#The happenings here do not reflect the author's actual opinions on history | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thewonandonly · 23 days ago

Text

BE MY MISTAKE

PLAYLIST : spotify

PAIRING : ghostface!lee jeno (nct) x afab!reader

GENRE : horror/thriller(?), fluff, smut, angst (hurtfic)

SYNOPSIS : "happy halloween! time to play one giant insensitive prank on you like the popular movie franchise "stab!" lol it'll be funny dw"

WC : 12,670 words

WARNINGS : heavily based on the scream franchise. established relationship, strong language, jeno = billy and reader = sydney essentially, jeno and reader have sexy time with the mask on, oral (f. receiving), p-in-v sex, cunnilingus, dirty talk, um premeditation 😀, no happy ending. guys this is literally about a (fictional) murderer. there is a chasing scene. think scary movie 1 in the theater but more, like, serious.

AUTHOR'S NOTE : happy october :3 when you really think about it, isn't halloween time everyday? here's something i actually worked on bc im insane. also, there's a bit of an inconsistency with the writing; i said jeno already got tickets but obvi theyre seeing it at the theater party. i was already 3/4 of the way done writing it when i remembered so pls just ignore it plsplspls i beg. as always, please let me know if i forgot any warnings <3

DISCLAIMER : the characters in this story are to be allusions to real people, and none of the situations, personalities, and actions found here should reflect reality. i do not believe in any of the problematic actions displayed and mentioned. this story was created with zero intention to violate the images of the artists.

It was October, which meant another "Stab!" movie was going to be released within due time, which also meant, everyone was going to harp on about the events that happened last year; that happen every year. The "Stab!" movies that got rereleased in theaters every year for a week were really... not all that good, in your (unprofessional) opinion. They were poorly made "based-on-a-true-story" movies that influenced a worldwide prank across the world that caused a lot of actual real world deaths and trauma. But, your boyfriend, a film student, thought it was one of the best movies ever made! You remember you both started dating around this time almost three years ago and seeing the rerelease of the 1997 slasher film was quite unexpected. You didn't even know it existed until that time, when Jeno, your boyfriend, excitedly asked you out on that first date to see it.

You could remember your boyfriend shoveling buckets and tubs of popcorn into his mouth as you could barely stomach the thought of Sidney Prescott being harassed for years, decades. Your own judgement was being questioned that night and you ignored it.

Sitting at your laptop in the library, you let out a deep and long sigh as you stared at the blank word document. Given it was October and you were a criminal history student, it was only natural that you were given the assignment on criminal offenses that happened during the Halloween season. And of course, the first thing that popped up into your head was the Woodsboro Murders, after all the rewatches over the last year. The tabs open on your computer about the crime significantly slowed down your laptop that you were willing to opt for the books that rested on the library shelves.

And if it wasn't the cherry on top of your already obnoxious day, your computer crashed. Meaning, browsing the aisles for any information about your subject and writing the information down the classic "pen-to-paper" way was the only way you were going to get your work done, which was probably a blessing in disguise, considering you knew how easily you could get distracted.

You dropped your head to your hands, letting out a sigh before you lifted your head, your laptop slamming shut.

"I wanna play a game." Your boyfriend spoke in a sinister voice as he looked at you, holding a Billy the Puppet mask from the Saw films over his face, before he pulled it down to smile at you.

You sighed again, packing up the laptop, "Not funny." You grumbled.

Jeno laughed, turning his wrist to look at the mask, "What? Who doesn't love Billy the Puppet?"

You glanced at Jeno through your lashes and zipped up the bag you had, before walking over to the Windows Vista desktop your university refused to update and searched up your keyword: "Woodsboro." And you hoped your boyfriend wouldn't peek over your shoulder and-

"Woodsboro?" He perked up and looked at your face, "Are you studying about it?" He began to overload you with questions; "Why are you studying it?" or "How far are you along?" or "Can I help you with whatever you're studying this for?"

You couldn't blame him, you really couldn't. He was like a puppy who just found a stick in the yard. You knew that if you even slightly mentioned "Stab!" or the murders, you'd have to deal with your boyfriend bouncing off the walls. You were surprised he never decided to join your criminal history class, purely based on the fact he was the most knowledgeable person about the subject that you knew.

You looked at the top three recommended books, and erased the search from the results, wandering down to the section of the library. Jeno followed close behind. "It's for my criminal history class." Was all you said.

"I can help you!" He chuckled.

You stopped right at the final section pulling out the book titled "The Woodboro Murders" by Gale Weathers. It was a best seller, apparently, if the bright red font at the top of the book wasn't enough to tell you that. You held it in your arm before you pulled the second book out and placed in on top of the other. "Jeno, I know you're excited to help but it's history. This isn't some trashy movie about slashers."

Jeno winced as you criticized his favorite movie, holding his hand to his chest, "Come on, baby, you know I know better than anyone about this stuff." He smiled, "I can help you. I don't know just the trashy horror movie stuff. I know the psychology and the science behind it."

You attempted to walk away, but Jeno quickly pulled you back to smile at you, the Billy the Puppet mask still lingering in his hand.

Jeno was always handsome, and he knew it too. If there wasn't multiple times he was able to win you over with just his looks, you'd be lying. So, when he looks at you with his soft smile, and his soft eyes, you begin to fall all over again. You take in his features; the mole that sits under his right eye, his nose, how beautiful his eyes looked.

Fuck, you swore to yourself, here we go again. "Fine, you can help me." You almost grumbled. Almost. "But, I'm not using the movie as a source." You pointed at him, "Everything we include has to be in any of these books or reliable sources on the internet."

Jeno held his hands up once more, chuckling, "I got it. I got it. Consider the existence of Stab completely erased from my mind from this moment forward."

"Good." You continued down the middle of the book shelves, grabbing another book, your boyfriend following close behind, his hands brushing against the spine of the books.

Jeno perked up, "Hey, we've got a few days before our anniversary. I was thinking we could go see that rerelease on the day of."

You glanced at him once more, "I really need to keep a counter of how often you mention that movie."

As much as you hated the movie, and it's effects after the release, it was like you were reliving your first date with him. Last year, you guys went to the same theater, ordered the same snacks — a large popcorn with extra butter, gummy candy and one large soda you both shared — and you both were lucky to get the same exact seats as your first date. And you hoped that you could relive that day over and over again.

You glanced at Jeno, tilting your head to the side, "You already have the tickets, huh?" You asked.

"Yup." Jeno rummaged through his pockets and pulled out the tickets to show you, throwing his arm over your shoulder, "Same auditorium; same seats."

You smiled to yourself. Sure, he could tick you off mentioning "Stab!" ten to twelve times a day, but... you loved him. He was your boyfriend. And the attention to detail he always had was admirable.

You pecked his cheek, making his smile grow even wider, feeling your chest tighten as you admired his features silently once again, holding the books in your arm as you ran your fingers through his hair.

He was annoying, but he was also sweet. And he was all your own.

After a long and grueling study session, cramped hands, and an overwhelming amount of information that you weren't even aware of, it was now officially 8pm, and the university library was closing for the night, the librarian grabbing the books off your desk to add to the cart of growing stock. Despite Jeno's promise, he continued to cross reference "Stab!" while he read pieces from Gale Weathers' book. You swore, you couldn't get through a paragraph before your boyfriend said, "I remember that in the movie."

The sheet of paper that held your precious grade was zipped up into your bag, kept nice and neat in between your laptop and your textbook. Jeno held your hand as he walked you through the dark sidewalk down the University Road, where your shared apartment was located. Jeno and you have lived together since the second semester started in the last week of August.

The co-ed dorm you two lived in was fairly small — one floor and only 17 dorm rooms. It also happened to be the first place you met Jeno. Jeno originally stayed in the dorm room across from your own, which is the current one you both stayed in now. You remember him peeking out of his dorm room door with nothing on but a pair of grey sweatpants, shouting something at his friends as they ran down the hallway. You later found out they were his dorm mates — Mark and Donghyuck. When you stepped into the room, the striking contrast between the two sides of the room was nauseating. Jeno had action figures, replicas and movie posters decorating his side; something every movie buff held proud. Your side was almost empty. You barely had any decorations on the wall and the only decorated area was your desk. It wasn't much, but it was home, at least for now.

When the door to the room opened, you let out a sigh, kicking off your shoes and dropping your bag on the couch, you fell onto your tiny dorm bed. "Finally, nap time." You mumble.

Jeno set his own items down and sighed, "You should relax for now and then we'll pick up where we left off."

You had a routine of coming home from either work or school; kick off shoes, set stuff down, nap. It was the same every single day. Jeno had a very opposite routine. He always kept his slippers on, he neatly placed his items beside his desk and then he sat down, and watched a movie off his scratch away chart of the one hundred highest rated movies of all time.

Yet, today, he seemed to be in a different mood. He hung up the Billy the Puppet mask next to the plethora of other horror movie icons, before his hand brushed along his prized possession, the killer from the Woodsboro murders. It was a little odd that his favorite mask would be one from actual real life cases, but you know it wasn't because of that. It was because of "Stab!" but, you know if you try to explain that to someone, they'd just give you a dirty look and silently judge you, or more rather, your boyfriend. Maybe a little bit of you, as well, for trying so hard to defend your boyfriend.

Grabbing the mask of the infamous double killers, Jeno pulled it over his head, looking at you through the mesh eyeholes, crawling his way across the impromptu king bed, leaning close over your shoulder as you laid on your stomach. The smooth pvc plastic and the polyester fiber brushed against your skin, and you turned your head to look at him. "What do you think you're doing?" You asked with a bite.

Jeno shrugged, "I don't know. Aren't girls into this type of stuff?" He whispered through the mask, slowly lifting it over his head to look at you, "I thought girls were into the, like, masked guys and shit."

You scoffed, laying on your hand, "Some girls. And I don't think it's actual killers they're into."

Jeno shrugged, pulling the mask down once more, running his hands against your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing against your shoulder blades, "I don't know. I've seen some people into some pretty messed up guys."

You rolled your eyes again, "Some people are into that stuff." You shrugged, turning your head to the side as he ran his hands over your skin, "Fuck, I don't know, Jen. I hardly even know if I like my school major."

"Fine, fine." He scoffed, "But you don't even wanna try it with the mask on once?"

You rolled your eyes, "Take the mask off, Jeno."

Jeno sighed, pulling the mask off before tossing it to his side of the makeshift bed, "You don't even wanna spice up our sex life a little bit?"

You rolled over so you were on your back, his legs straddling your hips in some type of sick power play. He looks amazing up there, you thought. Your fingers traced the curve of his thighs, "I think our sex life is perfectly fine, if you ask me." You shrugged playfully, "Maybe some other time?"

Jeno groaned, "You're ruining this marriage." He responded sarcastically, "It's someone else, isn't it?" He crossed his arms.

"Yes, oh, my god, I completely forgot I was having sex with your manager from the theater." You gasped.

"With Jaehyun?" Jeon gasped, "I don't blame you. How'd you pull him?" Much to your dismay, he climbed off from on top of you, laying his head on your shoulder as you both laid down.

You shrugged, "You know, same way I pulled you."

Jeno rolled his eyes, "Okay, quit it. I'm actually starting to think you're fucking Jaehyun." He grumbled, "Speaking of Jaehyun, the Halloween Party. Are we going or what?"

"Yeah, sure. We have nothing else going on." You sighed, "I'd much rather go to a Halloween party at the theater than here at one of the sororities or frats." You rolled onto your side so you were facing Jeno, smiling sweetly.

"Sounds like a plan to me." He gave a dorky smile, "We could probably even skip the date night and just go to the party."

"You don't wanna see the movie?" You mumbled, "Wait, let me guess..." You cleared your throat, putting on your best "Jeno" voice, "They're actually showing Stab for the party, oh my god!"

"I don't sound like that."

"Um, actually, you do." You teased, nudging his shoulder. "Did I get it right?"

Jeno chuckled, shrugging, "It's the theatre's most popular re-releases. So, for them to close down early just so we can watch the movie for a party is pretty amazing." He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him, "Plus, Halloween is our anniversary. It can be a two-in-one celebration."

"I guess you're right." You mumbled, "Pretty amazing." You repeated, fighting back a yawn, "I'm sleepy." You whispered as you curled up close to Jeno, smiling to yourself as you feel him cup the back of your knee to bring your leg over his hip.

His fingers brushed against the skin of your cheek, laying his head on top of yours, something he normally did when you'd nap so you had complete darkness, "Go to sleep, babe. I'll be here when you wake up." He whispered in your ear, barely above a whisper.

Your heart fluttered at his soft voice, feeling yourself already starting to drift to sleep, relishing in the feeling of his fingers brushing against your skin, his other hand pinned against the bed as it was wrapped around your back and placed on your hip. While you pinned his arm down to keep him from moving, he had your head pinned down with his own. It was your preferred cuddling position; your own pretzel twist.

You woke up hours after you had fell asleep to a loud clatter from the window behind you. Jeno was no where to be seen, and you immediately tensed up at the sound. Laying perfectly still as if you were still sleeping, you didn't dare attempt to put your life on the line.

Oh, god, you thought, is this really happening right now? Your mind began to race with a million different thoughts, "I don't wanna end up on Cold Case Files," and "I don't want to go out this way."

"Shit." You heard in a familiar voice, turning around to see your boyfriend climbing in through the window.

You sat up straight, "Jeno?" You called out through your gravely and sleepy voice, squinting your eyes as your boyfriend shined the flashlight from his phone in your eyes, your hand shooting up to block the light from your eyes, "What are you doing?"

Jeno pointed to the door, "Locked myself out." He grumbled, stumbling as he finished climbing through the window, quickly bending down as a metal jingling echoed between the two of you.

You just glanced as Jeno quickly shoved the keys into his sweater pocket, too tired to care, "Hm..." You hummed as you laid back, "If you went out with Mark and Jaemin, I don't mind." You sighed.

Jeno chuckled as he made his way around the room to set down his items, "Heh, you caught me." He rubbed his neck, climbing into the bed beside you once more, "I snuck out an hour and a half ago to go out and eat."

You could tell he was just as tired as you were a few hours ago, but he was forcing himself awake, "What'd you guys eat?"

"Meat." Jeno shrugged, "Nothing exciting. You know those two." He buried his face further into the pillow, his eyes closing, "Did you sleep well, baby?"

You nodded, "Yeah." It's all you said, reaching your hand up to brush some of his hair from his eyes, your thumb brushing against his cheek, "As much as I'd love to stay here and cuddle, I should get that paper done."

Jeno hummed, peeking an eye open, "Did you want any help?"

Your heart warmed at the question; not because he asked, because he was willing to help you even though he was tired, "No," You whispered softly as you took into consideration his restlessness, shaking your head, "No, baby. Just rest. I can handle it." You placed a chaste kiss to his neck, slowly sitting up. You grabbed a plush blanket to wrap around your shoulders, making your way to your desk as you pushed yourself off the bed.

This was normally how you and Jeno both functioned; one was awake at the crack of dawn and asleep by 9pm, the other was asleep until noon and up until 3 in the morning. It's a miracle that the two of you found a way to be with one another.

Sitting at your desk, pulling out your Holy Grail of a assignment and set it neatly on the top, opening your laptop to look at the screen as you slowly booted it up. Seemed to be running fine, so you decided it should be okay to use, even if you had to keep it plugged in. The previous document saved just how you left it — empty and barren. You didn't even have a sentence on the screen.

Maybe technology wasn't the right move for schoolwork, you thought to yourself as you compared the two forms of documentation. The sheet of paper was a little more than halfway filled, and although the pen ink smudged from your hand swiping across the paper, it still looked pretty damn good. Compared to the digital sister, the paper seemed like the one who had everything all together.

You decided to pick up where you left off on the sheet of paper, using your laptop for music and the pdf of the books you used earlier open on each tab.

You looked up from the paper, squinting your eyes as you looked at the laptop screen, highlighting the words with the cursor.

"That's interesting." You titled your head to the side, reading the line of text in your head.

"Sydney Prescott was unaware at the moment, but she noticed when the killer attacked, her boyfriend, Billy Loomis, and his best friend, Stuart "Stu" Macher were no where to be seen."

The line made you uncomfortable, shifting in your seat at the thought, clearing your throat as you read the line over and over again. Gale Weathers then goes on to describe how significant it is that Sydney Prescott should've realized, but then again, you sympathized with Sydney. After all, she loved Billy.

God forbid Jeno did something like that, you'd probably have to be thrown into an asylum.

You decided procrastination was the best option for the evening, using the pen as a paperweight and closed the laptop screen. You stood up from the desk and sighed, scooting over to the bed before laying down beside the sleeping Jeno.

Despite your previous nap, you laid your head down on the pillow and felt yourself falling asleep.

That evening, you thought about Jeno and your upcoming date night/Halloween party. You opened your eyes through the night, glancing over to check on your boyfriend, going as far to adjust the blanket over his shoulder and brush hair from his eyes to just make sure it wasn't an illusion.

God, you just wished he wasn't a maniac like Billy Loomis.

Despite your best efforts to go to bed at an early time, you tossed and turned, you shivered, your legs grew restless. And then the sun peeked in through your window, and you only glared. 7 in the morning and you were awake even before your boyfriend. Your eyes burned from the lack of sleep and you couldn't help yourself but to curse the sun as it extended across the skyline. You sat up slowly from the bed, looking wistfully out the window of your dorm room, the blanket covering your legs.

The thoughts you had in the back of your mind from a few hours before still lingered in your head, because it's entirely possible for something like that to happen. It's entirely possible for a significant other to go off the bend and be a crazed murderer. And it's entirely possible that it can be the person you share a bed with.

You sighed softly as you pushed the thought away and stood from the bed, the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You trudged along to the bathroom inside your dorm room, shutting the door behind you as you looked into the mirror. The eyebags were a dark grey, your eyes blood shot and your eyelids hung low. You looked like death to put it simply, and you felt it.

Turning on the sink and grabbing your toothbrush, you squeezed a glob of toothpaste onto your toothbrush and began to brush your teeth. Although, you were sure you weren't really brushing as you felt your eyes struggle to open every time you blinked, your grip on the brush weakening every time your eyes weighed closed.

The bathroom door opened and Jeno stepped inside, placing a kiss on the side of your head, "Morning, baby." He whispered, grabbing his own toothbrush, "Stayed up all night again?"

You looked at him through the mirror, shaking your head before rinsing out your mouth, "No." You mumbled, clearly half asleep, "I was, like, half asleep, half awake the whole night."

Jeno chuckled, brushing his teeth, "You get anything else done on the paper?"

"Yeah, I got a lot done." You nodded, setting the toothbrush back in the drawer you kept it in, stepping off to the side, "There was a lot I learned."

"It's interesting, right?" He spit out a glob of toothpaste, scraping his tongue before starting to brush his teeth once more, leaning on his hand against the bathroom counter.

"Yeah. I didn't know it was that complex..." You mumbled, "Do you have work today?"

Jeno rinsed out his mouth, sighing, "Yeah, baby, I do." He placed his toothbrush next to yours, looking at you with a faux pout, "Unfortunately."

You nodded, pressing a small kiss to his lips, "Well, I'll be here when you get off." You grabbed his hands, squeezing them, "You should probably get ready to go."

Jeno chuckled, kissing your lips again, "You want me to go that badly?" He teased, "You inviting Jaehyun over or something?"

You laughed, "No. Just don't want you to be late."

Jeno's hands rested on your hips, smiling, "Don't worry about that." He kissed you again, lifting you in his arms to sit you on the bathroom counter, his hands brushing against your thighs, "I have plenty of time."

You pulled away from the kiss, smiling, "Do you though? You still have to shower, get dressed, and put gas in the car. Or were you just gonna make me pay for it again?" You teased, climbing off the counter, "Take your shower." You stepped out the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

Jeno wasn't always the most punctual, which can be frustrating to you and to his co-workers. You wouldn't necessarily blame him, but you would blame his distractions. He has a lot on his plate; school, work, your relationship. He still needed to purchase a camera for his film class. He tries to act like it doesn't bother him, but you know on nights where he stays up a little later than usual, he's dwelling on it.

You sat down at your desk, trying to distract yourself from the exhaustion you felt by watching youtube videos your professor recommended and switching between that and writing your paper. Jeno stepped out from the bathroom and you felt the heat from the shower push into the room, and you smelt his conditioner in the air as he quickly got dressed for work.

"I'll be back later, baby." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, "Don't wait up, alright? Take a nap or something." He ran his fingers through your hair, and you turned to look at him.

"I hope you have a good day at work." You kissed his lips, smiling softly as he turned to walk out the door, "Why do you have that mask with you?"

Jeno paused, turning to look at his bag, "Chenle doesn't think it's an actual replica, so he said he wants to check it out on our break." He sighed, pushing his hair back with his hand, "I'll see you later baby." He smiled, stepping out the door and closed it behind him.

"Okay." You whispered, listening as his keys made a metallic sound down the hallway and the hydraulic door hinge squeaking as it closed shut.

Ever since last night, you actually sat down and read Gale Weathers' book, collecting the information from her eyes. Sure, she had a pretty shallow standpoint from it; This wasn't her trauma to write about. But, it was still pretty interesting as she pieced things together.

You were at least 5 chapters in, hunched over your laptop as you read, anxiously nibbling on your nails as Gale describes the beginning of the stressful months that were ready to approach them. Until, your phone rings. Of course it rings. First time you've actually read a book instead of skimmed the pages in months. You unlocked your phone, answering the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Y/N, it's Jaehyun." You could hear the popcorn machine popping behind him, "Jeno's manager from the cinema."

You chuckled, "I know who you are." You smiled to yourself, wondering if Jaehyun even knew the running joke that you and your boyfriend had; prevailing him as a God, "What's up, Jaehyun?"

"Well, Jeno's running a bit late. It's nearly been an hour and I haven't gotten a call or a text or anything from him." Jaehyun's voice shrunk, "Is he there?"

"No, no, he left a while ago. I thought he was heading to work." You put Jaehyun on speaker phone, immediately clicking the Find My app, scrolling to find Jeno, "I'm looking at his location right now and it says no location found." You mumbled.

"Alright, well, I'll try to give him a call or two. You should try, too. He might have had something happen to the car." Jaehyun spoke, "Just let me know. You have my number, right?"

"Yeah, I do." You mumbled, "I'll call him right now and let you know what's up." You quickly hung up and called your boyfriend.

Okay, he had awful sense of time and he wasn't punctual in the slightest but he's never been this late to work, especially when it helps him pay his bills and pay for that new camera he needed. You pressed the phone to your ear before it immediately was sent to voicemail with the automated voice telling you what you already knew: The number you have dialed cannot be reached at this time.

Seriously? You scratched the back of your head, setting your laptop to the side as you leaned against your elbows. There was one way to find him, something that he never left the dorm without.

You opened the Find My app once more, and scrolled to his AirPods. Or more rather, your AirPods that he's borrowed more than you used after you got them. If he opened them recently, you would've been able to find where exactly he was. So you did just that.

But, much to your dismay, he hasn't opened them since the night before, his location still reading as the restaurant he went to last night with Mark and Jaemin.

You called Jaehyun back, "He didn't answer the phone and I tried to see if I could see where he was from the AirPods he used, but no use."

Jaehyun sighed, "Alright, thank you, Y/N." He mumbled, "I hope he'll be able to get off the hook for this. He better have a damn good excuse."

"I hope he does." You whispered, "Sorry I wasn't much help, Jaehyun."

"Don't worry about it, Y/N. You did more work than I did." He gave a small "goodbye" and hung up the phone.

You really hoped he had an explanation for what's going on. You weren't the type of person to immediately jump to conclusions, saying that he cheated. You don't think he's stupid enough to pull something like that.

You sighed, laying your head down on the desk as you drowned in your thoughts, feeling the exhaustion take over your body as laid there.

There it was again. A clatter from the window being forcefully pulled up. You immediately perked up, the drowsiness from the nap you don't remember taking stuck to your body. Your back hurt from being hunched over the desk where you napped.

You leaned back in your chair to peek over at the window, ignoring your back begging for a little bit of leisure after you slept like a ball for the past 4 hours. It was a little after 11 o'clock, 18 minutes before it turned noon.

Standing from your desk, you approached the window and looked out the glass, shocked to find nothing, or no one. Just the dying bushes planted by the school's agricultural center, and some fucked up tanbark that kept the moisture in the dirt.

"Hey, baby."

You jumped, turning to find your boyfriend standing behind you with his prized possession covering his face. "Jesus christ, Jen." You swore, pushing at his shoulder, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Got sent home." He shrugged, lifting the mask from his face with a smile, "The car ended up breaking down, my phone died and I had to walk 4 miles down the road to get there.” He dropped his bag on the footboard bench at the end of the bed frame, setting the mask on top of it.

"Jen, you really gotta start going to work in time." You sighed, "What if you get fired?"

"Come on, baby, it's just a part-time job." He chuckled, pulling you closer to him, "I can find something else."

"Fuck, Jen, do you know how bad that'll look if they call the theater and they have to tell them you're unreliable for calling out or for showing up late?" You ranted, letting go of his hands, "You know I can't afford to pay for this dorm by myself, let alone my school payments."

"Jeez, babe, relax." He chuckled, "Come on, why don't you take some of that aggression out another way?"

"Jeno," You sighed.

"Y/N," He responded, "When's the last time you and I had nasty, angry sex, huh?" He chuckled, grabbing your hands again, "I miss you, baby." He whispered, pulling you into a tight hug, squeezing you.

You hated to admit you missed it, too. Especially when you were this annoyed with Jeno, you hated that this was turning you on, listening to him talk about it.

"Come on, baby." He whispered in your ear, guiding your hand to the bulge in his pants, "Seeing you all angry gets me worked up, baby, I can't help it."

"Jeno." You rubbed him through his pants, "Jen,"

"Hm?" He pressed open mouthed kisses to your neck, his hands brushing against your skin in a desperate attempt to soothe his thoughts.

"Please, baby, just listen to me for 3 seconds."

Jeno pulled away from kissing your neck, humming, "Okay, okay, I'm listening."

"Tomorrow, you're going into work and you're gonna be on time, with your phone charged and everything." You cupped his cheek, "I don't want you to lose your job because you're late."

"Okay, mistress." He teased, "You've have a little dominatrix hidden, don't you?" Jeno kissed at your cheeks, as he cupped them.

"Stop making it sexual."

He chuckled, "I can't help it, baby. I romanticize everything you do, babe." He whispered gently before he kissed you, sitting you down on the mattress of the bed, "It's cute seeing you act all tough and strict." He kissed at your skin, pressing you down against the mattress, straddling your hips.

His tongue brushed against your neck as he kissed you, his hands pushing your shirt over your head, letting your hands rest on his thighs.

Jeno pulled away from kissing at your neck, smiling down at you, "Do we have any condoms left?"

You sat up, looking at the bedside table, "Probably in the drawer."

Jeno crawled off of you to rummage through the drawer, clicking his tongue, "Damn." He mumbled, flitting through papers before he let out an exclamation, pulling out the foiled packaging from between the pages. "Got it."

"I knew you'd find it." You smiled, gasping as he pulled you closer to him on the edge of the bed by your ankles, watching him kneel down.

"Mmhmm," He hummed, pulling your bottoms down your legs, his lips kissing at your legs, "So pretty." He whispered, teasingly biting at your thigh, "Wanna taste you, baby."

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair, watching Jeno's finger tangle in the waistband of your panties.

"That okay, baby?" He whispered breathlessly, his lips swollen from kissing at your legs.

You nodded, "That's fine, baby."

Jeno smiled, pulling your bottoms and underwear down your legs, kissing up your legs, his lips hovering over your cunt and his breath fanning against your wetness, "Fuck, you're already wet, baby?" Jeno's thumb rubbed at your clit, licking his lips.

"Jen..."

Chuckling, Jeno smiled, flattening his tongue against your cunt, moaning lightly as you drooled against his tongue, "Fuck, baby..."

You moaned sharply, your fingers tightening on his hair, "Jeno..."

Jeno smiled, kissing at your pussy as he continued to lick at your clit, his fingers slowly pressing into your entrance, pumping his fingers into you, "So tight, baby. So sweet." He groans, "You're so perfect, princess."

You gasped as his fingers brushed against your gummy wall, curling his fingers as his lips kissed your hip, a weak moan escaping your throat.

Jeno listened to your moans as he continued to pump his fingers inside you, sucking your clit and tasting you on his tongue. How sweet you tasted, how your slick drooled from the length of his fingers to knuckles, and how amazing your gasps and moans sounded to his ears; Like music, a symphony. If he could listen to your sounds on repeat, he would, over and over and over. He couldn't get enough, he wanted more, wanted you.

Giving a teasing peck to your slit, Jeno kissed your hip, your stomach and up your body until he stopped at your neck, taking in your scent as he struggled to unbuckle the belt he wore with his work pants. "Little help?"

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair once more before you moved your hands down to unbuckle his belt, the echo of the buckle settling around you both, letting Jeno's lips meet your own in a desperate kiss, his tongue pushing between to rub against yours, a deep growl escaping his throat as your thumbs hooked around his bottoms, helplessly attempting to tug them down his legs. Parting from your lips, Jeno gave a breathy chuckle, his breath fanning against your face. He grabbed the condom he set down on the bedside table, keeping his eyes torn from your own for no less than a second.

Tearing it open with his teeth, Jeno gently pulled the rubber from the packaging, rolling it along his length, “Fuckin’ finally.” He whispered to himself, “I missed feeling you." He pressed kissed along your jawline, listening to the gasp leave your lips as he slowly pressed into you. "Shit, you feel so good." He whispered.

Jeno slowly started moving, and you've been thinking — actually thinking about something he mentioned that you couldn't possibly know if it was a joke or if he was serious. You dug your nails into his arm, “Wait.”

His hips immediately stilled, and he looked down at you, “You okay, baby?”

You cleared your throat shyly, “I’m fine, I just—”

“What is it?” He chuckled, brushing hair behind your ear, “You can tell me, princess.”

You couldn’t believe you were saying this, and you couldn’t even believe you were considering it. But, you can’t knock something until you try it, “I was thinking we could try it with… the mask on…” You love looking at Jeno when you were having sex. You love seeing his expressions, looking into his eyes as he was buried into you and you loved watching his brows furrow together as he gets closer to cumming. But, there was something alluring behind the idea of the mask. Almost like it was a mystery to how he’s feeling. It was sounding more exciting as every second passed. And, you could see just how excited Jeno was as he reached over to where he set the mask down, smiling at you as he pulled it on. Attempting to move, you rested your hand on his chest, “Ah, first, some ground rules.”

Jeno moved the mask to the side, his eye peeking at you, “All ears.”

“First, keep the freaky murders out of this, okay?” You started, watching him nod, “Second, this is just to test it out. I didn’t wanna just immediately cross it off the list of freaky shit we’ve done if we don’t do it.”

“Understandable.”

“Third, Roleplay is optional. But, I’m keeping anything too crazy off the table.” You looked at him, “Got it?”

“Got it, baby.” He smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek, “I love you, princess.”

“I love you, too, Jen.” You cupped his cheek, kissing him on the lips, slipping your tongue along his own to reignite the fire that wasn’t completely snuffed. Jeno eagerly reciprocated, his moan vibrating against your lips.

“Damn, don’t know if I really wanna keep the mask on now.”

You giggled, pressing another kiss against his lips, “Better put it back on before I change my mind.”

Jeno placed the mask back against his face, his eyes showing the smile you couldn’t see through the barrier, “I’m gonna start moving, baby.”

“Mmhmm,” You nodded, biting your lips as you felt his hips moving at a slow pace, the moan caught in your throat bubbling over.

Jeno had some type of fixation with your hands, one hand tangling with your own as his other pinned yours against the mattress. He loved seeing your hands wrapped around his cock, his wrist, intertwined with his own. He loved feeling your hands tangled in his hair, grabbing his biceps and digging into his skin, sometimes around his neck, if you both felt that was the move. Your hands were his favorite part of you.

Jeno squeezed your hand in his own as his hips pressed into you deeper, swearing under his breath as he felt your pussy weep around his cock, “Feel so good, angel.” He groaned, throwing his head back, “Missed this pretty pussy.”

You whined, your chest heaving as you squeezed his hand in your own. Words attempted to escape, but only came out as gasps. Jeno always had a way of filling you to the brim, and bringing you to the edge quickly.

Jeno could feel how badly you missed his cock; squeezing around him, the choked moans and gasps, the way your body tensed, and how your eyes rolled behind your eyelids. Sweat lingered on his forehead behind the mask, his breath growing heavily as he watched you writhe in desperation, “Like that, baby?”

You nodded when your words betrayed you, feeling Jeno’s hands leave your own to grip your waist and move you along his length, “Fu-“ You moaned as his hips piston against your own, reaching your hand up to tangle in his hair under the fabric of the mask, “Just like that, Jeno.” You stuttered out to your best ability, the pleasure overwhelmingly covering your body in a sheen of sweat.

Jeno smirked under the mask, his thumb moving to rub at your clit to heighten your experience and bring you closer to the edge, “Such a good girl, telling me just how you want it.”

Every word Jeno said pushed you closer to the edge, your legs mindlessly wrapping around his hips, “Feels so good… I’m almost there, Jen.”

“Me too, princess.” He gasped, his eyes trained on where you two met, the white, creamy ring sitting at the base of his cock, “Fit together so perfectly.” He moaned out, his thumb continuing to rub harsh circles on your clit, “Feel it, baby? ’S like you were made for me. Such a pretty cunt for my cock.”

Your fingers tightened around his hair, tugging at the strands as he continued to speak, “Jen…”

“You cummin’ already, baby?” He chuckled, “Such a good girl, cumming on my cock. Wish I could fill you up and make you mine already. Wanna show everyone you’re my girl.”

As he continued his assault on your cunt, you hung onto his every word, your pussy clenching around him. The ability to form sentences with words and exclamation has long since been fucked out of your brain, the only thing repeating in your head was, “Jeno, Jeno, Jeno.”

Jeno let out a raspy moan, the mask brushing against your chest as you felt his cum fill the condom, the heat filling your belly with warmth. Your chests both raised in sync as you attempted to catch your breath. Pulling the mask off, Jeno stilled inside you, smiling down at you sweetly, "Good job, baby."

You smiled back, pecking his lips, "Good job to you, too." You hummed, leaning back on your elbows, "Okay, pull out. I gotta piss before I develop a UTI."

"I love when you talk dirty to me." He teased, pulling out of you slowly before he laid back on the bed, steadying his breathing. Laying his head on the arms he crossed behind his head, he glanced around the room while he waited for you to come back from the restroom, “Did you get any work done on your paper?”

Returning from the restroom, you laid down beside him, “No, because someone gave me a call saying some guy was missing and they didn’t know where they were.”

Jeno rolled his eyes, “Haha.” He laughed sarcastically, “I told you, the car broke down. I couldn’t do anything but walk there.”

“I’m just teasing.” You nudged him, curling against his side as he wrapped his arm around your waist, the both looking at one another sweetly.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“For what?”

“I know I’m shitty with getting to places on time, and you have every right to be mad at me for this. You shouldn’t be the only one who needs to deal with this.” He brushed his fingers along your side, rubbing his thumb along your hip, “I’m gonna listen to you, okay? I know it seemed like I wasn’t paying attention but I was.”

You pressed your forehead against his, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, “I know, Jen. And, I appreciate you for everything you already do.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Jeno.”

You both settled for relaxing and enjoying one another’s company, especially considering you both rarely got days off together. Jeno played a movie on his charged phone, which you both cuddled and watched. And it wasn’t Stab much to your surprise. It was something you suggested. You used that as proof that he loved you, even if it was something small like this; Cuddling, watching a movie together, sharing kisses and random thoughts either of you had about the film. You couldn’t wait for another day like this, even if it was years away.

You don’t remember falling asleep, and you don’t remember Jeno leaving for work that morning. You don’t even think he said goodbye, and it didn’t smell like his shampoo in the dorm room, nor his cologne. Rubbing your eyes, you glanced around the room, for any sign he left for work; a note, a text message on your phone screen, or even a Tupperware bin with some food he made or ordered in. And after a long look around the room, you found the post-it note stuck to the paper of your notebook with all the information you could think to include in your report of the Woodsboro murders that read; “Be back later. Went to work. Make sure to finish your paper. Love you.” And in smaller hand writing underneath his already small lettering, he wrote, “P.S. Left some dirty clothes on the floor. I’ll do the wash later.”

Setting the note down, you sighed, walking around the small dorm room to find said clothes he left on the floor, but you couldn't find it. You checked the back of his chair, the bathroom, by the dresser, but you couldn't find it. You squat down, looking underneath the bed to find, lo and behold, the dirty clothes he left on the floor. You wondered how much of a rush he could've been in to kick them under the bed.

You reached under the bed, grabbing the clothes only to immediately drop it as soon as you pull it out, your hands covered in red liquid. It covered the floor where you had dropped it, a "splat" echoed in your head after you'd done so. It wasn't as thick and red as blood, and it definitely wasn't as thin and clear as water. You couldn't decipher what it was. It dried down quickly on your hands and the floor.

Horror aside, you rised from the ground, and grabbed a brush to clean the mess off the floor — you'd interrogate Jeno later — and scrubbed the living hell out of the floor. You were sure the finish over the hardwood floors were coming off by how hard you were scrubbing. You had to get the deposit back for the dorm room, even if you had to scrub the floor on your hands and knees.

Kneeling there, you felt tears brim your eyes as you thought to yourself, "What exactly am I cleaning up?" You felt your arms burn with each motion you made, you felt your breathing grow heavy. You could count this as your workout for the week.

"Jeno, you idiot." You whispered to yourself, the tears rolling down your face, gasping for air. "God, this is so stupid." You used your sleeve to wipe at your cheeks, a shaky breath escaping your lips.

You tried to push the thought from your mind, deciding to just focus on your other preoccupation, which was sitting inside your laptop, begging for any type of attention from you divided brain. So, you did. Cross-referencing your notes, reading the PDF of the books on your laptop and then switching over to Microsoft Word to type anything that came to mind, as long as it's relevant.

Yet, you could feel your mind drifting.

You sat there, pausing as you thought about everything you've read as if you could even begin to connect it to your life. There's so much Sydney Prescott went through that you couldn't even begin to comprehend. Rubbing your temples, you were reaching the final stretch of the paper, attempting to type out a conclusion that would make any type of sense for it.

The dorm room opened and you turned briefly to find your boyfriend walking in with the earbuds in his ears, "Hey, baby." He walked over, pecking your head, "How's the paper coming along?"

You tapped your pen against your notebook, "I'm stuck."

Jeno began to dress down from his work uniform, his eyes glancing at his side of the bed, the green and white heavy duty scrub brush laying on the ground, covered in the diluted red suds. "Did you grab the clothes?"

"I was trying to." You mumbled, "What was on them?"

"Why'd you do that?" Jeno voice was deeper and you can see his brows furrow as he looked at you.

You turned around in your seat, looking at him, "I was trying to help."

"I told you I'd do it." He shouted.

"Jen, I was just-"

"I said I'd pick them up and wash them."

You glanced down at the clothes on the floor, whatever was on them leaking between the floorboards and you winced at the thought of it staining the floor. "I just wanted to help! The laundry basket isn't far from where you put them."

"Well, I was in a rush. I didn't have time to throw them in the basket. That's why I left them on the floor."

You sighed, rubbing your eyes, "I just thought I was saving time by moving it to the basket."

Jeno pulled his work shirt off, groaning, "I didn't want to ruin the other clothes in there."

"And just leave it to soak into the flooring?"

"No— God, fuck." He threw his work shirt into the laundry basket before picking up the soiled clothes and placing them inside, "There, happy?"

You looked at him, "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" He grumbled, "Just wish you didn't have such lousy faith in me."

"I never said I did."

"You sure as hell implied it." He grabbed the basket and walked out the dorm room to the laundry room down the hall.

Your eyes narrowed at the back of his head before you went back to your paper, finishing it off in record time. It was finally time to prepare your paper to be printed, turned in and graded. You unplugged your laptop, making sure to save your finished paper before you shut it off and carried it out to the library.

You gave the two dollars and fifty cents to the librarian to use the printer, and stood by the machine to print out your report.

As the belt of the printer echoed through the library and watched each paper spit out after one another, the ink bleeding into the back, you were now preoccupied with everything you read about the Woodsboro murders, what exactly your boyfriend was upset about and whether or not, you should be the one to apologize. You didn't think you were doing anything wrong. You thought you were helping by grabbing the clothes. You really weren't concerned about whatever was on it anymore; all you know is you were happy it wasn't blood.

Maybe this whole report was getting to your head. You've read Sydney Prescott's encounters too much to the point you were scared what she went through was happening to you. How impossible is it?

You're just paranoid. You're being delusional and dramatic and you could only do your best to gaslight yourself into believing you're being a crazy girlfriend who had no reason to make your boyfriend feel like an idiot.

Drowning in your thoughts, you didn't draw your eyes away from the printer, unaware of the beeping it gave you to grab the papers it finished printing out.

Like you were a puppet, you grab the papers, tucking them under your arm with your laptop, and made your way to the hole puncher, pressing down on the lever after setting the papers inside.

Everything felt like ten tasks wrapped into one as you did them, like it was neverending.

You hole punched the papers, and placed them onto the counter, "Hi," you smiled to the librarian.

"Hi, what can I help you with?" She reciprocated the smile.

"I wanted to purchase one of the report covers." You nodded your head to the item, opening your wallet.

She rised from the chair, grabbing the cover.

You glanced down at the glass box you placed your laptop and papers on, eyeballing a newspaper that was displayed in the box. From what you could read through the glass, there seemed to have been some recent murders around the area. Jesus, you spent these last two days inside like some recluse and people have been dying.

“Can… Can I also get one of these papers?” You asked, pointing at it through the glass.

The librarian nodded her head as she set the items down, using the key on her keyring to open the glass case and grab a newspaper, setting it down beside the covers and your items, “All right, your total will be 5 dollars even.”

You dropped the bill onto the counter, grabbing your items and made your way out of the library. You anxiously hurried back to your dorm, opening the door to the room, setting the items down on your desk. The newspaper laid flat on your desk, your eyes reading over the article from a distance.

It was nauseating, reading over the details. Two people gone in two days… It was hard to stomach it.

You sat down on your chair, staring at the front page. To think you were perfectly fine while these people were living their last day being tortured. Obviously, you couldn’t have worn a cape and saved them, but, you wished there was something you could’ve done to prevent something like this from happening. The addresses seemed all too familiar. Like, you’ve seen them before. Somewhere familiar almost.

The door opened and you heard a sniffle from the doorway, “Oh, baby.” Jeno whispered, wandering over to you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, “Baby, I’m so sorry. I-I had a rough day at work, hearing shit from Jaehyun and everyone about yesterday, and I took it out on you and I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be making a big deal over you helping, especially not since our anniversary is tomorrow.”

You rubbed his head as he nuzzled his nose against your neck, “It’s okay, baby.” You kissed his cheek, “Hey, have you heard about this?” You motioned to the newspaper.

“About what?” He lifted his head, looking at the front page of the newspaper, “Yeah… Yeah, I heard about it. Chenle was mentioning it at work today.”

“It’s sad.”

“It is.” He sighed, rubbing your shoulder with his hand, “All we can do right now is just be happy it wasn’t us.”

You felt the lump in your throat strain as you tried to keep your tears back, “I guess you’re right.”

Jeno pecked your cheek, glancing at the papers on your desk, “You finished the report?"

“Yeah.” You folded the newspaper up, setting it off to the side, flitting your fingers through the paper, “Wanna read it?”Jeno scoffed, “Uh, yeah.” He grabbed the paper, beginning to read through it in silence, as if he was absorbing the information. You sat there, waiting for his input, which was often accompanied by the mention of his favorite movie.

Jeno read the pages all too quickly, turning to look at you, “You always have such a way with words, baby.” He set them down beside you, “You’ll definitely get a high grade on it.”

You smiled, threading the paper through the loops, preparing it to be turned in, the cover with your name, title of the report, class, et cetera, et cetera at the top. “I’m glad you think so.”

“You put work into it. Compassion, care, intellect. You would deserve it.”

“How’d the wash go?”

“They’re in the dryer right now.” Jeno leaned back on the bed, pulling his phone out, “Should be done in 20 minutes. More or less.”

Your heart still ached from what Jeno said earlier, so you returned his answer with silence, not able to find words to express yourself. At least, not yet. You decided to keep it under wraps until after your anniversary tomorrow. After the party. After Halloween.

It was Halloween night. Jeno and you have spent the beginning of your anniversary cuddling in bed, whispering soft “Happy Anniversary”’s to one another. He took you out to breakfast, lunch and shopping. “Just to show you off,” Jeno tried to convince you. But, now, it was time to sit through the two hour long movie Jeno and you both shared every anniversary. Jeno thought it’d be funny to dress up in the Ghostface costume for the evening, since he was the “star” of the movie. He said that, “behind the mask, it wasn’t just Billy Loomis or Stu Macher. Together, they worked as one.”

“I got an A on my paper.” You briefly mentioned as Jeno drove you both to his work place. Turns out, his car just needed a jumpstart.

“That’s great, baby. I knew you’d get a good grade.” He chuckled, turning his head to look at you before looking at the road again, “What’d you get docked off?”

“Turns out, I was a bit too sympathetic in my writing. I got docked a few points for ‘appearing too biased’.” You shrugged, “It’s whatever.”

Jeno chuckled, “Well, I thought it was amazing.” He smiled as he pulled into the parking lot of the theater, “Just goes to show that you have a better point of view than other people. Not everyone will understand that.”

Unbuckling your seatbelt and grabbing your bag, you exited the car, “I guess, but I understand it from my professor’s perspective. It’s supposed to be an informational report, not an opinion discussion board.”

Jeno followed, locking the door behind you both, “Doesn’t mean you can’t share your opinion.” He grabbed your hand in his own and guided you to the front doors of the theater. The theater was covered in Halloween decorations, and it was unfortunate that it’d all have to come down after this evening.

Jaehyun and Jeno’s other managers were handing out drinks and popcorn to your boyfriend’s coworkers, who wandered off to the theater they were all familiar with. Approaching the counter, you heard a loud “Boo!’’ echo off the walls, causing you to jump and hold your hand to your chest.

“Chenle, what the fuck?” You scolded, glaring at him through your lashes.

“Dude, Chenle, I told you not to do that stuff tonight.” Jeno sighed, rubbing his temples, “I told you Y/N’s been freaked out cause of all the shit happening.”

“My bad. I meant to scare Jeno more than I did to you, Y/N.” Chenle chuckled, “Sorry.”

You sighed softly, “Doesn’t help that it already happened.”

Jeno wrapped his arm around your shoulder, silently comforting you as he spoke with Chenle, “We’re wearing the same costume.”

“We, indeed, are.” Chenle sighed, “You just can’t stop copying me.” He glanced down at the mask he held in his hand, “Is that the replica? Are you seriously wearing it to this?”

Jeno scoffed, “Where else am I gonna wear it?” He questioned, moving up in the line as it progressed, “I can’t keep it hanging up on my wall forever.”

Your heart settled in your chest as you walked up to the counter, looking at Jaehyun, mouthing a quiet, “Help.”

Jaehyun already knew the predicament you were in; forced to listen to the conversation of two movie buffs talking about “Stab!” He’s had to deal with it for the last 4 years the two had worked there. There was times he’s even had to apologize for interrupting their precious reminiscences of the movie. “Chenle, Jeno, Y/N, what can I get for you guys?”

“Jaehyun!” Chenle greeted him over the counter with open arms, “Be a doll and get the lady some Sour Patch. I scared her half to death trying to scare her boyfriend.”

Jaehyun sighed, glancing at you, “Freaked out about those things happening around town?”

“You could say so.” You accepted the candy the man offered, “Just found about it yesterday, too.”

“Yeah, she could hardly sleep last night.”

“Babe,”

“What?” Jeno shrugged, “Not saying it’s a bad thing. Just a little uncharacteristic of you.”

You sighed, letting Jeno grab the popcorn and the drinks for you two, “Thank you, Jaehyun.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” He smiled, nodding his head to you.

Jeno guided both you and Chenle to the theater the movie was showing in, letting you take the lead up the stairs. There they were, the seats you both sat in 3 years ago, still in the condition you remember them in. So many people have sat in these chairs and would never understand just how much it has meant to you and your relationship. You sat in the aisle seat, gently taking the drinks in your hand as your boyfriend sat down beside you. He was quick to lift the arm rest between you two to pull you closer to him, his arm wrapped around your waist with the popcorn bucket sat in between you both. He accepted his drink and set it down in the cup holder.

“Just like all those years ago.” Jeno sighed, resting his head on top of yours.

You smiled to yourself, grabbing his hand in your own, “As much as I pretend to hate this movie, it still has a special place in my heart.”

Jeno kissed your knuckles, watching as his co-workers and plus one’s fill their seats. The smell of butter on popcorn filled the air, and the quiet chatter between everyone echoed off the wall.

Jaehyun entered the theater, standing at the front near the screen, “Happy Halloween, everyone!” He greeted, crossing his arms over his chest as everyone repeated the words, “Much to my reluctance, your coworkers requested this movie to be shown because of the connotation that it is the halloween movie to watch.”

Jeno and Chenle both gave hoots and hollers at the mention of their suggestion getting picked.

“It also happens to be the first movie our favorite visitor saw with her boyfriend here at the theater.” Jaehyun motioned to both you and Jeno, everyone turning to look at you, “This is also a token of our appreciation to our team for the close end-of-the-year. We would not be here without all of your guys help and hard-work.”

The theater filled with clapping, cheering and sweet words called out to everyone’s favorite manager.

“Settle down, everyone.” He chuckled, “Alright, everyone. Presenting this evening is Stab! Please silence your cell phones and enjoy the movie.”

The lights turned down and you watched the film light up the screen. No previews, no movie trailers, just pure film. It started out how it always did; Casey Becker popping popcorn on the stove, the harsh lighting of her house bringing out the color of her blonde hair.

Despite watching the movie multiple times, every fake jumpscare, every fake gore still made you jump and turn away from the screen. Jeno chuckled, comforting you as best he could, pecking your head.

"I've got to use the restroom." You whispered, attempting to stand up.

"Wait, you'll miss it." Jeno focused on the screen as he watched the movie intently, absorbing everything.

"Jen, we see the movie all the time. I'm sure I know what happens." You stood from the seat, glancing at the row behind you, gasping softly.

The row that was once filled with Jeno's coworkers was now empty with a horrific scene that you couldn't stomach.

Heads slumped forward, bodies slack, popcorn spilling out on the floor as the hands they had on the paper bucket were loosened.

You nudged Jeno's shoulder, unable to speak, who only glanced behind him, a sigh escaping his lips, "He always does this."

"What?" Your brows furrowed, "Jeno, what?"

Jeno set the popcorn down on the now empty seat beside him, where Chenle was.

"You... You—"

Jeno covered your mouth with his hand, covering his face with the mask, speaking through the mesh, "You're too trusting."

You felt your bottom lip quiver as he looked at you through the eyeholes, the tears rolling down your cheeks. You were an idiot, such an idiot. The sneaking out despite having his keys, the car "breaking" down, the dirty clothes, the disappearing. How didn't you see it? How didn't you see that he was the problem this whole time?

"You seriously believed I wasn't doing anything against your wishes?" He whispered, "You're such a dolt. You'd think reading all the books on criminal behavior would have made you more aware of what you were getting into."

"Jen..." You mumbled through his hand, "Please, ju-just let me go. I-I won't tell anyone."

Jeno clicked his tongue as he nodded his head towards Chenle wandering around the ground floor, holding Jaehyun by the back of his neck, bringing you both face to face, "You're too cute, thinking you'll be getting out of this."

The movie continued to play in the background and you couldn't help but repeat all the lines in your head.

Jaehyun struggled against Chenle's grip, his brows furrowed.

"For what it's worth, I actually was in love with you." Jeno whispered in your ear, "Every time I was with you, I felt butterflies in my stomach and my chest ached every time I thought about being apart from you." He rested his chin on your shoulder, "Consider this orientation."

He wrapped your hands around a clip pointed blade, one you didn't even know he owned, guiding it to point at Jaehyun's stomach, yet not piercing the skin just yet.

"All you have to do is push this blade into his belly. Kinda like gutting a pig."

You shook your head, your face contorting as he explained it to you. The tears continued to roll down your cheeks and over the black gloves Jeno wore.

"I told you she didn't have it in her, Jeno." Chenle chuckled, "She's too humanitarian."

"Shut up." Your boyfriend — or rather, at this point, your ex-boyfriend — glared, "She's gonna have to get some blood on her hands if we don't want to go down by ourselves."

Jaehyun attempted to yell, Chenle's hand covering his mouth quickly.

During the little squabble the two wannabe Ghostface's were having, your hand loosened on the knife that Jeno had released to point at Chenle.

Jaehyun and you both made eye contact, silently communicating with one another. He nodded his head to the knife in your hand, you shook yours, and he looked at Jeno, raising his eyebrows. You knew what he was telling you to do. "Use the knife on your boyfriend who was actually a homocidal maniac and planned this whole entire thing."

Using the knife Jeno planted in your hand was you accepting that everything you put in for the last 3 years was over. That despite all your efforts to put him up on a pedestal as the "best boyfriend who might have an odd obsession with this slasher film" was all for nothing. That all those things people have whispered about him was true and that you were nothing more than enabler. That you were none the wiser to all these strange behaviors coming from your boyfriend.

It made you nauseous to believe that were put into this situation and you dragged innocent people into it.

Jaehyun was almost begging you, pleading you, to set all those feelings aside and to get the upper hand in this situation. He wanted you to realize that this may be the end of 3 years but that you'll be free from the gossip, from the worry of what he was truly doing, from spending an extra 3 years trying to convince yourself that Jeno is a good guy and not some maniac under wraps.

You shook your head, feeling your bottom lip tremble as you considered the options. You could either let the two toy with Jaehyun and yourself like you guys were fashion dolls, or you could attempt to end this now and give them a taste of their own medicine. It was hard to detach yourself from Jeno — you had spent every day of your life with him after that first day. You both moved in, you adjusted your schedules for one another, you shared bills, you shared chores, you shared one another. You drag your eyes along the mask that Jeno wore, silently wishing it was just some big, giant cruel prank that would end with Ashton Kutcher coming out with a camera crew and a team telling you you had gotten punk'd in this day and age.

I can't, I can't, I can't, you whispered to yourself as the tears were pouring from your eyes, gripping the knife and turning in Jeno's arm; which seemed to loosen out of habit; the knife meeting his abdomen.

"Ow!" Jeno looked at you, glaring, "You stabbed me!"

You held the crimson-stained blade in your hand, sobbing, "Please, Jen... Please don't do this!"

He looked to Chenle, then back at you, "I've never been stabbed before."

Jaehyun used the distraction as a way to make his way out of Chenle's grasp, blocking you with his body, "Both of you, you can walk away from this."

You let Jaehyun block you, exchanging the knife between your hands, allowing him to hold it out in front of him.

"Walk away?" Jeno's gloved hand covered the wound, "It's too late for that." He chuckled darkly, "You know why other killers get caught so fast?"

"Jeno, please stop!" You screamed.

"Because they don't take the extra precautions; different sized shoes than regular ones, different cologne, different clothes than regular. They never take the time to make a whole new persona."

The two walked up the stairs, pushing you both into the back row, Jaehyun's hand holding your shaking one in his, "Jeno, Chenle, please. Let us go. You already got everyone else in the theater. What does it matter if there's 2 left?"

"Because if she lives," Chenle pointed, "We're suspects."

"And if you live," Jeno whispering almost sinisterly, "She has a witness."

"I won't say a word, please... please, Jeno, you know I won't. You know I won't say anything." Your bottom lip wobbled, "Just let us go."

The movie continued to play in the background, the contours of the mask illuminated by the scene on the screen, "Don't you remember this scene, Y/N?"

You glanced at the screen briefly, being reminded of the first date you both shared; It was when Billy confronted Sydney after being arrested. Jeno was holding you close to his chest that first day together, like he didn't have a care in the world that it was your guys first date.

You shut your eyes, squeezing Jaehyun's hand in your own, which he reciprocated in comfort. Jeno spoke, but you tuned it out, trying to calm down from the anxiety attack that rised in your chest.

Jaehyun, Jeno, Chenle. Chenle, Jeno, Jaehyun. The conversation continued on and on, each arguing with one another as if it was over the last slice of pizza.

You weren't a final girl, and never did you have it in you to be a final girl. Like Chenle said, you're too humanitarian. But, you stood against the wall, your heart thumping in your chest as Jaehyun defended you both with the knife.

Everything was a blur; Jeno and Chenle teaming up against Jaehyun, Jaehyun receiving a wound on his cheek, You couldn't move. You were frozen. This wasn't a movie, it wasn't a stupid sequel to "Stab!". You were forced to watch this go on, and you could barely move.

Jeno gave a final look at you through the mask, before a thud echoed across the theater, Chenle falling right after.

You sobbed silently as you looked at your boyfriend laying on the floor of the theater, annoyed to see the cold pvc plastic of the mask and not his handsome face that you grew so familiar to seeing.

Jaehyun kneeled beside you, grabbing your hand, "Come on. We've gotta get out of here." He helped you up, and you half expected for Jeno to follow after you, not as this monster he became, but as your boyfriend.

"Jeno..."

"No, come on." Jaehyun whispered, letting you continue to stare at him as he lead you down the hallway of the auditorium. "Last time I hire Stab fanatics." He grumbled to himself, sitting you down at a square table in the lobby as he called the police on the theater's phone.

You glanced at Jaehyun, noticing the blood seeping through his work shirt, his breathing heavy.

"You're hurt."

Jaehyun quickly gave as much information as he could to the police, before he hung up and looked at you, "I'll be fine. First responders should be here soon."

You sighed, "I'm half expecting Jeno to come through the door and tell me he's ready to go home."

"It'll be hard to get used to." Jaehyun winced, leaning against the concession counter.

"I don't know if I want to get used to it."

Jaehyun sighed, "He tried to kill you." He mumbled, "He tried to have you kill me." He looked at you, "He didn't know you. Someone who loves you would never subjugate you to that."

The shock was enough to force you to stop crying, rubbing your arm with your hand. Jaehyun was right; if Jeno truly loved you, he'd never put you into this situation. The sirens and lights reflected and echoed off the walls just as the first responders arrived.

Jaehyun offered his hand to you, which you kindly took as he led you out the door.

It's been weeks since everything at the theater went down. Jaehyun and you met up frequently for emotional support. You're in therapy after everything that happened. You'd still find yourself thinking about Jeno, waking up in the morning questioning where he was.

That evening at the theater, after the police arrived, Jaehyun was transported to the hospital for treatment. Leaving you alone outside the theater, sniffling to yourself. They exited just as quickly as they entered.

"Didn't see anything." One of the police officers said to another and you whipped your head towards them, making it completely obvious that you were listening.

"You telling me there wasn't two adults in hooded robes with those cheesy Ghostface masks?"

"Nope. Only those victims in the seats."

You moved back in with your mother after that. You spent more of your time looking over you shoulder, in fear you'd see your ex-boyfriend with a knife, rather than enjoying your life as it is now.

You could hardly settle in your bedroom, laying on your side watching the movie on your television screen. Nothing too exciting, just a re-run of Mrs. Doubtfire. With your head leaning on your hand and your blanket over your shoulders, you heard a creak behind you.

You didn't dare look, but from the mirror you had angled to face your bedroom door, you saw the same pvc plastic you see in your nightmares, and the shine of the blade.

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daystobook · 7 months ago

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Day 1: The Cooking of Books

Running Comments About This Blog

The first physical and emotional feeling that arose when I wrote the title of this log was fear.

What if 'Day 1' becomes Day 10000 and I still don't have a book published?

Then I realised that it's highly unlikely, because I'd have enough notes from this blog to club into an expansive enough book, even if it might not be best-seller and coveted like Chetan Bhagat's or Amish Tripathi's books.

Also I'm in a dilemma. Do I have to write here daily? I guess for now, I'll write when I am able to read something or when I've made progress in writing. This is some serious commitment.

The Cooking 👨🏽‍🍳 of Books 📚

A couple of days back, I finished Ramachandra Guha's book The Cooking of Books, A Literary Memoir. First book that I read of him. I couldn't put the book down, perhaps because

The research sources for the basis of entire book were letters

It was endearing epistolary account of a 40 years old friendship.

The friendship span across discussions, feedback, arguments, wit, banter, puns, satire and occasional sharing of personal feelings.

Rukun, My Hero

I felt close and related to Rukun Advani, especially because of his perky and sardonic comments, standing up for his opinions in wit, and his reticent nature. I quit my job some months back and these quotes from his letters hit hard. I was like, 'yeah bro, same' (if Rukun ever reads this, he's most likely to say, 'what an arse.')

1994

All is on 'hold' in OUP(Oxford University Press) until the Great White Men arrive this month to settle exactly how OUP's publishing schedule should be structured, organised, prioritised, etc. Two more editors have left, leaving only us old diehards who're too tired & ensconced to decamp. This place needs to invest in fresh blood on decent salaries, but [the Managing Director]'s investments are all in wood, gloss, machinery and salesmen on low salaries.

To prevent him from quitting, Rukun was made Academic Publishing Director and his salary doubled.

Dec 1996

...this job is actually quite taxing — travel here and there, looking at bottomlines…badgering [his boss, the new MD] for personnel, machinery and the other resources required to keep academic publishing chugging along, meeting & soothing sundry irate authors when their projects are rejected or delayed, & generally all the dreariness that goes with less ungenerous salaries.

June 1999

after working for OUP for 15 years.

My heart isn't in this OUP job any more. I'm clear the only reason I'm here is the need to earn a decent sum. The moment I don't need that, or an attractive alternative happens to come along. I'll leave. That may not happen for quite long, but at least it'll take no further reflection to move on when it does. I'm producing books and managing the academic business mechanically, like a zombie, without zest. It's a case of being browned off doing the same damn thing for too long.

browned off: annoyed irritated, or dissatisfied.

Towards the end of the book there was a very interesting side-to-side listing down of opposite nature attributes of Shashi Tharoor and Rukun Advani ( both of who studied in St. Stephen's in the same batch ).

Both ranked first in their class – Tharoor in History, Advani in English – but there the resemblance ended. Shashi was, even in college, very much a public man, debating, acting, becoming president of the Wodehouse Society and the Quiz Club before being elected president of the College Union. He was charming and outgoing, but, from the start, ferociously ambitious. Shashi wanted to make a mark in the world, quicker and more dramatically than any Stephanian (or perhaps any Indian) before him. Whereas Rukun had no ambition to become well known. In college, all he wanted to do was read, listen to music, and have one-on-one conversations with friends. In OUP, all he wanted to do was edit books; while he glorified in the success of his authors, he never remotely wanted to take any credit for this.

The Marvellous Mrs. Maisel, Rukun and Anuradha Roy

Rukun and his wife Anuradha Roy quit OUP, because the new MD didn't let them work together in the academic division. He said that couples couldn't. WHAAAAAT? This reminds me of when Gordon Ford ( played by Reid Scott ), in The Marvellous Mrs. Maisel, didn't allow 'Midge' Maisel ( played by Rachel Brosnahan ) to do stand up comedy — when she finally got a chance to appear on Gordon's talk show, through lobbying with a person whom Gordon couldn't say no to — and instead forced her to appear only for a small section of the show as 'one of the writers of the show,' which was Midge's day job. He didn't allow it because it was a 'rule' that employees don't appear on the show.

When they shifted to Ranikhet and started operating the new publishing company Permanent Black ( a play on the situation which compelled them to quit from OUP ) that they started, Rukun had been the happiest.

In the hills, running his own show, Rukun was happier than he had ever been. A letter he sent me in June 2011 says it all. I had couriered Rukun an essay by the literary historian Rob Nixon, which I thought would interest him. A fortnight passed and he hadn't acknowledged receipt, so I sent an email about this. Rukun's reply began: "The Rob Nixon preface had been given to our dhobi by the postman, so it came in with the washed clothes last evening. Our cottage is at the forest edge and the postman doesn't feel like venturing so far in the monsoon. These are the endearing and infuriating things about Ranikhet. Everyone is laid back and going nowhere and mystified by urgency. After living here a while, this attitude makes sense and Delhi seems even more awful."

Playing With Time

One of the literary features of the book is that it's almost chronological but not really. I binged watched Death and Other Details. Suggested by @ojask1998 I very closely studied the temporal play – same amount of time shown from different people's eyes, or through the director's. The showing of time kept going back and forth to make it spicy. Each step back in time covered details, each forward built anticipation, and vice versa. Guha's book also played around with time a little bit, going forward a bit, the coming back.

I think the reason this works is because our memory is non-linear and makes perception of seemingly linear time so as well (not taking into account the scientific non linearity of time). It was done, I think, to collate things that made sense together.

The book was generously lent by my dear friend Amrita. I had asked for the book in Blossoms Book Store in Bangalore. There was confusion among the wonderful staff as to where the book was. 1st floor personnel said it was on the 2nd(non fiction floor). 2nd floor staff said it was on the ground floor. It lay behind the paying counter, amidst other books – the only copy for the day. I picked it up, turned around, looked at the price, and sadly compared it with the number of pages and returned it.

The first few pages mentioned Ram Guha's favourite research place — Prime Minister Library ( erstwhile 'Nehru Memorial Library' ) in Delhi. We added it in the itinerary for the next day, which @ojask1998 had meticulously planned for us. I had not seen Delhi much and she put together places to see. We didn't ask the security in the first meeting where the library was. We instead took the right, toward the fancy and frankly non-sensical museum, which we chucked to ask for library. When we reached, we realised we just had to take a left. Sadly (for us, on that bright beautiful onset of summer day, where we had dreamy expectations), we couldn't see the library because only members could go in. And from what we were told, only scholars and researchers were mostly given membership. I didn't inquire, though I wanted to, if membership was available for common folk like us as well. Now I think, why didn't I. I think the sun had sucked our energy and we were tired from the accidental detour. But it was refreshing to see a place I had just read about, my eye gleaming.

Later in the book I was irate and sad to read that when UPA had come to power, the Library became a centre ground of political gimmicks, with choosing a Congress Party loyalist as its new Director, who even let birthday parties be organised on campus. Guha had repeatedly urged prime minister Manmohan Singh, right from the moment the position had become vacant, to responsibly and transparently hire someone competent, even if not a scholar themself.

One of the things, perhaps the only thing, that kept my reading afloat and eager, was Rukun's humour. Telling about his friend Vipin Handa,

He taught English for some years, edited an arts journal, and resisted for long the disease to which Indians generally succumb early and which is known as SIMPLEA (Standard Indian Middle-class Parental Pleading: All Good Boys must become Babus. All Good Girls must become Bahus. Both must conjoin and produce Babas)

Social History of Cricket 🤯

It was interesting to know a little bit about social history of cricket, when Guha had started researching about it.

While living in Delhi I had begun sporadic research on the social history of Indian cricket, taking time off from my Elwin work to look at microfilms of old newspapers in the Nehru Memorial Museum and Library. Back in the early years of the twentieth century, before India was accepted as a Test-playing nation, the major domestic cricket tournament was the Bombay Quadrangular, played between teams representing the Europeans, the Parsis, the Hindus, and the Muslims. This ran from 1912 to the 1940s, becoming a Pantagular along the way, with the addition of a fifth team carrying the splendid name of 'The Rest'.

While taking notes on the newspaper coverage of this tournament, I had focused not so much on the cricket as the politics around it. This included the politics of race – how did the ruling whites react if they lost a match?; the politics of cast – if the best cricketer in the Hindu team was born in an Untouchable home, could he be made its captain?; and the politics of religion – did the existence of separate cricket teams for Hindus and Muslims fuel political rivalry between the two communities.

A 9-5 Mandate for a University Professor. Whaaat?!

However, whereas my jobs in Delhi had given me the freedom to occasionally work in the archives or at home, the one institution that offered me a professorship in Bangalore – the National Law School – insisted that I come there every day from Monday to Friday, arriving not later than 9.30 a.m. and leaving not before 5 p.m. That was a condition I was not prepared to meet, so I chose to abandon the safety of a tenured academic position for the uncertain life of an independent writer. The financial and moral support of my wife was crucial in my taking this decision; although, I suppose, the inspiring example of Verrier Elwin, that author of enduring works of scholarship who never had a job, also played a part.

Advice That Rukun Gave to Guha That Stuck With Me

Even 'however' and 'so to speak', placed in the middle of a nicely fluid sentence, can make it sound pontifical. Quieter, straighter, unbroken sentences are generally a lot more attractive. The need to sound authoritative is an academic ailment which should be replaced by the subtler desire to sound tentatively certain.

Endearing Nuggest of Uselessness

Lastly, I have a thing for the superfluous in life. OUP sent many of its books to be published with one of the pioneers of printing press, and one of the most skilful and revered editors in India P.K. Ghosh. I was absolutely surprised that a person did both, that there was such time, when an editor would, on their own volition, edit the edited final draft that is spent to them, and do so masterfully. Rukun met him only a few times. Read this to take in the glory of superfluous chat

He was garrulous and would spend hours energetically illuminating visitors with arcane information, leaving them simultaneously shattered and enriched. I met him just twice. The first time he told me, apropos of nothing, that the American declaration of independence, printed in 1776, was typeset in Caslon, and that his eternal regret was not to be able to print history books in Caslon because he did not possess the full range of that typeface. On the second occasion, he said that reading a nicely set page in Bembo is as effortless and pleasurable as eating a rossogolla, except that this has been true for Bembo more than 400 years whereas the rossogolla has no such pedigree. Such charming items of 'useless' information do not flow out of printing houses today. Printing standards, specially for full-colour picture books, are vastly higher than they were in P.K. Ghosh's heyday. You can get a book looking just the way you want it by clicking mice. The pity is only that the last Indian printer-scholar is dead. Several of his successors will print material as efficiently as he did once, but none will radiate that personality and no one will harbour many of those endearing nuggets of uselessness. — In Memorial, Telegraph

This long blog post full of quotations, awe, reverence and fanboying has come to an end.

PS: I forgot to write about Rukun Advani's father's bookstore. I'll do that in the next post.

#books #editing #non fiction #memoir #literature #midge maisel #the marvelous mrs. maisel #letters #writers on tumblr

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infoshakil260 · 10 months ago

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Resume experience Think about how to write a resume from a user perspective

When submitting your resume, do you also feel that your resume is always ignored? Perhaps this is because you have not found the correct method in the process of writing your resume. In this article, the author tries to think about the aspects and issues we should pay attention to when writing HE Tuber resumes from the user's perspective. Let's take a look.

Recently, many people on major platforms have complained that most of their resumes have been reduced to cannon fodder. Resumes are the first step in initiating an interview, and it is also an extremely critical step. This article considers the issues worth noting in the process of writing a resume from a user's perspective.

In the process of screening product resumes, the recruiting party will go through two steps: preliminary screening of resumes and communication with the business. Regarding these two user groups, at least it is necessary to ensure that the resume has no flaws; secondly, it needs to reflect the professionalism of the work.

When some companies screen candidates, they will make rough predictions based on academic qualifications, working years, and job relevance. The academic qualifications and working years here are relatively fixed and cannot be optimized. However, job relevance can use a structured method to focus on the current work and list the degree of compatibility with the position based on actual project experience, thereby increasing the chance of making an appointment. How to organize past experiences in a structured way? Here are some basic ideas.

1. Resume structure provides valuable output

1. Work experience outline

The role of work experience in a resume is equivalent to a personal business card, which companies are in the history, and what departments are served. If you happen to have experience in an influential department in the field, it will be easier to get an appointment.

If not, there is no need to be discouraged. When introducing work experience, it is best to clearly state the department of the company, core service areas, and output indicators. This way, from the perspective of resume browsing, at least a very structured impression can be output.

2. Structured expression of project experience

Project experience is the key information that can best be obtained through a resume, and it also determines the degree of job matching. If the position you want to apply for is a strategic product manager, you must think about what type of talents the other party needs from the perspective of the employer.

First of all, the basic skills of a good strategy product depend on problem identification capabilities, data sensitivity, target disassembly actions, project promotion plans, and business indicator returns.

Secondly, the biggest difference between strategy products and tools and back-end products lies in the For process rather than the For users. Therefore, collaboration capabilities are a very important perspective. How to reflect collaborative skills on your resume? From a cross-team perspective, that is, in the process of explaining the project practice, we not only output our own opinions and data, but also obtain some benefits from various partners.

The last part is a summary of the actual work, focusing on reflecting your own value, such as whether you have received rewards from the company for the above-mentioned work, rewards within the department, and whether there is any valuable accumulation.

3. Personal introduction is highly general

Generally speaking, the personalized expression of the resume will be written in the personal introduction. This part can be given more casually, such as personality characteristics, which are the glue of the team; work ability, and continuing to create revenue for the company. As long as it can express what is unique to the public. Different, it can add points to your resume. When the background of the specific interview team is uncertain, in addition to the very eye-catching personal characteristics recommended, it is more recommended to add personal achievements in the work field to highlight scarcity.

Therefore, it is best for the personal introduction to mainly reflect the value of the individual at work: years of experience, field of work, and awards received; if the job intention is very clear, you can list the career plan:

Summarize your working experience and areas of expertise;

State the main award-winning experience and awards received;

Job intention and career planning.

2. Polish the expression and adjust the format

The above three dimensions need to be put into the reader's perspective when expressed specifically. The industry will adopt the STAR rule: situation, task, action, result.

S- When describing the work, explain the company's general environment and pave the way for subsequent project experience (whether it is core); when describing the project experience, explain clearly the goals of the service and the risks to be solved.

T-In the resume of strategic products, you should at least express why you are doing this and what benefits you want to see.

A-Dismantle the action to the smallest detail. The advantage of doing this is to recall and review historical work projects, accumulate and summarize past experience, the resume contains more gold, and the keywords involved can catch the eye of the screener.

R- The T in front of it refers to the target, and R should respond to the target income. This part of the data must not only be clearly presented in the resume, but also needs to be integrated during t

#Comedy #Entertainment #News & Politics #How-to & Style #Non- profits & activism #Hindi Songs

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spoilertv · 1 year ago

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#SpoilerTV

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mshexley · 2 years ago

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I think what’s very interesting about the defenders of the nazi magic game is that it’s a clear case of people being more concerned with being seen as a bad person than actually reflecting on why ppl view them that way and watching them argue with ppl on Tiktok has made that clear.

(putting a cut causes it’s long)

real shit I should go to school for sociology or psychology or something, this shit is fun to watch unfold

Because if they had just quietly played the game, they could’ve been quiet and wrong and wouldn’t have to be fighting for their lives. However, when people set the boundaries, the lines in the sand and said “hey I’m going to unfollow or unsub from anyone that streams the game” “hey, I’m gonna unfriend people who cross that line” and other variants, that’s when the pro-nazi wizard brigade truly starting their grandstanding.

Because being the type of person that others distance themselves from sounds like hell, especially in the landscape where the internet makes it easier to scrunitized. However, the response to justified scrunity is often to deflect.

One of the actual cons of this era of political correctness, is that when people like or dislike something, they don’t let it just be that. It has to be tied to some moral high ground to either justify your dislike or like of something.

This isn’t the case for everything obviously so here’s some examples for what I mean:

Koreaboos claim people are racist for not being liking Kpop or a specific group while also partaking in racist behavior themselves like harassing black Kpop fans or the very obvious example of them fetishizing Korean ppl.

The Boyfriends WebToon is also a good example because rather than leaving it at “oh I think it’s cringey” “oh it’s not my thing” they would have a moral high ground by claiming that the comic is fetishizing gay men because the author is a “woman” (the author is a gay trans man btw)

In more smaller instances, you can find this behavior in shipping wars. You’ll see a ship that’s being shat on for having a claimed “toxic dynamic” of some sort because simply saying you don’t like the ship doesn’t sway ppl’s opinions in your favor.

Back to the main topic, there is a similar thing happening with defenders of the game. Because despite the years of bigotry that Rowling has spewed and supported, despite the game having an ex-lead with an alt-right page that the company KNEW about already and that after his departure they felt is was too expensive to get rid of his inputs in the game…the real offense to these people…is that folks will stop liking them.

But rather than accept that, (which granted that’s rough but it’s a part of growth) they’d rather pretend that they are victims. No one held a gun to their head and told them to play the game. That was the bed they made but sitting in that shit is hard so they deflect.

“Well, I might have bought the game but LOOK I donated to trans charities. So that cancels it out.”

Except you could’ve done that with any game. Why this one? It’s not an own on anyone. Like it’s the equivalent of when conservatives were boycotting Starbucks…..by buying Starbucks.

Arguably even worse, are people who are going the “No you” approach where in response to people actually taking the time out of their day to educate folks about the history of Jewish caricatures and how goblins relate that, (something that don’t HAVE do to), people respond with by pretending that simply just isn’t the case. Literally ran across one comment that said “I just see goblins as goblins, if you see Jewish ppl then YOURE the one in the wrong”.

Except that when THIS

is in the game, it breaks that response into pieces. Many Jewish folk have pointed out that the item is a “shofar” often used for religious reasons. In Harry Potter, it’s a “war horn” that annoys witches and wizards.

“that’s just coincidence”

the year is interesting too. 1612 was the goblin rebellion in the game, I wonder what happened in the real world—

Hm. An infamous case of anti-Jewish bigotry in the country that would later become the deathbed of so many Jewish ppl during WW2.

so now at what point do these stop being coincidences? At what point do you just take the L?

Now people have more reasons to not associate with you and you’ll be left with a circlejerk of ignorance.

and it wouldn’t have even been that bad if y’all would’ve just shut the fuck up and read another book.

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ignitesthestxrs · 8 months ago

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there is a lot of really interesting and thoughtful conversation happening in this post which is really cool to see! i do think though that a lot of the above conversation is rooted in analysis of the text itself without taking into context the...well, context.

this is to say: i genuinely do think there is a reasonable interpretation of jod as an indigenous man who is repressing/ignoring his indigenous culture in favour of a culture he was forcibly raised in, and that there is a lot of commentary on the nature of power and colonisation that can be made there.

but in the context of what exists external to the narrative - that is, the realities of book writing and publishing that surround this text - most of this information and interpretation doesn't come up until the third book. that is when we get our first close up of jod and his perspective, which i do think leads to these thoughtful analyses and interpretations

but my commentary re: muir kind of fumbling this is that it took three books to get there, and there is no trace of it in the first book. any te reo in book 1 is flavour or easter eggs rather than establishing character notes. there is zero indication of gideon's race, or indeed, jod's. i found out that gideon was supposed to be māori via muir's tumblr post, and it's very clear that this was not something taken into account when the cover art was designed ( i know that authors don't necessarily get input into cover art, and obvs gideon is wearing face paint, but i think a good faith interpretation of that art is that it is clearly interpretable/assumable that the character being depicted is Indistinct Racially at best).

there is absolutely a thoughtful and coherent in-text narrative about the decisions jod has made up until this point. but the infrastructure of the series does not underpin that narrative - it is built up as the books go along. it is skillfully built up! but to claim that a slow reveal of jod's māori-ness and potential cultural trauma reasons for recreating a space roman empire as an indigenous man from the beginning is i think a very generous read of what happened here.

it ignores the entire history of western sff as being like, obsessed with the roman empire. an sff series set in space rome with Houses is the equivalent of doing a paint by numbers and saying you made an original art. if you had the level of worldbuilding that exists in book 3 in book 1, i would have a different opinion, but book 1 alone exists in a specific kind of placelessness. it is accessible. you see the latin phrasing, you see the word empire, you have your cup of cocoa, you think you know what's going on.

i recognise the argument people want to make here as being 'that's a part of the point, that's why it's so clever', but i would argue that we can't give people credit for things they didn't write. the absence of te ao māori in the first book and through the second is not a meta-textual reflection of jod's trauma, because muir is pākehā - it is very genuinely not her job or place to replicate the kind of repression and trauma via narrative structure that an indigenous man might be experiencing. this is not to make the argument that pākehā can never write about cultural trauma, but i DO firmly believe that in order to do it well when you are pākehā, you have to actually do it.

it can't be left up to inference or interpretation or 'well once you get to book 3 you really understand what is going on'. you don't have to slap your reader in the face with it, but there are ways to note or imply a traumatic absence of something within a narrative that aren't just....not including that thing in the narrative. like, that's why we have the Narrative! i would argue that a hallmark of muir's work is in fact writing novels that keep characters - even readers - unaware of critical information until the reveal happens, while still having relevant information on the page. omission from character, from readers, does not have to mean omission from the text.

in addition to Choices Made By Author, there is a broader industry cultural framing here that i am extremely familiar with as a kiwi, which is - this is an american industry. the placelessness i referenced earlier - i don't think this is an accidental omission so much as it is a way that most kiwis seeking to publish outside of aotearoa have to learn to write, because you uh aren't publishable otherwise. MAYBE if you're very good or the market is in the mood for the Other (non-specified) or the winds are blowing in a certain direction, you can get published as something of a Marvel, a Curiosity, a Taika Waititi or Rhys Darby, but most workaday kiwi authors americanise their work, and that is what induces that placelessness. i can't ground my writing in american cultures, but i can certainly replicate it enough that an american audience's expectations will take a work the rest of the way.

this is what happens with book 1 in particular. i have been in turns extremely proud of and extremely defensive of gideon the ninth, because it is genuinely an impressive case in how the prose and humour of a work can be so thoroughly, recognisably kiwi in a way that other kiwis (and aussies, shout out 2 my antipodean bros who have been on this discourse journey with me) recognise intimately, while still being accessible to americans. there are things i get out of the humour and dialogue cadence in that book that i am not clever enough to articulate here LOL. but the things that are recognisable within that book to a kiwi are by and large prose based. this is why you see kiwis speaking about these books so fondly - we are often responding to something that we don't get to encounter in our entertainment media, because books like this don't get published and mass marketed even within NZ, and they certainly don't hit the international stage. a book so thoroughly kiwi, with a fandom? never happen. i genuinely cannot think of another kiwi cultural offering that has hit the same corners of fandom that TLT has.

i recognise i'm rambling away from the point here (what's the point?) but it's because i do have a lot of angles on my take about this series and i wanna be clear about the different external factors that go into what text makes it onto the page. i provide this aside about placelessness to make it clear that it's not accidental that people come away from the first book going '?? i didn't even realise that gid/jod were supposed to be māori'. you uh. you weren't supposed to!

and there are both textual and extra-textual ramifications to that. i think that ignoring those ramifications in order to lean into a reading that suggests the absence of te ao māori in those first books is an intentional reflection of jod's cultural trauma is giving muir too much credit, and also giving the very american publishing industry and the implicit demands it makes of non-americans an easy out.

a lot of the conversation i'm seeing in my notes at the moment is a very text-based interpretation of what we have seen so far. and i don't think that's wrong to do, and i also don't want to suggest that anyone who is seeing something recognisable in jod's cultural trauma narrative arc shouldn't, or is wrong to, or is finding meaning that isn't there. i do in fact think that if you publish a book 1 that is supposed to be imbued with Kiwiana (TM) and māori characters, but contains very little of te ao māori within it, it is in fact incumbent upon you to build that into your world and story asap. muir has done a genuinely good job of seeding a workable and believable character AND world narrative here as to why the earlier works were lacking that cultural grounding. it's not for me as pākehā to say 'good job on remembering that ur characters are māori, muir' lol, but it's clear from the level of conversation and discourse that goes on around this reading that now we're at book 3, the audience is finding something within the text to sink their teeth into. māori-ness is Present within the text, rather than a notable Absence.

i don't have concluding remarks! bye!

there's something about the way people talk about john gaius (incl the way the author writes him) that is like. so absent of any connection to te ao māori that it's really discomforting. like even in posts that acknowledge him as not being white, they still talk about him like a white, american leftist guy in a way that makes it clear people just AREN'T perceiving him as a māori man from aotearoa.

and it's just really serves to hammer home how powerful and pervasive whiteness and american hegemony is. because TLT is probably the single most Kiwi series in years to explode on the global stage, and all the things i find fraught about it as a pākehā woman reading a series by a pākehā author are illegible to a greater fandom of americans discoursing about whether or not memes are a valid way of portraying queer love.

idk the part of my brain that lights up every time i see a capital Z printed somewhere because of the New Zealand Mentioned??? instinct will always be proud of these books and muir. but i find myself caught in this midpoint of excitement and validation over my culture finding a place on the global stage, frustration at how kiwi humour and means of conveying emotion is misinterpreted or declared facile by an international audience, frustrated also by how that international audience runs the characters in this book through a filter of american whiteness before it bothers to interpret them, and ESPECIALLY frustrated by how muir has done a pretty middling job of portraying te ao māori and the māoriness of her characters, but tht conversation doesn't circulate in the same way* because a big part of the audience doesn't even realise the conversation is there to be had.

which is not to say that muir has done a huge glaring racism that non-kiwis haven't noticed or anything, but rather that there are very definitely things that she has done well, things that she has done poorly, things that she didn't think about in the first book that she has tacked on or expanded upon in the later books, that are all worthy of discussion and critique that can't happen when the popular posts that float past my dash are about how this indigenous man is 'guy who won't shut up about having gone to oxford'

*to be clear here, i'm not saying these conversations have never happened, just that in terms of like, ambient posts that float round my very dykey dash, the discussions and meta that circulate on this the lesbian social media, are overwhelmingly stripped of any connection to aotearoa in general, let alone te ao māori in specific. and because of the nature of american internet hegemony this just,,,isn't noticed, because how does a fish know it's in the ocean u know? i have seen discussions along these lines come up, and it's there if i specifically go looking for it, but it's not present in the bulk of tlt content that has its own circulatory life and i jut find that grim and a part of why the fandom is difficult to engage with.

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star-anise · 3 years ago

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Ok, I'll bite. What *is* the difference between Bridgerton and Jane Austen in relationship to their skirts?

Oh! Not in their costuming, just in their general *waves hands* everything. It's a comment I see a lot about Bridgerton: "Well, it's not much like Austen, is it?"

That's because there are 200 years of literary history between the two, and they have not been empty!

This ended up being 1.5k words, but when I put stuff under a readmore, people don't actually read it and then just yell at me because of a misread of the 1/10th of the post they did read. Press j to skip or get ready to do a lot of scrolling (It takes four generous flicks to get past on my iPhone).

First I'll say my perspective on this is hugely shaped by Sherwood Smith, who has done a lot of research on silver fork novels and the way the Regency has been remembered in the romance genre.

The Regency and Napoleonic eras stretch from basically the 1790s to 1820, and after that, it was hard to ignore the amount of social change happening in Britain and Europe. The real watershed moment is the 1819 Peterloo Massacre, where 60,000 working-class people protesting for political change were attacked by a militia. The issues of poverty, class, industrialization, and social change are inescapable, and we end up with things like the 1832 Reform Act and 1834 Poor Law.

This is why later novelists, like Charles Dickens and Elizabeth Gaskell, are so concerned with the experiences of the urban poor. Gaskell's North and South has been accurately described as "Pride and Prejudice for socialists."

So almost as soon as it ended, people started to look back and mythologize the Regency as a halcyon era, back when rich people could just live their rich lives and fret about "only" having three hundred pounds a year to live on. Back when London society was the domain of hereditary landowners, when you weren't constantly meeting with jumped-up industrialists and colonials.

Jane Austen is kind of perfect for this because she comes at the very end of the long eighteenth century, and her novels show hints of the tremors that are about to completely reshape England, but still comfortably sit in the old world. ("The Musgroves, like their houses, were in a state of alteration, perhaps of improvement. The father and mother were in the old English style, and the young people in the new. Mr and Mrs Musgrove were a very good sort of people; friendly and hospitable, not much educated, and not at all elegant. Their children had more modern minds and manners.")

Sherwood Smith covers the writers who birthed the Silver Fork genre in detail, but there's one name that stands out in its history more than any other: Georgette Heyer.

Georgette Heyer basically single-handedly established the Regency Romance as we know it today. Between 1935 and 1972, she published 26 novels set in a meticulously researched version of London of the late 18th and early 19th century. She took Silver Fork settings and characters and turned them into a highly recognizable set of tropes, conventions, and types. (As Sherwood points out, her fictional Regency England isn't actually very similar to the period as it really happened; it's like Arthurian Camelot, a mythical confection with a dash of truth for zest.)

Regency Romance is an escapist genre in which a happy, prosperous married life is an attainable prize that will solve everything for you. Georgette Heyer's novels are bright, sparkling, delightful romps through a beautiful and exotic world. Her female characters have spirit and vivacity, and are allowed to have flaws and make mistakes without being puritanically punished for them. Her romances have real unique sparks to them. She's able to write a formula over and over without it becoming dull.

And.... well. The essay that introduced me to Heyer still, in my opinion, says it best:

Here's the thing about Georgette Heyer: she hates you. Or, okay, she doesn't hate you, exactly. It's just that unless you are white, English, and upper class (and hale, and hearty, and straight, and and and), she thinks you are a lesser being. [...W]ith Heyer, I knew where I stood: somewhere way below the bottom rung of humanity. Along with everyone else in the world except Prince William and four of his friends from Eton, which really took away the sting. But my point is: if you are not that white British upper-class person of good stock and hearty bluffness and a large country estate, the only question for you is which book will contain a grimly bigoted caricature of you featuring every single stereotyped trait ever associated with your particular group. (You have to decide for yourself if really wonderful female characters and great writing are worth the rest of it.)

So Heyer created the genre, but she exacerbated the flaw that was always at the heart of fiction about the Regency, was that its appeal was not having to deal with the inherent rot of the British aristocracy. I think part of why it's such a popular genre in North America specifically is that we often don't know much British history, so we can focus more on the perfume and less on the dank odor it's hiding.

And like, escapism is not a bad thing. Romance writers as a community have sat down and said: We are an escapist genre. The Romance Writers of America, one of the biggest author associations out there, back when they were good, have foundationally said: "Two basic elements comprise every romance novel: a central love story and an emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending." A strong part of the community argue that publishing in the genre is a "contract" between author and reader: If it's marketed as a romance book, there's a Happily Ever After. If there's no Happily Ever After, it's not romance.

It's important for people to be able to take a break from the stresses of their lives and do things that are enjoyable. But the big question the romance genre in particular has to deal with is, who should be allowed to escape? Is it really "escapist" if only white, straight, upper class, able-bodied thin cis people get to escape into it? In historical romance, this is especially an issue for POC and LGBTQ+ people. It's taken a lot of work, in a genre dominated by the Georgette Heyers of the world, to try to hew out the space for optimistic romances for people of colour or LGBTQ+ people. These are minority groups that deal with a literally damaging amount of stress in real lives; they are in especial need of sources of comfort, refuge, community, and encouragement. For brief introductions to the issue, I can give you Talia Hibbert on race, and KJ Charles on LGBTQ+ issues.

Up until the 1990s, the romance genre evolved slowly. It did evolve; Sarah Wendell and Candy Tan's Beyond Heaving Bosoms charts the demise of the "bodice-ripper" genre as it became more acceptable for women to have and enjoy sex. The historical romance genre became more accommodating to non-aristocratic heroines, or ones that weren't thin or conventionally pretty. The first Bridgerton book, The Duke and I, was published in 2000, and has that kind of vibe: Its characters are all white but not all of them are aristocrats, its heroines are frequently not conventionally beautiful and occasionally plump, and its cultivation to modern sensibility is reflected in its titles, which reference popular media of today.

This is just my impression, but I think that while traditional mainstream publishing was beginning to diversify in the 1990s, the Internet was what really made diverse romance take off. Readers, reviewers, and authors could talk more freely on the internet, which allowed books to become unlikely successes even if their publishers didn't promote them very much. Then e-publishing meant that authors could market directly to their readers without the filter of a publishing house, and things exploded. Indie ebooks proved that there was a huge untapped market.

One of my favourite books, Zen Cho's Sorcerer to the Crown, is an example of what historical romance is like today; it's a direct callback and reclamation of Georgette Heyer, with a dash of "Fuck you and all your prejudices" on top of it. It fearlessly weaves magic into a classic Heyer plot, maintaining the essential structure while putting power into the hands of people of colour and non-Western cultures, enjoying the delights of London society while pointing out and dodging around the rot. It doesn't erase the ugliness, but imagines a Britain that is made better because its poor, its immigrants, its people of colour, and the foreign countries it interacts with have more power to make their voices heard and to enforce their wills. Another book I've loved that does the same thing is Courtney Milan's The Duke Who Didn't.

So then... Bridgerton the TV show is trying to take a book series with a very middle-of-the-road approach to diversity, differing from Heyer but not really critiquing her, and giving it a facelift to bring it up to date.

So to be honest, although it's set in the same time period as Austen, it's not in the least her literary successor. It's infinitely more "about" the past 30 years of conversation and art in the romance genre than it is about books written 200 years ago.

#staranise original #regency romance #bridgerton #long post

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pumpkinpaix · 4 years ago

Text

mdzs fandom, diaspora, and cultural exchange

Hey everyone. This post contains a statement that’s been posted to my twitter, but was a collaborative effort between several diaspora fans over the last few weeks. Some of the specifics are part of a twitter-localized discourse, but the general sentiments and issues raised are applicable across the board, including here on tumblr.

If you’ve been following me for a while, you’ve probably seen a few of my posts about this fandom, cultural exchange, and diasporic identity. For example, here, here, and here. This statement more directly criticizes some of the general issues I and others have raised in the past, and also hopefully provides a little more insight into where those issues come from. I would be happy if people took the time to read and reblog this, as the thought that went into it is not trivial, and neither is the subject matter. Thank you.

Introduction

Hello. I'm a member of a Chinese diaspora discord server - I volunteered to try and compile a thread of some thoughts regarding our place and roles in the fandom expressed in some of our recent discussions. This was primarily drafted by me and reviewed/edited by others with the hopes that we can share a cohesive statement on our honest feelings instead of repeatedly sharing multiple, fragmented versions of similar threads in isolation.

This was compiled by one group of diaspora and cannot be taken to represent diaspora as a whole, but we hope that our input can be considered with compassion and understanding of such.

For context, we are referencing two connected instances: the conflict described in these two threads (here and here), and when @/jelenedra tweeted about giving Jewish practices to the Lans. Regarding the latter, we felt that it tread into the territory of cultural erasure, and that it came from a person who had already disrespected diaspora’s work and input.

Context

The Lans have their own religious and cultural practices, rooted both in the cultural history of China and the genre of xianxia. Superimposing a different religious practice onto the Lans amidst other researched, canonical or culturally accurate details felt as if something important of ours was being overwritten for another’s personal satisfaction. Because canon is so intrinsically tied to real cultural, historical, and religious practices, replacing those practices in a canon setting fic feels like erasure. While MDZS is a fantasy novel, the religious practices contained therein are not. This was uncomfortable for many of us, and we wanted to point it out and have it resolved amicably. We were hoping for a discussion or exchange as there are many parallels and points of relation between Chinese and Jewish cultures, but that did not turn out quite as expected.

What happened next felt like a long game of outrage telephone that resulted in a confusion of issues that deflected responsibility, distracted from the origin of the conflict, and swept our concern under the rug.

Specifically, we are concerned about how these two incidents are part of what we feel is a repeated, widespread pattern of the devaluing of Chinese fans’ work and concerns within this fandom. This recent round of discourse is just one of many instances where we have found ourselves in a position of feeling spoken over within a space that is nominally ours. Regardless of what the telephone game was actually about, the way it played out revealed something about how issues are prioritized.

Background

MDZS is one of the first and largest franchises of cmedia that has become popular and easily accessible outside of China. Moreover, it’s a piece of queer Chinese media that is easily accessible to those of us overseas. For many non-Chinese fans, this is the first piece of cmedia they have connected with, and it’s serving as their introduction to a culture previously opaque to them. What perhaps is less obvious is that for many Chinese diaspora fans, this is also the first piece of cmedia THEY have connected with, found community with, seen themselves in.

Many, many of us have a fraught relationship with our heritage, our language—we often suffer from a sense of alienation, both from our families and from our surrounding peers. For our families, our command of the language and culture is often considered superficial, clunky, childish. Often, connecting with our culture is framed as a mandatory academic duty, and such an approach often fosters resentment towards our own heritage. For our non-Chinese peers, our culture is seen as exotic and strange and other, something shiny and interesting to observe, while we, trapped in the middle, find ourselves uprooted and adrift.

MDZS holds an incredibly important place in many diaspora’s hearts. Speaking for myself, this is literally the first time in my life I have felt motivated and excited about my own native tongue. It's the first time I have felt genuine hope that I might one day be able to speak and read it without fear and self-doubt. It is also the first time that so many people have expressed interest in learning from me, in hearing my thoughts and opinions about my culture.

This past year and a half in fandom has been an incredible experience. I know that I am not alone in this. So many diaspora I have spoken to just in the last week have expressed similar sentiments about the place MDZS holds in their lives. It is a precious thing to us, both because we love the story itself, and because it represents a lifeline to a heritage that’s never felt fully ours to grasp.

It’s wonderful to feel like we are able to welcome our friends into our home and show them all these things that have been so formative to our identities, and to be received with such enthusiasm and interest. Introducing this to non-Chinese friends and fans has also been an opportunity to bridge gaps and be humanized in a way that has been especially important in a year where yellow peril fear mongering has been at an all-time high.

History

However, MDZS’ rise in popularity among non-Chinese audiences has also come with certain difficulties. It is natural to want to take a story you love and make it your own: that’s what transformative fandom is all about. It is also natural that misunderstandings and unintentional missteps might happen when you aren’t familiar with the ins and outs of the culture and political history of the story in question. This is understandable and forgivable—perfection is impossible, even for ourselves.

We hope for consideration and respect when we give our knowledge freely and when we raise the issue of our own discomfort with certain statements or actions regarding our culture. Please remember that what is an isolated incident to you might be a pattern of growing microaggressions to us. In non-Asian spaces, Asian diaspora are often lumped together under one umbrella. In the west, a lot of Chinese diaspora attach themselves to Korean and Japanese media in order to feel some semblance of connection to a media which approximates our cultures because there are cultural similarities. This is the first time we've collectively found community around something that is actually ours, so the specificities matter.

There is a bitterness about being Asian diaspora and a misery in having to put up a united front about racial issues. Enmity towards one group becomes a danger to all of us, all while our own conflicted histories with one another continue to pass trauma down through the generations. Many of us don’t even watch anime in front of our grandparents because of that lingering cultural antipathy. When the distinctions between our cultures are muddled, it feels once again like that very fraught history is flattened and forgotten.

Without the lived experience of it, it’s hard to understand how pervasive the contradictory web of anti-Asian and, more specifically, anti-Chinese racial aggressions are and how insidious its effects are. The conflation of China the political entity (as perceived and presented by the US and Europe) with its people, culture, and diaspora results in an exhausting litany of criticism levied like a bludgeon, often by people who don’t understand the complicated nature of a situation against those of us who do.

There is often a frankly stunning lack of self-awareness re: cultural biases and blind spots when it comes to discussions of MDZS, particularly moral ones. There are countless righteous claims and hot takes on certain aspects of the story, its author, and the characters that are so clearly rooted in a Euroamerican political and moral framework that does not reflect Chinese cultural realities and experiences. Some of these takes have become so widespread they are essentially accepted as fanon.

This is a pattern of behavior within the fandom. It is not limited to any specific group, nor does it even exclude ourselves—we are, after all, not a monolith, and we should not be placed on pedestals to have our differing opinions weaponized against one another in fandom squabbles. We are not flawless in our own understandings and approaches, and we would appreciate it if others would remember this before using any of us as ultimate authorities to settle a personal score.

It is difficult not to be disheartened when enthusiastic interest crosses the line into entitled demand and when transformative work crosses into erasure, especially when the reactions to our raised concerns have so frequently been dismissive and hostile. The overwhelming cultural and emotional labor we bring to the table is often taken advantage of and then criticized in bad faith. We are bombarded with racist aggressions, micro and macro, and then met with ridicule and annoyance when we push back. Worse, we sometimes face accusations of hostility that force us to apologize, back down, and let the matter go.

When we bring up our issues, it usually seems to come with the expectation that there are other issues that should be addressed before we can address ours. It feels like it’s never really the time to talk about Asian issues.

On the internet and in fandom spaces, Western-coded media, politics and perspectives are assumed to be general knowledge and experience that everyone knows and has. It feels like a double standard that we are expected to know the ins and outs of western politics and to engage on these terms, but most non-Chinese have not even the slightest grasp of the sort of politics that are at play within our communities. We end up feeling used for our specialized knowledge and cultural background and then dismissed when our opinions and problems are inconvenient.

As the culture represented in MDZS is not a culture that most non-Chinese fans are familiar with, we’d like to remind you that you do not get to decide which parts of it are or are not important. While sharing this space with Chinese diaspora who have a close connection to the work and the painful history that goes along with being diaspora, we ask that you be mindful of listening to our concerns.

Cultural erasure is tied to a lot of intense historical and generational trauma for us that maybe isn't immediately evident: the horrors of the Pacific theatre, the far-reaching consequences of colonization, racial tensions both among ourselves and with non-Chinese etc. These are not minor or simple things, and when we talk about our issues within fandom, this is often what underlies them. This is one of the first and only places many of us have been able to find community to discuss our unique issues without feeling as if we’re speaking out of turn.

With the HK protests, COVID, the anti-Chinese platforms of the US election etc., anti-Chinese sentiment has been at the forefront of the global news cycle for some time now, and it is with complete sincerity that we emphasize once again how important MDZS fandom has been as a haven for humanizing and valuing Chinese people through cultural exchange.

Experiencing racial aggression within that space stings, not just because it’s a space we love, but because it feels like we’ve been swimming in rapidly rising racial aggression for over a year at this point.

Feelings

This is a difficult topic to broach at the best of times, and these are not the best of times. Many of us have a wariness of rocking the boat instilled in us from our upbringings, and it is not uncommon for us to feel like we should be grateful that people want to engage with something of ours at all. When we do decide to speak up, we’ve learned that there is a not insignificant chance that we’ll be turned on and trampled over because what we’ve said is inconvenient or uncomfortable. When it is already so difficult to speak up, we end up second-guessing and gaslighting ourselves into wondering whether there really was a problem at all.

We’d like to be able to share what we know about our culture and have our knowledge and experience be taken seriously and treated with courtesy. This is a beautiful, rich world built with the history of our ancestors, one that we too are trying to connect with. When we find it in ourselves to speak up about it, we would appreciate being met with consideration instead of hostility.

We don't have the luxury of stepping away from our culture when we get tired of it. We don't get to put it down and walk away when it’s difficult. But if you're not Chinese or Chinese diaspora, you get to put this book down—we'd like to kindly request that you put it down gently because of how much it matters to all of us in this fandom, regardless of heritage.

What we are asking for is reflection and thoughtfulness as we continue to engage with this work and with one another, especially with regards to how Chinese issues are positioned. When we raise issues of our own discomfort, please take a moment to reflect before reacting defensively or trying to shut us down for spoiling the fun—don’t deprioritize our concerns, especially in a fandom for a piece of Chinese media. We promise most of us are not trying to start shit for the sake of a fight. Most of the time, all we want is acknowledgement and a genuine attempt at understanding.

Our hope with this statement is to encourage more openness and understanding between diaspora and non-Chinese fans while we navigate this place that we’re sharing. Please remember that for many of us, MDZS is far more intense than a typical fandom experience. Remember that the knowledge we have and research we do is freely and happily given, and that it costs us both materially and emotionally. Please don’t take that for granted. Remember too that sometimes the reason for our discomfort may not be immediately evident to you: what seems culturally neutral and harmless might touch upon specific loaded issues for us. We ask for patience, and we ask for sincerity as we try to communicate with one another.

We are writing this because there’s a collective sense of imposed silence—that every time the newest round of discourse crops up, we often feel as if we’re walking away having created no meaningful change, and nursing new wounds that we’ll never get to address. But without speaking up about it, this is a cycle that will keep repeating.

This is not meant to shame or guilt the fandom into throwing themselves at our feet, either to thank us or beg for forgiveness—far from that. We’re just your friends and your fellow fans. We are happy to have you here, and we’re happy to create and share and play together. We just ask to be respected and heard.

Thank you. Thank you for listening. Several of us will be stepping back from twitter for a while. We’ll see you when we get back. ❤️

* A final addendum: here are two articles with solid practical advice on writing stories regarding a culture other than your own.

Cultural Appropriation for the Worried Writer: Some Practical Advice

Cultural Appropriation: Some More Practical Advice

The thread on twitter is linked in the source of this post. Thanks everyone.

#mdzs #mdzs meta #the untamed #the untamed meta #cql #asian diaspora #chinese diaspora #race #racism #mine #mymeta #once again my tag failing me because this is a collaborative work #but! for the sake of organization #statistically average #cultural appropriation #cultural erasure #what else do i tag this im so wired

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gemsofgreece · 2 years ago

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I'm interested in learning more about the history of Modern Greece (aside from what we were taught school). Can you recommend me any site/link (whether foreign or greek) that is confirmed historical accurate, or even books (scientific or fiction) about that time period?

Sure!

The book that I am happiest I read is "Ιστορία (Κωμικοτραγική) του Νεοελληνικού Κράτους (1830 - 1974)" by Vasilis Rafailidis. Rafailidis is considered a heretic of Modern Greek History studies, even though when I read his book, I realised there was nothing all that heretic about it, mostly common sense. Rafailidis stresses the negatives rather than the positives but, as he claims (and I confirm it judging from what I read in his book), he does it in order to address the mistakes and truly help love Greece in an actual profound way. Rafailidis was a Communist but in his book he accuses multiple times both the right wing and left wing of various incidents. He is not 100% neutral to my understanding but he genuinely tries to be as unbiased as it is possible for him. Keep in mind, that in all history, in all books, about any part of the world, by any historian, 100% neutrality is impossible even when people genuinely try. Two good people might use the exact same sources but the point they will end up making will still differ at least a bit, impacted by the people's originally instilled beliefs and backgrounds, which are very hard to diss in order to achieve the ultimate neutrality. So, the point is whether the book reflects the truth as personally perceived by an author who tries sincerely to be objective, and not consciously to manipulate the audience or use emotional speech to affect others. This is a book that succeeds in that. However, the book also has an appendix with excerpts from books of Yerasimos Kaklamanis. Rafailidis often agrees with him but also keeps a more level headed stance. I personally disagree on a lot of stuff with Kaklamanis because I think he falls many times into the trap of emotional speech deeply influenced by (honestly, wrong) concepts he takes for granted and personal experiences. He even contradicts himself. I am not telling you to not read the appendix, I am just suggesting you keep an eye for patterns that start not making much sense in his very intense essay.

Check the podcast "Διορθωτικά Μαθήματα Ιστορίας" by professor Giorgos Mavrogordatos. He has also written a book of the same nature, correcting historical misconceptions, but I haven't read it. Lots of good stuff and great detail, especially about what was happening in politics behind closed doors, is available in his podcasts. I really recommend it and it's also very interesting to see where Mavrogordatos and Rafailidis coincide in their description of the events, even though I have the feeling they don't share the exact same political beliefs. It's so refreshing to see different ideologies describe the events in a similar enough way.

I also enjoy LIFO podcasts and articles on Greek history. I have used some of them as sources to help me write some history posts here.

Another beautiful book series (of three volumes) is "100 Μεγάλοι Έλληνες", but it also features Greeks from other eras. This one clearly lingers on the positive rather than on the negative but this is the healthy way to do it, if you ask me. You read the negative, you read the positive and then divide by two to reach the middle.

I have another book but I haven't read it yet. It's "Τα 100 γεγονότα που σημάδεψαν την Ελλάδα από το 1821 έως σήμερα" by Antonis Antoniadis. Although I don't have an opinion of my own yet, I checked it and it gets good reviews in Goodreads therefore I am recommending it anyway. I guess it is great for easy and quick absorption of the modern history.

Of course, I must recommend "Η Ζωή εν Τάφω" by Stratis Myrivilis. The problem here is that I never finished the book because of the writing style that was probably too heavy for me at the time. The book however gets very good ratings let alone that it is a classic so I recommend it all the same and intend to go back to it myself. Perhaps I wasn't in the right mindset the first time I attempted reading it. The book is about Greece in WW1, as experienced by a soldier.

I haven't yet read the memoirs of Theodoros Kolokotronis but I have read two small biographical books which were based on them (I suppose). I recommend reading any biography or better the actual memoirs and I intend to do the same. His memoirs is called "Διήγησις συμβάντων της Ελληνικής φυλής από τα 1770 έως τα 1836". Although I've heard it's a tough read. If the speech is too hard or complicated, honestly I still recommend any biography of any sort on Kolokotronis.

I don't have a website I visit regularly. The truth is I have found occasional treasure pages when I was searching for certain topics but I haven't saved anything :(

#greece #history #greek history #modern greek history #ask #worlds-greatest-mystery

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sideprince · 7 days ago

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Well here's the thing, because you make a good point - and this is why posts like OP's need to be more considered, nuanced, and thoughtful because otherwise they cause confusion in ways that can be damaging.

The critical analysis of Snape's character referencing tropes that are historically racist and anti-semitic doesn't mean that he's actually written that way, or that he's written as Jewish. It's one thing to use a trope. It's another to subvert it. It's a third to miss both these things and form perspectives based on internalized biases that have the same root as the subverted trope without realizing the point that subversion is making. All of this needs to be examined critically with consideration for what the author's assumed intention might have been, whether they were successful, and whether readers understand this. There's a reason that the posts I linked are long, thoughtful discussions with cited sources.

You can't do this subject justice with broad strokes. You can't do it justice by just saying that anyone who makes fun of Snape for his features is racist and anti-semitic. That's an incredibly simplistic take that strips the subject of the nuance and substance that makes it relevant in the first place, and sidesteps any kind of discussion or intellectual exchange for the sake of imposing judgment. Just as acknowledging that the racist and anti-semitic history of the tropes Snape was constructed based on doesn't mean he was written to actually reflect any of these experiences. (There's also a really interesting discussion to be had on why Rowling chose this trope! Because on the one hand it alludes to Snape's relationship to Lily, ie. that the author intended for there to be a romantic undertone to his character. But on the other hand it's also well-known that she based Snape's character on John Nettleship who was autistic, and therefore there's a whole lot to unpack around neurodiversity, its representation, bullying ND people, etc.)

As far as I'm concerned, it's pretty clear that Rowling leaned on the tropes mentioned. An author representing something doesn't mean they do so fully or successfully, however, or that they intend to. Leaning on the trope of the dark, menacing Gothic stranger doesn't mean Snape is Jewish. The same way that Snape being autistic-coded because he was based on a real person who was autistic doesn't mean that this representation is executed thoughtfully or successfully, or even deliberately. It's very possible that Rowling invoked Gothic tropes because she associated them with romantic ideas, and was unaware of the racist/anti-semitic undertones - a white British woman educated at Exeter is unlikely to have been challenged to unpack these biases in any of her classes, or by the people she would have been surrounded with. Nevertheless, these biases are implicit whether or not they were intentionally embedded in her work, or if her subversion of them was deliberate or even well executed.

But in order to reach a conclusion about any of these questions, you have to present an argument and unpack your ideas. You can't just yell your opinions at people and demand that they fall in line with your train of thought, let alone if you've given them no explanation as to why you think what you do. Which is why it's not inherently anti-semitic, or racist, or ableist, or dismissive of trauma to make fun of Snape's features. It's thoughtless, callous, and ignorant, but there's a distinct difference between unchecked internalized biases and active, deliberate discrimination. I also think there's a more complex thing happening in these books than just subverting that trope, because despite Snape being revealed as a hero in the end, many readers don't pick up his redemption arc or resent it, which means the author failed in executing it.

I've said it once i'll say it again

Making fun of Severus for his skin color, nose, hair, eyes, childhood trauma and defending the marauders for everything they did is not "haha relatable quirky funny"

It's anti-semetic and promotes bullying! You pieces of shit❤

(ALSO. Him calling lily a mudblood was him being defensive after literally being s3xually harassed and ALSO he gets a pass to say that word because HE'S A HALFBLOOD. Give that HUMAN BEING a goddamn break.)

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draculeo · 4 years ago

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As a muslim Iraqi American with a significant tumblr following, I feel as though I should let it be known exactly where I stand when it comes to Riordan’s statement about Samirah. I have copied and pasted it down below and my reaction to it will be written down below. This will be the first time I have read it. If you want to engage with me or tell me that I’m wrong, I expect you to be a muslim, hijabi, Iraqi American, and from Baghdad. If you are not, I suggest you sit down and keep quiet because you are not the authority on the way I should be represented.

Like many of my characters, Samirah was inspired by former students of mine. Over the course of my middle school teaching career, I worked with dozens of Muslim students and their families, representing the expanse of the Muslim world and both Shia and Sunni traditions. One of my most poignant memories about the September 11, 2001, attack of the World Trade Center was when a Muslima student burst into tears when she heard the news – not just because it was horrific, but also because she knew what it meant for her, her family, her faith. She had unwillingly become an ambassador to everyone she knew who, would have questions about how this attack happened and why the perpetrators called themselves “Muslim.” Her life had just become exponentially more difficult because of factors completely beyond her control. It was not right. It was not fair. And I wasn’t sure how to comfort or support her.

Starting off your statement with one of the most traumatic events in history for muslim Americans is already one of the most predictably bad moves he could pull. By starting off this way, you are acknowledging the fact that a) this t*rrorist attack is still the first thing you think of when you think of muslims and b) that those muslim students who you had prior to 9/11 occupied so little space in your mind that it took a national disaster for you to start to even try to empathize with them.

During the following years, I tried to be especially attuned to the needs of my Muslim students. I dealt with 9/11 the same way I deal with most things: by reading and learning more. When I taught world religions in social studies, I would talk to my Muslim students about Islam to make sure I was representing their experience correctly. They taught me quite a bit, which eventually contributed to my depiction of Samirah al-Abbas. As always, though, where I have made mistakes in my understanding, those mistakes are wholly on me.

As always, you have chosen to use “I based this character off my students” in order to justify the way they are written. News flash: you taught middle school children. Children who are already scrutinized and alienated and desperate to fit in. Of course their words shouldn’t be enough for you to decide you are representing them correctly, because they are still coming to terms with their identities and they are doing this in an environment where they are desperate to find the approval of white Americans. I know that as a child I would often tweak the way I explained my culture and religion to my teachers in order to gain their approval and avoid ruffling any feathers. They told you what they thought you’d want to hear because you are their teacher and hold a position of power over them and they both want your approval and want to avoid saying the wrong thing and having that hang over their heads every time they enter your classroom.

What did I read for research? I have read five different English interpretations of the Qur’an. (I understand the message is inseparable from the original Arabic, so it cannot be considered ‘translated’). I have read the entirety of the Sahih Bukhari and Sahih Muslim hadith collections. I’ve read three biographies of Prophet Muhammed (peace be upon him) and well over a dozen books about the history of Islam and modern Islam. I took a six-week course in Arabic. (I was not very good at it, but I found it fascinating). I fasted the month of Ramadan in solidarity with my students. I even memorized some of the surahs in Arabic because I found the poetry beautiful. (They’re a little rusty now, I’ll admit, but I can still recite al-Fātihah from memory.) I also read some anti-Islamic screeds written in the aftermath of 9/11 so I would understand what those commenters were saying about the religion, and indirectly, about my students. I get mad when people attack my students.

And yet here you are actively avoiding the criticism from those of us who could very well have been the children sitting in your classroom.

The Quran is so deep and complex that its meanings are still being discovered to this day. Yes, reading these old scripts is a must for writing muslim characters, but you cannot claim to understand them without also holding active discussions with current scholars on how the Quran’s teachings apply today.

When preparing to write Samirah’s background, I drew on all of this, but also read many stories on Iraqi traditions and customs in particular and the experiences of immigrant families who came to the U.S. I figured out how Samirah’s history would intertwine with the Norse world through the medieval writer Ahmad ibn Fadhlan, her distant ancestor and one of the first outsiders to describe the Vikings in writing. I knew Samirah would be a ferocious brave fighter who always stood for what was right. She would be an excellent student who had dreams of being an aviator. She would have a complicated personal situation to wrestle with, in that she’s a practicing Muslim who finds out Valhalla is a real place. Odin and Thor and Loki are still around. How do you reconcile that with your faith? Not only that, but her mom had a romance with Loki, who is her dad. Yikes.

First of all, writing this paragraph in the same tone you use to emulate a 12 year old is already disrespectful. “Yikes” is correct. You have committed serious transgressions and can’t even commit to acting serious and writing like the almost 60 year old man that you are. Tone tells the reader a lot, and your tone is telling me that you are explaining your mistakes the same way you tell your little stories: childishly and jokingly.

Stories are not enough. They are not and never will be. Stories cannot even begin to pierce the rich culture and history and customs of Iraq. Iraq itself is not even homogenous enough for you to rely on these “Iraqi” stories. Someone’s story from Najaf is completely unique from someone from Baghdad or Nasriyyah or Basrah or Mosul. Add that to the fact that these stories are written with a certain audience in mind and you realize that there’s no way they can tell the whole story because at their core they are catering to a specific audience.

Yes, those are good, but they are meaningless without you consulting an actual Baghdadi and asking specific questions. You made conclusions and assumptions based on these stories when the obvious way to go was to consult someone from Baghdad every step of the writing process. Instead, you chose to trust the conclusions that you (a white man) drew from a handful of stories. Who are you to convey a muslim’s internal struggle when you did not even do the bare minimum and have an actual muslim read over your words?

Thankfully, the feedback from Muslim readers over the years to Samirah al-Abbas has been overwhelmingly positive. I have gotten so many letters and messages online from young fans, talking about how much it meant to them to see a hijabi character portrayed in a positive light in a ‘mainstream’ novel.

Yeah. Because we’re desperate, and half of them are children still developing their sense of self and critical reading skills. A starving man will thank you for moldy bread but that does not negate the mold.

Some readers had questions, sure! The big mistake I will totally own, and which I have apologized for many times, was my statement that during the fasting hours of Ramadan, bathing (i.e. total immersion in water) was to be avoided. This was advice I had read on a Shia website when I myself was preparing to fast Ramadan. It is advice I followed for the entire month. Whoops! The intent behind that advice, as I understood it, was that if you totally immersed yourself during daylight hours, you might inadvertently get some water between your lips and invalidate your fast. But, as I have since learned, that was simply one teacher’s personal opinion, not a widespread practice. We have corrected this detail (which involved the deletion of one line) in future editions, but as I mentioned in my last post, you will still find it in copies since the vast majority of books are from the first printing.

This is actually really embarrassing for you and speaks to your lack of research and reading comprehension. It is true that for shia, immersion breaks one’s fast. If you had bothered to actually ask questions and use common sense, you would realize that this is referring to actions like swimming, where one’s whole body is underwater, rather than bathing. Did you not question the fact that the same religion that encourages the cleansing of oneself five times a day banned bathing during the holiest month? Yes, it was one teacher’s opinion, but you literally did not even take the time to fully understand that opinion before chucking it into your book.

Another question was about Samirah’s wearing of the hijab. To some readers, she seemed cavalier about when she would take it off and how she would wear it. It’s not my place to be prescriptive about proper hijab-wearing. As any Muslim knows, the custom and practice varies greatly from one country to another, and from one individual to another. I can, however, describe what I have seen in the U.S., and Samirah’s wearing of the hijab reflects the practice of some of my own students, so it seemed to be within the realm of reason for a third-generation Iraqi-American Muslima. Samirah would wear hijab most of the time — in public, at school, at mosque. She would probably but not always wear it in Valhalla, as she views this as her home, and the fallen warriors as her own kin. This is described in the Magnus Chase books. I also admit I just loved the idea of a Muslima whose hijab is a magic item that can camouflage her in times of need.

Before I get into this paragraph, Samirah is second generation. Her grandparents immigrated from Iraq. Her mother was first gen.

Once again, you turn to what you have seen from your students, who are literal children. They are in middle school while Samirah is in high school, so they are very obviously at different stages of development, both emotional and religious. If you had bothered to talk to adults who had gone through these stages, you would understand that often times young girls have stages where they “practice” hijab or wear it “part time”, very often in middle school. However, both her age and the way in which you described Samirah lead the reader to believe that she is a “full timer,” so you playing willy nilly with her scarf as a white man is gross.

For someone who claims to have read all of these religious texts, it’s funny that you choose to overlook the fact that “kin” is very specifically described. Muslims do not go around deciding who they consider “kin” or “family” to take off their hijab in front of. There is no excuse for including this in her character, especially since you claim to have carefully read the Quran and ahadith.

You have no place to “just love” any magical extension of the hijab until you approach it with respect. Point blank period. Especially when you have ascribed it a magical property that justifies her taking it on and off like it’s no big deal, especially when current media portrayals of hijab almost always revolve around it being removed. You are adding to the harmful portrayal and using your “fun little magic camoflauge” to excuse it.

As for her betrothal to Amir Fadhlan, only recently have I gotten any questions about this. My understanding from my readings, and from what I have been told by Muslims I know, is that arranged marriages are still quite common in many Muslim countries (not just Muslim countries, of course) and that these matches are sometimes negotiated by the families when the bride-to-be and groom-to-be are quite young. Prior to writing Magnus Chase, one of the complaints I often heard or read from Muslims is how Westerners tend to judge this custom and look down on it because it does not accord with Western ideas. Of course, arranged marriages carry the potential for abuse, especially if there is an age differential or the woman is not consulted. Child marriages are a huge problem. The arrangement of betrothals years in advance of the marriage, however, is an ancient custom in many cultures, and those people I know who were married in this way have shared with me how glad they were to have done it and how they believe the practice is unfairly villainized. My idea with Samirah was to flip the stereotype of the terrible abusive arranged match on its head, and show how it was possible that two people who actually love each other dearly might find happiness through this traditional custom when they have families that listen to their concerns and honor their wishes, and want them to be happy. Amir and Samirah are very distant cousins, yes. This, too, is hardly unusual in many cultures. They will not actually marry until they are both adults. But they have been betrothed since childhood, and respect and love each other. If that were not the case, my sense is that Samirah would only have to say something to her grandparents, and the match would be cancelled. Again, most of the comments I have received from Muslim readers have been to thank me for presenting traditional customs in a positive rather than a negative light, not judging them by Western standards. In no way do I condone child marriage, and that (to my mind) is not anywhere implied in the Magnus Chase books.

I simply can’t even begin to explain everything that is wrong with this paragraph. Here is a good post about how her getting engaged at 12 is absolutely wrong religiously and would not happen. Add that on to the fact that Samirah herself is second-generation (although Riordan calls her third generation in this post) and this practice isn’t super common even in first generation people (and for those that it DOES apply to, it is when they are old enough to be married and not literal children).

As a white man you can’t flip the stereotype. You can’t. Even with tons of research you cannot assume the authority to “flip” a stereotype that does not affect you because you will never come close to truly understanding it inside and out. Instead of flipping a stereotype, Rick fed into it and provided more fodder to the flames and added on to it to make it even worse.

I would be uncomfortable with a white author writing about arranged marriages in brown tradition no matter the context, but for him to offhandedly include it in a children’s book where it is badly explained and barely touched on is inexcusable. Your target audience is children who will no doubt overlook your clumsy attempt at flipping stereotypes.

It does not matter what your mind thinks you are implying. Rick Riordan is not your target audience, children are. So you cannot brush this away by stating that you did not see the harm done by your writing. You are almost 60 years old. Maybe you can read in between your lines, but I guarantee your target audience largely cannot.

Finally, recently someone on Twitter decided to screenshot a passage out-of-context from Ship of the Deadwhere Magnus hears Samirah use the phrase “Allahu Akbar,” and the only context he has ever heard it in before was in news reports when some Western reporter would be talking about a terrorist attack. Here is the passage in full:

Samirah: “My dad may have power over me because he’s my dad. But he’s not the biggest power. Allahu akbar.”

I knew that term, but I’d never heard Sam use it before. I’ll admit it gave me an instinctive jolt in the gut. The news media loved to talk about how terrorists would say that right before they did something horrible and blew people up. I wasn’t going to mention that to Sam. I imagined she was painfully aware.

She couldn’t walk the streets of Boston in her hijab most days without somebody screaming at her to go home, and (if she was in a bad mood) she’d scream back, “I’m from Dorchester!”

“Yeah,” I said. “That means God is great, right?”

Sam shook her head. “That’s a slightly inaccurate translation. It means God is greater.”

“Than what?”

“Everything. The whole point of saying it is to remind yourself that God is greater than whatever you are facing—your fears, your problems, your thirst, your hunger, your anger.

337-338

To me, this is Samirah educating Magnus, and through him the readers, about what this phrase actually means and the religious significance it carries. I think the expression is beautiful and profound. However, like a lot of Americans, Magnus has grown up only hearing about it in a negative context from the news. For him to think: “I had never heard that phrase, and it carried absolutely no negative connotations!” would be silly and unrealistic. This is a teachable moment between two characters, two friends who respect each other despite how different they are. Magnus learns something beautiful and true about Samirah’s religion, and hopefully so do the readers. If that strikes you as Islamophobic in its full context, or if Samirah seems like a hurtful stereotype . . . all I can say is I strongly disagree.

I will give you some credit here in that I mostly agree with this scene. The phrase does carry negative connotations with many white people and I do not fault you for explaining it the way you did. However, don’t try to sneak in that last sentence like we won’t notice. You have no place to decide whether or not Samirah’s character as a whole is harmful and stereotypical.

It is 2 am and that is all I have the willpower to address. This is messy and this is long and this is not well worded, but this had to be addressed. I do not speak for every muslim, both world wide and within this online community, but these were my raw reactions to his statement. I have been working on and will continue to work on a masterpost of Samirah Al-Abbas as I work through the books, but for now, let it be known that Riordan has bastardized my identity and continues to excuse himself and profit off of enforcing harmful stereotypes. Good night.

#*#og #rr crit #samirah al abbas #rick riordan

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