” I held my breath, “First runner-up is Brielle Summers.” I let it go, smiling a justly smug smile. “And finally, Miss Teen Sweetheart is… Grace Roberts!”

   I jumped up and screamed. Aunt Meredith grabbed me by the wrist so hard I thought she was going to crush it. “Sit down and act like a lady!” She hissed at me through gritted teeth and dragged me down to my seat. 

   When she let go, there were red marks from her nails. “Jesus Christ…” My face burned with the heat of her anger in a way that told me she would’ve slapped me had we been alone. Little did she know, I would’ve slapped her back.

    Grace ran off the stage and hugged me. She had this expression of hope on her face that I hadn’t seen since we were kids. The sparkling crown on her head was reflected by the light in her eyes. “Did you see that? I did it!”

  “You did! Hell yeah you did! I’m so proud of you.” 

  “I’m going to check with the judges. There has to be some sort of mistake. My little Brielle has never lost a pageant to anyone.” This, of course, was a lie. But whatever helped her sleep at night. Aunt Meredith stormed off. 

 “Ignore her. These judges actually had a brain in their heads. You deserved to win, Grace. That was the best I've ever seen you perform.” 

    “You really mean that?”

    “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

     “Pinky Promise?” 

     I laughed, “You’re such a child.” But I held out my pinky to her anyway. 

  Brielle with her smaller crown, ran past our aisle and into the arms of her beloved John. Of course John was here. He picked her up and swung her around, then they kissed. They were that annoying, overly romantic couple. 

  “I wonder if they know they aren’t actually in a cheesy romance movie.” 

  Grace shrugged, “You know, it would usually bother me but I’m in too good of a mood for their dramatics to ruin it. I’m just glad she’s happy. John’s a really good guy.” 

  John handed Brielle a blue bouquet of sunflowers and some blue flowers. I didn’t know what type but I guess that didn’t matter. “Yeah, I guess he is.” They’d been dating for years and Brielle still blushed every time he did something romantic for her. 

  Aunt Meredith sashayed back over to us, her nose up in the air. “Don’t go getting cocky over your win. It was only by half a point and I’m sure that was a calculation error. You had lipstick on your teeth.” 

  “No, no you didn’t.” I said, thoroughly rolling my eyes at Aunt Meredith.

  “Well, maybe we should get your eyes checked.” 

   “They’re fine. Trust me.” 

    Aunt Meredith kept her teeth clenched. “Listen, young lady. It is one thing to not have even an ounce of taste but it is another thing entirely to blatantly disrespect me.” 

   “Oh, like you blatantly disrespect Grace? All. The. Fucking. Time?”

    “It’s not like that.”

    “No, you’re right. It isn’t the same thing because you’re the mother. You’re supposed to be above all this but instead you screw her over time and again.” 

  “Aria.” Grace put a hand on my arm but I shrugged it off. 

     “No, no I’m sorry but why the fuck do you think it’s okay? Do you not see the effect you have on Grace? On Brielle even? Why do you feel the need to bully teenage girls? Is it because you’re so deeply insecure that you can’t see people prettier than you without hating them for being that way? Maybe it’s not that they’re pretty at all, even though they’re fucking beautiful, maybe it’s that they’re actual human beings while you are proof that the devil exists.” I was met with a slap across the face so hard I blacked out for a second. 

   “Do not disrespect me, you ungrateful brat! I didn’t have to take you and your sister in but I did. And I can throw you out!” Everyone left at the pageant was staring at us by then. Brielle and John had snuck out. Good, I didn’t want her to hear the way Aunt Meredith spoke about us. She still had faith in the world, and the goodness of people and I’d be damned if I let someone take that away. I held my cheek, glaring at her. That was going to leave a bruise. Aunt Meredith flushed, looking at all the onlookers. “Carry on.” She dragged me out by my arm and Grace followed along. 

   The car ride was silent, Aunt Meredith didn’t even turn the radio on. So, I popped my headphones in and played  Second Chance by Shinedown on loop as I watched the sun go to sleep. It was my favorite song for when I needed to be somewhere else for a while. It was the best song to daydream about running away to and nothing could change my mind.  

          Brielle texted Aunt Meredith to say that she was going to the church lock-in. It was a youth group only event. Who wanted to spend the night in an old creepy church anyway? It was probably haunted. I didn’t see how it couldn’t be. There were two places on this earth that were definitely haunted: Hospitals and Church. Too much life went on in those places for them not to be. As much as I loved the Paranormal, I had no desire to actually see a ghost.

  Grace was still beaming by the time that we pulled into the driveway. She ran inside with her award. “Dad! Dad! Guess what?”

    Uncle Chris turned from the stove to his daughter. Bentley, our pitbull, was circling his feet in search of scraps. “What, Pumpkin?”

  “I won! I won!” 

  Uncle Chris hugged her, kissing the side of her head. His eyes had lit up in the same way hers did. For the most part, Grace took after her mother physically. So it was cute to watch their similarities. “That’s wonderful, Sweetheart. Congratulations.” 

  “Thanks dad.”

   “Do you want to do anything to celebrate?” 

  “Can we make cookies?” 

 “Absolutely not, you know the rules: No Junk Food of any kind during pageant season.” Aunt Meredith’s heels clicked across the floor as she joined us in the kitchen.

 “Come on, Mer. It’s just a few cookies. Don’t you want to celebrate our daughter?” 

  Aunt Meredith scoffed, “ Of course I-don’t undermine me in front of the children, Christopher. The answer is no.” She turned to Grace, “We can’t have you gaining any more weight. Then you won’t fit into your dress.” 

 “Don’t talk to our daughter like that, Meredith. Her weight is fine. She’s fifteen! She deserves to be a kid while she still is one.”

 It was like a shift in the air, something woke up in our monkey brains and we ran up the stairs, Bentley followed at our heels. 

[marzipanandminutiae]

historical movies and shows whose costumes I unequivocally love: an incomplete list

- Crimson Peak. OH MY GOD. THE GOLD STANDARD. THE A+ 1000/10 EXAMPLE OF HIGH-CONCEPT ARTISTIC COSTUMES THAT ARE STILL REASONABLY ACCURATE AND GROUNDED IN THEIR ERA (1901-ish, if anyone wasn’t sure). Designer Kate Hawley had never done a period piece before, and she now lives in my heart rent-free always and forever.

Just imagine: if you have an adult Victorian woman’s hair up like it should be, you can actually show that the character's in trouble by leaving it down all the time! What a concept! Using departures from era-normal in service to the story! Who’d have thunk it?! </s>

This list is in no particular order, but Crimson Peak is definitely #1.

- Emma (2020). BRB making 5,000 cute Regency spencer jackets. I love the costuming in this movie. I love it so much. A lot of the dresses are copied from or closely inspired by extant garments and it makes my heart sing. They even replicated my personal favorite Regency ball gown, a silk number from the V&A with a red net overlay and chenille embroidery on the sleeves, neckline, bodice, and hem. [chef’s kiss]

- John Adams (HBO miniseries). With respect to the costumers, who I’m sure did a ton of work and research, this one is what I call Too Boring To Be Inaccurate. There weren’t any particular artistic statements being made with the costumes- just normal, mostly New England clothes of the upper and upper-middle class in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Centered around a family that didn’t go in for anything flashy or ostentatious even when they had the money for it. Good, serviceable costumes that never made me want to throw things. Bless.

- Fingersmith (BBC miniseries). This one has a bit more departures from accuracy, mostly in women’s sleeve length and occasionally in hairstyle. But overall, it falls into the same category as John Adams. The costumes are there to cover the actors and inform the audience about age, gender, and status, and that’s it. Perfectly acceptable.

- Marie Antoinette (2006). Everyone talks about how inaccurate the costumes in this are. And they’re not wrong- a lot of details are off. But the silhouettes are reasonably good, they show us a lot about the characters’ world and mental states, and there’s change over time that mimics what happened IRL. It’s heightened, but not in a way that seems to mock the era. I actually really like these costumes. And the “I Want Candy” scene looks like an ideal day with my historical costuming friends.

- The Favourite. Is it time for c. 1700 badger royals being gay? Always. Always and forever. This time period doesn’t get enough exposure on film, and I feel like this movie really did it justice. Artistic liberties were taken, but nothing bad enough to detract from my enjoyment of the movie (and the costumes in particular).

- Titanic (1997). SO. PRETTY. PRETTY PRETTY 1912 PRETTINESS THAT MAKES ME WANT TO MAKE LATE EDWARDIAN CLOTHES AND BE THE PRETTIEST LATE EDWARDIAN PRINCESS. Rose’s hair should have been a bit more Up. That’s my one quibble. “Hair down to show that a character is becoming less repressed” was tired visual shorthand even back then (when I was a wee Marzi of 4 who memorized My Heart Will Go On despite not being allowed to see the movie).

- Moulin Rouge! I. I can’t even offer an excuse for this one. Except maybe that the few non-stage-costume outfits you see (and many of the stage costumes on people who aren’t Satine or Nini) aren’t actually that bad? ...look, it’s really pretty and doesn’t tick most of my particular Annoyance Boxes, okay?

- House of Wax (1953). I was surprised to see a movie from before like 1980 deliver so well on the costume accuracy front. But they do a pretty damn good job of dressing their middle-class characters in New York City c. 1905. There’s even a dressing scene where a female character appears to have all the right layers worn properly- and her tightlacing is presented as unusual, done specially for a night out with a new potential sugar daddy. 

- Hugo. The early 1930s outfits are great, but I really love this movie’s near-perfect recreation of late 19th-early 20th century film costumes. Kudos to the designer (Sandy Powell, natch) and shop workers tasked with going over Méliès’ movies with a fine-tooth comb and getting all the details right from very grainy, low-quality film taken 100+ years earlier.

- The Young Victoria. DAMNIT, POWELL, YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE ME SLIP UP AND ACTUALLY LIKE SOME 1830S STYLES. RUDE.