#but those characters and that story and how they retold it left a really bad taste in my mouth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

transfemmbeatrice · 2 days ago

Text

Interview with Terese Marie Mailhot about her book Heart Berries conducted by Joan Naviyuk Kane

I couldn't find a text version of this interview so I transcribed it from the audiobook. Apologies for any errors.

Question. What has been your experience as a writer and reader within the general field of Native memoir? Most specifically, can you delineate your choices to write intimately, honestly, lyrically, compellingly?

Answer. Joy Harjo and Elissa Washuta's memoirs were in my periphery as I was considering writing one myself and I considered the memoirs of Leslie Marmon Silko and N. Scott Momaday and Linda Hogan when I thought about my aesthetic. When I look at these books, the distinctions are clear. The voices are present and impactful.

Different, obviously. And then I saw the literary criticism or lack of and these books were being mishandled to essentialize Indigenous people's art. Not so much Elissa's book and people could stand to write about it more because her work is fascinating and cerebral and new. But the genre marketing of Native memoir into this thing where readers come away believing Native Americans are connected to the earth and read into an artist's spirituality to make generalizations about our natures as Indigenous people.

The romantic language they quoted or poetic language they liked, it seemed misused to form bad opinions about good work. It might have been two in the morning when I emailed you one night. I was in Vermont lying on this dingy residency bed and I had [Harjo’s book] Crazy Brave open on my chest. I thought, I need to tell people that my story was maltreated and I need to make an assertion that I am nobody's relic. I won't be an Indian relic for any readership. So I decided this book would stand apart from some of the identified themes within our genre.

full interview under the cut

Question. Native literary writers are often compelled to or must take on a great deal of social context. How did you contend with that in this book?

Answer. I hope that people can contextualize the state of our world in my work. The writers before me seem to do the work of looking at being Indigenous so we could look through it. In many ways the experimental form, language, everything, I feel freer to do that because so much was done before.

Question. Can you talk about how the book began as fiction? How did you make the decision not to hide behind characters?

Answer. The original drafts of the chapters “Heart Berries” and “Indian Sick” were written and published as fiction. It was my intention to write with a polemic voice and have a First Nations woman character be overtly sexual, ruined and ruining people's lives, respectively. It was an audacious feeling to write a Native woman as gratuitous even if it was ruining her. It empowered me. And then I was in Starbucks holding a cup of coffee and I had the memory of my father in the shower with me. And I believe I was five or six at the time.

It was shaky and I had to write that down. And it was my final semester studying fiction at the Institute of American Indian Arts. Instead of using that semester to finish my book of fiction, I started writing essay. I realized that I had been using the guise of fiction to show myself the truth. And the process of turning fiction into nonfiction was essentially stripping away everything that didn't actually happen to me and filling those holes left behind with memory. It made sense that the fiction and then what came after. It's so different, but it makes sense bound together and retold as truth because there really was a before and after that memory.

Question. Do you think Heart Berries approaches the politicization of grief? What power dynamics move to the fore in writing this book? I mean in terms of narratives that the book brings together.

Answer. I didn't think about the politicization of grief, but the worst part of me imagined I could be redeemed.

Question. Can you talk at the craft level about what it means to work with the risk of self-disclosure? Can you talk about what it means at the level of personal relationships, alliances, political relationships? When you were writing the book and now that it is moving into production, what are your observations about the extent to which your writing is politicized, removed from context, or made to be in the control somehow of, if not the writer, one's readers? What are your perspectives on the different relationships a Native woman has to her audience of readers and the relationships she might have with the individuals that comprise her communities?

Answer. I moved with the surety that the work could not be as contrived as I normally present myself. Disclosure, personally, cannot work if I'm thinking rhetorically about appeal or thinking about appealing to someone I love. If I am gluttonous, exploitative, or punched a man, or tried to stab someone or failed my children, then I wanted to write it without rhetorically positioning myself as just. Crafting truth to be as bare as it feels was important.

Memoir, for me, functions as something vulnerable in a sea of posturing. The danger politically or artistically is that people won't give me my craft. Because I'm an Indian woman, someone might call my work raw and disregard the craft of making something appear raw. Raw would be fighting for myself, defending myself, telling people how hard it is to write about molestation and repeatedly saying I was a child. Because I wanted to do that, constantly give refrain and remind myself it was not my fault, but I didn't want to engage in sentimentality, or the wrong type of sentimentality. I crafted the voice and, while it's earnest, it takes work to be earnest and cut my shit.

I wanted to give my life art because nobody had given my experience the framework it deserved, as complex, more than raw, or brutal, or familiar, or a stereotype. I don't know.

Question. Shame and forgiveness have very different functions and histories in my tribal communities and in the space that a Native woman is permitted to inhabit in dominant culture. So here's a question. What, if anything, do you anticipate about these perhaps competing responses from readers? And please tell me you were not preoccupied to the extent of self-censorship with the notion of competing responses while you wrote the book, or rather, please discuss.

Answer. I knew nothing I said would change the trajectory of my life. Not in any real way. The work would not make it easier for me to move bureaucratically as an Indian woman. It would not make people processing a Native girl’s casework any different, because I believe we all try to articulate our stories, our voices, to those people, and they do not see us differently. I don't feel burdened when I say that, but I feel chagrined. That's a big part of the book. Shame. Being chagrined by my transgressions and my family’s. And I didn't censor that exploration. I hate the word exploration. It feels funny to say it because those words don't do it justice. It feels colonized to say I explore or discover.

But what other word could I own? The terrain was there inside of me and I decided to meditate or examine it with brutal honesty because I knew if I wrote it, I could know it. I could know the depth of my pain if I wrote it, revised it, and it felt true or as true as words can be. I wrote explicitly in some ways to display shame. True shame is the ugliest thing, the most hurtfully honest thing I can say about myself or another person, and then I revised it to cut deeper. And then I cut the fat off it so that the truth felt expedient, but it wasn't for me. Maybe that was a type of censorship.

I didn't want readers to do the interior work I did to arrive at a specific point. The book is structured by pain. What I did with that shame arrives at something pure, I think, which is that my mother is a biblical character in my story. Her and her mother and her mother have become larger myths than I originally thought.

Question. You've said elsewhere, “Indigenous identity is fixed in grief.” Can you elaborate?

Answer. I don't feel liberated from the governing presence of tragedy. The way in which people frame our work, and the way our work exists or is canonized. We are not liberated from injustice. We are anchored to it. It feels inescapable and part of the zeitgeist of Indian in the 21st century, or every century since they came, which doesn't limit me, or us, but limits the way we are seen and spoken about. It's unfortunate, and real to me.

Question. I asked about why you wrote the book and you said, “One reason I wrote the book is there is so much criticism about the sentimentality of writing about trauma. Writing about it is irrefutably art, but also does the work of saying something. Women should be able to say this and say it however we want. There's so much pushback about how a child abuse narrative can't be art.” Can you say more?

Answer. I know the book isn't simply an abuse narrative, but then it is. I was abused and brilliant women are abused often and we write about it. People seem so resistant to let women write about these experiences and they sometimes resent when the narrative sounds familiar. It's almost funny because yeah, there's nothing new about what they do to us. We can write about it in new ways, but what value are we placing on newness? Familiarity is boring, but these fucking people, they keep hurting us in the same ways. It's putting the onus on us to tell it differently. Spare people melodrama, explicative language, image, and make it new.

I think, well, fuck that. I'll say how it happened to me and by doing that, maybe it became new. I took the voice out of my head that said writing about abuse is too much, that people will think it's sentimental or pulling at someone's pathos, unwilling to be art. By resisting the pushback, I was able to write more fully and at times less artfully about what happened. I remember my first creative writing professor in nonfiction asked his class not to write about abortions or car wrecks. I thought, you're going to know about my abortion in detail. If only there had been a car crash that same day. I don't think there's anything wrong with exploring familiar themes in the human experience. When the individual gets up and tells her story, there's going to be a detail so real and vivid it places you there and you identify. I believe in the author's right to tell any story and the closer it comes to a singular truth, the more art they render in the telling.

Question. Can you speak to the competing impulses of memoir being therapeutic at the expense of being imaginative or provocative, hurtful, critical?

Answer. Cathartic or therapeutic. Those words are sometimes used to relate a feeling, like a sigh of relief or release. But therapy is fucking hard. My therapist didn't pity me, not the good ones. They made me strip myself of pandering, manipulation, presentation. They wanted the truth more desperately than I did. And then they wanted me to speak it. Live it every moment.

I feel like writing is that way. Writing can be hard therapy. You write and then you read it, revise your work to be cleaner, sharper, better, and then when you have the best version of yourself, not rhetorically, but you've come close to playing the music you hear in your head, you give it time and reread it. You go back to work. It seems endless. Nothing is ever communicated fully. The way being healed is never real unless every moment of every day you remind yourself of your progress and remind yourself not to go back or hurt someone or do the wrong thing. It's not healing unless you keep moving. You're never done. The work of never done, therapy and writing.

Question. Within the work, you most explicitly name one influence. “Her name was Adrienne, like a poet I loved. A woman of exclusion who loved women enough to give her work solely to them. Adrienne was part of a continuum working against erasure.”

Her friendship and support of Jean Valentine, one of my mentors and teachers, brings up another literary lineage. How does this assert, in some ways, that a woman's story is a story for every woman? And what, if any particular aspect of her work is this referencing?

Answer. Adrienne Rich, Diving into the Wreck. This book is sometimes for her. Everything she's done for me.

Question. Can you talk about the necessary contrivances Native writers often have to employ to make their work accessible, not just to dominant culture, but also to other Native writers? Overdetermination, surfaces, any evasions, elusiveness?

Answer. People want a Native identity crisis. The most digestible thing we can do is to note what it's like being an Indian somewhere Indians aren't supposed to be. Anywhere in North America, really. We want to see that, too. To some degree. I feel some type of affinity for the Indian in the sculpture [by James Earle Fraser,] End of the Trail. I want to be that Indian.

But no. The reckoning or feudal endeavor of being Indian. There's profundity there. But ultimately, it's false and contrived. Put upon us because they want us to stay relics. And romance is beautiful. Relics are beautiful. I feel pulled in and I resist.

Question. There are several images in the book that do the work of expressing without formulating, such as a spinning wheel, a white porcelain tooth, a snarling mouth, and lighting haunted me. How does this series of images foreshadow the consciousness at work in the book?

Answer. These images felt jarring to write as one sentence. I was torn, but there are all the indicators that my power was in something destabilizing. That was electric and white. That would not let me be. That was pressing and could not be contained. It was a matter of time. I was so terrified of myself and the things I saw. And my mother was right there the whole time, telling me to let it be. Let it exist within me and stir. And maybe women experience this. Thinking refrain is admirable, when cut loose is what it needs to be.

Question. As Native writers, and particularly as Native women writers, our lives are literally and mythically born through catastrophe, innocence, and destruction. You ask early in the book, “How could misfortune follow me so well and why did I choose it every time?” How does this inform your content and context?

Answer. When I read this, I feel the compulsion to literally look back because misfortune is always here behind me.

Question. You say too, “In white culture, forgiveness is synonymous with letting go. In my culture, I believe we carry pain until we can reconcile with it through ceremony. Pain is not framed like a problem with a solution. I don't even know that white people see transcendence the way we do. I'm not sure that their dichotomies apply to me.” How do you write pain into phenomenological circumstance?

Answer. I think pain is presented as good for us, that we can even identify it. Before, it was a secret. In my mother's time, it was a secret burden, and women were admired for their ability to ignore, to be silent, to be selfless. They were the backbone of every significant movement in our history because they were not cast to the front. Now we can speak it. And that's true healing, not a problem. To admit there is some constant pain.

Question. In the chapter, “Thunder Being Honey Bear,” you write, “I avoid the mysticism of my culture. My people know there is a true mechanism that runs through us. Stars were people in our continuum. Mountains were stories before they were mountains. Things were created by story. The words were conjurers, and ideas were our mothers.” In conversation about this work, you said, “Everyone in our lives exists right now.” I'm interested in the way the words true mechanism enmeshed themselves with the metaphor of language as an extension of the fabric of the lived world. How do you work within or without these figurative suggestions?

Answer. This ties into the images I saw when I was a child, the spinning wheel. Beholding myself was facing the wheel, which literally appeared to me. It didn't feel mystical. It felt like an image that came to me, an abstract part of my identity's collage or composition.

And I believe that is also how I regard my culture. We spoke the world into being. Mountains were stories before they were mountains, especially where I'm from, especially when my name translates to little mountain woman. Having the name introduced the question of if I or the mountain came first. Which do I regard as origin or speaker? And I think those questions definitively answer the nature of the people I grew up with.

Question. Your book presents so many dimensions of motherhood, both from your perspective as a daughter and as a mother. “Even mom's cynicism was subversive. She often said nothing would work out.” You present pessimism differently than cynicism, as irony that has to be lived rather than merely understood, right? How does this reconcile with your mother's operating principles?

Answer. She was hilarious in that she dedicated herself to the betterment of Native people but never believed in it. She discouraged herself from believing things could be better while working toward it. I guess she didn't want to jinx healing. Being cynical when people were so desperate for altruistic, new age, good time healing, it was a funny thing to watch that still brings me joy.

Question. The way in which you interrogate the failures of conversation is grounded in imperative and observation. Like when you write, Mom, I won't speak to you the way we spoke before. We tried to be explicit with each other. Some knowledge can only be a song or a symbol. Language fails you and me. Some things are too large.” What can you say about the function of ritual language by contrast?

Answer. My mother needed the poetry of biblical work. She needed an epic when I tried so hard to show her the truth in explicit language. Instead of saying, Larry touched me, she needed to hear about the death in his presence, that he was a ghost. She would have heard that and known the depth of the pain her boyfriend caused me. And she wouldn't have been defensive about it. Somehow saying things explicitly was never enough.

We never found language. Had I told her that she was my Jesus and that now I need her to wash me from sin, that's something my mother would understand, poetry, because reality was not real to her. I had always thought she was evasive, but I believe now that the more I tried to create finite parameters, realities, truths, messages, the more I tried to do that, the more she misunderstood. We both wanted something abstract from each other, and those desires aren't fulfilled by plain language. Plain language does not serve love.

Question. Later, you say, “I preferred abandoned over forsaken, and estranged to abandoned. I loved with abandon. It's something I still take with me. Estranged is a word with a focus on absence. I can't afford to think of lack. I'd rather be liberated by it.” What are the ways in which you construct absence or departure as possibility?

Answer. In some ways, I acted with reckless abandon because I had been abandoned. There was no father to work against or for. There was nothing, and it didn't always feel like absence, but a white room to paint.

Question. In another moment you write, “In my kitchen, I turn the lights off again, like I used to. It allows me to feel as nothing as the dark. I know where everything is, like I did before. I become scared because it is this behavior that causes me to commit myself. I still take a knife and I press it against the fat of my palm—in the dark, hoping that I have the bravery to puncture myself, so that the next day I can be more fearless.” Is this less about a connection to an individual body and more about a mode of survival?

Answer. This is hard to admit, but I thought I could gradually build my tolerance to physical pain and die, and that never happened. I just couldn't move forward to my destruction, and I couldn't appreciate death, even though I tried. Death becoming less interesting artistically, physically, heart-wise, it was the best thing I came away with.

Question. What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you think the current questions are?

Answer. I wanted to articulate the truth, but was unsure if the truth could be singular. I had existed in a double consciousness to the point where I wondered if I were an object or paralyzed in fear, and the book is me moving forward and putting myself at the apex of my own story. It's not immediate, but gradual, because it was happening as I was writing it, or as I was trying to articulate the truth of what exactly happened. In the first chapters, I am asking if my father hurt me, then how, and then finally, I can behold myself. And that could be why it's roving temporally, or not really concerned with a linear structure, but with the story as it should be presented, rhetorically and truthfully. Questions exist in the last pages of the book. Is the uncovered truth and the knowledge of it wholly enough for me to move away from? Is admitting the nature of my father or my mother's transgressions and my own, or realizing I've entered my own renaissance enough to let the worst parts of my father, mother, and myself rest?

So where are we now? With Terese Mailhot’s Heart Berries we move well beyond the yesteryear's satisfactions of mere representation and oblique lyricism. The reader now anticipates that the forefront of contemporary indigenous literature will imbue terror with angst, of course, and that we are no longer tasked with the hauntings of various types of loss. That silence, too, is a construction. That we are no longer complicit in presenting Native experience as historical content rather than literary apotheosis.

I mean that silence is not representative of loss. I mean to call attention to the fact that, yes, through craft, we assemble what remains of ourselves through language. We imagine, create, tell, reprise, contradict, refuse, estrange, assimilate, and determine our language. What we do becomes part of our existing story. Even though at times our detractors, all of them, seem to argue that through language, we seem to exist in opposition to the very notion of story.

So, where are we? Who is telling whose story? Who is preventing misreading?

No one. Violence happens through our bodies. Isn't that how colonialism used to work? Their adversaries were simple. Our families, our genealogies, marriages, children, our sexual and domestic violence, and ourselves, our suicides, our recuperations, were simultaneously reduced and amplified as social facts rather than private matters. Our literature was not ours, it was theirs.

So, where are we? Where we have always been. Where are you?

#terese marie mailhot #heart berries #interview #joan naviyuk kane #indigenous women #indigenous authors

0 notes

typicalf001 · 2 years ago

Text

4 Years of Review On

Time really does fly readers. One weekend you open up a cheap editor to make a small website, and the next weekend the website you published is four years old and has around two hundred uploads. A small project you poured little effort into now represents all your dedication and hard work, and what was a hobby is now a job you attend to in your free time. I’ve been writing video game reviews since 2019, and my experience with gaming and journalism has grown a lot since then. Four years worth of experience and I want to talk about how I got this website to where it is today. This article won’t be structured like or as long as my traditional essays, but a reflection on how Review On came to be. So sorry if the focus of this story gets a little out of control.

Growing up I enjoyed writing . Doing the best I could to analyze the material given to me by my school teachers and putting together acceptable essays. Practicing my grammar, expanding my vocabulary, and overall ability to write. In my class journal I wrote original stories or retold stories I knew so that my surroundings peers could understand. It was a fun hobby and at times I would finish my class assignments early just so I could have more time to write what was in my mind. I did get made fun of this hobby though. I didn’t have that many friends, and at the time my parents didn’t have jobs that paid them well enough to afford the latest trinkets. I was made fun of for where I came from or what personal interests I had. It made me feel down, but to escape this discomfort I would retreat to my journal. To write, create, and be proud about what I was jotting down. Writing was an escape from reality and I did whatever I could to be free.

Years later my parents got better paying jobs. They were able to afford more luxuries for the family and introduced me to new hobbies. One such activity was gaming, which I wasn’t big into at a younger age but would soon be as we’ll explain shortly. I kept writing stories and ideas, but overtime I started to feel burnout. I was tired, running out of creative energy, and needed something else to write about. One day a classmate made fun of a show I liked, imitated me, and pretended to write a bad review for it. I was irritated for a few minutes, but then an idea sparked in my head. “What if I wrote about things I loved?” Give personal critiques, explain what is right and wrong, and reasons why more people should check it out. It was me figuring out how to write reviews. I was aware the concept of reviewing products and media existed for the longest and that not everyone in the reviewing was positive, but I wanted to deliver what were more positive takes. List reasons why people should check out things I love rather than skip them.

I was writing about cartoons at first because at the time those were my main interests, but slowly I eventually ran out of cartoons to talk about and found out half the time I was just re-explaining the main premise. Then one day I played this little indie game known as Shovel Knight. This challenging side-scrolling platformer which was reminiscent of old school titles. I felt inspired by it. The fact it was made by a small team of passionate developers, it had a goofy world and characters, and it demonstrated how time and hard work pays off. I wanted to express my love for this game, so I did! I wrote a review on Shovel Knight and showed it to as many people as possible. They were annoyed, which is fair to be honest, but they enjoyed what I had to say. From then on I wrote reviews on whatever games I owned but soon I ran out of games to cover.

8th grade was coming to a close and I was about to head into high school. Summer left me with a lot of freetime and I used that time to catch up on games I never bothered trying in the past. My love for gaming was starting to grow and I wanted to expand my horizons beyond the Nintendo titles I grew up with. I purchased a couple of commonly known indie games on my Switch, and using an Xbox One a family friend gifted I played a handful of Triple A titles. Hollow Knight and Octopath Traveler being two of my favorite games and discoveries I made that summer. High school comes and I’m struggling to fit in with the bigger crowd. For middle school I went to a small private religious school, but I went to a big public place for high school. There were kids coming from everywhere and I got to learn things my previous school didn’t teach. I was confused and above all lonely. My parents felt bad for me, and one day my father took me to a local Best Buy and purchased a console I wanted earlier that year. God of War was the most highly acclaimed game of 2018, and I wanted to see why it was so beloved. However, I didn’t have a PS4 to play it. Mainly just a Nintendo Switch and Xbox One. My father got me a PS4, and man it’s the best gift he ever bought for me. I have bought so many games for my PS4, and even though I now own a PS5 I’m still playing a majority of games on what is probably my favorite console. My love for gaming grew further and with it more games to write about.

One of the classes I attended during my freshman year of high school was art. It was fun, let me get creative, and hone my drawing skills. However, I was struggling to connect with the kids in the class and didn’t feel encouraged to talk to them. Then one day I asked them if there were any games they’d recommend me to pick for my PS4 and the closest person to me suggested this: Bloodborne. I bought it a few days later to see what was up. At first I turned it down due to its punishing nature. Soulsborne games are titles I’d usually avoid especially since they had very few options of lowering the difficulty and making themselves easier, but there was this little voice in my head telling me I could do it. I beat Hollow Knight earlier that year and it was one of the best achievements I’ve made up until that point. I wanted another hard game to give me that feeling again. So I played Bloodborne and it was one hell of an experience. I love Bloodborne so much, it’s one of my top three favorite games of all time. I immediately wrote a review after my first playthrough and showed the person who recommended it to me. He was impressed with my work and asked if I ever shared it with more people. I said “Yeah of course I tried showcasing it to my classmates!” but then he said, “No, I mean make it accessible online for individuals like me to encounter?” I never thought about this idea, and seeing how at the time I had a collection of short written reviews I thought it would be easy to transfer them to a digital format. I wrote all my works down onto Google Docs, found an easy website to form a blog page, and published my website. Review On, a shining little place to talk about the best video games out there.

I was able to make my reviews look fancier, add pictures to them, and signal when a new section was about to begin. It was hard at first as my website didn’t pick up much traction and the WIX editor I still use didn’t allow me to do everything imaginable unless I paid them a bunch of money, but I worked around the issues and got it working. My friend, who I still keep in touch with today, regularly goes to my site and says how well done my work is. I was happy and kept writing reviews for him and the people I wanted to impress. Writing reviews became a hobby and it felt like I was going somewhere. I was creating content I could be proud of and my sad lonely life finally had some use. I had a purpose, and I created it rather than let others control me.

Life was good now, but I still felt like I could have been doing better. One day I thought about writing a more in depth review. Something that wasn’t as brief as the reviews I was writing up till that point. I decided to write an in depth essay about a game I already covered. The original review was a piece I was not pleased with and I felt like it had more to offer. It’s one of my favorite essays, Hollow Knight Is A Masterpiece. It’s not as great as some of the other essays I’ve written and some sections of it are messy. There was a short paragraph that explains video game difficulty and it would be expanded in my essay defending games with no difficulty options. There’s another section where I tried saying it was the best indie game of 2017 and tried making comparisons to Cuphead which was incredibly unfair. However, I put so much love into writing it. Explaining the mechanics, the world, the story, and what developers could learn from it. I enjoyed going through a game I already covered and doing it better. Did the exact same thing for other games I wrote simplistic reviews on like Prey, Nier: Automata, Octopath Traveler, and Bloodborne once again. My writing skills were improving and it helped me become more critical with my reviews going forward. It even helped me with high school writing as before I was having a hard time due to the low standards my middle school set me up with.

I kept writing and writing. Seeing my work get longer, chunkier, but better. I even went back and rewrote older reviews. Transforming them into the form you see me write now. A majority of my work I’m pleased with, but occasionally there are times where I feel like something is not right. Grammar errors, info that wasn’t there before, the review score no longer matching up to current views, etc. I spend hours editing previous work and making them better. Deleting what wasn’t necessary, or adding what was necessary. That’s probably my biggest flaw with me as a reviewer. That I’m never pleased and always see improvement that could be made. Yet this is also a pro as I’m always working towards my best self. My writing got better, but also my views on gaming.

I checked out a good handful of reviewers and youtubers during high school to see what tips and tricks I could pick up. One of the critics I took a lot of influence from was Yahtzee Croshaw, who you may know for Zero Punctuation. He wasn’t my favorite reviewer and listening to a guy constantly being negative becomes draining after awhile, but he was the most sensible and honest reviewer I’ve ever witnessed. He always had points to make. What was being done right in a game and what was done wrong. What developers and writers should take away even if it’s bad. That nothing is immune to criticism and if all you can do is shower praise then you’re not ever gonna know what you should be doing as a creator. I took note of this and that’s why I always try to have sections in my reviews on what is done wrong. Even when a lot is done right. Occasionally he’d cover games that were really obscure, indies I never heard of because I wasn’t big into the indie scene at the time. I picked up games that he recommended and they managed to amaze me. I kept playing more indie games and found out the scene had a lot of gems hidden within. Then I thought, “Why don’t I expose these lesser known games to general audiences?” It was an epic plan and ever since then I’ve been trying to review whatever obscure games I could find. I am always in the pursuit of what is great, interesting, innovative, and well designed.

Flash forward to where we are today. I kept reviewing up as a hobby and have now covered two hundred games. That’s a lot of time and money spent towards gaming. Time that could be spent towards sports or becoming popular in school, but I’d say it’s worth it. I get more readers now that I know how to advertise myself and know how social media works. I partnered up with a site named Sinical Network and occasionally I hand them some of my existing reviews so they can sponsor me. I am a fan of multiple genres, even ones I used to despise at a younger age. And a media I had little interest in once has grown into my biggest hobby. I got to make a lot of friends along the way, meet other writers who gave me advice, and for once feel accomplished for what I was doing. Was I gaining anything in the real world? Not much, I mean my site isn’t monetized and I don’t take cash or donations from people. My site is getting better, but still isn’t truly the best it could be. There are times I feel like I should have programmed one myself rather than use a wix editor. There are times I wonder if making videos would have been a better option than writing these articles, because more people these days are less likely to read even when it’s online. However, I’m proud of what I have done. Four years and I’m no longer in high school. I’m in college and life is getting much busier. I still try to find time to play games and write. I don’t pump out as many reviews I used to, but when I deliver one it’s top quality. Always expect the best, because I want to deliver the best. Here, now, and moving forward this year.

Thanks for reading, and thanks to all the devs who brought these wonderful years of gaming. Your work brings joy to many and without it I and this site wouldn’t have come into existence. Just, thank you, and to anyone who feels discouraged in life just know you will get there. To a place that’s grand and right for you. Just keep trying and you’ll achieve it.

1 note · View note

whoabo · 3 years ago

Text

dead horse

pairings: bo burnham x reader.

readers pronouns: she/her.

warnings: angst, verbal fighting, a couple shoves but nothing too bad.

era: not specified.

a/n: hi! this is so bad like bad omg but anyway i added some other characters for this one, which was really just the generic guy friend character, aidy bryant cuz bo and her were in a movie and i like to think of them as friends and phoebe bridgers cuz i love her and her and bo are friends so yuh! okay enjoy!!

“god, it was one time!”

“actually, it was three times and the second time.. you didn’t even remember where you were!”

the group laughed as aidy retold a story about bo. you sat in a booth all laughing— well sort of. you kinda just chuckled and hid behind your glass of water. not really feeling like drinking with the others.

you and bo had been.. quite distant lately but phoebe had begged you to come out tonight. and you can never say no to her. to your surprise, your friend since college tyler was at the table. his hair looked extra fluffed, maybe due to the fact that phoebe had ripped his beanie off when they sat down.

tyler was on your left as bo was on your right. he talked to everyone at the table, his eyes glancing your way almost every twenty seconds it seemed like.

“so, y/n how ‘ya been?” aidy asked as she took a sip from her glass, you weren’t sure what it was.

you shrugged and looked around the table. “uh, not much to be honest. been really boring lately, just working. hangin’ with the dogs.”

as aidy was about to ask another question you sharply stood, maneuvering your way around the booth. stating that you had to use the restroom.

you walked to the hallway where the bathrooms were located. you rested against the wall, a couple sweaty bodies pushed through the narrow area.

head leaned back and eyes closed your arms wrap around yourself.

“so, what was that about?”

you opened your eyes and looked over. there he stood, leaning his shoulder against the wall, peering down at you.

you shook your head and started to walk away until bo grabbed your hand.

“dude, what is going—.”

“i just wanna go home.”

“no, not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

you finally shook off his hands and walked toward the exit. the groups eyes followed you before turning to bo. he walked up to the table with an obvious fake smile.

tyler cleared his throat and sat up, “you guys good?”

“oh yeah, she just.. wasn’t feeling all that well and wanted to go home. i’m gonna go with her, sorry to cut the night short, guys.”

he chuckled weakly, he grabbed his coat and walked out the door. her car was gone, luckily the two didn’t come together. he sighed as he walked to his car while sighing.

he knows the two had been distant, but he doesn’t understand why. sure, he’s not around twenty four seven. he has tour, and shows, and interviews, he can’t exactly control when those happen.

he pulled into your driveway, locking his car and sulking towards your front door. he raised his hands and knocked twice.

he let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as she opened the door. her eyes were red, as well as her nose. his heart dropped.

she looked him in the eye for less than five seconds before trying to shit the door on him. he blocked it and pushed his way into her house.

she rolled her eyes and turned around. “get out of my house bo.” her voice sounded weak, and tired.

“not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“i don’t need to—.”

“uhm, as your boyfriend i think i have the right to know.” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair.

she groaned looking at him, “maybe i don’t you as my boyfriend anymore.”

he looked at her, his brows squinted, mouth ajar. “what?”

she let out a stuttered breath. holding her hands in front of her in an awkward motion.

“i can’t handle it anymore, bo. i’m sorry i cant.”

“what the fuck do you mean? are- are you breaking up with me?” he stood up.

his full height didn’t intimidate her as much as he’d like to believe. his eyes fought their way to make contact. his mind racing.

she was really leaving him.

she turned around and opened her door. “i think you should leave, bo.”

“no, tell me. are you breaking up with me?” he asked— demanded. her eyes started to sting as she held in her tears.

“bo, just leave, please.”

“just tell me what is going on—!”

“i’m done with you!”

his eyes widened as his arms dropped to his side.

“i can’t do this anymore, robert. i’m sorry, i cant. it’s just.. you’re never around and you’re too tired to do anything with me. but you’re wide awake to go out with anybody else.” she spoke, her eyes finally letting the tears fall. she wiped them as fast as she could.

she turned around once more and placed her hand on the doorknob. she motioned him to leave but he stood his ground.

“i can— i can be better. please, y/n.”

“why now? why after i call you out do you want to be better? you didn’t seem to care a few weeks ago when you flat out ignored me in front everyone. i mean come on! j-just leave bo!”

she exclaimed shoving him in the chest. he stumbled back, a small grunt leaving his mouth. he held her arms as she continued to try and shove him.

“leave!” she cried. she managed to turn them around and gave a final shove. the two starred at each other as he stood outside.

“goodbye, bo.” she slammed the door, locking it without a second thought.

#bo burnham imagine #bo burnham x reader #bo burnham #bo burnham fanfic #fluff #angst #bo burnham inside #robert burnham #whoabo

72 notes · View notes

oswinsdolma · 3 years ago

Text

Yes, it's 2021, but I'm still not over the dark irony of Kilgharrah's final words, so I am going to analyse it, even though precisely nobody asked.

Firstly, Kilgharrah tells Merlin after his admission of failure that "all that [he has] dreamt of has come to pass". Now, obviously there is the irony of the fact that Arthur is dead, something that Merlin has been trying to prevent for the whole five seasons, yet the battle was victorious, people have seen magic as a force for good and Merlin can now be open about his gifts with his friends. However, there is an even deeper irony here that is rarely addressed, and this lies in the word "all". The problem is, that while Emrys is the entity that strives for magical inclusion and the one that fufils the prophecy. Destiny is not conscious: it doesn't understand life or death beyond the shallow ties of balance and mathematics. Yet Emrys may be a concept, and concepts need someone- or something- to take root in, and that someone happened to be Merlin.

Fundamentally, Merlin is not a bad person, but regardless of his power, his empathy, his loyalty, he is still unequivocally human. He has flaws, he has guilt, and no matter how dedicated he is to his destiny, there will always be other variables that come into play, and there is therefore no doubt that Merlin would have had other thoughts, no matter how insignificant, that lay opposed to his destiny.

Take when Freya died: Merlin was heartbroken, and in those seconds of emotion before reason took a hold once again, he may have wished, just for a moment, that Arthur and Freya's fates were reversed. And even after that, he would have hoped that one day, Arthur and Freya could live in a world where the other's existence is not a violation onto the other. And what place exists where harmony must ensue outside of the dead?

Then moving on to Balinor's death and Merlin's anguish in its aftermath: yes, he gained his powers as a dragonlord, but at the expense of a father he should have had a right to know. In that light, there is the inevitability of resentment for his gifts. Merlin would never have wanted the powers he attained had he known the price for them. And yet again, those tiny thoughts would have crept in: the wish that things could go differently, the wish that the business of dragons was not his to oversee, even at the time when his gifts were needed most. So the sick twist there is that when Merlin needed Kilgharrah, the only person who ever truly understood him despite their differences, left him alone, that wish came true.

There are hundreds of instances where Merlin's humanity prevented the prophecy from taking a favourable turn, and that, I think is what makes Merlin less a drama than a tragedy: there's the hope for a better ending combined with the constant prescence of an ending you don't want to believe. There's the fall at the ending and the warped sense of catharsis that comes with knowing that the end did come, even if it wasn't what you expected.

Following that, there is a pause in the conversation, as both characters take a second to mourn in silence, the absence of what united them showing them no longer as allies, but as friends.

Then: "no man, no matter how great, can know his destiny." This isn't so much something for Merlin to understand, but more something for the audience to hear: it's an echo of the first words we hear, and therefore a reminder that it is Kilgharrah who tells the story. Now this is an interesting narrative device in itself: why have him narrate rather than Arthur? Why Kilgharrah over Merlin or Gwen or Morgana? Take a second to imagine what it would have been like for the story to start with their voices, even if the words were the same. Especially when we know their endings, it gives the story a different tone and alludes to each of their fates in a different way. Though here is that terrible truth that the narrative comes back to every time if you analyse it far enough: each of the core four has a story, yet because of the way they were used, it will never be their story to tell. But Kilgharrah... He was just as important as the rest of them, but while the others were pawns, he was sat watching the game with a reluctant but omniescent eye, and that's what make that line hit so hard for us (aside from the fact that it is a taunting echo of the hope we had at the start). The story, while timeless, is dead, and we are all helpless spectators, hoping against hope that we are wrong about how it ends.

Furthermore, there is the fact that it is a repeat of the first words we hear when we still hold a little hope. It is that reiteration of the fact that the story will be told and retold, rewritten and loved but doomed to end in tragedy. It's an indication of the timelessness of certain tales and the permenence of endings no matter how much we want them to change, and it hits the mark every time.

Then, if it wasn't sad enough already, there is the final utterence of the phrase "once and future king". Kilgharrah says these words in hope, trusting Merlin to take it as a promise, but retrospectively there is the darkness of that line that Merlin probably knew all along, even if he didn't let himself believe it. In saying "once" rather than "now" right from the get-go, there was that quiet acknowledgement of an ending, even if it was followed by a beginning: it is yet another reminder to Merlin that he should have known, and that bittersweet reassurance that wherever he may have done, it would always have ended in disaster. Even if they both made all the right choices, the gods would have found another way to turn it down.

Okay, next let's look at "when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again". This, in all.effect, is a reiteration of the last phrase, made clearer for an audience who may need or desire reinforcement here so I'm not going to go too deep. But the thing is, Merlin already knows, at least in his heart, that it is Arthur's destiny to rise again and be the greatest king Albion has ever known. So when Kilgharrah says this, it is not a warning or a piece of advice, for perhaps the first time, it is a kindness. Merlin has been wrecked by his actions and those of all the others caught in the imperfect web spun and left to decay by the idea of Albion. It is a gentle reminder not to forget the reason for all that they have lost, and an olive branch of freedom for one who was so long enslaved.

And there again is that irony and cruel truth that while Merlin is the crucible in which that dream will be forged and has a certain autonomy over its nature, he is not a part of that dream himself, and maybe he never will be. Not unless someone lets him in, and all the people who would ever have done so are a breath too close to death for it to really count.

(I said I wasn't going to go too deep but I got carried away)(this is why my lit teacher is fed up with me)

And finally, the last line Kilgharrah says to us, perhaps the most powerful of them all: "the story that we have been a part of will live long in the minds of men". To analyse the words in this individually would be a rare insult to its complexity, but as a phrase, it evokes such an emotive response that it alone finally cements that finality in our minds. It's the cyclical acknowledgement of the audience's role in the narrative, simultaneously retracting and strengthening our suspension of belief. The one word I have used more than any other in this essay is "story" and this is why: the people who hear a tale such as this become just as important as the characters, because we are united by hope for the final chord but dreading it, because that means that the song will finally be over. Is it better for the embers to glow with tragedy or be extinguished by a deeper catharsis?

In summary, it is obvious to the naked eye that the Great Dragon's last words are loaded with meaning far beyond their initial appearance, and when you dive deeper, the web of connotations is so vast that this essay has barely scratched the surface. But the informal and perhaps most accurate theme that wa can draw from this is that none of us are over this show, no matter what we claim, because that ending really flippin' hurt, okay!?

#bbc merlin #merlin #kilgharrah #sorry for the inevitable typos and poor writing because i never proofread my essays before i post #i have a lot of feelings

39 notes · View notes

noladyme · 4 years ago

Text

La Cuervo - Chapter 20

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on, on Mayans M.C., are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambigous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

20.

The next morning, Nina was looking out the window, at a green truck that had just pulled up by the curb. “I think it’s him!”. “You’re really excited, huh, ma'…?”, Angel chuckled at her. Nina turned to look at him, and nodded enthusiastically. “Do you think he’d like some coffee? We should make him some coffee…”, she said. “Ooh! Maybe some cheese! Go to the store an get some. Hurry!”. Angel came up behind Nina, and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the window. “He’s not royalty”, he said. “To me, he’s pretty fucking close right now!”, Nina retorted. “I can’t wait until every one of those little assholes are dead and gone!”. Angel laughingly pressed a kiss to her temple, and went to open up for the exterminator. Nina felt a sudden urge to straighten her hair, and brush invisible lint of her clothes, before he came through the door.

As Angel showed the exterminator around the house, Nina followed close behind; adding to the conversation whenever it made sense – and sometimes even when it didn’t. She realized she was beginning to go stir-crazy from only spending time at either the clubhouse or Angel’s house; and she hadn’t talked to a person that didn’t have anything to do with the Mayans in days. Before that, she’d been kept under strict surveillance by SAMCRO, who were worried she’d hurt herself; and even before that, it had been the first lockdown at the scrapyard.

Crouched on the kitchen floor, and looking under the sink, the exterminator looked up at them, and sighed. “Yup. Roaches”, he said. “Is this a rental or do you own the house?”. “I’m the owner”, Angel muttered. Nina realized she hadn’t known either until now. The thought of having a stable home for a potential future family made her heart skip a beat – in spite of the roaches. “Too bad… You could charge the owner otherwise”, the exterminator. “That reminds me of a joke! A man walks in to an insect shop, and asks for a box full of roaches. The man behind the counter asks the costumer what he needs it for. Well, I’m moving, and the owner of my apartment told me to leave the place as I’d found it!”. He laughed loudly at his own joke, and Nina bit her lip to keep from grinning; while Angel simply raised a brow. The exterminator looked at Nina. “You liked that, huh…? Listen to this one: My girlfriend stepped on a butterfly the other day, so I told her; No butter for a week! Then she saw a cockroach, and stomped on that as well. I told her; Nice try!”. He roared with laughter, and Nina snorted out a snigger.

Angel went to stand half way in front of Nina, and looked at the exterminator. “What’s this gonna cost me?”, he grunted. “No price on peace of mind, right?”, the exterminator said, before catching on to Angel’s glum expression. “250 $... If you take care of the clean-up yourself, I’ll cut it down to an even deuce”. Nina winced at the thought of having to clean up an unspecified amount of dead bugs, and Angel sighed. “Just take care of it”, he muttered. “Will do. But I’ll need you to clear out of here for the rest of the day. And open the windows when you get home”. Angel grunted in confirmation, and took Nina’s hand; pulling her with him. She hardly had a chance to grab her borrowed helmet, before he dragged her out of the front door.

Once out by the bike, Nina stopped dead in her tracks. The weather was beautiful, and perfect for a day at the park, or a ride anywhere other than what at the moment felt like the suffocating closedness of the clubhouse. She looked deep into Angel’s darker than usual eyes. “Take me out for breakfast…”, she said. “Querida, you know how it is. We shouldn’t even be out in the open like this", Angel said.

“But I’m going crazy!”, Nina pleaded. “I only ever see you, or the people in the clubhouse… I feel like I’m under house arrest, even though you keep telling me I did nothing wrong". Angel got on his bike, and shook his head. “We’ll go out when all this is over", he said. “And when is that? You haven’t found the snitch yet; and even if you do, it’s just a matter of time before Palo realizes I’m still alive". Nina realized her voice was turning whiny. “I wanna go somewhere… see other people…”. “Like last time?”, Angel snapped back, taking her by surprise. “When you fucking left me, with nothing but a bullshit excuse?”.

Nina felt like she’d been slapped in the face. “Angel… You think I want to leave?”. “You did once already”, Angel said. “And just now, you were flirting with the guy who came to nuke the cockroaches, that’s made you hate my house”. “I don’t hate your house…”, Nina said, and scowled at him. “And I wasn’tflirting!”. “We’re not doing this now. Get on", Angel grunted, and started the engine. “Angel…!”. “Get on the fucking bike, Nina!”. “No! Fuck you!”, Nina growled, and began walking down the sidewalk, in the direction she thought might lead to a bus-stop.

She was so angry, she hardly heard Angel drive after her; and only just noticed him, once he was coasting slowly next to her. “Are you gonna walk to the yard?”, he said. “No. I’m gonna take a bus”, she retorted. “With what money?”. Nina halted. “I’ll flirt with the driver. Apparently, I flirt with strangers!”, she hissed. “I’m sorry…?”, Angel said. “Is that a question?”. She looked at him with rageful eyes, and he stopped the bike; getting off to walk up to her. “You have girls all over you, all the time, and I never complain. I’m friendly with one person, and you flip out!”. “You laughed at his sex-joke!”, Angel exclaimed. “Creeper was making dirty jokes all night, last night. I laughed at them”, Nina sneered. “You didn’t even blink!”. “Creep is a brother”. “So, I’m allowed to talk to patches; but with everyone else, I’m supposed to pretend they don’t exist?”, Nina asked. “With the club, it’s different. I trust them not to…”.

Nina scoffed at him, and rolled her eyes; before continuing to stomp down the street. Angel ran up behind her, and grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry…”, he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that shit”. “You don’t trust me; that’s the problem”, Nina said. “Yes, I trust you. I’m just… I already lost you once. I can’t do that again”. Angel’s eyes were sincere, and Nina fought the urge to take him into her arms. She was still angry. “I wanna protect you… And maybe I’m trying to protect myself”. Nina sighed. “I’m not leaving you again… But I have to see more than the inside of your house and the scrapyard”. “I know”, Angel said, and cupped her face. “Just, please… Let’s finish this shit with Palo, and I’ll take you wherever you want, ok?”. Nina frowned at him for a moment longer. “Don’t accuse me of stuff like you did just now… That’s not ok”. “I won’t. I’m sorry”, Angel said. “Please get on the bike. We need to get you to the yard, where you’re…”. “Safe… yeah. Whatever”, Nina muttered; put on her helmet, and got on the bike, after Angel had saddled up.

They drove to the scrapyard in silence.

---

Once at the clubhouse, the tension between them had lifted slightly, but Nina was still feeling peeved at Angel. He managed to steal a short kiss from her; but frowned, when she didn’t reciprocate his hug with more than a pat on the back.

Coco and Gilly came over, with rushed expressions. “We got a load of meds for the doc, but border control is hovering around the flower shop”, Gilly said. “East tunnel?”, Angel said. “West”, Coco said. “It’s further, but safer”. Angel nodded, and gave Nina a final look, before going over to get on his bike with the others. Nina waved at them as they drove off. She felt bad about how she’d left it with Angel, but it was hard to just get over being reminded of what she’d done to him. Mostly, she was angry with herself. Maybe there had been a different way to deal with the situation with Danielle those weeks back; but at the time she hadn’t known how to.

Trying to take her mind of it – she couldn’t do anything about it at the moment, anyway – she went into the clubhouse to start work. EZ was waiting with coffee and burritos, and they spent a little while having breakfast; while Nina retold the exterminator’s bad jokes. “He was flirting with you!”, EZ said. “How did Angel take that? Is he still alive?”. “Angel?”. “No, the exterminator!”, EZ chuckled. “Yeah… Though, I have a feeling he’s gonna have to watch his back for a while”.

Bishop, Taza and Hank came out of templo, and the prospect got to his feet. “We’re meeting with El Padrino”, Bishop said. “Business”. “Where’s Huey, Louie and Dewey?”, Hank asked. “They got a hold of some meds for the doc down south”, EZ said. “They’re using the west tunnel”. Hank nodded in approval. “Riz and Creeper are rat-hunting”, Taza said. “With their dicks…”, Bishop grunted. The men all sniggered. “Do you need me with you?”, EZ asked. “No. Stay here and Nina-sit”, Bishop replied. Nina rolled her eyes. “Sorry, mija. You know how it is. Palo is supposed to come tomorrow, but we don’t know if he changes his mind, and shows up early”. “You have your gun?”, Hank asked. Nina pulled out the .38 from her waistband. “Always”, she said. “Good”, Bishop said. “Prospect, go take care of that load of iron with Chucky. Nina, call him if anything comes up”. Nina and EZ both nodded, and the Mayans left the clubhouse. EZ went to clear up the table, but Nina halted him with a hand on his shoulder. “Go… scrap, or whatever it is you do. I’ve got this”. EZ nodded with a smile, and left her to it.

After clearing off their dishes, Nina went behind the bar, and put her gun by the sink, to wash them. She took her time, turning on some music to relax her tense mood. She hated to think something might happen to Angel while he was away, after how she’d more or less shrugged off his affectionate gestures, before he left. A cheery song came on, and Nina let herself sway to the music. Maybe she’d get a chance to dance with Angel at the party the day after, in spite of the psychopath bikers coming to kill her. They’d be ok. They had to be.

After a while, she went to wipe down the tables around the clubhouse; having to work a little more forcefully on the table the poker-game had been held at the night before. Stains from liquor and stray cigarette ashes had dried in, and she broke a nail trying to get one of the stickier stains. She cursed bellow her breath, and put her finger in her mouth, to relieve the pain a bit.

The door to the clubhouse opened, and Camille came in. “Hey!”, Nina smiled. “What’s up?”. Camille looked around the room, as if searching; before walking behind the bar. “Where is everyone?”, she asked. “Bish’ and the other tops are at some meeting; and the rest are out on some job down south”, Nina shrugged, and turned around to continue wiping down the table. “What about EZ?”, Camille said. “He’s around the yard somewhere. Bishop has him working on something”. “So, no one’s around?”. Nina looked confusedly at Camille. She looked almost relieved that they were alone; when usually she’d be annoyed there was no Mayans around to adore. “Yeah, we’re alone”, she muttered. “But seeing as you’re here, maybe you could help me with the party prep”. Camille chewed her lip. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk”. “Sure”, Nina shrugged. She dried her hands, and went to sit at one of the clean tables. “What’s up?”

Camille sat down across the table from her, and blew out a deep breath. “I’ve been keeping a secret from the club”, she said. Nina felt a shudder go through her. The situation reminded her too much of her confrontation with Daniella. “What’s that?”, she said. Camille took a long moment to gather herself, before looking meaningfully at her. “Before I came here, I used to go with the Vatos”, she said. “Oh”, Nina croaked. “Yeah…”, Camille muttered. “I met Sala while on a trip to Tijuana; and he took me to one of their parties… I ended up sticking around for a while; you know how it is”. “I guess…”. Nina didn’t like where this was going. “At first it was fine. I’d hang around, and take care of them…”. Camille shot Nina a look; making it clear what taking care of meant. “They offered me a permanent place with them, if I helped them out with a problem… Apparently, they wanted to expand into the states, but there was another MC blocking their way… So, they sent me up here to get whatever info I could get out of the Mayans; and for a while, that’s what I did”.

Nina cleared her throat, and tried to look calm; failing miserably. “Why are you telling me this?”, she asked. “You should know, I don’t have very good experiences with snitches”. It was difficult to avoid having an edge to her voice. “Because… I like you”, Camille said. “And I want you to understand why I’m doing this”. She put her hand behind her back, and pulled out a .38; which Nina instantly recognized as her own. She cursed internally for letting the gun out of her sight. Her eyes widened, and she fought the urge to run for the door. She wouldn’t make it anyway. Camille let the hand holding the gun rest on the table; the barrel pointing towards Nina. “Camille… What is this?”.

“The night of the party, I went into the trailer with Creeper… I saw your inhaler, and I figured out who you were. Sala had told me to look out for someone like you”, Camille said. “I was going to tell him, but then Creeper started talking about taking me out to the ocean for a couple of days, and I didn’t want to miss the chance of becoming his; and being a part of the family here... The Mayans are so different than Vatos Malditos… It’s not just drugs, and guns and fighting. They’re like a club should be. They care about their own… VM never cared about me, not really”. There was true pain in Camille’s eyes. “So, I went to talk to Sala, and tell him I was done. I wanted to belong to the Mayans… He told me it was fine, and that he’d take me to get the last of my money… But in stead, they beat the shit out of me, and… The Vatos aren’t as nice to women as the Mayans are. They dropped me in that tunnel, for the club to find me; said that if the Mayans wanted me, they could have me…”. Nina could read on Camille’s face what had happened the night she was beat, and she felt bile rise in her throat. “Camille… I’m sorry that happened to you…”, she tried. “Don’t pity me”, Camille hissed, and clenched her hand around the handle of the gun. “After all that, after they beat and raped me to try to get me to talk, I was still loyal to the MC here! I didn’t say a word... You are the Mayans favorite pet, and I saved your ass; but I couldn’t even tell anyone about how faithful I’d been, because I’d still be punished for being a snitch.”.

Nina swallowed thickly. “But you did talk to them again… didn’t you…?”, she said quietly. Camille nodded. “People around here love you. Everyone lights up when you enter the room, and I want that as well... You left, and I thought that when you went away, I’d have a chance to take over your job; but Dani was here, and she was all over the gig… I didn’t stand a chance”. “So you told the Vatos she was me…”, Nina croaked. “I was there the night Angel made her tell him what she knew. But even after trying to blackmail him into giving her another chance, the club was going to let her stick around; I just knew it. So, when Angel calmed down, and went to take her home… I called Sala. I told them the woman they wanted was with him, and where they were headed”, Camille said. “They killed her… You killed her, Camille”. Nina felt her whole body shaking. “Yeah… With both you and her gone, maybe the Mayans would finally let me be a part of the family”, she said. “But you came back, and you make it so fuckingdifficult to live up to the standards you set”.

They sat for a long moment in silence. Nina was terrified to move even a muscle. “What are you going to do now?”, she asked, convinced she already knew the answer. Camille looked at her with sad eyes. “You weren’t supposed to come back”, she said. “I just want to be a part of something, but with you around, there’s no room for me”. “That’s not true… You belong here as much as I do”, Nina said. “Bullshit…! I tried everything; serving their favorite beers; laughing at their jokes; giving them a good time in bed… They still see me as a nobody. But you… you’re like this shining, perfect person to them; and I can’t live up to that… The only chance I stand of having a home here, is if you’re not around. I’m not enough as me; so, I’m going to become you”. Camille pulled the hammer of the gun, and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna tell them the Vatos came by, and took you out… I’ll take care of them while they heal. They’ll see me as the new Nina”. Camille raised the gun, and smiled sadly. “I’m sorry…”.

Nina felt pure adrenaline flow through her veins. She put her hands under the edge of the table, and flipped it over; making Camille fall backwards, and the bullet hit the ceiling. Running for the door, another shot was heard, and she felt a burning pain in her leg; and screamed out in agony. Crawling behind the bar for cover, she heard Camille scramble to chase after her. “Don’t make this so fucking difficult”, the red-head yelled. Nina got to her feet, and grabbed a stray bottle of scotch; throwing it at Camille. Camille ducked just in time for the bottle to narrowly miss her head; giving Nina time to jump at her, and grab her wrist, to force the gun to point away, before Camille could pull the trigger again. They wrestled for the gun for a few seconds, before falling to the floor; limbs tangled. Camille was growling in anger, and as Nina got on top of her, she grabbed her arm, and bit down on her skin; drawing blood. Nina cried out, and pulled back; making Camille able to get on top of her. Nina kept her hold on Camille’s wrist, trying to force her to drop the gun, but Camille was like a wild woman; not letting go of her weapon. Once again pointing the .38 at Nina; she was startled at the door to the clubhouse slamming open. Nina twisted her wrist, when Camille pulled the trigger again.

The next three seconds felt like years to Nina. Red mist clouded her vision, as Camille’s blood and brain matter rained down over her. Something heavy held her down, and she realized it was her assailant’s body, slumped on top of her. The weight was pulled off her, and someone yelled her name repeatedly. She didn’t reply. Even opening her mouth a little, she felt the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She could hardly even breathe, though not for need of her inhaler. It just felt like there wasn’t any air to be had. Turning her head, she looked at Camille. It was that dark alley all over again. The bullet hole in Camille’s head, and her dead body on the floor; laying just as Gael had lain there.

A hand on her wounded leg made her jolt in pain, and she finally met EZ’s startled eyes. “Nina…! Are you ok?”, he said. Nina simply let out a short breath; unable to reply. When she didn’t answer, he pulled out his phone. “Angel! Get back to the clubhouse now. Camille is dead, and Nina’s been shot…”.

---

She sat on the floor, with her back against the bar. A paramedic was shining a flashlight into her eyes, and trying to get her to talk; but she had nothing to say. She’d not spoken a word to anyone, not even shed a tear.

EZ’s second phone call had been to Bishop; and he, Hank and Taza had arrived moments later. They all tried to get her to move away from Camille and the pool of blood she was sitting in, but she’d refused; recoiling from anyone trying to touch her. She’d sat there, looking at the dead woman on the floor, while Taza called 911.

The Mayans were pacing the floor, and giving statements to the cops; and all giving her worried looks. “Miss? Do you think you can tell me what happened here?”, a police officer asked. He crouched down in front of her, while the paramedic moved down to take a look at her leg. Her calf was soaring with pain, but Nina didn’t move a muscle. “Miss Teller?”, the officer tried again. “This is a serious situation. A woman is dead!”. “Back off her!”, Bishop growled. “You see the gun in the dead bitch’s hand. It’s clear what happened”. “You need to relax, sir”, the officer said warningly.

A roar of bikes was heard from outside, and Nina recognized the sound of one of the engines. It felt like there was finally a little bit of air to be had, and she took a gasping breath. “Where the fuck is she?”, Angel roared, before slamming the door open. He took one look at the scene, and ran over; dropping to his knees next to Nina. “Get off her!”, he growled at the police officer. “Watch it, son…”, the officer sneered. “She won’t move”, the paramedic muttered. “We need to get her to the hospital”. “Just let me talk to her”, Angel said. The officer got up, and backed away; keeping wary eyes on him and Coco and Gilly, who had come in after him. Both of them cursed bellow their breaths as they took in the scene.

Angel cupped Nina’s face, and looked at her with worried eyes. “Nina? Look at me, please…”. He stroked her temples with his thumbs, and Nina met his gaze. “Angel…”, she almost whispered. “I’m here, querida”, he said, trying for a soft smile. Nina slumped against him, and he gently wrapped his arms around her; letting her melt into him. “She… I can’t…”, she croaked. It was as if a dam inside her exploded, and tears came streaming out of her eyes. She sobbed violently, and clutched her hands around his arm. “I got you… I’m here”, Angel said, and pressed his lips to the top of her head. Everything surfaced in Nina’s head – overwhelming her with emotions. Her fight with Angel; how she’d not said goodbye properly; how she could have died without telling him again how much she loved him. She looked at the dead body on the floor. The coroner was crouched over it, taking pictures, and swabbing for gun residue on the hand. Camille’s eyes were still open, and it felt like she was staring straight in to Nina’s soul. Nina closed her eyes, turned away, and wailed against Angel’s chest; while he continuously stroked her hair, and tried to wipe away the unstoppable rivers of tears coming from her eyes.

“Sir, we have to move her… I can’t treat her here”, the paramedic said. Angel nodded, and slipped his arms under Nina’s body; lifting her up. He carried her out of the clubhouse, and over to the waiting ambulance, where they’d set up a gurney. Nina was shaking and crying as he set her down on it. “Let’s get you out of here”, the paramedic said. Nina shot Angel a panicked look. “Don’t let them take me away”, she cried. Angel looked at the paramedic. “I’m going with her”. “Only family can…”, the paramedic tried. “He is family", EZ said. He and Bishop had followed close behind Angel. “All of us are", the president grunted. Angel looked ready to kill anyone who tried to keep him from Nina’s side, and the paramedic sighed. “Alright. Let’s go", he said, and together, they pushed the gurney inside the ambulance. Angel jumped in to take the seat by Nina’s head, and took her hand.

The paramedic went to share a few words with the police officer, and left them alone in the ambulance “Angel…”, Nina whimpered. “Shh… you’re safe”, he whispered, and stroked her cheek. “It’s over”. “No…”, Nina whispered. “Camille was the snitch”. Angel’s eyes widened, and he stared at the body bag the coroner was rolling out of the clubhouse, before giving Bishop a hard look. “Rat…!”, he growled.

The last thing Nina saw before the paramedic closed the doors to the ambulance, was Bishop rushing back towards the clubhouse, his phone in hand.

---

#angel reyes #angel reyes fic #angel reyes x oc #mayans mc #mayans mc fic #ez reyes #coco cruz

45 notes · View notes

oops-prow-did-it-again · 3 years ago

Text

I’m back!

So, I kinda quit using this blog a while back. There are some notes about it in my old pinned post and probably on my fanfics, lol, but basically, I felt overwhelmed by fandom and everything going on irl and I crashed. I just withdrew from like, everything. I still logged in on Tumblr but I just liked things to later view them with the boyfriend or laugh at them again myself.

Honestly, it’s not that fun, just doing that, and not really that fair to people who put effort into their posts like art, music, writing, etc., or even just people who are very passionate about a subject and may want it to reach others that are the same. Because I know I’m like that!

But anyway, this is going to be my new pinned post. So! (More under the cut, please keep reading!)

About Me

You can call me Prowess, I’m a FtM transmasc (he/him please)! I use this space to elevate my personal works, such as art or writing, while also occasionally posting about topics I am passionate about. I realized I was trans in 2020 at the age of 19 years old, in the midst of a pandemic and college fallout, so as you can imagine, I’m still riding the rollercoaster of emotions that come with that. I’m also ADHD... so expect some posts about those sort of things.

But that is hardly the focus! I am big on art and writing. While I am mostly obsessed with Pokemon, I am a lover of stories, and so generally, I love most fiction, even the really bad stuff. Along with my Pokemon stuff, you can expect posts involving ARK: Survival Evolved, The Tales of Miraculous Ladybug & Cat Noir, animated movies (Luca, Toy Story, Spirit - you name it, I probably love it), and plenty of other stuff.

While I have too many older posts to go through and try to sort out the unclean tags, going forward, I am going to use these sort of tags: subject (whatever the post is about, for example, Pokemon), characters depicted, media (whether it’s art, writing, animation, or a mix), and any warnings that may need to go with it (for example, cussing when stronger language is involved, or racism if racism is getting discussed, etc). Memes or one-off posts will likely be tagged with simply “memes.” While this is pretty true for most any blog, this is so you know if you need to block certain tags! For example, if you hate Miraculous Ladybug, you’d just blacklist ‘Miraculous.’

I will also reblog a lot of posts asking for help or boosting awareness. I will try not to inundate the blog with these, but as I will likely have to make a post asking for help at some point myself due to unfortunate irl circumstances, I want to pay it forward in advance. These will be tagged with simply “help needed!”

Below are some projects I’m working on + what you can expect from this blog.

Pokemon Retold

By far, my biggest project to date, is Pokemon Retold.

This is an expansive written anthology of all the pokemon mainline games as far as generation 8. Red, Heart of Gold, Omega Ruby, Platinum, Black, Black 2, Y, Ultra Sun, and Sword are all intended to get rewritten and posted on both my FanFiction.Net and Archive of Our Own accounts. I may also post some chapters here, but I admit Tumblr makes that difficult sometimes.

These stories are very personal to me, as I started writing them when I was struggling in college with undiagnosed ADHD, and felt like my life was falling apart and I was alone. I started writing a retelling of Sword, but the more I wrote, the more disappointed in it I felt, so I started writing Black instead and scrapped Sword altogether.

I’ve had some rough road since, but Black is complete, Black 2 is also complete, and Ultra Sun is (mostly) complete (but with plans to be heavily altered), while Red is underway!

WARNING: These stories can get DARK, and I would rather my readers be over 18. They are not dark with the intent to squick out or upset people, however; they are dark with the intention of exploring thoughts and ideas I find too difficult to think about directly. There are more personalized warnings at the beginnings of each story. With that out of the way, please just try and move on if you find yourself disliking a specific story or part of a story of mine... If you want to give constructive criticism, you are more than welcome, but tearing into me and my writing just because you didn’t like something helps nobody. Keep in mind I write these for fun and as a form of self-therapy throughout some of the worst years of my life.

Furthermore, I edit them a lot. And I do mean a lot. My FFN profile acts as a “changelog” for what has changed in the stories over the course of the time they’ve been posted.

Pokemon Retold posts are tagged “Retold.”

My FFN Profile

My AO3 Profile

Pokemon Retold: Black has been added to TVTropes! I honestly don’t even care that this person digs into it a couple of times, I was so incredibly flattered they took the time to do that at all. (But be warned the page does have some spoilers!) I have no idea if you enjoyed the story or not upon reading over that page, kind stranger lol, but I really appreciate that you took the time to do that nonetheless! <3

Creatively Destructive

This incredibly well-titled story is an idea I have for a retelling of Miraculous Ladybug. I know, I know - absolutely never been done before /s

While I know there has got to be a thousand retellings of this show by now, based on just how.... terrible, the writing is, I want to try anyway. Because I genuinely love the premise of the show! I’m just constantly disappointed by how it seems to never go anywhere with its plot or characters.

So, Creatively Destructive will be a fanfic, and when I have more information on it, I’ll post it under the tag “creatively destructive.”

Roleplays

Me and my boyfriend love to RP a lot. From Monster Hunter to Pokemon, we do a lot of different stories. Sometimes, I really get inspired by what we come up together and I want to share it with others! Be it quick art based on a scene from the RP or a quick rundown of what occurred in an RP, you can catch these in the ‘Prow RP’ tags.

Currently, we are having a lot of fun with an RP based on the Hoenn pokemon games that I am sure I’ll be posting about!

I may also be open to RPs with others in the future :> Don’t be offended that I’m not open to them already... I’m just a very easily overstimulated person.

The Ballad of the ARK

ARK: Survival Evolved is a lot of things. It’s an amazing concept, an open-world game where you befriend dinos and fight alongside tribemates against other tribes, or work together to survive the hostile environment. But the true tragedy of this game goes so much deeper than that, and I want to explore that in writing, starting with my story, my experience, and then graduating to where I think the issue primarily stems from.

This strange memoir will be posted under the tags of “Ballad of ARK.”

Commissions

I hope to take commissions for art and writing in the future!

However, I need to figure out the parameters of what I’m willing to draw (and what I can feasibly draw), as well as what I can promise when it comes to writing, not to mention pricing.

That’s not to say I’m not open to ideas though! Feel free to message me/send me asks anyway and we’ll see if we can work something out. :)

Although I am not in a financial disaster just yet, I feel like I am not far from one. This is why I hope to try to build on commissions in the future. I know they will never support me, but I would still like to try to be useful and helpful to some. I currently live with my grandmother, having left my abusive home with my father, and although she generously allows me to live with her for the low cost of merely helping with some electricity and my own food, I struggle to remain abovewater financially due to difficulty finding work (thanks to issues with ADHD and physical problems following a bout with COVID in early January 2021).

If you would like to help anyway, feel free to subscribe to my Patreon, or make a one-time payment via PayPal. I promise no matter what or how much it is, your generosity is greatly appreciated!! <3

My Patreon

My PayPal

My Ko-fi

(Note that my Patreon is... very outdated and needs to be updated. I will do that soon!)

#new day new me!#undeadprowess #I will be changing my url #pokemon retold #retold #pin #creatively destructive #prow rps #ballad of ark #commissions #sketch #art #rb pls! :)#pokemon #pokemon trainer brendan #brendan #pokemon trainer brix #more info on those last tags soon lol

24 notes · View notes

myelocin · 4 years ago

Text

Diver | Miya Atsumu

Synopsis: For you, decisions have always resulted in one, then two, then twenty steps back from the jump you know you want to take, but never find the courage to do so. Miya Atsumu was one of those decisions, and it baffles you how he makes the edge seem so inviting.

Characters: Miya Atsumu, You

Warnings/Tags/Genre: Self reflection, Slice of Life, Fluff (atsumu is cute lmao), Mentions of sitting on a cliff, Friendship w Bo!! Pining!Atsumu, hard to get reader when irl ur just confused , more sky references are surprised? no

WC: 4.6k+

a/n: this was purely based on my desire to explore atsumu and the y/n i headcanon’s character more. this is also to those who struggle to decide which risks are actually worth taking. (atm this is not edited bc im just gonna do that tomorrow lol)

playlist: Hello by Elijah Who

++note: please click keep reading bc whole thing is posted!

You remember standing at the edge of the cliff and thinking about how big and beautiful the world looked at age seven. You think back to the words your grandfather tells you when he sits on the ground next to you and begins to tell the familiar tale of the boy who lived life too scared to leap. You don’t think it was a true story; some elements changed every other time the same story was retold but you listened with rapt attention either way.

Every summer when you visited your grandfather in that little house by the cliff hours away from the rush the city brought, more than half of your days were spent sitting by the edge watching the clouds chase and envelop one another. You’d watch as the blue moved into gold, then orange, then red, then back to blue—and finally dive into black. There was never a day where the chase looked exactly the same.

At nine, you still thought the world looked too vast and beautiful and now you think it was because there was still so much you didn’t know. At sixteen, you remembered seeing more streaks of pink along the horizon in the distance but when you look back at the photos now—it was still really just swirls of red and kisses of orange. Maybe that was the summer you first felt love, because the world you saw in those days were through the rose colored lenses that only you wore.

When your grandfather would ask you why you preferred to sit out by the edge instead of run in the field with the kids you knew nearby you only shrugged and said you didn’t want to miss the stories in the sky later that day. Some days, he’d sit next to you and you’d listen to the story of the boy who never leaped again, but during the last few years of his life when he became too frail for the world, he’d only ruffle your hair and go back inside the house.

There wasn’t a particular reason either; no dramatics that told a heartfelt backstory towards your infatuation with the sky, or a long spill about how you love letting the sounds of the waves crashing silence your thoughts—it was quite the opposite, really. Even when your first love told you it wasn’t working out and you spent the entire evening and the next crying over a story ended, you still sat and watched the colors changing with the expression of wonder that stayed constant since you were a child.

“I still care for you,” you remember him saying and his voice clear in your head doesn’t fight over the sounds of the waves crashing on jagged boulders below.

“—we’re just not meant for each other,” he says again but you don’t feel the need to look away from the sky because the sun’s beginning to dip into the horizon and the violets are starting to paint swirls in the sky.

“I don’t think I ever loved you, (y/n),” you hear along with the cry of a seagull somewhere on your left but you only let out the sigh you’ve held in when the show is over and the black curtains cover the sky. You remember closing your eyes to try to search for that twinge of pain you always read about when your first love is over. But, when you breathe in, you only hear the water below roar. When you breathe out, you hear your grandfather’s call from the house behind you.

That night when you stood up to leave, you dusted the dirt off of your pants and stepped closer to the edge; you weren’t going to jump but you wanted to step into that line of uncertainty to feel that rush.

The feeling you always get when you’re tipping your seat back and you let your fingers graze off of the table you’re supporting yourself with—and you’re dipping into the territory of whether you’ll fall forward or backward. Whether the fall either ways could mean good, or bad.

“Can’t we work this out?” is what you knew you wanted to try to say in the moment he turned his back. And then the first step towards him became one, then two, then three—before your hand stopped short of grabbing his shoulder because you realize you don’t want to say it.

Maybe because you were sixteen and the chemistry test you had to take next period was a more important thought than this, or maybe because this was the kind of puppy love where it as quick as it started—so you didn’t want to tarnish the final chapters with an ugly fight. But, really, you began to think, as your hand curled back into a fist and you watched him with dry eyes turn the corner and disappear, you just don’t have a reason to want to work it out.

So then as the bell rang, you turned to take a step that went from one, to two, to three, four—and then eventually six steps back.

Six steps away from the edge where you let yourself be dangled by uncertainty.

The strange part is you don’t remember what began shifting afterwards; when you lost sight of the horizon you spent years losing yet finding yourself in all at once.

After that night, for the years that led up to now it felt like there was never a balance when it came the climax of your decision making. Every time the atmosphere tensed and you feel your gut twist with the pressure of the outcome, your brain is suddenly creating loopholes to mend the situation and your body is already in motion—every single time moving one, to two, to twenty steps away from the drop. That way, you could rock your heels to the side or tip the back of your chair as far back as possible without the need to pull back because you know the steady ground would always break your fall.

You weren’t sure if you necessarily enjoyed it but the cliff by your grandfather’s house doesn’t look the same anymore. This time, you’re sitting in a chair on the porch, a heavy distance away from the pull of gravity down below. Because it’s safe, you reason, but the horizon from your spot doesn’t look quite the same. Peering at the strokes of colors in the 6pm sky through cracks in the porch’s rooftop makes the world feel so little. You hear the sound of the TV running inside the house instead of the water roaring below and you know it isn’t the same.

But when the sun peeks in finality before diving the world into dark, you stand at the edge of the porch like you did at the edge of the cliff so many times before.

One foot hovering over the ground below and you know your balance is tipping, but you don’t feel anything. There isn’t a hitch in your breath and the feeling of weightlessness and heaviness simultaneously nipping at your skin.

You sigh in blankness as you thrust your body forward and let yourself dive. Before you even leap you already feel the ground beneath your feet.

The ground is only two feet below you.

In your mid-twenties, Miya Atsumu came into your life in a whirlwind of laughter and expressions.

He wasn’t really that spectacular. Sure, Atsumu could twirl a pencil like the honor roll kids as well as he could land a service ace, but that was kind of it.

How the two of you became close friends was always a wonder to you as well. You knew his twin brother—Osamu, after frequenting his onigiri shop every day for lunch, but your interactions with him were mostly limited to the “hi”, “how are you”, “thanks”, and “goodbye”.

Atsumu was, well, interesting to talk to because of all the expressions that substituted some verbal cues in the conversation.

It took getting to know him for about a year and joining him in the last minute road trips he pulled with you to realize how much Atsumu embodied uncertainty.

He was like the push and the pull of the wind when you’re standing at that edge again. Like somewhere between the moments of unfiltered fear from plunging down into the ocean you know you can’t swim in, and that step back of reasoning that tells you a two more steps further means two more steps safer.

He was neither of those, but at the same time, made you feel the magnitude of both simultaneously. Atsumu, to you, was the cliff, the rocking wind, the steady ground, and the plunge below.

And it was frustrating because you couldn’t read him at all.

When he asked you one day if you wanted to join him for dinner, this time, just the two of you while the apples of his cheek blushed a visible shade of red despite the dimmed lighting of the sky—you felt your gut churn in uncertainty.

For a while you’ve felt he wanted to push the boundaries of your friendship into a territory more unknown to the both of you, but you thought it would just stop at the experimental prodding. You weren’t blind. You felt how his eyes would trail your profile when he thought your attention was too engrossed in a book, knew that the unmarked box of chocolates were from him because he wasn’t subtle in hiding the special instructions written on the bottom of the box. You saw the triumphant spark in his eye when you told him the gift he gave you on your birthday was exactly what you wanted even if he just shrugged and said he guessed lucky.

And that’s the thing—Atsumu was painfully obvious. He wasn’t explicit about his intentions—he was just obvious; you know he wasn’t dumb enough to leave all these hints and expect you to still not know so that frustrated you even further. Did he want you to find out? Did you want to find out?

“Do ya think you wanna get some dinner tonight?” he quips beside you, “—just us two?” he adds, finishing awkwardly as you two come to a halt in front of the train station.

You think about his offer; you really do. The feeling in your gut doesn’t go away and your left foot is subconsciously rocking backwards. One step back.

“Maybe next time,” you hear yourself say. Atsumu’s deflating in front of you and his right hand rests on the back of his head while he shoves the left into the pocket of his jeans.

Two steps, “I’d love to—“ you continue, “but I may miss the last train and I don’t really wanna take a taxi tonight.”

Atsumu’s nodding his head saying, “Of course! Of course. Yeah, definitely. Next time!” And in a way you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the fact that he could always drive you back instead of letting you take a taxi.

Three steps, as you wave at him from the top steps of the station’s exit.

Four steps, “For sure next time!” you call out as he waves at your retreating figure with a smile. Neither of you really have faith on when next time will be, nor were sure if either of you believed it in the first place.

It’s when the train doors close and you’re holding on the railing where it dawns on you that you just took about 20 more steps back.

Two weeks after Atsumu’s offer of a dinner date was when Bokuto comes to you to say that he understands why you rejected the offer.

“You and him are just too different from each other,” he says like he made a profound discovery and not like he’s commenting on your love life.

“Aren’t opposites supposed to attract?” you ask.

“Not all the time,” Bokuto answers almost immediately and you nod your head choosing to not expand on the topic while your mind begins to whirl at his words.

On the bright side, you were glad neither you nor Atsumu spoke much about it. The days where you’d spend the afternoons with the team until practice ended, if nobody wanted to catch dinner the two of you would eventually just part ways at the train station he walked you to every night.

“I could always drive you home, ya know, I’m a good driver,” he says when you search through your bag for your PASMO card.

“I live in the opposite way you’re going, ‘Tsumu,” you laugh, albeit still appreciative at his offer.

“I know,” he replies and rattles his keys in his hands.

You’re still digging through your bag as you look for the card you know you must have left at home before you finally sigh and look at him looking at you holding out his keys.

“C’mon, (Y/n), I won’t speed I swear!” Atsumu laughs as he leads the way to the parking lot.

A few more weeks pass and you’re glad no one mentions the fact that you follow Atsumu into the parking lot every time practice ends. The day after he drove you home for the first time, you flashed the PASMO card you made sure to have with you this time and told him thank you for dropping you off the day before. He only rolled his eyes as he grabbed your wrists and pulled you in the car with him.

In hindsight, you could have said no and waved him off like usual, but your feet were matching the steps in his before you could even process what you were doing. He just drove you home, made small talk, and asked about your days most of the time—so all in all it was pleasant.

And you lived in the west side of town so drive always meant that the both of you had a front seat view to the sky’s art show. One thing you noticed (and appreciated) about Atsumu was the duality in his focus.

First hand, you’ve seen up close the intensity of his focus during his serves. The air would whip itself into a deafening silence at the drop of his hand and his eyes steeled over as fast as the sounds came to a halt—it was eerie, almost. In the way that sent chills down your spine and admiration bubble in the pits of your stomach. Then, as quick as the ball slams on the spot of the ground he aimed towards—the yell of triumph he’d express and the smile that would break into his face would overflow from his whole being. Like exhaling shakily after a sharp intake of breath—Atsumu was everything intense.

But, Atsumu, you think as you peek at him looking at the skies in front of him, was also serene. The kind of focus that pulled you in all the right ways. Like the gentle teacher you had from elementary who would coax you softly to focus sounding out the words in the passage you had trouble pronouncing. His hands were steady on the wheel, at 10 and 2 and the car would slowly come to a stop at every red light instead of the sharp lurch your body moves into when you press the brake a little too harshly. He only sometimes put music in the car—he told you he prefers to have your voice as company instead of hearing about the weather from the radio.

It surprised you, but at this point Atsumu brought nothing in your life but surprises. Then again, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—you were just used to feeling the ground before you fell so his uncertainty was still very much of an unmarked territory for you.

“Is it something about me?” he asked when the two of you exited the car and stood outside the entrance to your apartment building.

You know what he’s talking about, but you opt to stay silent and look at him with your head tilted instead because you already feel the urge to take one step back.

He’s still looking at you even as the passing moments are stretching into an awkward silence so he sighs and shoves his hands back in his pockets—something he does when he’s nervous, you noticed—and waved you off when you opened your mouth to try to retaliate. You’re thankful because you aren’t exactly sure what it was you were going to say anyway.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he says as he turns.

“See ya tomorrow?”

He waits for you to nod and wave a goodbye at him, which he first smiles at, before he starts the car and drives away.

His question “doesn’t keep you up at night,” is what you try to convince yourself when it’s 2:05 am on a Tuesday night and all you’ve done so far is toss and turn in bed. To prove your own point, you’ve sat up and turned the bedside lamp on while you scroll through some unopened emails on your laptop.

Halfway into retyping the same email you know you’ve been staring at for the past hour, Atsumu’s contact photo chimes in your phone in the form of a text message.

“you up?” it reads from the notification bar and you automatically shut your laptop close, turn off the lamp, and throw your covers over your head.

“No,” you reply out loud and you internally groan because of how ridiculous you’re being.

Your thoughts from the night before still remain in your head as you’re sitting on the bench beside the court later that afternoon as you type away at your laptop. It’s still the same email you never replied to last night, but you try to ignore that. You also ignore the fact that you’ve kept count of how many times the ball slammed on the opposite side of the net when Atsumu practiced his serves.

You don’t notice it when Bokuto takes a seat next to you and looks over your shoulder at the email you’re not even halfway through typing.

“That’s the same email opened since this morning,” he points out and you groan before turning to face and quickly shush him.

He’s laughing when he takes a seat next to you.

“You know,” he begins, “I think you’re just scared to feel something for Atsumu.”

You close your laptop—the draft of your email unsaved, like it had any coherent content anyway.

“Bo, you’re being silly,” you reply knocking your shoulder against his in laughter.

“You’re avoiding the conversation, (y/n),” he laughs back and you wave him off towards the court in laughter when the coach calls for him. He stretches when he stands back up and tells you, “We’ll talk about this later because I think you need it,” before jogging off to the other side of the gym.

Inwardly, you heave another sigh, because this was one of the times where Bokuto’s being more serious. You had to give him credit—the duality in his personality and harsh line when he switched from jesting to seriousness was impressive. Bokuto Koutarou wasn’t smart in many aspects of the domestic parts of life—he didn’t understand taxes, or why you needed to change the oil often, but he had a way of looking through the layers people build around themselves.

At first, it caught you off guard because two weeks after you met you had only been sitting outside a convenience store watching him lick the melted parts of his ice cream on his hands when he suddenly turns to you and says, “(Y/n), I wish you would take risks more. You’re too cautious.”

He never brought it up again, but every time he chose to tell you something—it was always something you knew, never acknowledged, but needed to hear.

So when Atsumu waves at you and shouts that he’ll just shower and be out in thirty minutes, you ignore the urge to step back, and smile at him instead.

You’re thinking about Bokuto’s words again as you listen to Atsumu yell something at Sakusa from inside the locker room.

You’re too different from each other.

You suppose there are differences, especially in the way you address your friends—Atsumu’s not afraid to clap your back while he laughs while you choose to keep your hands to yourself. He’s not afraid to let his intentions be known while you try to wrestle with your thoughts every time you’re shifting closer to the edge.

You could always walk away, you tell yourself every day, but every day you also choose to not do that. You know day by day and sunset after sunset you watch with Atsumu you’re nearing that edge again—and you want nothing more than take twenty more steps back but each day he offers you a new joke that you genuinely laugh at you know it’s a couple centimetres closer to where you’re afraid of going.

Bokuto’s right, you’re different from each other, but you know deep down that you’re alike in so many ways. When Atsumu talks about what he wants to do accomplish in life outside of volleyball, he talks with such a childish wonder in the certainty of the tone of his voice. At times, he was stubborn to the core—just like you were, and you realize that would clash between the both of you some day but Atsumu smiling as he’s jogging towards you has you realizing that you don’t really mind at all.

“Ready to go?” he asks and you could only nod as you follow him out the door.

Bokuto’s looking at you and giving you a thumbs up which you nervously return with a smile of your own.

During the car ride back home, you’re thankful that Atsumu chooses to flip on the radio this time; you didn’t plan on telling much of a story, and your thoughts are too jumbled up with everything for you to even settle with small talk.

“You good?” he asks, then looks over at you at the red light. You nod yes and shift the bag sitting in your lap.

“The sky looks pretty today,” you begin, “—the sunset today looks like the ones I grew up seeing when I was a kid at my grandfather’s by the coast.”

Atsumu hums, but it’s still heard over the low volume of the car’s radio, “You should take me to see one day.”

Your gut churns and you curse yourself when you habitually chose to stay silent.

“I don’t mean it like I’m inviting myself there, (Y/n)—“

“It’s okay, you should visit with me next time,” you reply then turn to watch his expression shift from flustered to surprise from his profile. You’re watching him with baited breath and your heart thumping can almost be heard when the radio dips into a silence in the commercial.

The light switches to green and Atsumu eases his foot off of the break as the car slowly gains momentum before he’s nodding his head and saying a soft, “Yeah. Sure. Totally.”

It’s quite uncharacteristic for him to be so muted with his replies, but you suppose these are one of the similarities you’re discovering you have with Atsumu. He’s confident and barks out his comments when his emotions are running high, but at the moment you know the both of you are tiptoeing around that line of uncertainty at the moment.

When his pointer figure taps the steering wheel in an unknown rhythm, a nervous habit of his, you feel yourself slightly relax. The difference this time from that hallway breakup you had when you were sixteen was both of you were at the same page. That boy who said he didn’t love you let the certainty in his intentions be known in the way you could already anticipate the long term ending for. There was nothing more to be uncovered—and you didn’t find the push to dive down for more.

This, with Atsumu, was a different story. You had curiosity with the unclarity. You craved to unravel his truth.

Truthfully, every decision you’ve made so far had you already seeing the outcome—that’s why you’ve only felt like you were only jumping to a ground two or three feet under you.

With Atsumu, you’ve come to realize that he personified the edge. At the same time, he was the push and the pull of the wind when you’re balancing yourself between curiosity and reason. You know the frustration you feel when you can’t read him comes from the fact that you’re only seeing him from the surface. You see licks of who he is with every slam of the ball and every spark in his eye.

But just when you feel that knot in your stomach, you allow reason to cloud your desire to jump into the blurred lines of variability— Every. Single. Time.

And it frustrates you because twenty steps back have become too comfortable for you to try to leave. You hated it, but you knew what was waiting for you every time, so you learned to find the comfort in it.

The truth is, you’ve always had the curiosity towards what it felt like to plunge. Like the story your grandfather would tell you—it ended with the boy dying by the edge he never found the curiosity to jump in, surrounded by the questions that ultimately died with him. It was a pitiful end, and up till now you believe the entire story could have been avoided. You know you’re always thinking about the dive and what comes with it, but never found quite the push that’d lead you to want to throw your body forward and seek.

You know Bokuto always had a point in the passing comments he tells you when you least expect it. Bokuto presented them to you in forms of declarations not even in questions.

The sky in front of you is the same sky you stood under when you dangled your feet over the edge, fearless, years ago. Atsumu feels like the push and pull of the wind, and the tug of gravity under your soles when he looks at you as you stand in front of your apartment building.

You’re not in the cliff side this time but you see the horizon you forgot you loved when Atsumu shoves his hands in his pockets and offers you a smile.

You hear the cry of the waves below and the call of the seagulls to your left when Atsumu says, “About earlier, you don’t have to worry about it—I was just jokin.”

“You’re scared to feel something for Atsumu,” you hear Bokuto tell you when you itch to take a step back, then, “I wish you’d take more risks.”

“I wanna take the risk,” you say out loud and Atsumu looks at you quizzically, before softening his eyes when he realizes what you’re trying to say.

And you could almost laugh because of course he understands what you mean. Atsumu knew more than he let on and you could laugh again at the mirroring of your personalities. It was opposite and identical at the same time: identical like the both of you understanding each other’s metaphors without explanation, and opposite in the way he always addresses them while you do, well, the opposite of that.

“I wanna jump,” you say even if it doesn’t make sense because you’re confident the message will reach him all the same.

Atsumu’s beaming and you think it looks like the sun that’s looked at you from the horizon for years. When he takes your hands in his, you inhale yet feel breathless because the balls of your feet feel weightless and your body is leaning forward.

And when the clouds in the sky blend with the painting and Atsumu leans forward, you let gravity take you—

Then, you’re diving.

270 notes · View notes

alexsfictionaddiction · 4 years ago

Text

‘She overcame everything that was meant to destroy her.’

Women are truly incredible creatures. We have spent centuries being overlooked, downtrodden and dismissed. In some respects, we have come a long way in terms of gender equality but there are still many recent occurrences which remind us of how far we have to go.

So many female illnesses take years to diagnose or aren’t taken seriously enough when they are. Women are still having to justify why they chose not to have children. We’re still working with a pay gap. Some women aren’t considered to be women because of the body parts they were born with or without. There are still places in the world where women simply don’t and never will have the opportunities to live life on their own terms. Despite all this, we’re still out in the world making and doing amazing things and looking beautiful while doing them.

This recommendation list is really a collection of books that celebrate women, their courage, their friendships and their choices. It’s pretty varied in terms of genre and style, so I’m pretty sure you’ll find at least one book here that piques your interest. Keep being your fierce, unstoppable self and honour your girls today. -Love, Alex x

1. Dangerous Women by Hope Adams.

In 1841, 180 English women are on board The Rajah, a ship bound for Australia. All of them are criminals, most of them convicted of petty crimes but one of them has a deadly dark secret. Then someone is killed and the hunt for the culprit is on. But it’s hard to protest your innocence when you’ve already been found guilty. This addictive mystery is so well-researched and is based on the true stories of real female criminals aboard The Rajah. There is an overwhelming, stifling darkness, haunting the whole novel that is so atmospheric and reflective of conditions on board. It’s a story of sisterhood, female friendship and the existence of the Rajah Quilt is an example of the incredible feats that women can overcome if they work together.

2. Moxie by Jennifer Mathieu.

Viv is tired of following the rules at her high school and is determined to shake things up. Channelling her mum’s former punk persona, Viv creates and secretly distributes a feminist zine to her classmates, who start to take action. Cliques are abandoned as new friendships are formed and a revolution kicks off. The real sweetness about this gutsy, fierce YA novel is the fact that talking about the daily trials and tribulations that girls go through brings them together rather than divides them. There are some fantastic characters and the inclusion of male allies is everything.

3. Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams.

After a disastrous break up, British-Jamaican millennial Queenie embarks on a journey, riddled with bad choices, to discover what she really wants from life. Straddling two cultures, a job where she is perpetually underappreciated and an underlying mental health condition, Queenie is a relatable depiction of what it means to be a young, Black woman in 21st century London. Funny, honest and deeply moving, Queenie is an essential enlightening read with a wonderfully flawed, real woman at its heart.

4. Hag: Forgotten Folktales Retold.

Inspired by British urban myths, this collection of spooky, fantastical stories by various female authors celebrates women in all of their guises. These stories are written by the likes of Daisy Johnson, Kirsty Logan, Irenosen Okojie, Eimear McBride and more. Some of the stories are very dark. Some of them offer powerful insights into other cultures. Some of them explore inherently female issues such as the repression of desire and motherhood. Overriding the whole collection is the wonder and power of women defying the odds and achieving their dreams. A fantastically unique read, ideal for International Women’s Day.

5. My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You She’s Sorry by Fredrik Backman.

When Elsa’s grandmother dies, she discovers a series of letters apologising to the various people she has wronged. Elsa’s mission to deliver these letters leads to some strange places and a journey that leads to getting to know her grandmother in a way she never did, when she was alive. The relationship between seven-year-old Elsa and her grandmother is so beautiful and I’m sure I’ll never read another grandmother-granddaughter relationship like it. Granny is a truly formidable character and a woman who has left behind a very full, colourful life. Backman is a master at writing quirky, uplifting stories of community and this charming novel is no different.

6. Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 by Cho Nam-Joo.

Kim Jiyoung has recently given up work to raise her baby daughter but before long, she begins displaying strange symptoms, such as impersonating the voices of other women. As her psychosis deepens, Jiyoung’s entire life is spilled to her male psychiatrist and it’s a life of restriction, abuse and control. This incredibly evocative book is a harrowing illustration of the misogyny ingrained deep in Korean culture and the devastating effects it can have on the women who live within it. A woman on the brink of insanity speaks for them all in this heavily symbolic, heartbreaking read.

7. The Shelf by Helly Acton.

Amy is pretty sure that Jamie is about to propose, so she is more than shocked to find herself on The Shelf, a reality TV show for single women. Over the next few weeks, she and five other women must take on challenges to improve themselves and be crowned ‘The Keeper’. The Shelf is a joyful celebration of singledom and female friendship. Funny and heartwarming, it inspires its readers to never settle for second best and discover life and yourself, completely on your own terms.

8. Invisible Women by Caroline Criado-Perez.

The world is made for men. Cars, phones, the medical industry, workplace laws and more areas of modern society largely ignore women. This fantastically informative manual exposes all the data biases that have been hidden from us. Caroline Criado-Perez has collated stories and case studies from across the globe that show how women’s lives and health are affected by our male-minded world and calls for drastic change.

9. A Kind of Spark by Elle McNicoll.

Addie has autism but she is so much more than that. When she learns of her hometown’s involvement in witch trials, she launches a campaign to erect a memorial for the women who died during them. This gorgeous, uplifting, funny middle-grade book offers a unique insight into a neurodivergent mind and simultaneously honours innocent, murdered women. You’ll get all the feels!

10. Olive by Emma Gannon.

Olive’s choice to not be a mother has ended her nine year relationship and her three best friends are all at various stages of motherhood. So, where will Olive fit into their lives now? This wonderfully sensitive and thoughtful novel is a wonderful celebration of women who are child-free by choice as well as giving voice to those who have struggled to become mothers. It will speak to any woman who has ever been asked when they’re going to take the leap into that ‘inevitable’ stage of a female life -motherhood.

11. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid.

Evelyn Hugo is a retired Hollywood icon who has personally chosen struggling, unknown reporter Monique to dictate her biography to. No one knows why, not even Monique herself. Over a series of intimate meetings, Evelyn tells Monique her story; from her rise to fame in the 1950s LA to her retirement 30 years later and the myriad of romances throughout that time. In time, it becomes clear that Evelyn’s and Monique’s lives intertwine in a heartbreaking fashion. Soaring, epic and completely unforgettable, Evelyn Hugo is the story of a woman who was consistently objectified, moulded and suppressed. Ultimately, it is a story of a great forbidden love and the hell that fame can bring, especially for women.

12. The Year of the Witching by Alexis Henderson.

Imannuelle’s mixed heritage is sacrilege in the tiny, puritanical community in which she lives. So she does her best to obey the rules and worship the Father. However, she finds herself in the haunted Darkwood where the spirits of murdered witches roam but they have a gift for Immanuelle -her dead mother’s journal, which leads to her discovering the dark truths behind the community she was born into. This atmospheric, brooding fantasy-horror novel champions the overthrowing of control, the discovery of one’s own inner power and capabilities as well as demonstrating how women have been villified by the patriarchy for centuries, simply for leading the lives that they want to lead. An addictive, Gothic witchy treat!

#international women's day #book recommendations #recommendations #books #bookworm

30 notes · View notes

isolatedintrovertstuff · 3 years ago

Text

The Traveller

Throughout human history, stories have been told to one another, parent to child, friends to companions, even enemies to traitors. Each with an intention, a lesson or knowledge to be remembered without having to deal with the consequences of experience. To those that are proven, fact-checked and shown to be real were considered to be part of history and those in which it seems to defy reality, lack of substance and explore the borders of reality are considered folklore. Each have their place and function, each has their own intention, but there is a thin line between these two if any. Humans have switched reports and accounts of events between these two groups, going from fable to fact or vice-versa. So, how do we know that the fables we have now do not have some substance? How close does our history reflect reality?

The Traveller took full advantage of this ambiguity.

Enjoying the storytelling act and watching the listeners slowly rile up, searching for the truth and question the information the Traveller told.

The theory goes that the archetype of a character conveniently appearing to the hero of the story is inspired by one individual, the Traveller, but if this is true then it is believed that the Traveller must be a passed down tradition from one person to another or it is one individual travelling the lands through numerous centuries. The previous theory of the Traveller is a tradition passed down generations was soon proven wrong at an intimate moment between a young lady and Maria Feodorovna, also known as the Princess Dagmar of Denmark, where the Traveller appeared before them. The young lady claimed to be a surviving granddaughter of the princess after her son, his wife and their children were assassinated. Maria didn’t know if she could believe the young lady and after a long discussion between the two women, an individual appeared. The following story was written down by a butler standing outside the office where the conversation took place.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Maria demanded emotion from the conversation with the young lady had put her in an anxious state.

“Oh my dear, have you forgotten me already? All the stories I used to tell you? all the nights I aided you facing the nights?” The stranger spoke in a relaxed and friendly tone to which Maria looked confused “Do you remember your favourite story?” Asked the stranger softly softly “The Nightingale and the Rose” At the recognition of the title, Maria was shocked to see the stranger stand before her.

“It cannot be...I was a child and...my nanny was elderly when she told me that story” Maria slowly approached the stranger and looked up and down, not believing but recognising the individual in front of “How?” is all she could ask, to which the stranger smiled softly and warmly as they tilted their head at the woman who used to be the child the stranger spent nights storytelling all those years prior. The stranger soon looked at the young lady and the warmth disappeared.

“This woman is not your granddaughter” the stranger informed Maria, to which the young woman protested and denied the stranger’s claim, the stranger calmly responded to her accusations and claims “If you are my dear’s granddaughter, then you can tell us the tale of the Nightingale and the Rose” to which the woman froze in silence, claiming that she was too young to remember it. The young lady’s reaction gave Maria all the proof she needed.

“That is untrue! If you remember me, if you remember your family then you can remember the story” Maria stated for the first time with confidence and clarity “I told that story to my granddaughters for many years, it was their favourite and I retold that tale every night their hearts were saddened” She stated now angered that the young lady tried to pass off as her own granddaughter “You are not my Dear Anastasia, now leave!” Maria ordered and the matter was settled.

When Maria soon composed herself, the stranger had disappeared, not a sign of their disappearance, but a gift left behind of a brooch encrusted of a Nightingale pierced by a thorn of a red rose and a letter “Your family will be with you, hold them close to your heart” and Maria was left in tears and sadness.

This recollection was hidden and kept away from the public due to the tragedy was shown to demonstrate that the stranger was the Traveller, giving an insight to one supernatural characteristic of the Traveller, it does not present the same ageing rate of a human. The disappearance can also be considered a supernatural characteristic, but due to lack of information, this is simply speculation.

The Traveller appears as an older individual who is believed to be much older and with a supernatural aura. Although they seem to appear with an outfit that either helps distinguish the Traveller from the rest or make them indistinguishable from most people, they are usually presented as older, frail and with an aura of defenceless. The Traveller never appears as a threat at first, but depending on the reaction the individual the Traveller comes in contact with has, the person can have something really good happen or equally something bad through events that are seen as coincidence.

Containment seems to be difficult, due to two factors; one is that the Traveller is not hindered by physical obstacles such as walls and doors, due to some unknown methods that befuddle staff and even machinery due to some “coincidental” event such as the lights flashing and the Traveller disappears or the cameras suffering static when the Traveller is left alone, the second factor is due to the trait that is most noticeable of the Traveller known as the “hero conundrum”. The “hero conundrum” is was is referred to the event of the Traveller interacting with the hero, which can be anyone they interact with, presenting a choice of fulfilling the Traveller’s request and leading to a favourable outcome for the hero or deny the request which would lead to a negative or even feared outcome, either outcome come through a series of “coincidental” event and factors no matter how improbable or impossible. This has lead to the Traveller escaping numerous times.

Some suggested not have staff interact with the Traveller by keeping an eye on them through cameras or one-way mirrors, but this is very difficult due to the factors and events that occur usually when the Traveller travels or escapes. Cameras having static issues coincidentally after they ask for a request, making staff either coming in the room with them where the Traveller can put the visitor in the “hero conundrum” or making the staff using more creative ways to examine them, such as using small rovers with cameras to have an eye on the Traveller.

They seem to be attributable to an archetype of a character much older, frail and in extreme poverty than the main character in most, if not all, folktales and mythological stories. In these stories, the archetype would approach the main character/hero with a request or task while presenting the most negative attributes of a character on the first contact. In these stories, the character usually reacts in two ways, either; accept the task or request which would lead to a very favourable outcome for the hero, if they succeeded, or deny the request and move on which would lead to an outcome hero would heavily regret.

When research is done on the Traveller, it seems they present the same behaviour of this archetype, which makes some philologists think that the Traveller is an inspiration or influence on this literary archetypes, but if this is true, how old is the Traveller? Considering that most recorded mythology and folklore stories have an archetype of some type all the way back to the Roman Empire, the Shang Dynasty and other ancient societies in which the hero enters “the call of adventure” stage of a story when approached by a stranger. Although it should be noted that not all stories begin with a hero being approached by a stranger, the Traveller tends to be associated with the stranger of these types of stories. It isn’t clear if the Traveller fills the everyman archetype, the explorer, the sage or the outcast, but some believe the Traveller has some influence on multiple literary archetypes. Other stories have the stranger meet the hero in the middle of the story instead of the beginning, offering convenient help to the hero.

Although the Traveller doesn’t seem to have malicious intentions or long term plans to bring chaos and destruction, they do present a threat, leading to negative outcomes for anyone that falls into the “hero’s conundrum”, especially in the foundation, leading to an outcome that may aid other SMPs. When directly attacked, factors and elements seem to hinder or harm the Traveller’s attackers, a sniper on the roof may be hindered by a defecating bird, a gun-wielding robber may have their gun backfire or jammed, a thug about to physically assault may have a heart attack or interrupted by a passerby. It seems that, although at first the Traveller may be hindered, they eventually use chance and probability in their favour through unknown means, especially since they seem to not age or be directly harmed. A coincidence can lead to a domino effect which may aid the Traveller and/or hinder the hero if the individual does not help the Traveller.

Coincidence seems to be truly the Traveller’s best tool and weapon.

#scp foundation #scp #short story #fiction

2 notes · View notes

duchessfics · 5 years ago

Text

A Second Chance

(https://humanveil.tumblr.com/post/184864859382)

Narcissa x Reader

Requested by Anon: idk if you write for her but i saw you put her on your characters i would kiss list so if u can would you do something about narcissa? like you introduce her to your friends and when she’s in the bathroom they say she’s too old for you and she hears you defend her and when you get home she gets insecure and you comfort her and just like uhh idk i love her sm and finally someone else recognizes how pretty she is. anyway if you do it ty and if you don’t write for her sry i’ll request elsewhere ly.

Warning(s): None

Summary: You go out to dinner to introduce your friends to your fiance, however their reaction is not as inviting as you expected. As a result Narcissa questions if this is the right thing, but you reassure her that it is.

Word Count: 2115

A/n: I know this isn’t AHS, but I did want to write this request. I promise I have some more AHS coming up so if you aren’t a fan of this there will be some more content soon.

Ok...to preface this story I should mention two things:

#1 I know Narcissa can be a polarizing character. I did put her on my list of characters I would kiss, but that doesn’t mean I condone everything she does (although she did low-key save Harry which was kind of cool).

#2 *moves to hide behind chair before whispering* I haven’t read the books. 😬 HP stans please don’t come after me, I promise I don’t mean to offend if I get something wrong. That’s why I didn’t include magic, because I didn’t want to try to write something that I don’t really know much about. To the Anon who requested this I hope you like it. Tbh it’s a little out of my wheelhouse of writing, but I don’t think it turned out that bad. 😅

“You’re sure you want to go out tonight? They won’t be upset if it’s just me.”

You pose the question for what has to be the tenth time as you observe your fiancé making the finishing touches on her coiffure showing off both her dark and light hair. Narcissa’s reflection looks at you and she replies, “I’m sure.”

Then her coffee brown eyes look down to the vanity’s table and she picks up one of her necklaces with a smirk playing on her lips as she teases, “I’m starting to think you’re more nervous than me.” Before she can ask, you come up behind her and latch her necklace that sparkles with small diamonds. At the same time, you explain, “I just want my friends to see what an amazing woman you are.”

She turns around and rises before cupping your face with her cool hands. Her smile helps to settle the nerves that have been building up and she softly soothes, “It’ll be okay, darling.” The calm reassurance brings you back to reality and you let out a sigh before admitting, “You’re right. I’m overthinking it.”

She takes her hands away and nods with a smile, but her face shows understanding, not condemnation. Then Narcissa takes your hand and asks, “Ready?” After taking a deep breath, you nod and answer, “Yes.” So you both step out of your bedroom and make your way to the local restaurant for dinner…

When you enter the building, the hostess shows you to your reserved table where two of your best friends sit. They greet you with familiar smiles, but when they see Narcissa behind you, their welcoming expressions falter. That reaction makes the pit in your stomach feel even heavier. But you hope they’ll keep an open mind.

After sitting down next to your fiancé you take her hand under the table and give a reassuring squeeze. She gives you a small smile and you turn to your friends before stating, “This is my fiancé, Narcissa.”

Both of them remain cordial when greeting her, but you don’t miss their clenched jaws or stiffness throughout the whole meal. Even the conversations are strained and difficult to keep pleasant. Fortunately, years of experience with purebloods did teach Narcissa to keep face and remain as polite as the situation warranted.

On the other hand, you can’t hardly eat your meal with how anxious you feel. You love your friends, but you also love Narcissa and seeing them act this way towards her is foreign to you. Maybe it’s too soon to go out with others. Perhaps the stigma around purebloods is still impacting daily relations.

After finishing her meal, your fiancé politely excuses herself to use the washroom. Before she walks away you see her small, reassuring smile. But as soon as she’s out of earshot, one of your friends grows serious and asks in a low voice,

“You’re seriously going to marry her?”

Her condescending tone makes you bristle up and you icily reply, “Yes. I’m going to marry her.”

That’s when your other friend chimes in, “But what about her helping Voldemort? Or how her family was almost all deatheaters, including herself?”

Your body pulsates with heat at their accusations and your heart feels betrayed at their lack of understanding.

“Narcissa will be the first to admit that her past beliefs and actions were not honorable and deals with the shame and guilt of that. But that’s all she knew at the time. She’s changed since then. And while she isn’t perfect, her understanding and acceptance towards those outside of pureblood status is very much improved.” You retort.

However, they still look skeptical and one asks, “But what about Lucius? Or Bellatrix? She’s just left them all behind?”

Then your other friend adds, “And what about her age, y/n? She could nearly be your mother.”

By now angry tears smart at your eyes and a lump of emotions crawls up your throat. But you swallow that down and answer, “She was loyal to them because it felt safe. Narcissa isn’t stupid. She witnessed what happened to Sirius and Andromeda. And she would have never left her son behind. As for her age, I don’t recall ever mentioning that factor between you and your partners.”

You take a breath to calm your temper and soften your voice before admonishing, “I thought I could trust you with this. I thought you would be supportive and understanding.”

Both avoid your eyes, but don’t offer up apologies. So you mutter, “I’ll just pay for our meals and leave.” Just after you say that, Narcissa comes back around. She gives you a half-hearted smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You try to give an encouraging smile back, but it falls flat. So after you pay your bill you say a quick goodbye to your friends before going home…

Once you’re back in your house, Narcissa lets her pleasant façade crumble away and says, “I think I’m going to retire for the night.”

Right away you look to her and ask, “Are you feeling alright? I could draw a bath or get you some evening tea.” However, she shakes her head and carelessly brushes her lips against yours before responding, “That’s alright, darling. I think I’m just worn out from the day.”

She does look tired, but there is something more hidden in the dark depths of her eyes. Before you can investigate further, she backs away and soothes, “Don’t feel like you need to come up yet.” And before you can respond she’s already halfway up the stairs.

She must have heard what they said. But should you respect her wish to be left alone? If she seems upset at you following her to the bedroom, you’ll leave. So you make your way up the stairs to see her removing her jewelry in front of her vanity.

Even though you know she heard you enter, Narcissa keeps her eyes focused on the mirror as you ask, “Narcissa, did you hear everything that they said today?”

She lets out a breath and looks down to her hands that now rest on the table. Then she assures you, “It’s no big deal. Maybe they’re right though. Maybe you shouldn’t stay here with me.”

That suggestion breaks your heart and you rush up to her, cupping her face with your hands. She lets you guide her to face you and once her dark brown eyes meet yours you soothe, “They spoke out of turn and only retold the past. But they weren’t right to be concerned.” For a second, you see the raw emotion in her eyes, but she turns out of your hold and walks into the closet to change.

Rather than cornering her, you speak loud enough for her to hear, “They spoke their feelings and perspective. And while that is valid, that doesn’t make it the whole truth.”

Narcissa remains quiet, so you venture closer to the closet doorway and see her turned away from you, wearing a silk, forest green nightgown. She neatly places her clothes into the hamper and when she turns around to see you in the doorway, her eyes widen in surprise. But her neutral expression returns, and she comes up to you before weakly assuring you, “Y/n, I’m just tired.” But even she doesn’t seem convinced.

Rather than trying to keep reasoning with her you decide to take a different approach and respond by taking her hand and leading her over to the bed. While you walk she asks, “What are you doing?” But you silently climb onto the bed and guide her to do the same.

Once you’re both on the bed, you guide Narcissa to lean against your chest. Then you pull the covers up over you both and hold her close to you. She remains a little stiff and asks again, “What are you doing, darling?”

You bury your face in the crook of her neck and her soft tendrils tickle against your skin as you inhale her familiar scent. The first note that fills your nose is her rose perfume that she told you she’s worn since Draco was 8 years old and told her she smelled good. Then there’s a hint of earthy pine that’s present even without stepping into the woods. And underlying all of this is a hint of wintergreen mint that almost feels physically cooling and reminds you of snowy days in winter.

“Please talk to me, Narcissa. I want to know what you’re feeling right now.” You gently murmur in her ear and keep your lips close enough to press along the delicate skin just behind it.

She stays silent; however, you feel her body begin to relax into yours. Her breathing is a little shaky and you know making herself so vulnerable is not something that comes naturally. So you let her unfurl in her own time, providing a reassuring embrace and soft kisses of encouragement.

Eventually she whispers, “What if they are right? What if any good that I do won’t be enough to outweigh my past?”

You slowly run your palm up and down her exposed arm and even though you know the answer to this question, you ask, “Do you feel bad about your past beliefs and actions?”

The question causes her to turn and look at you before she nearly pleads,

“Yes. I…to be quite frank, I fucked up. I can see how horrible my actions were and I do feel bad.”

By now her eyes are glassy with unshed tears and she whimpers, “If it hadn’t been for Draco…I couldn’t let him get hurt and I didn’t trust Lucius to make sure of that.”

You tuck a loose piece of her hair behind her ear and she looks down, with one single tear sliding down her cheek. So you use your thumb to brush away the tear and soothe, “Then it isn’t about measuring the weight of all your good and bad actions. You’ve learned from past errors and grown. That’s half the battle.”

Her gaze meets yours and you continue with a small smile, “No person is only good or only bad, sweetheart. That line of distinction between the two runs through us.”

To emphasize, you skim your pointer finger down the center of her chest. She looks at the digit and you conclude, “What matters is how we respond to those impulses. And I struggle with that battle too. Everyone does.” Then you pull your finger away and hug her close. She hugs you back and her voice reverberates against your shoulder that she’s curled into when she softly says,

“Thank you, y/n.”

You press a kiss to the crown of her head while replying, “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Then she backs up enough to kiss you.

Her lips softly melt against yours and she immediately opens up to you, moving her hands to capture your face between them. You mirror her movements, cherishing this intimate moment and letting her lips and tongue guide you along in a delicate dance.

When you part, both of your chests rise and fall as you catch your breath. That’s when you notice the familiar flush of Narcissa’s cheeks is present once more. So you ask, “How about some tea to warm you up?” She nods and slips out of bed after you do.

Before she walks into the washroom, you inquire, “Do you want cream or sugar with it?” Your fiance pauses for a moment. Then her eyes light up mischievously and her lips curve into a suggestive smile as she purrs, “I do, but not the kind you’re thinking of.”

Your eyes widen but you grin at the insinuation and she continues, “After all, I wasn’t able to get any dessert after dinner and you know how insatiable my sweet tooth can be.” Narcissa’s darkened orbs sparkle with coyness making your body heat up at her behavior.

Then you let out a small giggle and respond, “Well I think I can provide what you desire. Tonight’s special is better than the selection of desserts anywhere else.”

The bold claim makes her chuckle and she tells you, “I look forward to it.” Then she starts to step away, but you say her name and take her hand.

She looks back to you with wide eyes and you murmur, “I love you, Narcissa.” The statement causes her cheeks to turn even pinker and she gives you a shy smile as she replies, “I love you too, y/n.”

You release her hand and both of you linger for a moment as if dreading being apart for even a couple minutes. But you do part ways, assured with the knowledge that you’ll be reunited soon enough and have each other until the end.

Tagged: @marilynroselleprentiss, @saviorinsilk, @chokemepaulson, @versonstar, @find-me-a-constellation, @cordwliagoode, @psychobitchtess, @midnight-lestrange, @mysweetdelia, @venablesbitch, @peachesandlesbians, @nerdaroo, @cordeliafoxxe

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in later works!

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #narcissa malfoy #narcissa black #narcissa x reader #hurt/comfort fic #not ahs

130 notes · View notes

travllingbunny · 4 years ago

Text

The 100 7x12 The Stranger

This is an episode I’ve enjoyed a lot more on rewatch than the first time. Which I kind of expected. The first time, I really didn’t like it, but this was mostly because I was too impatient to see Bardo and Bellamy, and really didn’t have patience for the Sanctum scenes, which again took up so much of the episode, or focus while watching them - that is, I did at the beginning, but not in the second half o the episode.

In fact, there was nothing that bad about the Sanctum scenes, and I enjoyed many of them on rewatch, but this storyline is simply not as interesting as the one about the Anomaly, Bardo and the Disciples, especially now when Bellamy has returned and just had a most dramatic character transformation, 5 episodes before the end of the show. And that’s been the main problem of the season so far: pacing. Jumping from one plot to another works when you have two equally interesting and exciting stories, and that really isn’t the case here.

It also didn’t help that this episode - by a first time writer - had too much clunky dialogue, such as so many times when characters were recapping events to each other:

Indra recaps to Memori what happened in a scene we saw 5 minutes earlier (at least this was brief)

Hope recaps her life story to Jordan, which we already saw in 7x02 and 7x04 and heard retold 7x07

Madi recaps what happened to her on Earth (to be fair, we did not actually see that on screen)

Bellamy recaps not just 7x11, but also season 3 and season 6

Murphy recaps 7x03 to Nikki

Now, some of this was probably necessary, but some of it wasn’t exactly - for instance, did we really need to hear Hope’s life story again? The scene was very nice, but we could’ve just have Hope tell Jordan “Dev was my friend” and assume she already told him who he was. This wouldn’t bug me if it was just one scene, but it was so many of them in the same episode. It’s OK to have characters sometimes learn info off-screen, especially when there’s just a few episodes remaining. It’s not that there isn’t enough time left to resolve all the storylines - there are 4 episodes left, about the same net amount of screentime as the entirety of Avengers: Endgame - but the show needs to pick up the pace.

It could’ve been a better episode, especially considering the fact that some big things happened, and the storylines finally converged by the end of the episode, setting up potentially exciting final 4 episodes.

On the more positive note - it was very interesting to see Bellamy’s conversation with Cadogan and his repressed but clearly conflicted emotions in his scenes - first with Echo and Raven, and later with Clarke and Octavia, and his attempts to find reconcile his new faith with his desire to save the people he loves. And on rewatch, I enjoyed a lot of the other scenes -nice character moments with Madi and her friends, and with Jordan and Hope, cute moments with Memori, or even Murphy’s confrontation with Nikki, though I would’ve enjoyed some of them better if they had happened in some other episode earlier in the season.

Bardo

Bellamy is now in full-blown Disciple mode, wearing one of those ridiculous white robes, similar to what Doucette wears, even though Bellamy is not a Conductor or a science-oriented person like Gabriel, hasn’t gone through any Disciple training and isn’t even Level 1 (as seen by the lack of the marks on his face). He is clearly being treated as one of the top Disciples anyway, one of Cadogan’s inner circle, which may be justified by the fact that he has gone through the Etherea pilgrimage. We know that Cadogan’s pilgrimage is a big deal in Disciple religion, which would raise both his and Doucette’s status, but he is also, of course, important to Cadogan because of his connection to Clarke and the “Key”.(Sidenote: I don’t think anyone has been appointed the new First Disciple after Anders’ death. The job of the FD was to act on behalf of the Shepherd and lead in his absence, and wake him up every 20 years to update him on the progress of the search for the Key and the Final Code. Now that Cadogan is there to lead himself, he has no need for a deputy anymore.)

He is also getting to have one-on-one talks with Cadogan. This scene is one of the most interesting in this episode. Bellamy is incredibly repressed, with subdued feelings, but those emotions are still simmering and coming through on his face and in his voice, thanks to Bob’s great acting. Bellamy gives Cadogan condolences for Anders’ death, and Cadogan replies that he really barely knew and didn’t care about Anders, which we knew already. Cadogan interprets this as Bellamy testing him if he has any attachments. I don’t know if that is true or just how Cadogan read it, or if Bellamy assumed Cadogan and his FD must have been close, and/or if he was doing it so he could bring up the issue of his friends, who are supposed to be executed for “their” crimes. (Which are really just Echo’s and Hope’s crimes, but the Disciples seem to have decided they bear collective responsibility, even though many of them tried to stop it - and no one is disputing it.) Cadogan goes on about how trying to suppress attachments and emotions is a long way and says he is still struggling with it after doing it for hundreds of years. (No, Bill, you haven’t been even conscious for hundreds of years. You were in cryo. Shut up.) He says Bellamy reminds him of his son Reese/ Since Bellamy and Reese are nothing alike, I can only interpret this as Cadogan trying to manipulate Bellamy by presenting himself as a father figure. I thought at first that he may really have meant it because he assumed Bellamy would be as loyal to him as Reese was - but that’s clearly not true, since the end of this episode shows that Bill does not fully trust Bellamy.

Bill thinks that Callie must have killed Reese, since he apparently can’t see any other reason why Reese never got to bring him the Flame. It says a lot that 1) he assumes that 1) Reese always remained loyal to him and that 2) Callie would be willing to kill her brother. He always put them against each other and made them fight as children. And he doesn’t even entertain the thought that Reese may have had any character growth and changed his mind. I have a feeling he may be wrong on both accounts.

But Bellamy is good at manipulating Cadogan, too, in order to save his friends - he realizes that Bill’s family is his weak spot. Cadogan was not entirely convinced by Bellamy’s suggestion that the Flame can be repaired, but he was affected - even if he didn’t admit that - when Bellamy told him he may find out what happened to his children through the Flame. I’m not entirely sure if Bellamy believes that 1) the Flame can be repaired (which may or may not happen) and 2) the Commanders' memories would still be there (which doesn’t make a lot of sense and seems unlikely). He is very sincere about his faith, and he says later he can’t lie to the Shepherd, so he wouldn’t be lying... But he is clutching at straws to save his loved ones, maybe even trying to convince himself. And there’s also the fact that he does lie to Cadogan later, during Clarke’s MCap.

We then see two conversations Bellamy has with the people close to him - the first one is with his Spacekru family: his girlfriend Echo and his long-time friend Raven. The second one is with Clarke and his actual family, Octavia. The Disciples again made sure to put characters in cells for two people, but we don’t get to see Bellamy talk to Miller and Niylah (even though the scene was filmed, as we saw in the promo pictures). I hope that scene was not cut due to time - considering how much screentime was used up by the Sanctum storyline, again, and these characters are constantly getting short-changed. But I think it may have instead been cut because of the story structure - to focus on just these two scenes. What’s more, Raven’s role is much smaller than Echo’s in the former scene as she leaves early, and, surprisingly, Octavia plays a secondary role in the latter, which is mostly focused on Bellamy and Clarke’s interaction. And considering how the former scene was changed from the script, - Bellamy’s emotions toned down, Bellamy not explaining his experiences to Echo and Raven as he does later to Clarke and Octavia - which made the contrast between the two scenes stronger, I think the intention was to focus mostly on Bellamy’s relationships with Echo and Clarke, and that the compare and contrast was deliberate.

Throughout both of these scenes, Bellamy insists that he is trying to save everyone from death, while also being true to his faith, but his loved ones, understandably, are shocked by this new Disciple Bellamy, who feels like a stranger, and who is acting as one of their captors and is even willing to let them be put in MCap against their will. He notably does not answer the question Echo asks - if he is ready to watch them die, which is a strong possibility if his attempts to placate Cadogan don’t work. Instead he just says “You know that’s not what I want”, which doesn’t answer the question. Maybe because he is not sure yet what the answer is. But he does answer one other question...

In his talk with Raven and Echo, Bellamy shows emotions (including concern when noticing Echo’s scars), but they are very subdued, and he eventually makes it clear that, if push comes to shove, he is prioritizing his new faith over his people. Raven reacts with typical Raven anger, and throws the words "So much for family" in Bellamy’s face (echoing what Bellamy himself said to Miller in season 5 - "So much for the 100"). Echo is also indignant but tries to plead with him, hoping to bring back old Bellamy in him - without any success. Which may be seen as a sign of how strong Bellamy’s indoctrination is... but looking a little beneath the surface, a lot of what she says makes me wonder how well she knew the old Bellamy in the first place. Bellamy, on his part, asks Echo to believe in him and be on his side, but his argument is to appeal to her feelings for him (”I am the man you love”), expecting her trust and loyalty without really offering anything in return, such as, say, some promise, some mention of his feelings for her. Echo tells him about how obsessed she was with saving him... and then avenging him - she is really channeling S2 Finn with how she refers to her genocide attempt as a grand romantic gesture and sign of love that he should appreciate. Even if Bellamy was his old self, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be happy to hear that. Disciple Bellamy remains stone-faced and gives her only a flat “I’m sorry you had to go through that”.

(And this is what annoys me about this scene and this storyine in general: somehow, Echo is made to look morally superior, after having murdered and betrayed multiple people this season an some two days after she murdered people as a way to torture Levitt and almost committed genocide, and no one has any time to even mention that or blame her for anything. If Bellamy had done a fraction of her actions, it would’ve turned into a huge story of guilt and Bellamy being blamed and needing to redeem himself forever.)

But regardless of how you see these characters’ respective arcs, one thing is clear: they are on completely different wavelengths. Echo mentions how she tried to keep her identity by scarring her face - but that scarring was an Azgeda custom; the core identity she was trying to preserve was that of an Azgeda warrior/spy, which is hardly something to mention as a positive thing to Bellamy. Not only does it have nothing to do with them as a couple or as a team/”family”- her Azgeda spy/warrior identity made her Bellamy’s enemy and caused him a lot of trauma. This is either some weird and bad writing, or an intentional attempt to show the cracks in this relationship that have been there all along. Bellamy, on his part, seems to think Echo will understand the appeal that this faith has for him - a promise of “no more war, no more killing”. Why does he think this is something that would appeal to her? Fighting and killing for her “people” and her “King” and fulfilling her mission is what she lives for, even after having spent 11 years in peace.

Throughout this scene, Echo looks very emotional, especially by her standards, while Bellamy is incredibly restrained. She finally asks him point blank “Is this (his faith) more important than us?” This is a very ambiguous line, because the pronoun “us” can be understood as “all of us, your family/friends” or “you and me/our relationship”. There’s been a debate on which one she meant - I even created a Twitter poll about it (where about 2/3 of voters said they thought she meant their relationship). I can see both of these interpretations, but the intimate way she said that line and the way she was looking at him make me think that she meant “us” as in their relationship. Either way, the fact that Bellamy - after a pause - unambiguously answered “Yes”, makes it pretty clear that this relationship is over. I find it hard to see any future in this relationship even if/when Bellamy stops drinking the Kool-Aid. I do think someone will be able to get to him, but it won’t be Echo.

Echo cries after he has left (which I feel was much more in character than if she had been crying during their talk, as in the script.). Back in 7x04, Echo asked Orlando: “ It must be hard to dedicate your whole life to something that may never come.” I’ve always felt that was foreshadowing for Echo’s own arc - with the way she was saying she wouldn’t know what to do without Bellamy. I didn’t expect their relationship to end for this reason - but this is a much stronger blow for Echo than if they had just broken up for more mundane reasons. She didn’t just lose her boyfriend, she lost her king. If her arc is to make any sense, the show will have reflect on her life, identity and priorities and her find some purpose in life that’s not about Bellamy or serving another leader.

Octavia and Clarke are together in another cell - and we get a brief interaction, where Octavia tells Clarke she “finally understands” her, because she knows what it’s like to have a child you’re desperate to protect. I’m not too fond of this line, because it feels kind of obvious but also reductive - “I finally understand you” makes it sound like she finally understands who Clarke always has been, since she met her in season 1, which doesn’t make sense. It’s reducing Clarke to the role of the mother, and it would make a lot more sense if Octavia said she now understood the post-Praimfaya Clarke. But understanding was never an issue between them in season 5 - Clarke was simply standing in Blodreina's way. It was back in seasons 1-4 that Octavia had trouble understanding Clarke and her decision as a leader - something that she probably understood when she became a leader herself, responsible for a bunch of people.

Bellamy’s second big confrontation is with Clarke and Octavia. And in this one, Bellamy was much, much more openly emotional, much more vulnerable. This time, he not only told his experience to his sister and Clarke - he is now desperately pleading with Clarke to believe in him. He doesn’t bring up her feelings for him, but their connection and - in a way - his feelings for her, what he did for her, the fact he did not give up and brought her back to life in S6. They are both yelling and looking in pain and with tears in their eyes. He isn’t shouts “I am trying to save you, all of you!” But this is not about Clarke believing in him or dismissing his experiences. She accepts that what he says may be true, but refuses to give in to a man like Cadogan and let him start a war, and she stands her ground, while Octavia turns away from her brother to comfort her, looking at him disapprovingly. If someone can get to Bellamy, if his feelings could outweigh his faith and loyalty to Cadogan, it is most likely to be Clarke (It could be Octavia, of course, but the show is not choosing to focus on their relationship at the moment.)

I’d like to point out that we have seen this kind of angsty conflict between Clarke and Bellamy almost every season, and often around this part of the season, and that it always ended in an equally huge reconciliation. In season 3, it was earlier (3x05 to 3x11). In season 4 it was in 4x10/4x11 with a reconciliation in 4x12. In season 5, it lasted from 5x09 to their big reconciliation in the season 5 finale. They always end up forgiving each other because they can understand each other - and are a united team in every season finale.

I want to address something else I’ve seen people say: that it is “worrying” that Clarke has called Bellamy her best friend twice this season, after never having defined their relationship that specifically before. Which is seen by some as a sign of the show trying to “clear” that they are “platonic” - even though this really doesn’t do that. (Anyone remember a certain real life tweet going: “Recently, I married my best friend and soulmate...”?) If anything, it is a step forward, since she has previously only referred to Bellamy as one of her friends/family. What else would she call him that would give him a special place, unless you expect a love confession from her at a moment like this (or talking to Cadogan in front of everyone), which wouldn't make sense. Specifying their current relationship status of two characters feels like something you would do if that status is to change - one way or other. (I think that Bellamy has also been called Echo's boyfriend for the first time in S7.)

The struggle inside Bellamy continues as he sends Clarke to MCap - which rightfully shocks and hurts both Clarke and Octavia, But he clearly has a hard time seeing Clarke in pain. and, in spite of what he said earlier (that he can’t lie to the Shepherd), lies to Cadogan, claiming Clarke doesn’t know where the Flame is. There is no way he actually believes that - Clarke didn’t even try to pretend that she didn’t know it, and she’s struggling to hide that knowledge. Unfortunately it’s an obvious lie Cadogan sees through, but the cracks in Bellamy’s loyalty to him are starting to show.

(Many people were hoping that the MCap session would allow Bellamy to see Clarke’s memories and that this would be some kind of breakthrough that would let him realize her feelings for him and get him emotional - but I’m glad nothing like that happened, Mind violation is not a good way to bring two people together..)

Clarke, being Clarke, hurts herself rather than giving Cadogan what he wants and letting him start a war, until he promises he release her friends.

The show is really not subtle with its imagery - first we had Kane crucified in season 3, and now Clarke looks like Jesus with a crown of thorns.

So, Cadogan sends the rest of the group (Octavia, Echo, Hope, Miller, Niylah, Jordan) to an unknown location, as a collateral, so Clarke would keep her end of the deal and find the Flame for them. But he doesn’t reveal the location to Clarke - or to Bellamy, because, in his words, he doesn’t trust Clarke. But this means that he doesn’t really trust Bellamy, either - at least not when Clarke is around.

Doucette seems to be constantly hanging around Bellamy - he was there when Bellamy was reunited with his people, he appears after Bellamy’s talk with Clarke and Octavia, and he’s with Cadogan, Bellamy, Clarke and others in the team that goes to Sanctum. I don’t think it’s just because they are the Disciple version of friends - I think Cadogan has made Doucette Bellamy’s unofficial Handler, and that he’s supposed to keep an eye on him and make sure he stays loyal and doesn’t give in to the temptation of emotional attachments to his friends and family. He also has a brief interaction with Echo, where he seems amused and mildly contemptuous. Which makes me think he’ll have some interesting interactions with Clarke and possibly others in 7x13 (but mostly Clarke, especially going by the promo photos) while he is around Bellamy to remind him of his Disciple side.

There’s been a lot of speculation where the group has been sent. It’s certainly not Skyring, Etherea or Nakara or Sanctum, which means that the options are either Earth, or some new place we haven’t seen yet. It would make sense if it was the same place where Gaia was. It certainly seems that we won’t see this group before 7x14, as the upcoming episode will probably be full focused on Sanctum. The Stone on Earth has been shown to be offline - but so was the Stone on Sanctum, and that didn’t end up mattering at all.

What I don’t understand is why Cadogan thinks they won’t be able to find their way to Sanctum - which is why he didn’t let Gabriel and Raven go with them. But they do have Disciple helmets (unless all info in them has been disabled), and Jordan was around when Raven talked about the Anomaly and has spent a bit of time researching the Bardoan text on the Anomaly Stone on Bardo - so I expect him to be able to figure things out.

So many of the characters need to resolve their storylines - Echo, Hope, Jordan? The former two have character arcs that badly need resolution and character development, after they have lost everything. Hope has been driven by anger, pain and revenge all season - and it all came crashing down when she attempted to commit genocide, and unintentionally caused her mother’s death as a result. Diyoza’s last words were to be better than she was. Hope still has Octavia, who has struggled with and resolved the darkness and violence in her soul, and now she also has Jordan to bond with, as they did in their scene in the cell in this episode. They are two of the kids who grew up in isolation and raised on stories of Clarke, Bellamy, Raven, Murphy and others as legends, but with drastically different worldviews and experiences. I expect both of them to survive to the end, together with Madi, as the new generation/hopes for the future of humanity.

As for Jordan, I would say that his arc needs a resolution, but his brainwashing by Trey at the end of last season seems to have been completely forgotten and ignored. Maybe it became a casualty of the rewrites, when the show opted to go with another brainwashing/indoctrination storyline with another one of its men of color. I certainly prefer this Jordan we saw talking to Hope and comforting her, but why didn’t the show keep him that way all the time, without that really annoying Prime-apologism phase?

I feel that Octavia, on the other hand, has completed her character development, but she needs to deal with the loss of Diyoza, have some meaningful interactions with Hope, and of course, a resolution to her relationship with Bellamy.

It really struck me how little Bellamy/Octavia interactions got focus in this episode - their one scene was more focused on Bellamy's interaction with Clarke, and Octavia didn't even get a line or closeup in the scene where they were being sent off (unlike Clarke, Echo, Raven, Gabriel and Miller) nor even a moment of eye contact with Bellamy (unlike Echo and Clarke). That must mean there are going to be big Blake sibling scenes later, probably in the finale.

Sanctum

When you think Sheidheda can’t get more over the top, he does it again. I don’t know if this is a bad or good thing. If you’re doing a cartoonish villain, go all in, right? It’s kind of entertaining, though it doesn’t fit with the usual way this show does villains. This time, he actually has a throne made of skeletons! (That’s one way to use those skeletons of the Primes’ former hosts.)

He’s also borderline Villain Sue, with a bunch of incredible fighting skills that now go beyond Grounder style fight. Now he’s also really good with automatic guns. When did that happen? I mean, Madi does know how to shoot a gun, but still? The scene where he shoots all of the Children of Gabriel would’ve been much more convincing if he had given a sign to Wonkru to start shooting them, instead of doing it all by himself.

Nelson’s (Sachin)’s death was fitting for his character, and many would say it was heroic and impressive, refusing to kneel to another false god. Or one could say it was stupid and pointless - as it did not result in just his death, but also the deaths of all the people he was leading, and that he should have instead taken Emori’s advice and knelt today so he could find a way to beat Shady some other day, while saving his people. I’ll let you guess which one of these is closer to how I feel. In any case, on the Doylist level, I’m not fond of how fast the show is to kill off another bunch of people, but it is what it is, the show has always been fond of mass murder. And this is Shady’s second one this season. First he killed the majority of the Faithful, and now almost all of the Children of Gabriel - so we wouldn’t have to deal with more factions of people in the show’s endgame. And conveniently, CoG got removed from the board just before Gabriel comes back to Sanctum, Now we won’t have to have that arc followed up on. How many people are left in Sanctum now that aren’t Earthkru? There must still be quite a few of the ordinary Sanctumites there, such as Delilah’s parents, but we rarely get to see them. I would hate it if the show killed off the majority of the Sanctum residents just because they’re not major characters.

The only CoG who gets to survive is Madi’s friend Luca, the one other CoG we know. Indra, who witnesses the massacre and saves Luca, must be thinking back to how her mother knelt to save her (just like she knelt to save Madi) and hopefully realizing that her mother wasn’t a coward and did the right thing.

Meanwhile, Murphy and Emori are hiding Madi, the remaining Faithful, and now Luca, too, in the nuclear reactor. Trey, the big believer, has no problem suggesting they kneel to the guy who killed his god Russell, before Murphy points out that Shady would kill them anyway for fear they would want revenge. Oh, Shady - you killed so many people and didn't even have the decency to kill that annoying asshole Trey?

One of the best parts of the Sanctum plot in this episode is Madi comforting a really traumatized Luca - who has lost first his biological family when Shady killed the Faithful, and now his people/his real family - and telling a group of orphaned children a story of her own survival in the Shallow Valley. Whether or not this is foreshadowing for a possible return to Earth (I am in two minds if this is going to happen or not), it is a sweet moment of hope for rebuilding life and society, similar to the scene between Jordan and Hope.

Murphy confronting Nikki and telling her how and why her husband died and that his sacrifice should not be in vain, is a good scene - and won’t be pointless if it finally results in some sort of character development for Nikki, who has been so one-note throughout this season. But she is simply not that interesting. The one interesting thing about her plot is that she could remind Murphy of who was back in season 1, but the show, usually not subtle with parallels, hasn’t done anything with that so far.

There also some lovely Memori moments - they are the one couple in the show who are getting to be happy and have these ordinary coupley scenes. And you know that I have always shipped Memori. But the problem here is - there have been many cute Memori scenes this season; they have both proved to be good leaders, who take care of people, playing the role Clarke and Bellamy did once; Murphy has been proving every episode that he’s a real hero now, coming a long way not just since season 1 but from his questionable and selfish choices in season 6, too. He gets told “I’m proud of you, Murphy” again by someone, this time Indra. All of this is very nice, but repetitive. After so many episodes this season have shown us these things - we get it. We don’t doubt anymore that Murphy and Emori are heroes. Sheidheda is 100% a villain. There is no moral ambiguity - except with minor characters: the only unpredictable thing about the storyline is what Nikki will do and whether Knight will stop obeying Shady. It’s not that this is a terrible storyline, and on rewatch, it was fine in this episode - but the other storyline is way more interesting, and there are so many other characters that are in pressing need of character resolutions, with 4 episodes to go.

At the end, we’re left with a stalemate, as Murphy is captured by Shady, but Shady can’t move to capture or kill Emori and the people they are protecting in the reactor, because she could blow it up, so he leaves Knight to wait for them to come out.

And then, finally, Cadogan and the group come from the Anomaly. Why did we have that Disciple so dramatically disconnect the Sanctum Stone in 7x04? Another abandoned subplot? Wonkru simply moved the Stone and brought it tot Shady, and it worked just fine.

(I suspect the Flame may turn out to be impossible to repair or useless, because the show has been emphasizing Madi’s remaining memories so much this season - and that wasn’t needed for this plot, since Shady also remembers the Anomaly Stone and could have been the one to tell Wonkru about it. The Disciples may end up trying to get her into MCap to see if she remembers the Final Code that Bedca used.)

I’m ecstatic that the Bardo storyline is finally converging with the Sanctum one. But that somewhat initially ruined by the bad direction in the last scene, which made it less clear which of the characters were back on Sanctum, until you went back and paused the scene. Clarke asking “What the hell happened here?” and Murphy’s reply “Gee, where to start” was great, but the fact that so many people were asking “Did Bellamy come to Sanctum with them?” and weren’t sure of it before the Inside the episode and sneak peeks came out, shows how poorly this scene was done. It should’ve made it crystal clear that Bellamy, Raven and Gabriel were coming back to Sanctum together with Clarke and Cadogan - getting people excited for the next episode.

Rating: 6.5/10

14 notes · View notes

dredreadsdrawing · 4 years ago

Text

Oc-tober Day 7: Fear

Hoohoo i suck at shading :'0 The second pic was the firdt concept art I drew of these gals. Then came the pencil sketches and lastly the one on top.

I've already got a Quickie summary of this story in my writing blog explaining who these characters are and what's going on, link HERE. So for this piece, I'll write the scene I drew lol. In it, only Kylee and the Wrath kid are left, but before they get a showdown, God gives them one last mercy. A night without worries. Anything they want, they will grant. Btw, I have decided on official names for these gals. Kylee the fangirl and Paloma the patient ghost.

~~~~

This was it.

Tomorrow, everything was bound to come to an end.

It felt unreal to Kylee. How far she's come, her numerous near death experiences, how nice their room was. God really knew how to treat em when they weren't being careless.

Still, God's assurance of a last peaceful night was a load off their shoulders. A blessing, you might even say.

Chevre left the scene immediately, deciding to spend their last day as a ghost doing their own kooky things. They felt robbed for not dying sooner to do it.

That left Kylee and Paloma, the original duo, to spend the night alone. Just like the good ol days.

They tried the hot tub, snacked on expensive sweets, watched Kylee's favorite episodes of her favorite shows, and had a great time.

Just like normal girls their age would spend a sleepover.

When it got super late, the magic of the tranquility was wearing off. Reality settled back in. Tomorrow was the end. No more fighting, no more floating. The ghosts would be reborn and someone new would be God.

A child. Both contestants left were underage.

And they had to fight eachother to the death. Kylee and Paloma agreed that if she won, she would pick older candidates next time. No kid should go through what she's gone.

Circling back to the competition, they talked about their opponent and his many helpers. They'd seen how ruthless he was. Opportunistic and never one to hesitate. He was a tough rival for sure.

Kylee got quiet for a bit, and Paloma squeezed her shoulder.

"Come on, cookie. Let's sleep early."

They snuggled onto the bed. Two had been accommodated for them, but they were used to sleeping in the same one. It was their piece of comfort.

After settling down, Kylee worded her next question carefully. She had already asked it before, when she first saw Paloma as a ghost, but it didn't hurt to have the answer retold.

What was it like to die?

Paloma stiffened. Her eyes softened. Her voice cracked a bitter smile.

"It hurts. Especially when you start struggling back. But once it's done, all you get is wave after wave of relief. Like when you ace a test you didn't study for." She laughed. It ended breathily.

Kylee didn't like her expression. She had seen it come up a lot in the past few days. And she knew exactly what it meant. She brought Paloma closer and held her face. Looking into her eyes, she asked as quietly as she could.

"... have you regretted it?"

Paloma shivered. Her eyes burst. She whimpered, and Kylee immediately brought her to her chest, letting her cry. Not a single tear stained her shirt.

"I was... So sure I did the right thing..."

"You did..."

Kylee remembered those first days. How surprisingly proud she seemed to have taken her own life. To be done with life and humanity. But as time wore on, her sentiments changed.

"I couldn't help it... I wondered... What would have happened if..."

She paused as sge choked on her words. Kylee gave her a pat. "It's ok..."

"No, it's not!" Paloma got up, her face a darker shade. "We could have been a team. We could have stuck together for as long as we could. Or- I could have been in your shoes right now. I could have been the one that made it to the end. Instead of putting all this pressure.... For you to do the right things."

Paloma was calming down, she rubbed her eyes. Kylee helped brush a tear from her cheek.

"I'm sorry I died so fast."

The words stung. Kylee wasn't taking this.

"Don't say that! If one of us is the bad one... It's... Me."

Kylee rubbed her arm. Paloma shook her head. "Not this again, Kylee-"

"I was a jerk. I admit it. I knew what was going on with you but I never stepped in. Really, Palo," Kylee started hyperventilating. Paloma rushed to embrace her. Their roles had effectively switched.

"If I had reached out to you sooner... If I was more involved... Someone better..." Kylee took Paloma's hand. Together, they squeezed them.

"If I was someone like you..."

"Stop it..."

So many what ifs lingered in their minds. So many paths they could have taken. Together.

But here they were, stuck. One as a ghost and the other possibly becoming a deity. About to fight for the right to be.

"Atleast... I got to show you my favorite stores. .." Paloma laughed at the memory of Kylee dragging her around unwillingly.

"We didn't even buy anything. You just had us people watch the entire day."

"But you had a good time anyways, didn't you?" The smiles are back. Paloma tilts her head and rests it on Kylee's shoulder.

"I did..."

While her death was premature, she had to count the small blessing that was her ability to stick to Kylee as a ghost. She got to see more than the bubble she knew. She got to make friends. And...

Kylee couldn't help the kiss she gave Paloma's forehead. Paloma's face burst and she laughed.

She got to feel so loved.

"Okay, Ms. God, settle back down. Tomorrow is... A big day."

Kylee snickered as she laid back down, Paloma following. After another small silence, Kylee's big mouth continued asking.

"If I win... What kind of life do you want?"

They hadn't touched the topic of Paloma's reincarnation.

The reality of her living without Kylee was too much.

Still, now that it was a serious possibility... This was a talk they needed to have. Paloma moved away a bit.

"Well, you're so creative Kylee, I'm sure you'll give me the best life..."

"But... I want to know what YOU want!"

Paloma was stunned for a bit, touched. Kylee really cared for her opinion. The selfish onlooker she first met was long gone.

"I'm being honest..." Paloma looked away. "I want whatever you give me. I trust you."

Kylee's stomach sank. She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders, now more than ever.

Paloma looked back at Kylee's serious expression, and she laughed some more. This was too serious for their last night together. "Stop worrying about it, cookie." She laid back down ans snuggled to her side. "Worry about surviving tomorrow. Only you can guarantee me that happy ending."

Kylee's gut sank further. It was the truth, but the pressure was on. She watched Paloma close her eyes and over time, drift away, her sleep as sound as when she was alive.

But Kylee couldn't follow, couldn't even stand to blink. Her anxiety was at an all time high. She had to win. She had to make it up to Paloma. She would be a good god, and rule like her girlfriend would.

Kylee's eyes watered again, mourning prematurely the departure to come. She looked to the ceiling. She would make Paloma happy. She knew her favorite foods, her favorite books, her favorite everything. She would give her the world on a platter, make her have the most fulfilling life. From wealth, to friends, to health and romance. Romance.

Yes.

Kylee was a multishipper. Kylee knew people could mesh well with more than one person. She could find Paloma another lover, a better one!

She would be fine.

Her stomach's knots stayed in place, no matter how long she repeated that phrase.

Yeah, Paloma would be fine.

But Kylee wouldn't.

Kylee had gotten what she wanted.

She would be alone now. Free from societal conventions. Free to do what she wanted. Free to people watch, free to bend wills, free to mess around and turn her ideas into reality.

She will find her own happiness. Somehow. The sentiment felt hollow in her chest.

Panic set in again.

What was she doing? What had she done?

She turned and looked at Paloma's face once more.

If she didn't win... There would be no more world. No more Kylee. No more Paloma.

These were her only options. Stay alone forever, or lose everything.

For the first time since the start of the game, she felt afraid of the outcome.

#traditional art #October #Oc tober #Oc-tober #Ocs #Kylee #Paloma #God is a fangirl #Digital art #oc tober day 7 #My art #Lesbians #Ace #Asexual #Kylee is ace lol i have decided #Paloma is too #Ace queens #Cries #Original writing

10 notes · View notes

redspiderling · 5 years ago

Text

MCU Breakdown: That b-roll called Endgame, part 2

This mess has been swirling around my mind all day and I can safely say that once I managed to block individual offences and look at the greater picture, I was able to reach a conclusion that might bring some peace to my mind and, hopefully, yours too.

We’re not here to once again simply exhibit how this movie failed to express itself in a visual way, we’ll go a step further because I’m an asshole like that.

We’re here to explain why the failure of visual expression cheapens the story-telling process and leads to an unfulfilling cinematic experience.

I’m adding a “read more” this time because I actually remembered to do it.

Let’s ease ourselves into this.

Exhibit 1: Not using any visual storytelling elements.

This is the moment Pepper realises Tony has figured out time travel. That they can -potentially- travel back in time and save trillions of lives. And it’s shot, like this

Like a picture from a furniture catalogue. I’m saying furniture catalogue not only because the shot is 80% furniture and 20% character. Not just because it is quite dark, and the pieces that are drawing the attention of our eyes are the various lamps and candles, bright and shiny in an otherwise brownish, muddy frame.

This moment hasn’t earned its existence in our minds as an emotionally charged one.

It’s not just that Tony was never the character who envisioned himself as someone capable of “settling down”. It’s that our brains have been trained for centuries to look for visual clues. The wringing of hands, the beads of sweat on a forehead, nervous gestures, restlessness. The symbolism of a storm in the horizon that trouble is coming. They’re all simple things but they’re layers upon layers of meaning.

The trouble isn’t just that the Tony we know is not the Tony we’re looking at. It’s that the way the story unfolds, visually, doesn’t fill us with dread. Instead we are left looking at an image of a somewhat peaceful existence void of any emotional charge.

How this scene represents the “enormous scientific revelation will restore balance to the universe but will potentially ruin our family” sentiment, is an enquiry for me to make and for the Endgame show runners to never explain.

Exhibit 2: Using visual storytelling elements wrongly

To move forward from that significant for all its insignificance moment, it’s old news in the fandom that Endgame took the concept of found family and kicked it to an alternate dimension.

What we are looking at here, is the New “But Actually Really Damn Old” Dream of the MCU: Typical affluent white heteronormative Heaven.

And yet that’s not the problem. It is a problem, in the general “this is the 21st century and it takes a bit more to impress us” sense, but it’s not a problem from the perspective of a story. You can tell good stories for us all to enjoy that begin and end with this narrative, as long as you do it well.

It is quite obvious that the basic concepts of visual storytelling are known to these people. And they do attempt to use them on occasion. We’re talking about visual clues that will help nudge the viewer in the right direction, so that when the moment comes, the viewer will have seen it coming and won’t get annoyed.

Thus one could easily assume any form of foreshadowing is better than no foreshadowing, right?

Perhaps. But from my experience, certainly not in this instance. This is one of the big problems with this film, it is not certain where to draw the line on just how much does the viewer know? Is this their first MCU film? Second? Did they see Cap 1 and skip the rest?

Our story tellers don’t use all the information they have provided us with, and that creates traps for them. Even when they do attempt to warn us for what is coming they create more trouble for themselves. Because foreshadowing needs to be consistent. And dead ex girlfriends who got married more than 50 years ago, are not a likely candidate for a love story in the mind of the viewers.

Visual story telling is crucial and it needs to be consistent. You can show me hints that I will pick up on.

Here's Steve in the Avengers. He's certainly a man out of time, with his old man clothes.

Thankfully, by the time the Winter Soldier appeared, he was fitting in quite well in the world. A modern man now, with a modern attire.

So I'm left to watch in bewilderment and wonder, why is Steve back in his old man clothes in Endgame?

When did this regression occur? Viewers are not idiots. Like I said, we are trained to pick up on visual clues, it's crucial to our survival in the world. If I see a monkey eat seeds from a tree and then die, I'll remember not to eat from that tree.

I see the attempt here. The lack of colour and hope in the frame where Steve gazes longingly at the old compass, the soft, dream-like orange of his perfect life with his little wife. I can take a hint. Do I want it though? Have you prepared me for it? Does it make sense in terms of the other visual clues you've provided me with over the years?

Exhibit 3: Shifting the responsibility

Did I mention how much Marvel lucked out with the casting?

There’s 0 visual language employed. There’s no symbolism, no light, colour or perspective of happiness, or hope, or hopelessness. The only thing between those two pictures that says Tony and Natasha are not having some really strange conversation with each other right now, is the expression on their faces.

The fulfilment Tony found in parenthood and Natasha’s heartbreak over Clint’s crimes is visible only through the talent of the performers, not through any visual clues the show runners left behind for us.

Natasha stressing

Professor Hulk and Dr Strange paying their respects

Clint’s guilt

Wanda remembering her dead loved ones

Complex emotional moments laid entirely on the shoulders of the actors. Which isn’t entirely a condemnable thing, talented actors can pull strong emotions from their audiences, but they can only do so much.

Lets reference a pop culture legend most of you will understand

We don’t remember Luke finding out the truth about his father just because Mark Hamill is a really good actor. We remember it because in that moment, Luke had been brought to his lowest point. He was worn from battle, his life was hanging from a thread. Darth Vader was looming over him, the personification of everything he hated and in that moment he found out that a part of him came from that evil.

That build up was the result of a well written script, of a masterful piece of music, a visual tone that brought us to the brink of a revelation. The performance was part of the tale that will be retold for generations.

In conclusion

While there have been literally dozens upon dozens of articles about fans and viewers and critics having “issues” with this or that in Endgame, the truth is that our real problem, is this mixed bag of hardly ever used, or wrongly used storytelling elements. One that has been building up to a disastrous result for years.

And while all that is the least of Endgame’s crimes in the eyes of a Natasha fan (I have a personal vendetta against the film at this point) I still can’t help but bemoan the loss of a singular opportunity for creating a milestone in cinematic history.

Because if we can’t revisit Endgame for its story due to a complete lack in originality, and we can’t revisit it for its visuals, we won’t revisit it at all. And with it most of the MCU will go down as a piece of popular media that took the world by storm, but won’t have much to recommend it 10, 20 years from now. And isn’t that a shame. Edit: If you’re wondering why they messed up this badly, there’s a long list of reasons:

This wasn’t actually planned ahead. They didn’t write all the films from the beginning, they were making things up as they went along, so they created pitfalls for themselves.

They ignored the visual language.

They went along with weak scripts.

For Endgame specifically, they did ridiculously extensive re-shoots, which resulted in messy set ups (misplaced items on set, badly lit scenes, bad special effects) and bad editing.

They bit off more than they could chew with the amount of characters presented on screen, and never managed to create complete and fulfilling storylines for them.

Finally, they allowed bigotry and sexism to affect their judgement, thus placing the viewer against their narrative.

#I think this is the kindest post I've made for this tag #endless endgame bashing #MCU Breakdown #I did not spend money on Disney products i.e. paying to watch this film when writing this post #the theatre ticket is shameful enough

42 notes · View notes

nomimits7 · 5 years ago

Text

Undecided Chapter 9 (Final)

Title: Undecided Pt 9 Final

Genre: Investigation, murder, masked behavior.

Warnings: murder, psychotic behavior, might be triggering. This chapter touches on the subject of having more than one personality. I do not know anything about this subject, so I interpreted it as I saw fit for the story. DON’T COME AT ME YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Also, I kind off maybe describe a murder so there’s that. I think that’s it… I might need help, mentally.

Members: detective OT7 x Forensic scientist Reader

Note: Phrases are just add-ins to help with the storyline… If they confuse you, feel free to ask!

Summary: Moving overseas for a once in a lifetime job offer was one of the scariest things Y/N ever did. That was until she got stuck in a twisted investigation of random murders, all with one link but no leads. Closing in on the culprit(s) Y/N doesn’t realize the danger she’s getting into. With no family or friends, can Y/N dare to trust those seven closest to her with her life?

Chapter 8

•♡•

Undecided: Not settled or resolved

•♡•

They were seven. Lucky for them, bad for you.

You hesitantly retold your livid dream. You tried to read their expression but ended up looking at the floor and nervously playing with the blanket as you finished your story.

“- and then I was in the elevator, Namjoon somehow calmed me and in the end, Seokjin gave me something to help me calm down more and I fell asleep. Now we’re here.” This was it. This was where the guys all would realize how fucked up you truly are.

The silence that followed your little story was unbearable. You couldn’t quite decide what was worse… them responding and sending you to the looney bin or them not responding at all. This uncertainty only grew with the silence. Causing you to fold into yourself more. You really started liking these seven men. You felt a connection with them and hoped they would be different from the previous people in your life.

You knew you were a bad person, but that’s something you tried to hide from them. It’s already bad enough that you had to tell them your ridiculous dream. You don’t even want to know what they’ll think of you when they learn the truth. That you, in fact, are a-

“Y/N. hey sweetheart. Look at me” It was Namjoon who interrupted your spiraling thoughts. Hesitantly you lifted your head. You kind of expected to see anger or hurt, maybe even betrayal in his soft brown eyes. Yet, that’s not what you saw. Namjoon’s gaze was filled with something close to admiration, maybe even a dash of sincerity.

This wasn’t out of character for him. Actually, those same emotions were visible in all seven of their eyes from time to time. What confused you now though, was the fact that those emotions were still present even after what you have told them. You didn’t deserve their admiration or sincerity. You were a monster compared to these lovely men. These men that always only protected you, cared for you like you weren’t just another stranger passing through.

They showed you more love than you ever received from anyone in your past. And a past you indeed had.

“Don’t zone out on us baby. We’re here for you. All seven of us.” Yoongi said as his arms snaked around your waist, successfully securing you in place. Being touched like this was nothing new to you. You had your fair share of boyfriends and boy friends. Only now, this was one of seven men you considered more in the latter category than the first. That little space being the friend zone secured a few lines that could not be crossed. So, with this knowledge, you stiffened.

Noticing your shift, Hoseok also snaked his arms around you for two reasons. One, he just wanted to hold on to you to make you feel safe. And two, what they were about to tell you required a few precautions. One of these entailed you being held in place, be it by choice or force was up to your reactions.

Feeling another pair of arms make their home around your waist had you beyond confused. Didn’t they know the unspoken rules of friends? Cuddles is as far as you would dare go if there was a secure blanket wall in place. But never in your time here, did they ever do something like this. Okay, to be honest, you kind-of expected Jimin or Jungkook to be the ones to risk something like this. They were the ones that lived for attention. But Yoongi was, well how can you put this nicely? The most un-affectional human you know. He showed he cared through small stuff like placing water randomly on your desk or making sure you had an extra helping of your favorite dessert. He never did something like this with any of the others. Hoseok, on the other hand, was just always so hyper you actually believed if he ever had to sit still for more than one hour he would die.

“Y/N, you asked us to be honest with you if you relayed your dream to us, right? Well, can you promise us to listen without interrupting until we’re done?” Seokjin asked, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts.

A simple nod from you was all the boys needed to start their very own story.

“Well, our story started 4 years ago. I befriended Yoongi at one of the local police stations. He was one of their tech guys and I was a young police officer starting out a new career. Okay, maybe I wasn’t that young, but that’s beside the point. Soon after I met Yoongi-hyung we met Hoseok-ah and Jin-hyung at one of the bars cops were known to hang out. We became friends rather quickly. The 4 of us started talking about going private, I mean we had all the skills needed to maintain a small private firm. So, 3 years ago we founded Z-investigators.

I believe it was in that very same bar where Taehyung-sie got into some trouble. I believe he picked a fight with a local? Or was it the other way around? Anyway, naturally Yoongi-hyung was the one to stop the fight and it was Hoseok who successfully made both men shut up with a simple stare. We soon learned that Tae was a newly promoted detective and that’s how he somehow joined our firm. But we also soon learned that wherever Tae went, his two best friends would follow so naturally Jungkook and Jimin became part of the Z-family.” Namjoon began. A soft and longing look in his eyes as he recalled the memories that started all of this.

But his face fell as the memories kept replying in his head. Something made him frown, you did not like that. You had to repress the urge to say something, you did promise to not interrupt. So, you just sat in Yoongi and Hoseok’s embrace and waited for someone to continue.

“Things went well in the beginning. We got a few cases here and there and slowly started building a good reputation. But then after our 10th murder, we started wondering. We started wondering what these people that take lives felt while their victims held onto the last bit of life. We also started wondering what methods would work best to stay unsolved.” Hoseok continued behind you, slightly tightening his arms around your waist.

Flashbacks to a 16-year-old you played in your head. Her eyes were all you would see as you tightened the rope around her throat. The color draining from her face as the oxygen failed to reach her face. Her life slipping out of her eyes until only empty orbs were left staring back at you. You also remembered the satisfaction that filled you as you got up and stared down and her lifeless body.

She was a bad person. She was the woman that seduced your father and threatened to tear your family apart. You’ve always been a snoop and found this secret by accident. Your years of watching and learning from unsolved murder cases helped you erase yourself from that allay way. You were smart for a 16-year-old girl, to this day her murder remains unsolved and your family is none the wiser.

You also got curious about how you could improve in such a way so you can start taking risks. You have awakened a lust for blood that day and you would do anything to satisfy it.

“We did tons of research. And soon we all began planning on how we would test our theories without getting caught. At first, we wanted to do this to better the system. You know? We wanted to make the life of an investigator easier.” Taehyung continued. None of the boys dared make any eye contact with you, yet you held no judgment towards them. You understood where they were coming from.

“We soon realized that the system was more corrupted than any killer’s mind. We were disgusted when we found out how many people out there were roaming free because some fucker tampered with the evidence to save his buddies ass.” Jimin said in a dark tone. His face even took on a darker shade as he kept his gaze fixed in the ground.

“Daniel was our first attempt at bypassing the system on fair terms. Weeks of planning went into killing him. You see Daniel was a very well-known drug-lords pet out there. he was responsible for almost everything. From people that stayed loyal to his boss to the ones that dared cross him. He even led some of the missions to ‘take care of’ these unfaithful people himself. To say we didn’t feel bad killing him would be a crime in itself.” Jungkook explained as he finally dared meet your eyes. You saw the sincerity in his eyes and that alone told you that these boys weren’t lying to you. Your eyes softened at this, making a faint smile find its way to his lips.

“Ultimately we decided that I would be the one to end his life. We all played a part but I had the final blow, or push so to speak. I was the one who forced the golfball down his throat. But we all stood there and witnessed as his life slipped from his eyes. The fear, the realization that it was truly the end for him. None of those things affected us in a negative sense, on the contrary, there was a sense of relief that settled between us.” Yoongi added. His form small and bordering fragile. He was scared, of what you do not know.

“After our first kill, we became braver. We did less planning and more doing. The only planning we really did was the names and the ones who got to kill them. We even made a catalog that wasn’t part of the investigations to keep track of what we actually did and how much we could prove. It's strange, we didn’t see the victims as our killings. We saw them as victims. Just another case we had to do. You can even double-check us, we did no tampering what so ever. Everything we logged and collected is true. But still, we aren’t even close to finding the real killer, even if we are the real killers.” Seokjin explained even further.

At this point, your head was running its very own race. They were investigating their own deeds, but they were still fair in doing so. Once again your mind drifted back to when you were well into the killing business as well. One of your biggest secrets on how to get away with murder was to evolve. You never used the same methods twice in one year. You kept changing up your style. There wasn’t a single -method out there which you haven’t done or mastered.

The only difference at this points between you and the men sitting in front of you was that you killed for the bloodlust you got. They killed for the sake of bettering the system. It’s this exact thought that made you use your voice for the first time since they started talking.

“You guys killed for the sake of bettering the system. I killed for the sake of fulfilling the bloodlust I had. You aren’t monsters. I’m the monster here. How can you guys stomach being in the same room as me?” you broke into a sobbing mess as your hands reached for your face.

“Even serial killers get bored Y/N. We got bored of trying to better the system. So, we ended up killing for the trill. We couldn’t understand why but killing felt like a deed we did for our country. And after Tae discovered you… we felt less alone. We finally knew someone else out there knew what we felt, what we craved” Yoongi explained as he tried to make you understand that you weren’t a monster.

You had no idea what any of their words meant so you decided to stay silent. You had some thinking to do.

•♡•

The boys soon allowed you to retreat to your room. They didn’t put any pressure on you to answer them after their confession. They simply allowed you to go. You needed time to process everything.

Closing your door, you could finally let out the breath you were holding. Head facing down, you leaned against the door. Your carefully constructed face falling. The face you worked so hard on when you were 16 years old. The face you had to create after that faithful day you first tasted blood.

If anyone could see you now, they would probably say that you seemed like two different people. One is the sweet and innocent Y/N that got her honors in Forensic Science to make the world a better place. The one that wouldn’t hurt a fly. The emotional, scared, helpless foreign girl that wanted to escape her controlled life back home.

The other girl would be the one most only saw in their final moments. The determined, bloodthirsty girl that wouldn’t blink when she pulled a trigger. The fearless girl that would stare death in the face a thousand times without thinking twice about it. The heartless murderer that would smile while watching the life drain from her victims' eyes.

Those same emotionless eyes now snapped up as your thoughts began swirling. How did they find out about your past? They had to have known, right? How else would they know so much about you? You weren’t even close to being a person of interest in any of the investigations. Well, there was the exception of Norman’s case, but that was a minor hiccup you had to deal with.

Hang on. They compared themselves with you. They fucking compared their killings with yours, those narrow-minded idiots. They dare compare their amateur crimes to yours. What a fucking joke. You have years of experience and they only started about 5 months ago, with planning no less. Did they really think that you would just understand and accept them?

Okay, maybe you do understand and you kind of like the idea of not being so alone. Sure, killing was fulfilling but it was a very lonely road.

You frantically started pacing back and forth as your mind kept running the possibilities and questions in your mind. One of these questions kept playing on repeat.

What’s going to happen now.

Yes, they’re still new to the whole murder scene, but they outnumbered you seven to one. If they were just two, no problem! But they were seven. Seven really well-built men that wouldn’t think twice about pulling you over their laps and giving you a good spanking. Wait, what?

Startled by your own thoughts you stopped dead in your tracks. Where the hell did that come from? Taking a seat on your bed, you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

Think Y/N, you have to think! You needed a plan if things turned sour, just in case.

•♡•

The boys all stayed in the living area as you retreated to your room. You needed time and they understood that, but that didn’t keep the tension at bay. They were scared of what you would do, although they had a backup plan they didn’t plan on using it.

The silence stretched out for another minute or two until Hoseok abruptly stood and moved down the hallway. None of the other boys cared to see where he was going as each was to busy sorting through their own questions. The atmosphere grew heavier as the minutes stretched. The only sounds were heavy sighs from time to time. Well, that is until Hoseok returns somewhat ten minutes later with a visible spring in his step.

“So, I kind of stood outside her door and listened to her vocally have an inner conflict with herself”

At his words, the rest of the boys visibly perked up. You were usually a quiet girl. You never voiced any inner feelings towards anyone, given if they didn’t force you to engage in such a manner. Hearing you have a vocal conversation with yourself must have been a whole new experience.

“She sounded so different. Much more mature, and so confident. Well, she did call us amateurs and idiots for comparing our track record to hers, but it was like there were two different people speaking. The one would belittle our work while the other would kind of be on our side and voice how nice it would be to have friends in the field” Hoseok continued while retaking his seat next to Yoongi.

“What else did she say? What will she do with this new information?” Seokjin hesitantly asked. They liked you. They would hate for you to end up as one of their cases.

“She’s scared. She knows we outnumber her by far. I also think she might have some sexual troubles but that one we can discuss later. She didn’t say anything else other than she needs a backup plan” Somehow this news made the guys excited.

Jungkook was visibly vibrating in his seat, Taehyung actually had emotion on his face, even Yoongi looked more awake.

“I can’t wait to meet the real Y/N”

•♡•

45 minutes

That’s how long you were left alone in your room. You were just about to drift off to sleep again when the knock came. The knock that sealed your undecided fate. The dreaded thump thump against the door that stole away your precious sleep and left you on high alert.

You were beyond annoyed at this point. How dare they deny you your sleep. With an intentionally loud groan, you reluctantly got up and made your way to the door. Only to find the hallway empty, no living soul in sight. You probably stood there for a good minute or two before you heard the hushed whispers from the living room. Curiosity got the best of you as you crept closer.

The universe must have had it in for you because the moment you came within earshot of the whispers… they stopped.

“Come take a seat Y/N. We’ve been waiting for you” you heard Taehyung call. Momentarily forgetting the intensity of the whole situation, you slowly made your way into the room.

“This isn’t just another dream or something, right?” at your voice, all seven men locked their eyes onto your form. Yes, you might be a very dangerous serial killer, but that didn’t mean you didn’t get intimidated. Seven gorgeous men were watching you, S-E-V-E-N.

Taking the seat furthers from them, you crossed your legs as you took on the role of the shy foreign girl again. All seven of the men silently observed you. Something was different about them. Mere moments ago, they told you some of their darkest secrets AND revealed some of yours. Yet, here they were. No indication of fear, shyness or guilt.

“So, as you can see, we outnumber you seven to one. But you out-rank us by far and we’d kill to have you as one of us. Almost like a mentor of sorts. We like you Y/N and we really want to become your friends, but you need to want this too” Namjoon spoke up. His eyes never leaving yours as he took in your shy exterior.

“W-why would you thi-“you began, only to be cut off by Jimin’s stern voice.

“Oh, lose the mask Y/N. If you wanted to bolt, you would have done so already. Someone like you always has a way out. We want to get to know the real Y/N. So, stop this shy, vulnerable crap and show us who you really are”

Taken aback by the sudden harshness of his tone, it didn’t take much to lose the weight of pretend. Looking down, you readjusted your position. Uncrossing your legs, you threw your hair over your shoulder as a slow smile formed on your face. It felt so good to not pretend you even let out a sigh of relief.

The boys watched on in amazement as you visibly changed into someone else right in front of them. They expected to see the difference, but never in their lives did they ever think they could witness something like this. It was like you were a young caterpillar going through metamorphism to turn into the biggest and brightest butterfly known to mankind.

“Holy shit that was probably the hottest thing I have ever witnessed” Taehyung groaned out as Jungkook, Seokjin and Yoongi all hummed in agreement.

“Hi boys, it’s nice to finally meet you. So, when do we start your training?” you said with a smirk and a suspicious glint in your eyes. It’s been a while since you had the satisfaction of taking another’s life and to say you were beyond excited, was a crime in itself.

None of you knew if you made the right choice by trusting the other, yet your future seemed a little less undecided than it was this morning.

Victim catalog

•♡•

A/N: Congratulations! You’ve managed to make it to the end of the series!!! Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please don’t hesitate to ask if you would like to know more or just want to tell me it’s trash! Any ask is welcome!

Also, tell me what you would change in the story. Or maybe even tell me what you would like to read next. I’m always open to ideas. Mits you lots <3

Taglist: @loonyginger @hani-bun @sugashaye @alomarce @loisje123 @chim-possible @imfor-everdrivinginpuddles @exprimidordefresas @speakyourselfloveyourself @autumnboo126 @3amthoughtsvented @thetrxshbx @michiluvddr @purecelestialpower @ur-honey-child @dulce-whirlpool @moonlightnightingalesworld @loudfriendtacocookie @mysteriousanna @diorluvs @misseoulite @mina9235 @crajishie @undergroundqueens @hannahpostema @skay @mixerbeauty @adultingtomato @hauntedstatesmanmoneyknight @slutkoo @freeformdn @flowersinmypockets @kelwaters @cool-strawberry @vi-hoshi @xxqueenwxtchxx @kyliewonder @technicolor-blues @emmayan123 @sofiaelola123 @addictedtohockey @kpop20182019 @regularcow @toanimeornot @xxgothickxx

#undecided nomimits #undecided #bts #ot7 x reader #z investigators #nomimits7 #final chapter

24 notes · View notes