#but my biggest hope would definitely want to see the cover book for ghost pirate treasure because I want to see billy squeakspeare again

[blogaliesa]

Just discovered this and omg I really love the new cover update for the Creepella Von Cacklefur book series.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Desperate Gal Pals of White Crest || Morgan & Cece

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Cece hit a roadblock with their research on an exorcism, so they take a field trip.

CONTAINS: drug manipulation tw (magic poisoning), gun (not fired), 

“I know I literally can’t get tired, but if I see one more book handwave harm exorcisms away with ‘wooo dark magic’ and ‘oooh dangerous! Sacrifice!’ I am going keel over with exhaustion. You’ll have to call Regan for my autopsy and explain to my girlfriend that boredom and no helpful answers is the new hip cause of death.” Morgan flopped down the side of the couch, her head dangling over the edge. “Tell me you’ve got something to banish Puritain Carrie,” she groaned. “I need a win. Literally...any kind of win. A can of seltzer of a win.”

Cece was lying on her back on the ground, book in hand and avoiding reading it by listening to Morgan’s melodramatic self-eulogy. She at least knew how to spice up a story and make it more interesting. She made dying of boredom sound marginally interesting. The irony was not lost on Cece. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on me for the record. How am I supposed to talk at your funeral and make your death sound badass that way?” Cece eventually gave in, shutting the book and tossing it away from her in her own dramatic show of exacerbation. “Nothing. These books have lots about magic and yet a surprisingly lacking amount of ghosts. My coven really should have expanded their horizons a bit.” Cece stated, mostly to herself. She rolled over onto her stomach, finding Morgan’s eyes again and pushing herself up, ���We need some new source material. There’s got to be somewhere around town with some decent exorcism knowledge, right?”

“You’ll have to make something up much cooler,” Morgan sighed. “Just don’t promise any of my fae friends to tell the truth about me and you’ll be good.” She looked over at the pile of books around them, new purchases on the diamond card Deirdre had gotten for her, and pulls from the Scribrary. She felt guilty about those the most, sneaking in and using Rio’s resources for something he was bound to hate. “We have to be looking in the wrong place. The wrong key-words, or the wrong sections in the library. You would think ‘most brutal harm exorcism’ would be a short dig, but…” She puffed air through her lips. “Apparently the powers that be think discretion is super ‘in.’ Tell me what you found. Let’s go over it again.”

“No worries there. I don’t like making promises to humans.” Cece laughed, thinking of any ideas she could to spice up Morgan’s imagined death and make it a bit more grandeur. She wondered how she could fit fireworks into the story. Maybe one of the daredevil car jumps through a flaming circle. No, this was all way too distracting when she was supposed to be focusing. She shook the thought away and reached for the notepad that she had used to take any notes that she found vaguely helpful. Emphasis on vague. “Nothing too useful. I found some old history on this former Scribe that studied exorcisms. John something. Sounded like a real bore. I got an autobiography by this Amanda Wallace chick who wrote about her haunted house and how she got rid of it. Not exactly sure how factual that one actually is. Basically, I have nothing but crap. You sure we can’t just call the ghostbusters in for this one?”

Morgan’s brow furrowed at the name Wallace. “Is that name from a comic book movie? It sounds familiar…” She turned herself right side up and crawled to Cece to read over her shoulder. She moved so fast, her focus was groggy, but the illustration on the page she was looking at definitely seemed familiar. “No, wait, that’s...fuck, that was in something I read. Not here but…” Morgan fumbled for her laptop and started digging through her browsing history. She looked sheepishly over at Cece, glad that she couldn’t blush. “...Don’t judge me, okay?” She mumbled. Buried under searches for pirated theory articles, halloween themed lingerie, and Buzzfeed quizzes for Which Character from Grey’s Anatomy Are You, was several rows of local blogs, niche social media groups, old news reports, and PDF access links. Morgan scrolled past them all to get to an access link to an article from the library. There was the same picture, Amanda Wallace and a few others. The caption read, Cromwell was mentored in his early years by the local Ghost Watchers Society. Pictured, left to right… The article was about a man named Ernie Cromwell. He was arrested, several times, for vandalism, arson, and public disturbance. He claimed he needed to in order to make the ghosts go away. He also escalated to a much more deadly life of crime after this, around  the period Roy ought to have been town. That’s why she’d been looking in the first place. “Hey, Cece?” She asked. “You wouldn’t happen to know if any of these people are alive, do you?”

“I hope you know that prefacing with that only makes me want to judge you that much more.” Cece perked up immediately, if she wasn’t interested in studying Morgan’s open tabs before, she was definitely interested now. Fortunately, it was so much better than what Cece had predicted. “Oh my god. This might be more embarrassing than if you just had like straight up porn in your search history. Which for the record, I’m in full support of.” Cece added in, finger gunning and winking in Morgan’s direction. “Please tell me you’re an Izzie too.” Cece tried focusing again once Morgan asked her a question about recognizing anyone. She scanned the page but shrugged after a long moment, “I wish I could be more useful. But most of my magic knowledge was before I got to town. I’ve been about as low key as I can manage since I’ve been to town.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “I appreciate the sex positivity, and so does my girlfriend. And, you know, hopefully she appreciates the spider web themed set I ended up buying. And I’ve taken way too many and no matter what I do, I’m solid 50% Izzie or Meredith. My dark and twisty ways defy simple categories.” She wiggled her brow, mouth curling into a grin, and turned back to the picture. “I swear I’ve seen these faces somewhere. And the names. You don’t remember any from the paper or…” Morgan took out her phone, scrolling furiously. “Oh. Mother of Earth! Oh, this is so weird!” She showed Cece an event page on the UMWC social media page. Two people stood next to a handmade poster advertising GhostWatch Parties. Ostensibly, it was a horror film club. But the names of the two faculty shown were Amanda Wallace and Leigh Cromwell. There was no accounting for coincidence, but it seemed pretty likely that there was a connection to Ernie. “They’re meeting tonight. We have to go, right? Scope things out, set up a time to talk better and see what they can offer, or ask if they have any exorcist finding tips! We’re going, right?”

“Anything for you, as usual.” Cece might not be Deirdre’s biggest fan, but she still wished for a killer sex life for the two. “You know? I can see it, honestly. I support it. Among the characters you could get, I think those are two of the better ones.” Morgan seemed sure that the faces would be familiar, so Cece did her best to study them again, but just ended up shrugging. “You think I read the paper?” She asked the woman curiously. Not a moment later and Morgan was poking the screen and then changing pages to find a social media page. From the college. Cece gasped overdramatically, ���Right under your nose this whole time? Also, do you think this horror movie club accepts members that don’t go to the college? Actually never mind that’s not important right now.” Cece jumped up and found her bag, moving towards the coat closet to slip her jacket on. “Well obviously we have to go. What other choice do we have? Plus I need to find out if this club is even worth my time. Which is obviously like a side objective. Priority is the ghost thing for sure. Let’s go!”

The GhostWatchers of White Crest met at Professor Wallace’s ivy covered town house near campus. The gathering was small; only three cars littered the street beyond the driveway. Morgan parked them at the end of the street, positioned to make a quick and easy getaway. The bue-white light of a television illuminated one of the back rooms, bright enough to illuminate parts of the yard as Morgan approached. She knocked on the door gently, but found it already open. Inside was exactly what you would expect from a liberal arts professor. Stacks of papers, catalogues for bamboo kitchenware, and books bursting with post-it’s in every room. Morgan wrinkled her nose at the normalcy of it all. At least she kept a few decorative skull paperweights in the great room and kept the foyer clean.

“How do you think we should play this?” She asked in a whisper, lingering in the front hall, one eye on the back den where the movie, The Innocents, was still going on. “Is it rude if we snoop around first? Should we split up?” Somewhere, she thought, there had to be a private library.

“Wow this place is boring.” Cece yawned as the two slid in through the open door and studied the office that they found themselves in. “You’d think that someone obsessed with exorcisms might have a bit more personality.” She pushed aside a self help book lying on the desk and took a glance at her desk calendar, “She has scheduled times for lunch.” As if that was the most boring thing on the planet.

Either this woman was the worst occultist she had ever seen, or all of her more interesting things were hidden away somewhere. “It’s totally rude, but technically speaking she’s the one that left the door open. She should be more careful about her belongings. So let’s snoop.” Cece wasted no time moving to dig through her other belongings. Given how nonchalant the rest of the room was, Cece wasn’t convinced they were going to find anything too bizarre or helpful just sitting out in the open.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? They hired me because the fun department was empty,” Morgan teased. She watched her feet carefully as she tiptoed onto the plush carpet with her muddy leather oxfords. She hadn’t planned on playing hide and seek in some dusty mini-mansion when she’d left the house, so she was left cringing at every squeak the leather made on the floor and hoping against hope that everyone in the den was too engrossed in the movie to notice.

As luck would have it, the library was one room off from the den. Morgan pointed at it, giving Cece a look of, I don’t know if I got this. One foot, then the other. Could Cece get in there first.

In the den, someone yawned and got up, murmuring about refills. Morgan dropped to the floor, panic in her eyes. Was this the worst idea ever?

The library had to have something useful. If it was just filled with normal literature and more self help books, Cece was going to lose her mind. At least Morgan seemed pretty into the whole espionage thing, tiptoeing around the place and slipping through the door into the library as silently as a mouse. That swiftness and suave attitude seemed to dissipate when movement could be heard from farther in, someone getting up to get a refill. Morgan dropped immediately and Cece remained in the doorway, unsure what the best thing to do in this scenario was. Would the person asking even come this way? Cece crept back a few steps, peaking around to get just a moment’s glance of someone walking towards them. They would definitely see Morgan if something wasn’t done. Would these people be more interested in calling the cops or offing anyone in their way? Cece couldn’t be sure enough, so she figured her only option was to be a distraction of some sort. Back in the office, Cece found a paper weight on the desk and pushed it aside, sliding it off the desk with a loud crack against the floor. That ought to do some distracting.

Morgan heard the paperweight fall before she realized what Cece was doing. Her head whipped around, question marks sprouting all over her face. But whoever was heading her way turned the other direction to see the commotion, and Morgan was able to take her chance. Hopefully Cece wouldn’t be so far behind.

The library was the same as the rest of the house, expected to the point of comical. There were shelves of matching leatherbound British novels, another set of American ones, a whole row of paperbacks and theory that were almost certainly just for posturing, and… who lived like this? Who actually worked here? This was a magazine-style library. Which meant-- “Fuck.” Morgan covered her mouth and flinched. Too loud. Right.

She started peeking behind books, looking for hidden volumes, then the large desk centered at the back of the room. No one really had secret compartment doors, at least not here, the house was too small but-- Morgan kicked back the rug that covered the floor. Cut into the pale hardwood was a heavy door, older and darker, with a black handle that looked to be iron. She peeked her head out, searching for Cece to get her over here, quickly, before anyone realized how reckless they were being in a stranger’s house.

The door was well-oiled and rose silently at Morgan’s tug, and inside-- “Yes!” Beams of light from the other room flashed on. The shadows in the library vanished. It was time to hurry.

Cece ducked behind the desk to avoid whoever was coming towards her. She had successfully distracted the man from discovering Morgan but hadn’t quite thought through the fact that the man would now be coming towards the source of the noise that Cece had caused. Cece began rifling through her purse quickly, pulling a bin of powder free and cupping some into the palm of her hand. Once the footsteps finally became close enough, Cece popped up from behind the counter. “Hi there.”

The man jumped before settling on a confused expression, “Who are you?” He asked, more curious than angry. Probably unsure if Cece was supposed to be there in the first place. “Uh-” Cece began, trying for a long moment to think of an excuse for too long before finally giving up, “I can’t think of a good excuse” She shrugged before pulling her hand up and opening her palm, blowing and sending the powder directly into his face. He stumbled backwards and Cece jumped forward, grabbing onto his shirt and helping direct his fall into the chair by the desk. She patted him softly. Better to get some rest right there.

She slipped across the floor until she found Morgan and then crawled over to her, “For the record I didn’t sign up for this” Cece whispered at her, eyeing the new door that she had discovered. Before hearing more voices. “Welp, after you!”

Morgan’s muscles were already clenched with confusion and unspoken questions. “Sign up for what?” She hissed. “You said we should snoop! Nothing bad has happened, right? And look at all the spooky books down there!” She shined the flashlight on her phone down the ladder, showing tables full of messy, half open books, arcane circles etched on leather, and iron chimes dangling from the ceiling. “Oh, yes, this is the jackpot.”

“Is it now?” A voice called behind them.

Morgan barely suppressed a squeal as Amanda Wallace filled in the doorway. Her straw-white hair seemed to puff up out of sheer rage. “I don’t remember receiving your RSVP, Professor Beck,” she said stiffly. “May I ask what you are doing in my library, opening my trap door?” A smaller, slightly younger head popped up over Amanda’s shoulder and murmured that she’d see the students out. Leigh Cromwell, probably. Guess they weren’t too late for the party after all.

“Hey, Amanda--!” Morgan drew out the words longer, as if a few more syllables in Amanda would help smooth things over, or give her a better idea about what to do next.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” Amanda snapped, bristling with a bitter frown. Downstairs, now.” She pointed into the dimly lit trapdoor room, and her look did not suggest that she was entertaining counterarguments at the moment.

“Ummm” Cece considered what may or may not be considered to be bad in Morgan’s mind. And depending on that, whether or not she wanted to share that with Morgan. Putting a man to sleep was hardly that bad, right? She didn’t hurt the man. He would wake up and at worst his memory would be a bit foggy and maybe have some nausea. Nothing that would last more than a week. “Define bad.”

Morgan was right, this was a jackpot. The space was different from the rest of the house. It didn’t look like the end result of an HGTV makeover, for starters. It wasn’t basic or expected. This room was hidden away and it was used. This woman that the two were spying on definitely used this room.

Speaking of the woman they were spying on. Apparently they had been discovered. Cece awkwardly watched  the exchange. Apparently the two were super close work colleagues. “If there was no RSVP, does that mean she wasn’t supposed to bring a plus one?” Cece grinned slightly, completely ignored by the woman and instead following behind Morgan as the two were led away from the space they had just found.

Morgan backed down into the room, feeling, all of a sudden, that she should have told more people where she was going. Of course, she’d told Deirdre they had a lead, but if she were to drop a pin right now, would Deirdre know what to do with it? Remmy might, but the part where she had to explain what she was doing here might not lead to the best of conversations. But, fortunately, there weren’t any high tech keypads standing in their way of getting out. Just one seriously perturbed old woman.

Morgan made her way over to where the stacks of books were the largest and the shelves were packed to bursting. She looked for sigils, icons, anything recognizable. No one ever labeled ‘find harm here,’ but there were unavoidable markers if you knew how to look for them.

“I should report you to the police, for trespassing,” Amanda snapped. “And I could do much worse. But I would like to know first, Professor Beck, what you are doing in my trapdoor of all things. Do you have no respect for others?”

“On the contrary--” Morgan said carefully, flashing Cece big ‘what do we do?’ eyes, “I have the utmost respect for you and your interests.” She backed away until she could back no further. “The interests you keep a secret, especially. I think I might have something that’s of interest to your attention. A ghost something that is, let’s say, too good for mercy.” She reached out for one of the tomes, a leatherbound journal, by the look of it. Not as old as it was pretending to be, and bursting with pasted-in clips and notes.

“Not so fast.” She took out a little pearl handled pistol, gold and shiny, like something out of Agatha Christie. She cocked the safety with a slow, deliberate click. “That’s sensitive material, Professor. Access has to be earned. Tell me the truth, do what I say, and maybe we’ll see about it.”

The two hadn’t found themselves in an ideal situation, Cece was willing to admit that much. The woman that had discovered them hardly seemed especially dangerous. She was a college professor, taller than Cece was but that was hardly an impressive feat. The only thing she looked capable of seriously harming was a student’s grade point average. Still, the woman had enough to hide that she kept it hidden beneath the library, and she really didn’t like the intrusion by her colleague.

Morgan attempted to sweet talk her way out of it. Honestly, Morgan came across as such a pleasant person that Cece probably would have laughed it off if she had found the woman trespassing in her own home. Then again, maybe that didn’t count when Morgan had already previously lived with her. When Morgan reached for a book, hopefully one that Morgan deemed important, Amanda acted with an elevated decree of hostility. Looked like a bingo to Cece. The woman pulled out a small handgun, pointing it at Morgan but still eyeing Cece every now and again. She didn’t show much interest in Cece at all, which may have been more a mistake than anything else. “Your terms and conditions don’t sound all that appealing.” Cece called to her, straightening her back to give herself the appearance of being taller. She wasn’t sure that it worked. “Don’t get me wrong. You have the upper hand here. We’re totally up to no good. But don’t you have a door number three option?”

The woman finally looked Cece over. It had probably been the first time that she had offered her anymore than a passing glance, “I don’t even know who you are. This doesn’t concern you in the slightest.” She turned away from Cece again, but irritation seemed evident. Cece slowly dug into her purse again. She knew she had something else useful in there it was just a matter of rifling around until she found out. Once she did, she popped the lid off and dipped her fingers into it. “I just wanted to give you the option of rethinking your offer. Morgan and I have places to be. Let us go now and we can all enjoy the rest of our nights in peace.”

This time the woman finally turned the gun away from Morgan and towards Cece, at the same time that Cece rose up her hand and grabbed onto the woman’s wrist. “Have you ever heard of curare?” Cece asked the woman, a hint of curiosity in her voice. Though nothing apparent was happening, the woman hadn’t yet pulled the trigger and instead looked silently at Cece. “Some hunting tribes use it to paralyze prey. Normally, it doesn’t have a lot of effect on humans if ingested orally or through the skin.” By the woman’s expression, it was clear the effects had started to take effect now, “But with a bit of alchemy, it can be altered. All of a sudden, it just takes a tiny bit rubbed against the skin to get into the blood system. As Amanda began to fall back, Cece grabbed onto the gun, letting it slip from the woman’s hands as she crashed against the ground. “You should be able to talk still, it might just be a little mumbled. So try to speak up.”

Cece set the gun against the shelf and crossed her arms, “You got any questions for her?” she asked Morgan. Cece wasn’t sure this counted as life or death exactly, but the gun hadn’t been entirely promising. At this rate, Cece knew that she’d have to do something at the end to make sure that Amanda didn’t hold an unfriendly grudge against the two of them. Cece had gone this long, but now in the span of just a few weeks she would be whipping out the memory spell twice. Yikes. “Spare no details, something tells me that Amanda’s memory of the night might end up a bit fuzzy anyways.”

Morgan was scurrying for Cece and wishing zombies had super speed when it happened. She couldn’t let Cece get hurt and didn’t Cece know she was basically bullet-proof? Not one more friend, not one more life she cared about was going down because of-- and then Amanda’s face was going slack and she was sinking to the floor, and Cece was giving a pretty impressive speech of her own. “Holy shit,” Morgan whispered, suddenly feeling a little woozy with shock. Then, as it settled, “You...are so amazing, Cece!” She ran over and gave her a hug, ecstatic with relief. “Okay, so, one of your proteges was arrested for what sounded like some serious supernatural damage, and he said he had to get the ghosts. So I’m thinking you know a lot about exorcisms, maybe harm exorcisms, specifically?”

Amanda made some unintelligible noises that sounded aggravated enough to mean ‘yes’ to Morgan.

“Great! So, where would I find those? Is it here? Or--here? Or--” At the sound more throaty, aggravated groaning, Morgan knew she was right on the money. She hauled out everything from the self she could carry and started looking. “Woah, Nelly, some of these pages are torn from other volumes.” Morgan peered over the desk at Amanda on the floor. “Have you been defacing historical archives? That’s not very polite, you know. I wonder what would happen if I reported some of these original books as damaged and gave your name? That might be a bummer for research funding and future archive access, right?” Satisfied with her fun, she started flipping through, grateful that even though Amanda was a thief, she was at least an organized one. There was a handy table of contents and index between each hodge podge volume, and by some topics there was a reference number that seemed to correspond to a file, probably in the cabinet at the other end of the room.

Amanda made another slurry attempt at speech.

Morgan’s face crinkled. “French Revolution? Did you hear French Revolution?” She gave Cece a look to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood and started checking dates throughout her haul. Sure enough, there was a hefty volume with some emphasis on the 18th century and quite a few notes in French and English as she started flipping through. “Cece, come look at this,” she said. “I think this… I think I found something! What do these ingredients look like to you?”

If Cece had any worries that Morgan might think she had taken things too far, those fears were immediately quelled when Morgan launched into a hug. Cece hugged back, keeping her finger away from any of Morgan’s skin, “I don’t think this would work on zombies, but better not take the chance.” Considering the rest of the abilities that Morgan had now that she was undead, Cece wasn’t convinced it would have paralyzed her the way it had Amanda. If it did, the fast healing probably would have fixed her pretty quickly. But better to avoid the situation regardless. “But that was nothing. Didn’t want her messing up one of our pretty faces.”

Morgan was far better at searching and researching than Cece was. The extent of Cece’s reading had gone into her plans to get away from the coven. Since then, the books she had stolen and brought with her mostly stayed hidden in the floorboards of her closet. Something for a rainy day, if it ever came. For the most part, Cece scanned the shelves as Morgan actually talked to the woman and searched for something that was useful to her.

Cece hadn’t heard French Revolution at first, but hearing Morgan question it made Cece laugh and clap for Morgan’s better hearing skills, “You know I thought I heard bitch contusion but that makes way more sense.” Morgan flipped through a volume and called Cece over to look at something, but the symbols on the page weren’t like anything Cece had worked with before. “Yikes.” Cece started, trying to look for smaller details and anything that did look familiar, “I can pick out a few things. I see some containment symbols. Probably used to keep something trapped. But nothing that I’ve worked with before.”

“Me either,” Morgan admitted, “But that--” she pointed to the word, “Is definitely French for spirit, and some of these ingredients look like they’re obeying sympathetic principles for inflicting pain. I’m gonna need a dictionary or three to figure some of this out, and you know, an expert, but you saw the containment sigil too, right!” She snapped the book shut and held it close to her chest, her eyes shining with relief. “I think this is it, Cece. I think this is--” Morgan was lost for words and only smiled, glowing with gratitude for her friend. “This is the key to everything I’ve been looking for.”

“Well I know a guy if you need a French interpreter.” Cece stated nonchalantly, “Can’t promise he won’t be grumpy about it though.” Cece couldn’t keep an easy grasp on who in town knew who, but it seemed like a safe bet that Morgan and Kaden were acquainted. “Fuck yeah! Former roomies strike again!” Cece called out triumphantly, raising her hand for a high five. Once the two were done celebrating, Cece remembered that they had company. Cece spun around to their host for the night and clapped her hands together, “Amanda. You’ve just been so welcoming tonight, truly. We had a great time. We’re going to wrap up and then I promise it’ll be like we were never even here.” Cece scooted towards her and knelt down towards the woman. “Are we done here Morgan?”

Morgan joined Cece beside her colleague, still light on her feet with victory and beaming with pride in her friend. “We do make pretty good partners in crime if I say so myself,” she said. “And, you know, aside from, hmm---” She reached back over to the desk and took a couple more books. “These. Just for good measure. And fun. Trespassing is rude, Professor Wallace, but pulling guns on your colleagues is far worse.” She nodded at Cece to work her magic. They’d gotten what they came for and then some.

“This probably won’t hurt,” Cece began, pressing her fingers against Amanda’s temple, “Or if it does you won’t remember it. Which is basically the same thing.” Amanda’s eyes were frantic at first, darting back and forth almost definitely trying to will her body to move. But soon they settled, floating shut as Cece dove into her memories to pluck them free. She figured the last half hour or so would do the trick. The woman would be left with a lot of blurry portions on the night, undoubtedly waking up in this room to wonder how she had gotten here. But those were hardly Cece’s concerns. She made sure to go back far enough to when Amanda started suspecting someone was here. Once Cece was done, she left Amanda on the floor and stood up, “She should be waking up soon. She should be able to move shortly after. If you have what we need, we should get out of here.” Cece suggested, heading towards the exit of the room before snapping and swinging back towards her, “Actually, now is probably the best time to mention that there may be another person that conveniently fell asleep in the office. We may want to stop by on our way out and wipe him too. Just to be safe.”

Morgan stopped halfway on the stairs they came down in just to gape at Cece in awe. “Remind me to never underestimate you for the rest of your days. And maybe bring you up on my list of people to call next time I need help with the forces of darkness. You’re a dangerous lady, Cece Bishop…” She gave Cece a chivalrous hand out of the cellar, grinning in the evening light. “But, then again, so am I sometimes.”

[madlymiho]

Hey there @morikawahotaruotakuhime ! I'm so happy for your scenario request ~

Like the idea, I'll do my best, hope you'll like it !

Ace - Scenario

It’s the second time. The second time he notices the soft waves on the ocean, lazily laping against the wood of his sloop. The ones he’s looking for, for a long time now. He knows the sea dragon must be somewhere under his hull, making rounds in the water as it remains curious about Ace’s behaviors and next moves. The first time he met this creature, he was thrilled, his hunter instincts awaken for good. The Ryuujin is a mythical beast. Much more rare than the Sea Kings. A legend is used to read in his children’s books, when he was dreaming about being a pirate one day. A sea dragon capable of thinking as a human, swimming near the biggest boats, just to analyse the seamen and their captains.

The first meeting was quite a thing. The sea dragon has popped his head out of the water, digging in huge yellow eyes in Ace’s. He felt something strange; a sensation he couldn’t truly understand, even today. It still feels like the dragon has smiled to him. Like it already knew him. But before he could make any move, the beast dived in the depths of the water, vanishing from his sight. He told his girlfriend about his adventure, but she simply laughed at his face and gently patted his raven hair.

“Come on, you know it’s only a legend.” She said with an innocent smile, and Ace just felt the need to plaster her on her back, using his mouth to make her shut up.

Now. Now he wants to prove her this creature is a thing. He’s not crazy ; it wasn’t a Sea King back then. And it’s definitely not a Sea King today. He smirks as the rounds in the water start to grow bigger, his hull shaking under the movements, as he’s ready to catch the creature. It feels like a silly little game, but he loves it. He sets ablaze his fists, his eyes locked on the waves, waiting for the Ryuujin to show up. It seems to be clever, so Ace is prepared to be attacked from behind or below. He knows he’s taking a risk, alone in the middle of Grand Line with his lonely sloop, waiting for a legendary creature to hunt him. Yet, it thrills him deeply. Chasing or being chased; this is how he enjoys life.

He spots a long shadow under his hull, rolling his impressive curvy body as it’s about to act now. He feels his heart racing. And as he’s about to move, he suddenly feels the wood of his boat crack under his feet. He gasps, surprised, as the sea dragon tear apart the boat with his sharp teeth, a huge and deep snarl escaping from his throat. Ace is propulsed in the air, trying to keep his balance with his power, but the attack was too powerful, even for him, and he understands he has been really reckless this time. He has clearly underestimate the dragon’s intentions and its strength. Ace yells as he falls into the water, already feeling his body going weaker because of his devil fruit. The surface slowly starts to move away. He extends his arm, desperate, the sun becoming a tiny globe of light, teasing him from a long distance. His vision becomes blurry, his all body as an anker. Before he closes his eyes, he notices two massive yellow balls swimming to him with a furious pace. Ace can’t even clench his fist, unable to use his fire to escape from this situation. He has lost against the Ryuujin. One last time, he thinks about his girlfriend’s smile. The way she looks at him, embraces him. The way she digs her nose in his neck and rolls her eyes whenever he says something flirty. He thinks about Luffy, his stupid but lovable little brother. Sabo and their past adventures when they were children. White Beard and his laugh. Marco. Thatsh. Garp… And then, he thinks about nothing anymore.

He feels someone touching his cheek. Softly. A gentle touch full of love and attentive. His eyes are still closed, but he clearly see the sun through his eyelids, offering him a shade of orange and yellow strange patterns. He coughs, once or twice, keeping his eyes closed. He tries to understand what happened. He was sailing, chasing the Ryuujin. He was about to attack, but the beast did it first, destroying his boat. He dived in the water. He was about to die. Yes. Yes, it was that!

Ace suddenly opens his eyes, a little bit dizzy and partly blind because of the brightness of the place. He covers his forehead with the palm of his head as he looks around him. He’s laying on a sand beach, somewhere on a island he doesn’t know. He still soaked; his raven hair dripping on his shoulders.

“I can’t believe you went after the Ryuujin, again.” Someone says.

He turns his head and notices a shadow near him. It takes him time to adjust himself to the light, but he starts to recognize a woman body, seated on the sand as well. Her dress is plastered against her torso, and her hair is sticked to her chest. She seems a bit breathless, like he has just swims. Ace sits, grumbling. He still looks at the stranger, until his vision is perfectly adjusted. Then, he widens his eyes, recognizing the features of the woman he loves.

“/Name/?!” He shouts, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re an idiot.”

She comes closer, using her arms, and sits by his side, sincerely annoyed. Ace stares at her wet clothes. He understands she certainly was near him when the attack happened and she saved him just in time. He smiles and softly ghosts her shoulder with his fingers.

“You don’t know anything about the Ryuujin, do you?” She suddenly says with a soft and sad voice.

Ace looks at her concerned face, and furrowed his eyebrows. She’s acting strangely and he doesn’t understand why she seems so upset.

“I…,” He starts, thinking about his arguments, but then he sighs. She’s right. “No, I don’t.”

She puts her chin on her knee, looking at the ocean with a certain sorrow in the eyes. Ace pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear, waiting for her to open up. She remains silent though. He pinches his lips and gives her a little push with his shoulder.

“Hey come on. Don’t be so worried about me.” He tries.

She shakes her head, still looking at the foam of the sea.

“Why do you need to hunt me?”

“Me?”

Ace is now certain she knows something about the Ryuujin. But what she’s saying doesn’t make any sense. She digs her chin a little bit more between her knees as she starts to cry silently, her shoulders shaking.

“/Name/...?”

Ace feels guilty. He knows he can be reckless sometimes, but he has never truly realised how it could impact his love ones. He wants to hold her, but he’s afraid she might reject him now. He just softly put his hand on her hair, hoping she would open-up. Suddenly, she lifts her head and looks at him with furious eyes. Ace feels his jaw dropping. Those eyes. They are different from her usual color. They are yellow.

“I could have killed you, Ace!” She shouts, tears falling on her cheeks. “I may have a human intelligence, but if you keep chasing me, I have no choice but to defend myself!”

Ace tries to reply, but he can’t find his words.

“Stop acting like a child!” She continues. “Stop taking so much risks! I don’t want to have your blood on my hands, do you understand?”

She grabs him by the shoulders and digs her golden eyes in his. He swallows his spit, drowning in this fantastic color.

“/Name/… Do you mean...You are -”

“Yes!” She abruptly interrupts him. “I’m the Ryuujin!”

She pushes him away and puts her head back between her knees, covering her face with her arms. He remains numb for a moment. He couldn’t believe she has such an...incredible secret.

“Hey /Name/…” He calls softly, coming a bit closer. “It’s not a bad thing if you are the Ryuujin…”

She sighs and lifts her head, looking back at him with her usual green eyes, more quiet now.

“Don’t you understand, Ace?” She whispers. “I’m a monster.”

Her voice is nothing but a pure and real sadness. He can’t bear it anymore. He suddenly grabs her under her legs and carries her to sit her on his lap. He rolls his arms around her waist and kisses her nose, tenderly.

“Stop being silly.” He murmurs against her cheek. “You’re not a monster.”

She shakes her head and cups his jaw, digging her eyes in his.

“You’re the one who’s silly here. I’m able to turn into a sea dragon. And I’m not using any Devil Fruit to perform it. This is entirely different from your situation, you pirate!”

“So what?” Ace shrugs and fondles her cheek. “You’re just a hell of a woman.”

She can’t help but laugh a little, and the crystal sound hits Ace right in the heart. He smiles as well, stealing a kiss from her lips.

“You still want me to be your girlfriend, then?” She softly asks, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck.

He nods and rubs his nose against hers.

“Of course I want, my little sea dragon.”

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Two broken hearts, a man and a woman (Some big ol' Samuel Drake headcanon story)

A/N: I am not broken-hearted, don't take it as such. I don't even have a relationship and most likely a heart. This is for my dear friend who is through that shit. She asked for this, so I am only delivering.

Mood for this: Shallow and Always Remember Us This Way by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper, bcs I'm not over that fucking movie even after a month I've seen it.

❕If you're sensitive, be aware that this doesn't have a happy ending, alright?❕

Let's start from the begging, not from the end.

You haven't met by a coincidence, to be honest.

Your friends were far too clever for that (those little bitches).

You've been single for a long time and they were like:

"Ah, that Drake boyo is a dreamy one. Funny, charming, nice..."

"Shut up, Carmen. Not interested."

But they didn't listen tho. They arranged a concert of some not-so-known couple in a pub near to your home. So you couldn't say that I can't come bcs I would get home late and I'm actually working, Carmen, one of us must be the adult one, ya know?. Sly foxes, those friends of yours.

And then, all of a sudden, there that man was.

Maybe he was a bit too much older for you. Maybe more experienced. Maybe more sympathetic than you were. But that was something that attracted you to him.

He told you that his name is Sam, but a sweet little princess like you can call him Sammy. (And you chuckled, didn't you? Don't lie to me. I heard you.)

So you sat on those bar stools, drank beer and listened to those sweet ballads that were sung by the couple for the other one.

"They're kinda sweet, I'm not gonna lie," he said.

"Yeah. I feel how I am melting because of their love."

He was drinking beer in a sexy manner as well as he was smoking his cigarettes. You didn't mind that he's a smoker, because one of your exes was. He spoke in a sexy manner... Girl, you were into him big time.

Carmen was right apparently.

He walked with you to your home, covering you in his denim jacket, because it was raining heavily. You laughed and run through the streets, laughing like two children.

That's when you told yourself that you didn't see him for the last time.

And fuck, that kiss at your door. He held your face in his palms tightly as he tried to make-out, your breath away. Your tongues danced in a weird manner because it was your first kiss.

You had to learn a lot of things about each other. How to kiss each other, how to make him laugh, his routines and strange addictions and so on.

At the end of that kiss, you both laughed as crazy and you actually rose your hands up and danced and sang in the rain.

Your old neighbor wasn't glad.

"Can I see you again, miss Y/N?"

"I think I can arrange that, somehow. You know, I have a lot of work and I am a bit busy these days."

"So you're a busy and a bossy woman, I see. I kinda am into that, just to let you know."

"Go!" You cried out, laughing. He was unbelievable. "Go or you'll miss your bus."

Later you realized that you kept his jacket.

And you smelled to it all night long, even tho it was so wet that water was dripping from it.

And so, you were falling in love again. And it felt so good.

He was really funny and charming. And even tho he looked like the biggest womanizer of them all, he was actually a sensitive and romantic soul.

Him playing on guitar for was a sure thing. (Maan, just imagine him singing Shallow for you as if it was meant to be sung only for you... Gee.

His voice mesmerized you and you always curled up into a ball when he started to sing, smiling at him and running fingers through your hair. Your eyes were shining as you watched his fucking long fingers smoothing the guitar.

You had your spot under a tree on a cliff above the town, where you sat and sung because you thought that no-one will hear your terrible voice there; but to him, it was angelic.

He even sang a song that he wrote for you at that place for the first time. You cried like a little girl.

He bought you a bouquet of flowers for every chance he got. Your birthday? Yep. Your name day? Of course. Something big happened at work? A beautiful bouquet of sunflowers was a sure thing. When he couldn't think about anything else than you? Expect some delivery service dropping off flowers at your door.

When he felt like it, he cooked for you.

He must help your hand every time you were out in public together.

Sometimes he disappeared for a month or two, because of his work, but you could expect some darn expensive stuff coming by mail almost every week. And a ton of calls and sweet texts, images of the surroundings... He couldn't think about anything but you. He was into you just as much as you were into him.

And his kisses were deeper and much sweeter when he got home.

You guys moved together after a year of dating (Camila yelled Finally! when you told her.)

He had a lot of things and even though you joked that maybe he'll have to throw out a lot of them because you hadn't the space for that, it finally felt like home. You weren't alone at all and it felt right.

He tidied up after himself, his clothes were neat and he was the dishwasher of your home. Those were the ground rules.

Only after he moved in, you started to make love to each other.

He didn't want to rush at all. Just... When you felt like sleeping with him, then you two started to love each other physically.

He was a really tender lover per se. He was ghosting over your skin when there was a rainy night and you two couldn't fall asleep. He loved to kiss you gently on those sweet spots on your chin and shoulders.

Most of the times, you were the one touching the stars in the end, because he lived for the sight of your body trembling and your lips whispering his name like if you were praying to god.

But when you felt like, he was into everything you wanted. When you were curious and wanted to try something new? Let's do it!

First I love you came about after a year and a half of your dating.

You were just sitting on your balcony, playing with your hair and reading a book when he came with an ice-cream in his hands, slowly licking it from his spoon.

"I am in love with you," he said and you shot your look at him with your opened as if you misheard what he said. You loved him as well, sure thing. It could be felt within your touches and laugh, he was making you happy. You felt like if you were flying in the clouds when you were with him. "You know that, right?"

"Samuel, I-I... I love you as well, hope that you're aware of that, baby."

"Lovely!" He exclaimed as if it was one thing off the list and even tho you saw the joy in his eyes. He couldn't be more excited and the joy just brightened him up instantly. "You up for some Brooklyn Nine-Nine?"

"Sure thing."

You two were something that everyone wants to find in their lives.

You were the funny and dork couple who laughed and joked around a lot, but even tho, could be seen that you're so madly in love that nothing else mattered when you were together. He was caring and you were empathic, he had a lot of crazy ideas and you just agreed. It was like if you were just made for each other.

Almost every one of your friends loved to spend evenings with you two. You even weren't that much of kisses and touches in front of people, you kissed only once a time and he was hugging your shoulder, that was the most intimate you got in society, leaving the rest to your flat.

Maybe you were the favorite couple because you didn't make others awkward. Who knows?

If I say that his family loved you, then I'll not be using the right words. They adored you.

Especially his younger brother Nate, who was still a lot older than you, and his niece Cassie, who even started to sleep over at your place.

He played with her on a knight who killed dragons and sometimes they were pirates.

He kissed you a lot when they were running through your place and Cassie was yelling her lungs out.

"Let that innocent woman be, you dirty dog!" Cassie yelled at him a shoved the tip of her wooden sword to Samuel's leg as he was hugging your waist, kissing your neck and whispering you about how you two will be playing when the night comes and Cassie finally falls asleep. You were laughing and that made his heart jump happily.

"Oy, I can't, I think she's that red big X on my map."

"Let her be, you sea rat!"

"Cassie, for a British soldier, you know a bit too much of pirates' slang."

Nathan became your best friend more than a brother-in-law. He was more of an outside person, more than Samuel - the couch person, so Nate took you on trips on the bike, roller skates, hiking and visiting some old places. His wife Elena usually went as well; you let Cassie on Samuel's neck.

But he was totally ok with it.

On your second anniversary, he took you to the pub where you met - and this time, you were the couple who was singing. He played his guitar and you were shy from the start - but you totally rocked in the end. (YOU DEFINITELY SANG SHALLOW.)

And since then, they let you sing there every month. You built a friendship with the workers who were there and this pub became your all-time favorite.

Around seven months later, he started to act weird. He didn't look as happy as always, he was working a bit too much, leaving early and coming back late in the night.

So one night you have just waited for him:

"What's happening with us? Are you tired of me? Are you tired of this? Of us? Speak up your colors, Samuel Drake."

"Y/N, are you even listening to yourself? What's gotten into you?"

"You tell me, you aren't at home all the time, you stopped calling me during the day, you pretty much don't cook, I feel like I'm living here all alone. You just come home at night, you let me suck your dick and then you go to sleep - and then repeat."

"Y/N," he inhaled slowly and sat on the opposite side of your table, taking your hand in his and looking directly at you. Your stomach shrank and you were about to cry because of how afraid you were. "I was just wondering about something and you don't have to be afraid at all. I love you, you remember? Good. We know each other for almost three years now, but it feels like forever. I want you to become one of the Drake's, to be mine, to become my wife."

And so you were engaged all of a sudden. You couldn't feel happier, you loved that man, cared for him deeply and there was no one more important than him.

And he felt the same way as well. He was sure that you were the woman who he was searching for all the time. He was sure of it. He knew it. You were the first thing he saw in the morning and the last person on his mind every day of his life with you. He wasn't sure if you would agree and he was so worried that you wouldn't that he couldn't be at home - but it was alright after that.

He bought you a beautiful diamond ring which suited your hand as no one before you.

All got into the same point you were before - but now, he was your fiancé.

Life felt the same, loving and sunny, but the wedding was quickly approaching.

Then it started - his alcohol addiction.

You told yourself that it is a phase because he was a free man; that he must've been nervous because he was about to become only yours. You told yourself it was pre-wedding stress.

But it was way worse when you started to prepare the details of your big day (dress, theme and the church was already booked) and you prepared it with Nathan because Samuel was constantly almost poisoned with alcohol.

He woked you up in the middle of nights because he wasn't even able to go home on his own feet.

You sat next to him, holding his hand and smiling at him, helping him to vomit, cleaning his face with a wet towel, hoping that it'll be over soon.

You were seriously in love with him even after all the drunk escapades he had and after all that public humiliation he caused you. You were blind, so blind.

About your wedding day - it was a catastrophe. He didn't even come and you became one of the brides, who were left in the church all alone only to cry their eyes out.

You couldn't find him after that, running the downtown in those snow white princess dress with your make up smudged. You were crying all the way home - and he sat there on the bed with his face in his hands and completely red eyes.

Nathan just nodded at you, mimicked that he'll be behind the door just in case that Samuel even started to take some drugs.

"You stupid, selfish, ignorant cock. You left me there, waiting for you two hour in front of that dumb altar and crying my eyes out. Where, for fuck's sake, have you even been?!" You yelled at him, throwing the bouquet of white roses to the corner. He looked at you, looking like a kicked dog with eyes red from crying, a hand in front of his mouth.

"I think that we have to talk, princess," Samuel smiled at you sadly and he was about to cry again. He was even sober and you almost couldn't believe your eyes.

"I'm listening, my love," you kneeled in front of him and you smoothed his chin in a gentle manner. Your heart pounded heavily as you were afraid of what he's about to say.

"I didn't come today, because of one reason. I think that you don't need a selfish, idiotic, ignorant utter cock in your life. I'm sure of it. You're a perfect woman who is funny, lovely, so hot and so intelligent it isn't even possible and I don't want you to waste your life with a dick like me. You shouldn't be kneeling, because you're not going to like the things that I'm about to tell you, lovely floweret," he stood up and left you on the ground as you started crying like a child.

"Samuel, what's wrong? I love you so much, are you even aware of that? Now you are scaring the living hell out of me." You whispered in a broken voice as you watched his back. He always smiled at this - but not this time.

"The problem is that I am completely aware of your love for me, Y/N. And I just can't live with it anymore, I can't live with myself when I am lying to the woman whom I love," he took a glass and smashed it on the ground. "The truth is that I fucked and I am fucking another woman. I swear to you that it is not emotional, at least not for me. We fucked once a few days before I decided to make you mine and mine only. But now... She's pregnant." He smoothed his face and you stopped crying. You weren't even breathing. You were shocked as you tore the dress from your body, you threw the high heels far away and you put on some old shirt, you didn't know if it's his or yours and jeans, leaving immediately.

What hurt the most? He didn't try to stop you. He didn't run after you. He wasn't calling your name. He hasn't done a single thing.

He knew he fucked up so much that you were not able to ever forgive him. He dug is own grave when he let that bitch lure him into her bed and that pregnancy? That was the last inch before falling off the cliff.

And he hoped that the alcohol will scare you away. But you stayed even tho because you were just so pure and so in love.

So he had to break your heart ultimately for you to realize that he is a selfish dick who just poisoned you and with whom you lost almost three years.

You run away that evening to the woods even tho it was raining, still having that beautiful braid on, sitting under a tree and looked over the town, crying your eyes out.

Sully nor Nathan couldn't find you, because that was your place; now it was only yours.

You came to Nate's place when it was midnight, almost froze out because of the rain, you slept in the living room, quietly kissing the engagement ring and slowly drown in the pain.

The other day you went to your place - and he was already gone. His things all gone- from his toothbrush to his trainers. Only the smell indicated that he visited that place. You just stood there and cried to your very own palms.

You were all alone again. That flat felt empty and you did as well. For a solid week, you didn't leave it, just laying in your bad, eating sweets and watched some romcoms.

Carmen and Nathan took care of you and they promised it will be better with time, which you didn't believe. You felt like shit.

But after a month or two... Your life was back on and you were able to talk and smile, even tho your heart hurt still. But you slowly started meeting new people, new places, you slowly became a normal human being again, still wearing that ring, only wore him on your right hand.

You didn't love him anymore, but it kept sweet memories, just as your photo collection you loved so much. You and Nate went through it a dozen of times when all of it happened six months ago. He was your love for three years, maybe he was the love of your life. You had some fond memories with him which made you laugh.

The baby wasn't his in the end. It was some black-skinned senator and she just wanted Samuel to be to one bcs the senator did not want to be seen with her or his child.

You didn't have any relationship ever since you just wanted to be free and careless.

When a year passes by, you were a new woman. You changed your hair by cutting it down, you completely changed your wardrobe to more racy and tight, squeezing your body right and you exercised a lot. You felt as good as never before.

And somehow, you found yourself in the pub. I mean, THE PUB. You didn't even realize, but Carmen knew. It brought only the best memories and Carmen cracked when you tell them to her.

All of a sudden you felt guitar movements so crawled under your skin, that you wouldn't change it with anyone else's style of plucking. Carmen knew all along because he never stopped the monthly visits.

He looked like a broken man, with his thick beard and long hair. He had some silver in it. He aged almost ten years since you broke up. You weren't disgusted, he looked sexy even after all of that, but you felt pity in your heart.

And then he plucked the right strings and your world stopped. You looked at him, almost freaked out, without breath and you felt your heart pounding happily. He closed his eyes and sung that duet from that Bradley Cooper movie he loved. You always sang it together. So you smiled, even more, got up and went to him.

You smiled at the faces you known a year ago, and they even had a problem recognizing you with such short hair. You looked like someone else. But as soon as they figured it out, everyone started clapping a whistling loudly, which made Samuel get from his inner space as he watched the high heels on your legs.

You smiled to your hand and waved at everyone, looking at Samuel after that. He stopped playing, putting the guitar aside and inviting you with his look.

So you sat on his knee as you always did, hugging his shoulder tight and smiling as your mood slowly lowered to a romantic one. You put your right hand on his messy beard as you supported guitar with your thigh and started to sing her part as he started playing.

It was very intense. You held him like a lover holds lover, your stare didn't leave his the whole time and his body felt hot as his dick got completely hard because of your presence. You still did some magic to him.

You almost kissed Samuel when he was playing the last chords like you always did before. But you stopped a few centimeters from his lips as you felt the beard scratching them. Instead of that you smiled lazily, lowered his head with your palm and you let your lips kiss his forehead as he gracefully leaned into your body. It was almost like if he dies and God let him to heaven. Everyone was almost crying because you hugged him tightly, you played with his hair and then he kissed your long and beautiful neck as thanks.

But you were his heaven. Heaven that forbidden entrance for him.

There was no need for words after that as you smiled and stood up from his lap. You smoothed his hair behind his ear and smiled, opening his hand for you.

You slowly got the engagement ring off your hand and gave it to him, slowly closing his palm. Then you walked away. And he felt like everything ended.

But then you looked at him again when you were leaving with Carmen and he knew the language your eyes spoke.

Maybe you damned and you'll never be able to love him again. Maybe he fucked it up too much. Maybe this was the end.

But you encouraged him with a witty smile and shining eyes because you felt that connection when you sang as well as he did.

So he kissed that ring and hid it on a safe place, thinking about his next move.

[theconservativebrief]

Jon M. Chu is on a mission: “We can sugarcoat it all we want, but the moment you bring up an Asian-led movie, there’s one example to point to, and that’ll be us,” he told the Hollywood Reporter in an interview. “To be on the biggest stage with the biggest stakes, that’s what we asked for.” He’s talking, of course, about Crazy Rich Asians, the film adaptation of Singaporean author Kevin Kwan’s bestselling novel released this week in US theaters.

When Scarlett Johansson adorns Ghost In The Shell posters and Emma Stone plays an Asian character in Aloha, the release of a major all-Asian film feels like an antidote to the white-washing that Hollywood is notorious for. Constance Wu — who has been brave and unflinching in speaking out about race and representation in the industry  — plays the female lead.

The film won’t open until August 22 in Singapore, but Singaporeans are watching the hype unfold online, one glowing review after another. The film has an impressive 92 percent on Rotten Tomatoes. Chu has described the film as “more than just a movie, it’s a movement.”

But while it’s definitely significant that Hollywood’s finally producing an all-Asian film, the anticipation for this film demonstrates that representation can mean different things to different groups of people, and that there is a divergence between the needs and priorities of Asian Americans and Asians in Asia. As a Singaporean of Chinese descent, I feel that the film’s depiction of my home is startlingly flawed.

The film follows Chinese-American economics professor Rachel Chu, who travels with her boyfriend Nicholas Young back to his home in Singapore to attend his best friend’s wedding. There, she discovers that Nick comes from an obscenely rich family, and is plunged into a world of ridiculous extravagance and lavish parties.

Major Western productions tend to see Asia in very particular ways. We could be the “rising Asia,” all glittering skyscrapers and futuristic urban design, or the rustic, impoverished-yet-inspiring backdrop for slumdog millionaires. We are dumplings and kungfu, curry and tech support, wise gurus who talk in riddles for all your “eat, pray, love” needs. We are obscenely wealthy people throwing lavish parties.

But this is not what we are. A continent as massive as Asia can never be as simple as the stereotypes imposed upon us. Asians — a population of more than 4.4 billion people — are not a monolith, and our need for representation and empathy can’t be addressed by nonwhite casting.

The all-East Asian cast of Crazy Rich Asians is also a misrepresentation of Singapore at the most basic level, obscuring Malay, Indian, Eurasian, and more populations who make the country the culturally rich and unique place that it is.

Singapore is a tiny Southeast Asian country that many might have heard of, but not many know about. We don’t exist in the minds of people living overseas as a fully fledged, complex society, but as a caricature.

As a freelance journalist covering Singapore for foreign publications, I’ve heard the same stories over and over again, solidified into tropes that supposedly define us: wealth, anal-levels of micromanagement (“you guys ban chewing gum, right?”), the caning of American teenagers. There are people who think we’re in China, and many don’t realize we speak English as our first language.

In recent Western productions, Singapore has been the shiny city backdrop for action sequences like in Hitman: Agent 47, or the bizarre smoky, steamy pirate hangout on stilts like in Pirates of the Caribbean. A British television show digitally altered scenes actually shot in Singapore to make it look, according to them, “more like Singapore” — by which they meant doing things like changing the street signs from English to Chinese. None of this contributes to deeper understanding or appreciation of our lived experiences in Singapore; it only exoticizes.

As a Chinese Singaporean, I grew up enjoying the privileges of the dominant racial group. As of 2016, 76.1 percent of Singapore’s citizens claim Chinese ancestry; at no point in my life here have I felt under- or un-represented because of my race.

While Singapore has its fair share of colonial hang-ups — white people in Singapore enjoy a significant amount of privilege — Chinese Singaporeans can be confident that their interests will not only be served, but usually be dominant, in national affairs.

In fact, the matter of whether Singapore is “ready” for a non-Chinese prime minister is apparently still up for debate, quite like it was in the United States back in 2008, pre-Obama.

When it comes to representation, what I would like to see as a Singaporean is something that reflects my country and society in all our diversity and complexity, and helps audiences make connections between our experiences and theirs.

Crazy Rich Asians does nothing to improve the situation. It’s touted as a win for representation in the US because of its all-Asian cast, but the focus is specifically on characters and faces of East Asian descent, which plays into issues of racism and colorism that still exist, not only in the US, but in Asia. Ironically, in Singapore, Chu’s all-Asian boast is nothing more than a perpetuation of the existing Chinese dominance in mainstream media and pop culture.

The story of Crazy Rich Asians — and the racialization of “crazy rich” behavior, as if batshit insane extravagance doesn’t happen elsewhere — also does little to combat the othering of Singapore and Asia.

Reading the book was a strange experience; while I knew it was about my home, there was very little in it that I found recognizable, which is why I have little hope that the film will help anyone see Singapore as anything more than “kooky Asia,” stuffed with materialistic, flamboyant billionaires with bedazzled lifestyles.

Kwan, the author, and Chu, the filmmaker, are free to write and make whatever they like. It would be unrealistic , and undesirable,  to expect Singaporean writers to write only one way, because Singapore can mean so many things to so many people.

But touting Crazy Rich Asians as some sort of progressive win is false, especially in a context when there are already so few nuanced representations of Singapore and Asia in Western media. And when someone as lovely and woke as Constance Wu is saying that this narrative of the absurdly rich and privileged in a highly capitalist city-state is “a very important story to tell,” we see a divergence in the priorities of Asian-American people of color and Asians in Asia.

Singaporean motivations when demanding representation stem from the same place: a desire to be portrayed in all our complex, nuanced, contradictory glory; to recognize ourselves on screen, and for others to recognize us as the fully formed people and community that we are. This is important because it affects the way people perceive us, and, by extension, the way in which they connect or stand in solidarity with our struggles and challenges.

As it is, people outside Singapore have little knowledge of the curbing of civil and political rights, or of issues like inequality and poverty, which means Singaporeans working on such issues have difficulties finding solidarity, while foreign governments are happy to prioritize trade deals over human rights. Promoting an image of Singapore as a mega-rich hub of excess papers over the urgent struggles that people face on the ground.

Crazy Rich Asians doesn’t meet this need, no matter how nice it might be to see Asian faces in a Hollywood film.

This essay is adapted from an article on the Establishment.

Kirsten Han is a Singaporean freelance journalist and Editor-in-Chief of New Naratif, a platform for Southeast Asian journalism, research, art and community-building. She also curates We, The Citizens, a weekly email newsletter covering Singaporean politics, social justice and civil society.

First Person is Vox’s home for compelling, provocative narrative essays. Do you have a story to share? Read our submission guidelines, and pitch us at firstperson@vox.com.

Original Source -> Crazy Rich Asians is a win for Asian Americans. But it gets Singapore wrong.

via The Conservative Brief