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nelegance · 1 month ago

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Chapter 8-When You Don’t Follow The Rules

The club. The one Lestat and Louis would sneak off to when Lestat needed time to be Lestat and I needed time to be doing anything other than chess, sleeping at a terrible hour and staring at the same paragraph in a book for hours on end. I used to think it was one of the so many men’s only clubs that were around back then but I got curious and followed the two one night and boy, was I surprised to find a number of “classy” ladies going in and coming out. And no, not all were under contract or on the arm of an vampiric, elderly, half dead, white, wealthy man. There were legitimate business women being admitted as well. I recognized one as a well respected milliner and another who was a fabulous seamstress who altered most of my special gowns to fit my rather odd shaped (for the time) figure. When I questioned Lestat about whether or not women were admitted, he said they were not. I understood why he lied. He considered it his place and we spent so much of our time together already but it also would have looked strange for him to cheat on me while I was there. Cheat? Oh yes. I think I always knew this was going to happen. There’s a huge question among the mortals that are “loved” by vampires. Can a vampire be faithful? Truly faithful? For you see, we age. They do not. So there will always be someone younger than you but not them. Someone who can keep up with them when you can’t. Someone just as exciting, as gorgeous, as attractive as when you met them that first night versus what you are now. Aging may be normal and beautiful to most mortals but it repulses and frightens those who do not age. It’s a sad truth. Lestat also never realized that no matter how hard he scrubbed after coming home, I could always smell the perfume. Some of it was mine, some of it was Louis’s but most it was of a far more questionable quality. Heady, strong and it stunk.

I asked Louis if Lestat was being unfaithful but all he did was admit to having sex with Lestat and then apologize deeply for it. I already knew this, of course, and didn’t care. Louis and Lestat were together way before I came along and no one could pry them away from each other. Not that I ever wanted to. If anyone was made for Lestat, it was Louis. I remember—no, I know I apologized a few times for coming between them. I really should have let them be together. Lestat never responded to my sincere regrets but Louis did. He knew I meant it. If I had just left things alone, moved away instead of moving closer to Lestat…maybe things would have been different. Louis says they were on again and off again for years before I showed up and that destiny is impossible to change. Fuck destiny! Sorry. So sorry, friends. Anyway, I left it there because I knew the answer to my question. I figured one day things would come to blows and that I’d catch Lestat but until that time, I just wanted to enjoy the small things that were going okay between us. I also wanted to start making things a bit uncomfortable for him. Just for fun.

The rules Lestat nervously rattled off to me as he watched me put red lipstick on in the vanity mirror:

-No alcohol, no smoking, no drugs

-No going to the bathroom alone

-No going anywhere alone

-No going anywhere for that matter. You sit with us and you stay with us.

-If someone speaks to you, I will have the first word to them

-You can wear whatever you want but try to ‘blend in’. Something simple. (Rule already broken. Punishment to follow later)

-If you must speak, please only speak to either me or Louis. Unless we have approved of the vampire trying to speak with you.

-You will see other mortals. Ones who looks near dead, because they are, ones who are dead, because they are, and ones desperate to die, because they are. You are not the only donor. But you one of the very, very few who is fully alive and well.

-Did I mention no alcohol? You simply can’t handle your alcohol, Madeline.

The walk to the club was done in silence. Lestat made me wear my heaviest coat, which Lestat said I wasn’t to remove, and made me switch from my cute shiny black heels to “sensible” flats. I refused to change my dress and makeup though, no matter how much pouting and foot stomping he did. We had never gone out together before and I did want to show off a bit.

Getting through the door was easy. Lestat nodded at the tuxedo clad host as we walked in and gripped onto my hand. I think he was trying to show that I was with him but I also think his nerves were starting to get the better of him.

The club was set up much like the bar at The Azalea. Wooden tables, and high back chairs that surrounded a simple stage. What was different though was what was beyond these tables and chairs. They looked like alcoves. I could barely see them because there was no light shining in their direction. I did see shoes though so there must have been seating. Lestat noticed me staring at these dark recesses and yanked my arm.

“What? I was only looking. That’s not against the rules.” I scowled up at him.

His face softened and he looked genuinely concerned. A rarity but it did happen from time to time.

“Please Madeline. Please don’t let go of my hand,” he begged.

I squeezed his hand tighter. He smiled softly and started leading me through the tables as quick as he could. My heart fluttered and butterflies filled my stomach when I saw a familiar face.

“You remember Madeline, my donor,” Lestat moved his arm in front of me like I was a new chair he was showing off.

Louis, handsome as ever, took off his hat and stood up from the table. He smiled and suddenly the butterflies in my stomach were gone.

“Your companion,” he corrected Lestat and ran the back of his finger down my cheek. “How could I forget you, Madeline?”

I tossed decorum aside for a moment and hugged Louis. Louis kissed the top of me head and smiled up at Lestat. Lestat was too busy scanning the room to notice though.

“What’s his problem?” Louis whispered down to me.

I pulled away from Louis to look up at Lestat. His grip on my hand had gotten significantly tighter even though we—I mean I thought we were safe with Louis.

“He’s worried that I’m going to get myself killed. I won’t though. I promised I wouldn’t,” I answered. “So I won’t. I never break my promises.”

Lestat pulled out a chair for me. I sat down and buried my hands in my lap. Because of the “rules” in place, this was going to be a very long, awkward night.

Louis and Lestat went to shake hands but Lestat pulled Louis closer and whispered something in his ear. I had assumed it was a little “I love you” but that wouldn’t explain why Louis glanced down at me.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” I asked, rather dumbfounded.

Louis smiled and sat down. “No. Not at all. Would you like a drink?”

Lestat finally sat down next to me and crossed his legs, anxiously awaiting my answer. If I broke the rules (again), he’d allow it. He wasn’t going to chastise me in front of Louis. Mainly because Louis would be on my side of the argument. No, he’d wait until we got home. He’d yell, slam things and list off everything he had ever done for me and every cent he had ever spent on me. And when I would cry out of fear, he would bundle me up in his arms, apologize and buy me gifts. Like the coat, the dress and the shoes I was wearing that night at the club. This cycle was exhausting. Sometimes it felt like I was walking on eggshells.

“No thank you. Water is fine,” I finally answered.

When a pretty server came by, Louis ordered the usual vermouth for Lestat and brandy for himself. Water for me. Lestat was right honestly. I couldn’t handle my alcohol. I liked it. I liked it very much. But my tolerance was low and a tipple turned into a blackout episode quite quickly. Still though, being ordered to not have something you wanted when you were thirty one years of age by a man that’s one hundred and fifty nine years old felt strange. I needed to rebel! And I did. Just not in a way anyone expected. Including myself.

When the pretty server came back with the drinks, she smiled at me and winked. I didn’t understand what she meant by this, so I didn’t move. When she left, Louis chuckled and nudged me with his elbow.

“She likes you…” he teased.

I furrowed my eyebrows at him, puzzled. “Like?”

Louis chuckled and pointed the the waitress with his drink. “Mmhmm. Like, like.”

Lestat, already confused, tried to change the conversation.

“So, Louis, I was thinking we should get out a bit. Travel. Like the olden days, as they say,” he said.

Louis shook his head. I instantly took offence at Lestat’s idea because I knew I wasn’t in his plans. I felt like throwing my water at him, honestly,

“You won’t let me pee alone here but you’ll leave me alone for weeks?”

Lestat ignored me and took Louis’s hand, “An anniversary gift from me. We can finally go to Rome.”

I had had enough. If Lestat was going to play games tonight, so would I. I stood up rather abruptly and pushed my chair in so it hit the table’s edge. Lestat clenched his jaw as he stared up at me. He kissed Louis’s hand.

“I’m going to freshen up. Alone. I promise not to get myself killed,” I announced and followed the hand-painted signs to the ladies’ room.

I wasn’t the only one to go freshen up though. Someone had followed me and that someone would change my life, even if she didn’t mean to. Her name was Rose.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv fandom #iwtv #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #fanfic #amc iwtv #iwtv fanfiction #interview with the vampire fanfic #interview with the vampire fanfiction #slow burn

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rjalker · 8 months ago

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things I realize while tying a ribbon to a shovel: Oh, the reason so many people misgender Murderbot and assign it a binary gender (almost always male, with he/him pronouns, because they're blatant and unapologetic misogynists ontop of the exorsexism), is because binary people view being nonbinary as a punishment.

Binary people view not being one of the binary genders as degrading.

They think that being one of the binary genders is a reward you get for being a person. They think it's something Murderbot should graduate to to overcome being treated like a mindless automaton.

That's why so many people insist that Murderbot is actually a man, or a woman.

Because they think being a "he" or a "she" is the only way to have any value as a person. Their entire worldview is constructed so that men and women, boys and girls, hes and shes, are the only ones with any value.

So when you ask them to respect someone who is an it, someone who is nonbinary, someone who is genderless, they have no fucking framework available to do that without it being an insult. Because they see our existence as an existential insult.

Binary people hate nonbinary people so much that they view our entire existence as a punishment. As a hate crime. As degrading.`

They think they're doing Murderbot, and the real people it represents, a favor by "rewarding" it with a binary gender because in their worldview, that is the only way to have any value.

To these people, if you aren't one of the binary genders, then you're worth less than dirt.

Binary people insist Murderbot is actually a man or actually a woman because they think anything else is the world insult you can come up with.

They insist they're doing it/its users in specific, and nonbinary people in general a favor by misgendering this explicitly nonbinary character, by insisting that they're giving it back its autonomy and "de-dehumanizing" it.

Even though by insisting that to be nonbinary is to be worthless and insulting, they're literally the ones doing the dehumanizing. They are literally the ones degrading this character, and the real people it represents, by insisting that our literal existence is a hate crime against ourselves.

It's disgusting. If you're reading this post and you do this crap, this is your sign to stop. And learn how to respect nonbinary people. And learn how to respect people even if you don't understand or relate to their experiences.

Murderbot is not a man. It is not a woman. Its pronouns are not he/him or she/her or even they/them.

Murderbot is nonbinary, and genderless, and its pronouns are it/its.

If you can't bring yourself to correctly and respectfully gender the nonbinary, it/its using protagonist of a series whose theme is "respect people even when they're different from you" then there is something deeply broken about your morals and you need to fix that ASAP.

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phantomphaeton · 2 years ago

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The Men of Bridgerton, Seduction, and Robert Greene

Alright, sluts. I’ve devoted the last two posts to a comprehensive breakdown of the term rake and its poor misuse with regards to Anthony and Benedict. Now I’m taking Colin for a spin.

Whoa boy, this one was a walk in the park.

In the books and the show, Colin is not really difficult to classify. We know for a fact that this boy is curious, sweet, thoughtful, and searching for a purpose. He is not the firstborn or the spare, he’s the third born son of one Viscount and later the brother of another Viscount. Colin’s primary drive throughout the entire series is to carve out a niche for himself. He’s plagued by feelings of insecurity and a crippling feeling that he does not belong anywhere. He’s unhappy, and lacking any real hobby or passion to occupy himself he is constantly restless. He alleviates this restlessness by traveling often. He’s gone from home for long enough chunks of time that people only really see him when the social season begins anew.

Is Colin Bridgerton a rake? The answer lies in his romantic history.

Colin spent the first half of season one being presented as a perfectly lovable piece of eye candy before he was scooped up by Marina Thompson. It’s a whirlwind romance (literally—they get engaged after like two days) that crashes and burns spectacularly—and very, very publicly.

Colin’s utter humiliation at being so brilliantly duped by a girl he believed himself in love with humbles him something fierce. He realizes he’s got a lot about the world he needs to learn. But the more he sees of the world, the smaller he feels living in it. He returns to England and visits Marina in her new home and is further disillusioned to hear her scathing critique of him. Marina still thinks him a lost boy, and she’s right on the mark—Colin is aimless and while he’s growing into a young man, he’s still very much adrift and lacking any real purpose. He doesn’t know what his purpose is, but his visit with Marina shows him what it isn’t: romance is officially off the cards for him. He makes a vow to himself to swear off all women.

Well—almost all of them.

Colin’s newfound clinginess to bachelorhood can be attributed to rakishness—a broken heart and the disillusionment that comes with it is the perfect origin story for many a playboy—and yet we see no indication that Colin dabbles romantically with anyone even though season two is meant to set up the groundwork for his arc in season three. We know he’s no blushing virgin and he’s got a pretty solid grip on concepts like honor and restraint—he doesn’t go completely feral for Marina like Anthony does for Kate even though he’s in love and a thousand percent ready to elope to Gretna Green. Like Benedict, Colin has the natural temperament that would lend itself well to rakishness, and yet no rakishness is shown. And yet it is made abundantly clear that Colin is a hit with ladies and likes that.

Quick recap from the other posts:

The author Robert Greene, whose works on human nature with respect to war, power, and seduction provide the main reference point for most all of this essay, defines a rake as thus:

A rake is a male seducer who catches the female fancy by incessantly pursuing her….a rake has an effect on women due to his ability to show an ardent devotion to her. She is attracted to him because he seems to be madly in love with her. He shows no hesitation or reluctance, and unabashedly admits his weakness when in her presence, hence making himself every woman's dream come true. He is an expert at using words and language to show his devotion….the Rake also keeps a part of his personality hidden, creating a sense of danger and thrill. He also has a reputation for being a lady's man and being reckless in love, but he never downplays or hides his notoriety. Instead he uses it to his advantage to generate interest among women.

So if Colin isn’t a rake, then what kind of seducer is he?

Colin gives his hints as to how he prefers to conduct himself around women. We know that he is significantly younger than Anthony and Benedict and lacks the experience that they have (as season three is still pending he’s likely going to catch up to them soon if he’s pursued the authentic European Experience). But we also know that Colin is a massive, shameless flirt.

That he can win people over is something he’s always been enormously proud of. He is known, in books and on screen, as the Charming Bridgerton. And therein lies our answer.

I posit that Colin is The Charmer.

The Charmer, as defined by Robert Greene, is described as thus:

Charmers are those who seduce by making their targets the center of attention. They don't highlight their own selves, but rather their entire focus is on bringing comfort and pleasure to their targets. They avoid all sorts of conflict and appeal to a person's vanity by making them talk about themselves. They watch and observe, allowing their targets to open up completely. Once they know their weaknesses, they use that information to give them what they want. This allows them to have a complete hold on their targets.

Further reading provides additional clarification:

We all like to feel comfortable. In a charmer’s presence, we always are. They lift us up by highlighting our best traits, rather than focusing on presenting themselves.

Sound familiar?

Robert Greene defines charm as ‘seduction without sex’, and Colin does indeed seem more focused on social seduction than the sexual sort. His charm is famous throughout London, and his intoxicating ability to reel people in is done platonically. If there are mistresses or one night stands abroad or even within London, we never see them.

To pull off the level of charm that Colin exudes, he relies on a mix of extremely high caliber social skills and warmth. By being able to bounce back and make smooth recoveries from potentially awkward encounters, recognizing how to use humor to diffuse difficult situations by helping people save face and steering people away from conflict, and remaining upright, confident, and calibrated, Colin presents himself as a hopelessly charming gentleman.

Of all of the Bridgerton brothers, Colin is marketed as the one who can best work a room. He knows the ins and outs of people-pleasing and is a general favorite among the ladies and gentlemen of the Ton. He has none of Benedict’s scorn for the rules and none of Anthony’s rigid loyalty to them—he doesn’t break rules at all, he simply follows his own happy path in the midway point and surprise surprise, it only makes people like him more.

An incredibly successful Charmer in history, Benjamin Disraeli, used charm to win over Queen Victoria and further his own political agenda in the latter years of her reign. ‘Disraeli’s approach was to appeal to two aspects of Victoria’s personality that other people had squashed: her confidence and her sexuality. He was a master at flattering a person’s ego.

As one English princess remarked: ‘When I left the dining room after sitting next to Mr. Gladstone, I thought he was the cleverest man in England. But after sitting next to Mr. Disraeli, I thought I was the cleverest woman in England.‘

Disraeli worked his magic with a delicate touch, insinuating an atmosphere of amusement and relaxation, particularly in relation to politics….Charmers may appear to be weaker than their targets but in the end they are the more powerful side because they have stolen the ability to resist.’

Being the most socially adept of the three brothers, Colin is an enormously popular figure among his peers. In spite of his status as a third son, he’s included into the circles of first sons and titled lords—recall him spending time among the likes of Lord Fife in season two.

Half of this is due to Anthony’s skill as a Viscount—the Bridgerton family is so enormously powerful that even in the books, a third son like Colin is still considered the coup of the century among the polished sets that look down on third sons of men twice Anthony’s rank. Even among his peers (who by the by are some of the most powerful people in the country, and by extension the world) Colin has been born into unimaginable wealth and unquestioned privilege, and it shows in his behavior. But what also shows is his astuteness with people. He uses his boyish charm to win over the hearts of everyone around him.

tl,dr: Colin Bridgerton is not a Rake, but he is a devastating Charmer.

#colin bridgerton #polin #bridgerton #seduction #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton

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marlesbian · 2 years ago

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Marlene realizing she is a lesbian:

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER COME HERE RIGHT NOW THIS IS AN EMERGENCY” Marlene screamed running down the stairs, desperately calling her best friend.

James promptly got up running to the aid of his friend

“What is it? … Marley, are you crying?”

“Mary held my hand, James”

“… so?” - James asked, confused. he thought it was common for girls to hold hands, he saw them do it all the time

“It changed something in me. when she touched me... I froze. I didn't know what to do. I mean, I knew I had a little crush on her but I thought it was just a silly teenage thing you know? " she looked at him hoping to be hnderstood. "I thought it would pass, but I think I'm proper in love with her and I'm freaking the fuck out”

“I can see that. just try to breathe, okay Marley?" he said is brushing his hands up and down her arms, looking straight at her eyes "and honestly think… Is this such a bad thing?”

“IS THIS SUCH A BAD THING??????!?!?!?! JAMES ARE YOU INSANE? THIS IS THE WORST THING. I'M IN LOVE WITH MY BEST FRIEND AND I'M A FULL ON LESBIAN” -she gasped and stopped, putting a hand over her mouth, as if in shock. - “I'm a lesbian”

“I knew that. We all knew that. I thought you knew that. What the fuck”

“I DIDN'T FUCKING KNOW THAT”- she screamed while her crying only seemed to get worst- “Since you were the only boy I kissed, I tried to convince myself that I hated it because you´re like a brother to me, so I still had hope I might end up with a man someday. I could try to hide that I like girls and live like a normal person." she took a deep breath and continued "But when Mary held my hand I saw my entire future. I saw us getting married, and living near the beach, I saw us visiting her family in Brazil and her introducing me to everyone as her wife." She continued speaking without even taking a breath "After she let go of it I still felt the ghost of her touch in it and my heart ached. ached to be touched by her again, to smell her cherry lip gloss on my cheek.” she was speaking with lovesick doe eyes, just looking into James’ thinking about Mary “After she left, I just sat there paralyzed thinking about what my future could look like in many different ways and none of them had a man in it.”

Marlene was bawling by that point, her words came out all grumbled and sloppy, and she was just vomiting words, talking so fast James could barely keep up. Her best friend just hugged her and held her in his arms. She was going up and down from all the violent crying.

"I don't wanna be like this. I don't want this to be my life.I want to be normal. I dreamed of getting married to her but that's not even legal. Here in the wizarding world it's not that bad but still, I see how these women are treated, James. they get treated like they're nothing like they don't mean shit… LIKE I DON'T MEAN SHIT. It's terrifying, I don't know if I'm ready for this, I don't want my whole life to change. My parents are gonna hate me, everyone will see me differently. I'm gonna become the school pariah... fucking hell when I come back home I'm gonna be the town pariah. I don't wanna be like this”. She was still crying, hiccuping sobbing gasping for air, and all James could do was hug her. He held her even tighter, then he pushed his head back and kissed her forehead. “I think I'm broken, Jamie. I feel so unlovable and just so wrong, i just wanted to be normal. How am i gonna be respected as an adult? everyone will just treat me like shit” she turned her head to the side to face James, who was giving her a reassuring smile.

"I didn't think about it this way. I'm here with you, all your friends are there for you as well. and it's okay, you can be your own whole person without a man in your life. You have us... your family, there's me, there's Sirius and Remus and all the girls. There's mum and dad, they will support you no matter what, you must know that. They've known you since you were practically a baby. And there's me, I will always, always be here for you. I can even pretend to be your boyfriend if you like, so nobody can say anything about you, truly it's no biggie."

"Thanks. I know you are, it's just so scary. My parents will hate me, plus I am a walking stereotype and that's a whole other thing. but thank you.”

"I'll always be here for you, love. And let's not worry about that for now, think of it was future Marley's problem. Do you want anything right now? to make you feel better."

"Stay? Please. And just hug me because I think this is the only man's love I'm ever gonna experience"

James scoffed a laugh "You don't even need to ask. and I love you too Marley, nothing’s gonna change that, I'll say it as many times necessary for you to understand"

So they stayed there, James cuddling her staring at the celing. To lighten the mood, Marlene asked "So, how's the whole 'crush on Remus' thing going?"

Oh, that caught James off guard "Yeah... it's not going, actually. That was all it was honestly, just a little innocent crush. I will love him forever, of course, but we realised we only truly want to be friends. Besides, i'm interested in someone else now, and so is he"

"ooh and who is this mystery person? boy or girl?"

"it's a boy... but he's much older than me, it's never gonna happen"

"maybe in the future, when you are a pro player and all mature and grown up, you never know, brother"

"yeah, maybe... it's not like i'm in love or anything. But please, lets not make this conversation about me. It's about this amazing thing you discovered about yourself and how much i love you for that and the many other reasons that make you the favourite sister i never had"

"soppy git" she laughed and teased him, but they slept holding each other that night.

#james potter #marlene mckinnon #the marauders era #marauders girls #marauders era girls #marauders #marauders era #marlene x mary #marylene #they are best friends your honor #they love each other #marlene and james being besties #lesbian #lesbians and their bisexual himbo #james lesbian protector

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elenajohansenauthor · 2 years ago

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This got real long as I was typing, so tl;dr: seriously, if you want to cut your hair, try it, you might find out you love it and everyone else might agree, as a bonus.

I used to have long, long, loooong hair. My terminal length was at my waist, and my haircut routine for about two and a half decades was let my hair grow out completely, wait until the ends got splitty, chop off anywhere from two to six inches off the bottom (myself, with sharp craft scissors, doing my best to make it even) then let it grow out again.

Last year, around Halloween, I told my husband, "I'm going to shave my head after the holidays." I did that so when, on New Year's Eve after I wasn't going to see any family anymore for a while, I shaved my head, he didn't think I was having some kind of irrational/angry moment about my appearance and taking drastic steps about it without stopping to consider what I was doing.

I shaved my head for a lot of reasons.

1) Sensory issues. I had a job at the time that required my hair to be "up" and the constant bun/braid/ponytail caused a lot of broken strands around my face and ears, which itched at my skin.

2) Shaving/going short as a way of exploring how I can let my queerness influence my appearance. I realized I was bisexual in my early/mid 30s, and there I was at 41 and I still looked basically the same. I wanted to change something about myself outwardly. (Please note I am not equating short hair on women with queerness: plenty of straight women rock short hair for their own reasons and needs. This was more about me, personally, associating my very long hair with traditional femininity in my life.)

3) The physical labor and cost required in caring for very long hair. Even if I was saving money in one way by cutting it myself, all of the paraphernalia associated with long hair can still be expensive, and the time investment was substantial.

Almost exactly a year later, I still have and love my short style. I've moved past the shaved-down-to-nothing look over the months, and now I'm playing with longer on top while keeping the sides pretty darn short. I can part to the side, smooth it all back, let it stick up for a bedhead vibe, it's versatile.

I feel great not having the physical weight of my hair anymore. I feel great not having to think about my hair so much. I feel great having more time to invest in other things, because my hair is as close to "wash and go" as it's ever been in my life.

I also feel great because of the unexpected bonus of compliments. I have never, ever, EVER gotten so many (respectful) compliments about my appearance as I have in the last year, some from strangers, some from people who've known me for years. There's one lady who knew me from my old job who laments my long hair because it "was so pretty;" there's one man, a neighbor of mine, who can't resist commenting on how "weird" my short hair is because he's known me since I was a teenager and apparently can't adjust his mental image of me. EVERYONE ELSE has been overwhelmingly positive, when I honestly expected the ratio of lovers : haters to be the exact opposite.

Like, I did it for me, and I was going to feel how I felt about the change regardless of how other people reacted, but everyone telling me how great I look? Is definitely nice.

And I've had a lot of other women ask me about why I did it and how I feel about it. Depending on my relationship with them, I've gone into more or less depth, but in the end they basically got all the same advice: if you've ever wanted to try it, try it, I found it was an amazingly freeing experience and it's made me feel better about myself.

And one woman has changed her style because of my advice--I know because she told me so. (She had shoulder-length straight hair before and has now shaved the sides and kept about half the original length on top, which she brushes all to one side for a sort of windblown look. It rocks.)

Have I had a few people mistake me for a man since then? Yeah, but only a few, and they were all elderly people who possibly don't have the best eyesight and were polite about it when they realized they were mistaken. I'm still pretty feminine in all of my other presentation and have no immediate plans to change that.

But the shaved or short hair? I'm keeping that. It's a good change.

I see a lot of ‘cis’ women say they wish they were androgynous in the way men were or they wish they were pretty in the way men were. This is your sign to go try to do that. You may find you enjoy being an androgynous woman. You may find you no longer identify as a woman. You may find you don’t like androgyny. You will not know until you try. Cut your hair if you’ve always wanted to but have been afraid to. Shop in the men’s section if you’ve been too nervous to. Wear clothing with an androgynous silhouette. Experiment with binding, take baby steps with compression bras if you want. Wear unisex scents. Live life. Try things you want to try. A lot of cis women do not understand the joys of mens pants and mens deodorant. I think everyone should try both of those things.

#personal #my hair #queerness #bisexuality

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spammerjammer · 2 years ago

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TBH I don't think any followers on my bigger blogs want to know anything about me, which is fine. They're there for my fics and content, and I love to make that stuff for them. I do feel like I can't write certain things though because it'll be too self-referential. On one hand, I want my writing to be accessible and understandable to a general audience. But on the other hand, I'd love to write a super detailed fic involving things I research or just my life experiences. I feel like these experiences I've had would make my writing super niche because not many people can describe first-hand accounts of things I've dealt with. They're dark and gritty and wild stories, but I love them all the same. I just don't think others would see the good in those experiences, and I don't want to subject people to reading that kind of thing. I've thought about writing a book or something, but I don't feel important enough. Like, who am I to write a memoir at my young age? Seems pretentious as hell. I just want to reflect on stuff here, since my more popular blogs aren't going to take it very well. With all that said, I'll get to my first story.

Ever since I was a little girl, my father was explosive. He was sweet and kind and doting, until he wasn't. He'd be the perfect father until something didn't go his way. Then he'd scream in my face, break furniture, and throw a fit. This was my first experience with men. I thought it was normal for men to behave this way. For 13 years of my life, I expected every man to be like my father.

Until, one day, I went to a self-defense class. It was taekwondo and Brazilian jiu jitsu taught by an ex-mil Argentinian man. He showed me how men try to intimidate women because they're easy targets of abuse. He showed me that it was unacceptable for men to use their size and strength to bend women to their will. He showed me what acceptable relationships looked like between an adult and a child, as well as between a man and a woman. Every woman taught by him couldn't leave his class until they could perform the technique of the night perfectly. Over and over again. He'd remind us that men wouldn't show us mercy and would try to use their strength to force us into submission.

It's strange, but watching "The Last of Us" made me realize that this man was the father figure I needed. He taught me to respect myself, recognize abuse, and never let myself be intimidated by a man. It all culminated years ago when my father had broken out in a full screaming match with me. It resulted in him ditching our family, threatening to divorce my mother unless I apologized. The argument was centered around my "liberal beliefs" (he was being radicalized by N4z1s and went completely crazy, threatening to pull me out of school). Except, unlike before, I didn't back down from his tantrum. I didn't let him intimidate me, even as he spat in my face. I looked him right in the eye at 16 years old and told him to go fuck himself. Not only did I recognize his attempt to intimidate me as abuse, but I didn't fear him anymore. I was angry, not afraid. I knew I could die in that moment, but I didn't care. I was just so angry, I couldn't take him abusing me and my mom anymore.

When he tried to return, he used his usual tactics. Never apologizing, just showering me with gifts. I refused them all. He wouldn't talk to me directly, instead pressuring my mom by threatening divorce and refusing to return to a 'disobedient household'. I held my ground. And eventually, my father reflected on everything he had done. He went to therapy and anger management classes, finally apologizing to me and my mother. He admitted to everything he had done and promised to do right by us moving forward. And he did. And none of it ever would've happened without this one man that came into my life.

He truly changed my life, and by extension, my family's lives. I don't know how to tell him how grateful I am for what he did for me. I haven't seen him in a long time, but I know where he is. I just don't know how to tell him all of this in a concise way because he had such a profound effect on my life. He made me strong. He showed me what good men do. I can't imagine what my life would've turned out like without him. He will always be my dad, the man that gave me something to believe in. He's the sole reason I have a father at all today.

Thank you.

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kittyt-hexxed · 2 years ago

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My Lovers Hate Each Other (Vi x Reader x Sevika) - 1

Part One - Getting with Sevika

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Final Part

Warning: Polyamorous Relationship, misogynistic asshole at the Drop, broken bones, fighting, breakups, alcohol, swearing and rowdy behavior

Summary: You’re the bartender and owner of The Last Drop. You run it with pride and your customers have come to respect you. With you behind the bar, that puts you into regular contact with Sevika and you end up crushing on her.

Author Note: Surprise! I’m posting it early!

You slide a beer down the bar to one of your regulars with a wink. He grins at you and raises his glass in a silent salute before taking a big drink from it. You were extremely busy since it was singles night and all of the single and looking people of Zaun were here to mingle. The themed nights were courtesy of Powder who thought it might keep the place interesting. So, once a week, there was a new themed night to keep morale high in the club.

Your regulars didn’t care about themed nights, only coming in for their fix of alcohol and friendly conversation. Some came in just to talk with you and gather information before scurrying off. Being the owner and bartender of the most popular nightclub and bar kept you well informed. People tended to spill more than necessary when they had a few drinks in their system. On the other hand, some people became quite nasty when they drank.

Thankfully, you haven’t had to deal with any nasty customers yet. The night was just getting started, but you knew you might have one or two later. Singles night tended to bring forward some men and women that should remain single. They liked to take their dating frustrations out on you when it didn’t go to plan.

“Oi! Y/n!” Ran shouts at you, “Are you forgetting someone?” You snort as you hand someone their drink.

“Thanks for asking, but I haven’t forgotten anyone!” You jokingly call back, making your regulars laugh. You pick up an empty glass and stop in front of them. Ran loved to tease you when you were working, if she couldn’t annoy Sevika. Your eyes scan the crowd looking for the woman, but you don’t see her. ‘She’s probably in one of the alcoves towards the back. I wouldn’t be able to see her from here.’

“What can I get you?” You smile at Ran, “Manners, dignity… a new haircut perhaps?”

“A gin and tonic would be preferable.” Ran grins, sliding their money across the counter.

“Ah.” You playfully sigh, “A gin and tonic it is. I was hoping for a challenge.” You wink and get to making their drink. A few more people approach the bar in the few seconds it takes, making you sigh internally. ‘I’m going to kick Thieram’s ass for getting sick off of a shimmer bomb. What made him think mixing shimmer with an energy drink would be a great idea is beyond me!’

“There’s no one helping you tonight?” Ran questions as you hand them their drink.

“No, but I’ll manage. I only have two more hours of this shit.” You glance at the clock. You were doing well tonight. No heartbroken crazies have come to you, yet, so you’re hoping your luck stays that way.

“If you need me to get Krow to hop the bar, just let me know.” Ran pats the countertop.

“Thanks, Ran, enjoy your drink.” You wave them off and get to the other waiting customers. Everyone was really pumped up tonight and it made you happy to see. The drinks kept coming and even your servers were getting their money's worth of work in. You’d be calling tonight successful by closing.

“Hey, Bartender! Why are you chatting over there when you’ve got paying customers waiting?” Someone shouts at you, making the girl in front of you wince. You excuse yourself from the conversation, promising to get her that water she requested.

“If you didn’t realize, everyone here is a paying customer. I don’t give drinks away for free.” You cross your arms, “Now if you ask a bit nicer, I’ll get you a drink that isn’t someone’s piss.”

“Listen. I don’t expect a child like you to understand grownup manners.” The man spits, making you raise an eyebrow, “Just get me a fucking beer. I’ve dealt with too much shit tonight.”

“Well, this child owns The Last Drop. So, take your money and get out of my bar.” You scowl, “I’m not entertaining people like you tonight.”

“You’re kicking me out when all I’ve asked for is a beer? What the fuck? Ugh, this is why women shouldn’t be working a bar.” He scoffs and that makes you angry. Nothing made you angrier than someone saying you shouldn’t be the owner of The Last Drop. It takes a lot to piss you off, but that topic will always be sensitive for you. You had forced Silco to give you ownership of the bar when you were only sixteen. After Vander and your friends’ deaths, nothing could’ve stopped you from shoving a crowbar up Silco’s ass. Not even the threat of your own death, so he gave you the keys and you spent what money was left to renovate it.

You take a step forward, fist clenching when Sevika comes out of the crowd behind him. It was like she knew when someone had upset you. You could usually handle the rowdier people yourself, but most of the time Silco’s muscle would cut in and escort them out. Usually, it was the two big brothers that you loved to tease and call “Thing One” and “Thing Two”. You didn’t know their names as they refused to tell you, but they were there when it mattered.

Except, when it came to moments like this, Sevika was the one who cut in. You were surprised every time, assuming the last was just a coincidence but you were starting to see a pattern. Her metal hand comes down on the guy's shoulder and he freezes, his eyes nervously trained on the dangerously glinting metal. Her grip tightens on his shoulder and you hear the crack of his bone before he screams in pain. Sevika doesn’t say a word as she drags him, kicking and screaming, by his newly broken shoulder to the front door. The others either ignore what’s happening or watch in amused sympathy as the poor sap to earn Sevika’s ire is thrown from the building.

A moment later, Sevika comes back through the crowd with her eyes trained on you. You place a pint of beer on the counter where she stops, knowing the routine at this point. She observes you silently, checking you over for injuries, before nodding her head once and disappearing with her drink.

The rest of the night goes by smoothly and you’re wiping the bar down before you know it. Your servers wave you goodbye as they head out and you bid them a goodnight. The club was mostly clear except for Sevika’s gang lounging around and shooting pool. They tended to stay until you were locking up to make sure no one came to mess with you. You appreciated it even though you had your prized guns strapped to your thighs. If someone tried to mess with you, you weren’t afraid to take the shot, but it was nice having someone looking out for you. Or in your case, a whole gang.

“Y/n! Here.” Krow hands you a vial of Shimmer, “I was told to give it to you.”

“Thanks, Krow. They can be used as more than a drug, you know?” You hum, pouring the vial into an empty alcohol bottle.

“What do you do with it?” Krow raises an eyebrow.

“That's a secret.” You smirk.

“Hey Krow, we’re heading out since little miss cobra is about to lock up!” One of the gang members call. Your attention is drawn by movement in the corner of your eye. Sevika approaches you and Krow slinks away with a wink. The rest of the gang says goodbye as they throw smirks in your direction while they head out and it makes you raise an eyebrow.

“That asshole didn’t hurt you, did he?” Sevika sits down across from you. The look in her eyes is intense as she waits for your response. an unlit cigar tucked between her lips.

“No, he didn’t even touch me.” You lean against the counter. You know that’s not what she’s asking, and Sevika won’t let you shrug it off.

“I didn’t mean physically.” Sevika narrows her eyes. You look down and sigh.

“I was angry. I might’ve put my fist through his face if you didn’t do something.” You click your tongue, “You’re always there when someone makes me angry.”

“Am I?” Sevika says casually, pulling out a cigar and tucking it between her lips. Your hand is flying into your pocket and whipping out your lighter before she can even think to reach for hers. It was ornate with golden designs on it that you cherished. You purchased it in Piltover when you had to meet up with an associate.

“Need a light?” You question her and flash you are lighter. Sevika’s eyebrows go up at your offer and you keep steady eye contact with her. Offering to light someone’s smoke in the undercity was some serious shit. It’s how you signed deals, pledged your loyalty to someone, or got involved with something. You didn’t offer a light and you didn’t request one from someone randomly. If you were friends or close to someone, that was different, but in wider circles, it could mean signing a deal with the devil himself.

Sevika keeps eye contact with you as you move forward, flicking the lighter open, and lighting up her cigar. Sevika continues to hold eye contact with you as she takes a drag and blows the smoke into your face.

“Go out with me.” You say firmly. You watch her take another drag but blow the smoke away from you this time. You can’t stop your eyes from flickering down to her lips as she does.

“What makes you think I want to go out with you?” Her rough voice sends a shiver up your spine.

“You let me light your cigar.” You respond. Sevika smirks and nods her head slowly. She takes another drag, purposely making you wait for her response before she chuckles.

“You’re cute, Y/n. I know you’ve been crushing on me. I’m flattered.” Sevika stands up, “Make it worth my while, sweetheart.” Your jaw drops as she walks out. She wasn’t wrong. You’ve been crushing on her for a few months now. How could you not? She was an enigma. You knew of her when Vander was in charge. Whenever you’d hang out in The Last Drop, you’d get the chance to see her enjoying herself or having a conversation with Vander. You hadn’t talked to her personally during those times, but you’d hear things from other people. Vi liked to complain about her sometimes, but she mostly praised the woman’s strength.

Sevika was held in high respect by a lot of people in the Undercity for getting things done. After Vander’s death, she was held higher up due to people’s fear of her. When you asked someone about her, they either flinched and walked away or told you one thing… that she was one scary lady. It brought you great amusement to witness because that wasn’t the woman you knew.

Sevika wasn’t much of a talker unless she had a few drinks in her. She was the kind of person to sit and observe everything around her, even if it didn’t look like it. She enjoyed spending her time playing cards and gambling. She’d light up a cigar or cigarette and knock back a couple of glasses. She preferred the more expensive whiskey but would get a few beers as well. If she was feeling particularly fancy, she’d ask for a vodka sour and leisurely sip it. The cigars she smoked were also expensive. Silco preferred to get his custom-made and did the same for Sevika. The smoke that rose from her cigar was a pale red instead of the usual grey. You knew a lot about her without really knowing her, and that’s what drew you in. So, the fact that she’s allowing you to take her on a date was huge.

“I knew it!” Powder drops down from the rafters and startles you out of your daydreaming, “Silco owes me a few coins!”

“You guys bet on us?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Yup! I told him Sevika was into you but he disagreed so I placed a bet on it.” Powder snickers.

“That’s my girl!” You ruffle her hair, “What’s Jinx up to?” You tilt your head. You kept up a friendship with the blue-haired bombshell, and because of you, she was still Powder in private. Jinx had ended up becoming her persona instead of her identity. When Silco failed to parent her, you played big sister and corrected things. You spent enough time with her over the years to know what she responded to. You got closer due to her sister’s death and sometimes Powder would hang in the rafters above you to keep you company. It was fun for you to find little drawings tucked away in your bartender uniform or glitter in the register. It relieved you greatly to know that your efforts had made a difference.

“Jinx is supposed to be making new bombs.” Powder sits on the counter, “She’s taking a while on it.”

“Interesting.” You smile slyly, “Why is that?”

“Who knows.” Powder shrugs, “Sooo about you and Sevika?” She wiggles her eyebrows. You groan but tell her about your crush.

You weren’t sure when it happened. Was it after the fourth date and you let her do body shots off of you? Was it a few weeks later when you left clothes at her place? Or, was it a spur-of-the-moment decision on her part? It didn’t matter when it happened, but it mattered that it left her lips.

“Why are you touching my girlfriend?” Sevika questioned darkly, a few seconds prior to your spiraling. The woman that was grabbing your wrist had yet to let go. A foreigner from her lack of response. Anyone from Zaun would’ve been smart to at least let go of you at those words. This woman didn’t even flinch as she stared Sevika in her eyes, too cocky in herself to realize the very real danger she was in. The others at the table seemed a bit smarter than their friend, nervously glancing at each other when they realized that the bar is silent. The regulars knew not to mess with you after you shot a man for trying to drug someone, but now that you were obviously involved with number two herself? People suddenly pulled their manners out of their asses. Besides, it’s like Vander said. You don’t mess with the one who pours the drinks.

“Your girlfriend? Well, I’m sorry, but she’s coming home with me tonight.” Sevika’s eyes flick over to you and you shake your head. From the moment you started dating, it was made clear that you’d have the freedom to date and sleep with other people. You didn’t mind that at all, especially because you were also a frequenter of Babette’s. With that out in the open, you two were content to continue forward with your tentative relationship.

“Is that true, Y/n?” Sevika raises an eyebrow.

“Not with her, but Ran and I are going to the brothel together after my shift.” You toss a wink at the black-haired cutie. Ran smirks and raises their beer bottle at you.

“Alright then.” Sevika’s hand closes around the woman’s throat before she’s dragged from the bar. Her friends startle, snapping their heads to you as you casually rub your wrist.

“If you don’t want your friend to die, I suggest you go apologize on her behalf.” You inform them and they’re scrambling out of their seats a second later, “I’m okay, you can go back to drinking!” You wave off the concerned looks from your patrons. The bar immediately fills with chatter once more and you make your way to the booth Sevika had been occupying. You hop up onto the table, Ran moves their drink out of the way and pats your thigh. You spot Sevika coming over and the butterflies swarm your stomach once more. ‘Why are you touching my girlfriend? She called me her girlfriend. Is that what we are now?’ You hold out your wrist and she inspects it before lifting you off the table and placing you on her lap. You blush as she wraps her arms around you, her metal arm keeping you in place so you can’t move.

“Thieram is here so you’re not working anymore.” Sevika states, making you laugh.

“I can handle myself, Sev.” You grin at her, “By the way, did you call me your girlfriend earlier?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my girlfriend.” Sevika says casually before taking a drink from her beer. ‘That answers my question. I guess I’m her girlfriend now.’

“Stop grinning at me like that.” Sevika forces you to turn your head, “I’m trying to enjoy myself.” You and the crew just snicker.

“Hey, Y/n? Can we talk?” Hayley signals to you from the end of the bar. You smile at her and nod. You hand Powder her apple juice - watching her slink back into the rafters- before heading into the backroom with her.

“What’s up, babe?” You lean against the wall as she stands in front of you.

“I don’t know how to say this… but, I can’t be your girlfriend anymore.” Hayley sighs, looking anywhere but at you.

“What? Why? As far as I know, we’ve been doing okay. You told me so a few days ago.” You frown.

“Honestly, I can’t stand being secondary to Sevika. You’re an amazing girlfriend, Y/n, it’s nothing you’ve done. Whenever I’m with you or when I’m out on my own I’m “the girl who’s dating Sevika’s girl” not your girlfriend. That’s how everyone knows me, and it sucks. So… I’m sorry but I’m breaking up with you.” Hayley rubs her arm. You take in a deep breath and exhale heavily.

“I understand. You definitely deserve to be seen as more than that. Good luck with the next girl, Hayley.” You flash her a smile and exit the room. Your regulars give you concerned glances but you keep up your cheery attitude. The day passes in a blur as you fight the urge to cry. You really liked Hayley. She was very sweet and worked at the concert grounds. Out of all the girls you’ve dated, she was the one who not only lasted the longest but really made you happy.

You were quick to lock up for the night before heading downstairs. You wanted to shower and get into bed before you burst into tears. Hayley wasn’t the first girl to bring up those concerns. Sevika was too well known, too feared, and had too much of a reputation for people to compete with. This was the fourth girl to break up with you because of it, and it made you sad. You didn’t mind only dating Sevika or visiting the brothel, but it was tough when the reason your relationships failed was because of who you were in a relationship with. You had yet to tell Sevika about it because you didn’t want to upset her.

Stepping out of the shower, you sigh sadly and wrap your towel around you. You freeze when you see Sevika sitting on your bed. She frowns when she sees you and beckons you over. You wrap your arms around her shoulders as she pulls you onto her lap.

“Why are you crying?” Sevika mutters, wiping away your tears.

“Hayley broke up with me today.” You whisper.

“Why?” Sevika growls.

“The same as all of the other girls.” You huff, “You have too big of a presence for them to compete with. People refer to them as “the girl dating Sevika’s girlfriend” instead of as my girlfriend. They got tired of it or it affected their self-esteem.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I didn’t want to upset you.” You nervously glance away from her.

“Y/n, of course, I’ll be upset. You’re hurting because of me.” Sevika grabs your chin, “I know you really liked Hayley.”

“I did but she’s right. If I want another girlfriend, I’d have to date another you.” You joke, “That’s the only way I’d be able to keep someone.”

“I don’t think I could get along with another me.” Sevika clicks her tongue.

“That says a lot about you, doesn’t it?” You tease her, making Sevika raise an eyebrow, “Ouch! Did you just pinch me?!” You whine and rub your thigh.

“Hm?” Sevika leans back, “I don’t know what you mean.” You can’t help but laugh.

Time flew by and before you knew it, you and Sevika had been together for two years. With how busy she was with Silco, most of the time you were together was when she hung out in the bar or snuck into your bed at night. You loved to wake up in the middle of the night to her cuddling you against her like a teddy bear. The first time you found out Sevika was a cuddler, it made you melt. She was such a strict person until it came to you. You saw a side of her no one else had the pleasure of seeing.

That made it all the funnier when Powder would complain to you about Sevika and tell you to put a leash on her. The two of them got into a lot of arguments because of Jinx. Sevika wasn’t a fan of her hard work being destroyed by a teenager. You would giggle and tell Powder that Sevika would strangle you with it before you could get close. As she actually did one time when you playfully tried to put one on her. The sex that night was one you’d never forget.

“Hey, Y/n! Can we try something new tonight?” Sherry asks, “I’m feeling a bit more daring than usual.”

“Sure thing, Sherry! Are we going fruity or staying on the bolder side?” You grin at her. The front doors to the bar slam open, startling everyone inside and making you scowl.

“SHE’S BACK FROM THE FUCKING DEAD!” One of the guys hollers, pale as hell. You recognize them as the guys that were playing cards with Sevika earlier.

“VANDER’S GIRL! SHE CAME OUT OF NOWHERE!” The other one screeches and that was enough to have you vaulting over the bar. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you shouted for Krow to take over before you were sprinting out of the bar. Vi had been your best friend growing up and losing her devastated you. You joked that she couldn’t die no matter how badly she came home beaten and bruised. The day she didn’t return and Powder bawled her eyes out into your shirt, your heart cracked.

Even if those idiots were spewing shit from their mouths, you had to go see. Not only that, but they were with Sevika and if Vi was really back, then you’d have the fight to break up. Sevika was working for Silco at the end of the day, and Vi being back wouldn’t be good for him. If Silco had any inkling that Vi was alive, he’d order your girlfriend to kill her. Unless Vi got her angry enough, then Sevika would do it herself.

You hear the fight before your eyes land on them. When you slid in front of the opening of the alcove, you were just in time to witness your girlfriend choke-slam Vi through a crate. ’Ah, shit I hate being right!’ You gasp as Sevika lifts Vi by her throat. Overwhelmed with emotions at seeing your alive best friend, you couldn’t let your girlfriend continue this fight.

“Vika, stop!” You shout, causing their heads to snap in your direction. It was almost comical how their shocked expressions matched each other so perfectly.

“Y/n?” They question simultaneously causing them to glare at each other.

“Please, let her go.” You plead as you gently place your hand on Sevika’s metal one. You stare your lover in the eyes before she sighs heavily and yanks her arm away from Vi. You immediately reach for Vi when her feet hit the ground and she pitches forward. You steady her as she coughs, and frown knowing she’ll have bruising around her throat later.

“Thank you.” You say to Sevika who grunts and picks up her cloak. Vi turns to you with wide eyes and you give her a bright smile, “Welcome home, Violet.” You pull her into a tight hug, feeling tears sting your eyes. You can feel Vi hesitate before she returns the hug and relaxes into it. You can’t believe that you’re hugging her once again. ‘After so many years… I can’t believe she’s alive.’

“You’re okay.” Vi sighs in relief as you pull away, “I’m so glad you’re okay, Y/n.”

“Imagine how I feel.” You laugh, wiping away your tears, “I thought you were dead.”

“Do you know where my sister is?” Vi pleads, “I’ve been trying to find her. I need to find her.”

“I do.” You place a hand on her shoulder, “You can come with me.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t stand too close to my girlfriend.” Sevika growls agitatedly. You sigh as Vi gives you a startled look that quickly twists into anger.

“You’re dating that brute?!” Vi shouted, “She betrayed Vander! What the hell, Y/n!”

“Vi. I can explain. You’ve been gone for a while. Things… have changed a bit.” You raise your hands in defense, not liking the confused yet angry look in Vi’s eyes.

“I’m so not having sex with you tonight.” You hissed at Sevika, punching her shoulder in your frustration. That’s not how you wanted to break the news! Sevika’s smirk drops and she actually gives you a betrayed look. You knew that was the one thing she was looking forward to tonight.

“If you still want to follow me, I can take you to your sister.” You turn back to Vi who has a frown on her face.

“Yeah. Please.” Vi sighs, “I just need to take care of something really quick.”

“Sure, I’ll wait for you here.” You nod.

#sevika x reader #vi x reader #vi x reader x sevika #polyamory #sevika arcane #vi arcane #vi fanfic #sevika fanfic #sevika x ran

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kkusuka · 3 years ago

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Have I told you I hate weak y/n’s that get pushed around by fangirls? No? Well, I hate them 😊

Let’s have Oikawa, Atsumu, Akaashi, Semi, and Terushima react to their normally calm gf, beat the dog shit out of a fangirl that tried to intimidate her for dating said men above. Reader just has a soft smile before cocking her fist back and boxing her shit before holding up the fangirl and looking to the rest like “You wanna end up like her? No? Then know your place~ ☺️”. Then she faces her bf with a sweet smile and says something affectionate like “I brought you lunch, dear. I made it just how you like it 😄” before kissing his cheek like she didn’t go Muhammad Ali on a bitch

Oikawa Tooru<3

Oikawa’s had more than a few less than pleasant experiences with women

Considering he’s always been surrounded by them, from his sister's friends in middle school and being swarmed by them in High school and college- having women around him was nothing new

And for the most part, they were all pleasant

Giving him little gifts and food- that he always gave to you- and just telling him how much they loved watching him play

All things he can deal with before talking to his favorite girl, you

Though, there have been instances of some bold woman who just never get the hint

Whether it be drunkenness or some weird dream of having Oikawa to herself or just blatant disregard of his relationship

And right now just happens to be one of those times- but now you got a firsthand view of the madness.

Whoever this was clearly didn't understand relationships or personal space for that matter

She had a hand on his chest and was just blubbering about how she would be the best wife for him and would make life so much easier- much more than you do for him- and that was just what you saw from the ten seconds you were in earshot

He would normally laugh it offend continue seeking out autographs but he seemed to be locked in an iron maiden

“I promise! Forget about your girlfriend, she’s useless anyways!” and finally a perfect chance to make yourself known

“Tooru, I have your lun-” you attempted to grab him away, him shooting a pleading look to save him before your wrist was snatched from his arm and tugged away and shoved to the side then pushing your body away from the two

“Back off bitch!”

Now, you were normally a pretty calm person, you knew how to deal with the women and you have been for years.

But you stand by the fact that it was never ok to put your hands on someone- no matter the situation.

But at that moment, you could care less about your silly reparations and breathing methods, that lady put a hand on you and pushed you

You could hear Tooru telling her to keep her hands off you but you just looked around and made sure that everyone saw what had happened, you don't need to be arrested anytime soon

Grabber her arm you detached her from your boyfriends and in the next second your fist was connecting with her face, watching her wither on the floor you turn to your boyfriend who’s now coming towards you

“As I was saying, I have your lunch.”

Atsumu Miya<3

Another guy who’s constantly surrounded by women

Although he is far less appreciative and nice to them, and he makes it a point to be abundantly clear that you are the only woman he will spend the rest of his life with

Something that wasn't too popular with a few specific fans

Every blue moon someone will find his phone number and blow it up with loving messages or try and get his address

The worst it’s been was someone finding his apartment number and thankfully being too far away to come by themselves but they did send some inappropriate images to his PO box and that led him to create an even thinker line between fans and himself

Thankful, the whole of them understood and respected his boundaries

Buuuuut there are always people who go the extra step

Like whoever this is crowding your boyfriend after a win against the Alders with a giant poster of him and a …. Thong

If you were the slightest more stoic you would have held in the laugh that started it all but it seems crazy is crazy no matter how you provoke them

That lady heard you laugh and the flood gates opened, in a split second her hand was on your cheek then she was on the floor holding what you could hope was a broken jaw

You didn't even realize you punched her until a shooting pain went up your wrist

Though before you had a chance to return to your lovely boyfriend, who was standing in the same spot shell shocked (and slightly turned on) hand grabbed your ankle the flung you to the ground

It was, for lack of a better term, a catfight

She was hitting you and you were hitting her and she was screaming random shit about how awful you were to her precious Atsumu- seriously this lady was insane

Nevertheless, security arrived, and let’s just say that you were in much better condition than she was, who knew you could fight so well?

Though you weren't allowed to come to the next game and had to apologize to the heads of the Volleyball association, Tsumu was proud of you and the internet was on your side- so it was kind of a win-win

Akaashi Keiji<3

He surprisingly doesn't have a swarm of fangirls around him

But it’s much much worse, you’d rather have a mob of girls around him than the four specific psychos that never leave the poor guy alone

Everywhere in school at least one of them is watching the two of you, in class, at lunch- no matter where you try and eat- you swear you even saw one at the boba show you pass on your walk home with him

The worst part?

He thinks it’s funny.

It is hilarious to him that you try so hard to keep them away full knowing he would never leave you for the likes of them. It’s just too cute how you puff up your cheeks and huff about them and honestly, it's a breath of fresh air considering how much everyone kisses up to him

Well- he likes it when they are at a distance

On the off chance they get close to him, it's a different story. They truly are intolerable, and they away try bad-mouthing you to him like it was supposed to mean something that they don't like you

And they only ever do it when you’re away- cowards they truly are. And since they’re always watching, as soon as you left to buy the two of you lunch, one of them was on him in an instant

She was annoying and all she could say was ho you were a ‘poison’ in his life and he had to leave you as soon as possible

He didn't even realize you were there until a hand grabbed the back of her uniform and flung her off him. And from the looks of it, falling on the ground really hurt

“I’m a poison? That’s all you could come up with?”

You didn't even have to say another word, she was already out of sight

Not missing a beat, you handed him his lunch and started talking about the latest episode of the volleyball anime you loved.

Semi Eita<3

First off- a total power couple

Not only are you willing to beat a bitch, but he’s also ready to hype you up while you do it

It’s not confirmed you have, but there are rumors that you fought more than a few girls who were less than pleasant. And it’s not like you do anything for rumor control, you just laugh and turn the other way

Still, even with the rumor mill running rampant, some girls still try and shoot their shot

But this girl has to be the boldest woman on planet earth

Not only was she flirting with an openly taken man, but she was flirting with him as he held his arm around your waist. She even looked at you as she spoke to him, the audacity of people these days

“You like music? That’s crazy, I do too!” you wanted her to shut the fuck up as soon as possible.

What pissed you off more was that he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was letting it happen to spite you.

What happened after this you blame solely on the alcohol the party was providing and not on the fact you wanted to clock this girl the moment you saw her

It was just that suddenly your drink was in her face

Then her drink was in her face, and she was running to the bathroom, maybe she should listen to rumors more often because you don't think strawberry daiquiri will come out of a white crop too so easily

Terushima Yuji<3

He’s an ass

But he’s your ass, somehow

He’s a manwhore and an attention-whore, mix that should have been shot before it could grow into something more

By now you're used to the girls slipping him their numbers and hitting him up on every social media site possible and you remain happy to say he doesn't respond- probably too busy dicking you down to care about any of them

Plus, less than 1% of them actually approach them in public, and they just happen to be the most insufferable people on the planet.

Desperation doesn't even describe it

Of that 1%, at least half of them try to touch him, running a hand on his arm, tugging at his clothes, maybe even a strand of his hair, all you can deal with because he knows what’ll happen if he even entertains their advances

But for some reason, the only thing that sets you off is when they mention the tongue piercing.

It invokes a rage unknown within you, the second the metal ball’s mentioned you see red. And he fucking loves it, you could be three prefectures over and the second the girl mentions it, you magically appear at his side like you’d been there the whole time

All of a sudden you’re all over him, disregarding this girls words as she tries to bring the conversation back to her, going as far as grabbing your shoulder, and since she touched you first- you had the green light

Your arm pulled back and your fist connected to her cheek

And like nothing ever happened you turned back to the blond

tags: @diamond-3 @rinsangel @heyheyitsne @angelalje @monisi @crystal-lilac @sadpotato10

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mtf-breeder · 3 years ago

Text

I want a secret detrans ftm to fuck with my head sooo bad.

At first he'd befriend me and get me depending on him... Maybe some things suddenly "go wrong out of nowhere" and he's conveniently there to solve the problem or be a shoulder to cry on.

Then one day, when I'm weak and my willpower is low he tells me he wants me to be his partner. He says "partner" not girlfriend... But a lot of queer people do that.

I complain meekly that I'm a lesbian and he laughs "I'm basically he/him lesbian" "what's the difference really except for identity bullshit?"

I'm shocked at first, I've never heard him talk like this... But what he says makes a weird kind of sense.

"What's wrong? Don't you like me?" before I can regain my footing he abruptly gets to his feet, flings off his shorts and straddles his bare cunt across my face.

"don't you like pussy?"

The smell is overwhelming. So amazing, so feminine and inviting. A soft musk filling up my head and cock with a unified desire. Embarrassingly, I'm as hard as my feminized girlcock can get.

I eat his pussy all night with him cooing in my ear, my mind too gone to consciously process what he is telling me.

We start dating after that. He starts calling himself my girlfriend, as a joke at first but then more and more casually. It makes me feel more comfortable in a way, but there's something nagging in the back of my mind.

At this point he's become insanely jealous and controlling of my time, my friends and family slowly falling away until it's just me and him.

He also starts "swapping clothes" with me "as a kink", but he gives me men's clothes I've never seen before. She says it looks so "butch" on me, but... something feels like a joke I'm not in on.

When we go out it's the first time I've been in public presenting masculine in years. I feel even more self-conscious looking at my girlfrien-- I mean boyfriend. He looks so good, so pretty...

I notice some guys pointing at him and making blowjob gestures to each other. They see me and stop... are they going to beat me up? But no, they just go back to ignoring us.

"What assholes!" I exclaim to him.

What'd they do that was wrong? It was just boys being boys."

"they're not respecting your gender"

"why would they? I look like a girl and you look like a boy."

Again, I'm shocked until I catch my reflection in a window and realize it's true. I look like a boy... a faggy boy, but a boy.

"They probably stopped cause they thought you're my boyfriend." He looks seductively at one of the men, catching his eye. I feel a creeping nausea, "but I guess I don't have a boyfriend." He smiles at saying these words, mocking me.

I can only swallow weakly.

His tone suddenly goes cheery and singsong, "hey cutie, I have some more shopping to do. Why don't you be a good girl and go wait for me at home?"

With that he abruptly walks over to talk to the group of men, twirling his hair at them and giggling. They gesture at me and he laughs, shaking his head.

He comes back late the next night, smelling like sex and crashing off coke.

I'm so worried about him... Or am I worried? Am I...

Jealous?

After this I get very defensive of him. In public I no longer correct people who misgender me in case they think I'm a fag and want to steal my girlfriend. I start fighting men who look at him sideways.

He loves this. Tells me I'm so butch. Rewards me with head for winning fights.

Meanwhile I start to realize my body is masculinizing. My facial hair is growing in. He tells me it's so radical for queer women to grow a beard.

I look in the mirror, I see a man. He tells me it's wrong to perpetuate gender stereotypes.

One day we're fucking pretty wildly and the condom breaks.

"Keep going."

"but the condom"

"just pull out when you're about to cum, pleeeease" 🥺

Without waiting for me he drives my cock back into his pussy. It's achingly hard. I have to keep going... I can't pull myself away.

As I pound out his pussy a deep urge washes over me. I feel possessed. I need to get deeper, as deep as possible.

I desperately rut him until I can feel the pressure welling up in my balls. "I'm going to cum!"

He hooks his legs around me and holds me in. "Feel that, Daddy?" I shudder trying to hold back, "that's the feeling a Daddy feels right before he makes his girlfriend into his baby momma."

His voice drops to a low rasp gently caressing my ear, "It feels so right because you're a man. That's why I swapped your estrogen with testosterone. You look like a man, act like a man, fuck like a man. Its only natural for you to want to breed my fertile little pussy. Just let it happen."

With that I give in, spraying my hot load into his uterus. He pats my head, "good boy".

As I lay spasming in him, my mind utterly broken, he whispers one last thing:

"don't call me 'he' anymore. I'm not a man and it's your job to remind me of that."

I nod weakly and pass out.

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giorno-plays-piano · 3 years ago

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Okay but what about Orc!bucky and Goddess!reader ..😳🤭 Shes an Aphrodite, I can imagine her looking down and seeing orc!bucky and just craving him. They be a great power couple ...

Hi hun! I'm sorry it took me so much time to write this fic, and, well, since most of us already have some depiction of Aphrodite in mind, I decided to make the reader her daughter. Guess the story turned out something very different from what you wanted, but I still hope you will enjoy it!

Somebody to Die For

Pairing: orc!Bucky x goddess!Reader

Warnings: violence, injuries, angst, hurt/comfort.

Words: 2385.

____________________

"I will fight for you till they cut off my arms, my legs, and my head."

You looked at the warrior in front of you, his heavy body clad in armor, his arms holding a spear and a shield you brought to him yourself, earning a slap from your mother, the goddess of beauty who forbid you to help humans so shamelessly, and yet, you always did.

The man standing in front of you was neither orc nor human but the descendant of the both of them, the only hero who could possibly defeat the evil forces when every other man had failed. He's rough; he's rude; he knew little of honor, but he's the one who still fought when the ones before him had long given up. Despite the prejudice against orcs, now even humans understood he was their only salvation.

You hoped he would survive the last battle. Not just because you needed the human kind to have a savior, a leader, the one who would aid them when nobody else would, but because you had grown found of him, the man you had been guiding for years, helping him to protect those who detested him, bringing him hope when he was ready to give up, embracing him when he no longer had the power to hold his spear. A daughter of the goddess of beauty, you were to bring this beauty to the parts of the world where your tired mother could not, but you brought hope instead.

"Fight for me, and if you win, I will fulfill your wish, soldier." You whispered through your golden mask that covered your face entirely, only your eyes visible to the orc standing on his knees.

Your mother never approved of it, but you had seen people going mad from having just one glance at you, your immense beauty blinding them, driving them insane, making them forgot who they were. It was a curse, not a blessing. It was the reason you wore your mask at all times, only showing your face to those your deemed worthy, strong enough to withstand the charms you had no control over.

You knew your hero wanted to see your face more than anything else in the world.

"I will bring you the demon's head on a golden plate, my goddess."

You'd chuckle at his attempt to please you, but you were scared, you feared he would fail, fall, die in the hands of evil forces feasting upon human kind and threatening to destroy all the gods had created. You could not fight along him, possessing no skills to win that battle; moreover, your mother would most certainly kill you if you intervened, breaking the oath you had given to her. You could only help the hero you had chosen while staying in the shadow.

"Stay alive, Bucky." Those were your last words when you pressed the cold lips of your mask to the orc's forehead, giving him your blessing and hiding the tears behind the cold metal.

If only you could fight, but your hands grew cold every time you touched the hero's spear, unable to wield a sword or a mace. The war was not your domain, all the gods kept telling you when you plead them to gift you enough strength and courage to engage in battle. No, your fate was to shine like a golden statue, blinding all those who dared to look at you, bending them to your will like you mother had always done. They couldn't understand your ardent desire to watch over the humankind and all those who needed your help, spending your time healing soldiers, aiding orphans and the elderly, bringing food and water to all those in need. The gods cared little for mortals. Even when the Great Evil appeared out of nowhere, wreaking havoc on the lands belonging to people constantly praying for gods mercy, the immortals were too busy with their own affairs, realizing how serious the matter was when it had been too late.

When the orc you clad in charmed armor stood in front of the army of the undead, the diabolical creatures with horns and gaunt wings growling behind them, ready to strike, you prayed for him to come out of the battle alive. It was his fate to be the last hero standing between the chaos and all what was dear to the living, yet he bore no responsibility for it - he didn't ask to be the hero, to fight when his spear was long broken, go forward while the undead broke his bones and demons feasted upon his flesh, ripping pieces of meat before the orc could crush their heads with his mere hands. You kept casting spells to aid him, knowing your mother would whip you, but you didn't care, healing your hero's wounds so he could fight until he would cut off the head of the Demon King with his own sword.

Your hero was laying on top of demon's dead body, still holding the head even while unconscious as you sneaked into the field full of corpses, bodies of demons and bones of the undead rotting under the blazing sun. Your hero was dying from his wounds, bleeding so much his skin was loosing its color, and now it was your time to bring him back to the living before it was too late.

Oh, you knew your mother could kill you for stealing the salve meant only for gods to heal their wounds, but you no longer cared. What did it matter if the one who saved you all was to pay with his life for everything he had done to protect the living? No, it was unfair. The orc stood to gain nothing from his heroic deeds, gods being too arrogant to acknowledge him properly, but he had the right to keep his life.

And so you carried his heavy body to the springs, washing his wounds, applying the salve generously and casting as much healing spells as you did in your entire life to keep him alive, praying and hoping the gods would take mercy on him. Yes, he was three quarters an orc; he was barbaric, savage, ferocious, but he had kindness in his heart like no other, agreeing to fight for humans who had always utterly despised him. Despite being a brute, he was kind to children, women and elderly people. He had never lay his hand on those weaker than him, except when they attacked him on their own. In the end, he was the only hero who answered your call when all those you had asked for help died on the battlefield, unable to fight the demons and their army of corpses.

It had been three days and three nights you spent tending to his wounds until his heart started beating like of a living being. You cried your eyes out when you heard it. The salve had finally worked, and the open wounds closed, leaving his body scarred but healed; his breath steadied, and soon your hero would come back to you, you knew. Gods had answered your prayers for the first time.

"Am I dead?" Bucky asked you when he opened his eyes on the fourth day as he saw you tired face, your mask long abandoned the moment you brought him to the springs.

You smiled at him and held him close, his head laying on your lap while you witnessed his awakening, his body covered in salve, making his skin shine like pure gold.

"You are alive and well." leaning to him, you left a kiss on his forehead, brushing his dark disheveled hair out of his face, and the orc made an odd sound as if he were purring like a giant cat. "You will live a long life, cherished and honored by those you protected, I promise you."

"Will you keep that one promise you gave me, my goddess?"

He's impatient, he had always been, and you laughed at his eagerness, knowing his body still hurt, but the orc didn't seem to mind it. Was he unhappy with seeing your face? You didn't think so, and yet, apparently, he wanted something else. Gold? Women? Immortality? The last one would be quite hard, that is if gods wouldn't struck you with a lightning or something just to teach you a lesson to be more pliant and respectful.

"What it is that you want, my warrior? I will do whatever you ask me to if it is within my powers, just like I promised."

"It's within your powers, I'm sure." He grumbled, making you laugh even harder at his unusual grumpiness, touching the tips of his tusks, and the orc laughed at you, too.

"What is it, then? Don't keep me waiting, mortal, for even I grew tired of tending to you over four days." Winking at him in the most frivolous manner just like your mother had taught you, you giggled then, and the hero's face lightened up.

"This is not how I imagined it to be, but who cares, anyway." he muttered to himself and sat up, turning to you and hurriedly searching the pockets of his torn pants, obviously empty after his long, intense battle. "Shit! I've brought you golden rings and necklaces and bracelets, but those flying bitches made holes in my clothes. I should have hidden my gifts under some rock before the battle."

"Oh, you should have!"

He's impossible, you thought as you both snickered, his huge, calloused hands touching gentle yours. He brought you gold? What for?

"Well, whatever, I'll find more for you later if you don't mind, goddess. Will you give me the honor of becoming my wife even if I didn't bring you the gifts?" The orc tilted his head to the side, looking at you as if it were just a mere matter of something minor, unimportant, but soon, as he watched you openly gape at him for his audacity, he quickly bowed his head, kneeling in front of you.

You were speechless. For once, you had never for once suspected of the hero having these feelings for you. Surely, he prayed to you, he respected you as a mortal should respect their deity, he was intrigued by your true appearance you had concealed from him, but his spoke of marriage seemed preposterous. Was it your face again, your mother's charms? No, no, it couldn’t have been it for the hero intended to bring you gifts, wedding gifts, that is. He had come prepared.

Unbelievable. Did his feelings grow while he didn't even know how you looked?

"Forgive me my insolence, goddess." he mumbled, realizing his offer could be a grave offense to you, a being standing way higher than him. "But I can serve you till the end of my days, do whatever you tell me to. If I have survived the last battle and brought people salvation they wanted, I must be good enough, right?"

"Will you serve me even if I am not your wife?" You asked him quietly, looking at your hands covered in the balm you stole from the gods just to heal his wounds, knowing you were attracted to him despite your feelings never being voiced.

For a couple of seconds the orc grew silent, watching the carpet you put him on to tend to his wounds: it had been soaked in his blood that now dried out.

"I will serve you even then." He uttered grimly, refusing to look you in the eyes, his gaze on your hands as he kept sitting in front of you.

Afraid to speak, you fell silent too, wishing to touch him, brush your hand against his disheveled hair. Oh, didn't you want him? Didn't you wish to be embraced by the very hero you spent years guiding and healing so he would continue his journey? Didn't you deserve to be loved, the daughter of the goddess of that very same love you'd been craving for so long?

But your hero was a mortal. You were frightened to even think what gods would do to him for his impertinence.

Oh, evil gods. You spent years to teach and guide the mortal hero they despised who brought the salvation to the lands they were so afraid to lose, and yet neither him nor you were given anything in return. Instead, they were granting you a torture of refusing advances of the only one dear to you.

Please, darling.

Your mother's irritated voice cut through the silence like a knife, and you froze, knowing she was rolling her eyes at you, watching you secretly like she often did.

You have a heart of stone if you reject the man who is standing on his knees in front of you. I grant you my permission if you so need it.

As her mighty voice rang in the complete silence of a cave, Bucky shivered, immediately getting on his feet. Of course, he knew nothing of your mother except that she was a goddess, and he had never heard her voice. It didn't matter to you, though, as you stared at him, dumbfounded.

Permission. She granted you her permission to marry him. You were free to act as you like, knowing the gods wouldn't bring their wrath upon your hero.

"I will have you if you promise to love and cherish me like no other, protect me, and be loyal to me until your last breath." You whispered, your eyes full of tears as you watched him from below while he towered above you, and the next second he was on his knees again, taking your arms in his and kissing your tears away.

"Even if my face will be disfigured, my tongue cut off, and my body dismembered, I will love you till my last breath." his voice was so quiet, yet you heard him as if he were screaming at the top of his voice. "I promise to worship you and come to you aid whenever you need me."

Hurriedly ripping a piece of his ragged, soaked in blood clothes, he wrapped it around your finger like it was a ring he had lost.

"My soul, my heart, and my sword - everything I possess I give to you."

___________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @iheartsebandchris

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #orc!bucky #winter soldier #mcu #mcu fanfiction #requests

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Sufficiently strong emotionally-charged moments of physical contact can occasionally forge long-term telepathic bonds between cultivators. These bonds are usually based on positive emotions like familial or romantic love, or deep feelings of friendship, but the emotions don’t necessarily have to be positive to forge a bond. Wei Wuxian is very upset to find out that punching Jin Zixuan in the face apparently counts as a sufficiently strong emotionally-charged moment of physical contact.

on ao3

Wei Wuxian had been obsessed with the idea of a resonant bond ever since he first learned about it.

Sure, it was a rarity. It was easier for a cultivator to find a friend, a lover, or even a soulmate than it was for them to create a resonant bond, which required not merely liking or understanding or even love but rather a single moment in time in which two cultivators were on exactly the same wavelength.

Their cultivation strength, their frame of mind, the state of their bodies, the exact way in which they touched – in that one moment, everything would be exactly the same, and the Heavens would forget for that brief moment to see the two as separate, like two separate raindrops merging into one before the moment passed, some difference introduced, and they were broken apart into separate beings again. Yet even after they separated, they would irrevocably retain some aspects of the other, a connection that generally manifested, it was said, as a mental bond that could not be broken, a tie that would keep them bound together no matter the distance.

Such a thing could not be worked towards, only hoped for; it was a matter of luck.

Wei Wuxian had never wanted anything more in his life.

The thought of never being alone again – it enticed him, it excited him. Jiang Cheng could wrinkle his nose in distaste at the idea that he might not be alone in his mind anymore, that someone would see all the stupid or terrible things he sometimes thought, but to Wei Wuxian that was the best part: that someone would see you and know you and you would see and know them, too. To have someone to accompany you through the best and worst moments of your life, always at your side…

To never fear abandonment, to never need to worry about someone going out only for a little and then never coming back.

It would be amazing.

That was what Wei Wuxian thought.

Well, that was what he thought right up until he punched Jin Zixuan in the face for insulting his shijie, his whole heart burning at the unfairness of adults who didn’t understand, at other boys who didn’t appreciate what they had, at everything all around them and at his own weakness in not being able to do more, and something just –

Clicked.

“Hey, wake up! Wake up! Are you all right?”

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes, only to be assaulted with what felt like double vision. Above him were Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, hovering and looking anxious, and from the corner of his eye he could see Lan Wangji, who he so enjoyed teasing, was sweeping over to them with a grim expression – and yet at the same time he thought he could perceive different faces above him as well.

Three young men and two women, all looking down at him with smiles like sharks, ready to devour. Each one of them draped in the gold they lusted to take from his hands –

What the fuck? Wei Wuxian thought groggily. How did I end up on the ground?

Good question. I didn’t think I got punched that hard.

Wait, Wei Wuxian thought. Hold up, I got punched? I didn’t even see the peacock lift his fists!

…Wei Wuxian? Is that – you?

Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide when he realized he hadn’t said any of that out loud, that to judge from Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s chatter they hadn’t heard either him nor the other voice. Which meant that the voice had to be...in his head. Is this – this is a resonant bond. We formed a resonant bond!

Shit, Jin Zixuan thought, because it was Jin Zixuan, wasn’t it? Shit, shit, shit. Please don’t say anything about this to anyone!

What? Why?

Please!

Wei Wuxian hadn’t even known that the peacock knew that word.

Fine, he said, feeling generous on account of the whole bond business. I won’t tell. For now.

“Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asked, looking worriedly fretful. “Are you all right? You haven’t said anything.”

“I’m fine,” he said, rubbing his head and trying to think of a lie to explain why he fell over like that. “I think the peacock must’ve had a talisman or a defensive weapon or something. Whatever it is, I’m fine now.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re all right,” Jiang Cheng said, looking deeply relieved. And then, a moment later – “Because I’m going to kill you - !”

There wasn’t too much time to talk after that. Wei Wuxian was sentenced to kneeling, and then his Uncle Jiang arrived and Sect Leader Jin arrived – oh no, oh no, oh no, I fucked up, Jin Zixuan thought hopelessly, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel a bit of the same – and the next thing Wei Wuxian knew, the engagement between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli was broken and he was being sent to pack up his things, to be taken home at once.

Jin Zixuan was swept away by his father, too.

“A pity about the engagement,” Sect Leader Jin remarked idly as they walked together. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have said such a thing. Your mother will be disappointed.”

Wei Wuxian could feel the way that that jabbed at Jin Zixuan’s heart like a stab with a sword.

“Still, it’s no harm,” the man continued, indifferently ignoring the impact his words had had on his son. “One could even call it a gain! You won’t be burdened down with that shrew’s daughter anymore.”

That what?!

Tune out of this conversation, please, Jin Zixuan said, his thoughts dull and sluggish and resigned. It’s going to get worse from here on out.

It did.

Sect Leader Jin commented at some great length about his views on Madame Yu’s many faults – her temper, her strength, her nosiness, her thought that she was worth anything other than a pair of legs and an inheritance – and contrasted it with some salacious comments on her positive traits – mostly the legs, with a few comments on the upper half as well – and then he started speculating about Jiang Yanli, too, in a way that made Wei Wuxian’s blood boil.

It’s not about her, Jin Zixuan told him, his voice a little desperate in a familiar way – he was used to having to defend his father, and just as obviously didn’t want to. He’s building up a defense.

What?

For my mother. She’ll be angry at him for agreeing to break the engagement, so he’ll say that it was my idea, say all this stuff, and then she’ll be angry at me for believing it, instead, even though I don’t. This isn’t what I wanted at all.

Wei Wuxian frowned. You wanted to marry my shijie? You sure didn’t show it!

No, I just didn’t want to marry anybody, Jin Zixuan said, and…okay, fine, that was a pretty respectable position. Wei Wuxian didn’t particularly want to marry anyone yet, either. I just got angry when everyone was talking about how it was a done deal, that’s all. Just one more thing that got picked for me.

Wei Wuxian had heard Jiang Cheng complain about similar enough things – how much of his life was selected in advance, how much was organized for the benefit of his sect rather than his own interests, how little choice he got. How even if he’d been as good as Wei Wuxian, or even better, he still wouldn’t have been able to go out and hunt pheasants all day the way Wei Wuxian did.

He refused to feel sympathy. Well, you shouldn’t have taken it out on my shijie!

Probably not. Jin Zixuan was silent for a moment. It probably doesn’t help, but I’m sorry for my rudeness.

Wei Wuxian hated it when people were reasonable. It made it so much harder to stay angry at them.

Are you going to tell me why I can’t tell people about this bond yet? he asked. You’d better have a good reason, I had to put up with an entire scolding from Jiang Cheng because I didn’t have a good excuse!

Later tonight. I promise.

That night, Wei Wuxian excused himself early and hid himself in his room on the boat. He knew that he was giving both Uncle Jiang and Jiang Cheng the impression that he was feeling deeply guilty about having broken the engagement, thereby making them feel bad about it, which he didn’t intend, but he really wanted to hear the reason. If it wasn’t good enough, he’d really break Jin Zixuan’s nose this time!

It really is a good reason!

Well, then? If it’s so good, don’t keep me in suspense!

Jin Zixuan sighed. Wei Wuxian felt it like an exhalation on his cheek, as if Jin Zixuan were right there beside him. You know how a resonant bond is supposed to be equal?

What do you mean ‘supposed to be’? Wei Wuxian asked, and felt something cold in his belly.

There are forbidden techniques, ancient ones, that are designed to manipulate a resonant bond into an unequal state. To make one side the master and the other the slave.

That’s disgusting!

If we told anyone, my father would find a way to get one, Jin Zixuan said, and he wasn’t guessing. His voice was utterly certain. There’s very little money can’t buy, and he wouldn’t be able to resist the idea of having a spy in the very heart of the Jiang clan.

Well, then just don’t tell him!

Just like I didn’t tell him about what I said about your shijie?

Wei Wuxian got tripped up by that. It was true, Jin Zixuan hadn’t said a word about what had happened, and yet his father had already known every last detail. How..?

One of my ‘friends’ told him, of course. Probably more than one, actually – I wouldn’t be surprised if they all passed it along. It’s what he pays them for.

He pays for your friends to spy on you?!

I already told you that there’s little money can’t buy. Why not friends?

I wouldn’t be friends with people who accepted money to spy on me. Why do you?

If it’s not this set, it’ll be another, and it’s all the same. If they won’t be bought, then I can’t be friends with them…anyway, I’ve gotten used to these ones.

All of them? Wei Wuxian asked. Even Mianmian? She didn’t seem the type…

Her name is Luo Qingyang, and yes. Her parents are sick and my father’s paying for the treatment; if she doesn’t tell him everything, he’ll cut off funds…she told me about it, though. Said that if there was ever a time that I wanted her to ‘forget’ to report something, she could do that. That’s more than most would do, and probably about as much as anyone can expect –

Have you ever had a friend that wasn’t bought? Wei Wuxian asked. I mean…ever?

Jin Zixuan was silent.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

Well, I guess you have me now, Wei Wuxian thought, with only a tiny amount of self-pity for the stupidity of agreeing to be friends with Jin Zixuan. Still, if he’d survived his efforts at being Lan Wangji’s friend, he could survive anything. No one’s going to buy me!

But –

Nope! No take-backs! We have a resonant bond, peacock. You think I’m going to waste a gift from the Heavens like this just because it’s with you? You’ve got another thing coming!

…can you at least stop calling me a peacock?!

Madame Yu made her displeasure clear enough when Wei Wuxian returned, ordering him to kneel all night and do every available chore and things like that, but Wei Wuxian didn’t take it to heart – he never did, really.

Like Jiang Cheng, Madame Yu’s bark was worse than her bite: for all that she hissed and spat and punished him with kneeling or holding up weights, she’d never denied him resources, kept him back from training, or even denied him the spot of head disciple to promote another less qualified in his place, which she very well might have if she were a bit pettier.

So he didn’t take it personally, even if Jin Zixuan seemed indignant on his behalf – you were defending her daughter! You’d think she’d give you some leeway for that, at least! – and at any rate it was better than Jin Zixuan’s slow meandering way home, with his father disappearing every night into a brothel or the bedroom of some innkeeper’s daughter or something like that.

It was better than Jin Zixuan’s mother’s reaction, too, which was to scream and shout and say vicious nasty things, to smash plates and vases against the walls right over his head, and then to pull him into her arms and make him promise over and over again that he would never betray her.

I think I suffered more in terms of physical exertion, but you get full points for all the emotional devastation, Wei Wuxian said after Jin Zixuan returned to hide in his bedroom. Does she do that a lot?

All the time, Jin Zixuan said. All the fucking time.

After a moment, he added, guiltily, It’s only that she loves me –

Ugh, don’t even start with that, Wei Wuxian said. Complaining about awful parent-related trauma is boring, I get enough of it from Jiang Cheng. Help me figure out what I should do tomorrow: flying kites, swimming, or hunting pheasants? Oh, or fishing!

…seriously? Do you spend any time cultivating?

Oh, come on. It’s my first day back!

That just means you have more you need to catch up on!

Your shijie is really nice.

I told you!

You didn’t! You just hit me!

Wei Wuxian loved having a resonant bond.

Sure, it wasn’t with someone useful like Jiang Cheng or even wonderful like Lan Wangji – I can hear you, you know – but it was kind of nice to have someone to complain to when it would be awkward to put it onto Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli.

The other half being Jin Zixuan was also not as bad as he had first thought it would be. Sure, he was just as spoiled, arrogant, vain, and deeply cynical about human nature as Wei Wuxian had thought – I can still hear you! – but he was also an awkward introvert with no social skills and an over-active guilt complex – fuck you too, Wei Wuxian – and, in the sum total of things, surprisingly tolerable. Thanks? I think?

It’d certainly made the indoctrination camp more tolerable, even if it did mean having two people talking in his ear about how he needed to think more about the consequences of his actions and how it might reflect on his sect, and certainly having Jin Zixuan confirming that the other disciples had made it out of the cave and were moving at full speed to try to get help made the days he was waiting with Lan Wangji a lot less stressful, and their ensuing rescue a lot easier.

But sometimes –

This is a terrible idea! You can’t do it!

You don’t get a say! Wei Wuxian snarled. This is my decision.

Fuck you, Jin Zixuan said. A moment later, quieter: Is this because I couldn’t make it to you in time to help?

Wei Wuxian swallowed, feeling his eyes burn. The Wen attack was a surprise to everyone, he said. Even if you were able to convince your father to let you go help with everyone you had, it wouldn’t – you wouldn’t have made it in time to do anything.

After his father had refused, Jin Zixuan had snuck out of Jinlin Tower through what he’d thought was a secret passage and tried to go anyway, only to be caught and dragged back. Wei Wuxian appreciated the effort, even if it didn’t make a difference in the end.

When they were on the run from the Wen sect, after, Jin Zixuan had encouraged Wei Wuxian to head to Lanling, swearing that he wouldn’t allow anyone to turn them over to the Wen sect, but they hadn’t gotten that far.

And now…

It’s my choice, Wei Wuxian said. You don’t get a say.

Fuck you, Jin Zixuan said again, but his voice was softer. Fine. But I’m here for you.

Wei Wuxian smiled, just a little bit, and told to Wen Qing to start.

I’m going to murder my father, Jin Zixuan said, conversationally. And then go to the hell reserved for patricides and be reborn as a chicken right before slaughter.

For shame, Wei Wuxian said. Not even a lamb or a goat?

No, I want to be able to bite someone and mean it, and chickens are better at that than goats.

Wei Wuxian giggled, a little hysterically. It’s fine, he said, looking around the Burial Mounds. It’s fine that he won’t let you come to my rescue immediately. Not like I’m going anywhere.

He’d thought – they’d both thought – that the resonant bond would break or maybe transfer to Jiang Cheng along with Wei Wuxian’s golden core, but it hadn’t.

Wei Wuxian had been depressingly grateful for it, for the by now familiar Lanling cadence of Jin Zixuan in his head. It made the horrible quiet empty of the Burial Mounds a little more tolerable, a little less awful.

Anyway, he said briskly, shaking off his terror at being here alone but for the voice in his head. I have an idea…

I feel like if I knew Chifeng-zun looked like that I would’ve made befriending Nie Huaisang more of a priority when I was younger.

I know, right? Wei Wuxian thought back. Just…wow.

A moment later, he added, a little irritably, I thought you were into my shijie again?

I am! I’m allowed to have eyes, okay?

Not if you’re surnamed Jin you aren’t.

Fuck you.

Nope. And Chifeng-zun isn’t going to, either.

He could feel Jin Zixuan rolling his eyes. I don’t even want him to, I was really just looking. Anyway, how’s Lan Wangji doing?

Lan Zhan? He’s – well, he’s always bothering me about going back to Gusu with him, talking about how my demonic cultivation is dangerous to me, but oh, you should have seen him when he joins us to fight..! You can forgive anything, really, just to watch him move – Wei Wuxian paused. Wait, why are you asking?

No reason.

Jin Zixuan! You tell me this instant -

Jin Zixuan was locking Wei Wuxian out of his head again.

It was a technique they’d worked on developing together – with some assistance from Wei Wuxian’s brilliance and Jin Zixuan’s ability to find and purchase extremely rare reference texts, whether on resonant bonds or just more generally, including when Wei Wuxian had needed some help figuring out some things about demonic cultivation while trapped on the Burial Mounds – as it had become moderately urgent following Jin Zixuan’s first spring dream involving Jiang Yanli, and even more so once he’d decided that he really did want to marry her, actually, if she’d be willing to have him.

There were some things Wei Wuxian did not need to know about his shijie.

Still, it was unusual for him to block him during the day. One might even call it suspicious.

I’m sorry, Jin Zixuan said abruptly. It had to be done, and you weren’t going to do it.

Huh? What are you talking about…?

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng shouted, and Wei Wuxian turned, surprised. His shidi’s eyes were red as if he’d been crying, and he ran up and pulled him into his arms. “Wei Wuxian…!”

“What?” he asked, puzzled. “What’s this about…?”

“How could you?!” Jiang Cheng demanded, weeping into his neck. “You should have told me – you had no right to – to give me – Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Wuxian’s back went stiff. You didn’t!

It was the truth or you getting kicked out of your sect! He needed to know!

Fuck you! It wasn’t your choice to make!

I’m not going to stand by and let you get schemed against, Jin Zixuan said. Certainly not by my own father. I won’t!

I’m going to make you pay for this, Wei Wuxian said darkly, then looked down at Jiang Cheng in his arms. And possibly thank you for it. But I’m definitely going to make you pay!

This may sound weird, Jin Zixuan said. But I think I’m being poisoned.

Based on what I know about Lanling Jin sect and its politics, it’s not weird at all, Wei Wuxian said instinctively, then frowned. Are you serious? It’s not just baby fatigue or something?

That’s what I thought at first, too. But now I’m not so sure. He was silent for a moment. I don’t want to sound like my mother, but…

You think it’s Lianfeng-zun? I’m not saying he doesn’t have the most motive for it, but do you really think..? He seems so nice.

He is, most of the time. Jin Zixuan sighed. Maybe I really am just tired.

Wei Wuxian didn’t think so. He’d had a half-dozen years of listening to the backstabbing, vicious world of Jinlin Tower under his belt by now – had fought bitterly in the war only to fight even more bitterly for something like the right to attend his own shijie’s wedding, something that ought to have been his by right – had nearly suffered an ambush when he tried to attend Jin Ling’s first month party, with Jin Zixun attacking him and Wen Ning going unexpectedly crazy and Jin Zixuan rushing over as fast as he could to make them all stop. If he hadn’t already known about Jin Zixuan not knowing about this, if he hadn’t felt something go wrong and thrown himself in between them without thinking, Jin Zixuan might’ve died there and then on the Qiongqi path.

If Jin Zixuan thought he was being poisoned, he was probably being poisoned.

I’ll come visit you and look into it, Wei Wuxian said. We can pretend that I’m there to visit shijie.

They’d long ago confessed the truth to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, of course. For some reason, neither had looked all that surprised.

With your reputation, even if you figured something out, who’d believe you? Jin Zixuan asked. Ask Hanguang-jun if he’ll come, his reputation will bear up.

Lan Zhan? Sure! I’m always happy to work with him. But you know, he’s been ignoring me recently…I don’t know why…

Tell him about the resonant bond.

What? I thought we were still keeping it a secret.

Tell him. He doesn’t tell anyone anything.

Good point, I guess. You think that’ll help him stop ignoring me?

Yes.

Wei Wuxian generally trusted Jin Zixuan’s reading of people, now that he was mature enough not to let his personal feelings cloud his judgment. All right, I will. Can you tell me why?

You’ll find out when you tell him.

Unhelpful.

Noted and ignored.

Fuck you.

Yeah, you too. See you soon.

Jin Zixuan?

Yeah?

Thank you for my love life, but also, FUCK YOU.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #jin zixuan #my fic #my fics #resonant bond #this one is set in the untamed but only barely #lesbianjinzixuan

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ladyartemesia · 4 years ago

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Yooo your love story straight out seems like an e2l slow burn tumblr fic. Do you have any plans using at as a plot?? I would def read it 👀

I don’t know if I would truly call it enemies-to-lovers because—although I got irritated with him and his behavior and did snap at him from time to time—we were not really enemies. In fact we were barely friends for most of the years we knew each other—

Well.

Ok. So that’s not totally true...

We fought online constantly. From the time we graduated college (where his crush first developed and I routinely forgot his name) the two of us were always fighting on social media—usually about politics—and occasionally about other things but both of us were too smart to ever truly get the better of each other so there was a grudging respect, (his mom said he used to yell at his computer screen about me). We had it OUT several times online even though we rarely—if ever—spoke in person.

My poor sweet boy DID get himself in trouble over me in more ways than one though—even if we’re weren’t close yet...

His college girlfriend set him up to fail asked him who he would date if the two of them weren’t together and he answered immediately—vehemently—

“Viola. I would definitely date Viola if I could.”

🤦🏻‍♀️ (oh...honey...no)

(That would become a huge THING in their relationship. Every time they got into a fight his ex would shout “why don’t you just go date VIOLA then?!”—When he married me he said he felt like a real winner in that particular collection of conflicts. Playing the long game I guess 🤣😂)

Back then I was all about the music/dramatic arts scene and I was dating a string of empty headed pretty boys who bored me nigh unto death because I was young and completely stupid.

In contrast my someday-boo was painfully quiet and shy (though not really with me because he was too busy trying to prove me wrong), but everyone who met him or spoke to him really liked him and respected him.

After college we were were still in the same extended social circle (and—as previously mentioned—fighting online), but I went to grad school and my not-yet-husband decided to chill for awhile and take a job as a landscaper while he figured his life out and... here’s where it gets complicated because...

—that’s where the girls came in. You see... he’s always been a really nice guy... maybe a little too nice 🤦🏻‍♀️

The term fuqboi tends to conjure up impressions of a cocky frat bro who slyly shags his way through a mountain of willing women with disconnected efficiency and a subtext of emotional constipation.

But that would not be the case here.

You see my husband is a listener. He’s an INFP. He, unlike many of his brethren, understands emotions and can really make a woman feel seen. Combine that with his good looks, brilliant mind, and broody nerditude and you have a recipe for women who were ‘just friends’ randomly dropping to their knees (and a lot more) for him.

Never one to stand in the way of a lady’s dreams, pre-me-hubby figured that if they were that determined to (*insert miscellaneous sexy stuff here*) with him then—well—he’d let them.

I mean why not, right? No harm done.

Wrong. 🤬

And here is where our paths truly began to merge (in the real world) for the first time.

As the FOURTH girl (just in my friend group) he graciously allowed (🤦🏻‍♀️) to have her wicked way with him sobbed in my arms, I became determined to put this ridiculous man-child IN his PLACE—this time in the tactile world as well as the virtual one.

...Poor Liz

She realized that he had absolutely no desire whatsoever to be in a relationship with anything other than his WoW account and she was insistent that he had broken her heart.

So I cornered him and we had it out. (Call me meddlesome, but to be fair he was four friends deep at this point.)

The problem was that... the more I talked to him...the more he was not really what I expected... I found myself...oddly...intrigued?

Later it would come out that I was the first girl—ever—that he actually pursued. And I was not even aware of it for like the first three months.

He was pretty slick after all when it came down to it.

That man convinced me to ‘help him’ with women—to make sure he didn’t get himself into another situation where some girl with heart eyes was tearing off his clothes and expecting commitment.

HE ASKED ME TO BE HIS ‘EXCUSE.’

🤦🏻‍♀️(...I know. I’m an idiot.)

“We can hang out. You’ll teach me how to spot if a girl is about to catch feelings and take off my pants. And I will have an excuse when they call as to why we can’t hang out” (—and ...they really were always calling. It was wild.)

....I mean he WAS shy! It SEEMED plausible!

So yeah my dim self agreed to it. (🤦🏻‍♀️)

I considered it a valiant attempt to save the rest of my social circle from the most clueless ‘accidental’ fuqboi on planet earth and maybe even an opportunity to teach him how to be a real human being and what not.

And before you think ‘fake dating’—we weren’t. We were just hanging out as friends. You see when I went to yell at him (and chased him down after he laughed at me and tried to escape) we ended up talking in his car for like four hours. And then that happened like three more times randomly so... I... actually... wanted... to be his friend... 🤷🏻‍♀️

I was still 110% not interested romantically.

Your girl (me) was after some bland banker dude (🤦🏻‍♀️) and so I blissfully fell into friendship with my actual soulmate without a single second thought. And I never worried about either of us catching feelings because I had a crush on someone else and he had heavily implied that I was not his type. (He told me later that I just assumed this and he simply never corrected me 🙄)

I don’t remember falling for him. I never decided to. I never thought about it...

But one day after the whole crew was hanging out at a restaurant (and the waiter kept giving me free drinks which may have pissed my once-and-future man off) the two of us went out to his car to have our customary three hour post-chill chat...

I was teasing him about something—some girl he was still attempting to untangle himself from—and I said—as had become my habit (seriously I said this so many times as a joke)—“It’s too bad I’m not your type—you could just tell her you have a girlfriend.”

(Now. I know what you’re thinking. But I was still firmly on team platonic ok! I was just a flirt. And maybe part of me was starting to feel weird things about him—but those feelings weren’t like anything I recognized so I thought I just needed to cut back on sugar or something.)

(Have I mentioned I’m an idiot?)

ANYWAYS he looked me right in the eye. So serious. And instead of saying “that’s too bad”—LIKE he ALWAYS did—he said—

“You...are my type, Viola... You’re exactly my type.”

To which I responded—“....What? No I’m not. You said I wasn’t.”

“Never said that. You assumed.”

“You LET me!”

—followed by a good ten minutes of me having an existential crisis/yelling at him for allowing me to believe he didn’t find me attractive and lulling me into a false sense of security. He was infuriatingly unapologetic.

At the end of it all he asked me to give him—give us—a chance.

And I agreed to go out on a few dates with him (mostly to prove to myself that there was nothing there).

(🤦🏻‍♀️)

The only thing I ended up proving was that I was wrong about what I wanted and even more wrong about what I needed.

You see...

Those weird feelings turned out to be love.

(🤦🏻‍♀️)

And it was a really special experience to sit in a room full of girls who had cried in my arms over him—girls I had lectured repeatedly on the dangers of his heartless ways— and admit that I was his girlfriend.

🤦🏻‍♀️

Love was—and continues to be—nothing like I expected and frankly I couldn’t be happier.

... to answer your questions

1. I have considered writing a fic based on our story called Broken Road. The title is taken from an old Rascal Flatts song that—as insanely cheesy as it is—really reminds me of us. Don’t know if I will actually write this. Thought about it a lot though.

2. Tags I would use for this story?

#enemies-to-lovers / #idiots-to-lovers / #college au / #outgoing!fem reader(me) x shy nerd!accidental fuqboi / #reader is also a huge nerd actually / #she’s just a loud one / #frenemies-to-lovers / #the love is requited / #they’re just idiots / #pining (his) / denial (mine) / #reader has terrible taste in men / #except for that last one / #she really redeemed herself there at the end

#wow #it was really cool to write all this out actually #my love story #well part of it anyways #it’s still ongoing #via💋viola

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innuendostudios · 3 years ago

Text

Thoughts on: Criterion's Neo-Noir Collection

I have written up all 26 films* in the Criterion Channel's Neo-Noir Collection.

Legend: rw - rewatch; a movie I had seen before going through the collection dnrw - did not rewatch; if a movie met two criteria (a. I had seen it within the last 18 months, b. I actively dislike it) I wrote it up from memory.

* in September, Brick leaves the Criterion Channel and is replaced in the collection with Michael Mann's Thief. May add it to the list when that happens.

Note: These are very "what was on my mind after watching." No effort has been made to avoid spoilers, nor to make the plot clear for anyone who hasn't seen the movies in question. Decide for yourself if that's interesting to you.

Cotton Comes to Harlem I feel utterly unequipped to asses this movie. This and Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song the following year are regularly cited as the progenitors of the blaxploitation genre. (This is arguably unfair, since both were made by Black men and dealt much more substantively with race than the white-directed films that followed them.) Its heroes are a couple of Black cops who are treated with suspicion both by their white colleagues and by the Black community they're meant to police. I'm not 100% clear on whether they're the good guys? I mean, I think they are. But the community's suspicion of them seems, I dunno... well-founded? They are working for The Man. And there's interesting discussion to the had there - is the the problem that the law is carried out by racists, or is the law itself racist? Can Black cops make anything better? But it feels like the film stacks the deck in Gravedigger and Coffin Ed's favor; the local Black church is run by a conman, the Back-to-Africa movement is, itself, a con, and the local Black Power movement is treated as an obstacle. Black cops really are the only force for justice here. Movie portrays Harlem itself as a warm, thriving, cultured community, but the people that make up that community are disloyal and easily fooled. Felt, to me, like the message was "just because they're cops doesn't mean they don't have Black soul," which, nowadays, we would call copaganda. But, then, do I know what I'm talking about? Do I know how much this played into or off of or against stereotypes from 1970? Was this a radical departure I don't have the context to appreciate? Is there substance I'm too white and too many decades removed to pick up on? Am I wildly overthinking this? I dunno. Seems like everyone involved was having a lot of fun, at least. That bit is contagious.

Across 110th Street And here's the other side of the "race film" equation. Another movie set in Harlem with a Black cop pulled between the police, the criminals, and the public, but this time the film is made by white people. I like it both more and less. Pro: this time the difficult position of Black cop who's treated with suspicion by both white cops and Black Harlemites is interrogated. Con: the Black cop has basically no personality other than "honest cop." Pro: the racism of the police force is explicit and systemic, as opposed to comically ineffectual. Con: the movie is shaped around a racist white cop who beats the shit out of Black people but slowly forms a bond with his Black partner. Pro: the Black criminal at the heart of the movie talks openly about how the white world has stacked the deck against him, and he's soulful and relateable. Con: so of course he dies in the end, because the only way privileged people know to sympathetize with minorities is to make them tragic (see also: The Boys in the Band, Philadelphia, and Brokeback Mountain for gay men). Additional con: this time Harlem is portrayed as a hellhole. Barely any of the community is even seen. At least the shot at the end, where the criminal realizes he's going to die and throws the bag of money off a roof and into a playground so the Black kids can pick it up before the cops reclaim it was powerful. But overall... yech. Cotton Comes to Harlem felt like it wasn't for me; this feels like it was 100% for me and I respect it less for that.

The Long Goodbye (rw) The shaggiest dog. Like much Altman, more compelling than good, but very compelling. Raymond Chandler's story is now set in the 1970's, but Philip Marlowe is the same Philip Marlowe of the 1930's. I get the sense there was always something inherently sad about Marlowe. Classic noir always portrayed its detectives as strong-willed men living on the border between the straightlaced world and its seedy underbelly, crossing back and forth freely but belonging to neither. But Chandler stresses the loneliness of it - or, at least, the people who've adapted Chandler do. Marlowe is a decent man in an indecent world, sorting things out, refusing to profit from misery, but unable to set anything truly right. Being a man out of step is here literalized by putting him forty years from the era where he belongs. His hardboiled internal monologue is now the incessant mutterings of the weird guy across the street who never stops smoking. Like I said: compelling! Kael's observation was spot on: everyone in the movie knows more about the mystery than he does, but he's the only one who cares. The mystery is pretty threadbare - Marlowe doesn't detect so much as end up in places and have people explain things to him. But I've seen it two or three times now, and it does linger.

Chinatown (rw) I confess I've always been impressed by Chinatown more than I've liked it. Its story structure is impeccable, its atmosphere is gorgeous, its noirish fatalism is raw and real, its deconstruction of the noir hero is well-observed, and it's full of clever detective tricks (the pocket watches, the tail light, the ruler). I've just never connected with it. Maybe it's a little too perfectly crafted. (I feel similar about Miller's Crossing.) And I've always been ambivalent about the ending. In Towne's original ending, Evelyn shoots Noah Cross dead and get arrested, and neither she nor Jake can tell the truth of why she did it, so she goes to jail for murder and her daughter is in the wind. Polansky proposed the ending that exists now, where Evelyn just dies, Cross wins, and Jake walks away devastated. It communicates the same thing: Jake's attempt to get smart and play all the sides off each other instead of just helping Evelyn escape blows up in his face at the expense of the woman he cares about and any sense of real justice. And it does this more dramatically and efficiently than Towne's original ending. But it also treats Evelyn as narratively disposable, and hands the daughter over to the man who raped Evelyn and murdered her husband. It makes the women suffer more to punch up the ending. But can I honestly say that Towne's ending is the better one? It is thematically equal, dramatically inferior, but would distract me less. Not sure what the calculus comes out to there. Maybe there should be a third option. Anyway! A perfect little contraption. Belongs under a glass dome.

Night Moves (rw) Ah yeah, the good shit. This is my quintessential 70's noir. This is three movies in a row about detectives. Thing is, the classic era wasn't as chockablock with hardboiled detectives as we think; most of those movies starred criminals, cops, and boring dudes seduced to the darkness by a pair of legs. Gumshoes just left the strongest impressions. (The genre is said to begin with Maltese Falcon and end with Touch of Evil, after all.) So when the post-Code 70's decided to pick the genre back up while picking it apart, it makes sense that they went for the 'tecs first. The Long Goodbye dragged the 30's detective into the 70's, and Chinatown went back to the 30's with a 70's sensibility. But Night Moves was about detecting in the Watergate era, and how that changed the archetype. Harry Moseby is the detective so obsessed with finding the truth that he might just ruin his life looking for it, like the straight story will somehow fix everything that's broken, like it'll bring back a murdered teenager and repair his marriage and give him a reason to forgive the woman who fucked him just to distract him from some smuggling. When he's got time to kill, he takes out a little, magnetic chess set and recreates a famous old game, where three knight moves (get it?) would have led to a beautiful checkmate had the player just seen it. He keeps going, self-destructing, because he can't stand the idea that the perfect move is there if he can just find it. And, no matter how much we see it destroy him, we, the audience, want him to keep going; we expect a satisfying resolution to the mystery. That's what we need from a detective picture; one character flat-out compares Harry to Sam Spade. But what if the truth is just... Watergate? Just some prick ruining things for selfish reasons? Nothing grand, nothing satisfying. Nothing could be more noir, or more neo-, than that.

Farewell, My Lovely Sometimes the only thing that makes a noir neo- is that it's in color and all the blood, tits, and racism from the books they're based on get put back in. This second stab at Chandler is competant but not much more than that. Mitchum works as Philip Marlowe, but Chandler's dialogue feels off here, like lines that worked on the page don't work aloud, even though they did when Bogie said them. I'll chalk it up to workmanlike but uninspired direction. (Dang this looks bland so soon after Chinatown.) Moose Malloy is a great character, and perfectly cast. (Wasn't sure at first, but it's true.) Some other interesting cats show up and vanish - the tough brothel madam based on Brenda Allen comes to mind, though she's treated with oddly more disdain than most of the other hoods and is dispatched quicker. In general, the more overt racism and misogyny doesn't seem to do anything except make the movie "edgier" than earlier attempts at the same material, and it reads kinda try-hard. But it mostly holds together. *shrug*

The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (dnrw) Didn't care for this at all. Can't tell if the script was treated as a jumping-off point or if the dialogue is 100% improvised, but it just drags on forever and is never that interesting. Keeps treating us to scenes from the strip club like they're the opera scenes in Amadeus, and, whatever, I don't expect burlesque to be Mozart, but Cosmo keeps saying they're an artful, classy joint, and I keep waiting for the show to be more than cheap, lazy camp. How do you make gratuitious nudity boring? Mind you, none of this is bad as a rule - I love digressions and can enjoy good sleaze, and it's clear the filmmakers care about what they're making. They just did not sell it in a way I wanted to buy. Can't remember what edit I watched; I hope it was the 135 minute one, because I cannot imagine there being a longer edit out there.

The American Friend (dnrw) It's weird that this is Patricia Highsmith, right? That Dennis Hopper is playing Tom Ripley? In a cowboy hat? I gather that Minghella's version wasn't true to the source, but I do love that movie, and this is a long, long way from that. This Mr. Ripley isn't even particularly talented! Anyway, this has one really great sequence, where a regular guy has been coerced by crooks into murdering someone on a train platform, and, when the moment comes to shoot, he doesn't. And what follows is a prolonged sequence of an amateur trying to surreptitiously tail a guy across a train station and onto another train, and all the while you're not sure... is he going to do it? is he going to chicken out? is he going to do it so badly he gets caught? It's hard not to put yourself in the protagonist's shoes, wondering how you would handle the situation, whether you could do it, whether you could act on impulse before your conscience could catch up with you. It drags on a long while and this time it's a good thing. Didn't much like the rest of the movie, it's shapeless and often kind of corny, and the central plot hook is contrived. (It's also very weird that this is the only Wim Wenders I've seen.) But, hey, I got one excellent sequence, not gonna complain.

The Big Sleep Unlike the 1946 film, I can follow the plot of this Big Sleep. But, also unlike the 1946 version, this one isn't any damn fun. Mitchum is back as Marlowe (this is three Marlowes in five years, btw), and this time it's set in the 70's and in England, for some reason. I don't find this offensive, but neither do I see what it accomplishes? Most of the cast is still American. (Hi Jimmy!) Still holds together, but even less well than Farewell, My Lovely. But I do find it interesting that the neo-noir era keeps returning to Chandler while it's pretty much left Hammet behind (inasmuch as someone whose genes are spread wide through the whole genre can be left behind). Spade and the Continental Op, straightshooting tough guys who come out on top in the end, seem antiquated in the (post-)modern era. But Marlowe's goodness being out of sync with the world around him only seems more poignant the further you take him from his own time. Nowadays you can really only do Hammett as pastiche, but I sense that you could still play Chandler straight.

Eyes of Laura Mars The most De Palma movie I've seen not made by De Palma, complete with POV shots, paranormal hoodoo, and fixation with sex, death, and whether images of such are art or exploitation (or both). Laura Mars takes photographs of naked women in violent tableux, and has gotten quite famous doing so, but is it damaging to women? The movie has more than a superficial engagement with this topic, but only slightly more than superficial. Kept imagining a movie that is about 30% less serial killer story and 30% more art conversations. (But, then, I have an art degree and have never murdered anyone, so.) Like, museums are full of Biblical paintings full of nude women and slaughter, sometimes both at once, and they're called masterpieces. Most all of them were painted by men on commission from other men. Now Laura Mars makes similar images in modern trappings, and has models made of flesh and blood rather than paint, and it's scandalous? Why is it only controversial once women are getting paid for it? On the other hand, is this just the master's tools? Is she subverting or challenging the male gaze, or just profiting off of it? Or is a woman profiting off of it, itself, a subversion? Is it subversive enough to account for how it commodifies female bodies? These questions are pretty clearly relevant to the movie itself, and the movies in general, especially after the fall of the Hays Code when people were really unrestrained with the blood and boobies. And, heck, the lead is played by the star of Bonnie and Clyde! All this is to say: I wish the movie were as interested in these questions as I am. What's there is a mildly diverting B-picture. There's one great bit where Laura's seeing through the killer's eyes (that's the hook, she gets visions from the murderer's POV; no, this is never explained) and he's RIGHT BEHIND HER, so there's a chase where she charges across an empty room only able to see her own fleeing self from ten feet behind. That was pretty great! And her first kiss with the detective (because you could see a mile away that the detective and the woman he's supposed to protect are gonna fall in love) is immediately followed by the two freaking out about how nonsensical it is for them to fall in love with each other, because she's literally mourning multiple deaths and he's being wildly unprofessional, and then they go back to making out. That bit was great, too. The rest... enh.

The Onion Field What starts off as a seemingly not-that-noirish cops-vs-crooks procedural turns into an agonizingly protracted look at the legal system, with the ultimate argument that the very idea of the law ever resulting in justice is a lie. Hoo! I have to say, I'm impressed. There's a scene where a lawyer - whom I'm not sure is even named, he's like the seventh of thirteen we've met - literally quits the law over how long this court case about two guys shooting a cop has taken. He says the cop who was murdered has been forgotten, his partner has never gotten to move on because the case has lasted eight years, nothing has been accomplished, and they should let the two criminals walk and jail all the judges and lawyers instead. It's awesome! The script is loaded with digressions and unnecessary details, just the way I like it. Can't say I'm impressed with the execution. Nothing is wrong, exactly, but the performances all seem a tad melodramatic or a tad uninspired. Camerawork is, again, purely functional. It's no masterpiece. But that second half worked for me. (And it's Ted Danson's first movie! He did great.)

Body Heat (rw) Let's say up front that this is a handsomely-made movie. Probably the best looking thing on the list since Night Moves. Nothing I've seen better captures the swelter of an East Coast heatwave, or the lusty feeling of being too hot to bang and going at it regardless. Kathleen Turner sells the hell out of a femme fatale. There are a lot of good lines and good performances (Ted Danson is back and having the time of his life). I want to get all that out of the way, because this is a movie heavily modeled after Double Indemnity, and I wanted to discuss its merits before I get into why inviting that comparison doesn't help the movie out. In a lot of ways, it's the same rules as the Robert Mitchum Marlowe movies - do Double Indemnity but amp up the sex and violence. And, to a degree it works. (At least, the sex does, dunno that Double Indemnity was crying out for explosions.) But the plot is amped as well, and gets downright silly. Yeah, Mrs. Dietrichson seduces Walter Neff so he'll off her husband, but Neff clocks that pretty early and goes along with it anyway. Everything beyond that is two people keeping too big a secret and slowly turning on each other. But here? For the twists to work Matty has to be, from frame one, playing four-dimensional chess on the order of Senator Palpatine, and its about as plausible. (Exactly how did she know, after she rebuffed Ned, he would figure out her local bar and go looking for her at the exact hour she was there?) It's already kind of weird to be using the spider woman trope in 1981, but to make her MORE sexually conniving and mercenary than she was in the 40's is... not great. As lurid trash, it's pretty fun for a while, but some noir stuff can't just be updated, it needs to be subverted or it doesn't justify its existence.

Blow Out Brian De Palma has two categories of movie: he's got his mainstream, director-for-hire fare, where his voice is either reigned in or indulged in isolated sequences that don't always jive with the rest fo the film, and then there's his Brian De Palma movies. My mistake, it seems, is having seen several for-hires from throughout his career - The Untouchables (fine enough), Carlito's Way (ditto, but less), Mission: Impossible (enh) - but had only seen De Palma-ass movies from his late period (Femme Fatale and The Black Dahlia, both of which I think are garbage). All this to say: Blow Out was my first classic-era De Palma, and holy fucking shit dudes. This was (with caveats) my absolute and entire jam. I said I could enjoy good sleaze, and this is good friggin' sleaze. (Though far short of De Palma at his sleaziest, mercifully.) The splitscreens, the diopter shots, the canted angles, how does he make so many shlocky things work?! John Travolta's sound tech goes out to get fresh wind fx for the movie he's working on, and we get this wonderful sequence of visuals following sounds as he turns his attention and his microphone to various noises - a couple on a walk, a frog, an owl, a buzzing street lamp. Later, as he listens back to the footage, the same sequence plays again, but this time from his POV; we're seeing his memory as guided by the same sequence of sounds, now recreated with different shots, as he moves his pencil in the air mimicking the microphone. When he mixes and edits sounds, we hear the literal soundtrack of the movie we are watching get mixed and edited by the person on screen. And as he tries to unravel a murder mystery, he uses what's at hand: magnetic tape, flatbed editors, an animation camera to turn still photos from the crime scene into a film and sync it with the audio he recorded; it's forensics using only the tools of the editing room. As someone who's spent some time in college editing rooms, this is a hoot and a half. Loses a bit of steam as it goes on and the film nerd stuff gives way to a more traditional thriller, but rallies for a sound-tech-centered final setpiece, which steadily builds to such madcap heights you can feel the air thinning, before oddly cutting its own tension and then trying to build it back up again. It doesn't work as well the second time. But then, that shot right after the climax? Damn. Conflicted on how the movie treats the female lead. I get why feminist film theorists are so divided on De Palma. His stuff is full of things feminists (rightly) criticize, full of women getting naked when they're not getting stabbed, but he also clearly finds women fascinating and has them do empowered and unexpected things, and there are many feminist reads of his movies. Call it a mixed bag. But even when he's doing tropey shit, he explores the tropes in unexpected ways. Definitely the best movie so far that I hadn't already seen.

Cutter's Way (rw) Alex Cutter is pitched to us as an obnoxious-but-sympathetic son of a bitch, and, you know, two out of three ain't bad. Watched this during my 2020 neo-noir kick and considered skipping it this time because I really didn't enjoy it. Found it a little more compelling this go around, while being reminded of why my feelings were room temp before. Thematically, I'm onboard: it's about a guy, Cutter, getting it in his head that he's found a murderer and needs to bring him to justice, and his friend, Bone, who intermittently helps him because he feels bad that Cutter lost his arm, leg, and eye in Nam and he also feels guilty for being in love with Cutter's wife. The question of whether the guy they're trying to bring down actually did it is intentionally undefined, and arguably unimportant; they've got personal reasons to see this through. Postmodern and noirish, fixated with the inability to ever fully know the truth of anything, but starring people so broken by society that they're desperate for certainty. (Pretty obvious parallels to Vietnam.) Cutter's a drunk and kind of an asshole, but understandably so. Bone's shiftlessness is the other response to a lack of meaning in the world, to the point where making a decision, any decision, feels like character growth, even if it's maybe killing a guy whose guilt is entirely theoretical. So, yeah, I'm down with all of this! A- in outline form. It's just that Cutter is so uninterestingly unpleasant and no one else on screen is compelling enough to make up for it. His drunken windups are tedious and his sanctimonious speeches about what the war was like are, well, true and accurate but also obviously manipulative. It's two hours with two miserable people, and I think Cutter's constant chatter is supposed to be the comic relief but it's a little too accurate to drunken rambling, which isn't funny if you're not also drunk. He's just tedious, irritating, and periodically racist. Pass.

Blood Simple (rw) I'm pretty cool on the Coens - there are things I've liked, even loved, in every Coen film I've seen, but I always come away dissatisfied. For a while, I kept going to their movies because I was sure eventually I'd love one without qualification. No Country for Old Men came close, the first two acts being master classes in sustained tension. But then the third act is all about denying closure: the protagonist is murdered offscreen, the villain's motives are never explained, and it ends with an existentialist speech about the unfathomable cruelty of the world. And it just doesn't land for me. The archness of the Coen's dialogue, the fussiness of their set design, the kinda-intimate, kinda-awkward, kinda-funny closeness of the camera's singles, it cannot sell me on a devastating meditation about meaninglessness. It's only ever sold me on the Coens' own cleverness. And that archness, that distancing, has typified every one of their movies I've come close to loving. Which is a long-ass preamble to saying, holy heck, I was not prepared for their very first movie to be the one I'd been looking for! I watched it last year and it remains true on rewatch: Blood Simple works like gangbusters. It's kind of Double Indemnity (again) but played as a comedy of errors, minus the comedy: two people romantically involved feeling their trust unravel after a murder. And I think the first thing that works for me is that utter lack of comedy. It's loaded with the Coens' trademark ironies - mostly dramatic in this case - but it's all played straight. Unlike the usual lead/femme fatale relationship, where distrust brews as the movie goes on, the audience knows the two main characters can trust each other. There are no secret duplicitous motives waiting to be revealed. The audience also know why they don't trust each other. (And it's all communicated wordlessly, btw: a character enters a scene and we know, based on the information that character has, how it looks to them and what suspicions it would arouse, even as we know the truth of it). The second thing that works is, weirdly, that the characters aren't very interesting?! Ray and Abby have almost no characterization. Outside of a general likability, they are blank slates. This is a weakness in most films, but, given the agonizingly long, wordless sequences where they dispose of bodies or hide from gunfire, you're left thinking not "what will Ray/Abby do in this scenario," because Ray and Abby are relatively elemental and undefined, but "what would I do in this scenario?" Which creates an exquisite tension but also, weirdly, creates more empathy than I feel for the Coens' usual cast of personalities. It's supposed to work the other way around! Truly enjoyable throughout but absolutely wonderful in the suspenseful-as-hell climax. Good shit right here.

Body Double The thing about erotic thrillers is everything that matters is in the name. Is it thrilling? Is it erotic? Good; all else is secondary. De Palma set out to make the most lurid, voyeuristic, horny, violent, shocking, steamy movie he could come up with, and its success was not strictly dependent on the lead's acting ability or the verisimilitude of the plot. But what are we, the modern audience, to make of it once 37 years have passed and, by today's standards, the eroticism is quite tame and the twists are no longer shocking? Then we're left with a nonsensical riff on Vertigo, a specularization of women that is very hard to justify, and lead actor made of pulped wood. De Palma's obsessions don't cohere into anything more this time; the bits stolen from Hitchcock aren't repurposed to new ends, it really is just Hitch with more tits and less brains. (I mean, I still haven't seen Vertigo, but I feel 100% confident in that statement.) The diopter shots and rear-projections this time look cheap (literally so, apparently; this had 1/3 the budget of Blow Out). There are some mildly interesting setpieces, but nothing compared to Travolta's auditory reconstructions or car chase where he tries to tail a subway train from street level even if it means driving through a frickin parade like an inverted French Connection, goddamn Blow Out was a good movie! Anyway. Melanie Griffith seems to be having fun, at least. I guess I had a little as well, but it was, at best, diverting, and a real letdown.

The Hit Surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. Terrance Stamp flips on the mob and spends ten years living a life of ease in Spain, waiting for the day they find and kill him. Movie kicks off when they do find him, and what follows is a ramshackle road movie as John Hurt and a young Tim Roth attempt to drive him to Paris so they can shoot him in front of his old boss. Stamp is magnetic. He's spent a decade reading philosophy and seems utterly prepared for death, so he spends the trip humming, philosophizing, and being friendly with his captors when he's not winding them up. It remains unclear to the end whether the discord he sews between Roth and Hurt is part of some larger plan of escape or just for shits and giggles. There's also a decent amount of plot for a movie that's not terribly plot-driven - just about every part of the kidnapping has tiny hitches the kidnappers aren't prepared for, and each has film-long repercussions, drawing the cops closer and somehow sticking Laura del Sol in their backseat. The ongoing questions are when Stamp will die, whether del Sol will die, and whether Roth will be able to pull the trigger. In the end, it's actually a meditation on ethics and mortality, but in a quiet and often funny way. It's not going to go down as one of my new favs, but it was a nice way to spend a couple hours.

Trouble in Mind (dnrw) I fucking hated this movie. It's been many months since I watched it, do I remember what I hated most? Was it the bit where a couple of country bumpkins who've come to the city walk into a diner and Mr. Bumpkin clocks that the one Black guy in the back as obviously a criminal despite never having seen him before? Was it the part where Kris Kristofferson won't stop hounding Mrs. Bumpkin no matter how many times she demands to be left alone, and it's played as romantic because obviously he knows what she needs better than she does? Or is it the part where Mr. Bumpkin reluctantly takes a job from the Obvious Criminal (who is, in fact, a criminal, and the only named Black character in the movie if I remember correctly, draw your own conclusions) and, within a week, has become a full-blown hood, which is exemplified by a lot, like, a lot of queer-coding? The answer to all three questions is yes. It's also fucking boring. Even out-of-drag Divine's performance as the villain can't save it.

Manhunter 'sfine? I've still never seen Silence of the Lambs, nor any of the Hopkins Lecter movies, nor, indeed, any full episode of the show. So the unheimlich others get seeing Brian Cox play Hannibal didn't come into play. Cox does a good job with him, but he's barely there. Shame, cuz he's the most interesting part of the movie. Honestly, there's a lot of interesting stuff that's barely there. Will Graham being a guy who gets into the heads of serial killers is explored well enough, and Mann knows how to direct a police procedural such that it's both contemplative and propulsive. But all the other themes it points at? Will's fear that he understands murderers a little too well? Hannibal trying to nudge him towards becoming one? Whatever dance Hannibal and Tooth Fairy are doing? What Tooth Fairy's deal is, anyway? (Why does he wear fake teeth and bite things? Why is he fixated on the red dragon? Does the bit where he says "Francis is gone forever" mean he has DID?) None of it goes anywhere or amounts to anything. I mean, it's certainly more interesting with this stuff than without, but it has that feel of a book that's been pared of its interesting bits to fit the runtime (or, alternately, pulp that's been sloppily elevated). I still haven't made my mind up on Mann's cold, precise camera work, but at least it gives me something to look at. It's fine! This is fine.

Mona Lisa (rw) Gave this one another shot. Bob Hoskins is wonderful as a hood out of his depth in classy places, quick to anger but just as quick to let anger go (the opening sequence where he's screaming on his ex-wife's doorstep, hurling trash cans at her house, and one minute later thrilled to see his old car, is pretty nice). And Cathy Tyson's working girl is a subtler kind of fascinating, exuding a mixture of coldness and kindness. It's just... this is ultimately a story about how heartbreaking it is when the girl you like is gay, right? It's Weezer's Pink Triangle: The Movie. It's not homophobic, exactly - Simone isn't demonized for being a lesbian - but it's still, like, "man, this straight white guy's pain is so much more interesting than the Black queer sex worker's." And when he's yelling "you woulda done it!" at the end, I can't tell if we're supposed to agree with him. Seems pretty clear that she wouldn'ta done it, at least not without there being some reveal about her character that doesn't happen, but I don't think the ending works if we don't agree with him, so... I'm like 70% sure the movie does Simone dirty there. For the first half, their growing relationship feels genuine and natural, and, honestly, the story being about a real bond that unfortunately means different things to each party could work if it didn't end with a gun and a sock in the jaw. Shape feels jagged as well; what feels like the end of the second act or so turns out to be the climax. And some of the symbolism is... well, ok, Simone gives George money to buy more appropriate clothes for hanging out in high end hotels, and he gets a tan leather jacket and a Hawaiian shirt, and their first proper bonding moment is when she takes him out for actual clothes. For the rest of the movie he is rocking double-breasted suits (not sure I agree with the striped tie, but it was the eighties, whaddya gonna do?). Then, in the second half, she sends him off looking for her old streetwalker friend, and now he looks completely out of place in the strip clubs and bordellos. So far so good. But then they have this run-in where her old pimp pulls a knife and cuts George's arm, so, with his nice shirt torn and it not safe going home (I guess?) he starts wearing the Hawaiian shirt again. So around the time he's starting to realize he doesn't really belong in Simone's world or the lowlife world he came from anymore, he's running around with the classy double-breasted suit jacket over the garish Hawaiian shirt, and, yeah, bit on the nose guys. Anyway, it has good bits, I just feel like a movie that asks me to feel for the guy punching a gay, Black woman in the face needs to work harder to earn it. Bit of wasted talent.

The Bedroom Window Starts well. Man starts an affair with his boss' wife, their first night together she witnesses an attempted murder from his window, she worries going to the police will reveal the affair to her husband, so the man reports her testimony to the cops claiming he's the one who saw it. Young Isabelle Huppert is the perfect woman for a guy to risk his career on a crush over, and Young Steve Guttenberg is the perfect balance of affability and amorality. And it flows great - picks just the right media to res. So then he's talking to the cops, telling them what she told him, and they ask questions he forgot to ask her - was the perp's jacket a blazer or a windbreaker? - and he has to guess. Then he gets called into the police lineup, and one guy matches her description really well, but is it just because he's wearing his red hair the way she described it? He can't be sure, doesn't finger any of them. He finds out the cops were pretty certain about one of the guys, so he follows the one he thinks it was around, looking for more evidence, and another girl is attacked right outside a bar he knows the redhead was at. Now he's certain! But he shows the boss' wife the guy and she's not certain, and she reminds him they don't even know if the guy he followed is the same guy the police suspected! And as he feeds more evidence to the cops, he has to lie more, because he can't exactly say he was tailing the guy around the city. So, I'm all in now. Maybe it's because I'd so recently rewatched Night Moves and Cutter's Way, but this seems like another story about uncertainty. He's really certain about the guy because it fits narratively, and we, the audience, feel the same. But he's not actually a witness, he doesn't have actual evidence, he's fitting bits and pieces together like a conspiracy theorist. He's fixating on what he wants to be true. Sign me up! But then it turns out he's 100% correct about who the killer is but his lies are found out and now the cops think he's the killer and I realize, oh, no, this movie isn't nearly as smart as I thought it was. Egg on my face! What transpires for the remaining half of the runtime is goofy as hell, and someone with shlockier sensibilities could have made a meal of it, but Hanson, despite being a Corman protege, takes this silliness seriously in the all wrong ways. Next!

Homicide (rw? I think I saw most of this on TV one time) Homicide centers around the conflicted loyalties of a Jewish cop. It opens with the Jewish cop and his white gentile partner taking over a case with a Black perp from some Black FBI agents. The media is making a big thing about the racial implications of the mostly white cops chasing down a Black man in a Black neighborhood. And inside of 15 minutes the FBI agent is calling the lead a k*ke and the gentile cop is calling the FBI agent a f****t and there's all kinds of invective for Black people. The film is announcing its intentions out the gate: this movie is about race. But the issue here is David Mamet doesn't care about race as anything other than a dramatic device. He's the Ubisoft of filmmakers, having no coherent perspective on social issues but expecting accolades for even bringing them up. Mamet is Jewish (though lead actor Joe Mantegna definitely is not) but what is his position on the Jewish diaspora? The whole deal is Mantegna gets stuck with a petty homicide case instead of the big one they just pinched from the Feds, where a Jewish candy shop owner gets shot in what looks like a stickup. Her family tries to appeal to his Jewishness to get him to take the case seriously, and, after giving them the brush-off for a long time, finally starts following through out of guilt, finding bits and pieces of what may or may not be a conspiracy, with Zionist gun runners and underground neo-Nazis. But, again: all of these are just dramatic devices. Mantegna's Jewishness (those words will never not sound ridiculous together) has always been a liability for him as a cop (we are told, not shown), and taking the case seriously is a reclamation of identity. The Jews he finds community with sold tommyguns to revolutionaries during the founding of Israel. These Jews end up blackmailing him to get a document from the evidence room. So: what is the film's position on placing stock in one's Jewish identity? What is its position on Israel? What is its opinion on Palestine? Because all three come up! And the answer is: Mamet doesn't care. You can read it a lot of different ways. Someone with more context and more patience than me could probably deduce what the de facto message is, the way Chris Franklin deduced the de facto message of Far Cry V despite the game's efforts not to have one, but I'm not going to. Mantegna's attempt to reconnect with his Jewishness gets his partner killed, gets the guy he was supposed to bring in alive shot dead, gets him possibly permanent injuries, gets him on camera blowing up a store that's a front for white nationalists, and all for nothing because the "clues" he found (pretty much exclusively by coincidence) were unconnected nothings. The problem is either his Jewishness, or his lifelong failure to connect with his Jewishness until late in life. Mamet doesn't give a shit. (Like, Mamet canonically doesn't give a shit: he is on record saying social context is meaningless, characters only exist to serve the plot, and there are no deeper meanings in fiction.) Mamet's ping-pong dialogue is fun, as always, and there are some neat ideas and characters, but it's all in service of a big nothing that needed to be a something to work.

Swoon So much I could talk about, let's keep it to the most interesting bits. Hommes Fatales: a thing about classic noir that it was fascinated by the marginal but had to keep it in the margins. Liberated women, queer-coded killers, Black jazz players, broke thieves; they were the main event, they were what audiences wanted to see, they were what made the movies fun. But the ending always had to reassert straightlaced straight, white, middle-class male society as unshakeable. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy demanded, both ideologically and via the Hays Code, that anyone outside these norms be punished, reformed, or dead by the movie's end. The only way to make them the heroes was to play their deaths for tragedy. It is unsurprising that neo-noir would take the queer-coded villains and make them the protagonists. Implicature: This is the story of Leopold and Loeb, murderers famous for being queer, and what's interesting is how the queerness in the first half exists entirely outside of language. Like, it's kind of amazing for a movie from 1992 to be this gay - we watch Nathan and Dickie kiss, undress, masturbate, fuck; hell, they wear wedding rings when they're alone together. But it's never verbalized. Sex is referred to as "your reward" or "what you wanted" or "best time." Dickie says he's going to have "the girls over," and it turns out "the girls" are a bunch of drag queens, but this is never acknowledged. Nathan at one point lists off a bunch of famous men - Oscar Wild, E.M. Forster, Frederick the Great - but, though the commonality between them is obvious (they were all gay), it's left the the audience to recognize it. When their queerness is finally verbalized in the second half, it's first in the language of pathology - a psychiatrist describing their "perversions" and "misuse" of their "organs" before the court, which has to be cleared of women because it's so inappropriate - and then with slurs from the man who murders Dickie in jail (a murder which is written off with no investigation because the victim is a gay prisoner instead of a L&L's victim, a child of a wealthy family). I don't know if I'd have noticed this if I hadn't read Chip Delany describing his experience as a gay man in the 50's existing almost entirely outside of language, the only language at the time being that of heteronormativity. Murder as Love Story: L&L exchange sex as payment for the other commiting crimes; it's foreplay. Their statements to the police where they disagree over who's to blame is a lover's quarrel. Their sentencing is a marriage. Nathan performs his own funeral rites over Dickie's body after he dies on the operating table. They are, in their way, together til death did they part. This is the relationship they can have. That it does all this without romanticizing the murder itself or valorizing L&L as humans is frankly incredible.

Suture (rw) The pitch: at the funeral for his father, wealthy Vincent Towers meets his long lost half brother Clay Arlington. It is implied Clay is a child from out of wedlock, possibly an affair; no one knows Vincent has a half-brother but him and Clay. Vincent invites Clay out to his fancy-ass home in Arizona. Thing is, Vincent is suspected (correctly) by the police of having murdered his father, and, due to a striking family resemblence, he's brought Clay to his home to fake his own death. He finagles Clay into wearing his clothes and driving his car, and then blows the car up and flees the state, leaving the cops to think him dead. Thing is, Clay survives, but with amnesia. The doctors tell him he's Vincent, and he has no reason to disagree. Any discrepancy in the way he looks is dismissed as the result of reconstructive surgery after the explosion. So Clay Arlington resumes Vincent Towers' life, without knowing Clay Arlington even exists. The twist: Clay and Vincent are both white, but Vincent is played by Michael Harris, a white actor, and Clay is played by Dennis Haysbert, a Black actor. "Ian, if there's just the two of them, how do you know it's not Harris playing a Black character?" Glad you asked! It is most explicitly obvious during a scene where Vincent/Clay's surgeon-cum-girlfriend essentially bringing up phrenology to explain how Vincent/Clay couldn't possibly have murdered his father, describing straight hair, thin lips, and a Greco-Roman nose Haysbert very clearly doesn't have. But, let's be honest: we knew well beforehand that the rich-as-fuck asshole living in a huge, modern house and living it up in Arizona high society was white. Though Clay is, canonically, white, he lives an poor and underprivileged life common to Black men in America. Though the film's title officially refers to the many stitches holding Vincent/Clay's face together after the accident, "suture" is a film theory term, referring to the way a film audience gets wrapped up - sutured - in the world of the movie, choosing to forget the outside world and pretend the story is real. The usage is ironic, because the audience cannot be sutured in; we cannot, and are not expected to, suspend our disbelief that Clay is white. We are deliberately distanced. Consequently this is a movie to be thought about, not to to be felt. It has the shape of a Hitchcockian thriller but it can't evoke the emotions of one. You can see the scaffolding - "ah, yes, this is the part of a thriller where one man hides while another stalks him with a gun, clever." I feel ill-suited to comment on what the filmmakers are saying about race. I could venture a guess about the ending, where the psychiatrist, the only one who knows the truth about Clay, says he can never truly be happy living the lie of being Vincent Towers, while we see photographs of Clay/Vincent seemingly living an extremely happy life: society says white men simply belong at the top more than Black men do, but, if the roles could be reversed, the latter would slot in seamlessly. Maybe??? Of all the movies in this collection, this is the one I'd most want to read an essay on (followed by Swoon).

The Last Seduction (dnrw) No, no, no, I am not rewataching this piece of shit movie.

Brick (rw) Here's my weird contention: Brick is in color and in widescreen, but, besides that? There's nothing neo- about this noir. There's no swearing except "hell." (I always thought Tug said "goddamn" at one point but, no, he's calling The Pin "gothed-up.") There's a lot of discussion of sex, but always through implication, and the only deleted scene is the one that removed ambiguity about what Brendan and Laura get up to after kissing. There's nothing postmodern or subversive - yes, the hook is it's set in high school, but the big twist is that it takes this very seriously. It mines it for jokes, yes, but the drama is authentic. In fact, making the gumshoe a high school student, his jadedness an obvious front, still too young to be as hard as he tries to be, just makes the drama hit harder. Sam Spade if Sam Spade were allowed to cry. I've always found it an interesting counterpoint to The Good German, a movie that fastidiously mimics the aesthetics of classic noir - down to even using period-appropriate sound recording - but is wholly neo- in construction. Brick could get approved by the Hays Code. Its vibe, its plot about a detective playing a bunch of criminals against each other, even its slang ("bulls," "yegg," "flopped") are all taken directly from Hammett. It's not even stealing from noir, it's stealing from what noir stole from! It's a perfect curtain call for the collection: the final film is both the most contemporary and the most classic. It's also - but for the strong case you could make for Night Moves - the best movie on the list. It's even more appropriate for me, personally: this was where it all started for me and noir. I saw this in theaters when it came out and loved it. It was probably my favorite movie for some time. It gave me a taste for pulpy crime movies which I only, years later, realized were neo-noir. This is why I looked into Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and In Bruges. I've seen it more times than any film on this list, by a factor of at least 3. It's why I will always adore Rian Johnson and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It's the best-looking half-million-dollar movie I've ever seen. (Indie filmmakers, take fucking notes.) I even did a script analysis of this, and, yes, it follows the formula, but so tightly and with so much style. Did you notice that he says several of the sequence tensions out loud? ("I just want to find her." "Show of hands.") I notice new things each time I see it - this time it was how "brushing Brendan's hair out of his face" is Em's move, making him look more like he does in the flashback, and how Laura does the same to him as she's seducing him, in the moment when he misses Em the hardest. It isn't perfect. It's recreated noir so faithfully that the Innocent Girl dies, the Femme Fatale uses intimacy as a weapon, and none of the women ever appear in a scene together. 1940's gender politics maybe don't need to be revisited. They say be critical of the media you love, and it applies here most of all: it is a real criticism of something I love immensely.

#film noir #neo-noir #criterion channel

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