#fast forward a year later i have this blog and i don’t like the original name anymore but i’m still uncreative so i took one look at this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

megafreak400 · 18 days ago

Text

2024 Media Thread - #31

Crash Bandicoot (N Sane Trilogy) (8/19/24) - Score - 1/10

So far this year, i’ve mostly played really good games. Last year I tackled more games on my backlog, to mix quality. This year i’ve played more new games or games on game pass so most of the games I've finished tend to be ones I’ve liked. There have been a few exceptions like the disappointment that was Ufouria 2, but overall I was starting to think I wouldn’t have any really bad games on this year's tier list. ENTER THIS FUCKING GAME! So let me give you a little bit of background. I was mostly a Nintendo kid, with a splash of Sega genesis. But my youngest brothers during the GameCube era were given a Playstation 1 at some point. So occasionally I’d check out what games they had for that and found a few I really gelled with. Jigsaw madness was a ton of fun playing against my brothers, Spyro 2 was a blast and then there was Crash Bandicoot Warped. I remember it being somewhat tough but having been a kid that preferred 2D platformers and missed them on the N64 and Gamecube, it was cool playing a game with a similar energy. Fast forward to college and while I never beat Crash Bandicoot Warped, the game stuck in my mind. At some point one of my college friends was selling some Playstation One games, and I had recently purchased a used PS2. They had a copy of Crash Bandicoot 2: Cortex strikes back. I remembered fond memories of Crash, so I bought it from them. I had thought however that 2 was the game i had played in the past. So when I looked things up in more detail and I realized it wasn’t I was slightly disappointed. I did later play Crash 4 and overall enjoyed it (though i’m never 100 percenting it), but I never got back to Crash 2 for one reason or another and so it just sat on my backlog. That is until GamePass added the N sane trilogy to game pass. I was like “ok awesome this is a good excuse to mark another game off my backlog and I also get to finally play Crash Warped again. However I didn’t just want to jump into Crash 2. I could have, and probably should have, but if I’m playing 2 of the 3 Ps1 Crash games I might as well play them all right…….HAHA… WRONG!!! I finished this game out of spite. I finished this game to write this blog post because Crash Bandicoot 1 is by far the worst game I played this year, and might be the worst game I’ve beaten in a long time. All of this mind you is multiplied by the fact that the game has 2 sequels that are basically the same thing but better. It’s like how people don’t really talk much about Sonic 1 because Sonic 2 is just better in every way while also being basically the same thing. Mega Man 1 is also talked about in this fashion. But I don’t see too many people (more than I thought though after I lambasted this game in my Discord server) hating on the first Crash game. I’m shocked this series even took off because this game is just frustrating and mocking the player at every turn.

To start with, yes I’m playing the remake. From what i’ve been told by friends the physics are the same as what they were in the original. I’ve also seen conflicting accounts online that it uses Crash 3’s physics, and then other sources say it uses Crash 2’s physics. Ultimately, i’m willing to believe some of the precision isn’t nearly as awful in the original, but on the other hand, some of the easier difficulty aspects like being given masks after so many deaths or extra checkpoints were also added which balances things out in terms of which version is worse. On top of that apparently if you wanted to get every boxes in the original you had to do every level with zero deaths. I’ll get into how awful 100 percent is for this game in a bit, but fuck that. Also the original was programmed for the D-pad, but ultimately i’m going to tell you playing the remake with a control stick is still ass so I don’t think that’s a mark against the original. Ok where to begin? Well to start with as I mentioned above the physics in this game are ass. It’s possible it’s because a different momentum system was applied to overly precise levels but even if the momentum is the same, some of the precise jumps they ask you to do in this game are insane at times. There are so many 2D levels that have several vertical jumping sections that one wrong move sends you plummeting back to the bottom. Or a few horizontal sections with multiple small platforms or enemies you need to jump on. It reminds me of DKC Tropical Freeze when you only have DK, you pretty much have to be spot on with your jumps or you’re screwed. And while the many 2D levels are annoying, the traditional Crash Style hallway levels are also to blame for my rage. Those stupid bridge levels can go jump off a cliff, they’re horrendous, asking the player to land on a tiny plank multiple times while dodging WILD HOGS. It got to the point where I said screw it, found out you could walk on the railing of the bridge, and cheated my way to victory. Don’t get me wrong precision platforming can be very fun, but it never feels rewarding here. If I fail it’s because the level is a long ass gauntlet or because of the weird perspective at points that throws you off. Or again, because if you don’t jump at the last possible moment you will fall. Add into this the fact that like most bad old game it has a lives system and a game over sends you all the way back to the start of the level, and you can see why it just gets tedious. Maybe if other aspects of the game felt rewarding I wouldn’t be too annoyed by the platforming, but no the game is the opposite of rewarding. So the big thing with Crash is that you need to smash all the boxes in a level to get a gem. Can be a fun time in theory, though more often than not they get it wrong. In Crash 4 the levels were also long slogs, with some boxes hidden in a way that if you missed one you had to do it all over again. Long levels and the box mechanic don’t really go together, and unfortunately most of Crash 1’s levels are overly long. That would be fine though, if it wasn’t for the fact that 90 percent of the time YOU CAN NOT GET ALL THE BOXES ON THE FIRST RUN OF THE LEVEL. Why? Because multiple levels lock a few boxes behind a colored gem….that you will not be able to get until a future level in most cases. This means wasting your time until you realize this, and even after if you do want to do 100 percent it means slogging through the level again. And keep in mind I didn’t have fun the first time so there was no way in hell that I was going for a 100 percent. But that’s not good enough for the game. You didn’t get all the boxes? Well shame on you, how could you be so bad at games. Because of your crimes against gaming we’re going to proceed to smash a billion boxes that you missed on your head to make it hit home how awful you are at this game. Like seriously, you couldn’t get all the boxes?

No game I couldn't because LITERALLY I NEEDED A GEM FROM A FUTURE LEVEL. This aspect of the game just infuriates me because I hate it when games feel the need to mock the player. 100 percent doesn't even feel that important in the game, so making a big deal out of it just rubs me the wrong way here. The box crashing animation is so bad, in Japan it was taken out because it was making kids cry. So ok the levels are mostly unfun slogs, 100 percent is a fool's quest, what about the bosses? Surely the bosses are a good time? Ha…Ha..ha, what do you think? The first boss is easy enough, but the second boss requires you to jump over small platforms above water to hit TNT boxes that will hopefully be timed to explode when a deranged kangaroo is jumping by to damage him. Sounds easy enough, but instead of flowing constantly through the water, the TNT boxes stop at each platform for a bit. When you stomp on them they stop moving for good so that they can explode, but while in theory the waiting is good to allow people an easier time to jump on them…they just take forever. So it causes this battle to drag. On top of that, small platforms and Crash 1 = precision jumping meaning I died a lot. Ripper roo sucks, and it’s hilarious because his battle in 2 is a joke, but here it made me want to pull my hair out. Most of the other bosses aren’t as bad but they all have elements of just…taking forever. Koala Kong is easy enough but he just takes so long to do anything. Other bosses like the weird gangster rat and N Brio aren’t horrible but also aren’t really fun either. Ultimately just get rid of the bosses, you already have stupid long levels we don’t need the bosses dragging this game out any longer. Other negatives are the overuse of really bland locals, like dank tombs, dank castles and dumb bridges. I will say the Levels in Cortex’s lab are generally ok, feeling more like something you’d see in crash 2 with less precision, but overall most of the levels just felt like they were wasting my time. Music is whatever, it’s fine but for having to re do these levels over and over could you give me something catchy to listen to? Crash himself is ugly, but at least the remake let’s me play as Coco instead, and she functions basically identical to Crash himself.

I honestly don’t know how this series got popular. Maybe it was the novelty of the more 3D style levels but if you want precision platforming there are much better games. Crash is at it’s best when your collecting stuff in short levels and trying to do the levels fast (something Crash Warped would be perfect) and none of that exists here. Could I have 100 percented this game? Sure but why if i’m not enjoying myself? I never felt rewarded finishing a level here, I just felt relieved it was over. Anything good Crash 1 does is just done better in the later Crash game or is done better by a different platformer. If you like Crash 1, more power to you, but to me it’s going straight in the trash.

#2024 media thread

2 notes · View notes

miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 9 months ago

Text

falling into the abyss

pairing: jean viquemare x judit minot (disco elysium)

tags: smut, p in v, infidelity, addiction, judit pov

summary: character study of judit during harry's time in martinaise, her relationship w/jean, her role as a mother, wife, cop, etc.

a/n: i know this is supposed to be an RE blog mostly, but this is a fic i originally posted on ao3 (the first fic i posted there, hence the DE-themed name) and i like the way it turned out so i figure i'll post it here anyway

wc: 4.9k

When Harry told Jean and Judit to “fuck off”, they did. Judit wanted to stay, wanted to try, and believed she really could help him, but even her patience was wearing thin. Jean was already storming out the door of the Whirling in Rags, making an equal ruckus downstairs to the one Harry was making upstairs. The thing is though, Jean might regret his actions later, but Harry won’t remember his. He was wasted again - the only time he isn’t is when he’s too hungover to reach the bottle or when he’s got enough speed in him to cope with whatever the hell is going on in his mind.

Since Judit became a mother, about 5 years prior, she gathered more and more children. Sure, she only chose to have two of her own, but she ended up being some sort of maternal figure to most of precinct 41.

“Mother” should be in her job description.

Judit didn’t leave with the same “no, fuck you!” that Jean did. Instead, she gave Harry a look of pity and dejection and left without a word.

She caught up with Jean outside. He was waiting for her by the kineema, stomping out a cigarette and lighting another. His hands were shaking as he cupped the lighter.

“Your hands are chapped,” Judit nodded to Jean, “you should start using lotion-”

“I know you think you’re being helpful, Officer Minot,” Jean didn’t bother to finish his sentence. Calling Judit “Officer Minot” was enough to tell her how he felt.

Hurt - but she already knew that. Pain emanated from him. And the dismal air of Martinaise - the gloomiest place in Insulinde - weighed on them like dead bodies.

Like the body hanging from the tree out in the yard. Judit could almost see it from here. There was a boy, red-haired, in ratty clothing, throwing rocks at it. His voice was shrill, but she couldn’t discern his words. The thought of how children lived here, desensitized enough to throw rocks at a deadman, made her want to cry.

Jean drove fast back to Jamrock and Judit held onto her seat, silently allowing him to take out his anger on the both of them. If she said anything, he would yell, and still drive recklessly.

They would die in the kineema and a child would throw rocks at their bodies.

Judit cried silently. About not one thing, but everything.

Jean caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye, and turned to her when they reached a stop light, with an unsympathetic glare, he said, “Don’t waste your energy crying over that pathetic sack of shit.”

“You don’t understand,” Judit whispered through sniffles.

“I don’t understand?” Jean slammed on the brakes, causing both of their bodies to jerk forward. “What do you mean, Judit? I’ve been dealing with this shit for a hell of a lot longer than you have, so don’t tell me I don’t understand.”

Judit cried harder but covered her mouth this time, so Jean wouldn’t be bothered by the sound of her sobs. He pretended not to notice and only huffed in response. They didn’t speak a word to each other for the rest of the day, not even back at the precinct.

The lowest point of the day was the end of Judit’s shift, when she decided to call her husband to come pick her up. She feared she might crash her car if she drove by herself. For once, he was more sympathetic than Jean, and the confusion she felt was not comforting, it was unnerving.

Judit’s husband wasn’t good at listening or consoling her anyway. At first, kissing him felt good, warm, and sweet. Judit almost forgot his motive was purely sexual. Until his hands were groping her ass. She had an excuse to push him away today - “I’m tired. Things did not go well in Martinaise.”

Sometimes Judit was jealous of her children, who got to sleep in their own beds. She didn't mind the nights when her husband stayed out late, leaving her to cook dinner, wash the dishes, and put the kids to bed - she was the one to do those things anyway. When Judit's husband went out, he would come home late and sleep on the couch so he wouldn't disturb her. Was it because he loved her or because he didn't want to risk waking her, wasting what little energy she had, knowing all of her time and effort spent outside of work was for the family, for the home, for him? It felt like he owned her, even if no one had intended for it to be that way. Judit was slowly suffocating.

The nights her husband didn't go out, he would try to seduce her, and he would sigh and roll over when she inevitably rejected him. Judit taught herself the art of pretending to be asleep years ago. He never tried to fuck her when he thought she was sleeping, but even if he did, she would mind it less than if she had to acknowledge him and pretend to enjoy it; it would take more energy to fake an orgasm than it would to just lie there.

That night, He let her sleep - after she tucked the boys in, of course. It wasn’t his fault that they needed her comfort. She was the one they were used to, so her familiarity aside from her gentleness made her presence soothing.

Judit used to feel like that about Jean. He was the opposite of her husband - Jean was a lonely mess, hiding behind bitter sarcasm. Judit could not imagine Jean going out with friends or being married. He struggled to get along with most people because he wasn't particularly "likable", though Judit liked him quite a lot. The only person who liked Jean more than Judit was Harry. But Harry loved with a twisted sort of love - it was passionate, but cruel, making Harry even harder to get along with than Jean. They bickered constantly, and when either of them was drunk - and Harry was drunk more often than not - the bickering became fighting, yelling, and giving each other black eyes. Judit would have to break them up and tend to their wounds separately, while each of them apologized for making a scene or getting blood on the carpet. They were the only two people in all of Revachol who were sadder and more fucked-up than Judit.

Jean listened to her complain about her husband and didn’t give input - because he knew she didn’t want any, he let her bum cigarettes off him because she ‘quit’ when she was pregnant with her first son, and most of all, he was there every day. Jean didn’t leave.

He was the only one who she wanted, but she wanted yesterday’s Jean, or maybe last week’s Jean, but not him today. His behavior was a stain on his image in her mind that she tried to bleach clean with sleep.

The last time she bleached her bedsheets, trying to get out period blood stains, the bleach left a white stain in lieu of the red one, still reminding her how awfully hard it is to be not only a woman but also a mother. She bled from a gunshot wound once on duty, and once a month from her uterus. The blood from the gunshot wound did not stain her sheets. She had almost forgotten about it. Because of Jean. He was there when she got shot. He saved her.

Now Jean was asleep alone somewhere else in Jamrock and that was probably better than sleeping alone, but with someone else in the bed, which was how Judit slept - alone, but with her husband beside her.

Judit called out sick the next day. She felt sick. It wasn’t a lie. Harry’s words “I don’t want to get better. I want to get worse” would not leave her alone.

She was about to cave and call Jean when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Jude…” It was him.

Judit was pretty sure that Jean liked her more than he liked Harry, and that's why he spent less time with her. Because he wanted to burden her less. If Judit was being honest, she would rather take on his grief than her own, but there was no way to say that out loud.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s fine. You were just hurt.” She filled in the blanks for him.

“No, I’m really sorry. I’m not just saying it.” Jean’s voice crackled more than usual through the telephone.

“It’s fine, Jean, really.”

“You’re not at work, so it’s not fine, Judit, I know you.”

“Just-”

“What will make you feel better? C-Wing is practically falling apart without you.”

Yeah, Harry’s probably dead by now. His body is on the floor of the Whirling in Rags where we left him.

What Jean meant was “I need you” and he wasn’t trying very hard to mask it.

Judit shouldn’t have given in to him so easily. She was being a good friend because that’s who she is, but she still needed Jean to know that he was on her shit list. She agreed to have lunch with him. It felt wrong to appear at the office after calling in sick.

Nothing made sense about the RCM. Judit was the most mature and equally capable as anyone else, but Jean, who had a meltdown the day before, was her boss, and Harry, who was a walking disaster, was his boss.

Judit realized then, that one day she would become just like them - Harry dragged Jean down into his own abyss, and one day Jean would take Judit with them. She cared way too fucking much. She was staring into the abyss already. It was too late.

She met Jean on the roof which is where he went for his smoke breaks. It was chilly and had the unsightly view of factories blowing smoke across the way and local drunks stumbling through the streets below.

And the aerostatic coalition - if it wasn’t a myth to scare them into submission - was up above, watching Revachol disintegrate.

Sometimes Judit stuck a middle finger in the air as a test to see if the Moralintern was really watching her.

“Jean?” Judit found Jean on the other side of the roof.

“Jude.” He gave her a nod of acknowledgment along with a cigarette, which she accepted.

Jean lit her cigarette like the gentleman he wasn't. He tried to be good, but it just wasn’t in his nature. He was too cold, too cynical.

They breathed in the smog of Jamrock in amicable silence. This was their way of making up.

Back in Martinaise, Harry was fumbling with a gun he’d later lose - and he’d embarrass himself on the phone admitting it to Pidieu. According to the bill the RCM would later receive, Harry caused a year’s salary worth of damage to the Whirling.

Harry was Lieutenant Double-Yfreiter. And Jean hated that. Rightfully, so. Even Judit was beginning to get angry for him.

“If he wants the title so badly, then he should have to work for it."

“He’ll kill himself before he takes on that amount of responsibility.”

“He might really kill himself, Jean.” Judit turned to meet his eyes, speaking softly.

“I know.”

Jean acted as if this was to be expected as if this was normal behavior for anyone, and Judit realized that she was wrong yesterday - she did not understand. Not at all. Not anything about Harry, or Jean, sometimes by extension.

Judit heard a gunshot and she prayed to Dolores Dei, the Moralintern, the ghost of Kraz Mazov, and whoever else could help her that it wasn’t Harry’s gun.

When Harry called from Kim Kitsuragi's kineema, she was relieved, but Jean was not. It would be easier for Jean if Harry was dead - not because he didn't love Harry, but because he did.

One day, they would probably all die from gunshot wounds while they were on duty - would that be an easier reality for Jean too?. She never allowed herself to get drunk enough to speak these morbid thoughts. The entire RCM couldn't be drunk all at once; someone had to be there to take care of everyone else, and that person was naturally, Judit.

Putting everyone above yourself, sacrificing your sanity, and taking care of helpless humans was motherhood - motherhood was what she was made for, right?

"I can't believe this shit," Jean said when Harry hung up the phone.

I can, she thought. Didn't we all see this coming?

"We'll figure something out, Jean."

"What, Judit? What will we 'figure out'? This is a mess you can't fix."

"We have to try."

It's not like Judit wanted to go fetch Harry either, but it had to be done. They assumed he'd be back by now, on his knees, begging for their forgiveness - and they would forgive him, even though he'd probably do it all again - but he was still in Martinaise. Or if he wasn't, he was dead. He was either in the Whirling in Rags, figuring out who killed the man, whose body hung from the tree in the yard, or he was lying in his apartment alone, dead.

Judit watched Jean's jaw clench and his hands grip the steering wheel of the kinema so hard his knuckles were white. He was thinking about it, too - what she had said to everyone in C-Wing, which was really just Jean and Trant Heidlestam at this point.

"I went to check on Harry," Judit said slowly, approaching the way one does a cage of hungry tigers.

"And?" Jean snapped his head around.

"He's not there."

"Where is he?" Trant asked, even though everyone knew he was one of two places: Martinaise or wherever people go after they die.

"Martinaise, I suppose."

"Fucking great," Jean muttered, turning back to whatever less important task he was in the midst of completing.

"Is there a possibility that he could be anywhere else?"

"I don't know." Judit watched Jean, as she answered Trant, hoping he would feel her eyes and turn around. "When I went to knock on his door, I noticed the unopened mail that was halfway pushed under the front door."

"Atypical behavior for Harry," Trant said.

It was probably all bills anyway. Harry would've opened them, even if he wouldn't pay them, he would open them out of curiosity. And that's how they ended up back in Martinaise, solving the mystery of "Lunatic Cop Goes off the Rails Again", as Jean had called it.

It was nearly impossible to find a place to stay in Martinaise, which only made Jean more irritable. Jean made no effort to hide his frustration and Judit had to start apologizing for his behavior to strangers whom they petitioned for a place to stay. Jean and Judit decided to loiter in the Whirling and Rags during the day to observe Harry, and stay slightly outside the city, rather than sleep in an abandoned apartment or a trash compactor. No one had enough money, time, or motivation to rebuild any of the dilapidated buildings. Everyone was either too poor to do anything, too rich to care, or buried six feet under. There were probably bodies of communists, fascists, and unfortunate Revacholians who died in a revolution that happened before Judit was born buried beneath their feet. The fighting never truly ended, even after the last soldiers surrendered. The air of Martinaise was still foggy with gunsmoke and there was a dead mercenary hanging from a tree outside the Whirling. Jean and Judit were desensitized to the decay of the human form. Half the population of Jamrock walked to work hungover, dead-eyed, dragging their weak bodies through the pothole-filled streets.

They stayed at a different hostel that was indistinguishable from what the Whirling must've looked like before Harry had torn it apart. He was the embodiment of destruction - even his body and mind ate away at themselves. All of Jamrock, along with Martinaise, watched it in real-time.

When Jean and Judit got to their hostel room, Jean paced back and forth while Judit flopped back onto one of the two twin beds. Jean's pacing was her last straw. She snapped at him, "Stop it!"

Judit never yelled - that was Jean's job. She played good cop and he played bad cop. When Judit raised her voice, Jean jumped. He looked at her in disbelief, thinking the sound must've come from someone else. She wanted to yell at him in the way she wanted to yell at her husband but never did. Worse, she wanted to fuck him in the way she never wanted to fuck her husband - passionately, with her eyes open, with the lights on.

The two of them engaged in a staring contest, sizing each other up. Or were they giving each other the once-over? Anger and passion, pain and love - they were all the same for Jean and Judit anyway.

Jean gave in and sat down beside Judit, filling the other half of the child-size bed with his lanky body. They leaned closer to each other - it felt involuntary, like there was a molecular force, pulling them together. Judit kissed Jean because she knew he wouldn't kiss her. Though he had little self-respect, he had a lot for Judit and for her failing marriage.

In an ideal world, Judit would not be cheating on her husband. But in the city of Jamrock in the year '51, divorce was expensive, and she lived on a patrol officer's salary. Their love had died years ago, slowly, like wax melting from a candle until there was nothing left to hold up the flame. They had been together too long and their house was too small. So, there she was in bed with Jean.

Once she leaned in, he took her face in his hands and kissed her harder, his teeth tugging at her bottom lip. Jean, with an unsurprisingly low amount of effort, was able to flip Judit onto her back so that he was on top of her.

Did he want to punish her for yelling at him, as her superior, or did he want to reward her?

Jean held Judit's wrists and pinned her arms above her head. They locked eyes and shared an unspeakable thought, we'll deal with the consequences later.Jean leaned in to kiss Judit before either of them had a chance to argue. While he kissed her neck, he unbuttoned her jacket. Then, he sat up to take off his own, allowing her to lift herself off the bed to do the same. She admired him for a millisecond before reaching up and pulling him back towards her by his tie. When Jean broke the kiss, the look in his eyes was brighter and his lips were upturned - it was similar to the look he'd give her when he made a breakthrough in a case. He removed his tie and grabbed both of Judit's wrists again. He pinned them above her head once again but tied them together this time so that she couldn't move them.

"There are handcuffs on your belt," she said.

"I was being nice," he said, "If you continue to talk back, you'll end up in those instead."

They both struggled not to smile. "Yes, sir," she nodded, playing along with his game. If she thought insubordination would land her in handcuffs, she would've tried it a long time ago.

Jean took off Judit's identical tie - the RCM gave men and women the same uniforms so that they could look equally unfashionable. He wasted no time unbuttoning his white dress shirt. It was good that Judit was restrained because she had the urge to rip it off him. Instead, she lay there below him, admiring his toned physique. He carefully unbuttoned her shirt like he was opening a present and trying to save the wrapping paper. She wore a boring beige bra, not expecting to be in this situation when she woke up this morning.

Jean still looked happy with the sight. He ran his fingers down the sides of her waist, making her shiver at the touch of his cold hands. Jean skillfully reached around her back and unclasped her bra. Judit was about to compliment him when they both had the simultaneous realization that Jean could not remove her bra without sliding the straps off her arms, which were currently tied up.

"You're an idiot," she laughed.

"Alright, you're getting the handcuffs," he said as he untied her.

"Really? You think that'll stop me from laughing?"

Jean was transfixed by her bare chest and was no longer listening to her.

Before having children, her breasts were perky and perfectly round, but now they sagged and the right one was slightly bigger than the left. Judit wasn't rich enough to fix her imperfections. Her uneven breasts were a fact, not a flaw.

"You're so beautiful," Jean said, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples gently, making Judit moan.

Jean kissed Judit from her neck to her belly button, taking brief detours to give attention to her breasts individually. Then, he unbuckled her clunky belt and unzipped her blue pants, revealing her panties, which were barely more exciting than her bra. They were black, which was the color she chose for most of her underwear because she never had to spend extra time trying to scrub blood out of them in the wash. Like most things she owned, they were for practicality, not for style.

Judging by the look on his face and the clear imprint of his hard cock in his pants, Jean thought they were sexy. He ran his hands over her inner thighs, as a cue to spread them. Judit complied and let him remove her panties; putting herself on display like this was an admission of guilt. Judit could no longer hide how wet she was. She closed her eyes and let Jean taste her. He teased her at first, flicking his tongue over her clit. Judit, desperate to feel his mouth against her skin, grabbed the back of his head and pressed his face into her. Jean mumbled something incoherent that sent vibrations through her, making her moan. The movements of his tongue became less deliberate in the mechanical sense, but more fervent; he was not just dedicated to pleasing her in the way he was dedicated to his job. He became a religious man at this moment, devoting himself to Judit, worshiping her body like she was a goddess. Judit kept her fingers tangled in Jean's hair while she moaned for him. When she felt herself getting close to the edge, she stopped him, worried about the things she might say when she climaxed. The way Jean ravished her already had her writhing under him, nearly sobbing for him. He was dangerous, maybe lethal - to their friendship, to her career, and to her failing marriage.

She knew she and Jean could not fuck like they love each other because if they did, it would mean something. It would be a confession in and of itself. It would leave stains on the sheets that could never be bleached out. Dolores Dei, the greatest innocence, would cry over Judit's infidelity and it would be written in the history books that the schools of Revachol cannot afford to have in their libraries to lend to all of the poor schoolchildren who will never learn how to read anyway.

When she pushed his head away, he looked at her, wide-eyed, wiping a combination of his saliva and her wetness off the edges of his lips. When Jean sat up, Judit looked at his face, then at his pants, and then at his face again, hoping he would understand her silent signal. He nodded and unbuckled his belt.

"You want me to?" Jean left the rest of the question unsaid; the one time the word "fuck" was necessary, he chose not to use it. If Judit had to catalog everything Jean said, she would guess that 75% of his sentences today included a variation of the word "fuck", and 0% of them were when they were fucking.

"Yes," Judit responded, "I want you to fuck me." Judit had trained herself not to swear since she became a mother almost a decade ago, so on the rare occasions that she did, the words came out stilted.

Jean smiled at her, and then removed his pants and his underwear, unceremoniously, as they were both eager to get on with getting it on. Judit's eyes lit up at the sight of Jean's uncovered cock. If there was such a thing as a perfect dick, then Jean had it. He leaned down over Judit, holding his body up with his left hand and guiding himself into her with his right.

Judit gasped when she felt him inside her, the sensation of being stretched out turned from pain to pleasure almost instantaneously. When Jean was all the way inside her, he groaned. Before things got any further, Judit realized something critical.

"Jean," she snapped out of her daze, "do you have a condom?"

Jean's face went from pink to red, and his eyes flashed open as he looked down into Judit's eyes, "No," was the only word he could come up with.

There was a shared moment of contemplation in which the two of them were still, unmoving from their position, one which was generally reserved for the act. It could be argued that Judit and Jean were not quite having sex anymore. Though, they were not having sex either. There is a philosophical argument on both sides that neither of them consider because the decision between lust and logic is holding them both captive, as their bodies involuntarily pulsate and tremble in a communication method of their own. Jean's cock pulsates, and Judit's thighs tremble, back and forth like a conversation. Judit and Jean do not talk, do not move, they stare into each other's eyes and fight telepathically over who will have to make the decision - who will have to declare it aloud.

Judit was made the orator, "Just promise you'll pull out."

"Promise," Jean agreed.

After the intermission, which held both of their climaxes off for a bit longer, making the eventual reward seem more tantalizing.

The combination of Jean's steady pace, increasing incrementally, and his thumb on Judit's clit, rubbing soft circles was driving Judit mad. And when he hit that one spot inside her, she gripped Jean's shoulders, hard enough to leave marks from her nails digging into his skin.

"Jean. Right there. Don't stop." She looked him in the eyes.

Jean used everything in him, all the pent-up frustration and his fading energy, to keep the same pace, the same angle. Quickly, he earned a loud moan from Judit, feeling her muscles start to clench around him, making her tighter, only bringing him closer to finishing.

Judit fell over the edge into a state of oblivion, followed by the elusive "petite mort". Jean's surprisingly animated orgasm woke her up from her near-comatose state.

It is common for people to regret sex after the fact - Judit had experienced this and could not imagine a world in which it did not happen to Jean as well. Lying in a twin bed in the second least desirable hostel in the general Martinaise area, Judit did not regret having sex. She watched the sweat drip off Jean's forehead, trickling down his flushed face. The droplet made its way down to the most genuine smile she'd ever seen from him. There was nothing hidden behind it. The joy, the bliss, the love was real, not a mask. Her expression was identical.

They did not need to speak about this encounter, and so they did not. They went back to the Whirling the next day, and camped out in the cafeteria, stirring discomfort among the patrons and the manager. The RCM did not have a good reputation at the Whirling - their disdain multiplied as the RCM's representative was Harry Du Bois. Harry Du Bois who did not recognize either of them, who had just learned his own name the day prior, who was still missing his badge and gun.

Harry Du Bois, who was accompanied by Kim Kitsuragi, not Jean Viquemare.

When Harry and Kim were out of sight, walking out the door into rainy Martinaise, Judit rubbed Jean's shoulder in a futile attempt to comfort him. He did not brush her off, or pull away in disgust. His body was cold and indifferent to her. At that moment, Judit realized that Jean was just like her husband: unable to love her like he used to.

Jean melted into the linoleum floor of the Whirling in Rags cafeteria and became one with the decay of Revachol, indistinguishable from the dead man hanging in the yard behind the hostel. Another mess that Harry should be cleaning up, another mess that slips through the cracks of what is left of his brain and leaves his consciousness. He remains unaware of the trail of death that follows him. One day, he will wake up from his ignorant state and see the piled-up bodies surrounding him, but today is not that day.

Judit would continue to clean up Harry's messes because that was what's what her job had become. Judit was suffocating, being swallowed by the pale. The only thing she could hear was "I don't want to get better. I want to get worse." It was Harry and Jean speaking in unison.

And Judit finally understood.

#disco elysium #disco elysium fanfiction #jean vicquemare #judit minot #jeanjudit #miss oranje fics

4 notes · View notes

farfromhome999 · 11 months ago

Text

Black Women and the Denial of Magic

Plenty of fish in the sea, yet so few for me 🧜🏾‍♀️✨

Growing up, I used to latch onto any medium to dark colored magical character I saw, whether that was Aisha from Winx Club or Clawdeen Wolf from Monster High. There were so few of them already in animation and live action movies don’t fair any better. In fact, the only mainstream movies or shows with black people taking front and center as magical, mystical beings have been done by Disney. Once in 2005 with Twitches— and later Twitches Too (2007)—and recently in the making of Disney’s Little Mermaid (2023).

Mermaids were my absolute favorite creature growing up. From the moment I saw them— pretty tails, hair flowing in the water, and moving with power and grace— I wanted to be like them. In fact, it was probably depictions of mermaids that partially fed into my discomfort with my identity as a little black girl. I couldn’t swim like them because nobody was able to teach me how. I had kinky curly hair that never would flow the same when I’m in the water. I was too broken down from bullying in school to move with much confidence. I was no mermaid; I was not magical. I tried many times to find a black mermaid in media. I scoured through youtube, searching every few months to see if there were any. I watched several shows and movies— you could have gotten me to watch anything if you told me there were mermaids in it. But I always came up short. In a sea of oceanic beauties, I never found a single precious black pearl. I sought answers to this question of why there were no black beauties, never quite finding answers until I happened upon a forum one year where someone broke my question. There was a single answer that said black women’s skin was too dark in the water so cameras can’t pick it up. That our hair didn’t flow as beautifully. That we’d look more like monsters than something beautiful and kind.

Fast Forward to 2023, Halle Bailey— a black actress with a beautiful voice, supported by Beyonce herself— stars as Ariel in the new Little Mermaid remake, her hair deadlocked and beautiful. I cried when I first got the announcement over this casting decision.

I'd found a black pearl.

There are so few instances where black women are allowed to be magical beings without being shoved to the side. Even here, with the Little Mermaid, we were shoved into a role that was originally for a character who was unmistakably white— this goes for Tinkerbell in the Peter Pan remake as well, Peter Pan & Wendy (2023). Why are we never given our own roles to be magical on our own? Why must we fight for spaces in geeky, nerdy, fantastical, and magical?

I hope to see more stories that have black magical girls— and women—within them on the screen. I would love to see us in high fantasy, urban fantasy, science fiction, and otherwise. I want them to be the protagonist. I want them to experience love and joy as much as they experience hardship. I want the people going forward to be able to see that black girls really can be magical. That my color, my hair, my level of confidence— my race— doesn’t affect my ability to wield the fantastical.

[Inspired by this Blog Post]

#black tumblr #black cinema #farfromhome999 #blackontelevision #healing #black animation #black magic #magic woman #magic women #little mermaid #the little mermaid #merfolk #halle bailey #3rd wave

5 notes · View notes

techycatartist · 11 months ago

Text

Nickelodeon Universe was bathed in a warm glow as the morning sun beamed through one of the park’s massive skylights. Ride operators had just arrived at the scene, preparing the park for its opening later that day.

Sandy was lying next to the bottom of a Paw Patrol-themed slide, typing away at their phone.

Slime Streak tumbled down the slide, head-first.

“Sandy!!! I didn’t think you’d be here!”

“Me neither, but I guess there was something inside of me that wanted “outside”...or as “outside” as a playground structure can be”.

“Yeah, we can’t really be “outside” when our park is in a big building. Plus, outside here is basically just…swampland. Also, the Metlife Stadium”.

Slime Streak begins scooting back.

“Slime Streak, what are you doing?”

“Going up the slide!”

“...backwards?”

“Yeah”.

Sandy lifts their thumb off their phone, glancing up.

“Just don’t hurt yourself, ok?”

“Okie!!”

Sandy returns to their digital document, a work-in-progress draft of their next Spongebob Squarepants episode review.

[“...If you’re new to the sponge-blog, you might’ve been interested in BassWard because it went sorta viral in the cartoon community, on account of it being the only episode so far to NOT feature Spongebob. After watching the episode myself…yep, he’s not there! Since I’m assuming that you new people are familiar enough with the show, then you know that Spongebob and Squidward are typically paired together due to their opposing personalities/interests/goals. Well, this episode swaps the sponge for Bubble Bass, everyone’s favorite used-to-be-a-one-off character…”]

Simultaneously, Sandy was also listening to Slime Streak.

“So I’ve learned some stuff about Great Adventure because I’ve been hanging out with Lil’ Devil so much. You know how Flash is gonna be there next year, right? Well, there’s some big meeting the humans of Great Adventure have to attend on the 18th. I dunno what exactly’s gonna happen, but if the town-humans like it, it means that the park can build Flash!”

“Weren’t they building Flash already?”

“Not really. It’s mostly dirt right now. The park-humans can’t do their thing until the town-humans approve the stuff”.

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, there’s like…plans. Blueprints. They have to show the town-humans the blueprints first”.

Slime Streak came tumbling down, now shoe-first.

“Oh, and how’s the review going?”

“Good, I guess. Kind of hard to judge it when it’s only an introduction”.

“I’m sure they’re gonna love it!”

Slime Streak crawled back into the slide.

“I really hope Flash gets built, Sandy. They apparently were gonna be in China, but the original park didn’t want them. It’s sad, but a good thing that Great Adventure is giving them a home. It’s like they adopted a puppy!”

“I’d say it’s more like adopting a human, Slime Streak”.

“Oh yeah…right! Sorry, I had puppies on the brain ‘cuz we’re surrounded by Paw Patrol. Great Adventure gave Flash a new home AND a new family! Plus it’s the 50th anniversary so it’s EXTRA special!”

Popping out of the entrance, Slime Streak looked beyond the mesh that kept rowdy kids (like her) from going out towards the edge of the tower.

“Flash’ll be right next to the entrance, so the humans are gonna be scanning their tickets while they hear--”

Slime Streak was stopped in her tracks.

“...that. That! THAT!”

Hurling herself down the slide, NSS yelled at the top of her lungs;

“SANDY!!!! YOUR COASTER IS TESTING!!!”

“...what?”

Sandy felt something tugging on their arm.

“IT’S TESTING!!! COME ON!!”

“Okay, okay…”

Sandy gave a half-hearted shuffle towards the playground’s exit.

“YOU’RE NOT BEING FAST ENOUGH!”

Suddenly, Sandy was knocked off their feet, landing what seemed to be a pile of Nickelodeon's trademark green slime.

“Aw, come on! You know I don’t like the stickiness this leaves on my clothes…”

Sandy’s objections couldn’t stop them from being pulled forward, screaming in surprise.

Given that a sentient pile of slime was an…odd form of transportation, all Sandy could focus on was how close to the “edge” they were-- the last thing they needed was to faceplant.

“I can’t believe you’re doing thiiiiiis!”

Sandy was suddenly swung around, the slime mimicking how a skier would stop.

“...are we done…?”

There was a pause.

Sandy gingerly stepped off the blob-- which quickly formed back into Slime Streak.

“That was fun!”

“For you, maybe…”

“Well I kind of had to, Sandy. You might’ve not believed me if I didn’t take you here…”

“I mean, I guess I don’t entirely not believe you, but I didn’t hear any--”

Right on cue, a train was launched out of the station.

“...thing”.

“See? SEE?”

“I do! I do…”

Slime Streak grabbed one of her hair “tentacles”, looking up at their older-sibling-figure with nervousness.

“You don’t sound happy about it…”

Sandy looked down at her, then turned their head away.

“It’s just that…how long will this last?”

“What do you mean?”

“How long will my coaster operate before it goes down again?”

“It’s not gonna happen, Sandy”.

“Why do you think that is?”

“...because it’s Christmas”.

“It’s not Christmas yet.”

“But it’s almost Christmas. Humans like going to the mall near Christmas time, ‘cuz they gotta get gifts for everyone. The park wants your coaster to be open because there’s gonna be lots of people here!”

“It has been a bit busy these past few days…”

“Yeah…”

“...and students will get time off between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day…”

“...Yeah…”

“...so there’s gonna be even more people at Nickelodeon Universe!”

“...YEAH! It’s gonna be great, Sandy!”

“I guess it will. Though now that my coaster’s open, they should open Shellraiser’s too”.

“Uhmmm, I don’t know about that…I kind of like having Shredder and Timmy in charge!”

“C’mon Slime Streak…”

“I was just joking! Shellraiser should get the chance to be happier too!”

“It would stop him from being so worried about what Takabisha thinks…”

“Speaking of New Year’s, humans like to talk about their “resolutions”. Never done it before, but my resolution is to learn more songs on my ukulele. What about you, Sandy?”

“I think I’d like to…change my outlook on life”.

Their footsteps echoed with each step, keeping a steady pace as the others followed behind.

“Please don’t hide away in your room again!”, Slime Streak yelled out.

“You are going to get through this, as you have before…” Shellraiser’s coaster had finally reopened after months of downtime, just in time for New Year’s Day— and this was one of the only things that could’ve halted his relief.

Sandy kept running, drowning out the noise produced by their parkmates.

“It’s only a few days!” Shredder added.

That sentence stopped Sandy in their tracks.

“A few days…a few DAYS?! WE ALL KNOW THAT IT’S NOT GOING TO BE A FEW DAYS!” Tears were streaming down their face.

“However long it takes, we will be here for you— you just have to trust us!”

“SHUT IT, SHELLRAISER!”

Sandy used their launch powers to pull them right to their charging station, with Shellraiser just barely missing them before they hooked themselves up.

“Just listen to me, Sandy!”

“No…listen to me”, Sandy said through haggard breaths. “When I woke up today, I thought that this year would be different, that my troubles were over. That maybe I was wrong to be so down on myself”.

“BUT I GUESS I’M JUST A STUPID KID WHO GOT THEIR HOPES UP”!

A barrier was beginning to form around them.

“…unless the park is demolishing my coaster, don’t wake me up. I’m done trying to care about my future”.

The barrier was now covering Sandy’s entire body— and so began their hibernation.

Slime Streak broke down into tears, unable to understand why Sandy had seemingly abandoned them.

“Hey, hey…I’ve got you”. Timmy had swooped in to comfort the smaller Coasterdroid.

A look of horror was plastered on Shredder’s face; “Oh my god…I’m an idiot! I can’t believe I said that to them! Now they’ve shut themselves away, and it’s all my fault…”

“You are not to blame for this. None of us are”.

Interrupting her regret was Shellraiser.

“This is their fault”.

“…I don’t think we should be blaming Sandy for this”.

“I’m not referring to Sandy”.

Clouds hung overhead, depriving Nickelodeon Universe of natural sunlight. Shellraiser pointed at the large display located at the front of the park’s entrance.

“It’s THEIR fault”.

#techystory #techycharacters #techyocsandysbb #techyocnickss #techyocshredder #techyocshellraiser #techyoctimmy #(another story intended to be done last month)#(as of today the ride is down for ‘maintenance’ and has been since jan 1st)#(hence the sudden shift in tone towards the end)#(supposedly SBB will re-open tomorrow but nick u has a tendency to push back the date)

0 notes

ask-feederjin · 3 years ago

Note

Hi!!~~ <3 So... How much has Jungkook's physical condition changed?

Do you think he tires easily with physical tasks? I can only imagine him puffing all the time ><

Jin had just put the final revisions on a work project when a notification popped up on his computer.

“Hi!!~~ <3 So... How much has Jungkook's physical condition changed?

Do you think he tires easily with physical tasks? I can only imagine him puffing all the time ><”

Oh if only, Jin sighs softly. He wishes he could say that their youngest does, but that would be a lie. Either way, Anon needs an answer!

Oh, he wishes! Poor Jungkook has a ridiculously fast metabolism, much to his dismay. It was great for him when he was a gym rat, effortlessly maintaining his washboard abs. But now it is his ultimate curse.

We’ve been doing research on how to lower or, in Jungkook’s words, “completely ruin” his metabolism.

So far, we’ve chosen to have him switch to a completely sedentary activity level, bulk up on carbs, flip into “starvation mode” between stuffings and replacing that banana milk he likes to drink with soda. We also heard that lack of sleep can contribute to a drop in metabolism, but I vetoed that one. Jungkook may be willing to suffer sleep deprivation to get fatter, but that’s not something I’m willing to support.

On the topic of him getting tired… Hmm… I think it would only really happen if he was going out of his way to be active? Like, him just walking around or lifting basic things doesn’t phase him yet, but exercise on the other hand… Give me one second!

“Jungkook!” Jin called out.

“Yeah?” He heard back. It sounded like Jungkook had just woken up from a post breakfast nap.

“Could you come here please, baby?” Jin was now curious. How has his physicality changed in the past two months? Would he get out of breath easily? Or has his years of exercise and healthy eating still blocked that?

“Do I have to?” He whined. Jin felt butterflies in his stomach at just how lazy his boyfriend has gotten.

“Yes!” Jin laughed.

After what sounded like some shuffling and grunting, Jungkook sleepily wandered into Jin’s office.

“You never make me come to you…” The youngest complained halfheartedly, scratching his tummy.

“Forgive me just this once, your highness.” Jin snarked back. “I just wanted to… do a little test.”

Jungkook perked up the the word ‘test’. Jin knew he would never pass up an opportunity to prove himself.

“What do I need to do?” The younger man asked excitedly, watching as Jin pushed his rolling desk chair to the corner of the room.

“Well… first I’m going to need you to stand riiiight here. There, perfect!” Jin maneuvered the taller boy to stand right in front of his computer screen. “Wait just a second, babe.”

The screen suddenly changed from spreadsheets to a camera screen. Jin pressed record…

The video starts off in a well kept room. Orderly bookshelves line the background, tiny potted vines trailing down the fronts.

Pulling away from the screen, you catch a blurry glimpse of knobby knuckles and trimmed nails. Front and center stands a rather tall young man. He has short, shiny black hair and warm brown eyes. Said eyes are currently large with confusion.

The young man is wearing a rather ill-fitting set of pajamas. The bottoms fit well enough, but the top’s buttons are slightly strained. A soft looking paunch hangs out from the too small shirt, wobbling as the young man shifts uncertainly. He rests both hands on the mass, rubbing slowly.

“Okay, -ahem-.” You hear a man’s voice says off camera say. “Hello, everyone! This is the first video I’ll be uploading to the blog, yay! It was originally going to be the third month weigh in, but it seems I just couldn’t wait.”

The young man on screen chuckles a bit, relaxing at the lighthearted conversation.

The voice resumes speaking, “Either way! We’re here now! This is Jungkook, some of you might recognize his face from the profile section of the blog, but if you haven’t then here he is! Say hi, Kookie.”

Jungkook blushes, waving at the camera. “Hi guys… I’m uh, I’m Jungkook.”

…

“Oh! And I’m Jin!” The disembodied voice frantically shouts. Jungkook bursts into giggles. “I’m Jin! The owner of the blog! I’m also apparently an idiot.” Jin ducks his head into the camera, giving you an unattractive, sideways close up of his eyes and nose.

“Veryprofessional, Jin.” Jungkook grins teasingly.

Jin’s too-close head turns, presumably to glare at the focus of the video. “Yes, I am a professional thank you very much. Now take your shirt off, fatty.”

Jin walks to the side of the room again, giving you a nearly full view of Jungkook’s body. The young man blushes again, levity gone, and starts to unbutton his sleep shirt.

With each button undone, the fabric gratefully springs to the side. Soon the boy’s tan tummy lays bare, angry looking stretchmarks decorating the lower part of it.

Jungkook tosses his shirt off camera, breathing slowly and evenly. “Wh-what now?”

“Jiggle it.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched, eyes closing slightly. He brings both large hands to his jello like gut and proceeds to bounce it up and down. For a minute of two, he shakes it briefly, only to let go and wait for the jiggly mass to settle. He stares at the camera, as if he’s watching himself in the feedback footage.

One hand slides up to cup his soft chest, while the other slaps gently at his belly entranced by the bounce.

“Now, turn to your side.” Jin’s voice startles Jungkook out of his self exploration. Jin himself walks towards the now sideways Jungkook, pressing up against his back. Jin reaches his arms around Jungkook to lift the younger man’s pot belly. He squeezes, pinches and lets it drop to watch it wobble.

“Tsk tsk tsk…” He pokes a long finger into the pliant flesh. “Someone’s let himself go it seems…”

“Ah~! I- I have!” Jungkook moans. “I’m soooo lazy, and- and greedy.”

“Lazy is right you little piggy.” Jin pulls away from playing with the taller boy’s belly button, walking back off screen. “Why don’t we give our viewer’s a little show? See how out of shape you’ve really gotten?”

Jungkook can only nod, face a bright red.

“Gimme fifty jumping jacks.”

“Fifty?! Jin! That’s too many!” Jungkook gapes at the man off screen.

“You used to do sets of eighty not even a year ago, I’m sure your fat ass can manage one set of fifty.”

“I’ll try I guess…” Jungkook doesn’t look optimistic. He gets in position anyway and starts counting out loud.

“One, two, three, four, five, six…”

The up and down movement vigorously shakes his little jelly belly, truly revealing just how much fat had accumulated there.

“Fifteen, sixteen, seh-seventeen, eight -hah hah- eighteen…” The poor boy’s face was tomato red and shiny with sudden sweat. His arms keep perfect time, but his legs move less far apart with each jump.

“Nine-hah-teen, twenty!” Jungkook is huffing now, tiny breasts quaking each time he lands. He is so out of breath now that he only mutters what vaguely sounds like numbers with each jumping jack.

“Twenty one, twenty two, twenty three…” Jin picks up where the out of breath young man left off. “Come on tubby, you were doing this in your sleep six months ago! What happened?”

Jungkook is gasping now, arms waving less with each jump, feet not even moving apart. A drop of sweat hangs precariously off of a perky nipple, only to fall onto his gut not even a second later.

“Are you seriously this out of shape?” Jin sounds genuinely surprised now, instead of teasing. Jungkook plops onto the floor panting. His previously neat hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, neck and chest pink from effort. “Kookie, you only did 31 jumping jacks.”

“I- gasp- I can’t…” The chubby boy leans back against the bookshelf. “I’m too fat…”

“Oh no. I’ll be the one to tell you when you’re too fat. Right now?” Jin squats down and smacks Jungkook’s sweaty belly, eliciting a moan from the boy. “You’re barely overweight.”

“I’ll get bigger! I promise!” The younger man pleads, having seemingly forgotten about the fact that he’s being recorded.

“Bigger? Eating like you are now? I don’t think so. You’re going to have to pick up the pace if you want to be the fattest boy in the house. Even Hobi will get bigger than you at this rate.” Jin gave Jungkook’s red, sweaty paunch one last wobbling pat before standing back up again. Jungkook stays on the ground, not even bothering to hide the bulge in his pajama pants.

“Okay guys!” The older man addresses the camera, winking. “It looks like Jungkook can still do thirty one jumping jacks before he gives up. You could say his stamina isn’t what it used to be! I’m gonna get this little piggy back to bed now. I think the poor thing’ll need another nap after so much exercise. Thank you for watching!”

Jin leans forward

The screen goes black.

I went ahead and attached a video instead of just writing down the answer ^-^;

I hope you don’t mind using headphones, haha! It got a little steamy there for a second… I should really get a video editing program so I can cut out those bits of me turning the camera on and off. Maybe even use my phone next time or something.

Oh well, lessons for later.

I hope that answers your question, Anon!

#lavender//ask #lavender//jin #bts weight gain #bts feederism #fat jungkook #calling all jungkook stans #ooc: a little different than what I normally do! let me know if you guys want more 'videos' in the future...

57 notes · View notes

bxngchxn · 4 years ago

Text

mutual || h. hyunjin

this is a fic that I have re-uploaded from my old blog, @ethereal-bang . I’ll be reuploading all of my old works here and deleting my old blog soon. hope you enjoy!

request: “maybe some hyunjin + mutual masturbation? bonus points if they’re ‘just friends’”

characters: hyunjin x female reader

wc: 2.4k

genre: smut

warnings: mutual masturbation, dirty talk, slight dom themes

This is intended for mature audiences. Do not read if you are under the age of 18

✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　

Okay, this was probably the stupidest decision you had made in awhile. Or rather, the stupidest decision Hyunjin had made that you agreed to. You knew the moment your best friend invited himself over to your apartment for a “movie night”, that there was something going on.

Hyunjin: hey are u busy

You: I mean, not really ? It’s 9pm jinnie

Hyunjin: right ok cool I’m coming over

You: Wait, what? Why?

Hyunjin: you’ll see, be there in five

Your eyes bulge out of your head at his boldness. Regardless, you made sure your apartment was visitor friendly, even though you knew he wouldn’t care. Hyunjin has been your best friend since junior year of high school. Now into your second year of college, the two of you have been through pretty much everything.

True to his word, five minutes later Hyunjin walked into your apartment and dramatically flopped onto your couch. You watched him while you walked into the living room, the blonde haired boy making himself comfortable before turning to you.

“Okay, so why do I have the pleasure of being graced with your presence at this time of night?” You asked, taking a seat next to him. He looked at you weirdly, he was hiding something.

“Look. Just hear me out,” he starts, and alarms immediately go off in your head. “Hwang Hyunjin what did you do?” You ask him, eyes narrowing. Sticking his hands out defensively, he sits up right on the couch. “I didn’t do anything !! I just… so the boys and I were talking about movies today, yeah?” He started. Unsure of where this was going, and why you were involved, you nod your head slowly.

“And there’s this movie, called 365 Days? Have you heard of it?” He asks cautiously.

Yeah, you had heard of it. It was the biggest trend going around right now. Some movie about a guy that meets a woman, kidnaps her and wants her to fall in love with him within a year, and if not she gets to leave. Everything you’ve heard about it has been a mix of cringe and intrigue. The movie is extremely dirty, you’ve heard.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it.” You say nonchalantly, waiting to see where the conversation takes you. “Ah, well, uh.. Ha-have you seen it?” He looks too embarrassed to look you in the eye. “No, I haven’t, Hyunjin. What does any of this have to do with me?” You question. Hyunjin shifts around in his spot on the couch. “Well, the boys..the b-boys dared me to watch it and I don’t want to watch it alone! Will you please watch it with me? Please?” He says quickly. Your eyes widen, not able to believe that this was the reason he was in your living room.

“Wouldn’t it be weird?!”

“No! Y/N we’ve been friends for so long and it’s not like we’re not comfortable with each other!!” He reasons. “Hyunjin, it’s basically porn!” You laugh, unsure how to correctly convey your emotions. “Look, let’s watch like half of it. You know I can’t back down on a dare, Y/N please,” he begs. You weighed the options. Would it be weird? Maybe a little, but he’s right. You’re comfortable with him. What could go wrong, right? It’s just a movie.

Sighing, you see his face light up in victory. “Fine,” you say and grab the remote, searching for the movie.

Oh boy, were you wrong.

This movie was way more sexual than you had originally thought. Yeah, you had heard the rumors about the infamous Boat Scene, where the main character finally gives in to her male kidnapper and they spend what seems like the entire day absolutely railing each other, but you didn’t think it would be this…graphic.

You were basically sitting on your couch watching softcore porn with your best friend. If someone had told you that this was how you would be spending your night, you’d laugh in their face. But here you are, sitting five feet apart from Hyunjin on the couch, both of you too afraid to make eye contact with each other as the two main characters have yet another round, this time on the front deck of the boat.

You were definitely hot and bothered at this point, how could you not be? You tried to be subtle, shifting back and forth on the couch to try and relieve some of the pressure you were feeling between your thighs. You couldn’t wait for Hyunjin to get out of here so you could take care of it yourself, his presence not helping you in the slightest.

Hyunjin is hot, everyone knows it. His long hair dyed a platinum blonde and always kept in a ponytail, except for tonight he decided to let it hang down around him. You tried taking a glance at him, afraid he’d catch you staring and make the atmosphere even more awkward than it already was.

Hyunjin was having a hard time. Figuratively and literally. He had no clue this movie would be like this!! He heard the rumors just like you had, but he figured that everyone was over exaggerating, wanting to seem cool for watching a “raunchy movie”, but no, they were all spot on. And to make matters worse, he was watching it with you. He had no idea why he decided this would be a good idea. Maybe get some laughs at how terrible the movie is, and then turn it off and order takeout or something? He’s really not sure. But now all he’s thinking about is the fact that there is porn playing on your tv, and your shifting back and forth has not gone unnoticed by him.

Would it really be bad if he…initiated something? It was getting hard to control himself, he could feel his resolve slipping. He knows the movie is doing something to you too, it’s too obvious. Maybe acknowledging it will make the situation less awkward.

Well, you never know till you find out.

Hyunjin can feel his heart beating fast in his chest as he takes a side glance at you. Your eyes are still glued to the screen, most likely due to embarrassment, but partially out of lust. He can see your pupils get larger slightly as you watch the scenes unfolding on tv. You shift your weight once more, and Hyunjin takes a deep breath as he turns to actually face you.

You feel Hyunjin look at you, and you immediately feel embarrassed when you meet his eyes.

Hyunjin almost backs out, but opts to look back at the tv because he cannot make eye contact with you right now. “Well, this movie is…something..” he says quietly, and your face heats up. “Yeah…sure is,” you trail off quietly, unsure what to say. How could he be having a conversation with you right now?

“Look…now just hear me out,” He starts. Those words got you into this predicament, you can only imagine where they’ll take you now. You can still hear the characters moaning on the screen, and you try to block them out and pay attention to Hyunjin.

“We’re both sitting here incredibly turned on, am I wrong?” He starts. You go wide eyed, and the blush already on your cheeks darkens as you realize you weren’t being as discreet as you thought you were. “All I’m saying is, why don’t we…help each other out? I guess?” He says quickly, trying to make it sound like a stupid suggestion. You could clearly see his hard on through his sweat pants, and you thought about it.

“Have you heard of mutual masturbation?” you ask him. Hyunjin almost chokes at hearing those words even leave your mouth. He thought you were going to yell at him, push him out of your apartment and never want to speak to him again. You surprised yourself by being so forward, but it’s Hyunjin. It wouldn’t hurt.

“I..yeah, I have. Do..do you want to?” He asks, finally looking you in the eyes. Your gaze meets his, and the lust is evident in his eyes as he tries to discreetly check you out. This would change your friendship in a way that you would’ve never expected it to, but you don’t feel worried at all.

“You’re not gonna be weird about it afterwards, right? I mean, it’s not a big deal right?” You ask, and he shakes his head. “No! Not a big deal at all, as long as you’re not going to be w- oh, okay” he says, cutting himself off because you’ve now angled yourself in the corner of the couch to face him, your hands already ghosting the edge of your sleep shorts. You giggle as Hyunjin moves to do the same, and the sound is music to his ears.

Hyunjin sweeps his eyes over your form, and feels something spark in him. You look so small all the way over there, the giant tshirt you had on was not doing anything to help the sight. Hyunjin was starting to have ideas, and he decides that he wants to test the waters.

Before he can even get to it though, you let out a little sigh as your fingers tease yourself over your underwear. “H-hyunjin.. Can you like, say something? Maybe?” You ask timidly. You can see the mood shift in his eyes as he smirks.

“Oh, you want me to talk dirty to you, huh?” He chuckles, and with the way your chest hitches, he knows he’s headed in the right direction. You blush and nod your head, embarrassed to say anything else.

Hyunjin is palming himself over his sweatpants, trying to keep pace with you. He watches as you relax into your own touch, and decides that he doesn’t want to hold back anymore.

Sliding his hands into his boxers, he sighs in relief at finally feeling something. “Do you feel good baby? Talk to me,” he tells you, and for some reason the new pet name sets you on fire. Following his lead you finally move your fingers past your panties, dragging circles along your clit and letting a soft moan slip past your lips. “Yes, God, so good” you moan. You look up at him and the feeling is magnified.

His sweatpants have fallen a little low on his hips, and the sight of his hips and the muscles under his tshirt has you wanting to see more. Hyunjin notices you eyeing him, and decides to take his shirt off, throwing it on the floor next to the couch. He’s absolutely gorgeous, muscles flexing as he works himself up.

“Now don’t let me be the only one getting naked baby, let me really see you,” he says, and the tone is just between demanding and almost condescending. This new side to Hyunjin instantly makes you want to give in, and you’d do whatever he asked you to as long as you got to look at him like this.

You watch his eyes go wide when you take your shirt off, and you had almost forgotten that you weren’t even in your bra. Chest completely bare in front of him, he doesn’t take his eyes off you for a second as he slides his sweatpants down farther. You now have a perfect view of his cock, long and hard in his hand. This was one of the most beautiful sights you had ever seen.

“Jesus fuck-” Hyunjin groans, his hand moving faster on his cock. You match his movements, getting yourself worked up. At this point you take your shorts off as well, the two of you completely naked, on opposite sides of the couch.

“You can take a few fingers for me, right doll? Show me what you do when no one’s around,” He says, fucking up into his hand. You bring your hand up to your mouth and slide your fingers in, putting on a show for him. His eyes never leave your face, and you’re glad he’s as affected by this as you are.

You insert one finger into your core and your back arches, finally getting a taste of what you’ve been wanting so badly. Its nowhere near enough, you decide, and insert another finger. Hyunjin thinks that you look so, so pretty like this. He could sit for hours and just watch you, wouldn’t even need to touch you and he would be okay.

Getting lost in your own pleasure, you let your thoughts travel to the boy on the couch across from you. You still couldn’t believe this was happening. All of the times you’ve ever gotten off to the thought of your best friend flash behind your eyelids, and it only brings you closer to the edge.

Hyunjin is almost there, too, and wants to make sure you cum before him, or at least at the same time as him. “F-fuck Y/N I’m so close. You can go a little faster for me, right baby? Make yourself feel good for me,” he says, and the request has you keening. “H-Hyunjin,” you moan out, letting the feeling completely take over as your reach down to rub circles on your clit, your orgasm approaching quickly.

“Just like that baby, maybe next time I’ll let you cum on my fingers instead,” he says, voice getting breathy as he approaches his high. “Oh God, Hyunjin please,” you beg, even though you’re not sure what you’re begging for at this point.

It doesn’t take too much longer until the coil that was wound suddenly bursts, your orgasm taking over your senses. You lift your back off of the couch, whimpers coming from your mouth as you ride out your own orgasm. Watching you cum sets Hyunjin off, and he quickens his pace. Ribbons of white paint his stomach and his hands, and the sounds that leave his lips, deep and gravely are almost enough to set you off again.

The two of you sit there, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms, the movie completely forgotten. The credits were rolling in the background now, and Hyunjin has completely forgotten about the dare he was supposed to be doing right now. You look over at Hyunjin, his skin glowing and just looking absolutely ethereal. Hyunjin is thinking the same, taking in the way your hair has gotten messed up from running your hands through it, and the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead.

It’s quiet for a moment, and you make your way closer to Hyunjin. His eyes widen as you get closer. Opting to lean in close to him, you whisper in his ear.

“So.. are you gonna let me cum on your fingers now?” you tease.

And he does. And on his tongue, too. Y’know, for good measure.

✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

@dom--minnie @sparklemin @minholuvs @hanflix @moonlit-lixie

#stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #hyunjin smut #bxngchxn fics #hyunjin

222 notes · View notes

thunderbringer · 3 years ago

Text

hi v v weird question, very much out of the blue, but can u tell us a bit abt thor's pain? originally asked by @soulstcne on my former blog. i figured i could remind you of this pain . hehe.

time to sit down folks. grab something to drink and a SNACK cause we are about to dive into a very serious topic. i don't believe many actually take the time to appreciate thor as a character other than he's some silly god. nor do they take the time to understand just how sad thor's story is.

imagine , if you will , being a spoiled , privileged prince all of your life. there was nothing to need for. thor had everything he could have ever wanted given to him. any battles he participated always ended in victory and luck had ALWAYS been on his side . sure he lost some but it was nothing that ever effected him all that much.

for 1500 years thor had it MADE and then in the span of only ten years or so he loses everything. not only did he have to mourn his brother many many times . he lost his mother , to which he still blames himself for. he lost his father , his home, his brother again as well as all of his closest friends at the hand of hela or thanos. most of the asgardian population on the ship when thanos attacked and then those that escaped?? half of those still ended up getting snapped again later .

during all of this loss? there's never anytime to deal with it or grieve. thor is always on the move , always having to serve a greater purpose . he never takes any time for himself to actually feel what he needs to be feeling .

fast forward to the snap . that is something he considers his fault too. his pride got in the way of finishing the titan once and for all ?? why? because he slammed the axe into his chest and had to have the very last word against thanos. if only he'd gone for the head , as thanos says , he could have finished it right then and there. but he didn't and it doesn't matter whether they fixed his mistake or not. it still haunts him.

look at the grand scheme of it all though. ten years is nothing to someone like him usually . when he loses everything though is such a short span of time?? the breaking point and final straw had been letting thanos escape . even gods have that point where they literally just fall apart.

thor has never had to experience this much pain in his life or the amount of failure to this magnitude. he spirals so far down the drain cause he never had the time to deal with it but more than that he just doesn't know HOW to process it. he has never had to before and then suddenly its there piling on top of him one right after another .

no wonder he is the way he is in endgame. a shell of his former self. he was never taught how to process any of it and so he just DOESN'T. thor locks himself away , lets himself go for five whole years because the grief was just too strong to face . and he just didn't deal with it at all.

#🌪∴ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇʀᴏᴇs ᴅᴏ ━ 『 headcanon 』#i made myself sad with this #but it needed to be carried over

10 notes · View notes

sugarmaplewings-fics · 4 years ago

Text

The Price of Being A Hero

Pairing: Tamaki Amajiki x reader

Warnings: None really

A/N:

Could this be . . . angst? On my blog? Nah, I already did some/have been doing some, but I got this request a long time ago and finally finished it nearly a month later. Then took another month putting it through my system before I was able to post it . . . .

Yeah I have no excuse.

Huge thank you (and also sorry) to @why-am-i-here-please-help-me for requesting!

Enjoy!

-Sugar

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

When you’re a hero, fighting is a part of your job. It was an unspoken fact that every day, when you went out on patrol, you put your life on the line for your city.

Tamaki knew this, and so did you. It was what you had trained for since high school, and simply a small downside to your dream. A dream that you were now able to live every day of your life.

Today was a day as any other; you were wandering your route with your boyfriend, Tamaki, ensuring the sector of the city was safe. You made idle conversation with him, the sounds of your moving and shifting costumes quietly accompanying your voices.

This was how the two of you had met, and over the past few years, you’d only grown closer with each other.

The both of you rounded a corner, amiably discussing plans for a day off when someone ran up to you.

“Heroes! Thank goodness.” The man must have been about ten years older than the you, and looked distressed and out of breath.

“What is it?” you asked.

“That guy over there just blew up the bank!” The citizen pointed behind him and took off running again, along with a small crowd of other people trying to get away from the chaos.

Sure enough, when you looked a little further ahead, you saw smoke pouring out of the windows from a building. You and Tamaki ran towards it, eyes scanning for a possible culprit. It wasn’t difficult to spot him, seeing as he was the only one moving in the opposite direction of the crowd. Also, he had a large bag of cash gripped in one hand.

You commenced in pursuit, hoping he wouldn’t catch on to you and your boyfriend coming up fast after him. Unfortunately, he happened to glance behind himself, immediately picking up his pace at the sight of two heroes with their focuses trained on him.

He began weaving through pedestrians and hopping over cars, attempting to shake both you and Tamaki from his tail. You, however, happened to work very well as a team together. You were the faster of your pair, so Tamaki allowed you to go ahead.

Without the villain noticing, you cut him off, skidding to a halt in front of him as Tamaki came up from behind. In a last minute effort, your culprit turned and ducked into an alley. The two of you followed him into the narrow space, noticing that within a few meters, it dead ended.

It was as if both you and Tamaki had the same thought: Got him.

The villain took one look at the wall before him, whirling around to face the two heroes who had cornered him.

“A bank? Seriously?” you mocked, knowing that he was captured. “At least try to be more original.” You sauntered closer to him, mind intent on the best way to secure the man so you could drag him back to your hero station for Fatgum and the police to deal with. “You’re coming with us.”

“I don’t think so.” The man sneered at you.

You glanced up, reminding yourself that you had to be wary of his quirk, especially since there weren’t any physical signs to clue you in as to what it might be. That civilian guy had said he had bombed the bank? Maybe it was something explosive like that Ground Zero’s quirk. His friend, Red Riot, never quite shut up about him.

Just as you began to ready your own quirk for defense, the villain before you dropped his bag. You watched as his hand transformed into a single, long katana sword, silvery and serrated. Swift as lightning, he brought it down on you, slicing from just above your collarbone to your shoulder.

Tamaki witnessed the glinting flash of the villain’s sword cut you in slow motion. He hadn’t had enough time to react. You had been too far away.

Rage began to leak into Tamaki’s nerves. How dare he? It was a hero’s duty to safely capture and secure villains with minimal damage, but for the villains themselves, there were no rules. No regulations other than their own fleeting morals in the heat of a moment. And many of them had no objection to murdering a hero in cold blood. This was the risk you took every day, and this was the horrific price of justice.

Less than a second after the man’s sword came into contact with you, Tamaki raised his hand and activated his quirk, turning each of his fingers into long, red octopus arms. He sent two towards the villain, but the man was ready, slashing at the appendages with his saber-hand.

Tamaki’s world felt like it was shattering around him, time slowing as the metal blade sliced towards his writhing tentacles. You were everything to him, but now, because of this man, this man, you were hurt. You were suffering, and it had been all Tamaki’s fault for not stopping you from getting any closer. It should be him bleeding to death on the ground, never you.

Tamaki sent a third appendage, this one lower, at the villain’s legs. He dragged the man towards him and away from you, wrapping a shell-enforced tentacle around his manifested weapon.

You were always so cocky, too cocky for Tamaki’s comfort. The minute you felt like you were in control of a situation, you tended to exercise it, finding satisfaction in the defeat of law-breakers. Tamaki had brought it up only twice, but he guessed that it wasn’t enough to have made you stop. It wasn’t as though anything had ever come by it. Until now. And now you were both paying the price of actions already done.

Just as Tamaki pulled him within a foot of his body, the villain morphed his left hand into a second sword, slicing off the tentacle that had captured him. He took the moment of Tamaki’s wince of pain to stagger to his feet and try to bolt past him, only to be grabbed once more around his entire body.

All Tamaki could do was ensure that you would be avenged. This man would pay for his actions against you. The only thing Tamaki could do for now was to capture him. Maybe there was still a glimmer of hope for you. Maybe the ambulance would be fast, and you would live. This man was the only thing standing in the way of that.

Tamaki pulled him in, clocking him over the head with a hard clam shell manifested on his other hand, making sure the villain slumped completely forward, solidifying his defeat.

The hero double checked that he was out cold, noting how his body had gone completely limp. Next he whirled around, ready to help you, prepared for the worst.

Except, you weren’t on the ground. You weren’t even bleeding. Your costume was torn, yes, but otherwise, you looked perfectly fine.

“Wow,” you said, removing the hand that was holding up an edge of your costume to clap. “I’ve never seen you take down a villain like that before. You made it look so easy! Your form was perfect and everything. I really—”

Tamaki cut you off, running full throttle towards you and crushing you in a hug. “You’re alright!” he said, feeling pent up tears begin to spill a little from his eyes. “You’re here, you’re okay.” Tamaki continued to whisper these words for a few moments, solidifying to himself that you weren’t lost, and were instead in his arms. Right where you belonged.

“Hey,” you said, beginning to rub at his back. His hero cape creased and smoothed with the circular motions of your hand. He noticed you were shaking a little, and that only made him hold you tighter. “Don’t you remember?” you asked gently. “My quirk?”

Your quirk . . . that had been one of the last things on Tamaki’s mind. “What about it?”

“Metal can’t hurt me,” you explained. “I can get cut, but I heal really fast. It’s kind of a weird and random side effect to the other, more hero-ey aspect, but that’s just something I can do.”

Now that you said it, Tamaki did remember you mentioning that part of your power before.

“It’s alright now,” you said, pulling back so you could place a kiss on Tamaki’s forehead, which had grown damp with cold sweat.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Tamaki said, brow furrowing with his seriousness. You placed a hand on his cheek to brush away the small tear streak that had briefly run down his face. “I want you to promise me.”

“I will.” You averted your gaze, feeling foolish and slightly ashamed of your actions. If the villain had had any other, more dangerous quirk, you could very well have been dead right now.

Tamaki placed his hand over yours, tilting your chin with his opposite so you could once again meet his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Me too.”

The sound of a car pulling up a few feet away from you caught your attention. A few policemen stepped out, looking from the passed out man on the ground to your hunched figures further back in the alley.

“This the bank robber?” one of them called over to you.

You pulled apart, walking up to the men and woman dressed in blue. “Yeah.”

Tamaki let you deal with everything, just as he always did. He watched from a safe distance away as you made your statements, gave your report, and even greeted a passing journalist.

Tamaki wanted to get going. Where there was one reporter, there would inevitably be a swarm, no matter how small the crime. Besides, he had something more important on his mind that he needed to do.

As if half reading his mind, you began to say your farewells to the policemen, making sure the villain was safely secured in the car. You came back and collected Tamaki, going about what you had been doing a few minutes prior.

“Well,” you said, looking down at your costume in dismay. It looked almost like some kind of cutoff, an almost straight line running just beneath and nearly parallel to your collarbones. “Guess I’ll have to pull out my spare. We should probably head back. A hero’s got to look their best, you know.”

Tamaki nodded and entwined his fingers in yours, happier than ever at the warm feeling.

You looped around the block in the direction of Fatgum’s agency. It wasn’t too far from where you were now.

You began to lapse back into light chatter with Tamaki at your side. It was clear you were still a bit shaken from what you’d just been through, but Tamaki was glad to see you weren’t taking it too harshly.

Even so, Tamaki was forever grateful to whatever divine beings may be watching over you. He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like without you. You were his sunshine, the one person who could light up his whole world no matter what. Keeping you safe at his side was what he intended to do for as long as he could, and there was nothing that would stop him from doing so.

The small ring box dutifully waiting in the darkness of his back pocket was enough to prove that.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Author’s Note:

At first I was going to rewrite this one because I hated it, but then I let it sit in my WIPs for a while and finally decided to just finish it as it was. I think it turned out ok, and I hope it was what you were thinking of when you requested! Sorry it took me like 2-3 months to do. I don’t really have any excuses, but thank you for being patient!

Love you!

-Sugar

Taglist: @basicaegyo @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @pyrofanatic @sendhelpimstupid @sokkasangel @xoxopam4

#tamaki amajiki #tamaki bnha #tamaki amajiki bnha #tamaki imagine #tamaki amajiki imagine #tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #request fulfilled #sugar fics

242 notes · View notes

thehollowprince · 4 years ago

Text

Sterek, Thiam, & Queerbaiting, Oh My!

(Or how racism and homophobia suppressed the actual representation of gay men in the show that fandom so desperately claimed they wanted.)

So, I'm just going to come out and say it right off the bat: neither of these ships were actually queerbaiting. As a matter of fact, I'd say that those ships just by themselves (and the fandoms that rose around them) were low-key homophobic. The reason I say this isn't just because of the large number of women in this fandom that fetishize mlm sexuality, nor is it about those who attack anyone who has any critique of those ships, its just about the ships themselves.

Now, one could argue that those ships arose from the fandom, and that is true, forever linking canon and fanon in the worst possible way, but this is more to do with the fact that the production of this show cowtowed to the vocal fans on Twitter and put moments in there that, while not explicitly canon, was a not-so-subtle nod to those "fans" that harassed people over crack ships.

Of course, I've been over this before, the pedophilic nature of Sterek and the outright abusive elements to Thiam, but those very real complaints (from an actual gay man like myself) always fall on deaf ears or is usually met with the whole "fiction doesn't affect reality" spiel. And this is incredibly frustrating (or even downright infuriating) to those of us who have had to live with these stereotypes because of our sexuality. To this day there are people out there who equate gay men with pedophiles. That's one of the major talking points for these anti-LGBT religious groups and there's an entire group of people on the internet who are dedicated to promoting a predatory style relationship (Sterek).

What makes the popularity of Sterek so infuriating, is the fact that we had Danny right there. Danny was present in the second episode of the series. We were introduced to him before there was any kind of interaction between Stiles and Derek, and yet he is continually slept on by the fandom, and then by the production as a result of the fandom, which eventually led to Danny just disappearing from the show entirely. To add insult to injury, Danny was practically everything Fandom was crying for when it came to gay representation. He was handsome with a nice body, smart and funny, and everyone liked him, and yet there's usually cricket chirps whenever he's mentioned. Something similar happened to Scott - a character that who stuck fast to his morals and was just an all around good person, and yet so many people violently hated him. Now what could Danny and Scott have in common that made so many people look past them? Gee, I wonder?

Moving forward, once Sterek was no longer a possibility, rather than focus on, I don't know, Mason, a character that was tailor-made for the fandom, they once again make up a crack ship to flock around (Thiam) rather than focus on the actual, consensual relationship that was made up of actual gay characters.

But you may be saying to yourself, "at least these two (Theo and Liam) were around the same age", and you would be right in that regards. But what makes this ship bad, is that it's rooted entirely in first deceit and then later in physical violence. I remember very vividly seeing someone say that Liam and Theo punching each other was how they expressed their affection and I was horrified by that. How many times a day on this app do we see posts floating around that domestic violence is wrong? And then how many times do you see a ship (usually a crack ship) that a fandom loves rooted in physical violence? The disconnect is terrifying.

All of this while Mason and Corey were right there, being cute and in love and everything that fandom claims they want when it comes to representation, yet they're totally ignored in favor of the two straight characters beating the shit out of one another. This is why so many franchises revolving around these "macho men" are able to thrive, even though so many people (mostly women) in fandom claim they want softer men. And yet, whenever a softer man is presented, particularly if they're a man of color, they're brushed aside.

And that's just mlm representation! You hear almost nothing when it comes to wlw representation, unless its to get the women "out of the way".

This all comes down to the racism that permeates every level of fandom. I'm not saying this is intentional, because we've all done it. Hell, I did it. When I joined the Teen Wolf fandom, I followed pro-Sterek blogs and reblogged Sterek posts, because I wanted to be accepted in the fandom, and I bought into the propaganda that was fanon!Sterek. I read the metas and the fics and decided to believe in those instead of what I saw on the screen with my own two eyes. Thankfully, I snapped out of it, but that's why Sterek (and later Thiam) dominated fandom spaces, even making their way to polls for "Best Couple" on many websites.

And then, when these ships don't become canon, fandom screams QUEERBAITING!!! Even though those ships were something made up entirely by the fandom and never something that production considered being canon.

Another big part of how the situation gets as bad as it does is that fandom misunderstands (either accidentally or deliberately) what racism actually means. It's not just the throwing of slurs, it's the preference of the white character over the character of color, even though the latter has everything they said they wanted. Racism is reducing characters of color to stereotypes, such as a brown or brown person being violent (Tamora and Kali) or the sexually obsessed Latino (Scott) or the untrustworthy negro (Deaton and Morrell). Hell, even Boyd was thrust into the silent negro stereotype for some reason.

Now this part, this is as much the production's fault as it is the fandoms, because while the former introduced those concepts (or even if fandom thinks they introduced those concepts) fandom then takes them and blows them out of proportion. How many times have I gotten an ask from that one anon telling me that Scott was "obsessed" with Allison? How many times have I seen metas about how Deaton was "untrustworthy" because he didn't share his every waking thought? How many times did we see particular blogs slut-shame Braeden because she engaged in a consensual relationship with Derek?

And the thing about those is, yes, the original idea was introduced in the show, such as Scott's relationship with Allison or Deaton only offering advice when asked or Derek and Braeden flirting, but fandom took them and cranked them up to eleven in an effort to make these characters look horrible. This is something we don't see at all when it comes to their white counterparts. Stiles is never described as "obsessed" by the fandom despite his fixation on Lydia. Peter is almost never described as "untrustworthy" by the fans despite lying and decieving people all the time. Neither Lydia or Malia are called sluts for being sexually active despite not being in relationships.

When Derek repeatedly assaults Stiles (or Scott, not that fandom cared), it's seen as quirky or romantic (same with Thiam), but when Scott hits Isaac or Jackson, in scenes that were very specifically shown to be comedic, its seen as abusive and violent. Stiles asking Danny if he's "attractive to gay guys" or pausing after Caitlin asked him if he liked guys is deemed proof that he's bisexual, but Scott's interactions with Isaac and Danny (or even Stiles himself), where had they been a guy and a girl, it would have clearly been an intimate moment, is still considered absolutely straight by fandom.

So what's the difference?

It's the racism.

The real kicker at the end of the day here is that fans cry queerbaiting, all the while they're actively sleeping on the actual gay representation that's there. It doesn't fit their aesthetic, so they ignore it, and then wonder why mlm relationships are going down in television. I'm not saying we shouldn't want or demand more representation in media, but people can't be so ignorant as to outright ignore the representation they're given and then wonder why they're not getting more.

Well, this got way longer than I originally intended and I hope I'm not just screaming into the void, but this is an issue that's still relevant, all these years after Teen Wolf ended.

#teen wolf meta #teen wolf fandom problems #teen wolf racism #scott mccall defense squad #anti sterek #anti thiam

102 notes · View notes

pitiless-achilles-wept · 4 years ago

Text

Not dead yet!: Marking my 2-year anniversaries

On Sunday I marked my two-year “cancerversary” of my diagnosis and on Tuesday a member of the support group I co-founded (for young women who are stage 4) died. Like me, she had triple-negative breast cancer. Like me, she was diagnosed stage 4 two years ago. Like me, she had exhausted several types of treatment (because triple-negative is a beast) and was looking for the one that would work. She asked me about Saci (Sassy!) and proposed trying it to her doctor less than a week before she died. Nine days before she passed she joined our Sunday cancer yoga group from bed at the hospital to join our meditation exercises. Like me, she remained confident and positive and absolutely refused to give up hope. (Like me, she also wore her hair purple sometimes.)

There were many things that are unlike about us too. She had two teenage children who now don’t have their mother. She was twelve years older than me and had had Hodgkin’s before she had breast cancer--even worse luck than mine, to triumph over one cancer only to get this diagnosis. Unlike me, she wasn’t strong enough for Saci, the only targeted triple-negative line of treatment, because her body had reacted badly to immunotherapy. She was in the hospital for two weeks with somewhat mysterious symptoms all of which added up to her body shutting down. On Saturday she went home with her family in hospice care. 2 days later she was gone.

It’s not usual for things to go so fast. Typically, doctors, patients, and family members all have some advance warning and patients spend a solid amount of time in hospice care. I am sure that people will ask me why it went that way for her. I’m asking myself why too, since it is so shocking and so entirely unfair. The fact that it can happen that way at all is frightening to me as a fellow patient since it’s the scenario of nightmares. That really could someday be me. No one ever wants to think that--and I cannot live my life focused on it either--but it has to be acknowledged as a possibility.

[More below the cut about memories from 2 years ago today and hopes for the future. Also, an invitation to contribute to some writing if you want.]

Today, January 28th, is the 2-year anniversary of my stage 4 diagnosis. In a way, it feels more significant than my initial cancer news. I had four days being horrified, but thinking that I would get through this as a phase in my life. It would be terrible--I’d have a double mastectomy, scorched-earth chemo, radiation, anything to get rid of the cancer--but then it would be done. On the Monday following my first set of CT scans I learned that that was not true. My lungs were full of tumors. (Later, after lots of waiting, MRIs and biopsies, I'd find that my lymph nodes, spine, and liver were affected too. I still have tumors in all those locations, but no new ones.) I wrote a description of getting that news in an email to a friend over the summer, after I had read Anne Boyer’s "The Undying”:

“The worst part about the lung tumors for me was that my dad had gotten a very early flight and I learned the news while he was in the air. My mom told me we could not text or tell him on the phone, that he would need to be with us both. So I drove to Newark straight from the doctor's office. It was in the teens outside and windy as we slogged to the baggage area where we were to meet. I saw my dad in his warmest and ugliest puffy orange down jacket, looking small in it, forlorn and horribly vulnerable. I fell into his arms, thinking at least that airports were such horrible places, so impersonal and banal, that no one would look twice. 'It's in my lungs,' I said into his shoulder so that I would not have to see his face. I was crying into the jacket that somehow smelled of winter cold even though he had been inside for hours. 'Please, Daddy. Fix it, please.' I spoke like a child because, on some very deep level, I think I really did still believe that my father could fix anything. I was embarrassed, though, and so I tried to stem my tears as he put his big hand on the back of my head and said, 'Oh sweetie, we'll get through this. We will.' I knew that really he could do nothing--and that this was his nightmare of powerlessness--and so I sniffed and blinked and I did not let myself cry again until June.”

Two years later this moment seems as if it just happened. The impact of my diagnosis on everyone dear to me, and especially my parents, is one of the worst things about it for me. We all know that there’s only so much “better” I can get, with the current science, and we’re all playing for time while the research moves forward towards something better, something that would make this a treatable chronic condition. I go back and forth, emotionally, on how likely I think that is and how good my position is for the future. Right now, comparing myself to the group member who died, I feel relatively fortunate, even as chemo exhausts me, I lose every scrap of hair that was ever on my body, and I spend half of my days being almost unable to eat from nausea and loss of taste. I feel glad that I was able to get Saci, that my body has so far stood up to the ceaseless trials I have put it through, with four treatments and surgery (and full-time work and living alone etc. etc.). I feel strong, not scared, even as I feel the emotional toll of terrible loneliness from covid isolation, winter, and carrying a sick body through my days alone.

I do not love the “fight” metaphor because so much of having an illness is completely out of your control and I never want to take myself (or anyone else) to task for “losing.” And so instead I will praise my body for enduring. I will praise myself for my enduring also, in both an emotional and physical way. I checked back in on how I was feeling as this anniversary approached last year and was pleased to see how much better I feel about it now, partly as a function of being in a treatment that is (likely) keeping me stable rather than in the midst of choosing another new one. Here is what I wrote back to my group of friends in November 2019, the run up to the one-year mark:

“I’m feeling like I can’t plan and don’t want to celebrate, like I can’t perform “fine” for the people in my life to spare them from the pain I’m causing by not doing better and feeling horrible about it. Perhaps it would help if I let them know that they didn’t need to perform “fine” for me? I understand the desire to protect me from the obligation to take care of them and appreciate it. But sometimes it can feel like I’m the only one experiencing anger or grief or pain, though I know I’m not. Feeling so isolated in my emotional response provides no catharsis for it. Compassion and sympathy function on the notion of “fellow feeling.” If you’re just out here, feeling by yourself, you can’t expect any comfort. As always, I think of the moment in the Iliad when Priam and Achilles cry together over dead Hector. Grief (and you can grieve for many things aside from a death) is something explicitly to be shared.” So I guess I’ve shared it here. I can do that. And I can do another thing, which is to tell you I love you. People don’t really say it enough and reserve it too entirely for romantic contexts. It’s weird--it’s not like we are wartime rationing love! And every time anyone says it to me it helps. It’s an affirmation that I am integral in some way to people’s lives which, in a society that so greatly valorizes marriage/partnership and children, is something I can be in doubt about.”

There are some things I like here, though, and that I would now like to reiterate and invite you, my far-flung friends, to do for my 2-year milestone. Never has the notion of “fellow feeling” in times of grief and depression hit harder or been more important than during covid. In a way, the nation (or even world) was forced into much the same position, emotionally and practically, that my cancer put me in. People are isolated, unable to perform “fine” and wondering if other people feel the same way, or even if any of us can take care of each other at all. I am here to tell you that you can. Maybe not immediately but--sooner than you think--you can. Emotional reserves may be low but reaching out to support someone else can actually replenish them. You do not have to feel alone, or to feel, alone.

And for me, for this milestone and for the cancer-related depression that I certainly do have, I’d like to invite you to help me, so that I can do the same for you. I invite you to write something about how this milestone feels for you (either about me or not), how it relates to all the other insane things going on in the world or with you (not about me at all), how you felt on the original day when I shared my stage 4 diagnosis (definitely about me)--really anything that is on your mind or in your heart.

“Oh great,” you may think, “the English PhD has asked us to do homework!”. But no! It's up to you what you do. Write in whatever form you want, however long, even anonymously. And if you do I will write you back! Not with grades or comments, but with something to connect to what you shared. It is a way to create fellow-feeling; to open up, connect, heal. With me, yes, but also as the group of extraordinary people who have gone with me so far on this hard road. It’s a very different proposition to support someone through time-limited treatment with a good outcome than it is to sign on for whatever comes next. You are all, truly, pretty extraordinary.

Anyone who wants to send a note or reflection can email me or drop a file or post in this Google drive folder. Like I said, feel free to share whatever and do it anonymously if you’d rather. You can also askbox me here (better than DMS) or submit a post to this blog. (I'm taking a chance with open DMs for now...we'll see if that needs to change.)

I am grateful for all of you every day, but especially today.

Love, Bex

p.s. The title of this post refers to the cinematic classic "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," a film my high school self and friends loved. They, along with other wonderful folks. gave me a "cancerversary" cake with "Not dead yet, motherfucker!" on it this Sunday. p.p.s. The average life expectancy for people who get this diagnosis is 18 months to 3 years. Hitting 5 years would be extraordinary. Starting Year 3 is a huge deal and I have every intention of being extraordinary. (Never been average at anything in my life...I either succeed spectacularly or fail epically!)

#my life as a cancer patient #cancerversary #stage 4 #mbc #metastatic breast cancer #personal #memories #bex writes #writing invitation #quarantine life

55 notes · View notes

rurulaura · 3 years ago

Text

digimon tri. rant thing

So, I was making new screenshots of Meiko for the last few weeks to make a phone wallpaper with. Kind of shocking I never did that before isn’t it? As someone who is so obsessed...

So anyway, I was rewatching the series, but fast forwarding to Meiko’s scenes. Doing so made me realize that more things bothered me about the series than I remembered.

I didn’t realize how I wasn’t the only one that thought this not in such a rage mindset. I ran a salt blog between part 1 and 4 where I shitposted. THat blog is now deleted. But I was so emotionally angry, that I couldn’t think straight, if that makes sense. I couldn’t put the logic to my emotions.

It’s been a few years and “rewatching” tri. brought these feelings back, but now I can look at it more logically.. I’m more mentally sound, so I was to see more. Hah, taichi’s goggles reference. See more, understand less. Get it? Well anyway. It ended up a little long. Enjoy.

Initially, anything that bothered me I tried to come up with an explanation for. I just thought back then, surely I am just not a deep enough person to fully comprehend what is obviously here. I don’t remember the last I rewatched tri., probably last year, but this darn pandemic makes feel it’s been a decade. The situation with the 02 kids is something I tried to come up with an explanation for.

Sure, I can see the lead up to their disappearance, discovering Maki’s and Yggdrasil’s plan. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking too. (Ok, but a detective/ hacker 02 squad? How can you say no to that! Can you blame me???) But ultimately, now that I look back on it. Just doesn’t make sense.

\The four of them would have definitely called the other chosen for help. Daisuke and Miyako might be irrational at times, but I think even they would have realized they couldn’t hadle this. Miyako and Iori would have definitely needed Hikari and Takeru by their side for Jogress. They would realized they would need Koushirou for contact. Taichi and Yamato for Omegamon. Plus, the timeline for Reunion to Determination seems to be 2 months. They would have 1,000,000,000% have realized four of their friends were missing. The six of them are hanging out together. Miyako, HIkari, Takeru, and Daisuke are not just in the same grade, But I bet you they are still in the same darn school. I tried to make sense of this. Maybe this would make sense in a week period. But honestly. These 6 idiots would have known.

In Determination, mysterious man shows up as the “Digimon Kaiser” and no one bats an eye. They all 100% think that’s Ken. After everything that poor kid has been through. and to top it all off Imperialdramon. You think Ken would EVER not only USE someonelse’s Digimon for his own doing, BUT PUT HIS PARTNER AND HIS BEST FRIEND’S PARTNER IN POTENTIAL DANGER? TO ACCOMPLISH WHAT EXACTLY? No. Absoulutely not.

In Loss, when “gennai” was blowing up the kids with Mugendramon, one of the kids said “IS that really Gennai?” Then Takeru responds, “No way . Gennai would never do this!”

Takeru, TK. Teeks. Honey, remember how that old geezer didn’t even show up until half way through your adventure to guide you? Remember three years later when he didn’t appear until the world was pretty ending? YOU TRUST THAT GEEZER MORE THAT YOUR FRIEND. How freaking dare you. It was bad enough when Sora also said “Oh, stop Ichijouji-kun!” When she was pinned down and sexually harassed by mysterious man.

I remembered trying to defend this. Saying “Oh, they just didn’t know what to call him.” In Japan there are so many ways to refer to someone in third person. Just like for the non-binary community, They ask to be called “they/them”. It’s not that difficult to find those third person pronouns in English. I mean, even we have had nicknames. Dark Gennai, Kennai, Mysterious Man.

There are some other nuances that didn’t make sense to me in the series. Like in part 5, when Meiko is sitting outside the school after having spoken with Taichi Agumon shows up in front of her. Agumon talks about how he wasn’t scared of the scary story she told. Agumon then states “I love Meicoomon, and I know she loves you too!”. I never got why Meiko teared up and hugged Agumon. I don’t get how that was comforting.

Also in part 5, no one is suprised that Daigo could get into the Digital WOrld? I’m pretty disappointed that they basically used the Original Chosen Children for plot only. Because none of the kids cared that “Hey! How come you can get into the Digital World without a Digivice?” Or Taichi caring in the basement with the 02 kids/gennai with Daigo talking Maki also having partner. Why did you introduce them in this way, if you were just using for plot purposes? You can say, “Oh, it’s just time constraints.”

But there’s so much in tri. where you can say that to. It really does show how sloppy tri. was.

We never really got to see much of Meiko’s personality. As a kid she’s shown as a happy go lucky kid. Seems like adventuring/exploring. I.e. “Meicoomon and I would always play in the woods behind my house.” She also knows to how to make fire. Cool skill. Seen drawing. Cool.

Ok, so what happened in those 6 years to make her to traumatized that she’s so withdrawn and selfloathing? Were she and Meicoomon being chased for that long? Targeted? Without any of the 12 knowing? Koushirou made a huge Chosen Child database, wouldn’t they know if a Chosen Child out there was in that much danger? WOuldn’t they know the DIgital WOrld was being attacked and put in danger by a mutation? Why logically move her to Tokyo 6 years later to “protect her”. Yeah, I get it. For plot reasons. It’s just sloppy.

Like, the transfer student trope is done in anime alllll the time. But this one obviously screams plot convinience. Then to top it off, Meiko moves BACK to Tottori. Why? I get being mortified that you asked your new friends to kill your partner. That you feel you don’t deserve their friendship and that’ll close you off to others. But why move in a 5 month span? Look, I know it’s anime and things don’t have to make sense. But when you have so many plot points just for convenience, it’s sloppy! So poor!

Like, Meiko could just stay in Tokyo. And the end of tri. is just the 12 of them at her door with presents and they have a christmas party. You can still have a one off character live in the same city. Michael and Wallace still live in New York as far I know. and hey, wallace even got a cameo in Kizuna!

Also,, in part 2. Mimi has a discussion with Meiko in the clothing store that Mimi can’t stand people that aren’t honest with themselves. This bothers Meiko. I thought this was just because Meiko knew of the infection and didn’t tell anyone. But later in part 3, Meiko says she knew Meicoomon was special, but not that it would come to this. So the reaction there doesn’t make sense.

Other inappropriate reactions consist of Agumon’s constant “I’m hungry!” jokes during serious moments. “It’s comedy releif for the dark scenes!” For a few sure, not constantly through out 6 movies. It got really old really fast. That also just doesn’t fit their personalities. Patamon’s ship bait in part 6 was not cool.

Also, really don’t like the girls in bikinis. Didn’t like it either. Still makes sense to not like it now.

I think those are my biggest gripes. I’m going rewatch adventure and 02 at some point. I’ll probably have more gripes about the older cast.

#digimon #digimontri #meikomochizuki

9 notes · View notes

aspenflower17 · 4 years ago

Text

Finding You (Part Nine of ??)

Happy Thanksgiving everyone (even if you don’t live in the US)! Here is the update for this week :) This chapter was a little self indulgent. I do talk a tiny bit about music theory and Jane Austen in this chapter. If you have questions about either, just ask and I can try to explain/direct you to some good sources on what I’m talking about 😅

Edit: Totally forgot to mention! The whole Pride and Prejudice HC about Lucifer is not originally mine. I believe I read it on one of the Beel blogs. I think it was @taco-beel :)

For anyone new, here is the link for Part One. I hope you enjoy 😁

Tags for the Lovelies: @simpingforsatan @naimena @hachimochi @wrathandgreed @magi-minminxiii @rensphilia @a-dream-at-night @chloelikesobeyme @getbehindme-satan (If you’d like to be added to the tags list, just message me or comment below!)

Satan/ F!Mc

Trigger Warnings: possibly for depression?

Word Count: 2,322

After Mc shut the door, she slid down the door to the floor, head in her hands. Well, that couldn’t have gone worse. I would’ve rather had him ignore me or not remember me at all. I could’ve figured out how to interact with him in those situations. But what was with him being sweet in the beginning, and then just seizing up? Then he grabbed my wrist and seemed super worried about me leaving and then didn’t even say anything the whole walk?! That goodbye too! What was that?!

The more Mc thought about the whole thing, the more upset she got. She leaned her head back against the door, her brain replaying the beginning of the conversation trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Remembering the look in his eyes as he had fervently declared he remembered her. The warmth of his voice.

Then the progressive unease as she had continued talking until the abrupt emotional cutoff. He had obviously been uninterested in talking with her any longer, though she really couldn’t figure out why. He had been so dismissive. But when I tried to leave… She looked down to the wrist he had grabbed. He sounded so… desperate. Like he truly didn’t want to let me leave. So, why didn’t he talk to me?

“Mc? Are you alright?” Michael asked, stepping into the entrance hall with Diavolo.

“I’m… I’m fine. Diavolo, do you have a music room?” Mc asked, standing up as nonchalantly as she could.

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you have a piano, or similar instrument?”

“Yes…”

“May I use it for the rest of the day? I need to compose.”

“I… Sure. I’ll have Lil’ D No. 2 show you the way,” and as he said that, a small demon appeared and beckoned her forward, and she promptly followed.

“Oh dear,” Michael sighed, eyes following Mc.

“What’s wrong,” Diavolo asked, thoroughly confused by the whole encounter.

“She is definitely not alright. She can only compose when she’s really emotional about something.”

“I… Wait, is she going to let us hear it when she’s done?” Diavolo asked, eyes lighting up.

Mc sat down at the piano. It was an almost pure black grand, and the key colors were reversed, which was messing with her brain visually. The piano bench lid was made from a beautiful dark red wood, the rest the same black as the rest of the piano. The piano did not look worn, but it was obviously old.

Mc started playing her normal warm up scales, but quickly stopped when she realized they didn’t sound right. She tried again with the same result. It’s in minor…

Trying out all the keys, she realized the whole piano was in minor. You could play major chords, but it was like making minor chords on a normal piano. Interesting.

Mc continued playing and getting warmed up, wanting to explore the amazing opportunity that had presented itself. She started playing some of her own creations, marveling at how different her songs sounded. As she was playing, she remembered a song she had abandoned a long time ago. Though it should have sounded correct, she had never been able to make it sound correct. I wonder…

She started playing the song, and was amazed to find just how perfect it sounded. It was the same song, but it now sounded perfect. Encouraged, Mc tried to continue composing, but she couldn’t get past where she had already composed, no matter how much she worked on it. Discouraged and a little frustrated, Mc look at her DDD and was surprised to see it was almost time for dinner.

Standing up, she promised herself she’d come back later, and work on it more.

“I’ve decided to throw a ball in Mc’s honor!”

Michael and Mc looked up from their dinner at the proclamation from Diavolo. Luke seemed unphased by the announcement.

“A ball? In my honor?”

“Yes! You’re my honored guest after all.”

“He also loves throwing balls,” Luke added.

“Also that,” Diavolo admitted.

“Well, I’d be honored. Thank you.”

“Perfect! It’ll be held a week from today. Barbados! Make sure invitations are sent and food is ready.”

“Yes sir,” Mc jumped, not realizing Barbados was in the room, turning around to see him exit. She was starting to notice the butler seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“Is a week too fast?” Mc asked worriedly.

“Nonsense! This is a lot more notice than I usually give if I’m going to be honest,” Diavolo laughed.

“For a whole ball to be planned?”

“Yes! Barbados is one hell of a butler,” Diavolo grinned over his teacup, before taking a sip.

Mc sat in her room and mused over the events of the day. Now that she had calmed down enough to think rationally, she started analyzing Satan’s behavior, and found she really couldn’t make sense of it. Unless he thought I was someone else… Wait. That makes a lot of sense actually. Like not a ton of sense, because he should have realized I wasn’t them before I started talking about meeting him before, but more than anything else I can think of. He may have also been a little… unhinged. He did look like he hadn’t slept in three days…

Satisfied enough that her brain could rest, she snuggled down into her blankets. Every time she closed her eyes however, all she saw was Satan’s face as he had grabbed her wrist. She brought her other hand up to her wrist and grabbed it. Now smiling, she drifted off to sleep.

Mc snorted, shifting a bit as she read. The bed was comfortable, the scent of its owner making her feel safe and comforted. Classes had been long and when the demon that sat behind her had gotten up, they had accidentally hit her in the head with their bag pretty hard, which had made Mammon nearly kill them. She had narrowly saved their life by assuring him it had been an accident and somehow calming her guardian demon down. This then had resulted in her being called into talk with Lucifer about what had happened, and so she had missed her Devildom History course.

She had come to Satan’s room to grab the notes he had thoughtfully taken for her, but when he saw how worn out she was, he had offered a quiet evening of reading and tea. She hadn’t been able to refuse, seeing as how she relished anytime she could get with him. The scent of old books and their caretaker was a surefire way to help her unwind from the day, the stacks of books throughout the room making her feel like they were in their own little world. The outside world glittered in the perpetual darkness through Satan’s large windows.

“What’s so amusing?” Satan asked from the armchair he had moved over by his bed once their reading sessions became a normal occurrence.

“‘We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him’” Mc quoted.

“Ah! ‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’” Satan said, a cheeky grin on his face.

Mc’s brain stopped functioning for a second, “Wai… Wha…?”

“Pride and Prejudice right?”

“Oh, hehe, right,” Mc laughed, trying to hide behind her book as best she could as all the blood rushed to her face, “It’s a good quote.”

“You know, when it came out, there was a rumor going around that Mr. Darcy was based off of Lucifer.”

“Wait… You’re joking.”

“No. He had been spending a lot of time in the human realm. Sometimes we wouldn’t see him for weeks at a time. Then, he just stopped going up as much. About a year later, Pride and Prejudice was released. After the rumor started, Lucifer would not allow it in the house for the longest time. He even went so far as to ask Diavolo not to allow it in the Devildom at all.”

Satan had Mc’s full attention at this point, “What was his excuse?”

“Something about a stupid romance novel ruining his reputation, and how we needed to be the voice of reason for the lower demons if they were going to allow themselves to be so easily swayed to believe the nonsense.”

“You had a copy though, right?”

“Oh, of course I did. I still do actually. First edition. I even went up to the human realm to get it.”

“Wow… That explains so much though. Lucifer is like the epitome of Mr. Darcy.”

Satan shifted in his chair, and looked down at his book, “You think so?”

“Yeah. Tall, dark, handsome,” Mc watched as Satan sunk a bit lower in his chair at each word, seeming to get fairly upset, “Standoffish. Rude. Conceitful. Overbearing.”

“Ah, so you’re not a fan of Mr. Darcy?”

“Hmmm… I wouldn’t say that. He is her most popular leading man for a reason. But…”

“But?” Satan was looking at her now, his eyes probably larger and more insistent than he meant them to be.

“He’s far too prideful in the beginning for me. We probably wouldn’t have gotten anywhere,” Mc watched Satan relax visibly before continuing, “While I enjoy Pride and Prejudice, I’d rather read Sense and Sensibility or Northanger Abbey. I would rather have a Mr. Tilney or possibly even a Colonel Brandon. Someone who I could sit and make jokes with. Someone who would read to me. Someone I could go on adventures with and who could tell me all about this or that because they’re so well read,” Mc was looking down at the cover of the book now, and she could tell her face was heating up, “I’d much rather have someone like that.”

There was silence after Mc stopped talking, and she dared not look up. She’d basically just confessed to Satan, and she hadn’t even meant to. She kinda hoped her words went over his head, but also hoped they didn’t. The silence stretched longer than Mc would’ve liked before the bed shifted.

There was another few moments of silence before Satan spoke, a bit haltingly, “Mc, will you look at me? Please?”

Mc lifted her eyes shyly looking a little sheepish. She only had a moment of Satan’s shocked look before there was a flash of gold and his lips were on hers. She was so shocked she couldn’t respond for a second, but then she returned the kiss, melting as her body was on fire. Completely focused on the moment while soaring through the clouds. Perfect. It was perfect.

Mc came back to consciousness, her alarm playing soft piano music. She reached out her arms grasping. Searching. Coming up empty, she cracked an eye open, disappointment flooding her body when all she saw was her own arms. Her vision blurred as a strong wave of loneliness washed over her. She blinked a couple times to clear away her tears, feeling them slide down her face. She had had mornings like this in the Celestial Realm, though this was the first time she had remembered the dream that preceded it. She hadn’t really felt lonely since coming to the Devildom, and hadn’t registered it. Now though, it felt debilitating. She sent a text to Luke explaining she probably wouldn’t be down for breakfast and asking him to apologize to everyone for her. She then turned on some soft music, and dropped her DDD on the bed.

She lay quietly, the tears falling openly. This is what she had to do those terrible mornings in the Celestial Realm when she felt like she couldn’t face the day. Eventually her tears gave out, and she was left with an apathetic empty feeling. She continued laying in bed, not remembering a bout this bad in any recent history. After a while, she drifted off to sleep again.

“Hey. You awake?”

Mc groaned, sore from not moving in awhile, “Is that you Luke?”

“Yeah. I got a bit worried when you also missed lunch. You okay?”

“I think I’m okay now. I just got a bit too upset this morning.”

“Are you sure? I can tell Michael you’re caught up in an artistic frenzy or something.”

“Nah. Thanks though,” Mc smiled, still sleepy.

“Okay. As long as you're okay,” Luke was looking at her worriedly, but leaning down and kissing her forehead anyways, “I’ll make sure some lunch gets saved for you.”

“Thanks Luke,” Mc sighed, sitting up.

“Anything for my little sister.”

Over the next week, Mc continued trying to work on her song, though she didn’t get any further, along with her other art. She also read all about the Devildom’s history and visited some historically significant locations to put a name to a place. The whole time, her mind worked on the enigma that was her dream. She supposed it was a product of her brain trying to work through the disappointment of how her first meeting with Satan went, along with how active she had been since coming down to the Devildom. She tried to convince herself of this anyways. The truth was, it felt exactly like she was reliving a memory. It felt real, and nothing about it had been weird, all details clear, nothing out of place. It even felt familiar, she’d even go so far as to say worn, like some of her favorite memories did.

She blushed even thinking about the dream, clearly recalling the warmth and softness of his lips. The feeling of his hand on the back of her neck....

“Mc, are you almost ready,” Luke called from the other side of the door.

“Give me a couple more minutes. I’ll be down soon.”

“Okay. The guests are starting to arrive.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for letting me know,” Mc took one last look at herself in the mirror before nodding and getting up, “Let’s do this.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! Like, comments and reblogs are appreciated! I love discussing Obey Me so feel free to chat with me 😁

Part Ten

#obey me!#OBEY ME #obey me satan #obey me satan/reader #obey me! swd #obey me f!mc #obey me luke #obey me diavolo #obey me michael #obey me mc

53 notes · View notes

canyouhearthelight · 4 years ago

Text

The Miys, Ch. 124

Second half of the exhibition! Mac’s performance here is based on an actual incident that occurred with one of the many actual cats that Mac is based on.

Trigger warnings for blood here.

Thanks go to @baelpenrose for his beta-reading and Arthur, @zommbiebro for Jokul, @books-and-cartoons for GK, @werewolf2578 for Michael and all the other characters you have added to this story, and @charlylimph-blog for her characters. <3 you both!

“Who is competing in the canine rounds?” Coffey asked, steering the topic smoothly.

“Myself,” Grandma Kim gestured. “Michael and Sparkles, Derek and Machiavelli, for the service round. I believe there are a few more for the security round, but I don’t recall whom.” From GK, that was basically saying they were so far beneath her notice that she refused to learn their names.

A chime sounded, indicating that the intermission had ended. Arthur, Coffey, and I made our way back into the stands, waving to Simon as he worked his way onto the sidelines. Ivan had initially come down ahead of me and Maverick, but was also packing the floor with the competitors for the upcoming events. As soon as we took our seats, Evania announced the next event - sure enough, it was the service and security animal exhibitions.

Rather than the participants stepping forward, Antoine took the floor after Evan. “Previously, these events were separated and considered the ‘canine’ events. However, it has been brought to my attention, most ardently, that service and security animals are not limited to canines, even with the limited amount of animals we currently have on the Ark. As such, we are combining the service and security events, and this year there is a non-canine participant. Due to the nature of the exhibition, I will be personally monitoring from the sidelines in case there is any need for interventions. Also, as with in the past, please be assured that all participants in these events are volunteers and a med bay is on standby.”

Medbay is on standby? I wondered. I didn’t recall that before, but I also hadn’t paid more attention than was necessary to know how many jerky treats to give Lyric and Sparkles.

First up was our veteran, Lyric the First. The elder stateswoman of Ark companions may have hobbled onto the field, but she went through her paces as a service animal with tidy precision. On top of that, the second the ‘security’ portion started and someone brandished a weapon at GK, all concept of ‘elder’ went out the window and Lyric became 120lbs of teeth and fury, daring the faux-attacker to come within six feet of her charge.

I could feel Coffey shudder beside me, at the same time that I could see Arthur nod with approval. I couldn’t lie - there was a part of me that remembered this same dog standing over me when Maverick first dropped by unexpectedly, and I was warmed to know that I had been so safe in that moment.

After the applause due such a respected member of the community, Lyric the First was taken off the field, and it was Lyric II’s turn to show how she lived up to the name. Sure enough, she displayed the same precision in the service animal rounds, but it was clear that she knew this was for show in the security segment. Rather than the degree of savagery her mother had shown, Lyric II was clearly a little confused by the fake-attack. She still received her applause and treats, however, while GK was obviously considering how much more training was needed.

Michael and Sparkle were next, and their performance was on-par with Lyric the First. Rather than having Sparkle function as a service animal for Michael, Sam had volunteered. The moment loud noises started to upset Sam, Sparkle nudged him into a prone position and brought his ribbon over. If someone tried to step to close, she calmly pushed them back. Due to her youth, Michael did step in for the security portion - Sparkle wasn’t trained to decide between security and support yet - and that was where she shined. Without hesitation, she took a defensive stance at any aggression toward Michael, and really did Lyric the First proud.

And then, the fourth round happened. That was what set the crowd’s eyebrows on end, the round with non-stop chatter throughout.

On the contrary to the rounds with both Lyrics and Sparkle, there was no leash, there were no steps to walk through. Instead, the crowd saw Derek Okafor walk out, carrying a lavender blanket and pillow, with a solid mass of feline ink trailing behind him. Rather than lead Mac through any actions, Derek set the pillow down, curled up on the floor, and covered himself with the blanket. In an action I had witnessed on more occasions than I could count, Mac curled his impressive mass on the blanket, just outside of Derek’s elbow. Directed audio amplified Mac’s purring so everyone could hear it, even in the furthest seats.

Suddenly, the audio in the gym played discordant noises. Not even waiting for Derek to flinch, Mac darted under the blanket and a lump erupted where Derek’s ear had been. After a moment, the sound cut off, and instead a bowl of food - one so strong-smelling that I could catch it from my seat - was brought out. Mac poked his nose out and started sneezing convulsively, hissing at the bowl as he moved towards it.

The coup de grace was what came next. Without warning, as soon as the bowl was taken away, someone darted towards Derek from the other side. I could actually feel my soul chuckle for this poor slob as I anticipated what would happen.

Sure enough, Mac became a blur of void and vaulted over Derek, clawing the interloper from elbow to wrist, then from thigh to knee. He hissed and spat, clawing at anything and anyone that came within reach. Nothing could stop the ball of feline fury until Derek darted out an arm to scoop Mac back under the blanket while the poor volunteer - who looked like they had a bad date with a Cuisinart - was led to the aforementioned med bay.

“I’m not sure they knew they were signing up for this,” I murmured to Maverick and Coffey.

Coffey made a firmly negative gesture. “I assure you that they were aware. That particular volunteer? She has been Machiavelli’s training target for three months now.”

“Why?” I sputtered.

“Some people are afraid of dogs,” Coffey shrugged. Given his clear discomfort watching both Lyrics perform, it made more sense suddenly. I knew he wasn’t afraid of dogs - he kept treats in his pocket for Lyric and Lyric II, at all times - but we weren’t far enough removed from Earth to make everyone comfortable with the kinds of dogs that worked best as service animals.

A cat, though? I knew from a lifetime of experience that nothing was as persistent or vicious as a cat, when properly motivated.

The audience was respectfully silent until Mac and Derek left the gym, before cheering wildly. Even from where I was sitting, I could hear people talking about the potential of having a cat once the colony was established. As a firmly devoted cat owner, I couldn’t even make up an excuse to argue.

Arthur leaned over so I could hear him clearly. “You never told me you have an attack cat.”

“I’ve always had them,” I admitted. “I just didn’t know it wasn’t a normal thing.”

“Mac is a good kitty.”

“The best kitty,” Coffey corrected with a grin. At some point, he had adopted Derek as a younger brother/nephew figure, and by extension doted on Mac to the point of chemical warfare.

“The only kitty,” I pointed out. I would have loved for the Ark to have ship cats, but we had learned - the hard way - that genetic enhancements were necessary for them to thrive in the gravity we were operating under. It was part of the reason Mac was so large - four years ago, he had actually undergone a heart transplant so his vasculatory system would function in the increased gravity. Where Lyric II and Sparkles had benefited from what Miys learned from the original Lyric, Mac was the original.

The next event was thrown projectiles, so I took the opportunity to go grab some popcorn and sausage-rolls for the last two events. No one in my family was participating in the javelin/spear exhibition, but I knew that Xiomara and Evan would be eyeing these candidates closely for colonial security, so I made a point to pay attention. However, despite my original reason for keeping an eye on the event, I found myself fascinated. Each spear had a different range for accuracy, a different technique for throwing… I found myself filing the information away for later, anticipating a very rousing conversation with our Councillor of Security and her protege. Ivan Thorsson, to nobody’s surprise, excelled.

However, the last event of the exhibition was finally at hand - archery. Charly had made several attempts to have this event be its own exhibition - the projectiles were not thrown, nor were they combustion - but a sheer lack of participants inevitably led to the sport being included with the ‘non combustion’ weapons exhibition, in the same way the animal companion events were. On the plus side, participation this Von-year made a strong case for archery being its own event.

Participants were allowed ten arrows, ten targets, and fifteen minutes to fire all arrows. Bows could be any size, but had to be pulled by hand - no crossbows, no hooks to draw. Targets were only 25cm in diameter, and any shots that missed the desired target were counted off, with a double ‘friendly fire’ deduction if the arrow hit an entirely different target.

Even with all the restrictions, there were no less than twelve participants in this event, more than any other.

Maverick was first. While he was exceptionally precise, his Shinto-style did not lend itself well to speed. Next came Tyche, who landed killing hits on every shot, though with far less aplomb than her knife-throwing had shown. Arthur had a similar result - fast and deadly, but less accurate than Maverick - before MIchael Smith took the stage again, to my surprise.

My jaw hit the floor as he pulled just as fast as Tyche and Arthur, with the same accuracy of Maverick. Very few people took part in multiple exhibitions, and to see him do so well in three was a shock. Nonetheless, he swapped out with the next participant with zero acknowledgement of his performance.

After that, the event continued: several people I did not recognize, before all that was left were Conor and Charly. Similar to his style of throwing knives, Conor drew ambidextrously and over the shoulder. The connection was crystal clear as you watched his motion - a smooth draw, looped into a pull and release. The only difference was that, where he would throw a knife, he would draw the arrow.

Next, I expected Charly, but what I saw made my head spin: Simon Rodriguez stepped out of a back room, with a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. Even more incredibly, he did not stand in front of any specific target, but stood in the center of all ten. With one deep breath, he started drawing from his waist, firing and drawing, arrow after arrow, in a smooth, mechanical motion.

Every arrow struck the center of the target.

The blood drained from my face as I realised why Tyche had threatened Conor with allowing Simon to use him for target practice…. I had no idea, at the time, that Simon was such an incredible shot. Immediately, I felt guilty.

Before I could apologize to him, Charly and her bow walked out. Speaking now felt like an obscenity, since this was the reason so many people were still here. Sure enough, as soon as the targets were replaced, she displayed a foreign calm as she fired shot after shot.

Ten shots. Ten exact centers. Ten arrowheads protruding from the back of targets by a minimum of two inches.

Twelve seconds total.

The transition between Simon and Charly took place so quickly that I had no idea who the applause was for - the Twelve Second Sorceress, or her clear protege. Either way, the end of the exhibition was explosive, to say the least.

I turned to Conor, ready to apologise for not taking the previous threat as serious at it was, when he said something that made me slap my face and groan.

“Bless it, do you think Simon will show me how to do that?”

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #humans are weird #tw blood #humans are space orcs #humans baffle aliens #aliens #apocalypse #post-apocalypse #science fiction #original science fiction #my writing

50 notes · View notes

animatedminds · 4 years ago

Text

Splash Mountain, Br’er Rabbit, and the Tragedy of Being Represented By Other People.

So, this is probably going to be the realest post I’ll make for a while - or at least until The Boondocks arrives, but it seemed apropos. Immediately after this I’ve got rants about sci fi and Star Wars and other unrelated things coming up, but for now we have my earnest opinions on a decision I feel should have been better thought out than it was. This is going to read more like an article or an essay than a review, but I think it needs to be said.

It hasn’t come up too often on this blog, but I am African American. It’s my life and my perspective. And as an African American, a lover of animation and - though this definitely doesn’t come up on the blog - a passionate folklorist in what you could call an academic sense (in that I’m a writer and a student, and folklore is the subject of most of my research), people I know in real life have asked me more than once what my opinion on the removal of Splash Mountain in favor of Princess and the Frog, how I must be glad it’s finally being removed, what my take on the history there was, and…

Well…

To really give that opinion, I’ve got to start at the beginning. Not Song of the South - that, if anything, is the very middle. We have to start with Br’er Rabbit and who that character was. Sit back students, info dump incoming.

Br’er Rabbit is an folklore character of African American origin with - like many folkloric figures - a difficult to place date of origin, but he was known to have existed at least since the early 19th Century, He has obvious similarities to the far older figure of Anansi - with several Br’er Rabbit tales even taking elements of Anansi stories verbatim - though with a the notable difference that unlike Anansi, Br’er Rabbit was more often a heroic figure: an underdog and seemingly downtrodden figure who used his wits and his enemies’ hubris rather than physical force to win the day. The meaning of that kind of figure to an enslaved people is obvious, especially when you compare Br’er Rabbit to another, contemporary trickster figure in African American history by the name of John. Br’er Rabbit’s stories could even arguably be seen as a more child-friendly version of the John tales, in which a human trickster pulls the same kind of momentum turning ploys on villains - but those villains tended to be explicitly slave masters or overseers, and John’s payback often came with explicitly deadly results. The existence of John as escapism for the enslaved or just-post-enslaved (IE Reconstruction) populations is clear: a person who with no power who could fight back with nothing but their mind, preying on the fact that their enemies see them as incapable and helpless, and the connection of Br’er Rabbit to that message is difficult to deny. If anything, Br’er Rabbit comes off as a somewhat more child-friendly version of the concept.

But the most important thing to glean from this is who and what Br’er Rabbit is: a product of the African American community and its history, as a means of those people to express themselves and their values in the face of oppression.

Now we fast forward to 1881, and along comes Joel Chandler Harris: a white Georgian. Harris was a folklorist himself, and travelled the country collecting stories - most famously Br’er Rabbit stories. His stated reason was to bridge African American and white communities by sharing stories, but he was tainted by the perspectives of his world and his place in it, infamously creating a framing narrative for those stories in which the character telling them exuded the imagery of subservience and simplicity that was typical of perceptions of African Americans from the post-Civil War Southern environment in which he collected them: Uncle Remus, in other words. Harris is hardly the only white curator who adapted stories of black or brown peoples in a way that played up the people the stories came from as something of a theme park piece, as if noble in unintelligence and simplicity, but he’s one of the most famous ones to do so - and that’s because of the adaptation. To note, when people criticize cultural appropriation, this is the kind of thing that really triggers the outrage. Not any situation in which a white person is inspired by someone who isn’t white and creates something accordingly, but situations where someone else’s creation is taken and used for the fame and profit of others, to the detriment of the people who made it. It’s these situations like the one Joel Chandler Harris created centuries ago, specifically, that people are trying to draw attention to - even if sometimes social media gets a bit trigger happy sometimes, that’s the real, underlying problem. With that in mind, let’s put that aside and move forward.

Fast forward again to 1946. Walt Disney Productions, then less the company of grander, wider scale stories of epic quests and emotional upheaval that make us all cry and more a company more known for folktale adaptations in general, were looking for a but of American folklore to headline a live action, animation mix - a medium that allowed a bit more financial benefit, as straightforward animation was not always particularly profitable those dates. This wouldn’t be the last time they produced an adaptation of an American folktale or short story - their version of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow a few years later being actually one of the more faithful adaptations of that short story put to film. Disney, who evidently read Chandler Harris’ stories, put together a project to see if they could adapted. Which they did. Pretty much verbatim. This is actually worth pointing out: the actual Br’er Rabbit stories in the films are very accurately adapted, and the actors involved in the story (including James Baskett, how also played Uncle Remus) did a fine job characterizing them. The issue is that Disney also adapted Chandler Harris’ stereotypical and offensive framing device pretty much verbatim, bringing Uncle Remus. And therein lies the problem.

To put the issue with Song of the South in perspective, the movie - with the framing device - can be categorized as something called Reconstruction Revisionism - which is basically a genre of post-Civil War media meant to present the pre-war South was perfect and idyllic, and that people are racially more natural in that environment’s dynamic and never should have left. One of the most infamous movies in history, Birth of a Nation, is the crowning example of this genre. Obviously, Song of the South is nowhere near as awful and inflammatory a movie as that, but there’s a degree to which it was seen as the straw the broke the camel’s back for black depictions in media, only a couple of years after Disney’s Dumbo also did the same. The end result, an African American creation was used in a film that ultimately demeaned the African American community, a decision that Disney has been ashamed of ever since.

Fast forward to now. Disney is removing Splash Mountain, the sole remnant of Song of the South that focuses exclusively on Br’er Rabbit - a choice we’ve had reason to suspect was coming for about a year now, but which was unveiled conspicuously in the middle of protests and campaigning for better treatment of people of African descent worldwide. The reveal was a rousing success, with people applauding the decision to finally wipe away the rest of that movie - though remember that for later, that the response relies on the perception of Br’er Rabbit as something that starts with Song of the South - and replace it with something else. Surely, as a black person I should be happy that they’re finally getting rid of that racist character for good and replacing him with something more positive? And again, well…

To put short, Br’er Rabbit has finished his journey from African cultural symbol to discarded pariah, all because others used the character in racist ways that they themselves now regret. And for that… let’s be clear, I’m not angry so much as saddened. I’m not railing against the company for making the choice, since I can see how from their point of view it was the wisest and most progressive thing to do. Song of the South is a badly old fashioned movie that they’re right to want to move on from, and it’s their right to downplay characters within their purview if those characters reflect badly on the company. I’m just outlining the tragic waste of it all.

For now, compare Princess and the Frog - the thing they’re replacing it with. I do love the movie, or at least any problems I have with it have little to do with representation, and I definitely don’t have anything against Musker and Clements and their beautiful visions and creations, but it’s difficult to deny that its an adaptation of a European story, adapted by a collection of mostly white creators (with Rob Edwards comprising but one third of the screenwriting team, but not of story conception), that’s ultimately just dolled up with African Americans characters and a very Hollywood-esque depiction of a African diaspora religion (Voodoo, which unfortunately has a long history of such portrayals). If we’re talking about representation specifically - which this move had definitely been presented as a champion for - it’s not the perfect example, more of a story with a surface covering of the black experience than one with an especially strong connection. That wouldn’t necessarily be a problem (Tiana and her story do well depict strong black characterizations, and approach an interesting (if light_ implication about racism and hardship during the 1920s) if Disney had yet created any other franchise that was another actual adaptation of an African or African American tale or story (with involvement from such actual people), but Song of the South is actually it. They legitimately have nothing else to call on.

This is something I feel we should do more to remedy. I am a writer/prospective screenwriter myself, and trying to put more stories out there is one of my primary focuses and goals should I ever truly enter the industry, but at the moment we just don’t have very many options.

This is hardly the only time that people of color have had little control over depictions of their own culture - literary and film history is full of such situations in both minor and terribly major ways - but it’s something that stings especially hard due to being such a current example, and because of sheer irony of the end result. Now we have a situation where African Americans are being told that something their people created to represent themselves is negative and wrong, because years ago other people appropriated that creation and used it to paint a negative picture of the people who actually held claim over it, and now the enterprise that those people created wants to save face: another example of culture being treated like a possession of the ones who are poised to make money of off it. And what’s worse, while the culture is used and abused like trash, the people are now presented with this removal like it was a prize - like they’re finally being given something - when little has really changed.

Ultimately, the Splash Mountain news - though it had been coming for a while - made me rather upset for that reason. As a studier of folklore, I suppose I knew better than most where these things came from, and so the buzz around the move being a belief that Br’er Rabbit was an intrinsically racist character just highlighted the tragedy of how African Americans and their culture tended to be tossed about by American media. So no matter what, I can’t feel particularly happy about it.

Let me iterate, in the film industry, being represented by people who aren’t of your culture group is basically inevitable. That’s essentially how the industry works. I’m not saying we should rail against anyone who would try to represent cultures that aren’t their own. The people who produce and create are few, and eventually the truth is that you have to be represented by other people - at least for the moment. We shouldn’t be railing against representation by others in general, as that wouldn’t be cognizant of the situation and thus self destructive. What I’m saying is that we - both we trying to be represented, and those doing the representing - should be aware of the problem there: that when others choose to represent you in media, you essentially have to trust them to have a real interest in you and your best interests when doing so, and when they don’t that depiction is there forever. So it behooves us to try to be the ones who are representing ourselves as much as possible, and in situations where we can’t, to remind those who want to represent us that they have a responsibility to do so effectively.

This is Animated Minds for Animated Times, and really this blog is ultimately about emphasizing what makes animated media work, what makes it fun, and what makes it worthwhile no matter how old you are. And so in several years of sporadic and infrequent reviews, reactions and fandom posts it’s been rare for me to get this real about a topic, but this is something that is a serious issue feel was overlooked. Representation is complicated. And more often than not solutions that are handed to us are more band-aids that look like cures than necessarily being actually helpful, and that’s what happens when ultimately the decisions about how you’re represented lie in the hands of other people. Representation is one of the biggest things we need to work on in coming years, especially with stories and adaptations - which refer to history and culture that are often not widely known or accepted. Ask someone if they think there should be an African princess, and they’ll tell you they didn’t even have kings and queens in Africa - something that’s bluntly wrong, but is widely believed simply because those elements of culture are never represented.

And that’s the sum of my thoughts on the subject. I hadn’t updated the blog in months because this whole thing was stewing in me, and I couldn’t really go back to cheerful posts about new things until I got it out. I’ve got great thoughts about the Owl House, Amphibia, the new seasons of BH6 and Ducktales that are totally coming up soon. But for now, just a few sobering thoughts from someone who grew up loving cartoons, and desperately wishes people like me had more to look at in that field beyond apologies and promises.

#splash mountain #disney #song of the south #the princess and the frog #brer rabbit #social commentary #black lives matter #representation #walt disney world #joel chandler harris #uncle remus #cultural appropriation #real talk

83 notes · View notes