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nebuletteart · 10 months ago

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Gonna be real this post feels incredibly disingenuous. Have Psyops cropped up in the past? Yes. Eternally. Are there likely bots and real folks pushing people not to vote in the election for bad faith reasons? Of course! But this attitude that anyone you see disillusioned with the voting system who are loudly against voting is some fuckin foreign bad actor seems incredibly short sighted. It leads to a breakdown in communication where no one will listen to those hurt and frustrated with the democratic party. Worse off it pushes people away from any solution because if you wont look at the festering wound you will never bandage it. (incoming rant for about 3 paragraphs, skip to the last two if you want a more constructive and coolheaded response lol)

The way I see it both parties do work in tandem. The Republican party is determined to radicalize their base and go to further and further extremes, feeding off an uneducated, deeply frustrated and scared, population. But the Democratic party is HAPPY with this! This is their strategy. There is a reason the Democratic party rarely fulfills their promises, there is a reason that whenever they have the chance they never secure human rights, the reason is because they can hold it over us like jingling keys. all they have to do is wait for us to get desperate enough to vote for them because they're better than the other guys, let the republicans loudly and proudly declare their awful intentions. if the democrats lose, well, they look like the good guys! minorities suffer and they pull on our leash, and when the next election cycle comes we are desperate to vote for them.

And if they win? They barely protect our rights, they uphold the status quo, and then they quietly turn around and do half the shit we raged at republicans about. The Wall? Biden continued building it. Covid, the thing that is still killing americans daily, the thing that killed a family member of mine and i didnt even get to say goodbye to her? The moment the Democratic Party won, despite crying that they believed is science they left us all out to dry! The Democratic Party had how many years to secure Roe v Wade since it's inception before Trump packed the court? fucking 50 years to pass the basest federal protections??? and now Lgbtq+ rights! How many years have we tried to pass the Equality Act?

And now. We gleefully watch the Democratic party fund the Palestinian Genocide. We watch our President repeat racist propaganda and the democratic party follow, to fund their bottom line. Of COURSE people are not going to want to vote! The level of backlash you are seeing isnt just some red scare ass BULLSHIT! Sigh.

Look. I will not get on someones ass for voting for Biden, I understand why someone would-- I was once a vote blue no matter who person myself and am on the fence on what to do if Biden does become the democratic frontrunner. But in this sentence is the the answer! I personally plan on and voting like hell in the Primaries which is what think is the actual solution- The Democratic Establishment does not want change, we need another candidate to beat Biden in the primaries because at this rate he is not going to win the election. You cannot blame the growing number of people burned by Bidens administration for not wanting to vote for him! so dont! Right now we are at a critical moment where Biden is so deeply unpopular with both parties that maybe, if we all pull together that force we did to get Biden in office- we can boot the old fuck out in the Primaries! We can prove to the establishment that we are tired of their shit, that we will not support their ceaseless genocide to fill their pockets! Vote every single one of those fuckers out with the venom you treat republicans with because they're both rat poison, just with a different label!

But. acting like anyone who expresses the opinion that this whole situation is a fucked up scam is stupid or a psyop accomplishes nothing- some people have been effected by the Democratic parties inaction and policies. Push them to vote in the primaries, if only to fuck over Biden. idk, i just feel like there was a better way to word this post, because as it is it reads as a dismissal of peoples genuine feelings rather than a genuine warning.

I feel like the psyops are back…

#AUGH!#mad. iam mad now. ok came to this tag after rereading what i wrote a few times and calmed down mostly. actually wrote more and i feel bette #i just want to get a commission done but i cant think about layer order right now when everything is so FUCKED #ugh whatever #sorry if my addition comes off as extremely curt i am just frustrated #can we not come to a nuanced conclusion on this?!#like #the democratic party is using the republican parties extremeness to keep us eternally on a leash #heres the thing though we saw last election cycle liberals and the establishment pushed down all of bidens competition #even his most popular competitor #but now we do have a chance! Biden is so critically unpopular amongst both parties that there's no way in hell he's going to win!#they dont have an excuse! we MUST vote in a different democrat #vote in the primaries! use your vote to send a message! tell the democratic party we are DONE with their bullshit #you can not blame people for drawing a line in the sand at this rate #I certainly wont

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langtanfarvingar · 8 months ago

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You said I do and then you did and now it’s done. The world wants to make it a sad thing, wants to watch you turn your emotions edible. They even market ice cream flavors for this very purpose and they’re right to: nothing feels as bad as a pint of strawberry sorbet studded by broken chocolate hearts. Instead, you announce the divorce via party invite, spend extra for the good cardstock. They have weddings and wedding registries, so why not? It’s simply pragmatic: you’ll need two of everything now. You impregnate your virtual wish list with pastel cast irons and the latest edition of Instant Pot. Neither of you know what sous vide means, but for almost twenty years together, why the hell not.

For weeks you field calls from socially-liberal-but-fiscally-conservative relatives and friends of friends who think they can teach you love, the same ones who enter the kitchen now, hard shoes and boxes tucked underarm, plastic bows waving like urchins. They suck their teeth and assess you with cocked heads. What you’re doing is cool, they say, but in a way that makes clear it’s a qualified kind of cool, like spin classes or Starbucks merchandise.

Since you’re both being so open about it, some will draw you aside and ask what really happened. They want bad investments and small traumas and repressed sexual desires for the cartoons of your childhoods. Their eyes glitter as they hold your gaze, searching. But you can only shrug and say the truth, which is that he’s the kind of person who can sleep with the closet doors open and you’re not.

Some think it helpful to superimpose their lives on yours. They share their own frustrations: illogical dishwasher configurations and Sunday football as a tactic of disarmament. Most think you’re brave; they could never do it to their kids. You nod agreeably before corralling them to the living room where you dole out eraserless pencils and sheets of paper. The game is called Split the Assets, and requires you to do just that, a line bisecting words into two columns of opposing choices. Papers warp around knees; pencils make weak orbits. Half of the options are ridiculously optimistic, juxtaposing personal chefs to personal gardeners. The last is the most contentious: all the furniture vs. all the electronics. When it becomes too heated, you bring out the vision boards and invite the guests to contribute via magazine cutouts. The scissors flash, and soon your board is filled with Tudors and labradoodles and Pepto-pink dildos.

At the door, it's mostly platitudes until his uncle brackets your neck with his hands and says, may divorce be with you. And you smile back, but not for the reason he thinks.

After, you both nest on the couch, throw pillows and half-drunk champagne flutes shipwrecked around you. You have yet to decide who will be taking it for good, but for now, you both sit deep in the vaguely-stained cushions, dipping spoons into cartons. There’s no sad sorbet here: it’s caramel cookie dough for him and cherry chocolate for you. It always was. You suck the spoon clean.

Nicole Tsuno, Divorce Party

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mikeartblogyear3 · 2 years ago

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Week 8

I started this week by creating another graphite piece. I wanted to return to having portrait as the focal element and celebrate the aura of a character instead of landscape being the main point.

But I always leave these drawings unsatisfied. There’s little continuity in them and I don’t get any desire for future pieces. I used to be able to see the images in my head, pieces that I really wanted to make, but now it’s become a place to keep myself together and the love has faded.

I want to dive into a new space where I can feel that unknown quality, or the unease of not being comfortable in the medium. I’ve tried oil before, and I really enjoy how slow the process can be. There feels like there’s a deep well of magic in it, but I just have never been strong enough to delve into it. So I am going to attempt something and see what eventuates.

Frustration is definitely something that comes up initially. I am so used to knowing how to control the graphite space so now that I am suddenly in this new area I’m not sure how go about linking my inner structure with it. I never expected to be suddenly comfortable with it - I know that’ll take time. What I need to focus on is the initial weaving of a relationship during this early stage.

Because I don’t have that comfortability, I don’t have much desire to return to it. Right now I am letting it dry, but I kind of like its foggy landscape. I do want to deepen it, but I’m not sure how I’m going to go about layering that. I also think I perhaps should have started with layering and blending just black and white, but I need to get out of that space of knowing.

I also want to step away from banging my head against a wall, which is what I feel has been the primary feeling in art lately... stagnant state of rotational art. I don’t want this. Is it possible though to have a loop going simultaneously with an another system that is exploring the outer. Like being both hunter/gatherer and caretaker. I’m not sure if it was Socrates or Aristotle that said “A builder is only a builder when they’re building a house” - Like we can be more than one thing, and be in more than one state. I confine myself to only one state of being, because I think that’s probably the main idea of living - nestled in this space of a family unit - and existing outside of that lifestyle is ‘other’ . It’s just another way, but I don’t know how to operate it, because I fixate on the feeling of being different.

So I can probably have art as a way to spread these sections of myself out-

the graphite space:

The main loop space -

- where my structural side operate

- what I need to feel safe?

Where I can keep the space above ground.

The Unknown space:

- Just experiments, play with anything and try new things.

- I always feel an instant sense of dread when I even think about venturing into this space, so I need to figure out how to balance it out.

--- don’t spend too long in either side (creates the crash) ??? ---

Referring back to past ideas in blog posts - I always arrive at exhaustion and the fear of slipping in that state of a more relaxed mind. Is this just another state of my and isn’t a negative reflection of/on the other?

Research:

Witch craft:

Started studying various practices of witch craft, and artists who practice witch craft. I started reading Lolly Willowes by Sylvia Townsend Warner, a story about her leaving her family unit to seek a space for herself in the country.

These two pages near the end of the book stood out to me...

- To have a life of one’s own, not an extension doled out to you by others

It’s a really powerful book, most of regards Lolly being a compliant memeber of her family and an Aunt figure mostly. She tried to distance herself from that dynamic and sought the country to discover herself, but the threads were not so easily loosened and they eventually found their way to her again.

Voo Dou has similar universal elements as surrealism/ using their craft as a way to liberate the self from slave mentality. Trying to relax and open that space and adopt more intuitive/magical powers. In Mama Lola’s ‘A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn’ she discusses the course of her craft and the leaving one self and constructing another.

ARTIST RESEARCH:

Gala Bent, a minimilist surrealist painter creates these seemingly small spaces on paper that focuses our attention on their strange designs.

I’ve been struggling to progress in a maximalist direction so perhaps I should keep going to the minimalist journey and get smaller and simpler in concept.

By narrowing my designs to an even smaller space perhaps that’ll help with understanding a more clear direction for myself.

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historieofbeafts · 4 years ago

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What about some of the weirder and underappreciated sea monsters?

I’m going to level with you, this took forever because whenever I see the words “underappreciated sea monsters” a part of my brain statics out & starts chanting ALL👏 OF👏 THEM

but since I can’t figure out how to turn a beam of concentrated enthusiasm for every sea monster ever to exist into a tumblr post, here’s an attempt to cover some greatest hits:

Serra/Sawfish

Underappreciated really only applies in modern times, since the sawfish had a wildly successful career as a medieval ocean menace & is one of the few marine creatures to regularly appear in bestiaries

Isidore of Seville describes it as having a serrated back that it uses to cut through the bottom of boats (clearly based on Pliny the Elder’s account of swordfish stabbing passing vessels)

But in its most popular iteration the sawfish is more irritating than lethal. Standard operating procedure is to force any ship it sees into a race, only to get bored and tired partway through and plunge back into the depths out of frustration

This is supposed to teach a moral lesson about persistence, but it mostly seems like a fun random encounter

The real delight is that, because no description other than “serration” and occasionally “wings” is really offered, artists were free to draw whatever they thought a commitment-phobic sea nuisance should look like

Is it a bird? A dog? A fish? Unimportant! It’s here to cause problems

[Bibliothèque nationale de France , Latin 10448, fol. 119v]

[The Morgan Library & Museum, MS M.81, fol. 69r]

[British Library, Sloane MS 278, fol. 51r]

[British Library, Sloane MS 3544, fol. 42v]

[Det Kongelige Bibliotek, GKS 3466 8º, fol. 44]

Flying Turtle

This implausible little guy’s first recorded appearance is on a 1558 edition of a map of Northern Europe by Dutch mapmaker Cornelis Anthonisz

It was quickly copied by many of the biggest names in 16th c. cartography, including Abraham Ortelius & Gerard Mercator (of Mercator projection fame/infamy)

In Sea Monsters on Medieval and Renaissance Maps Chet Van Duzer suggests that, since Anthonisz’ publisher printed under the sign of the turtle, it’s possible this was a piece of branded content that got mistaken for a real creature

That’s both great marketing and a great origin for a cryptid. Modern publishing houses take note

“According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a turtle should be able to fly...”

[Michele Tramezzino, Septentrionalium regionum, Suetiae, Gothiae, Norwegiae, Daniae et terrarum adjacentium recens exactaq. descriptio.]

[Urbano Monte’s 60 sheet manuscript map of 1587, fully digitized and assembled into a planisphere @ the David Rumsey Map Collection]

[Mercator, Tabulae geographicae Cl. Ptolemaei ad mentem auctoris restitutis ac emendatis.]

The Sea Pig of 1537

Blatant favouritism because this is both my icon and the only thing on this list I’ve written about semi-seriously, but it’s forbidden pet time!

In 1537 a pamphlet was printed in Rome briefly describing a monster found in the North Sea and much less briefly explaining how it was a sign of moral decline

Sample interpretations: extra eyes to signify lust & gluttony, a moon on the back of the head to signify turning away from truth, four dragon feet to signify malice from all four corners of the earth

*slaps the roof of sea pig* this bad boy can fit so many allegories for sin in it

Was this propaganda related to growing tensions between Catholics and Protestants? Probably! Was it also cutting edge marine biology? Yup, and it was a breakout hit, making its way into the works of Olaus Magnus, who calls it “ominous in every feature,” and Conrad Gesner, who reclassifies it as a kind of hyena

[The 1537 pamphlet, Monstrum in oceano Germanico a piscatoribus nuper captum & eius partium omnium subtilis ac theologica interpretatio, available in a bad scan from google books here]

[Conrad Gesner, Historia animalium liber IV, digitally available @ the Biodiversity Heritage Library]

Honourable Mention: Whatever This Is

I genuinely don’t know

It shows up off the coast of Sardinia in the 1584 Mercator edition of Ptolemy's Geographia & the monsters in that are mostly derivative, but I can’t think of any source with this much hair, so here are some other possibilities:

Timetravelling wookie

Bigfoot’s No Good, Very Bad Beach Vacation

Lost dog

[ Mercator, Tabulae geographicae Cl. Ptolemaei ad mentem auctoris restitutis ac emendatis ]

Dishonourable Mention: This Guy

Only appears in two sources that I know of, for which I’m eternally grateful

Those sources are 16th c. world maps by Giacomo Gastaldi and Urbano Monte, men who owe everyone an apology for what they’ve unleashed upon the world

Here’s Chet Van Duzer’s translation of Monte’s description: “ …in the ocean here there often appear some fish in human form of such strangeness, that raising themselves above the water they surpass the highest masts of ships, so that, screaming horribly and making some valleys in the water, they move themselves with their arms which they have in the shape of great tree trunks twenty-five palms long, and there is no boatswain’s mate so brave that he would not be terrified by their monstrosity.”

Don’t care for that at all

Joking dislike aside, this resembles a water spirit of the kind more commonly found in bogs, fens, marshes, ponds or streams, and it upsets my sense of order to see it out of its natural habitat & in the open ocean

[Again, you can find Monte’s fully-assembled 60 sheet map at the David Rumsey Map Collection, and it truly is a work of art despite containing this man]

#asks #sea monsters #the return of medieval europe's best supporting act #worried men in boats #this one got away from me a bit #maybe the real monster is my inability to be brief about this interest

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she-is-ovarit · 2 years ago

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@makiruz

I think it could be good to ask the population others identify as TERFs what they believe in to better understand the perception they're coming from, even if that's not your truth.

they believe that there are good choices and bad choices

One of the core values I don't think that people realize radical feminists, gay activists, and gender critical people have (and to their credit, it isn't publicly discussed much by them/us), is that we perceive black and white thinking like this as harmful and attempt to understand the nuance to situations. I think this is one of the frustrations we mostly have with the TRA or gender ideology movement - that there is an incredulous amount of black and white, good v. bad thinking.

Gender critical people draw heavily on intersectional knowledge. This isn't discussed in radical feminist theory but more of a personal, anecdotal observation. But I say this because the examples you provide (which boils down to radical feminists/gender critical feminists consider cosmetic surgery, BDSM, etc. as things that benefit androcracy, patriarchy, and compulsive heterosexuality) come from a place of nuance that doesn't only draw on sociology and economic research and theory, but also psychology.

Radical feminists/gender critical people essentially analyze research, studies, theory, etc. from a lens of "Who benefits from these systems? What does this mean for female people? How does this impact female people? How do these details and choices all relate to a bigger picture? Where are the feedback loops?" etc. We use a feminist lens when considering information provided by other fields, and also give respect to using the lens from these other fields. In this sense, radical feminism and gender critical theory has a relationship with different disciplines of knowledge, and we use both feminist theory/LGB history and all these other fields of knowing to help inform our perspectives. That's not to say all radical feminists are academics, researchers, or scholars, but that this is a culture present within original gender critical feminism.

So what you're seeing, the analysis of femininity, promiscuity, etc., it's not coming from a state of emotional reactivity or black and white thinking. Emotional reactivity and black and white thinking is something that I witness in dominant transgender culture, and I think because of this a lot of trans-identifying people think radical feminists/gender critical people act and interact the same way. I hope that doesn't come across as a put down because I understand those might be negative descriptors, my intention is to express that there are differences in the cultures between radical feminists and transgender activists/liberal feminists/choice feminists with some exception, and this is what I have observed to commonly occur in transgender circles. But anyways these critiques you describe radical feminists to have come from a place of borrowing fundamental understandings in psychology and sociology that emphasize choices don't exist in a vacuum - that the choices we make are a result of complex past experiences and present conditions, and additionally always result in some effect.

And yes, as the above poster said, we also come from the perspective of thinking it's harmful to shame these women (many of us are these women) while also wanting to provide some pressure to change these harmful systems on a cultural and socio-political level, in respect to our locality. Somewhat like how a person can take issue with Walmart but not have hate for the clerks.

TERFs do not believe in consent, they believe that there are good choices and bad choices; if a woman does something they consider "bad" even if it literally harms no one, then she was forced into it by patriarchy; if she says that she likes it, she was brainwashed into thinking she likes it, deep down she hates it; only the "good" choices are made freely and with full consent

The bad choices can be anything from wanting to be homemaker, engaging in kink, wearing femme clothing, being promiscuous, getting unnecessary cosmetic surgery, having sex with men, etc, etc

This btw extends to trans men, who they believe to be self-hating women; but not to trans women who they believe to be evil men out to rape women

#tangent #feminism #feminist #radical feminism #gender critical #gender critical feminism #choice feminism #liberal feminism #trans #transgender #trans rights activism

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wy-van-sunshine · 3 years ago

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modern Wesper high school

Wylan

The red-haired boy opened his locker pretty annoyed, slamming the door against the metal: it was the end of the school year and, just as usual, it was time to prepare for the school prom, probably the most important event to students.

Wylan hated it from the deepest of his heart: he had never been popular and no one had ever asked him to go together. What he hated even more was to see all the happy couples around him and some guys who found the courage to ask their love interest out.

Why had none of that ever happened to him in four years? Yes, he was openly gay and he was a little bit shy, but he wasn’t that bad after all, was he? He knew in his school there were other guys interested in men like he was, so why was he never considered a choice?

With his cheeks red with anger, he threw some books in his locker to put an end to that day and go home already; before closing the door, though, he saw a paper falling down from it: before he could catch it, a girl (whom he hated from the deepest of his heart) next to him took it and opened it: “Hey sunshine, want to go to the prom with me?” She looked at him raising her brows, a stupid smile curving her mouth “Oooh, Van Eck has a date! I wonder who could make such a poor choice”

Wylan rolled his eyes and took the note from that hideous bitch who never gave him a break. When she finally walked away, he focused on those words he couldn’t really read and his eyes suddenly widened: wait, had he just been asked out? Him?

Wylan was incredulous: that couldn’t be true, there had to be some kind of mistake. Wrong locker, maybe? He’d never been called “sunshine” before, so that message was definitely not for him.

He raised his gaze and scanned the hallway, looking for someone staring at him, maybe waiting for his reaction: but the only eyes he met were those of the captain of the football team, and he definitely couldn’t be his secret admirer.

Jesper

What he did was crazy and rushed, but that was just Jesper: everything he did was instinct. He carried the football team on his shoulders and all a good captain could do was to always trust his heart, no matter what.

He had spotted a beautiful mess of red curls during his first science class at the beginning of the year, and he’d been obsessed with that smart guy ever since: he didn’t talk much, but when he answered to the professor everything about the way he talked was hypnothic to Jesper - his soft, shaky tone, all those difficult scientific words, everything.

Even though Jesper was very friendly with everyone, he had never found the right moment to approach that curious boy: he was always alone, but every time he looked so focused on his drawings, lost in his thoughts, and Jesper just didn’t feel allowed to enter his world.

But he had to put an end to it: after talking to his dearest friend Inej about his matters of heart, the girl had suggested that he ask the red-haired guy out at the prom. He’d liked the idea.

He didn’t know his name - damn his lack of any focus during the science lessons, no wonder he had terrible grades - so he decided to call him by the spontaneous nickname he’d found after the first week: sunshine, because that guy with his curls and his smile shone like no one else.

He was now looking at him from the distance, curious to see his reaction to his note: when their eyes met, Jesper noticed the guy’s cheeks were much pinker and he chuckled, in complete awe for such softness.

Inej next to him smiled and punched him on the shoulder: “Looking flirty already?”

Jesper did nothning but laugh, keeping his focus on the handsome boy across the hall.

Wylan

All his surprise for the note disappeared when he saw the captain and his friend laugh while looking at him: suddenly, Wylan felt so stupid.

Of course no one wanted to go out with him, had he really believed any of that were true?

He lowered his gaze and only then did he remember he was wearing a green jumper: oh God, not only did he feel stupid, he was actually looking stupid. He remembered his father’s words every time he wore that colour: “Green with your red hair? You’re going to look like a Christmas elf. What’s next, a bell bracelet?”

No wonder the captain and his friend were laughing at him, now: they’d tricked him with a fake love note and they’d found him with that ridiculous outfit. He wouldn’t be surprised if they even knew he couldn’t actually read.

The joke turned out even better than expected.

Wylan felt tears filling his eyes and, before he could do anything about it, they were falling down on his cheeks. He had only a few seconds to see the captain’s expression change before he turned and ran away, far from all that shit he couldn’t take anymore.

Jesper

What had happened?

Jesper was standing petrified, all his excitement gone. He was confused and also a little bit crushed because he’d never seen tears wet that beautiful face before.

“I don’t understand” he whispered, turning to Inej to look for some answers.

“I don’t know what happened” said the girl, perplexed just the same “But I do feel like this is a good moment for you to be there for him. You say he’s always alone, and I don’t know who wants to be alone while crying”

Jesper nodded and gave Inej a rapid kiss on the cheek before leaving her in order to follow the red curls running away from him. It wasn’t hard, after all he was an athlete, so he could easily keep the guy’s pace. He followed him until he entered the music room: Jesper took a few moments to be surprised about it, but then he approached the door to join him and hopefully talk to him.

He found him seated at the piano, playing a furious yet wonderful melody on the keys.

Narrator

Wylan could express his feelings mostly through music, so that was the first thing he looked for after the pain he’d felt that day: he was liberating his frustration, telling his secrets to the only one who would listen.

He felt observed, but he didn’t care: whoever was annoyed by how loud he was playing could make peace with it already, he wasn’t going to stop.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt”

Wylan froze: he knew that voice. He’d watched some games at his school and the captain’s voice was always the loudest, the clearest.

Why had he followed him? Wasn’t he happy enough with how he had made fun of him?

“Leave me alone” whispered Wylan, his voice still rough “Please”

Jesper cleared his throat and stepped forward: “I’d like to sit next to you, actually. May I?”

“You may not”

The captain chuckled: “Um... okay, I’ll stand here then. I’m Jesper Fahey, nice to meet you”

The red-haired guy sighed: “What do you want? You’ve already humiliated me beyond imagination, what else do you need?”

Jesper opened his mouth, schocked and speechless: he had humiliated him? How was it possible? He hadn’t done literally anything apart from writing him a note that was everything but humiliating. What was the redhead talking about?

“I... what?”

Wylan laughed, tears filling his eyes again: “Oh please, please don’t play fool with me. Asking the poor loser out fot the prom? Very funny, yes, I’m sure you had a heartfelt laugh with your friends”

Jesper tried to reply, but Wylan went on, his cheeks newly red and wet: “You know, I knew I was stupid, but not as much as to believe someone like you could actually be interested in me. Stupid Wylan, you idiot. Father’s so right about you, you’re such a delusion”

“Hey-”

“And you also found me wearing this stupid green jumper and- you know what, I’m taking this off. I’m already a loser to you, so what changes?”

Jesper put a hand on Wylan’s arm and stopped him, trying to look at him in the eyes.

“Wylan - did I understand right? - Wylan, stop for a second. What the hell are you talking about? And why shouldn’t you wear that jumper? I...” the captain laughed nervously “I am honestly so confused, but please listen to me”

The redhead froze at the sudden warmth of the captain’s hand on his arm: he dried his cheeks with his sleeve and sighed: “Just be fast, I really can’t do this today”

The captain cleared his throat: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think there’s been a huge misunderstanding” he smiled at Wylan “I really want to go to the prom with you”

Wylan’s eyes widened, his breath catched: was he serious?

“Is that so?”

Jesper laughed: “I’ve already asked you twice in less than an hour, what do you want, a formal request?”

“I...” the redhead was speechless, his mind was starting to ache trying to understand how any of that were possible. He was probably dreaming.

The captain pointed his hand to the free space next to Wylan: “While you take this life-changing decision, may I sit?”

Wylan gave him the faintest smile: “Yeah”

The captain sat and the redhead held his breath for some seconds: Jesper’s arm was muscled and strong against his thin one, his profile looked like a sculpture, his lips were the most perfect shape he’d ever seen, his skin was a beautiful light brown similar to that cappuccino he loved so much. When Wylan found the ability to breath again, the captain’s fresh scent made him drunk.

He was going to lose his mind, so he made his eyes look away before he did anything stupid.

Jesper felt Wylan’s tension through his arm against his, so he placed a hand on the piano and played a random key: “I’ve always been astonished by the power of this instrument, but I don’t think I’ll ever understand how to play it” he turned his head to Wylan “You were playing beautifully, I would’ve listened to you for hours”

Wylan shrugged: “It wasn’t a great performance, I was just letting some bad feelings out. I can do better. Besides, that’s not even my main instrument”

“Oh?” now Jesper was surprised: just how great could this guy’s talents be?

The redhead smiled and scrolled his head: “No, I play the flute. But here at school I can only use the piano, hygienic stuff, you know. I... I really needed to play some music just to feel better”

Jesper nodded: “Did you feel bad because of the note I left in your locker?”

“Well...” Wylan sighed “Kind of. It’s not your fault, though: at first I was surprised, then I saw you and you friend laugh and I panicked. I thought it was all just a mockery”

“Why would you think that?” asked the captain raising a brow.

Wylan laughed: “Are you kidding? You’re, like, the most popular person in the entire school, how could I believe you were actually asking me out?”

He wasn’t going to mention his dyslexia too. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. Besides, he was starting to think Jesper didn’t actually know about it.

“Well, for starters I should inform you that you’re very cute and that you shouldn’t blush for me saying that” Jesper restrained a smile looking at those pale cheeks get the darkest shade of red “And you should also know that Inej and I were laughing because we were so excited to see your reaction. I’ve had you stuck in my head for a while now, you know”

“You... you have?” Wylan could simply not believe it. There wasn’t any logic in any of that.

Yet, it was happening.

“Yeah”

“So... so is everything true? You really want to go out with me, of all guys?”

“Oh Christ, you’re a tough one, aren’t you?” asked Jesper rolling his eyes. He stood up, just to get down on one knee and take Wylan’s hands in his “Please, Wylan, for the last time, will you go to this godforsaken prom with me?”

The redhead laughed, incredulous, but at the same time trusting towards that handsome guy kneeling if front of him: “I think I will”

“Oh my- can’t you just say yes, for my heart’s sake?”

“Okay, yes! Yes I will!” conceded Wylan, now laughing so hard he couldn’t even remember he’d been crying just a few minutes before.

“Thank God. This was the toughest task of my life so far”

Jesper sat back next to Wylan, smiling and feeling wonderfully. The redhead looked at him for a while, then cleared his throat: “Would you mind if I...” he hesitated, unsure if he could already go that far.

“If you what?”

Wylan lowered his eyes and whispered: “... if I hugged you?”

Jesper smiled as he whispered back a faint “come here”, circling Wylan’s shoulders with his arm, pulling him towards his body and placing his other hand between his incredibly soft curls. They both closed their eyes, feeling well, in the right place.

“By the way” whispered Jesper, not moving the tiniest inch from their hug “I have no idea why you talked about your jumper, but for the record I think green looks wonderful on you”

Wylan smiled against the captain’s chest: “You do?”

“Yes. It makes your eyes and your hair look even more beautiful. As a matter of fact, you should wear green more often”

In response, Wylan held tighter to Jesper’s body: “I will, then”

#wesper #wesper fanfic #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone

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possibilistfanfiction · 3 years ago

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it was really interesting to read your last few asks about the uswnt. i’m an english football fan so most of my football world is mainly about the PL/WSL + our national teams (rife with our own issues ofc), and my awareness of uswnt players in anything more than a general sense is only for those that play/ed over here.

c@rli has always given me sketch vibes and i’ve never known why, so nothing you wrote actually surprises me.

from the outside, it seems christen has been overlooked by the set up for years - is it a case of the system not supporting/recognising her (or even actively diminishing her) or were there genuinely people who merited selection above her?

getting to see christen + tobin play in matches over here last year was exciting af, i’ve developed a weird defensiveness over them lol (calling tobin a himbo? perfection)

(😂 toby is the most devoted wife i mean himbo in the absolute fondest most positive way lmao i love her & relate, it’s great to get to just vibe w your wife who is more competent than u in all ways lmfao)

& i mean discounting abby wambach who is definitely one of the absolute best players of all time, & kind of an anomaly, i think it’s sort of both the “way” the uswnt “likes” to play & also cp just being diminished or dismissed, like u brought up — as a 9, alex seems more built for what the us wants sometimes bc she’ll sit in & draw fouls. it’s not particularly productive a lot of the time, & she’s been terrible at club for a while. cp was a better player in college & club & then waited years for a uswnt call up. i don’t think in any world that alex (or arod, even, early on) are better players than her.

cp is also like…. incredibly smart & tactical & just brilliant off the ball, which i’m sure u know lmao. the us has relied for a long time on sheer athleticism to win games (which, now, is why u see the rest of the world beginning to catch up — teams are smart & tactical & incredibly athletic at the same time, & it pushes us to have to be the same). cp is all of those things — precise, terrifyingly fast, lethal around goal, when shes given consistent opportunities in systems that make sense, & with teammates who understand (& adore) her style of play.

what’s frustrating to me (& i’m sure this isn’t a new take) is that alex has gotten tons of accolades & that’s mostly bc jill just constantly played her. she’s also white, straight, wealthy, not even particularly liberal — the all american girl next door, prolific queen of sponcon, etc. of course that’s the kind of player the uswnt LOVES, especially pairing her w wambach (i love abby infinitely, to be clear, she’s just less palatable a person to the american dads who pay for their daughters to play soccer). it’s not even an alex-only thing obviously, the 99ers kind of set up uswnt to look & be one way — female athletes who were entirely non-threatening to femininity.

i think if u look at alex, who works in a “traditional” kind of us play, u can kind of say like oh maybe she’s just a more traditional kind of player. but tobin isn’t at all a traditional kind of player (in the BEST way) but she’s always been a uswnt darling. tobin is like hot & soft butch & Clearly presenting as queer now (& she seems SO deeply happy!!! love that for her) but when she was younger she was actually also pretty femme a lot of the time. it looked so uncomfortable but she fit the bill of like. what a uswnt should look like, dress like, etc: thin, white, wealthy, able-bodied, relatively conservative, christian, patriotic, not out as gay (i’m not abt to say tobin was straight lmao but u know what i mean).

& so i think ur hitting on both points — the us system favors a particular kind of bruising play that is becoming less & less effective, & that’s why you see cp THRIVE when systems are smart & encourage off the ball movement, especially out on the left wing. (she can kick ass at a 9 tho). but there’s a rly gross underpinning of a lot of just gross racism & lots of other intersections. it’s not just cp obviously but i think she’s probably the most glaring example of a brilliant player who has never been honored for her incredible skill (crystal too) — even listening to commentators talk about cp & crystal, mix them up sometimes, describe their play as “fast” & “aggressive” Only, etc, just sheds light on how widespread & deeply rooted an underpinning it is.

however, if u look at cps goal involvement over minutes played, she’s actually prolific as hell!!! i genuinely cannot imagine how difficult maintaining her level of play within such harm has been, & she seems truly happy & peaceful & emotionally/mentally well on top of that (w her wife aka a golden retriever). seriously tho i gain more respect for her all the time. she’s a little neoliberal for my politic sometimes but like. she’s pretty fucking awesome

#love this q #tbh if i had lots of time & money i would go get a random MA #just to write a thesis abt how the image of the 1999 uswnt #created a bizarre racist queerphobic & anti-fat vortex in womens sport #but here we are lol

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screechthemighty · 4 years ago

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OKAY TIME TO RAG ON T*M C*SSIELLO YET AGAIN.

So. Here’s the thing. The deal. The scoop. My meta complaints can basically be summed up in three sentences. One: T*m kept trying to sell us a friendship that wasn’t there, which only adds to how abrupt it falling apart is. Two: I do not trust this writing team with this plot line, and the way they handled parts of it in the comic itself only cement that distrust. Three: Why the HECK are they putting lore on TWITTER and only twitter. I won’t expand on that one because...that kind of speaks for itself, not everyone has twitter and it’s dumb that they’re confining important plot/character info to just twitter. But for more explanation of the other two, check under the cut.

Part One: T*m Stop Tweeting I’m Begging You

So, in my last post, I referenced the fact that this argument feels really contrived due to a lack of in-canon friendship between Mirage and Wraith. I’ve talked about this before, but tl;dr for those who don’t read my discourse: outside of some banter and bickering, there is little to no interaction between Mirage and Wraith pre-season 6 comics that implies a real connection. The s1 trailer comes close, but with everything else, it’s mostly just “Mirage says dumb thing while Wraith rolls her eyes in the background”, which establishes Literally Nothing.

But we all know they’re friends, right? This isn’t just wistful thinking by us Miraiths? No, we do know...because T*m said so on twitter. Think about it. He’s gleefully sold every interaction they get (or might get) as being food for the Miraith fans who ask about interactions, he’s the one who said Elliott is in her top three people she can stand (she NEVER explicitly names Mirage, only Natalie), and he also said this:

(screenshot orginally posted by @apexmirxith)

Read that description. Read it again. Think about what we’ve actually gotten in the lore, both before the twitter comic and in it.

Something does not add up here. Literally nothing he said has been reflected in the canon at any point. And I would love it to be! Nothing would make me happier! If I could think of moments that lined up with that, I’d never shut up about them because I’m a single brain cell Miraith shipper and everyone knows it! But it’s not there, T*m!!!!!

Basically, Word of Author and The Actual Text are in conflict in a BIG way. It’s like T*m KNOWS he can just fill in the plot blanks with his twitter canon, but that’s NOT GOOD WRITING, and it makes what should be really interesting character moments SUPER hollow because again, none of the building blocks are there. They’re just in T*m’s mind, and then he offhandedly mentions them while replying to fan art. I swear, this dude should not keep tweeting about the plot of the games, because if he’s not doing stuff like this, he’s actively making promises he can’t keep. It’s so frustrating.

Okay, now that we’re done with that rant...

Part Two: Y’all Don’t Know How To Handle Abelism, Is The Thing

I discussed a lot of this during headcasegate II: the quickening, but for those of you who don’t read my complaining-disguised-as-analysis, the big issues are as follows:

I don’t think the intricate character work needed to grow out of abelism is actually something you can do in Apex Legends as a means of storytelling due to time constraints, the fact that plots can and will be dropped at any time (they did this with Bangalore this season, for instance) and a large cast all vying for attention in the plot.

T*m has repeatedly proven he has blind spots wrt abelism, starting with him implying autism could be cured (he walked this one back and admitted he was wrong, but still), to using abelist language as a plot device more than once, to being dismissive of people pointing that out instead of trying to understand why people were criticizing it. I don’t see any signs he’s actively learned (except the autism thing), so I don’t expect this angle to improve.

Elliott exhibits several traits of neurodivergency, from social anxiety to several HEAVILY ADHD coded traits (chronic tardiness, rambles heavily, impulsive spending, misunderstanding instructions), and has a stutter on top of that, but so far this has been ENTIRELY played for laughs and to make him look like a dumbass, not taken seriously.

And those three points really do stand, and are the basis of a lot of my concern. But there’s another angle that became more of an issue for me as I was reading the latest comic, and it has to do with Wraith.

The game has already been really, really weird with how they’ve treated mental illness related when it comes to Wraith. They leaned heavily into the “owo scawwy mental patient! owo” imagery with banner frames and arguably her Liberator skin (I do love that skin because shaved head = chef’s kiss, but it does draw on mental illness imagery with the straight jacket look of her outfit), and she has on-and-off talked about/reacted to the voices as if they’re more a harmful influence akin to true psychosis and not helpful alternate selves. All of that leads to her being very heavily psychosis-coded, which has been noted by a lot of people.

And yet.

When the abelism is finally addressed, her breaking point, the thing the comics treat as The Thing You Shouldn’t Be Making Fun Of Her For, is...her amnesia.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s also wrong to make fun of her for having amnesia. But why is that the trait they chose to focus on? When I hear Elliott call her “brainwreck” my first thought isn’t “wow, he’s making fun of her for not remembering her past”, it’s “wow, he’s making fun of her for hearing voices.” It’s not even logical for that to be the thing that he and Bangalore are pointing out by calling her names, because like...who does that?? I don’t think even awful abelists do that. If they wanted to target her amnesia, they’d use completely different language. Brainwreck I can kinda see tying into her amnesia, but how does “headcase” relate back to that?? Literally, how??

Basically, when given the chance to address the abelism thrown at Wraith, they focus on the one thing that’s not the issue, rather than the thing that everyone points out is what makes her a mentally ill icon. And you might say, “but Screech, but it’s not a mental illness, the voices are real!” And to that I say, then why in the hell did they lean so heavily into mental illness imagery and her reacting negatively to the voices as if they are true hallucinations?? It’s just plain inconsistent, and almost feels like they don’t really want to tackle psychosis (in which case they are COWARDS, other devs have proved you can do that in a video game), so instead they focus on her amnesia and call it a day.

Dude. That’s totally not it in any way. What are you doing. What is my life. What is this GAME.

...anyways I hope all of that makes sense.

#apex legends #apex critical #discourse for ts #discourse cw

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jadelotusflower · 4 years ago

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April 2021 Roundup

Welp - a few days late on this, but I’ve had a busy week, including finding a blue-tongue lizard in my house. I have no idea how or why the poor thing got in or where it thought it was going, but it gave me quite the shock. After some trial and error I was able to herd it into a box and release it in the backyard, where I suspect it’s made a home in my compost bin.

Other than that, this month I was lucky enough to live see my first live musical in over a year - The Wedding Singer. I love the movie and have listened to songs from the Broadway cast album, but this is the first time a professional production has been staged here. It was enormously fun, with an exuberant cast and tongue firmly in cheek. It was so nice to be back in a theatre (with social distanced seating) after everything was cancelled last year.

Reading

David Copperfield (Charles Dickens) - I’ve never really read much Dickens outside of A Christmas Carol, but I enjoyed the Iannucci film so much last year I decided to go back to the source material. I was surprised at how much that adaptation retained from a novel so large, at least in terms of important plot points, but then there’s a great deal of characters sitting in rooms and talking about things only tangentially related to the plot. It was an enjoyable read and of course Dickens is a witty writer, even if I found some parts a bit tedious - anytime Mr Micawber or Mr Peggotty shows up my eyes tended to glaze over. But the novel is dense with so many intersecting characters and plots that I can certainly see why it’s been well read and much studied.

A Column of Fire (Ken Follett) - the last (chronologically) novel of the Kingsbridge series, this time set in the 16th Century amid the Catholic/Protestant conflicts in England and France, but also touching on Spain, Switzerland, the Netherlands - even the Caribbean. Follett’s favourite tropes are all here; lovers kept apart by circumstance, despicable villains with too much pov page time, rape as a plot device, the apathy/self serving nature of kings and queens. Ned Willard is a typical Follett male (self insert) hero, and as usual it’s the female characters who are far more interesting - Margery the devout but conflicted English Catholic, and Sylvie the enterprising and determined French Protestant. Both are the object of Ned’s affection, which I suppose is telling, and Follett desperately needs to learn how to write some other kind of romantic plot.

Of course it packs in the historical events for them to witness and/or participate in, from the end of Mary I’s reign all the way to the Gunpowder Plot - but it does feel that the latter is rushed in at the end and the novel probably could have ended at the Armada. While I did enjoy the broadened scope, a part of me missed the locality of Kingsbridge as a microcosm of England - this book was more concerned with the macro perspective where the other books (particularly Pillars) was effective in telling the story through Kingsbridge-as-a-character. On the other hand, I did enjoy the France side of the plot (mostly for Sylvie) that covered the machinations of the Guise family, the struggles of French Protestants, and events such as the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre (a rather harrowing section).

Watching

Shadow and Bone (season 1) - I went into this show completely cold (other than the trailer and general excitement on my dash), and really enjoyed it. Alina was a bit generic spunky heroine at first, but she grew on me by the end although I can’t say I really cared much about any of the romantic plots (and want to stay faaaaar away from the discourse). It was the Crows were the real draw for me, and while I was aware that their material came from later books, for me (not knowing any better) their integration into the Grisha plot was seamless.

While I was impressed by the worldbuilding I could have done with a bit more exposition - I still don’t know who the Shu and Suli are, where Fjerda is in relation to Ravka and what the basis of the conflict between them is. On the other hand, I can appreciate they resisted the urge to do too much “as you know”-ing and assume the rest of the world will be revealed as it becomes relevant. Still, I think if shows can learn one thing from Game of Thrones, it’s the value of finding some way of presenting a map to the audience to give some geographic perspective - a few times I did find myself needing to think about which side of the Fold the characters were on at any given time, and have no idea where Nina and Matthias were meant to be at the end. But then I’m the person who constantly flips to consult the map at the front of a book while reading - I need to see it.

I’ll add my disappointment to the RH fans at the chance of seeing Lucy Griffiths again, only for her role as Luda to be a brief flashback that saw her promptly stabbed to death (her entire demo reel could be made up of death scenes at this point). It’s a real shame, because she is perfect for a series like this (in a role like Genya perhaps), and it seems like such a waste.

Mighty Ducks: Game Changers (episodes 1-6) - The new strategy for family entertainment: taking a property that was popular with young Gen X-ers and/or Elder Millennials in their childhoods, and rebooting/reviving it as a show they can now watch with their own kids. The premise is simple enough - the Ducks are now a corporate juggernaut of the live long enough to see yourself become the villain variety, cue a new rag tag underdog hockey team, training at the run down ice rink owned by a disillusioned Gordon Bombay.

It’s mildly entertaining, the child actors are all very good and I’m always here for Emilio Estevez, although I can do without the inevitable romance with Lauren Graham (the team’s coach and mother of one of the kids). But the most recent episode, where a bunch of the og Ducks (sans Charlie) appear, coupled with liberal use of the Ducks Theme, hit me right in the childhood. They got me! They got me with the nostalgia! Because I am a sucker.

The Handmaid’s Tale (season 4, episodes 1-3) - I was very frustrated with this show last season, because it seemed more concerned with endless extreme close ups of Elizabeth Moss emoting rather than telling a coherent story. June is a character with the thickest plot armour I’ve ever seen, while almost every person she comes into contact with meets a bitter end. Rather than the slow domino effect to topple the regime depicted in the original novel and its sequel The Testaments, the show is moving at a breakneck pace, while somehow little actually happens except rinse repeat torture/endurance porn.

More interesting is the Canada side of the story with Moira and Emily (the excellent Samira Wiley and Alexis Bledel), and the difficulties for refugees adapting to life outside of Gilead, which wasn’t explored in either novel and could use more focus in the show. Ann Dowd is absolutely compelling as Aunt Lydia, and a far more interesting villain than the Waterfords (whose scenes have become interminable) yet funnily enough doesn’t get the devoted close-ups, long speeches, or writer interest they do. I’m still watching, if only to see if the show follows her story in The Testaments or not.

Writing

Not a very productive month on the writing front at all, I can’t even bring myself to look at the meagre word counts, so I’m going to let them roll over into May.

#personal #april roundup #long post #reading watching writing

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laporcupina · 4 years ago

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TOG meta: tradecraft

Copley tells The Old Guard that their future must now involve masks and prosthetics and hair dye and wigs and gloves and all of the other kinds of masquerade tools that Nile frankly takes for granted as obvious and is a little gobsmacked that the others are willing to fight him on the necessity of it.

"You live in a world of CCTV, fingerprint databases, and facial recognition software," he tells them not for the first or fifth time. "Every country that has a useful passport has that passport embedded with an RFID chip. Even the so-called liberal democracies have files on all of their citizens, let alone the places like China that know more about a resident than that resident knows about themselves.

"You don't get to live off the radar anymore. I found you and, frankly, it wasn't that hard with current technology. You want to do what you do, you have to do it within the system, flying false colors and changing identities far more often than once a generation or once a century."

In the year 2019, a couple of Crusaders and a woman older than dirt learn the fine arts of tradecraft and Nile, a Millennial with decades of pop culture and social media under her belt, is as much spectator as participant. She's got the concepts down cold, although Copley often gets as frustrated with her for thinking real life works like the movies do as he does with the others for acting their ages. He tells Andy, who announces that she doesn't have to bother with any of this shit because she's on a timer now, that unless she plans on stop working in the next five years, she is a fool and an idiot and will find herself in someone's black site prison spending the remainder of her days getting tortured for information she doesn't have.

"The Americans don't have a monopoly on rendition," he tells her. "They're actually more civilized about it than most because they think they're doing God's work and are the beacons of liberty and justice. The godless Europeans? The actual theocracies? The neo-fascist revanchist empires you'll all recall so well from their first incarnations? You have no idea what they're capable of because they, like you, have a cultural memory that goes back millennia. But they've modernized it. They remember the same lack of mercy that you do but have turned it into functional paperwork so they don't feel it at all when they hurt you. How much pain do you want to be in when you die?"

And so they learn how to subtly change their noses with bits of latex or clay - Nicky is adorably unhappy with every possible option to change his shnozz and Joe makes things both better and worse by telling him he is beautiful no matter what and then busting out laughing when he sees the results. There is a two-day seminar on colored contacts that was supposed to be one day but none of them can figure out how to put the lenses in on the first day and Nile isn't excused from it despite the fact that black people her shade don't have blue or green eyes.

"They do, although it's rare and mostly outside the US," Copley tells her. "There will be times when you will need to stand out and be striking. Either to confuse recognition software or simply to draw attention away from something else. Or someone else. If all the survivors remember is a black woman with purple eyes, then your team has gotten away safely."

There are lectures on wardrobing to hide their physiques and why they need to start using the knowledge they have about local dress and customs. There are long talks on when they will need to look like locals and when they will need to look like tourists and why they can't wear whatever they want and this is where Nile is both fascinated and frustrated. She’s spent the last eight years in USMC uniforms with her hair in USMC-approved styles and her makeup and jewelry all dictated by the Corps and she's very chill about the idea of dressing for work, but the others are not to a degree that's kinda funny. Andy, Nicky, and Joe are indignant at fashion history lessons when they lived through the eras ("You were alive at the time, that's not the same thing") and have gotten really stubborn about dressing how they like instead of how they need to after a relatively tiny amount of time being able to do just that.

They also have long arguments about old weapons, but Copley clearly went into this understanding that the labrys, longsword, and scimitar were not going into permanent storage.

"Rotate your arsenals is all I'm saying," he repeats for the fiftieth time because of course 'give it all up' was what the others had heard. "You have centuries' worth of obsolete weaponry lying around in your safehouses to choose from if you want to be traditionalists, but don't make that your calling card or everything else is for nothing. Don't take the antiques on every mission - use shorter swords or different blades once in a while, use a modern fighting knife, pick up an axe from the hardware store. You are all competent in so many different weapons and it would be good for you to remember how lethal you all are with more than what you're most comfortable with. Look at it as a challenge if you need to."

Nile takes notes on all of this stuff, including what the guys need to do not only because she can tell that Joe and Nicky are doing the selective hearing thing, but also because someone's going to have to pass this on to Booker and it's not stuff that can wait a hundred years. He might not be running into danger in far-flung parts of the world, but he's living in Paris and that's just as dangerous according to Copley. Probably more. She knows Copley can find Booker and tell all of this himself, but she doesn't think he will. Not out of guilt or malevolence or whatever it is that tied the two of them together so that Copley could turn Booker like he did, just... Booker's off the chessboard as far as Copley goes. As far as the others go, perhaps. But he's still out there and Nile doesn't want him in trouble because he's been on CCTV too many times.

Turns out that CCTV is not the weird surveillance vision they have to worry about. Booker dreams of Paris and Nile dreams of Chicago and Quynh went with the easier choice.

#the old guard #tog #tog meta #the old guard gang #tradecraft

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weeklyfangirl · 5 years ago

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Frat Boy Pt. 21

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19 , part 20

HI LOVIES. Please enjoy a Friday update on the Frat Boy universe. This one is a bit of a breather after the TUMULTUOUS ANGST of the last chappie. Shorter than my usual, but it’s all the chapter needed. Tons more y/n and Harry interaction on the way in the next! Have a safe and happy day loves xx

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Things I want:

Live a life that helps others

Financial freedom

Experience a great love

Visit the the Pincio Gardens in Italy

To have more dreams and fewer nightmares

Doodle more

Acquire a first edition book, either because an old friendly man who owns an antique bookshop decides to give it to me in a bonding moment, or because I have accomplished #2 and I am celebrating being a Boss Bitch

To be happy

Please note: not necessarily in that order

It was taped above my desk, waiting for me to bring it in to the next session. I hesitated to write number 6. It was a dream I hardly entertained after committing my scholarly life to pursue medicine. I used to love to doodle. All the time. Since elementary school. I doodled so much my mom dedicated a wall in the house to my illustrations. She hung a sign above it that affectionately said “Y/N’s Doodles.” Seriously, you couldn’t get me to stop. Even if it was gross sappy sketches of my crush Billy who I would NEVER show on the playground at recess.

My doodling stopped how these things normally do. Because life grew busier than anything else, and the sketchpad and easel my dad had bought for me at a garage sale became ignored, collecting dust in the corner of my room. At some point, it’d become a year since I’d drawn anything, and then it was two, and three, and by this point I’d realized I was the one who’d need to create her own stability in life and medicine was the more logical fit. It wasn’t that I didn’t see the value in drawing anymore, I just had other things take up my time. It became a comfort just knowing I used to draw. Paul had paved his way, and now I was on my way to do the same. At least with medicine, my soul felt fed. It was almost comfort enough.

“oH WE GOT A ROGUE ONE.”

A flying toenail hit my eye.

“WHAT THE-” I flailed my arms, as though there were a thousand more coming. Renny’s mouth opened in shock, her guilty body hunched over her bent leg. Clippers in hand.

“Sorry!!” Renny burst up laughing.

“oH MY GOSH CAN YOU DO THAT OVER A TRASH CAN OR SOMETHING?!”

“IT HAD A MIND OF ITS OWN!!” she screamed back.

I blinked rapidly, my left eye watering up and spilling painless tears. “Well I’m going to have conjunctivitis at the studio later. Or I’ll be stumbling in blind.” I wiped it away.

I heard another clip and she put up her hands with another giggle.

“All done. And you won’t stumble, I’m going to be there.” Renny extended her leg, her perfectly trimmed foot nearly touching the ceiling.

“You’re just going to solicit Zayn to be his next subject.”

“Maybe,” her grin grew devious. “But also because I want to see if he captured the angelic beauty and complex nymph nuances of my best friend.”

I put a hand to my chest, still aching from uncertainty. “Honored.”

“Want to watch another episode until it’s time to go?”

This whole lazy morning had been an OC Housewives bingefest. She’d seen it on my homepage and had a complete spazz, twitching whilst proclaiming but i’ve been trying to get you to watch this show for YEARS!! When she saw the old season I was on, though, she didn’t have to question why her pestering had miraculously worked. She didn’t mention him aloud besides giving me a pointed look. And so, we watched it, even though I wasn’t really in the mood to see anything about Harry right now. It’d hurt more than I thought to walk away from him last night, and to see how sad he looked when I did.

After last night, he hadn’t posted anything to social media. He’d called, twice, but I knew he was drunk, or worse, and I was tired, and whatever he would say he could tell me in the morning. Even though I knew he wouldn’t.

And he didn’t.

And therein lay the problem.

It hurt to see his family on my little box of a computer screen, weird to see his life and get glimpses of his childhood. I felt like a hacker spying on home videos. But then I reminded myself that thousands of people had already done the same. At this point, it was just… morbid curiosity.

“Nah, I don’t know if I can handle any more of that right now. Dr. Rhinecuff is going to yell at me if I don’t return these scanned copies to him by Monday.”

“Ew, he smells like meat.”

“RENNY!!”

“I’m just saying. That one time I went with you it smelled like pastrami in his office. He has a PhD, but isn’t with-it enough to buy air freshener.”

“He likes pastrami sandwiches, let him live.”

She scrolled on her phone, not bothering to respond, and my gaze turned to the window.

“Hey Renny?”

“Hm.”

A bird flew close to the glass, halting just before it hit it, then zooming off in the opposite direction. “What’d you do when your parents were fighting?”

“Ummm…” I knew the question registered in her mind when she stopped scrolling, suddenly concerned. “Are your parents okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, kind of.” I glossed over it, not caring to get into the bitter details. “I was just curious.”

“Uhh..” She plucked at the soft cotton of her cotton candy pajamas that were fraying at the knees. “I lost my virginity to Zach,” she half-laughed.

“Zach? Neighbor boy Zach?”

Renny nodded. She always sounded a little sad when she talked about him. Zach was the hot college boy who shared a backyard fence with Renny, the girl who may or may not have used her kitchen stool to peak over and see him workout on the grass every summer he came home. I’d known they’d slept together. I just didn’t think he was her first.

“I just tried to be out of the house as much as I could,” she said. “Found my true love Mary J.”

“Oh.”

“It was shitty, but I’m glad I got it over with.”

“The divorce or your virginity.”

“Both,” she chortled. “Why what’s up? Are you sad or something? I have a j in my drawer.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Mostly I was just wondering what it must be like to feel so sexually liberated. In my house sex wasn’t talked about. At all. The inevitable sex scene in every other movie would result in my dad blaring out “WHAT KIND OF MOVIE IS THIS!” in an attempt to make it less awwkard, but having it backfire and only make it horrendously more awkward. I wasn’t saving my virginity for anyone in particular, but after all those romance novels, I wanted it to be… something. I wanted to feel something towards the person where it would justify something I’ve kept to myself for so long. I wanted it to be intense. I wanted it to be like the books. Like a Frank Sinatra song that swept up your heart and transported you back to a time of gentlemen and cigars and women in long evening gowns with fur coats and martinis.

“I wish I could just get it over with,” I confessed. One half of me screamed YOU’RE IN YOUR TWENTIES HAVE ALL THE SEX while the other half said YOU’VE WAITED THIS LONG DAMN IT HOLD OUT A LITTLE LONGER. I didn’t know which part of me was compromising more.

Renny leaned in, quick. “Would you do it with Harry?”

Like the flip of a switch, I remembered the sensuous heat of his body against mine, wrapping me up and pressing me against him where we just fit. And I couldn’t imagine how much better it’d feel to be even more connected to him.

“Maybeeee…?”

But then there was last night.

I cringed. No matter how with me he’d seemed… he couldn’t have been present after mixing whatever the hell he took and a handle of alcohol. Did I really want someone like that? Someone who could only give a shell of themselves?

“No, I wouldn’t. Or- ugh, I don’t know. I don’t know if it could ever mean as much to him.”

Renny nodded. “I mean, don’t let him pressure you, obviously. If he does, I’ll kick his baby maker smack into his prostate. Prostate. See, anatomy. You taught me that.”

“Haha, no, he’s not like that.” My brows stitched. I was confused why he wasn’t more like that, actually. We’d known each other for several months now and he hadn’t even put a finger in me. When I thought about it, it actually frustrated me. Don’t pressure me to do anything, but I wanted to be pushed to do something. I was never the bold one in areas like this.

Not that I should be so willing to do anything with him anymore anyways. Something shifted in me when I’d seen him last night. It wasn’t a shift I could easily describe, but it’d set me a foot apart from my heart. A bit of me was shocked that it had happened so suddenly.

But this shift was new, and my heart still wanted what it wanted. I knew that if I watched any more OC Housewives with Harry’s toddler curls and surfer tan, I’d be sucked right back into speculating about what our future kids could look like. And if I saw him?

You were right, Harry. You are fucked.

I cringed again. That was harsh. That was very very harsh.

I didn’t know if I’d have the courage to apologize. What if my pheromones went berserk and magnetized me to his side??

Renny was right.

I needed therapy.

The clippers were tossed back on my desk.

“Thanks,” she said. “Have you started on your DG Double P yet?”

DG Double P = Renny Speak for DG Pretty Please.

I groaned. “No. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, honestly. I have to-”

“NO!!! Don’t tell me. We’re not supposed to tell each other.” Her hand extended in panic.

“Fine. I can keep a secret.”

I was getting a little too good at that lately.

She moved onto her belly, splaying her arms out in a dramatic fashion, face squished against the comforter. “Isn’t it just killing you inside.” She was dead serious.

“Yeah, more than you know.”

And I was serious, too.

--------------------------------------

I wasn’t expecting people to dress up as much as they did. Donned in my only pair of yoga pants and a chunky white sweater, I walked arm-in-arm with Renny past girls in cocktail dresses and guys in button-downs.

Something that sounded like a baby’s cry filled my ears, but it was gone as soon as we walked through the doors to the on-campus gallery. .

“Woah did you hear that?”

Renny nodded, tossing her head back. “There’s a baby somewhere.”

It reminded me of the bodiless screams in my nightmare. In my chunky sweater, I shivered undetectably.

The on-campus gallery rotated exhibits throughout the year, but this time, student sculptures were on pedestals, nightmarish portraits hung on the walls, and red and orange tapestries swooped down and across the ceiling in a cirque-du-soleil moment as if to secure us beneath fire. Some students had separate booths, but other pieces of work trailed seamlessly into the next.

A tree made from photographs and newspaper took up the center of the space. Zayn had been so adamant about his muse having life, I wondered if that was the focus of this exhibit - to capture natural life. But I suppose all art did.

“It’s the circle of life exhibit,” Renny stated, as if reading my thoughts.

“How’d you know that?”

She held up a pamphlet she must’ve grabbed from the entrance.

I quickly scanned the room, hoping to find Zayn quickly so I could skip out just as quick.

Several of my professors were here, including Dr. Rhinecuff. When he saw me, I raised my hand, but he raised his cup of red wine awkwardly and looked away.

My hand wavered.

Odd.

Zayn was standing by the tree, speaking with an older woman. Her skin was a rich brown, short hair hidden beneath a chic scarf. The man beside her looked around the same age with graying facial hair, a pocket hanky, and beaded bracelets. Art professors.

I caught his gaze, and he gestured me over.

“Y/N, these are my instructors. David and Ebony.”

Their eyes lit up in recognition. “He did you a great justice,” David said, gray moustache twitching with the words.

Ebony beamed. “Oh yes, a piece was already sold. He’s going to be the next big wig before he graduates,” she gushed. “Zayn, I’m sure you’ll be splitting the profits with the heart of the piece.”

She gestured to me and his smile widened, but my stomach sank faster.

“I didn’t know these pieces were going to be sold.”

Ebony sensed my concern. The wine in her glass swirled. “We thought allowing the pieces to be shown and auctioned was a good way to replicate what many of them should be doing once they graduate. The whole department gets involved, and these kids put in a lot of work, and the reputation of starving artists isn’t something we want to buy into here.”

I nodded. “I mean, that’s great. That’s… really amazing.”

Zayn couldn’t meet my eyes. He knew. He could sense my hesitance, too.

“Now he can finally afford a nice dinner to take you out!” David proclaimed.

We were all quiet for a minute. “You know, for a thank you dinner,” David covered up. Zayn’s brows scrunched and he shook his head a bit, not knowing where David’s comment came from.

“Do you do this regularly?” Ebony asked, steering the conversation away from an awkward moment.

My ears pricked up when I realized she was looking at me. “Excuse me?”

“Well I was just thinking…” a light laugh lifted as if her idea would be outrageous. “Would you mind sitting in for one of my classes on Monday? Our model had a sudden death-”

“My God,” David proclaimed.

Ebony waved her hand. “-in his family. I haven’t called to replace him yet.”

It quieted as they looked at me, waiting for a response. “Oh, I don’t… I don’t usually do this. At all. It was a chance thing.”

“Luck be the artist.” David raised his glass.

Ebony followed suit, looking at my empty hand. “You just going to let her stand there without a drink?”

“Yeah, Zayn. What kind of treatment is this?” I teased.

He did a slight bow. “Apologies. We’ll walk to drinks, immediately.” He pulled us away, leading us further into the showroom as his head dipped low to my ear. “Renny just passed us to meet Felix and them. They’re through here.”

We stepped under an archway that led into a darker-lit room, but his hand stopped me beneath the nook. “Did yeh notice anything?”

Yeah. I was noticing how close we were in this archway. He saw my eyes start to squint in thought and he turned me around to face the room we’d just left.

“Look closer.”

My eyes roamed the crowd, trying to find some sort of person, or pattern he could be referring to. With a brief seize of my heart, I expected to see somebody from the gang.

“Look at the artwork, Y/N.” His breath warmed my skin.

The paintings all seemed to be bright, though sticking to red, orange, blacks, and grays. Wait, forget a pallette pattern. The next painting had blue and purple, too. One sculpture looked like a writhing ghost, twisting and reaching for something above. Or maybe it was an unearthed tree root. Despite all the bold colors, there was something off-putting about how bright they all were. It wasn’t a soothing brightness. It was almost violent. The orange and red writhing tapestries warped the ceiling into something hot.

“Is it hell?” I chortled, but quickly quieted. I expected him to take offense, but his hand went lightly around my waist with a small smile.

“Could be. See-” his arm extended out to scan the perimeter “-all this art is supposed to represent death, but challenge the notion of it through color.”

“How so?”

“Yeh know it’s usually your blacks, and your grays, s’depressing shit. But we’re born from death. Before life, there was nothing, but something. It’s bold and necessary and there, and no one really knows whatever comes before. Or after.” He looked at the room, taking a sip of wine. I watched as he swallowed, and I imagined the wine running down. “What is death but an uncertain existence.” He said the thought almost happily, looking at me with a slight smirk. “Could be anythin’.”

He took a deep breath, letting his hand touch the top of the archway. It was then that I noticed it wasn’t just plain drywall. A collage of photographs ran all along the inside.

He wasn’t as tall as Harry, but his hand still reached the top, scuffing across a picture of an African landscape taped over a toddler eating fruity pebbles.

“They’re pictures. Everyone donated one,” he said.

A strand of words were painted over the collage, running from one end of the archway to the other, and I tilted my head back to read it. “Things... that…. make... m..e …...feel alive.”

“Everyone was able to design their space in order to control, to some extent, how their art was perceived. Everyone was a part of the transition space.”

“Very nice,” I noted, slightly put-off. I hadn’t been expecting this art show to be so… professional. “Zayn, this is amazing. Like, really, truly, professional-grade stuff is happening. The presentation, the pieces, everything.”

His smile grew wider, putting cool hands over my eyes. I flinched, but let him.

I felt him come closer.

“Listen now,” he urged.

I listened, but I wasn’t sure for what. There was the familiar busy rumble of people mingling, parents visiting their kids, and professors droning on about the talent of their students. But it was chatter. I couldn’t make out one conversation over another. I shrugged up against his other hand that was atop my shoulder.

“Sometimes you need to change where you’re planted to understand.”

I hoped he could see my cross expression because I couldn’t tell if he was bullshitting me right now. It’d been a day. It’d been a night. And I wasn’t in the mood for more philosophical ramblings - especially about death. “I don’t know what you mean,” I sighed.

“Meaning I have to move you closer to the speakers.” He let out a breathy laugh. “Jus’ keep your eyes closed, okay?”

I nodded. His hand moved, tilting my head to its side. Eyes still closed, I became self-conscious imagining people trying to move past me, and here I was, planted, eyes closed in the middle of the archway. My cheeks heated. It was unnerving knowing people could see me when I couldn’t see them. And anyway, I must’ve looked ridiculous.

“What do you hear?” he urged.

“I hear a lot of people talking,” I griped.

But right when I was about to open my eyes-

I heard a familiar chirping through the chatter.

“Birds?” I opened my eyes.

“Observance can be taught, sometimes.” Zayn leant back, looking mighty proud of himself.

“Why are there birds?”

“We’re entering life,” he smiled, backing into the space. I tipped my wine back, several long gulps lightening my step as I followed him. Immediately, I noticed much more natural, earthier tones. For being a room of life, it was surprisingly darker than the prior room.

Renny, Felix, and Andre were huddled in the center where a makeshift wall-on-wheels covered in vines divided the room in half.

My eyes widened, trying to adjust to the dimness. “It’s a lot darker in here.”

“All intentional. They decided to play with light in here. People usually think of life being bright ‘n that, but it’s also when we experience varying degrees of darkness. There’s a balance to things and the trouble is finding it.” Understanding laced his voice as his dark eyes bore into mine, almost completely black. One look from Zayn and I was reminded of all the weight I’d been carrying. I fidgeted, uncomfortable seeing myself in his eyes.

“Y/N, get over here!” Renny called. My shoulders visibly relaxed. My saving grace. “You didn’t tell me you did this,” she said lowly as soon as I got close enough, shocked excitement barely contained. Her giddy smile gave it away though. “Miss sexy secret keeper over here.”

“What do you mean?”

She playfully poked my sides, but Andre and Felix avoided my gaze. Something wasn’t right. And it stirred my stomach, my body already knowing, somehow.

I turned in slow motion, the charcoal drawings in my peripherals stopping me in place. Framed amidst the vines, my face was etched onto paper, scrunching and twisting in various expressions. But my body was attached and twisting, too. And it was bare, bent over, spread out, laying down… My eyes scanned over them a dozen times in a second.

I was naked.

In all of them.

One was titled “21st Century Love.” In this one, I faced the viewer, but looked past them, sorrowful eyes, brows furrowed, breasts I’d never shown on full display. A hickey or two on my neck. A painful sting gripped my chest. I looked sad. I looked so sad.

Tunnel vision, a blurred Renny rushed down to the floor, and a distant part of me registered something wet splatter on my feet.

The wine had dropped.

I’d dropped it.

I was trapped in a shell. My body was numb.

“Babes, you okay?” Renny asked, her voice somewhere far away. Somewhere outside the shell, her voice drowned in the busy rumbling, with the birds, with the watchers. People were watching me now. I was being watched. “Felix, grab some towels!” she barked.

I looked horrified, towards Zayn, but changed my mind just as fast. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t even breathe.

He didn’t know me at all. He could stare at me for a thousand sessions and paint every crevice, sunspot, blemish, and mole and still not see me. How was an artist this blind? How could he not know that this was the last thing I could ever want? How could he picture me so… intimately?

The paintings seemed to swirl into one before bouncing back out into their separate exposees.

Because that’s what it was.

An exposure.

A stranger could pay to have me in their home.

The floor spun, vision spotting.

My lungs tightened, tearing me away from Renny, from Felix, from Andre. From Zayn, the artist who painted a confused girl so unashamed. So honestly. Savagely and Unabashedly.

“I didn’t want this.”

And it was when I was halfway out the door that I realized the voice had come from me, a mantra pushing my shell all the way home.

part 22

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iwriteaboutkpopsometimes · 3 years ago

Text

Hyunjin "Play With Fire (Feat. Yacht Money)" (원곡 : Sam Tinnesz) | [Stray Kids : SKZ-PLAYER] ~A Love Letter~

I talk about why I love this video so much and deliver an excruciatingly detailed play by play of it, but why read a two thousand word, five page essay on a three minute video when you can just go watch the aforementioned three minute video? Forget me spending hours writing this, why are you here, seriously, it would take you significantly less time to watch the actual video. Regardless, enjoy my attempt to refrain from saying the same three things, “he's so cool”, “I love him”, and “this is so good”, in exchange for a more, hopefully, academically professional sound.

Watching him perform never fails to put me in a trance, it’s incredibly captivating how precise and sharp while simultaneously lively and energy-filled his movements are. This video feels reminiscent of enjoying a movie I’ve seen countless times, memorized every line of dialogue from, and genuinely think of every part as the best it has to offer. I greatly missed seeing him dance and having this as his grand welcome back into the spotlight is nothing less of a gift. Every second leaves my heart pounding and as excited as the last, as he continuously tops himself the longer I watch. I feel that revisiting the video is the least I can do, for giving it only one view doesn’t feel morally acceptable if I intend to truly appreciate it for that art that it is. Dramatic of me? Perhaps, but I can’t help but perceive it as more than just this one video that was uploaded onto their YouTube channel. It isn’t just about all of the work he and others put into the making of this particular video, his choreography for the song was a result of years upon years of practice and learning different techniques. A performance this good doesn’t only involve technical skill though, but also skill in regards to one’s inner mind. To have confidence in one’s self, to hit every move powerfully, to know what you’re doing and be unapologetic about it, that is skill. Sure, the performer is at the focus of any performance, but don’t forget that it’s also about the audience, it is after all for the enjoyment of the viewer. If the audience senses your doubt and insecurity and uncertainty, it will make your stage that much less enjoyable. Whatever you feel, they can feel too. When I watch him, I don’t feel any of that. In fact, I feel the exact opposite, I feel inspired, motivated, confident, excited to advance in my own endeavors. The emotion that this video evokes from me goes beyond anything Stray Kids or K-Pop or even dance itself, it makes me want to be a better person, be kinder to myself and work harder. That might sound like a lot for one video to do for someone, but it’s the truth. All of the details, even down to the individual frames, it all works together to create the most gratifying viewing experience. At the time of writing this, the video has just hit five million views and has over one million likes, only a mere three days after its initial upload.

The first shot of his footsteps alone, as he goes to stand in front of the mirror, I already feel this sense of importance coming from him, delicate, yet powerful. The setting, cold and empty, yet inviting, it makes room for him and gives him just enough light to be seen, for he doesn’t need all that much help to surely shine. The credits that pop up use a dark shade of pink-red for it’s background color and white text that acknowledges the same deep red imagery and text associated with the material of the original work. His outfit is neat and pristine with some sparkle, resembling one a prince would seem fit. He stares at his reflection, holding a sheer white ribbon in his mouth, gathers a section of hair behind his head and proceeds to tie it with said ribbon. The music starts as he finishes tying and lets his arms fall down at his sides. The over the shoulder shot looking into the mirror, shows that his expression is neutral, almost calm. This can most certainly be described as “the calm before the storm”, except the storm itself is antonymous to a tragedy, because when the singing starts, it’s as if his performance persona was turned on by a switch, a charismatic possession that took place in a matter of seconds that sends chills down your spine in the best way. His previously neutral, calm-like expression and gently resting arms are quickly replaced by the sudden placement of his right hand around his neck and a look that resembles more of a vengeful, hesitant, and somehow playful one. Similar to what I’d imagine a villain would look like right before being bested during an epic fight sequence at the climax of a film. It’s satisfying to see him popping to the beat’s rhythm, his arms, wrists, and head smoothly illustrating the flow of the words, his focus and the secure angles he’s able to form before even fully utilizing his lower body. On the line “Got secrets I can’t tell”, he delicately places his pointer finger in between his teeth, as he turns back to meet the camera with his eyes, the shot now semi-closely focusing on both Hyunjin and his reflection as opposed to just one or the other. He extends his right arm, his hand forming a fist, and the camera movement making it as if I’ve been punched and sent flying. He stumbles to the middle of the room, does an opening gesture with his arms, like a proud baker showing off their completed wedding cake, along with a dramatic spin incorporating his thin, white, flowy cape. Reaching the pre-chorus, we get to see the room more clearly, like the stone pillars and the contrast of the small, warm lights on the walls to the grand grayness radiating from the large window that makes him appear as a near silhouette. There’s a certain holiness about him spending a count with his head down and arms out, much like the Crucifixion of Christ, before showcasing more of a demonic energy when he faces the window with his body, but bends backward and looks to the camera upside down. He rips off the cape, tosses it behind him, to his right. This could symbolize a transformation, an abandonment of a particularly purer image of oneself, a liberation. The music picks up, and the manner in which he dances is like a visual representation of one’s inner turmoil combined with an agenda to seduce those watching, wanting to dance for himself while taking us along for the ride. Now that the first minute of the video is out of the way, let’s continue.

The music fades into the background and the video takes on a sudden widescreen and grayscale appearance as he falls back on his right hand, flings his left hand over to his right shoulder, as though he’s been shot, and is being supported by his knees. He leans forward, places his right hand on the ground in front of him, uses his left hand to push his right knee over to achieve ideal balance, setting up his body roll. He extends his right leg back, getting close to the ground, and there’s something quite feral, yet intimate about the way he traces the length of his arm with his face and left hand. It looks like he’s taking out his frustrations through his moves while never sacrificing the detailed quality of the performance as a whole. It reminds me of how it’s more than common for artists to use their pain in their art, whether it be a point of well-intentioned expression with a specific purpose or simply an outlet for them to channel into. Hyunjin is the definition of aggressive elegance. The fullscreen, colorful display and music entirely return when he spins and lands on the ground in a Spider- Man esc pose, the room a lot warmer than even before the stylistic grayscale section. There’s hints of red, acting as a match that’s set to illuminate and ignite the puddle of gasoline that is him and his performance, that replaces the once colder, icy blue that previously enveloped his silhouette. He bounces to the beat showing off his proud, devilish smile that, instead of striking fear, makes me feel proud, as I’m essentially rooting for the villain in the movie. If the transition to the grayscale widescreen was him getting shot, then the transition back to fullscreen color is him emerging from his grave, an awakening. His shirt is no longer neatly tucked into his pants, but rather, hanging very loosely and mostly unbuttoned. He covers his face with his left hand, pulling it down for just a second before revealing his expression that has swiftly reverted to a roughly indifferent one. The inner conflict has greatly subsided, and focuses on the hesitant-free embracing of his newly discovered self, one of immense confidence and sex-appeal. Although, something about the flow of how he averts his gaze, looking to the left and not the lense, while pointing and doing body rolls at the camera, covers his eyes with crossed arms, and then allows for his hair to cover his eyes as well, makes me feel like he doesn’t want the viewer to know he is still at least a little bit shy. He quickly makes you forget though, because the next and final minute exaggerates everything he’s shown us up until this point, taking it to a whole new, spectacular level.

The bridge of the song creates a slower, softer atmosphere, which is beautifully interpreted with how Hyunjin carries himself during this part. Bigger gestures that blend into each other seamlessly, centering on really taking up the space he’s in. He gently and precisely lowers his body to the floor, collecting a white rose between his teeth. As soon as he returns to his upright stature, the setting changes dramatically. His hair now completely down, he’s under a spotlight in an otherwise pitch black and foggy room. There’s blue and red light reflecting off of his white top and his skin as he dances. This part feels more humane compared to the rest, with more of an obvious balance between sharp, impactful moves and tender, compassionate ones. He draws attention to his shoulders, brings his hands and feet close to his body, and showcases his red lit back. I particularly enjoy when he flicks his wrists and twists his ankles to the right in unison on the second syllable of “unstoppable”. For the “legendary animal” part of that line, his arms create a cage-like structure by doing a climbing motion and carrying it over all the way to the left. A cage in which he destroys the walls and breaks out of, shown by him punching downward on beat. From holding the rose in his mouth to holding it in his hand, he brings it over his head to his left shoulder, and raises his heels. He carries the rose down and around his left arm, his left arm momentarily resting at his waist, his right arm extended downward, he raises his heels again. His whole body lowers as a rigid wave starts at his up flicked wrists and subsequently elbows and shoulders. This collection of gestures results in petals falling off of the rose. He then inevitably throws it into the void, out of the reach of the lovely spotlight. I see this spotlight dance as a danse macabre, or dance of death. The white ribbon, white shirt, and white rose all coming together to illustrate this innocent and pure quality to him, that through this dance, he finalizes the renouncement of. He is more than ready to embrace a new and different side of him, but especially to get rid of the older and repetitive side that felt restrictive more than anything. The spotlight dance ends with Hyunjin looking directly into the camera, tracing his right hand down his chest and to his side, and the camera backing away. The last chorus of the song brings us back to the oh so familiar main room, Hyunjin’s hair back to being tied up, the lighting is the same, but there’s something that stands out. His shirt is on the verge of being completely unbuttoned and that allows for something alluringly shiny to be fully in view compared to before. The video comes full circle with Hyunjin’s hand around his neck, he stands in the hallway, and walks away a new man as the screen fades to black.

As I wrap up this essay on Hyunjin’s “Play With Fire (Feat. Yacht Money)”, original song by Sam Tinnesz, Stray Kids: SKZ-PLAYER, the video has reached six million views, a million more than when I first started writing this, and I feel proud to have spent a day simply pouring my heart and mind out on this wordy display of my appreciation. Don’t be fooled though, for my necessary research, I guess you could call it, for this project may no longer be so necessary, I shall continue to watch and applaud the masterpiece and experience that is this video for my own personal enjoyment, much like how this whole piece was written for my own personal enjoyment. It was an interesting challenge to properly voice not only the contents of the video but also my thoughts and feelings on it. Hyunjin is a highly valued dancer, member of Stray Kids, and person and five pages isn’t ever going to be enough to fully explain the respect and admiration I feel for him and his various projects. I think he’s really cool, I experience all sorts of fiery euphoria watching him dance, his rap and singing alike are addictive as hell, and he’s pretty, haha. I missed him a lot while he was inactive, and I’m so happy to have him back and doing great things as per usual. I’m excited to see what he and the rest of the group have left to show us this year. I advise you to watch the video if you haven’t, but somehow ended up reading an essay on it first, and if you’ve already seen it, watch it again, yeah. I’ll leave you with lovely thoughts and lovely vibes and I hope you too can appreciate the work he’s put into the video, as well as my work on this essay. Thank you for taking the time to read my love letter, essentially, and bye for now ^ ^

#straykids #stay #hyunjin #skzplayer #lovestay #kpop

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phynali · 4 years ago

Note

I don't know if you're apart of the Supernatural fandom, but if you are, could you do a speech analysis for Dean Winchester? Thank you.

I am! I’ve fallen into (back) into SPN hell recently and gotten a ton of feels I did not expect, thank you very damn much. But anyway, yes I am happy to oblige.

Dean’s voice is very distinct, but I can see why it’s hard to grapple with for many writers because very seldom does he say what he means and very often when he does it’s wrapped up in humour or pain. It’s often quippy as a means of deflecting emotion or maintaining a status quo or emotional handle over a situation. He uses commands and charm and pop culture references but he’s a very complex character so sometimes that all disappears and he’s open and vulnerable and raw, and those lines can be hard to draw.

Notes

To understand Dean’s focal speech patterns, we first to recognize that we’ve known Dean for 15 years, and that people’s modes of speaking can and will change over time. We’re gonna focus on things that have stayed more or less consistent over time, and his ‘base’ speech patterns that make his dialogue him. I’ll mostly shy away from different eras but may highlight a few things, and the same goes for who he’s talking to because he’s pretty similar with his only major differences being a function of closeness. He’s not much of a conversational mimic so we don’t have to worry about that.

We’re also gonna state the obvious and contrast the type of conversation he might be having - whether he’s tied up or in danger vs. expressing emotions vs. focused on the job. That’s probably where the meat of this is for people who are interested in these kinds of analyses anyway :)

Also - this is 4200 words so I’m sure there are typos so just acknowledging that up front.

Sentence Style

Let’s start with overall style.

Dean’s speech is generally straightforward (when he’s not being referential) with a low proportion of adjectives and a decent amount of degree modifiers (more on that below). He uses simple sentences with clear statements, though will add clauses to clarify, reference, or add degree fairly frequently.

For example:

”Like you said” is acting here as a way to refer back to a previous conversation. Dean does this more when he’s stating something not about himself/his subjective experience, but stating an absolute (or at least something to be taken as absolute).

Also something to point out about this example: like I said he uses shorter, simpler sentences. While that isn’t always true of course, it definitely it is the case that he doesn’t tend toward long, breathless sentences. Even here he could have said this in one sentence and instead split it into two concrete points. A person could transcribe it differently (”Like you said, we’re family, and we don’t leave family behind.”) but he tends to speak in this manner that implies full stops between these separate statements.

(Later I’m gonna completely contradict myself by talking about his longer statements btw. He tends to use longer sentences in more serious conversations, and includes clauses that qualify the statement).

Declarative I-Statements

Dean uses a ton of declarative sentences starting with I. Like - a lot of people do. But Dean’s iconic quotes are often “I”, and a large proportion of his sentences are declarative sentences in the active voice centring around him, his opinion, or his experience of the world. From “I think he wants us to pick up where he left off - saving people, hunting things, the family business.” to “I think I’m adorable”, Dean likes to tell us what he thinks and what he is.

You can also extend this pattern to other sentences that might start with different words but carry the same thesis “Demons I get - people are crazy.” It could be reworded just as simply as “I get demons - people are crazy.” But if Sam were the one saying it? “People are crazy” seems just as likely (although I’d put my money on “what is wrong with people?” as Sam’s most likely statement if he were trying to get the same sentiment across). Sam would express it as an absolute about the world or a rhetorical question, rather than one focused around his view of the world. Which doesn’t make Sam less self-focused or idiocentric than Dean, but their speech patterns express different modes of seeing the world, and in some ways Dean’s vocal patterns do more to acknowledge that his view of the world is subjective (but also that his subjective view is all he really cares about anyway).

(see all the other gifs here. Think “I’m proud of us” and so many other lines. So many I-statements).

Imperative and Commands

Dean speaks in a lot of commands. Idk what else to tell you. He’s a natural leader and he takes charge of situations, so it’s just kind of a natural facet of his speech.

He does this with humour:

And without (”He asks, you answer! Then you shut your hole” for example).

Telling people what to do isn’t always met kindly, of course:

And although not an imperative sentence, he also is comfortable using speech to demand compliance:

Word Choices

One thing I like to always examine is word choice, contractions, and negation, so let’s dive in to that.

Diction

While Dean doesn’t flower up his language much in terms of verb and noun choice, that isn’t because he has a small vocabulary. I’d wager it’s a choice to being unpretentious because of the world he lives in. He never has any issue pulling out technical or clinical language:

(Also seen here: he tends to be very pithy and flippant, especially when he’s unimpressed with someone or with a situation, or wants to express annoyance and frustration. It’s his first-stop for “I dislike this”.)

We’ve seen him use words like Achilles’ Heel and describe how he made an EMF using technical language, so there’s no hesitancy to drop these terms, but for him it’s a matter of expressing what he wants to in a manner that will be easily understood by the person with whom he’s speaking.

Negation

For how he uses negation - Dean doesn’t say “ain’t” and he seldom said “[x]’s not”. His typical negation is “isn’t”.

(Not “this ain’t the Scooby Gang” and not “it’s not / we’re not the Scooby Gang”. Isn’t. And yes, the line “there ain’t no me if there ain’t no you” bugs the hell out of me for this specific reason. When else have we ever heard him say ain’t? “There is no me if there is no you” is way more in keeping with his usual negation style.)

He also negates using the word Never. “I’ve never had anything this nice.”

Like this. And like this:

This is interesting because it fits into Dean’s pattern (discussed below) of using words (adverbs and swears alike) as ways to modify the intensity of his sentences. A lot of people use qualifiers to create this sense of degree (words like “really” and “very”). While Dean sometimes uses or combines those words with others (”really freakin’ hate this”), he does something that very few people do, which is use the qualifying word ‘never’ to express an absolute quality. Most of us can’t say we’ve never done something. We might say we “didn’t” do something, but we don’t express it as absolute as “never”. Dean does. Dean makes it clear what things simply do not get to be attributed to him or are not to be counted within his sphere of existence.

(He says it under less extreme circumstances too though...)

Contractions

Dean is liberal with his use of contractions and word shortenings. I’d recommend writing his use of words like “freaking” as “freakin’” “nothin’” and so forth. Can’t, not cannot.

Gonna, wanna. You are going to want to = You’re gonna wanna. (Also “you’re gonna have to trust me”. He tells people what they’re gonna have to do a lot).

He uses other shortenings like “y’know” and “’cause” as well, when he’s relaxed at least. Like all of us, if he’s emphasizing those words he’ll enunciate fully, so try to match the contraction use to what you want to emphasize and to the tone you want to convey.

Addressing Others

I wasn’t sure what else to call these (linguists might have some idea), but I’m talking about the use of words like “man” “dude” and “y’know” (and even his “Listen Velma” above). He uses these words like we all do - to ensure the person we’re talking to is clear that we’re addressing them directly, calling them into the conversation. Dean uses ‘dude’ a frequent amount for Sam (and others) but also “Man” at times (especially when annoyed). He uses “brother” for Benny as well in S8 in the same manner.

Conversely, “y’know” tends to come up when he’s being sly or pithy. He doesn’t really use ‘Buddy’ except for strangers (but not like Sam who essentially uses it as a threat) and I can’t recall him saying ‘pal’.

Positive and Negative Words

Some generic positives: awesome, super (often sarcastic)

Some recurrent negatives: ugly, bad, douch-y

“It ends bloody. It ends bad.”

Expressing Emphasis

Look - Dean doesn’t use a lot of adjectives, but he does use a lot of degree modifiers/adverbs. One of those is “just”. “Just do [x].” “Just so you know.” Just.

(Even here, “I just”).

He also does a very neat thing with the word “Uh.” It’s used not to hesitate or equivocate, like most people might use it, but instead to increase attention to what he’s saying. A false-hesitancy which tends to both emphasize and diffuse what he’s saying a bit.

(It’s so neat!)

Swearing

There is absolutely no doubt that Dean is an avid curser. There’s an excellent 4th-wall-bending implication from 3x13 (Ghostfacers) where we see Dean (and Sam) dropping f-bombs and other swears that get bleeped out in the Ghostfacers documentary. Which allows us as the audience to realize they’re swearing all the time, but that the network doesn’t allow that kind of swearing, so we see a watered down version of their dialogue on screen.

Dean says “freaking” a lot, and I feel like we can assume that 9 times out of 10, he’s dropping an f bomb. His favourite exclamation is “son of a bitch”, but when he’s really pissed off, we get a “motherf*cker”. Seasons 4-8 his favourite thing to call people is a douche or douchebag if he looks down on them. In general my advice to authors would be not to hesitate to have Dean swear, but make sure you’re using them right.

While many swears are just exclamations or word replacement (”kicked my ass” instead of “kicked my butt”), a lot of the swearing that Dean does is specifically to increase emphasis to something in his speech. Adding in freaking/f*cking as an intensifier is probably its most common use for him.

For the record, he uses “hell” in a similar fashion. What the hell, how the hell, where the hell - etc. Expressing intense emotions via swears that increase the degree/magnitude/intensity of the statement.

(Oddly enough, although Dean will insult people casually calling them douche, etc, when he’s pressed and angry and aggressive, his insults toward people don’t become vitriolic diatribes. Threats are more common, typically without an upscale in cursing, and so is being pithy to get them mad and distracted.)

Questions, Answers, and Emotions

Okay so one thing I have to address: I kind of setup a strawman in the opening about sentence length. Because sure, Dean uses a lot of shorter and more declarative sentences. But he’s a person, which means that the bulk of his speech is just speech. While all else being equal, he uses more shorter, i-statements, and more commanding language than others, he also has conversations. He’s got a great sense of humour and a bit of an acid tongue, even under pressure, so if you’re not writing him with some some glibness or humour (even when it comes out biting, frustrated or falls completely flat) you’re probably missing something.

And often, he expresses himself in questions. This humour and glibness can come out like: "What are you, the Dog Whisperer now?" in a less strained situation, or it can come out to try to keep his feels under wraps while seeking insight:

Of course it’s not all questions. Sometimes his glibness, including for his own life, comes out in the form of answers:

He’s being serious but totally glib about life and death, having accepted his fate. (Dean accepting his own mortality is kind of also a must, especially post S1 finale).

And sometimes he expresses pain and feeling as questions without any glibness at all:

So to be clear, don’t write him as only ever using short i-declarations. Pepper those in, but remember that if he’s expressing an emotion or a vulnerability (even if he’s covering it with glibness), he’ll be using this roundabout way with questions or with indirect answers that don’t directly state his feelings but still manage to convey what he’s thinking.

Pleading

One more thing I want to touch on in this section: there are (probably surprising to some who aren’t looking) a lot of notes of supplication when he’s talking to others and feeling vulnerable. It’s very easy to think of Dean as someone who’ll never ask, never beg or plead. Because that’s what he wants you to think, because he’s the cool, in charge Han Solo type.

But Dean does ask. He pleads. He pleads to God/Chuck, he pleads to his father, to Sam, to Cass. A major difference between he and Sam is actually the situations in which they’re likely to say “please”. Sam’s likely to use it as a first response (and therefore says it waaaay more) but absolutely refuse to under duress. Dean will never ever use it as a first response, but will fall back and resort to it in the end. We could unpack what that means about their psyche, but we’re here for language.

Not too surprisingly, I’m having a hard time getting the gif search to grant me specific gifs of Dean saying ‘please’, but I can recall some instances. S1 finale, when Azazel is possessing John. First he starts with quips and pissing Azazel off, and then it’s “Don’t you let him hurt me!” and then when that fails, he begs his father to help him.

He pleads in S1 for Sam not to leave, because Sam is all he has left. He pleads with an angelic APB at the opening of S9 for an angel to save Sam. He tells Cass he needs him when Cass his pulverizing his face. “Please, he’s my brother”. Is that what he says to Lilith? Or was the ‘please’ implied there?

Here, instead of single gifs, you should get the full experience of the duress under which Dean will say please:

To God

To his dad

To his dad again

To Bobby

To Sam in an alternate timeline

And when he wants to be left alone the same thing occurs:

To his mother

To Sam

You get the idea. He doesn’t always say please. Sometimes it’s notes of supplication in his voice and sometimes it’s a somewhat desperate “c’mon man” when he doesn’t want to have to ask but he’s at the end of his rope.

(Okay final characterization note for this section - I also think Dean is probably useless against someone who looks up at him with wide sad eyes and says ‘please’ to him. I suspect part of why it’s his final defense is because he himself would be defenseless to that kind of plea from others, because he was hardwired from a young age to look after his infant little brother, and that involves a certain amount of responding to pleading and helplessness).

Pop Culture References

Dean uses a lot of highly referential language. He refers to bands and musicians, films, pop culture, current events and modern history, etc. Despite him not being overly tapped into social media (e.g., not knowing what myspace is in early seasons, among other things), it’s equally clear that he’s tapped into film, TV, music - any means through which he can consume content. This makes sense given how much driving time and downtime his life must have, with time in motels and between jobs to watch and rewatch the same media. Try to pepper in these sorts of references in as ways for Dean to describe what’s going on and relate new experiences to what makes sense to him.

If you’re a non-American writing him, or a very young American, it doesn’t hurt to brush up on music and media that were popular from the 80s and 90s, which will make up the core of Dean’s formative years and therefore references. There’s also evidence he knows a lot of pop culture history though so don’t hesitate to make references to films etc from any decade of the 20th century. He’s also a bit of a sci-fi nerd and we know he reads (including Vonnegut) so literary references are perfectly in order. I would shy away from references to historical fiction, Shakespeare, and instead keep it to genres we know he consumes (including cartoons!).

"You were wasted by a Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel?"

(ps - seriously just look at this post - we’ve got scooby doo and blues brothers and batman and I wasn’t even trying to find pop culture references when I gif searched).

Deeper Emotional Conversations

While I mentioned above that he uses questions and answers to roundabout discuss his feelings, not all chick flick moments can be handled in that manner, and many can’t be handled with glibness at all.

For Dean, directly addressing his deeper negative emotions is difficult, and thus becomes a pained pronouncement. The nuance tends to come through in his face and nonverbal cues so focus on those, but linguistic choices are pretty important here. And this is where directly naming his emotions comes in. Unlike that question/answer section above where his thoughts and feelings are conveyed without directly naming his sentiment, sometimes he is called upon to express his feelings more specifically.

Because let’s be honest, he’s got his A Single Man Tear(TM) and he’s got deep, painful feelings, but he sucks at talking about them.

Let’s create an example that isn’t something that specifically happened in canon, but easily could. So - let’s say that Dean might need to say he’s scared of losing Sam. That would come after some pained discussion and Dean will act like he’s having his teeth pulled, but he will say it. And when he does, it’s either an angry proclamation (”you want me to say it? fine! i’m scared, sam - i’m scared as hell that one day i’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.”) or he cracks himself open completely exposed and vulnerable, and all the air rushes from the room when you see it because his eyes are shining and it’s visceral and real and been sitting right below the surface, suffocated until this moment (”i’m scared, sam,” a crack in his voice, an inhale of breath, and he looks a second from losing it. but it’s dean so he won’t, he’ll hold on by the skin of his teeth with his heart spilling out of his mouth, red with the blood of his own truths. “i’m terrified of losing you.”).

There’s very little in between. There’s almost never any emotionally removed or more clinical discussion of his feelings like you might get with Sam. (”you want me to say i’m scared? of course i’m scared. i’m terrified, dean, but that’s not the point here. the point is -”). Because Dean struggles to accept and avow his painful internal emotional landscape, he struggles to discuss it in a way that’s removed, so it becomes very intense when he does.

What this also means for writing emotional dialogue is that although Dean does not lack insight into his emotions, where they come from, and why he’s feeling the way he is, he’ll very seldom provide you an in depth explanation. This may make him seem less emotionally mature, but really what’s happening is a struggle to put those feelings into words. Discussion of anxiety, insecurity, and trauma are put into boxes he can more easily communicate - fear, anger, violence. Less “I overreacted because I was scared of losing you” and more “I’m fucking terrified of losing you. And yeah, it pisses me off.” Dean doesn’t tend to use explanatory statements (”because”), he tends to present emotions and even concepts outside of emotional discussions as separate statements, and it becomes your job to then connect those statements (as the one he’s talking to, and as the audience).

Like I said near the start, Dean also uses longer sentences when having serious conversations. “As long as I’m around, nothing bad’s gonna happen to you.” Note the first half of that sentence acting as a qualifier (implying something bad could happen, but not when Dean is around, creating the condition upon which the whole sentence and sentiment hangs).

Less Declarative Expression

Dean expresses negative emotions like disappointment and frustration as well, but unlike his more intense/extreme negative emotions (terror, fear of abandonment, deep anger) he very seldom will declare those emotions. While he might use question and answer format, he might also control the conversation with a straightforward expression that saves him from having to say what he’s feeling while still getting it across.

For example, "Well that's great, because without your power, you're basically just a baby in a trench coat." Instead of saying he’s frustrated, he says something that gets to the point of what he’s mad about without saying he’s mad. (This is especially true when what he’s mad about is the situation. Because while these statements are about people, on the balance of things, they’re not really directed at them. Because often he’s frustrated because of something they can’t solve and he knows that).

He’s also liable to not-declare-but-express pent up feelings he’s not ready to unpack in the same manner:

He’s obviously stressed and angry, but he doesn’t want to have to avow that anger and unpack all of where it’s coming from. It’s not the feeling of the emotion he dislikes so much as it is the examination of the underpinning reasons for it, because the dredge it up and unpack it is more painful than to let himself to continue to feel it at this low consistent level while he processes.

Outliers and End Notes

No post can fully capture and analyze 15 years of dialogue. There’s probably a million important elements to Dean’s speech that I missed. I think I want to emphasize a few things before we part.

First - if you really want to write Dean, make sure you write him as charismatic. He uses humor, charm, deflection, questions, commands, and confidence all to control conversations and he does it seamlessly. Despite his rakish nature, he seldom if ever seems to offend people (unless he’s deliberately trying to piss them off) and you should take that into consideration when writing him.

Keeping him fully in character will therefore involve a sort of fluidity about his speech, and those references. He is personable and exceptionally confident. He does not tend to hesitate or apologize (except in a flippant, superficial way, or in very strained emotional conversations and then only to those he loves deeply). His volume and tone are probably as or more important than his words, so consider when he’s saying something with a purr vs. with a snarl vs. shouting vs. having his voice crack into a whisper. He’s incredibly expressive with his face, but not overly gesticular with his hands (though he does gesture, just not in a way that stands out a great deal).

If you want or need him to give some type of confession in what you’re writing, you pretty much have two options. Either expressing his emotions in ways I’ve described here, or giving it the good ol’ S12 monologue where he bares his soul (when he’s inside Mary’s head). That should be reserved only for very extreme circumstances though - circumstances like saving his mother from brainwashing, discussing his hell trauma, or declaring that there’s nothing on heaven or earth he’d put before his little brother. Because in general long speeches aren’t his style.

And if you can, give some thought to what season you’re writing in. Is he still calling everyone and everything douch-y? Is he in the later seasons and more capable of unpacking his emotions directly? Is he in the early seasons where he’s trying to be Han Solo and too damn cool and smooth about everything, even his impending death?

At the end of the day - Dean is a wonderful, complex character and I hope this analysis helps some writers understanding his speech and character better!

#dean winchester #dean meta #spn meta #supernatural meta #supernatural #speech patterns #speech analysis #long post #long post for ts #i don't wanna put it under a cut because no one ever looks at these when i do #also for those who don't know i used to do these for flash characters on my side blog #but have requests now for branching out #i am not a linguist #i just like studying characters and trying to write their dialogue #this post is 4200 words and my goal was under 5k so i win #not-entirely-crazy-just-a-little

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psychopersonified · 5 years ago

Text

Tale of the second drawer...

Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".

I'll post little snippets of their 'not dating' days in this series. Little events that draw them together and the intimacy they share in plain sight.

--------

Q pokes at the plaster with his undamaged hand, tracing the outlines of what must be an impressive blister underneath. “Owww... With luck, I might end up with a wicked scar. Makes for an interesting conversation starter.”

Bond smiles indulgently at his exaggeration then lobs a half-hearted line at him, “Would you like me to kiss it better?” His calloused thumbs running back and forth lightly over the open palm.

Q can’t help but laugh at that,......

----------------------------------------------------

Agent 006

“Yes I know, our appointment was 2 hours ago. Sorry Q, M had me in his office for 2 more hours than expected,” Trevelyan apologises when he reports to Q.

Q looks up from the textbook he is consulting with and peers over his glasses at him. The text is a mass of hexagonal scribbles and lines that 006 recognises as chemistry symbols. There are handwritten notes in the margins and liberal application of highlighter all over the page.

“Ah 006, no worries. Your kit is waiting for you on the table,” Q gestures to the workbench behind 006 where a brushed aluminium case sits. Inside are what looks like a dozen silver pens.

“Deposit them around the areas of interest and it will detect any wireless enabled equipment within its radius. This will allow us to find the weakest link and likeliest backdoor where we can tunnel in with. As you can imagine, it only has a limited battery life, so you’ll need to be strategic about using them and coordinate with us for the timing—...”

Alec tries to listen carefully to the instructions, but his stomach objects to being ignored any longer and makes its displeasure known - loudly. The meeting with M ate (pun intended) into his lunch hour.

Q pauses going over the instructions. Trevelyan gives him a thin lipped smile hiding his embarrassment.

“...Hungry? There are some snacks in the second drawer.” Q motions to his desk with a tilt of his head.

“Ta!..” 006 all but skips to the desk. There is a selection of protein snacks and Alec rummages through the drawer to find a variety he likes. As he shuffles through the drawer, the other contents piques his interest. He peeks at Q who is still preoccupied with repacking his kit.

006 takes the opportunity to investigate:

a pair of solid gold cufflinks - judging by the weight

aviator sunglasses - non prescription, not Q’s

an Aston Martin car key fob with a separate key attached to it - the key does not correspond to the car, its for a door or a lock.

a neatly folded tie, heavy silk, designer label - not Q’s usual style

Curiouser and curiouser. Finally, an employee ID badge - he flips it over, a very familiar face is printed on the ID. James Bond.

Alec smiles -confirmation-. 006 sees it for what it is. But it is odd that the Quartermaster tolerates such territorial behaviour - unless a) the feeling is mutual or b) he’s not aware of it, which is more likely. He wouldn’t have let Alec rummage through his drawer otherwise. Oh James, you poor smitten sod.

“Anything to your liking 006?” Q catches him smiling.

Alec grabs a random protein snack, rips it open and takes a huge bite of the bar. “Oh…mmm….” he chews around his words, “—thank you.” He holds up the bar in thanks.

When Q turns back around, 006 thinks this is the perfect opportunity to screw with 007... but how? How do you piss off a possessive territorial lion? ...By planting blatant evidence of intrusion of course!

Alec checks himself, his tie-pin - gold and crusted with small diamonds. Much too gaudy for 007’s tastes. It’s the perfect juxtaposition. He unclips it and drops it into the drawer.

When he leaves Q-Branch, he’s feeling particularly wicked. Its ingrained in him, to look for and act on opportunities when it presents itself. The others would expect no less of him. He pulls out his phone to text 003 with his discovery.

Agent 003

Two weeks later, 003 returns from her mission seducing the son of a manufacturing tycoon in South East Asia, with links to human traffickers luring workers into modern slavery that span the region from Philippines to India.

She stops by Q’s desk to return her kit consisting mostly of trackers and hidden video cameras. They all served their purpose but one of them had an issue with the sound quality. She recalls the text 006 sent her weeks earlier so before leaving, she contrives feeling hungry.

“Q, you don’t happen to have something to munch on do you? I’m feeling… peckish.”

Q is pre-occupied, checking over the piece of equipment with a macroscope to understand what went wrong. “Oh, second drawer. Help yourself to whatever.”

Perfect. She goes to his desk to retrieve a snack. She only needs to remove the first packet and she has to stifle a laugh.

She spots 006’s panther shaped Cartier tie pin, next to it is 005’s Tiffany tanzanite and platinum drop earrings along with 002’s Bvlgari gold and onyx signet ring. Finally under all of it is 008’s Hermes silk pocket square.

Shoved further into the back of the drawer are the items that Alec told her about, those that belong to 007. The ID badge pushed right to the back facing down - you’d be hard pressed to notice it if you didn’t know it was there.

She had heard that 007 won’t back from Venezuela till Friday, so she’s just in time to add her calling card. She shifts around the snack packets to burry 007’s things and then drops in a stick of Chanel No5 lipstick in its signature flaming red tube - 007 will not be able to miss that.

----—

Quartermaster

Last 36 hours had been exhausting. Q had altogether probably 3 hours of sleep in that period. And he needs a shower. The cats are alright, he just checked the cameras - Q has an automated feeder set up for emergencies like this.

Q had spent the better part of the time hacking into system after system covering tracks, laying traps, planning infiltration and escape routes; all culminating in last night’s tense Ops trying to save 009 from premature death when his cover was blown by a double crossing informant. It was over now, with 009 safely extracted by their allies and on his way back to England with miraculously minor injuries all things considered.

So yes, his hand eye coordination is shot. His fingers slip on his mug handle and liquid sloshes over the top, splashing over his shirt and onto his desk. Q uses his tie to quickly mop up the spilled tea before it spreads onto the paper schematic open on his desk.

He takes the mess to the pantry sink to cleanup. The wet spot on his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Its a good thing he’d removed his cardigan earlier. He can hide the stain on his shirt under it.

As he’s attempting to remove the stain and dry his shirt as much as possible he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out - its a text from Eve:

:: Where are you?? Meeting’s started ::

What meeting? Q tries to recall. He checks his calendar app. Shit! 2:00 pm Joint Executive Oversight meeting. He checks the time. 2:15pm!

He abandons the mug and tie next to the sink. No time to wash it now.

Q rushes back to his office to put on his cardigan. The cardigan doesn’t hide the topmost stain - a tie would do the trick. Also god forbid he walks into the meeting dressed so causally. They would think the young Quartermaster was starting a mutiny.

There must be a spare tie in his desk somewhere - Q thinks as he rummages through his drawers. He’s about to ask Nish to borrow his tie when his hand brushes fabric under the stash of snacks and protein bars. He fishes it out - a tie! Yes! He loops it around his neck and starts to tie it - the knot is uneven, but he has no time to worry about it now.

He grabs his laptop and rushes out the door - informing Nish about the meeting and the mess he left next to the pantry sink. He’ll clean it up later.

In the lift on the way up, as he adjusts the hastily knotted tie - he tries to remember when was it that he purchased an accessory this fancy.

——

After meeting. He tries to get back to being productive to make himself feel better. What an ordeal; he had to face-off with Timothy Hayden (IT-Branch HOD) in the meeting - no surprise there. Normally he’d be fine to hold his own. But today, suffering from sleep depravation and a wardrobe mishap meant that he was uncharacteristically flustered, which Hayden took advantage of.

His stained and slightly damp shirt front was passably hidden behind the cardigan and tie, but it still made him self-conscious. What was more, Tanner and Eve kept looking at him oddly. The navy replacement tie looked dark enough in warm light, but when it caught the harsher fluorescent light, it had a slight iridescence to it that clashed with his mustard cardigan - it clearly wasn’t his style nor his tie.

Q fires up the soldering iron. He plans to finish the circuit board for the prototype controller that will be used in a portable drone. Once he confirms it works, he’ll have the schematics sent to a manufacturer to have it miniaturised. He could at least get this bit done today.

Twenty minutes into the ‘zone’ and he has finished a round of soldering. He pauses to check his work against the overall drawing. It doesn’t look quite right.

What? He flips the drawing around. Argh! He grabs a fistful of his hair in frustration. It’s upside down!

He slams his hands down on the work table. The vibration causes the soldering iron resting on its holder to tip over. The weight of its power cord starts to pull it off the table.

Reflex makes him shoot out his hand to grab the iron. But instead of grabbing the handle he misjudges and grabs the tip instead. The 400’C tip burns his palm instantly.

“Ah!!” Q yelps and jolts back in pain. The pain makes him drop the iron - right into his lap.

He stands hastily to avoid the heated tip - and bangs the back of his head against the top baffle of the fume cabinet as well as upending the stool he was sitting on.

“Fuck!!” The escaped curse is something between a hiss and a yell.

His pained curses and bangs draws his minions to investigate. Nish pokes his head around the corner and asks “You alright sir?”

Nish takes in the toppled chair, the disheveled hair, and the way Q is holding on to his hand and makes the correct deduction. Who hasn’t burned themselves soldering?

“Go to medical boss. I’ll tidy this up for you.”

Q hangs his head in utter defeat and sighs heavily. “I’m done for the day I think. Thanks Nish.”

--—-

Agent 007

Bond is back at HQ. Ops had made it clear that he must hand them the USB stick with the time sensitive info he stole as soon as he gets back. They need to link together the web of supply chain involving the cocaine shipment from Venezuela-France-England before the people involved go back into hiding.

So here he is, direct delivery from Heathrow. He had handed the USB stick to R since Q wasn’t around. Then he had gone to the Quartermaster’s desk and the second drawer to retrieve a snack while he waits for Q to return. As jet-lagged as he is, he hasn’t seen the quartermaster for nearly a month and well... he wants more than just the voice to sustain him.

Something on top of the packet grabs his attention. A bright red tube of lipstick. What the...? He shifts the contents around, a gaudy diamond and gold panther tie pin?? And whose bloody pocket square is that???

He checks the lipstick label - Chanel No5… Bloody 003!

He takes stock of the other items again, they -all- look familiar. How do they even know about this drawer? Did Q just let anyone rummage though his desk? Worse, are those snacks not just for him?

And what about his things? A first he can’t find them, then he pulls the drawer all the way out, until the wheels catch on the stoppers. They’re buried under a pile of snacks and shoved all the way to the back. Everything is there, no wait - except the tie.

He slams the drawer shut with enough force to move the desk a few centimetres. Those bastards!

Bond storms out of Q-Branch. None of them better be in the building, especially Trevelyan. This whole thing reeks of his idea.

——

Quartermaster

Medical patched him up and sent him away with a box of hydrogel burn plasters. Dr Chen tells him that they stock it specially for Q-Branch. But that also means she is obligated to report the incident as a work place accident. Great, more paperwork and the irony of having the HOD become a statistic.

Q shuffles morosely back to Q-Branch - will this day end already. He figures he should have a nap before going home. At this rate he is likely to accidentally walk right into the path of a moving bus on the way home.

There is a set of old brown leather Chesterfield sofas, deliberately semi-hidden behind a rack of storage shelves on this floor of Q-Branch. A relic of the 1950s in perfect condition that they found in storage during one of their inventory audits. Q had it brought out to serve as a makeshift lounge, usually used by those working late nights or during pizza parties after CyberWar nights.

He removes his cardigan to use as a blanket and flops onto the sofa.

Hours later, he wakes up and the place is mostly dark except for the safety lighting. Most of his minions have gone home. It’s not uncommon to leave Q here alone when he’s pulling all nighters, but the last person would usually check in on him before they left. Not tonight.

Q indulges in a good stretch and sits up. His head feels better. It doesn’t feel like its swimming or floating anymore. But he is hungry.

He makes way to his desk to collect his things but stops short - startled by the sight of 007 lounging in his chair, feet propped up on the desk, a textbook on Advanced Biofuels open in his hands. He’s not wearing a suit, just a button down shirt and khakis which probably means he just got back from Caracas and hasn’t gone home yet.

“You’re back. What are you doing here?” Q asks softly. Genuine question, what is he doing sitting in a darkened Q-Branch.

“Came to drop off the usb drive. I’ve given it to R since the Quartermaster was temporarily out of commission.”

“Ah. Sorry about that — “ checks his watch and yawns. “That must have been hours ago. What are you still doing here then?”

Bond doesn’t answer. Instead he asks, “Is that my tie?” gestures to the loosened tie around his neck.

“Is it yours? I was wondering about it. I found it in my desk.” Q undos the tie and folds it back neatly before handing it over to Bond. As he does, he notices his own tie now hanging on the shade of his desk worklamp. He reaches for it.

“Leave it. It should dry by Monday.” Bond tells him.

Q opens his mouth to tell him that it needs a wash, but pauses when he catches sight of his Scrabble mug on the table under the light of the worklamp, the white porcelain gleaming pristine - he peeks inside, even the stubborn tea stains are gone. Q blinks in confusion.

Something about the way the two items are arranged prominently on his desk and the feigned nonchalance hiding a pleased look on Bond’s face that makes him wonder.

“Did you.. wash my tie and mug?” Q is having trouble putting together the image of 007 fresh from an infiltration job in Venezuela that involved drug trafficking and a traitorous national guard, then returning to England to do something so mundanely domestic in the pantry sink - by hand no less.

Bond doesn’t answer, then again Q doesn’t expect him to admit it even if he did. He just opens the second desk drawer purposefully and deposits the borrowed tie back in there.

“Are you hungry Q?” Bond asks instead. “Can I tempt you with supper?”

There it is. That odd way that Bond sometimes says ‘Q’ when they are alone. That slight change in tone - softer, less clipped and almost affectionate. He’s beginning to be able to tell Bond’s ‘Qs’ apart.

At the mention of food, Q’s stomach responds with an embarrassing gurgle. “Famished. Something hot with fast service please. I don’t know how much longer I can survive without solid food.”

Bond smiles, pivoting in the chair to put his feet down. He picks up and hands Q his messenger bag - laptop and charger already packed inside, keys and phone in their usual compartments.

Then he switches off the worklamp and picks up an unsealed brown envelope from the desk before ushering Q out of his own office. The package rustles-jingles with the sound of loose items sliding about inside.

“Advanced Biofuels.... How did you like the book?”

“The scribbles in the margins were enlightening,” Bond smiles wryly, “Was it even written in English?”

In the brighter lights of the lift lobby, Q can see his own refection in the lift doors - the washed out tea stains still visible on his shirt and his frightfully mussed hair from the nap. He thinks he should be embarrassed, but can’t bring himself to care. When he looks up, he sees Bond staring him through the reflection.

“Don’t ask—“

“I figured… the mug and tie in the pantry, and the splotch on your desk.”

“Bloody spies.” Q accuses fondly as they step into the lift. He tries to adjust his cardigan so that it hides most of the stains.

“How’s the hand?” Bond asks concerned, his warm fingers reaching out and curling around Q’s that were fussing with his cardigan. He pulls them away from their fussing and spreads them palm up so he can see for himself.

Bond smiles indulgently at his exaggeration then lobs a half-hearted line at him, “Would you like me to kiss it better?” His calloused thumb running back and forth lightly over the open palm.

Q can’t help but laugh at that, the flirting is so ingrained into their banter now that both of them recognise the ridiculousness of it. With the others, it is still a competition, a display of one up-manship - but with 007, it has shifted. Like they’ve called a truce, or simply didn’t care about the outcome anymore. Between them, the rules have changed. The fun was no longer in deciding a winner with a knockout blow, but in the simple joy of engaging in comfortable playfulness for as long as possible.

“I don’t know about the science of that; but I will give you the honour of hand feeding an invalid,” Q counters with a line of his own.

At the mention of hand feeding, Bond’s eyes go darker, pupils dilating. He doesn’t say anything, but doesn’t release Q’s hand until the lift dings on their floor which was (un)fortunately just a moment after.

On their way out to Bond’s car they stop at a security desk. Bond tips out the contents of the envelope onto her desk and leaves the empty envelope next to the items. The night guard’s eyes grow wide at the collection of expensive trinkets.

“Would you mind putting these in the Lost and Found please? Their owners are probably anxious to have them back. Thank you.” He walks back to a waiting Q with a smug smile.

—————-----------------

Note: If you liked this fic, there’s more like it on the blog. Including my take on a kidnapped Q. Enjoy!

#00Q #00q fanfiction #00q fic #q #Quartermaster

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nobleclover · 4 years ago

Text

Cuphead: Birthday Blast

A week earlier:

Cuphead and Mugman were running around the woods in their usual carefree manner flying their red and blue kite. Recently, they got it off Hilda Berg as both a little 'thank you' gift and early birthday present for saving her from the Devil's debt. For about half an hour they were racing against the wind, skipping streams and hopping through the tall grass with the kite trailing after them above.

Suddenly, just as they were about to leave a clearing, the kite took a sudden dive and got lodged within a tree. Both boys stared up at the tree in dismay, watching their kite rock up and down with the branch in the wind.

"Well, gosh darn it," groaned Mugman, "it just had to get lodged in a stupid tree branch the first time we try it out!"

"Fear not Mugsy! I'll get it down in no time!" declared Cuphead, in his usual bold manner.

He walked over to the base of the trunk, spat on his hands and prepared to climb up…only to slide back down. He looked back at Mugman with a nervous look before trying again, and again, and again.

Mugman shook his head pityingly at his brother's efforts before looking back up at the kite again. I bet I can try and get it down from there, he thought to himself. Cuphead was still trying to climb up the imposing trunk while Mugman laid his eyes on a nearby tree.

Much to his delight, this tree had a number of interconnecting branches which would surely allow him to reach the first branch of the tree that the kite was stuck in. He decided to fetch it himself to surprise Cuphead to impress him. He knew that his brother was pretty impressed with him enough from their short time as the Devil's lackeys, but the eager little mug wanted to impress him a step further.

Cuphead was now glaring up at the tree before backing up a few yards away from the trunk. He then sprinted before leaping in the air to grab onto it, despite his small arms. Unfortunately, his face landed into the hard bark, causing him to rebound and land on his back.

Instantly, the red cup cupped his face in pain and pulled away to find some blood on his gloves. He groaned in both concern and frustration at having broken his nose at trying to climb the damn tree.

"Whoa! Are you okay?!" a small voice called out from above him.

To his surprise, it was Mugman in the tree, who was now very close to the branch that snared the kite. The blue mug grimaced as he took a good long look at his brother's bloody face. He almost looked like he had been fighting again, only this time he just suffered a broken nose.

"Whut're thuh hell're you doin' up there?" Cuphead mumbled nasally.

"Getting the kite back down! I'm almost there in getting it, see?!" Mugman responded excitedly.

"Yeh, yeh, justh be careful cuhmin' duhn, okeh?"

"Yeesh, Cuphead, don't worry too much abo—"

Suddenly, just as Mugman grabbed onto the kite, the branch snapped beneath him, causing the poor boy to plummet to the ground in shock, still holding the kite. Cuphead's eyes and mouth widened in terror as his brother landed with a sickening crack on the ground.

There was an air of dead silence for twenty seconds before a shocked Cuphead ran over to his dazed brother and cried, "Mugs! Mugs?! A – are you ok—?"

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

Present time:

Since then, Mugman had been mostly confined to their home with a broken leg and right arm, as well as the most painful looking black eye ever. As for Cuphead, the only sign of injury he bore was a small cotton bandage he wore on top of his nose.

Mugman would spend the days just sitting on the couch reading, drawing with his good hand and listening to the radio. Cuphead would always make small talk with him every morning and evening, only to be gone for most of the day. He'd try to ask how Cup's day was only to have him change the subject or just respond with "Fine, fine, nothing much."

The poor mug hoped that he'd stay around that Saturday for their birthday. He'd even wondered if some of the debtors were coming over. However, he guessed that he'd be staying home while Cuphead and some of their friends would be out celebrating.

"Yeah, well, I kinda wanted to be alone," he muttered to himself, which was kind of true.

He felt a little angry at Cuphead for not hanging around with him. However, he'd also remember that guilty look in Cuphead's eyes whenever they did chat. Perhaps my injuries also remind him of our battles with all the folks on the Devil's list, he thought. With that realisation, Mugman began to feel even more gloomy.

During the times Cuphead was out, he'd often wonder what he was up to. Usually, Elder Kettle would allow them to be out until six but for three days this week, he was coming back at around eight o'clock. On Friday night that week, Cuphead came back all frustrated and cursing under his breath.

"Hey, Cups! How was – ?"

Cuphead had already slammed their bedroom door behind him, much to Mugman's surprise. Sure, he was a bit of a hothead, but he was never this angry before.

Elder Kettle sighed and said, "I'll go talk to him, son."

After 15 minutes, Elder Kettle came down and walked over to his adopted son, who looked back at him concerned.

"Is Cuphead okay?"

"He's fine, boy. He's just extremely disappointed with some plans he had for tomorrow."

"Plans?" he asked curiously.

"He made me swear not to tell you what they are, but I will tell you that he can't go through with most of them," Kettle explained.

"Why can't he go through with them then?"

"He just heard that there's some bad weather on the way around noon tomorrow. However, I have suggested that he try a different approach with what he's planning," Elder Kettle replied.

Tomorrow, on their birthday? Now, Mugman's interest was piqued. Was he planning a surprise for him or something? He decided to say nothing so that he'll see for himself.

"Okay, then. Let's hope something better turns up for him," Mugman quipped.

"Yes, let's hope so. Now come on," Elder Kettle said, taking Mugman's hand, "I'll help you get up the stairs."

"Thanks, Elder Kettle," Mugman replied.

The next morning:

Mugman stirred and took a big yawn, gently rubbing his eyes with his uninjured hand. His arm and leg had been encased in plaster since the accident and now he felt being weighed down in bed. He never thought that having a feeling of being sunk into your bed would ever be uncomfortable.

Turning his head, he noticed that Cuphead was gone, with his bedsheets all over the place. He thought about what Elder Kettle said to him yesterday, and began to wonder what he was doing today.

"WAAAAKE UUUUP!" Cuphead sang, slamming the door open.

Mugman jumped before slightly flinching in pain. He sat up as best as he could to ask his brother, "What the hell, Cuphead?! What are you –?"

"Sorry, brother!" Cuphead chuckled, "just wanted to start your birthday off with a bang!"

"Yeah, yeah, thanks. Now what –"

Before he could finish, Cuphead stuck a small object wrapped in blue paper and happily proclaimed, "Happy birthday, Mugman!"

Mugman's eyes widened as he took the present and started to tear off the paper as best he could. All he could think was, I knew it was a surprise, I KNEW IT!

Cuphead watched eagerly as his brother tore off the last shred of paper to reveal a shiny new toy car. The paint was soft blue and had glistening silver bumpers with a small key with which to operate it. The blue mug smiled widely as he examined this swell gift he received. He then reached his good arm out for a hug, which Cuphead enthusiastically returned.

"Gee, Cuphead! I really love it! Thank you so much!"

"Yeah well, I raked up a lot of money to get that car for you. So, you play with it as long as ya want," his brother replied.

Mugman smiled before asking him, "Hey, about last night…what were you mad about?"

"O – oh, that! I was kinda bummed that nobody would come around due to this bad weather and I had planned a really spectacular party for pretty much everyone to come and see," he explained.

Mugman nodded, finally understanding as to why his brother had been mad the other night. He lay back in bed and asked, "So, you just wanted a really big party for us, but didn't tell me?"

"Yeah, a – and I'm sorry I wasn't seeing you all that much but I wanted it to be a surprise," Cuphead sighed.

"It's okay! I understand now! I don't mind just celebrating our birthday with just ourselves and Elder Kettle!"

"Thanks, Mugs. Anyways, you hungry?" he asked.

Before Mugman could answer, his stomach let out a small growl, which was most certainly a yes.

"Just let me get dressed, okay?"

"Okay, just call out when you're done!" Cuphead replied, walking out of the room.

Mugman put on his clothes as best as he could, despite the huge casts on his arm and leg, before rummaging under his pillow for something. He pulled out a sketch that he drew a few months back when they successfully liberated all of Inkwell Isle. It was a coloured sketch of the two brothers grinning proudly as ever with their fists to the sky. He drew them both with a few small cracks in their heads, to remind them of how far they came to freeing all those souls. This would make a great gift for Cuphead, he thought.

He stuffed the drawing into his pocket before calling out to his brother, "Okay, Cups! I'm ready!"

Cuphead walked in beaming and told him, "Great! When we get downstairs, you're gonna love the cake, Mugs!"

"Ooohh, is it chocolate?"

"You betcha! Now let's get ya downstairs," he smiled.

For the rest of the day, the two brothers and their guardian had a nice, small, party celebrating another year in the cups' lives and enjoying each other's company. All in all, it was a really pleasant birthday that they'll surely remember.

#cuphead #cuphead don't deal with the devil #cuphead and mugman #for last year's anniversary #brotherly fluff #cup bros #cuphead is a stubborn goodhearted kid in this

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