#hair cut for women 2019 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

babydollmarauders · 8 months

Text

SECOND (TO NONE) — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which y/n has spent most of her life loving Jack, only to always come up second to her sister

notes: can you tell i love Little Women? with that being said, i was extremely inspired by THE Laurie and Amy scene in Little Women (2019), therefore, one portion of dialogue in this fic is not my own but instead borrowed from the scene and all credits for that go to Greta Gerwig. (5.3k words)

it started on september 20th, 2017.

how pathetic is that? i remember the exact date that my sister brought home the boy i would fawn over for the rest of my days.

i remember it clear as day, though most of it could be from the long-held sisterly grudge of my sister telling me to take the bus home; she was waiting for a friend and didn’t want me ‘bugging’ them.

at the time, i figured it was one of her girl friends. but merely a few hours later, i would meet Jack Hughes.

that day would be the wrecking ball for the next six years of my life. day in and day out, from the ages of fifteen to twenty-one, if you were to ask me what i was thinking of, or rather who, the answer would always be Jack.

i spent years of my life wasting away in the agony of unrequited love. because while i was pining over him, he was pining over her.

*** May 6th, 2018 ***

my shirt sticks to my chest, raindrops drenching my clothing and my shoes thoroughly soaked from deep puddles. laughing as i reach the front porch, i glance behind me in await of my best friend.

“Spencer, you’re getting soaked!” i state, though i’m sure he’s extremely aware of his own status.

“it’s just water, y/n. it’s not hurting anyone.” i roll my eyes, Spencer’s natural poetic demeanor incredibly unsettling for a seventeen year old boy.

as he meets me on the porch, my hand finds the front doorknob, slinging open the door and stepping into the warm air. my clothes drip onto the entrance rug, Spencer pushing me aside in order to step in and shut the door behind us.

“mom! we’re home!” my voice echoes throughout the house as i slip my wet sandals off, dropping my shopping bags on the entryway table, Spencer following suit.

“she’s not home! she’s having lunch with Ellen!” my sister’s voice calls back, drifting towards me from the living room.

wandering down the hallway towards the living area, i peel Spencer’s US National Development Program sweatshirt over my head, my cream colored shirt rising slightly as it sticks to the wet hoodie.

“you’ll never guess who Spence and i saw at the-” my words fail me as i reach the living room, my sister sat on the couch beside her own best friend.

all too quickly, i’m suddenly self-conscious about my appearance. finding insecurity in the way my hair has frizzed up from the humidity of the day, and the way my saturated clothes stick to my body as though covered in honey.

nestled into Jack’s side, Sara raises an eyebrow towards me, her expression silently ordering me to leave; a stark contrast to that of her close friend, who smiles warmly towards me.

“hey, bug.” Jack grins, his arm slung around my sister’s shoulder and effectively stinging my soul. “sup, Spence?”

my best friend smiles at his teammate, ignoring Sara’s deadly stare and making himself at home on the gray couch.

“hey, Hughesy.” Spencer gives a nod of acknowledgment, “hey, malibu barbie.”

“i have a name, Knight.” Sara hisses, her nose scrunching in disgust towards my friend. “you’re getting the couch wet.”

“mhm.” Spencer mindlessly hums, turning his head to look back at my still motionless figure, “you coming, y/n/n?”

nodding, i join the three of them on the ‘L’ shaped couch.

“hi, Jack.” i can feel my face flush already, blood rising to my cheeks; the most traitorous display of my feelings.

but Jack just smiles, “how was the mall? crowded?”

“no, actually pretty empty for a weekend.” i reply, my voice meek.

Spencer cuts in, sending me an obnoxious and horribly hidden smirk, “should’ve come, Hughesy. you could’ve kept me company while this one tried on all her new pretty clothes.”

if this was my friend’s attempt at helping me, it sure was a sucky one. Sara’s eyes bounce between Jack, Spencer, and, i before she rolls them, announcing her departure to the bathroom. pushing off the couch, she knocks Jack’s arm off of her shoulders, his smile dropping just slightly as she leaves the room.

“kinda wanted to go.” Jack clears his throat, “but Sara wasn’t feeling it.”

now it’s Spencer’s turn to roll his eyes, nodding his head in understanding, “ah yes, and what Sara wants, Sara gets.”

if this were any other context, the months-long feud between my sister and my best friend would be amusing me in the highest degree; but in the moment, all i can feel is the nausea that bubbles up as Jack’s cheeks twinge pink at his teammates teasing.

“shut up, Spence.” he mutters, eyes flickering back towards me, slightly widened as if he just remembered i was there, “maybe you should do a fashion show for us, bug. Sara’s told me you used to do them for her when you get new clothes, let us see ‘em!”

the cadence in which he speaks, though i know it’s not his intention, makes me feel small. like i’m a child and not only one year younger than him. and yet, the idea that he wants to see me model all of my new clothes makes my heart flutter in my chest; nearly pounding against the bars of the cage i keep it in, wanting nothing more than for me to confess my feelings right then and there on the fabric couch of my living room, a rom-com, annoyingly fitting of the moment, paused on the tv, and my best friend sat right beside me.

“she told you that?”

“yeah,” his brows furrow, “she tells me plenty of stories of when you guys were younger. i love that she loves you.”

right. this is about her, not me.

i smile halfheartedly as Sara walks back into the room, taking her place back on the couch and underneath Jack’s arm.

for a moment, i wonder if he would still be so smitten if he knew that she doesn’t look at him the way that i do… the way that he looks at her. if he would still pine after her and bend to her will if he knew that she had been going on dates with one of the boys on the soccer team, and that she looked at him with stars in her eyes, the same way Jack looks at her. if he would still look past me, still think of me as nothing more than Sara’s little sister, if he knew she had no intentions to ever make something more of their friendship.

would he move on from her? look for someone else to give his affection to? and would i be wildly insane to wonder if it would be me?

“i actually think i’ll pass,” i finally speak again, a lovelorn quirk to my lips, “don’t want Sara getting any ideas to steal any of my new clothes.”

my sister laughs, eyes twinkling as she winks at me, “i’ll see them next time i go shopping in your closet, don’t worry.”

a small flash of disappointment shines through in Jack’s beautiful blue eyes before he nods, “alright, maybe next time.”

*** January 8th, 2023 ***

“Jack!” my voice carries over the noise of a crowded shoe store in New York City, pushing my way through the people as i watch Jack’s head whip around in confusion. “Jack!”

his eyes scan the store, only landing upon me once i’ve finally made my way through the gaggle of people, now a mere few feet from him.

a bright grin spreads across his face, eyes twinkling, “bug!”

his laugh permeates my ears as i launch myself at him, arms latching around his shoulders and making him teeter in place before finding his core balance, his arms spindling around my waist.

“what are you doing here?” he questions as we pull away, his hands still resting on my waist.

“in a shoe store, or in New York?”

“New York, obviously.” he chuckles.

“girls trip! we were bored out of our minds and decided to spend a couple weeks here.” i explain, craning my neck to see if i can spot my friends in the hectic store.

“we?” he repeats, “is…”

my smile dims at his forlorn yet hopeful expression, shaking my head, “oh, no. she’s not here.”

“i came with some friends.” i tell him and he nods, letting out a seemingly relieved breath. “i’m sorry again, Jack. i can’t believe she-”

“let’s not.” he interjects, “if that’s okay? i’d rather not talk about it.”

i agree, my sisters final rejection of him being the last thing on the list of topics i’d like to discuss with my unrequited teenage love.

“who’s this?” someone cuts in, a hand slapping down on Jack’s shoulder. the new guest has a heavy accent, a neat scruff adorning his face… he’s cute.

“oh, Neeks, this is bug, or sorry, y/n.” Jack’s hands drop from my waist, a long-familiar shiver running through me at the loss of his touch. turning partly towards his friend, Jack’s face brightens again. “y/n, this is my captain, Nico.”

“y/n,” Nico parrots, “you’re Sara’s sister, right?”

it takes everything in me not to cringe, having worked so hard to make myself into my own person now; no longer used to being known as ‘Sara’s sister’ like i was in school.

“yeah.” i sigh, nodding my head, “that’s me.”

i should’ve known better than to think i could be my own person when it comes to Jack. that i could be someone more than the girl who used to follow he and my sister around everywhere.

even with Jack’s new friends, ones that have no connection to me or Sara, i’m still just the little sister of the girl who broke his heart.

“she’s not just Sara’s sister.” Jack tells his captain. he slings an arm around my shoulder, that once disappeared flutter reappearing in my chest, “this girl is the best friend of Spencer Knight and Cole Caufield. she used to go everywhere with us.”

and just like that, the flutter is gone, died out in a sudden burst of flames.

Jack looks down at me, “have you spoken to them recently?”

“yeah.” i force a smile. “i speak to them almost every day.”

“sorry to cut the reunion short, but Jack, we have to go soon.” Nico speaks, gaining Jack’s attention again, “it was nice to meet you, y/n. hopefully i’ll see you again.”

Jack backs away, looking at me again, “text me! you should come to the lake house this summer!”

*** June 20th, 2024 ***

last summer, i spent two weeks of July at the Hughes lake house; my days filled by boating, tanning, and golfing; my nights consisting of bonfires and bars.

it was nice, being surrounded by people i’ve known since high school. i had even convinced Spencer to join me on the trip, though he ended up staying longer than i did.

i felt like those two weeks really helped me solidify myself as more than just ‘Sara’s sister’ to the guys, which provided me with a sense of closure with Jack.

no longer was my mind plagued of thoughts about him anymore. my nights no longer accompanied by dreams of the sweet, blue-eyed boy that i so desperately loved in high school. i felt free.

for the first time since i met him, i was able to date without holding out an unrealistic hope that he would randomly tell me he loved me back.

not long after returning home from the lake house, i met Ryan; a lawyer who knew nothing about the hockey world, which i felt was exactly what i needed.

he asked me out and for once in my life, i was able to say yes without feeling guilty. without feeling like somehow i was cheating on my unrequited love. i was finally able to move on from high school love, for the most part.

on our first few dates, i opened up to Ryan; i told him all about how inexperienced i really was with the dating scene and exactly why. i told him about my six years of unreturned love for my sisters ex-best friend. i told him that i was still friends with him but that i felt that love was in the past. and he was okay with it, he was understanding and sincere and he wanted to be the one i moved on with.

within a few months, i was moved in with Ryan, and now here we are, only a month short of our one year anniversary.

only an hour ago, i arrived to the lake house for the second summer in a row. this time, for a full month of relaxation and catching up with friends. Ryan would meet me here for the last week of my month, it not being quite as easy for him to get away from work as it is for me, and i can’t wait to introduce him to the friends who made high school so easy for me.

“y/n!” my peaceful tanning takes a turn when most of the guys arrive back from the grocery store, Trevor appearing to be the most excited to see me.

my eyelids peel open, hand rising to flick my sunglasses to the top of my head as i look over at the hyper hockey player, “hi, Trev.”

his hands slip into mine, helping me up from the lounge chair in order to sweep me into a tight hug.

“how’s life been?” he grins, pulling back and slinging his arm around my shoulder as he guides us into the house.

i can hear the ruckus of rowdy boys from outside, though that’s not at all shocking, in my experience.

“it’s been great.” my mind flickers to my boyfriend, the one who texted me merely thirty minutes ago to make sure i made it here safe, promising to call me when he gets his lunch break, “really great.”

at my pink cheeks and surely dopey smile, Trevor guffaws, pinching my cheek as we step into the house, “did our little bug get a boyfriend?!”

the house goes silent, Trevor’s voice bouncing off the walls and echoing through the downstairs.

“i’m not little.” i mumble, effectively embarrassed by the overwhelming reaction to the news, “i’m only a year younger than you.”

Cole and Spencer are the only two who already knew of the progression in my dating life, being the two people i talk to the most.

“you have a boyfriend?” a voice chimes from my left, and i look over to find Jack, his face soft and his hands full of grocery bags.

i bite back a smile, suddenly feeling hot under all their gazes. nodding, i speak again, “yeah, his name is Ryan. he’s the plus-one i asked about.”

“he’s here?!” Trevor shouts in exasperation.

i giggle, shaking my head at the way the guys all start looking around, all but Jack, “no! he’s coming in a few weeks! he can’t get off work so easily.”

Trevor drags me to the couch, Jack’s eyes following me as he sets the groceries on the table, slowly dragging his feet behind everyone towards the living room.

“what does he do?” “how old is he?” “is he treating you right?” “is he a hockey fan?” “is he hot?”

my brows furrow at the last question thrown at me, looking at Alex in bewilderment, “what? i feel like it’s a good question.”

a hearty laugh drops from my lips, lowering myself to the couch in preparation to answer their many questions.

“he’s a lawyer, he’s twenty-nine, he treats me amazingly, he’s not a hockey fan, and i think he’s pretty hot.”

a collective gasp is heard around the room, my friends looking at me in utter disbelief, “he’s not a hockey fan?”

Cole shudders, as if the idea is the worst thing possible, “you left that out.”

“i couldn’t have you hating on him!” i shout in defense. my eyes scan the room of guys, finally landing on Jack, who stands in the entrance of the room, his hands in his pockets and his lips downturned.

“is that really what you guys are focusing on?” he scoffs and my eyebrows pinch in confusion at his sour mood, “he’s seven years older than her, and you guys are more worried about the fact that he doesn’t like hockey?”

a small part of me feels like a teenager again, honored that he’s so worried about me, but a much larger part of me is offended for both me and my boyfriend.

“i’m an adult, Jack. i can make my own decisions and i’m very aware of Ryan and i’s age gap, but if i’m not uncomfortable with it then why should you be?”

Jack raises a brow at my spiteful tone, clearly not used to having it used on him, “i’ve known you for nearly seven years, bug. i’m just looking out for you.”

“well don’t,” i sneer, “i didn’t ask for you to look out for me. it’s not your job.”

the other boys squirm amidst the tension between Jack and i, Quinn the first to speak up again.

“so, how serious are you guys?”

Quinn’s question gathers my attention again, butterflies swarming in my stomach as i remember a moment just a couple weeks ago.

“i think he’s gonna propose soon.” i confess, my face burning as Spencer lets out an ‘ooooh!’

“i found a ring in his nightstand drawer a few weeks ago, i think he might do it on our anniversary.”

Cole reacts first, pulling me in for a hug as the others cheer out a premature ‘congratulations’, only one member of the group staying silent. but when i look back at the living room entrance, Jack is gone.

“i think this calls for some boating!” Trevor sings out, already jumping up from his seat to go get changed.

“you just want an excuse to go out on the boat!” Luke yells, Trevor nodding in agreement as he disappears up the stairs.

after an entire week of boating, wakesurfing, and golfing, we end our sunday night around a bonfire.

orange flames lick at the air, the added heat making the summer night sweltering. yet, most of us can be found sitting around the fire pit, enjoying each other’s company.

“dude, she wasn’t flirting with you.” Cole yells across the blazing fire to Trevor, who’s still convinced the girl he met this afternoon was hitting on him.

“she so was!” Trevor huffs, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

almost everyone rolls their eyes, the rest of us knowing the girl was incredibly uninterested in the hyperactive twenty-three year old.

“y/n, she was flirting with me, right?!” Trevor turns to me, eyes wide in await of my agreement, but it never comes.

scrunching my nose, my head shakes in denial, making him groan.

“the only other girl has spoken… that was not flirting!” Spencer announces, “better luck next time, Z.”

“i don’t think y/n would know flirting if it hit her in the face. she doesn’t count.” Jack laughs, raising his beer up to his lips as he smirks at my offended expression.

“i have a boyfriend! i know what flirting looks like!”

“a soon to be fiancé.” Alex wiggles his eyebrows, shimmying his shoulders in a teasing manner as he stands up, “i’m heading inside, it’s too hot out here.”

a few others mutter in agreement, rising from their chairs and following him into the house, leaving just me, Spencer, and Jack.

i sit in silence, watching the flames as the two boys converse, not yet ready to head inside. instead, i’m pulled off in my own thoughts, my mind twisting as i think of this past week.

i thought Jack and i were fine. he said last summer that he didn’t hold my sisters rejection against me, but now i’m wondering if he was lying. ever since i’ve arrived, he’s been nothing but cold shouldered and a bit bitter towards me.

but the oddest part is that it hurts me more than i’d like it to. it feels like my teenage years all over again, vying for his attention and affections, desperate for him to love me. i thought i was over this unreciprocated love, but now here i am again, my only comfort being the knowledge that Jack doesn’t love me like that, but i have someone back home who does.

Spencer’s lips press to the crown of my head, pulling my head out of my thoughts.

“i’m heading inside.” he tells me, earning a nod of acknowledgment from me as i tell him i’ll probably be in soon.

and then there were two.

Jack and i sit in silence for a while, neither of us daring to break the peace as we admire the fire. i push up from my seat, stepping a bit closer to the fire pit in order to watch the orange burn of the logs.

“don’t marry him.”

my head snaps over to Jack, his eyes now glued to me as my face contorts in confusion.

“what?” i gawk.

“don’t marry him.” he repeats, finally standing from his chair.

“why?”

“why?” he scoffs, “you know why.”

my mind is racing, my heart beating wildly in my chest as i turn to face him completely.

“no.” i shake my head, realization settling deep within the pits of my stomach, “no.”

“yes.” he steps closer, a mere 5 feet from me now, and i instinctively take a step back.

all week he’s been sour towards me and i’ve wondered what it meant, and now i know. he’s upset.

upset with me for finding someone else.

“no. Jack, you’re being mean.” i frown. old feelings rise inside of me, nausea plaguing me as tears spring to my eyes, and Jack closes up the space between us, his hand grasping my arm lightly, “stop it, stop it!”

“what? how am i being mean?” he mumbles, brows threading together as i shake off his touch.

“i have been second to Sara my whole life. in everything!” i cry lightly, “and i will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her.”

i step away, slowly backing up towards the house, still facing the man who held my heart for so long, only now wanting me when i’m finally taken.

“i won’t-” i stutter, gasping for breath, “i won’t do it. i won’t. not when i’ve spent my entire life loving you.”

Jack’s lips part as he stands in place, as if shocked. as though he wasn’t expecting such an easy confession to tumble from my lips.

“you just-” i sigh, tears spilling over my waterline as i freeze, the joints of my thumbs being pressed to my eyes in attempt to stop my crying, “why don’t you want me to be happy, Jack?

“i spent six years pining for you. i would’ve done anything to get you to love me. and all you wanted was her! and i don’t hate you for that, i can’t be mad at you, you can’t help who you love; but now that i’ve tried to move on, you want to tell me that i shouldn’t marry him? you don’t even love me!”

anger bubbles within me at the audacity that he holds, my hand flying between us in emphasis of my emotions.

“yes, i do!” he spits back, stepping towards me, “don’t tell me what i feel! just because i may not have felt it back then doesn’t mean i can’t feel it now!”

“you only want me because you can’t have her!” i argue.

“you keep saying that but that’s not true! and no matter how many times you say it, it’s not just gonna magically become true, y/n!

“maybe you want to be right because it would make this easier on you. but the truth is that spending time with you without Sara around just gave me the opportunity to get to know the real you. and yes, maybe i didn’t love you like this then, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that i love you now.”

his chest heaves as he closes the space between us once more, staring down at me the exact way that i’ve looked at him all these years; like i’m the only person in the world for him. like i hung the stars in the sky to shine just for him. like i hold his heart in my hands, the fate of his existence weighing in my decisions.

“i love the way you smile and the way that you speak so softly.” he whispers breathily, “i love seeing you in your glasses late at night, and the fact that somehow you’re always cold. i love your kind heart and the way that you care about everyone you meet, so easily. i love your smart mind and the fact that even though you know you’re smarter than literally everyone here, you don’t show it off or make us feel dumb. instead, you correct us lightly, even if it’s Trevor being stubborn and insisting he’s right.”

i let out a raspy chuckle at his words, tears still silently falling down my cheeks.

“i love your determination and that when you set your mind to something, you achieve it. i love your good and even what you say are your flaws. i love you, y/n. and i’m sorry that i didn’t see it before. tell me to back off and i will. tell me you choose him and i’ll leave you alone, i won’t push it. but i needed to tell you how i feel before it was too late.”

he finally ends his speech, his eyes flickering between my own and my lips.

my mind feels numb yet entirely too full with this new knowledge, and i can’t process it all with him staring at me expectantly.

“can i think about this? please?” i question, pulling away, “this is a lot for me to process right now and i need some time, Jack.

“i spent so long trying to get over you. i thought you would never like me the way that i like you, and now you’re telling me this and i have to make a decision and i just-”

“of course.” Jack cuts me off, nodding, “take however long you need. i don’t want you to feel rushed; really think about it, bug. i don’t want you to choose me just because you feel like you have to. if you want him, then choose him. but if you want me, i’m here. i’m telling you that i love you and i want you, and i’ll wait however long you need.”

i nod, turning and finally walking into the house, hands swiftly wiping at my cheeks to try and get rid of my tears before i reach the door, but it’s useless. just as fast as i wipe the old tears, new ones follow.

“and i— y/n, you okay?” Luke asks, stopping his story to the guys as i rush through the living room and towards the stairs.

i stop at the first step, sniffling but not turning to face them, “yeah, i’m gonna head to bed. i’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

a chorus of ‘goodnight’s are shouted my way as i ascend the stairs, shutting myself in my bedroom and locking the door.

crumpling to the bed, my tears won’t stop, heavy sobs wracking my chest.

hours pass by slowly until it’s eight in the morning, my body exhausted and aching from tossing and turning all night. i couldn’t shut my mind off, no matter how hard i tried.

i feel so conflicted, my heart being pulled into two directions, but i know that one direction is stronger than the other.

no matter how hard i tried to move on, i should’ve known that there was no ‘moving on’ from Jack. those feelings would always linger, still hidden under the guise of closure and friendship.

Jack is my home. my heart will always lie with him, no matter how long passes or who i meet.

my thumb hovers over Ryan’s contact, shaking but otherwise frozen, my body overwhelmed with anxiety at what might await me at the other end of the phone call.

the dial tone rings out, my cellphone now being pressed to my ear as i await the greeting from the other side.

“hey, babe. i was just about to call you.”

“you were?” my tone is raspy and low, my throat sore from crying.

“yeah, somethings come up. i don’t think i can make it on the trip like we planned.” a sense of relief fills me at his words.

“oh, that’s okay. i actually think i’m gonna come back early.” i tell him, my eyes staring straight ahead of me at my half packed suitcase.

“why’s that?”

“i think we need to talk.” i confess, pressure building back up on my chest as i think about the conversation awaiting me back home.

Ryan sighs gently and i can hear some papers being shuffled around, the creak of a door shutting before he speaks again.

“did you sleep with him?”

“what?” i’m appalled, my lips parted in disbelief.

“Jack. did you sleep with him?” he wonders so easily, like he just assumed it would happen.

“no!” i scoff.

“then it’s okay.” he replies, and though i don’t know how he would know, i can tell; he knows what i have to tell him. “i expected it. i really liked you, and i know you really liked me, but i’ve known from the start that i couldn’t compare to him.

“you may have have liked me, but you love him.” he tells me, “i just hope he doesn’t take you for granted, because you deserve the best. and if he is that for you, then i’m happy for you. but if he treats you like anything less… don’t settle, y/n.”

just when i had thought i had nothing left to give, more tears run down my rose tinted cheeks, “i’m sorry.”

“don’t be.” he’s stern with his words, showing me he means them, “i assume he told you how he feels?”

“yeah.” i sigh, “he loves me.”

“then don’t be sorry. you deserve to love and to be loved.”

“thank you.”

he mutters a goodbye, the call ending, and i feel a sense of determination flood through my veins.

rising off my bed, i fling open my bedroom door, stomping down the steps until i reach the kitchen, where i can hear the boys discussing the plan for the day.

at my whirlwind arrival, the boys silence, watching me with baited breath and curious eyes as i stalk towards Jack, who stands frozen at the counter.

“what’s going o-” Trevor’s words are quieted by the sound of my hand smacking against Jack’s cheek. the boys gasping at my action before Trevor begins to laugh.

“that’s for waiting so long.” i huff and Jack nods robotically.

“so i’m guessing that’s a no?” he wonders, voice solemn, as though accepting defeat.

“shut up.” i whisper.

my hands glide over his shoulders, wrapping around the nape of his neck as i pull him down towards me, crashing my lips upon his in a bruising kiss.

“oh!” “what the fuck!”

our friends reactions are thoroughly ignored, Jack’s hands coming to rest on my waist, his fingers gripping into my hips as he deepens the kiss. his tongue slides past my parted lips, but i pull away before we can get any farther in front of our friends.

“and that’s my decision.” i whisper, a beautiful smile spreading across his lips, “don’t make me regret it.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it, bug.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #nj devils #nhl fic #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s writings <3

1K notes · View notes

andi-kook · 4 months

Text

DEAD KIDS ✦ Chapter 2

SUMMARY: A group of university students kidnaps their rich batchmate for ransom. However, things take a darker turn when the new recruit grows a dangerous obsession with the captive and all hell breaks loose.

PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Slow burn Yandere, Crime AU

WARNINGS: Not suitable for audiences below 18. Please do not engage with the story if you are underage. WATCH OUT FOR: dark and morally corrupt characters, foul language, mention of Catholicism, slut shaming and objectification of women, mention of inappropriate relationship between professor/student, mentions and depiction of “rape” and “rape fantasy” throughout the story, masturbation, threats, MC has an NSFW blog with hard kinks and fantasies, non consensual touching. Overall, this is a disturbing chapter – based on my standards – so if you are not comfortable with these topics, do not proceed. Inspired by the film, Dead Kids (2019).

TAGLIST: @hopeworldsupremacy @aliajomarie011 @ackercute @tatumrileyslover @ane102 @jjk174 @dontcallmeelle @merrygo1427 @taekritimin123 @r1r111 @gguksfilter @coralmusicblaze

If I didn’t tag you – either your blog doesn’t exist according to Tumblr or because you did not show your age in your blog. Thank you!

ANDI: I send my love to the beautiful souls who sent me asks about Dead Kids as well as these equally beautiful souls – @.taekritimin123 @.hellbornsworld @.tinytangerineangel @.namjesusdaughter – for commenting on Chapter 1. I cannot express just how much I appreciate your words. I would have tagged you directly, but I wasn’t sure if you would want that. But I wanted to show my appreciation.

WORD COUNT: 3K

“Why did you really want to take her?” Jungkook asks Namjoon as they sit and eat the ramen he cooked around the living area. Beside him, Yoongi and Hoseok are fast asleep, the latter clutching onto the former’s arm like it’s his plushie while the former has his head thrown against the headrest.

Namjoon, who is seated on the other makeshift sofa, gulps down the soup from his ramen before letting out a satisfied sigh and wipes his mouth with the back of his mouth. “How many times do we have to say that we kidnapped Y/N for ransom?”

“I’m not stupid, Namjoon,” Jungkook says. “We’re already tied to this shit until the ransom drop. The least you can do is be upfront on why you did this in the first place. I’m not taking a bullet for you or anyone.”

The buzz-cut haired man leans his back against the sofa, which unlike his premium one, is built from scratch by Jungkook using old wood and cases of beers around the warehouse. He gazes at Jungkook for a while, studying him while swimming in his own thoughts. The tattooed man wonders if Namjoon is contemplating telling him the truth. He wonders if the two sleeping men beside him also knew the truth.

They claim to have been friends since the fourth grade, but does time really make you know a person inside out?

“My father didn’t used to be the way he is now – corrupt. Growing up, I looked up to him because of how honest and upstanding he was as a cop. I knew he did some off-the-books shit, but he still had a moral compass, still had lines he didn’t cross. But then he met Y/N’s father, Kim Seokjin, when I was ten. Suddenly, everything changed,” Namjoon narrates, letting out a scoff as he shakes his head and rubs his palms on his baggy jeans. “He went from being a great husband and father to my mother and I to a complete asshole. We didn’t have religion but after meeting Kim Seokjin, we were suddenly Catholics, attending church with his family every Sunday. I was baptized and Kim Seokjin became my godfather. But the worst part was seeing him erase all the lines he drew and swore never to cross when he began to use his position as a detective and then eventually sergeant to now the chief of the entire police force in Seoul to protect Kim Seokjin and his criminal empire.”

Jungkook inhales deeply. “So, kidnapping Y/N is you taking on revenge against Kim Seokjin for corrupting your father? It is personal. It’s never about the money?”

“Of course, the money is important and integral to the plan. But yes, you are correct – I want to avenge my father from Kim Seokjin by hitting him where I know it will hurt the most: his only daughter, Y/N.”

“You promised that we are not going to hurt her,” Jungkook counters immediately.

Namjoon doesn’t say anything.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook clicks his tongue. “If you do that – what makes you different than Kim Seokjin?”

“Why are you so protective of her?” Namjoon asks pointedly. “What? Just because she gave you a boner, you’re suddenly fucking in love with her? Don’t think I didn’t notice. We all did. Yoongi is right – drop the morally upright act, Jeon. You’re just as demented as we are. The moment you agreed to this plan, you’re just as fucked up.”

The sudden call out makes Jungkook turn crimson and Namjoon smirks, placing his leg over the other. “Don’t worry – unlike you, I don’t judge people. To each our own. If shit like that turns you on, then that’s on you. Why don’t you take the opportunity to act on it?”

His eyes widen, shocked and disgusted. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jungkook knows exactly what Namjoon is talking about, but he is completely aghast at the insinuation.

The de facto leader only widens his smirk, pulling out his packet of cigarettes and lighter from the front pocket of his large, oversized coat. “You know what I’m talking about, Jeon. A pretty naked girl tied to a chair in your warehouse – it’s perfectly normal to feel aroused by such sight. We won’t judge you if you just get it over and done with.”

“You’re more than fucked up,” Jungkook hisses, face flushed and veins popping out on his neck. “I’m not going to fucking touch her.”

Namjoon lights the cigarette in between his lips. Then, he inhales, and smoke leaves his lips as he replies, “Why not? Y/N is a dirty slut who fucks her married professor with kids her age after church and dinner every Sunday night and more – I bet you all my cut that she’s not going to resist you because she’s probably into fucking someone having their own way with her. No, in fact, I can tell you she’s going to enjoy it.”

Jungkook feels hot. Images of your naked trembling body and whimpering pleas filling his mind and ears.

“She has a blog, you know? A secret blog where she writes these fantasies and kinks she has. Posts her nudes on there too. Do you wanna know what is one fantasy she keeps on writing about?”

“No, I really don’t,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth.

“It’s a rape fantasy, Jungkook. What a fucking dirty slut she is, right? I bet she’s fucking wet right now at the thought, at the anticipation that one of us or all of us are going to have our ways with her. I bet she’s aching to be touched. I bet she wants you to rape her, Jungkook. So, why not just do it?”

He stands up in a jolt, hitting his knee on the makeshift table he made from old tires and steel roof and stammering some excuse that he needs to go the bathroom or air – he can’t remember. Jungkook finds himself in his room, back pressed against the door. His shirt sticks to his skin because of the sweat, and he takes it off, leaving it discarded on the floor. Namjoon’s words mixed with the flashing images of your perky nipples, smooth skin, sound of your whimpers, pleas, your smell – it makes him hard. Harder than he’s ever been.

Before he knows it, Jungkook is unbuttoning his jeans, pulling it down along with his boxers, his erection springing free. He spits on his palm before he begins stroking his length, shuddering at the touch, making his mouth dry. He presses the back of his head against the door, eyes closed as he imagines you on your knees – like you were with the professor – those lips around his shaft, head bobbing as you suck him dry. He imagines hearing your moans, imagines his dick hitting the back of your throat as you go deeper and beg him to fuck your mouth like a whore. Jungkook’s stroking himself faster. He imagines hearing you gag as he fucks your mouth, not stopping even when you’re clearly suffocating. Then, he cums, toes curling and a guttural groan escaping his lips.

As he comes back from his high, Jungkook stares at the white sticky substance covering his hand and cock. He just jerked off to you, a girl they kidnapped, and he knows it won’t be the last time.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Yoongi hisses at him the moment he comes back from his room, showered and changed into more comfortable clothes.

Jungkook deliberately ignores the stare of Namjoon and flops on the seat beside Hoseok who is eating the remaining ramen. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“I’m going to punch this kid, I swear to God,” Yoongi grumbles, rolling his eyes. “We’re making the ransom call, you dumb fuck. Or rather, you are.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “What? Why me?”

“Every one of us here has already encountered Y/N’s father at least once. The man remembers everyone he encounters. You’re the only exception,” Namjoon explains as he hands you a black phone. “It’s a burner phone, untraceable. I took it from my dad. And this is what you’re going to say – make sure you sound intimidating at least. Put it on speaker too.”

Namjoon places his phone on the makeshift table and Jungkook clicks his tongue. “The deal was you only use my warehouse. So far, you got me doing far more than that.”

“Do you want 25 million or not?” Yoongi asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Cos if you do, you better start calling Kim Seokjin.”

I’m going to punch you soon, Jungkook tells himself before he unlocks the phone and goes to the contact list where Kim Seokjin’s name is the only one listed. He takes a deep breath, going over the script on Namjoon’s phone before clicking on the contact and putting the call on speaker. The ringing sound echoes throughout the warehouse. The tension is palpable again, like it was back in the car earlier that night.

After a few more rings, Kim Seokjin’s voice fills the warehouse. It’s light but a hint of roughness and irritation is noticeable right away.

“Who is this?”

Jungkook licks his lips as he read the script in front of him. “We have your daughter. If you want to see her alive, prepare 100 million won and bring it to 2020 this Friday night. Otherwise, the next time you’ll see her is on the news, dead.”

Hoseok covers his mouth to keep himself from laughing while Yoongi stares hard at the phone. Namjoon, on the other hand, is relaxed on his seat, smoking.

“You sound young, boy,” Seokjin remarks. “You are not the first person to call me in the middle of the night asking for ransom. Do you really have any idea what you’re doing?”

Namjoon motions for him to repeat what he just said.

“If you want to see her alive, prepare 100 mill—,”

“Don’t you think I would be able to find my daughter faster than you could ever imagine? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

That triggers Jungkook. He’s been hearing that question – that discrimination his entire life and he’s sick of it. He’s fucking sick of it.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are. Either you give us 100 million in exchange for your whore of a daughter or I will personally make you watch as we do everything we want with her, make you watch as she begs you to make it stop, make you listen as she takes her last breath before I fucking slit her throat so deep her head nearly decapitates. You have until Friday night – and you better make sure the police don’t get involved. Don’t fucking ask me who the fuck you are again.”

He ends the call, gripping the phone tightly.

“What the fuck was that? Why the hell didn’t you stick to the script?! Are you trying to get us all a one way ticket to prison?!” Yoongi exclaims.

“Did you not hear what he’s saying? He caught on that we are fucking amateurs. I saved our asses – you should be fucking grateful,” Jungkook snaps, clenching his jaw. “If you didn’t want me to do the call, maybe the three of you should have done it yourselves. Fucking useless bastards.”

“Hey! What did you say?” Hoseok stands, pushing Jungkook by placing his hands on his chest. “Who are you calling useless, huh?”

“Who do you think?” He scoffs.

“Let’s fucking kill this son of a bitch, Hobi.”

“Gladly.”

“Enough,” Namjoon says sternly. “No one is going to kill anyone. Not amongst ourselves. What Jungkook did is right, Yoongi. Jungkook saved our asses. And you,” He turns to the long-haired man, glaring at him. “Mind your fucking tone and language with us. We’re not fucking useless. Remember that we recruited you. Not the other way around. If anyone should be grateful to someone, it’s you. We’re the reason you’ll get out of this shit hole.”

Nobody says a word.

“It’s getting late. Let’s gather here tomorrow after our classes. Just go about your usual days until the drop. Don’t be suspicious,” The de facto leader reminds. “Jungkook, keep an eye out, okay? Don’t forget to check in on our little friend from time to time. Make sure she’s still breathing.” He smirks as he pats his shoulder on his way out.

Yoongi and Hoseok follow suit. Once Jungkook hears Namjoon driving off his – rather his aunt’s – property, he resigns to the sofa behind him. He buries his face into his hands. Five days. You’ll be stuck with him at the warehouse for five fucking days. Granted, he has classes to attend to, so he won’t be at home all day, but he’s sure you won’t leave his mind wherever he goes.

The phone in his hand buzzes and he stares at the new notification on the screen – a text message from an unknown number. Jungkook unlocks the phone, goes to the messaging app, and clicks on the new text.

avirgins1ut on tumblr if you wanna read some things tonight

“Fuck you, Namjoon,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. However, when he goes to his room, grabs his shitty phone and opens his data – he installs the app despite knowing it will consume almost all the remaining gigabytes he has left.

Jungkook lies down on his bed and creates his profile. He doesn’t bother customizing it, going straight to your blog which is all black and hot pink. Instantly, he’s drawn to your profile picture – a simple mirror shot of you hiding your bare chest with your arms, head tilt slightly to the side and a black panty covering your cunt. He swallows the lump in his throat as he scrolls down, reading your pinned post:

“Hey. You can call me Angel. I’m 23 years old. This blog is filled with all my fantasies and kinks, sometimes my nudes. Feel free to send me yours too.

My kinks: cnc, free use, somnophilia, spit, slapping, marking, choking, daddy, and more.

My favorite fantasies: rape play, kidnapped, kept as sex slave, knife/gun play, forced gangbang, and more – why don’t you help me unlock those? DMs and asks open for all your threats and nudes.

Update: already got myself a master/daddy. Asks and messages are off.”

As he scrolls further down your blog, Jungkook doesn’t even realize he already has his hand wrapped around his dick as he masturbates to your the latest fantasy you wrote albeit months ago.

I can’t stop masturbating to this dark fantasy of mine – being raped by someone so brutally after they kidnap me. How they would keep me chained to the bed, always naked so they can easily rape me whenever and however they want. They would mock me whenever I would tell them to stop (“You shouldn’t have worn those skirts if you didn’t want to be raped. But you did. So, this isn’t rape. You were clearly asking for this like some depraved filthy bitch in heat. You’re fucking loving this, don’t you? Isn’t this what you want?”) and choke me as they pound into my wet and clenching pussy relentlessly. They would slap and spit on my face, abusing my cunt for hours until I’m full of theirs and their friends’ cum whom they called to let them have a taste of their new toy.

They would rape me day in and out until my body gets so used to it that I start asking for it – crying and begging to be fucked. “Shh, angel, daddy’s going to fuck you, okay? Don’t cry.” Slowly, I would forget all my autonomy and identity, wholly submitting myself to them because I was never my own in the first place – I was always theirs.

“Fuck, Y/N!” His entire body shakes as he cums again. Jungkook can’t stop – he wants to read more, see more as you posted a picture of your cum covered cunt at the end of the post and he imagines it’s his. But he gets a notification that he is out of data and Jungkook slams his phone on his bed, frustrated beyond bounds. He is still hard. He still wants to see more of you, read more of your fantasies.

Namjoon’s words echo in his mind. I bet she’s fucking wet right now at the thought, at the anticipation that one of us or all of us are going to have our ways with her. I bet she’s aching to be touched. I bet she wants you to rape her, Jungkook. So, why not just do it?”

And before he knows it – he is standing across from your limp body. You’re still unconscious – sack over your head, tied and bound on the metal chair. Jungkook walks towards you, gently touching your shoulders to see if you would react but you don’t. He bites his lower lip as his eyes fall on your naked chest. He reaches down to trace its curves before ultimately cupping one breast in hand, fondling, squeezing, twisting the nipple and pinching it. No response.

He begins to stroke himself as he continues to fondle your breasts. This is wrong, but why does it feel so good?

“F-Fucking slut, you’re asking for this,” Jungkook hisses through his teeth. He’s not going to last any longer – not when those perky nipples are so inviting and moments later, he cums all over tits. He’s panting, an exhilarating feeling he hasn’t felt before rising within him as he stares at your cum covered chest. He swallows, breathing heavily. Should he stop now or keep going? He doesn’t have data anymore, but he does have the real thing right in front of him. But you twitch and he jumps in surprise. Suddenly, the realization of his actions washes upon him. He feels a coil in his stomach. What has he done? He scrambles out of the room and dash straight to the bathroom where he extensively washes his hand and splashes cold water on his face. Then, he throws himself on his thin mattress, staring at the ceiling as he pants. Namjoon is right – he’s just as fucked up as they are.

CHAPTER 3 is coming soon.

TAGLIST: Wanna be part of Dead Kids’ taglist? Fill out this form and don’t forget to read the short note in order for me to tag you.

ANDI: I do not condone the behaviors exhibited in this story. The characters of Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok do not reflect who they are in real life. Fanfiction is just fanfiction. I have no schedule in writing – I write whenever I can. Please try to refrain from sending asks about updates (or at least be kind and polite about it) and let me know your feedbacks instead as they help a lot in motivation and inspiration! 🦉

#yandere jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere bts #bts x reader #bts fic #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts au #dark jungkook #dark bts #andi.writes 💭

265 notes · View notes

maslows-pyramid-scheme · 4 months

Text

A teenage boy in the middle of the night found his father holding a brick over his unconscious mother on the kitchen floor. "I'm not going to stop until she's dead," the father, in his late 30s, told his son. The man ... smashed a window to enter the house ... hit his wife's head against a wall and repeatedly stomped and kicked her head, leaving her unconscious. The husband cut off her waist-long hair with a kitchen knife and left it on the bench [and] had repeatedly smashed his wife's face into kitchen tiles because he suspected she was cheating on him. The man had no prior criminal record. However, he did have an apprehended domestic violence order (ADVO) imposed on him. ... The Herald's analysis of ADVO's over a five-year period has found a rise in the number of offenders breaching ADVOs even amid a police crackdown [up 35% between 2019 and 2023], while punishments are becoming less severe [fines increased as a proportion of punishments from 12% to 21% between 2019 and 2023].

Domestic violence is so prevalent that, once a week, local courts dedicate an entire courtroom just to hearing DV offences (which they call 'DV day). The average DV hearing only takes 10-20 minutes, so you can imagine how many hundreds of men are have been charged with DV offences (and the key word here is 'charged,' because many women never contact the police, and so many men are never charged).

It's so prevalent that judges, prosecutors, and defendants don't even seem to take it seriously - I've seen a judge and defendant mock a victim's family, I've seen defendants turn up in old clothes full of holes and sports gear, I've seen prosecutors forget to bring court documents because of the sheer volume of DV cases.

#to say that it's a racial issue obscures the problem: men (collectively) hate women (collectively)#radblr #radfem safe #radfems do interact

199 notes · View notes

sheepinthebigcity · 1 month

Text

you know what. let's make a poll with some of the nominated women that weren't valid nominations bc i like a lot of them and all them were beaten to the punch by sexymen...

All of these women were not eligible to be nominated because someone from their show was already on sexypedia, meaning the role of sexyperson was taken.

If you'd like to nominate someone GO HERE! Make sure to read the rules! I'm looking for some really obscure characters for this one!!!

Propaganda under the cut, of course!!!

Aviva Corvicado (Beaten out by Zach Varmitech): "Her inventions were so cool... literally everyone on the tortuga would be absolutely fucked without her. She's so badass. She could beat any of the other characters in a fight."

Ms. Bellum (Beaten out by HIM, Ace, Professor Utonium, and Dick Hardly): "She is sexy herself. She's the brains behind the man. She's got legs for days. Somehow, never seeing her face makes her even SEXIER."

Spider (Beaten out by Centipede): "If this thing is getting scorned by the furry/vampire enthusiast/milf enthusiast website I'll eat my hat. Her boyfriend is even on sexypedia while she somehow isn't. She's even Fr*nch."

Splatter Phoenix (Beaten out by Quackerjack, Darkwing Duck, Negaduck, and Steelbeak): "She's a punk artist with dyed hair, a leather jacket and big boots. Tumblr loves that! She's also made of paint which is cool. She can turn anything she paints alive or change the real world by painting it. She was one of few returning villains in the show (she got two episodes instead of one like most characters). She is a villain as well and one of the more successful ones. I just think she's really cool okay"

Maddie Fenton (Beaten out by Vlad Masters): "first milf i ever loved 😭😢"

Carmen Sandiego (Beaten out by Mime Bomb): "she is cool, hot, succeeds in taking down a criminal organization and can be a little cringe at times i love her"

Catherine (Beaten out by Judgment Boy, Hell's Chef, and Dr. Fritz) and Dora Smarmy (Beaten out by Sketch and Jumpin' Johnny Jumble) have no propaganda.

#tumblr's next cartoon sexywoman #wild kratts #the powerpuff girls #james and the giant peach #darkwing duck #danny phantom #carmen sandiego #gregory horror show #crashbox #not tagging the characters this time SOZ

116 notes · View notes

victoria-daydreams · 2 months

Text

The Winner Takes It All ||Challengers

Part II: Maneaters

AN: I'm back y'all! I'm sorry for the delay in posting, classes are over but my god did work quickly fill the vacuum of the little free time I had. Buckle up everyone, we're experiencing our first time jump! And once again, a big thank you to has followed this story!

Trigger warnings: slight homophobia

Word Count: 6.1k

Taglist: @seriousaliysa @hopeless-y @malscorner @miximora @urfavesim @mmmunson @jackierose902109 @youngestxhearts @blkdivinefeminine @kalikailz @lottiematthewsceo @lonnie2390147 @begoniaespresso @everydayimagineer @pnkstali @softimgyu @amethystwonders11 @hazbinh0e @ysuftmikey @summerssover @hummusxx @callumturnerwife23 @whitewashedghanian @brunettegirl @igotmajordaddyissues

I tried to tag everyone who commented, but tumblr is being weird so I don’t know if you’ll get the notification.

Part III: The First Crack

13 YEARS LATER - NEW ROCHELLE, AUGUST 2019

In the mostly empty lobby bar of The Ritz-Carlton, a woman occupied the furthest seat of the counter, alone. Her eyes were glued to the screen of her iPad Air as vibrant, moving images reflected perfectly in her eyes. "Electric Lady" by Janelle Monae played in the background of the video while several women and a few men were dancing or goofing around against a lilac backdrop. The camera cut to a shot of a smiling woman, striking several posses for it, showing off the makeup flawlessly applied to her face. Suddenly, the woman was lightly shoved out of the frame by two laughing women all sharing resemblance of each other as they began using the camera as a mirror to apply lipstick or lip gloss. The camera zoomed in on the round and square tubes of the products, displaying the white lettering printed across it.

Another model popped up on screen doing a twirl before the camera focused in on the eye makeup painted on his face. Just as the music was slowly beginning to fade out, the camera positioned itself into an overhead shot, showing the set in its entirety. On both sides, models were crowding in front of mirrors inside a beauty bar. The woman from the beginning of the video confidently strode down the middle of the space, the camera slowly panning down to bring it down to eye level.

"Ace Beauty. Keeping your game face effortlessly chic and always classic," she recited smoothly, a charming smile on her face as she signed her name on the lens with lipstick.

Gianna stared at herself in the video, the end of her Apple Pencil pressed against her lips. Her own makeup line, Gianna could hardly believe that's a sentence she could say. It made sense to pursue the business endeavor though, her makeup looks off the court were always being discussed by her fans. Her Instagram comments were constantly flooded with questions: what techniques does she use, how did she achieve a certain look, what products is she wearing, etc. The makeup line scheduled to drop the same day as the start of the US Open Tournament, this of course was by design; what better way to promote your new brand than doing it on the same day when millions of eyes are already on her.

"You actually came,"

The sound of his voice made a grin tug on Gianna's lips.

"Well why wouldn't I, Patrick?" she questioned, placing the stylus down onto the bar. "I said I would I come, and here I am," she said, turning to look at the dark haired man with a laugh.

Gianna slid down from the stool and onto the floor, holding her arms open invitingly for an embrace. Though they were a few feet apart, she couldn't help but notice that Patrick was a little worse for wear. Like he was constantly at war with life itself and lost many battles in the process, but somehow was still here. Gratefully, Patrick accepted the hug, but Gianna was unprepared for how tightly he held onto her. He was like a child holding their favorite stuffed animal, it couldn't have been clearer to Gianna that Patrick was in need of comfort. In need of a friend.

"Okay, okay, Patrick, it's great to see you too buddy," Gianna said, patting his back lightly a couple of times. But you are squeezing the life out of me," she wheezed, and Patrick immediately released her.

He pulled back, running his hands down her arms while letting his eyes roam over her freely.

"You look damn good Gianna," Patrick complimented, shaking his head and laughing.

She shrugged her shoulders, "Hmm, I know," she agreed, twirling around in her ivory Ralph Lauren sleeveless jumpsuit. "You don't look so bad yourself, Patrick," she complimented back.

Those gray eyes, worn and tired, but still the same eyes that lit up whenever he had seen her. Still the same boy underneath it all.

"Come, sit with me," Gianna encouraged, walking back to her corner stool.

Taking a seat next to her, Patrick propped his arm up against the counter and leaned his head against his fist.

"How's your dad?" he wondered curiously, smirking a little.

A breathy chuckle escaped her, "It is very brave, kind really, of you to ask about the well being of my dad," Gianna commented, something which Patrick laughed at. "He's fine all things considered, misses coaching me, but with his heart attack it's best he focuses on his tennis academy. Less stressful," she answered, unlocking her IPad.

"And what does father dearest think about you coming to a challenger tournament to see me?"

Another laugh left Gianna, this one harder than the previous one, "You do not want to know," she warned, dragging her finger across the screen to start her makeup ad from the beginning.

"Come on, what did the old man say? You piqued my curiosity now," he said, wearing a challenging smirk.

Gianna's eyebrows shot up, her head tilting to the side to wordlessly convey the question of, "You sure about that?" It only made Patrick's smirk deepen.

"Alright, you asked for it, but don't say I didn't warn you," she began, lifting her hands up. "My dad said it was beneath me to even be anywhere in your proximity," Gianna answered bluntly.

"You know, I gotta admire the old man for his never wavering in his hatred of me," Patrick joked. "At least you still came and didn't listen to him like you would've before,"

"Yeah, I did take some words of wisdom from you the day we broke up," she admitted, looking over to him. "You were right, you know? I always allowed my dad's words to sway me much too easily," she remarked. "Though, you are wrong about one thing. My dad doesn't hate you. Initially, he did," she informed, watching Patrick's eyebrows rise. "No, what he hates is watching you squander the potential you had as a tennis star," she corrected, shrugging her shoulders.

"Ouch," Patrick said, pressing his hand over his chest in fake pain.

Gianna thought she saw a brief flash of hurt in his eyes, but in an instant, it was gone and she was forced to think she had imagined it.

"Listen, not saying this tournament won't work out for you, but if doesn't, I have a proposal that my dad is probably going to kill me for," she said, resting her arms on the counter.

"And that is?"

"I'll get you a position at the Maurice Langdon Academy as an instructor," Gianna offered.

Patrick's head jerked up from his hand, "You serious, Gia?" he asked, a glimmer of gratefulness shining in his eyes.

"Serve normally, and I can almost guarantee you that my dad will take you on," she assured, pointing her finger at him.

"This isn't charity, right?" Patrick asked, a flash of skepticism appearing on his face. "My dad, who's a big fan of yours and a donor to your dad's academy, didn't put you up to this?" he questioned.

"Patrick, the only person who put me up to this was me," she answered. "Plus, it's like what you told me over the phone, you have one good season left in you. Who's to say after this challenger you don't go on to achieve your dream," she suggested, shrugging slightly. "This is a job offer, Patrick, one that is waiting for you no matter which way the wind blows," she said simply, smiling at him.

Before Gianna knew it, she became the receiver of a very tight bear hug that seemed to last for an eternity. Patrick shook with laughter, the sound reverberating against her as Gianna found herself smiling at his reaction just before he pulled away from her.

"This is the kindest fucking thing someone has done for me in a longtime," he informed, his voice slightly muffled against her shoulder. He pulled back. "Tennis superstar, Olympian, philanthropist, fashionista, friend," Patrick listed, shaking his head as another laugh escaped him. "Is there nothing Gianna Langdon can't do?" he wondered.

She chuckled, "I'm still working on that last part," Gianna said, shaking her head. "I haven't been the greatest at it in the past," she admitted, her eyes lowering.

Patrick grabbed a hold of her hands, "But you're here now, Gianna," he pointed out, bending his head so he could meet her stare. "I called your number with little hope that you would pick up, but you did," he reminded softly, running the calloused pads of his fingers across the back of her hands. "Hell, I thought the moment I dialed your number it would go straight to voicemail," he confessed, with a small smile before the two shared laughter.

Gianna glanced up, "It means a lot to me that I was the first person you thought to call for support," she confessed.

"Couldn't think of a better woman to be in my corner," Patrick reasoned, letting a lopsided grin grow on his face.

Just like that, old butterflies that Gianna believed had gone dormant awakened inside her stomach, fluttering and flickering about wildly. Giggling, she slowly pulled her hands from Patrick's and ran one of them through her freshly silk pressed, honey brown hair.

"Control it," she thought.

She cleared her throat, "You forgot to add one more feather to my cap," she commented, deliberately changing the subject.

"And what's that?"

"Entrepreneur," she beamed proudly. "Patrick Zweig, you are looking at a future beauty mogul," she proclaimed.

"You know once upon a time, the woman in front of me was worried no one was going to take a chance on her, glad to see those worries were unfounded," he recalled, mirroring her expression.

"I am too," she agreed. "Want a sneak peek of the fruit of my labors?" she offered.

Answering with a grin and nod, Gianna unlocked her IPad and tapped play on the screen. Just as Patrick began to watch her commercial, Gianna let her eyes wander into the hotel foyer until they landed on a pair of strikingly blue ones. Her breath hitched uncomfortably in her throat, while her heart nearly stopped in her chest. For a fleeting moment, time suspended itself and it was as if they existed in a universe all of their own. Nothing was there, nothing except for those bright blue eyes, boring into her own. Gianna could hardly believe, stomach, who the set of eyes staring back at her belonged to, for it was none other than Arthur Donaldson.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as blood thudded audibly in her ears from the erratic rhythm of her heart beating. Gianna swore the thumping of heart would drown out the sound from the video and be heard by Patrick. They stare at each other, nearly a decade of unspoken words flowing between them without either of them ever opening their mouths. In truth, the silence was far louder than anything they could have said. Confused shock painted itself all over Art's features, an expression mirrored on her own.

Instantly, Gianna's mind was flooded with memories with the force of a tsunami. The two of them goofing off in her dorm room when they were supposed to be studying for class. Her birthday dinner date, that was not a date. His touching gift to her on her birthday which led to a moment of weakness that set off a terrible domino effect. Gianna remembered everything. The catalyst event which decimated a friend group within a single day, tore best friends apart, and formed a rift which Gianna believed would never mend. She couldn’t forget their history, it defined who they were now.

"Were those your sisters in the commercial?"

Patrick's voice was faint and faraway, everything for Gianna was muffled and distorted, like voices being heard underneath water. The impact of a hand on her knee ripped Gianna out of her trance. Blinking a few times, Patrick's face came back into her focus.

"I-I'm sorry what did you ask?" Gianna questioned, pointedly ignoring Art's eyes being trained on her and burning holes into her face.

"Was that Alicia and Farrah I saw in the commercial?"

"Yeah—Yes, they were," Gianna confirmed distractedly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"You alright Gia? You've been looking over my shoulder for a solid minute now," Patrick remarked, raising a brow. "Is there someone you know here?" he questioned curiously, beginning to turn around.

Gianna had never moved quicker in her life, her hand darting out to grasp his chin with two fingers and redirecting his attention back to her. The world's awkwardest ex-friend's reunion was not going to happen on her watch.

"No one worth mentioning or addressing," Gianna assured, an easy smile on her lips. Releasing his chin, she lightly hit her palm against the counter. "Let’s have a drink, yeah?" she suggested, getting the bartender's attention.

"To celebrate you or me?"

"You, silly," she answered, before motioning to her drink for a refill and ordering for Patrick. She still knew his drink of choice despite the passage of time. "And a little bit of me as well," she admitted playfully, moving her head side to side. "I'm serious though, Patrick. I know how much this tournament means to you and how much you have riding on it. I am proud of what you accomplished, truly," she praised, her eyes twinkling in delight.

"Receiving high praise from Gianna Langdon," Patrick began, as their drinks were slid across the counter in front of them. "I'll be damn near unstoppable on the court now," he joked, grabbing his glass.

Gianna grabbed her own drink, "To future successes," she wished, raising her glass.

"To future successes," Patrick echoed, the rim of his glass softly clinking against hers. They both take a sip of their drinks and Patrick grinned against his glass as if he just remembered something. Lowering the cup from his lips, he placed it on top of the counter. "I forgot to wish you a happy belated," he mentioned.

"Birthday?" Gianna asked, bringing her glass down from her mouth. "That was way back in early spring, but thanks regardless," she said, with a laugh.

"No, silly," Patrick said, with a grin. "Happy belated Pride! Congrats on coming out as bisexual!" he cheered.

"Oh fuck off!" Gianna said, laughing heartily and hitting his arm.

"What? It was very brave of you to do so," he complimented, laughing himself.

With a playful roll of her eyes, Gianna shook her head.

"Bravery had nothing to do with it," she corrected. "I mean, it's what I am. I discussed coming out to the public with my dad, and he said no better time to do it than in the month where it celebrates folks like me," Gianna recalled, shrugging and lifting her glass to her lips. "I'm already a beloved athlete, it was only going to be a net positive for me," she reasoned, leaning back against the backrest of the barstool.

"Always about the optics with you, Gia," Patrick said, his tone biting.

Gianna lifted her drink to her lips, "I am my father's daughter," she said dryly. "For better or for worse," she added quietly, knocking back the rest of her drink.

~~~x~~~

13 YEARS EARLIER - STANFORD UNIVERSITY, 2006

Move-in day was hot. Scratch that, it was scorching outside underneath the California sun. The blistering heat made the task of transporting Gianna's belongings to her dorm room a miserable one. The thought of forgoing her clothes all together floated about in Gianna's head if it meant some relief from the heat. Though, she knew her mom and dad would be none too pleased at the gesture, especially since the two helpers in their amidst was Art and Patrick.

Being the ever helpful boyfriend, Patrick lent his hand in assisting both Gianna and Tashi move into their dorm rooms. Despite his helping hand, Gianna's dad was still none too impressed by Patrick.

"I don't like it, he's too arrogant for my liking," the salt-and-pepper haired man groused, shaking his head, clearly displeased by Gianna's taste in a boyfriend.

Mrs. Langdon snorted softly from her seat within the trunk of their truck.

For as long as Gianna could remember, her mother had always exuded an air of sophistication and chic that she hoped she could match one day. Of course, when her mother being a former American Ballet Theatre ballerina, it came with the territory. People always told her she had mother's soft face or most commonly said she, “stole her whole face from her momma”. To Gianna, her mother was absolutely stunning, like straight out off the front cover of Ebony magazine. More importantly, her mom was the yin to her dad’s yang, her gentleness balanced his sternest.

"What? He's just a younger version of you Maurice, but," she paused, tapping a finger to the palm side of her hand and smiling at her husband.

"Well, unlike him, I didn't have wandering eyes," he retorted, taking off his horn rimmed glasses, to wipe away the fog from his lenses. "Gia, darling, are you sure that Patrick is dating you for you, or because of your access to Tashi?" Mr. Langdon questioned sincerely, his brow arching.

"Ohh, this is awkward," Gianna thought.

Telling her mom and dad she and Tashi were both dating Patrick, she would simply have to be waterboarded for them to get that information out of her.

"Patrick is dating me for me," Gianna reassured, nodding her head while wiping at the thin line of sweat trickling down her forehead.

"Your dad is worried about Patrick, while my concern is with your friend, Arthur," Mrs. Langdon stated, shifting her body to face Gianna fully.

"Art?" Gianna repeated, disbelief all over her face. "What, come on? Art is probably the nicest, sweetest guy I've ever met," she defended, an incredulous laugh belting from her.

"Honey, those are the ones you have to be the most careful of," Mrs. Langdon warned, placing her hand on Gianna's knee. "Boys like Art, are able to get away with much because people believe the same way as you do," she explained. "I've seen the way he looks at you, how he looks when you and Patrick get affectionate with each other," she noted, staring pointedly at Gianna. "I say this as your mother, as a woman, be careful around Art. I fear he's the type to throw stones and then hide his hands, if it means getting what he wants," she advised.

Gianna rolled her eyes, "Mom, that's ridiculous," she protested.

"Gia!"

"Speak of the devil," she thought.

Standing at the doorway of her dorm building was Art with his trademark backwards Stanford hat and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"I guess that's our sign to hit the road again," Mrs. Langdon noted, with an exhale. "Your dad and I still have to go to UCLA to visit Farrah and make sure she's all squared away for her sophomore year," she reminded, pushing herself up from the trunk bed and reaching her hands out for Gianna.

"Call me the moment you make it to campus," Gianna ordered, taking her mom's hands to jump down onto the ground.

"Yes, ma'am," Mrs. Langdon answered, nodding her head and chuckling. She ran her hands up and down Gianna's arms, giving her a once over. "Can't believe I'm dropping off my baby girl to college!" she exclaimed, bringing her in for a tight hug. "One step closer to being a big name tennis superstar!" she cheered, as Gianna returned her hug. "I'm so proud of you!" she stated, pulling back from her.

Gianna beamed at her mother's words as the older woman pressed a kiss atop of her head.

"Your mom offered you some words of wisdom, now it's my turn," Mr. Langdon said, gathering Gianna in his arms for another tight embrace and swaying them side to side. Pulling away, he gave her biceps a squeeze as his demeanor became a little more serious. "Don't let her run you," he instructed vaguely.

Gianna frowned, "What?" she questioned, her head tilting.

"Do not let Tashi Duncan run you," he repeated slowly. "You've allowed her to get away with it for too long, but starting today, that shit dies," he said sternly.

"Tashi does not run me, Dad," Gianna disagreed, scoffing quietly. "I think we both witnessed that at Juniors this year," she pointed out.

"You seem to have a great handle on that, tennis wise," Mr. Langdon began, pressing his palms together. "But for life in general, you're lacking severely," he retorted. "Let this be the last day I ever hear you say the words, 'Tashi says', 'Tashi wants', or 'Tashi believes', alright?" he questioned, staring over the rim of his glasses. "I'm trying to make you a superstar, not a sidekick to another superstar. It's time you shed that image once and for all, and to do that, you must start thinking for yourself. Making a name for yourself. Got it?" he asked, both his brows raising.

"Yes, sir," Gianna answered tightly.

Mr. Langdon nodded approvingly, "Atta girl," he replied, before bringing her in for a second hug. "Have fun in college, but not too much fun," he murmured, against her head. "Kick ass and take names, we have a dream to fulfill," he said, with a pat against her back.

"Yours or mine?" Gianna thought bitterly.

Her dad released his hold on her, moving to shut the trunk door close. Gianna watched her parents get into the truck, the doors slamming close in unison.

"Gia, just please consider what I said earlier, for me," Mrs. Langdon said, looking back at her from the passenger seat.

"Yeah, I will, I will," she answered, brushing off her mom's concerns.

With one final wave, her parents pulled off from the parking lot and Gianna felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest. She was finally free. For the first time in her life, Gianna would be able to navigate life where tennis and her dad were not wholly the center of her universe. She now had the chance to do something she always dreamed of doing, just being a normal 18 year-old. Exploring old hobbies and new, hanging out with friends, going to parties, it was all there for the taking now that her dad could no longer constantly breathe down her neck. Smiling to herself, Gianna turned around and jogged to the entrance of her dorm building where Art patiently waited for her.

"Everything good?" Art wondered, as she climbed the last step up.

"Never been better!" Gianna answered, a delighted smile on her face.

Walking past him, she nimbly snatched Art's hat from his head and ran into the building.

"Hey!" he cried playfully.

Gianna sprinted up the staircase to her floor, giggling every step of the way as Art was hot on her trail and laughing along with her. Just as she approached the doorway to her room, she suddenly felt herself being lifted off her feet and spun around, briefly feeling weightless.

"Your girlfriend is a thief!" Art informed breathlessly, with a laugh as he put Gianna back down on her feet.

Another series of giggles left Gianna as they entered her room, "Do not listen to such slanderous lies! I'm innocent!" she proclaimed, placing Art's hat on her head.

Making a beeline to her bed, she plopped down on it next to Patrick who was casually stretched out across the mattress. In an instant, his arm naturally wrapped itself around Gianna's waist while he shifted himself into a sitting position.

"Look at this face Art," Patrick began, using his free hand to take her chin in between his fingers and playfully squeeze her cheeks. "Does this look like the face of a thief?” he questioned. Gianna shook her head in his grasp, her eyes warm with mirth. "Exactly Gianna, that's what I think as well," he agreed, before swooping down to attack the side of her face with kisses.

"Patrick!" Gianna shrieked in laughter, writhing in arms.

Tashi started making fake gagging sounds and Gianna eyes flickered over to hers.

"Don’t be like that Tash," she said, a fake pout on her lips. "There's plenty of love to go around," she reminded, outstretching her hand towards her girlfriend.

"You sure about that?" Tashi asked, her face contorting in a look of faux outrage. "Because it seems like Patrick is hogging you all to himself,"

Gianna only snickered in response, her eyes rolling before meeting Art's stare. It made her smile falter when she did. There was the faintest twitch of a muscle in his jaw, a scowl threatening to cloud his features. His eyes hardened at the edges to the point they resembled ice. And she was the only one noticing the drastic shift in Art's cheery demeanor, it sent shivers down her spine. Vaguely, Gianna felt Patrick's lips peppering kisses up and down her neck while talking to Tashi in between each one. Without taking her eyes off Art, she reached behind her and lightly tapped the side of Patrick's face.

Gianna cleared her suddenly dry throat, "Alright, alright, easy there lover boy," she joked, tearing her eyes from Art's face for a quick glance to his throat where his Adam's apple bobbed in agitation.

Patrick chuckled against her skin and pulled away from her, resting his back against the wall while bringing her down with him.

"So uh, what do you guys wanna do now?" Art wondered, his usual bright attitude returning without missing beat. "The day is still young," he added, lowering himself down to have a seat onto the plush rug covering the floor.

"Hmmm," Gianna hummed in contemplation, adjusting Art's hat to fit snug on the top of her head.

It was an action that left Art's gaze lingering on her. Gianna wished he would quit staring at her like he was a man dying of thirst, ready to drink her up and gulp down like a glass of water when placed in front of him. And it was not because she found it creepy, it was the fact that it was stirring up physical and emotional responses she should not be having when her boyfriend and girlfriend are literally in the room with her.

"I think—" Gianna began.

"We should go hit around on the courts," Tashi suggested, swiveling back and forth in the desk chair. "Can't think of a better group to do it with," she reasoned, her lips curling upwards.

"What? Oh come on, no!" Gianna complained, raising up from Patrick's chest. "We're all gonna have plenty of opportunities to hit a tennis ball around the court," she said in exasperation. "We're in college guys—well most of us are in college," she corrected, earning her a squeeze to her side from Patrick. "Let's be normal college kids and have some fun for once and enjoy our freedom," she suggested.

"What did you have in mind Gia?” Patrick asked, his fingers softly trailing up and down her waist.

"There's a mini golf course not too far from campus. I saw it on the way here with my parents," she answered, looking around at everyone.

"That does sound fun to do," Art grinned, nodding his head in agreement.

"Gia, you know complacency breeds mediocrity," Tashi warned.

"God, does she sound like dad!" she thought.

Gianna spoke before she could stop herself, "Yes, and, being hyper focused on one, single thing makes a person super fucking boring too," Gianna shot back.

The swiveling of the chair came to an abrupt halt. Gianna could almost physically feel all the air sucked out of the room. Nobody moved and Gianna found herself engaged in a staring match with Tashi in a battle of wills.

"Are you calling me boring?" Tashi challenged, her eyes narrowing.

Art breathed out a nervous chuckle, "Tashi, I don't—" he started.

"No, no, let Gianna answer," Tashi interrupted, holding her hand up in his direction without looking.

"Yes," Gianna thought.

"I didn't say you," Gianna pointed out. "It was a generalized statement," she continued.

"Is that so?" Tashi asked, doubt coloring her tone.

"Yeah, it is," Gianna answered, arching her brow in challenge.

"Come on Tash," Patrick called, sitting up from his spot against the wall. "It's not a bad idea, all of us are going to have our hands full for the next couple of months," he said, his eyes dancing between the two girls.

"We can make it a going away party for Patrick before he's off to the pros," Art chirped in.

"Yes, exactly Art!" Patrick agreed. "And what better way to be sent off than having my two, beautiful girlfriends by my side,”

Gianna stole a quick glance at Art after hearing Patrick's words and she swore she saw his forehead vein pulse with unusual intensity.

"Okay, fine," Tashi huffed, and Gianna's eyes flitted from Art back to her.

Gianna softly pushed Patrick's arm from her waist and stood up to sit on Tashi's lap.

"It'll be fun, Tash!" Gianna promised, looping her arms around Tashi's neck. "You'll see," she encouraged, pecking her forehead.

"Yeah, yeah," Tashi groused.

~~~x~~~

With pursed lips, Gianna drew her arms backwards then forwards to make sure that the little, white ball was aligned with her club before gently swinging at it. The precise hit sent the ball rolling down the green in a perfectly straight line, right into the hole.

"Nice shot Gia!" Art cheered, sticking his hand out for a hi-five.

"I try," she smirked, slapping her hand against his. "Your turn, partner," she said, motioning him to take his position.

It was Gianna's idea to split the group into teams, that way both Gianna and Tashi could both somewhat get what they wanted, a fun but fierce competition. Art set his ball onto the green, getting into his stance and took aim.

"So, are we gonna talk about it?" he asked, the club solidly hitting the ball in the center.

Gianna frowned, "Talk about what?" she asked back, watching his ball stop just short of the hole.

Art turned around, an incredulous look crossing his face at her question.

"What happened in your hotel room," Art supplied as if it was the most obvious answer, before moving closer to his ball.

"Oh, that..." Gianna trailed off, following behind him. "What about it? What is there to talk about?" she questioned dismissively, twirling her club in her hand.

Just as the questions left her lips, Art tapped his ball into the hole with ease.

"That what happened between us is constantly replaying in my head 24/7," he explained, turning around again. "And it's torturous," he went on, his eyes desperate.

Gianna only blinked in response, genuinely perplexed on what Art wanted her to do or say about that.

"Well get it to stop," Gianna suggested lamely, lazily tossing one arm up. "I don't know what you want me to tell you," she added, with a shake of her head.

"Get it to stop?" he repeated, in disbelief while taking a step closer to her. "Gia, you gave me a handjob!" he exclaimed lowly, so only she could hear. "You can't do that to a guy and expect him to just forget it!" he insisted.

"What I did could hardly qualify as a handjob, Art," Gianna argued, her voice matching his. "It was one pump at max," she pointed out.

Gianna knew this was childish, to be arguing the technicalities of what is a handjob, but she needed to quash what she thought Art was poking at. They didn't need to talk about that ever again, it was… it was a good time, it basically meant nothing. All she had to do was bury her budding feelings deep down, and make an active effort to never acknowledge them again.

"Why did even tell me this, knowing I'm dating your best friend?" Gianna questioned, anger rising in her voice.

"Because despite that, I think you like me too," he countered, his frustration growing more palpable by the second.

"Look Art, we had some fun in my hotel room. You, me, and Patrick, we all did," she deflected, shaking her head again. "Fun," she emphasized.

"Fun? That's all that was?"

God, did she feel like a bitch, watching Art's face crumple made her almost reconsider everything, but she was in too deep now to back out now.

"In that instance, yes," Gianna answered bluntly, watching how that verbal blow knocked the wind out of him. "I'm sorry, did you think it was more?" she asked coldly.

With each word she uttered, it visibly pained Art and the lines in his forehead grew deeper and deeper. He looked like a kicked puppy, and god did she hate when he looked like that. Silence fell between them, the most uncomfortable silence of Gianna's life.

"Fuck! This was supposed to be a fun night!" she groaned, before turning away from Art and walking away from the hole they were at.

"You never denied it," Art remarked, his words were spoken softly, barely a whisper, but to Gianna they were deafening. So much so, that she abruptly froze mid step, her shoulders visibly stiffening. "That you had feelings for me," he finished quietly.

Gianna was like a deer in headlights. She had hoped the harshness of her words would cause Art to fail to notice what she didn't say. He was far more attentive than she realized. Swallowing uncomfortably, Gianna all but sprinted to where Tashi was, not daring to look back.

"Hey Tash," Gianna greeted, forcing a smile on her face as she approached her. "How's your game going? Where did Patrick go?" she questioned, praying she wasn't noticeably acting strange.

Tashi didn't bother looking up at her, "Oh, you know," she began, her voice monotone. "It goes," she answered, barely making an effort to hit the golf ball into the hole. It pitifully only moved a few feet from them. "Patrick, on the other hand went to buy food for us," she answered flatly.

Gianna felt her grip tighten around her club, "You know could at least make an attempt to actually try and have fun," she commented.

Tashi's head whipped up, a frown already etched on her face.

"I didn't want to come here in the first place, and you know that," Tashi stated, carelessly letting the golf club fall from her hand. "Fun, fun, fun. That's all you seem to care about now!" she snapped, folding her arms against her chest.

Gianna rolled her eyes, "Excuse me for daring to indulge in my newfound freedom from being under my dad's thumb for the first time in years," she responded sarcastically.

"I'm sure he'll be just thrilled to learn the placeholder for his own lost dreams immediately took her eyes off the prize the second he left her alone," Tashi said, a derisive chuckle leaving her.

"Fuck you! That's a low fucking blow even for you Tashi!" Gianna hissed, stabbing her finger in the air toward her best friend. "I pray you never find yourself in the same position which I've been put through," she wished.

Once upon a time, much like Gianna, her father was a talented tennis prodigy who was on the cusp of a promising career in the pros. However, just as his career started, it was snatched away within a blink of the eye with death of his father, forcing him to return home to take over the family horse ranch. And Gianna has had to suffer for circumstances beyond hers or her father's control ever since.

"You don't know what it's like, to have your own dad be your coach as well," Gianna went on, her fist balling up. "And being forced to reckon that you begin to see him as less of a father and only as a coach," she added, faintly feeling her nails digging into her palm.

"Poor fucking me, I'm Gianna Langdon who's had a silver spoon in my mouth since I could walk," Tashi mocked. "My life is so difficult because I have to play a sport I'm wonderful at and my dad has went above and beyond to make sure I excel at my craft, like having a fucking personal tennis court built in my backyard!"

"And you think that's a blessing?" Gianna asked, the pitch in her voice rising. "It was a curse! My own personal gilded cage, a constant reminder that I've never really had any say at all to explore life outside of tennis," she exclaimed, dropping her own club now.

"You like baking,"

"Ooh one whole hobby," Gianna deadpanned, raising her hands and shaking them. "You know what you're supposed to do at college besides learn?" She questioned. "Party and find yourself,” she listed, ticking them off with her fingers.

"You're at Stanford to play tennis on a full ride scholarship," Tashi reminded firmly.

"Well it's a good fucking thing I can multitask," Gianna retorted. "Come on Tashi, think about it. Outside tennis, what else do you and I do in our spare time? Talk about boys?" she said exasperatedly.

"Yes, and its worked for us this entire time. Why change now?" Tashi replied, a soft frown creasing her forehead.

"Because we were friends then, but now we're girlfriends—"

Tashi scoffed, "Girlfriends? You haven't even publicly came out and stated that we're dating," she pointed out.

Gianna could only bite her tongue, because Tashi was right, she hadn't. Although, she had her reasons, they were wholly self-serving, but there was logic behind them.

"I know you haven't told your mom," Tashi began. "And I know damn well you haven't said anything to your dad," she stressed. "So, what is it? Are you afraid of ruining your ‘golden child’ title if your parents find out you're queer?" she taunted.

"You think my parents care if I'm gay?" Gianna asked incredulously. "They've known Farrah is a lesbian for nearly two years now," she informed.

"She plays women's soccer, I'm positive your parents weren't surprised about that revelation," Tashi said dismissively. "The closet was made of fucking glass," she quipped.

If Gianna wasn't so frustrated and infuriated with Tashi, she would've laugh at Tashi's remark.

"Alright, fuck it, you want to know why I don't to want go public? Why I refuse to?"

"I'm waiting with bated breath," Tashi answered sarcastically.

"It's because I have a goddamn name and image to uphold," Gianna said frankly. "We both do," she added, her tone softening.

"Oh my god!" Tashi complained. "It's always about image with you, with your dad!" she snapped.

"I'm being pragmatic here and you know it, you're just being too stubborn to realize I'm right," Gianna claimed, crossing her arms.

"Billie Jean King, a tennis legend is an open lesbian,"

"Yeah, and did you skip over the part where she was forcibly outed, shunned, and lost all her endorsements soon after?" she shot back. "Do you want that fate for the both us when either of us have barely even made a start in our careers?" Gianna questioned, no trace of anger in her voice only sincerity.

Tashi never got the chance to respond as an arm snaked its way around Gianna's waist.

"Now, what are you doing around in these parts?" Patrick asked humorously. "Is Art doing that bad you had to switch sides?" he guessed.

Gianna looked over at him, "I came to see how you two losers were doing," she lied, grinning at him.

Her eyes found Tashi's once more, their argument from moments before still raging silently between in stares, and all the while Patrick is none the wiser. He didn't notice the obvious growing tension between his two girlfriends, between two best friends.

#black!reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #challengers x reader #black fanfiction #black!oc #challengers fanfiction #tashi duncan #art donaldson #patrick zweig

68 notes · View notes

neil-gaiman · 2 years

Note

Dear Neil.

There's a tragedy happening in Iran, we're being shot in the streets, my brothers and sisters are dying, my government is committing war crimes and as a fellow human being I'm desperately asking for your help to raise awareness.

Mahsa Amini was a 22-year-old woman who was brutally murdered by the Islamic Republic of Iran's so-called "morality police." Her crime? Showing hair in public and "dressing inappropriately." Any human being with a pair of working eyes who has seen pictures of her prior to her murder can see that not only was her dress not inappropriate, but also that she (and a lot of women in Iran) had covered herself more than any other woman in any other part of world is obligated to.This sparked fury among the people of Iran and a wave of nation-wide protests broke out as the result. But don't get it wrong. This was only the straw that broke the camel's back and was the result of 43 years of unmitigated oppression and cruelty that the people of Iran have been subjected to. Every Iranian is branded a Muslim from birth and they're not given a choice. You cannot identify as an atheist and other religious minorities are treated horribly with a lot of their rights stripped from them. There's been a long history of cruelty against Bahai people in Iran, for example. We're not forced to be muslims in name only. We're also forced to act like muslims and learn all the muslim teachings, hijab being one of the many ideals shoved down our throat. And of course, converting from Islam to other religions or no religion is punishable by death. This savagery is not part of our culture or law; it is not part of any humanitarian law to kill women for showing hair and exercising their right to bodily autonomy for that matter.Up until now, the government forces have been violent and ruthless in their attempts to stump out our protests. They've shot people from a 63 year old woman to a 10 year old girl, killing them all without mercy. The Internet has been cut out in several places and reportedly, they've brought out tanks and used military-grade bullets in the city of Sanandaj, where the Internet has been shut down for two days as of September 21. Meanwhile, president Ibrahim Raisi is giving a lecture in the UN, babbling about saving the people of Palestine and justice in the world while his own forces are brutally murdering ordinary people and protesters in Iran.At this point, we're in danger of being cut off from the world when the whole internet finally shuts down. This is not a speculation. The same thing happened in the nation-wide protests of 2019 and the government proceeded to kill all the protesters in absolute radio silence. A lot of protesters were found with cement blocks tied to their ankles and thrown in the river after the successfully stumped the protests out. We don't want the same thing to happen to our children and people again. If you hear no more news from Iran, things haven't settled down. We are being silently killed off and executed.You might think you don't have anything to do with this, but think again about why you all involved yourselves in the war between Ukraine and Russia. This is not any different. Our people have waged a war against their government and none of them are people who willingly chose violence. They are normal people who want nothing more than a normal life, which is what the Islamic regime has taken from them. If you have an ounce of humanity and empathy within yourself, you'll spread the word around and not let this injustice go unanswered and unpunished.There's nothing more to be said.

As an Iranian woman who always read your books and who always raised up her voice, I need help now. We can Breathe anymore! I fought for poc, I raised my voice for ukraine. Now I need yours. I'm a young author. I can have a future... a free one! but my government took it from me. Please be my voice ... our voice!!

I'm happy to let people know, yes. And it's heartbreaking.

Here's the BBC on what's happening:

3K notes · View notes

medievalandfantasymelee · 1 month

Text

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

QUALIFYING ROUND: 61st Tilt

Turgut Alp, Diriliş: Ertuğrul (2014-2019) VS. Elendil, The Rings of Power (2022-)

Propaganda

Turgut Alp, Diriliş: Ertuğrul (2014-2019) Portrayed by: Cengiz Coşkun

“The shit this man GOES THROUGH. It would be impossible not to love him anyway, but on TOP OF IT ALL he looks like THAT. LOOK AT HIM. The height, the physique, hair, the gaze, the nose. THE AXE. FIND ME A MORE **PERFECT** SPECIMEN OF M A N. He unites every extreme in the most attractive way – gentle with the women he loves, so brutal when he inevitably has to avenge them; incredibly loyal and also just ADORABLE with kids.”

Elendil, The Rings of Power (2022-) Portrayed by: Lloyd Owen

“The fandom calls him ‘Elendilf’ and there's a reason for that!”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Turgut Alp:

For Elendil:

#medieval hotties qualifiers #turgut alp #elendil #diriliş ertuğrul #dirilis ertugrul #the rings of power #cengiz coşkun #lloyd owen #fuck that medieval man

46 notes · View notes

thelibraryghost · 7 months

Text

A Young Person's Introduction to Late 19th-Century Western Fashion

hello fellow youths

General information Banner, Bernadette. "Exposing Victorian Influencers Who 'Facetuned' Their Photos. (Photo Manipulation was EVERYWHERE)." YouTube. July 17, 2021. English Heritage. "Fashion Through History: Episode 1 – Victorians." YouTube. February 9, 2023. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "100 Years of Fashion // The Fashionable Plus Size Silhouette from 1820-1910." YouTube. June 5, 2021. Victoria and Albert Museum. "100 Years of Fashionable Womenswear: 1830s – 1930s | V&A." YouTube. July 18, 2023. Zebrowska, Karolina. "Victorian Fashion Is Not What You Think It Is." YouTube. March 19, 2019.

Accessories Banner, Bernadette. ""Afro-Victorian": Bringing Historical Black Women's Dress into the 21st Century w Cheyney McKnight." YouTube. October 20, 2021. Cox, Abby. "A Fashion Historian Explains the History of the Handbag." YouTube. January 26, 2023. Rudolph, Nicole. "Dangerous Things in Victorian Pockets : Mens Pocket History." YouTube. March 2, 2024. Rudolph, Nicole. "The Controversial History of Color Season Analysis." YouTube. November 4, 2023. Zebrowska, Karolina. "Disgusting and Creepy Victorian Fashion Trends." YouTube. October 17, 2018.

Bustles and hoopskirts Donner, Morgan. "Weirdest Victorian Invention: The Bustle-Chair (and we made one)." YouTube. November 20, 2020. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "100 Years of Underwear // The Changing Plus Size Shape from Regency to Victorian to Edwardian." YouTube. May 1, 2021. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "All About Bustles! A Deep Dive into 1870s Fashions." YouTube. December 26, 2023. Rudolph, Nicole. "Why were Victorian Hips Controversial?" YouTube. September 12, 2021.

Cosmetics Birchwood, Vasi. "1800s Makeup Is Not What You Think." YouTube. July 21, 2023. English Heritage. "Queen Victoria Makeup Tutorial | History Inspired | Feat. Amber Butchart and Rebecca Butterworth." YouTube. May 20, 2019. Zebrowska, Karolina. "I Used Only Victorian Cosmetics For a Week." YouTube. July 26, 2023.

Fabrics Rudolph, Nicole. "Did Silk Spontaneously Combust in the Victorian Era?" YouTube. August 8, 2021. Rudolph, Nicole. "The History of Elastic." YouTube. July 4, 2021. Rudolph, Nicole. "The Truth About Arsenic in the Victorian Era." YouTube. January 24, 2021.

Gowns Bullat, Samantha. "Dress Historian Analyzes Victorian Mourning Clothing of the Mid-19th Century." YouTube. March 14, 2021. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "All About 1860's Fashion // What did Civil War-era fashion look like?" YouTube. November 12, 2022. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "How did fashion evolve from 1850-1859? // 1850's Fashion Deep Dive." YouTube. October 1, 2022. Rudolph, Nicole. "Victorian Fast Fashion? The Truth about the History of Disposable Clothing." YouTube. February 6, 2022. SnappyDragon. "Were the Pre-Raphaelites painting accurate medieval dress . . . or Victorian fairtytalecore?" YouTube. April 26, 2024. Zebrowska, Karolina. "19th Century Fashion - How To Tell Different Decades Apart?" YouTube. November 17, 2017.

Hair care and styling Banner, Bernadette. "Following a Victorian Home Made Hair Care Routine (1889)." YouTube. September 11, 2021. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "Getting Dressed in an 1888 Daisy Costume // Easy Bustle-Era Hair Tutorial." YouTube. November 13, 2020. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "Getting Dressed in the 1870s & 1874 Hairstyle Tutorial." YouTube. February 23, 2020. Rudolph, Nicole. "Why did Victorian Women Cut their Hair Short?" YouTube. December 18, 2022. Laundry and housekeeping English Heritage. "A Tour of the Laundry - The Victorian Way." YouTube. September 6, 2019. English Heritage. "How to Wash Up - The Victorian Way." YouTube. March 18, 2021. English Heritage. "Laying the Table at Christmas – The Victorian Way." YouTube. December 14, 2022. Walkley, Christina, and Vanda Foster. Crinolines and Crimping Irons: Victorian Clothes: How They Were Cleaned and Cared for. Peter Owen Limited: London, 1978.

Outerwear and working wear Birchwood, Vasi. "What Irish Working Women Wore in the Late 19th Century | I Made the Clothing of My Irish Ancestors." YouTube. June 23, 2023. English Heritage. "The Real Mrs Crocombe | Part Four: A Victorian Cook's Outfit." YouTube. July 5, 2018. Stowell, Lauren. "It's Hot: Let's Look At Some Bathing Suits." American Duchess. August 18, 2023. Rudolph, Nicole. "The History of Jeans, T-shirts, and Hoodies: Time Travel 101." YouTube. March 20, 2022. Zebrowska, Karolina. "The 1851 Women's Pants That Made The Victorians Go Crazy." YouTube. March 2, 2020.

Shoes Rudolph, Nicole. "100 years of Antique Boots." YouTube. February 10, 2024. Rudolph, Nicole. "How to Make Regency & Victorian Shoes: Beginner Shoemaking." YouTube. June 27, 2021. Rudolph, Nicole. "The Myth of Tiny Feet "Back Then"." YouTube. September 26, 2021.

Undergarments Banner, Bernadette. "I Wore a (Medical) Corset for 5 Years. How do Victorian Corsets Compare?" YouTube. November 7, 2020. Banner, Bernadette. "Making Some Frilly Victorian Underwear || 1890s Combinations." YouTube. February 9, 2019. Birchwood, Vasi. "What Victorians Wore to Bed." YouTube. May 5, 2023. Cox, Abby. "I made weird Victorian underwear (it's a knit onesie) & a pretty 1890s corset || historical sewing." YouTube. March 21, 2021. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "How 8 Different Historical Corsets Affect the Same Plus Size Body." YouTube. December 12, 2020. Rudolph, Nicole. "100 Years of Corset History: How 8 Corsets affect the same body." YouTube. November 29, 2020. Zebrowska, Karolina. "How Did Victorian Ladies Stay Warm in Winter? || THE EXPERIMENT." YouTube. January 22, 2021. Zebrowska, Karolina. "How Did Victorian Women Deal With Their Periods?" YouTube. October 17, 2019.

116 notes · View notes

sarcastiaa · 5 months

Note

uh if you take requests, a young nanami gets a haircut from the reader please!

This is you sharing one of your favorite moments from quarantine with your boyfriend~

Me and Nanami moved together in Late 2019 and it’s been a year since we’re living together. It’s COVID means we’re staying home together at home, working from home. The second wave of COVID was not that scary, even though it’s not as serious as the last one still we couldn’t take a chance to go out and get sick or anything. Well on a random Thursday me and Kento were sitting in the living room and we were working. I saw him sitting on the couch in living room looking at his laptop without even looking anywhere else for almost an hour now. I was worried about his eyes and the back pain he’d get from being in that position. But that wasn’t the only thing I noticed, I also noticed the way he was trying to move the strands of his hair away from his eyes. His haircut wasn’t really bad but it wasn’t my favorite, it gave “EMO” and I felt like his facial structure and his hair cut didn’t match him at all. I kept watching him struggling and getting all annoyed. And that’s when decided to go to bedroom and bring one of my hairbands. Coming back to the living room I stood behind his couch and placed my metal hair band on his forehead and swiped his whole hair upwards. At first he was startled then he looked back at me with a smile. “You noticed?” He asked me and I replied with “of course I did. You were struggling for almost 30 minutes now” I chuckled at him. He held on my hand pulling it closer to his lips and kissed on it and went back to working. I stood there blushing and smiling as he went back to working in his laptop.

After a bit as it was already around 1 pm or something an idea hit me, I nervously asked him, “shouldn’t you go take a shower already?” He only nodded being busy at typing on his laptop. At this point the constant sound of clicking on keypads kind of annoyed me. I wanted a break and wanted for him to take a break too. “…Ken?” I called him. “Yes, darling?” He said while his eyes were still stuck on his laptop screen. “Honey, before you shower…. Can I do something for you?” I asked him. He replied “What do you wanna do, sweets?” I smiled and looked away and said “Would you mind if I cut your hair? Like a new hairstyle? It’d be comfortable for you….” He stopped typing and looked up at me “can you do it? Have you ever done this before?” He asked slightly concerned. “Well I have done this for my dad before so I can cut your hair as well. And if it doesn’t look good you can just go bald” I joked “and If you go bald the women would check you out less” I added. He chuckled at me and said “well don’t make me go bald, darling but a haircut sounds nice. I need it”.

We walked towards the washroom after a bit as I made him sit in front of the bathtub, his head leaning backwards in the tub as I started washing his long hair with lukewarm water. I couldn’t really find a good position as he was sitting on the floor, so I was leaning down with my legs spreading on the sides of his lap. My loose shirt touching his face as I kept washing his hair with water. Then I pulled his head closer and semi-dried his hair. I brought a pair of scissors and took a deep breath and said “I won’t cut it too short, just a little from the front so that it doesn’t cover your eyes and I’ll trim the sides a bit too okay?” He nodded. “And I think maybe I would keep the back long as well but I wanna give you an undercut!” He looked up and me with a smile and nodded.

I sat on top of his lap to get the good view of his front hair. Combing his damp long hair covering his eyes I took a strand of them between my fingers and started cutting them. I kept my hand steady and kept processing with it. Sitting on top of his lap it felt so perfect. As I kept cutting his hair, I could feel his hands holding on my waist tightly and roaming around from up and down. I couldn’t feel anything other than happiness and flustered. “Ken, baby, stop with that… I’m gonna mess up if you keep doing that” but he wasn’t the one to listen to me. He didn’t care about his hair more than me. I kept cutting my hair giggling from time to time as his fingers tickled on my waist. I finally got up and sat on the edge of the bathtub, for the back I used his trimmer and started pushing it upwards from the back of his neck. Keeping his hair smallest on the back but enough to make his head look full. The upper part of his hair covered his undercut making it look even more perfect. As my fingers touched on his neck while I trimmed his hair I couldn’t hold myself back and I ended up telling him “Your skin feels nice” I said to him leaving a kiss on his neck. “Does it, now?” He teased back looking at me with a smile and rosy cheeks. All I could do is turn his face back to the front and giggle at his teasing.

I was finally done with cutting his hair, putting down the scissors I cup his face with my hands and moved his head from side to side to see if it’s even from every sides. He just sat there looking at me and smiling. 𝐹𝓁𝓊𝓈��𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹. Giving a sweet kiss on his soft lips I got up and started washing his hair again, this time with shampoo and conditioner. The washroom filled up with the mix of his citrus and musky smell. I washed his hair and dried it. After it was done I pulled him up from the floor and asked him to check it on the mirror. He was standing in front of the mirror looking at himself for a bit and checking his hair and face over and over “I look….different but in a good way, Sweets” he said and that’s all I needed to hear from him. “You look amazing, Kento… and honestly this suits you a lot better” I said chuckling at his reaction. His hair wasn’t covering his eyes anymore, he looked perfect. He pulled me closer and looked at me he wanted to say something more but he couldn’t, all I felt is his warm lips against mine and a little mumble of “I love it so much, honey”. To me those longer locks made him cuter but this new hairstyle made him…. HOTTER. And since then I’ve been Ken’s personal hair stylist, I cut his hair every now and then and he doesn’t even believe in going to the salon to get haircut anymore. He says I have magic in my hands that makes him look perfect and feel better~

#jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk memes #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #nanami smut #nanamin #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami fluff #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami

38 notes · View notes

aelfgyvaa · 4 months

Text

Period Drama Costuming - a (ranty) review

I love period dramas. I watch them like my life depends on it, and as a result, I have Thoughts. Period dramas are arguably where costuming becomes most important - here, costume isn't solely a storytelling device, it's a reflection of the specific place and time in which the narrative is taking place. Sometimes it's done well. Sometimes it really - really - isn't.

It's reductive to try and make any sweeping, general rules about how costumes in period dramas should be done. Every show has its own tone and style, and this is important to consider. However, some productions can take this in... interesting directions. We can really only judge each attempt at historical costuming on an individual basis, which - spoiler alert - is exactly what I'm about to do. Below the cut, I've had a look at some bad costumes, some good costumes, and some that don't really seem to fit in either category.

DISCLAIMER!! - This is simply an opportunity for me to rant about something I have a lot of (subjective) Feelings™ about, and is in no way supposed to comment on the overall quality of any of the pieces discussed. I'm also NOT claiming to be an expert on this topic. There are lots of people on here who undoubtedly know more about this than me, and if you're one of them, I'd really love to hear your thoughts!!

The Bad

Reign (The CW, 2013-17)

I've just gotta get this one out of the way. I made it through an almost-entire season of Reign before the atrocity that is its costuming got the better of me. If you'd shown me photos from this show without telling me it's about Mary Queen of Scots, I couldn't have guessed what period this might be set in. Reign's costume designer has stated "I wanted gowns that kept some kind of Elizabethan element, whether it was a nipped waist and extreme silhouette, or if it had a bit of a medieval feel" and uh. Yeah. By and large, that didn't happen. From what I can tell, a somewhat historical silhouette does begin to appear in the show's final season, but at what cost?

Perhaps Reign wouldn't have been as bad if the dresses were at least nice to look at. Instead, they're generally reminiscent of prom dresses - the fabric looks cheap, and the details look so tacky that I can't even endorse the costuming for this show from an aesthetic standpoint. Sorry to any Reign fans out there, but this is almost certainly going to be my most scathing review of the lot.

────────────

The Musketeers (BBC, 2014-16)

I love The Musketeers. I really do. But what the costume department was thinking - especially when it came to the women's costumes - I really have no idea. I mean, a Peter Pan collar?? On the Queen of France??? IN THE 1620S???? Truly something. Constance always looks like she only half-finished getting dressed that morning (why is her hair down. she's married.), and Anne sports some of the most outlandishly ridiculous collars I've ever seen. I don't even want to get into what Marie de' Medici is wearing. It's belts - as a necklace apparently! She also appears to be hiding some kind of gourd under her hair, but alas.

Yes, the men wear pleather. Yes, it does upset me.

The Musketeers' costumes perhaps wouldn't sting so badly if they didn't dress numerous background extras in significantly more accurate clothing. I've spent too much time watching this show and sighing in despair because Noblewoman Number 3 has a more accurate 1620s dress than the literal Queen.

────────────

The Spanish Princess (Starz, 2019-20)

I haven't properly sat down to watch The Spanish Princess through to its conclusion yet, but I do intend to - when she's not fawning over Richard III, Philippa Gregory adaptations can still be good fun, despite having about as much historical authenticity as the Fiji mermaid.

Nevertheless, no one in this show seems aware of what time period they're in, with dress styles spanning from early 14th-century surcoats to some fairly Elizabethan-looking silhouettes. The fabric choices are all over the place, and similarly - although not quite as egregiously - to Reign, often don't even manage to look good. Even from a modern standpoint, this show is colour- and pattern-clash galore. There is also practically no layering whatsoever, with the dresses going on as single pieces without a panel in sight. Admittedly probably easier from a production standpoint, but still.

Don't even get me started on the headdresses. Weird, pudding-cap-esque padded crowns and tiny scraps of fabric like the ones seen on Mary Tudor (an attempt at a French hood? I shudder) are fairly constant, although I have spotted a few passable attempts at a Gable hood.

They do get points for giving Arthur Tudor a fuck ass bob. Thanks.

────────────

The Buccaneers (Apple TV+, 2023-)

When I first started The Buccaneers and saw what its costuming had to offer, I audibly sighed. If you're a fan of visible back-lacing, cheap quality fabrics, and poorly fitting bodices, this is the show for you. The 1870s look is not a difficult one to emulate, and yet The Buccaneers fails rather miserably with its main characters, half of whom appear to be walking around in their underwear, with untied hair and single-layer dresses. Poor Nan only seems to own about two outfits that aren't visibly too big for her.

But by far the greatest crime committed by The Buccaneers' costume department comes in the decision to have multiple instances in which characters appear to be wearing corsets as tops. Yeah. I had a rough time with that one too. Mabel seems a particular victim of this - in both of the images above she looks as if she's been rushed out of the house before she got the chance to even button up her dress. A State of Affairs indeed.

────────────

The Good

Becoming Elizabeth (Starz, 2022)

Although I was slightly underwhelmed with the execution of Becoming Elizabeth's story, this was absolutely overshadowed by its costuming, which is probably one of the most historically accurate depictions of Tudor clothing I've ever seen. With the same costume designer as Shardlake (which is also very well done - a big day for fans of Anthony Boyle's codpiece), it's remarkably clear how much research went into the pieces worn on this show, with some directly recreated from portraits, and others visibly inspired by surviving clothing from the period.

I won't pretend that Becoming Elizabeth's costuming is without flaws - I'm not a fan of Elizabeth's hunting/riding clothes, and she wears her hair down far too often (Catherine Parr appeared at times to have access to a Dyson Airwrap). However, the positives definitely outweigh any gripes I have. We have dressing scenes in which we see the separate layers and panels that comprised Tudor dresses, and the French hoods actually have hoods, as opposed to simply being the semi-circular headbands we see far too often. The royal women wear ermine fur on their sleeves, and I was also a fan of the jewellery.

The care that went into the costumes for Becoming Elizabeth is so clear - I truly wish I'd enjoyed the plot more, if just so that I could spend more time staring at those dresses.

────────────

Emma. (Autumn de Wilde, 2020)

I adore Emma, and its costuming is honestly perhaps the biggest part of that love. The waistlines! The hairstyles! The bonnets! Emma's costumes are proof that you don't have to sacrifice historical accuracy for the sake of stylization - it's by far the most zany and colourful of any direct Austen adaptation, and yet its visuals remain strikingly faithful to the Regency period.

Like Becoming Elizabeth, many of the pieces worn in Emma bear a striking resemblance to surviving pieces and fashion plates from the era. The only problem I've noticed in this was the alarmingly strange detachable ruff-thing Emma is shown wearing in one scene, but frankly, it still manages to fit the tone of the piece.

I'm usually not a huge fan of the Regency fashion depicted on television - I find it rather dull - but the costumes in this movie are gorgeously distracting in every scene. Turns out historical accuracy actually can make things better - who knew!

Is this enough to make me forgive Alexandra Byrne for the costumes in Mary Queen of Scots (2018)?

No.

(I do not forgive ANYONE who worked on Mary Queen of Scots for making Mary Queen of Scots.)

────────────

Firebrand (Karim Aïnouz, 2023)

Firebrand hasn't even been released outside of Cannes yet, and already I am so, so down with everything it's giving. This movie could end up being the dullest two hours of my life, but I'll still sing its praises for one very simple reason - CHIN. STRAPS.

THAT'S RIGHT FOLKS!! The French hoods FINALLY have chin straps!!!! It's only been in virtually every well-known painting of them ever, no big deal.

Although we only have one trailer and a few promo photos to go off of, the costumes in Firebrand look fantastic, with enough layers, fur, embroidery, and hoop skirts to keep me happy for perhaps the rest of my life. We'll see how the movie itself turns out, but it already has a lot going for it in my eyes.

Also shoutout to Henry VIII's absolutely manky leg ulcers in the trailer. That's what I like to see.

────────────

The Outliers

Right. Here is where the hypocrite accusations are about to come flying. But frankly, I said it myself at the start that every period piece deserves to be judged on an individual basis, and the tone and intention of each piece is important in how its costumes are perceived.

That being said, if you think any of the 'bad' costumes deserve to be in this section - maybe they should've tried not being ugly, idk.

────────────

Bridgerton (Netflix, 2020-)

Bridgerton's excuse for its inaccuracy comes not from its lack of effort, but rather from its deliberate rejection of the historical narrative in any form whatsoever. We have two Real People™ in Queen Charlotte and King George III, but even their spin-off opens with a disclaimer that their story will be utterly fictional. Bridgerton does not present an issue like some of the other pieces on this list because it is actively opposed to being historically accurate to a degree that few other period pieces have arguably ever achieved.

Literally nothing about Bridgerton is consistent with history, so it does not disappoint when its costumes aren't either. The clothing does take visible inspiration from the Regency silhouette, but even then it is not consistent, with Queen Charlotte's costumes still firmly Georgian-esque (and honestly, marvellous wigs aside, they're not... bad?). Bridgerton is a historical fantasy before it's a historical drama, and as such it's easy to just sit back and enjoy the costumes for what they are - even when what they are is garish.

────────────

The Great (Hulu, 2020-23)

The Great is first and foremost a dark comedy, not a historical piece. Yes, Catherine the Great and Peter III were real people, and yes, much like in the show, Catherine did overthrow her husband in real life, too. But the similarities end here, as none of the characters in The Great have any intention of resembling their real-life counterparts.

Set roughly in the 1740s, the costumes in The Great are clearly far from reality, but they still resemble the silhouettes we know and recognise as 18th Century. The show is a satirical means of poking fun at the opulent aristocracy, and as such every costume conveys a distinct appearance of luxury. Every single item of clothing worn by the nobility looks absurdly expensive, and the exaggerated ridiculousness of many of the looks we see onscreen are an intentional way of conveying how utterly disconnected the people at court are from reality. From Peter's leopard skin jacket to ladies wearing powdered wigs as hats, The Great's costuming is purposefully elevated from its historical source material, and that is precisely what makes it so good.

────────────

The Favourite (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2018)

Sandy Powell's work on The Favourite is perhaps one of my all-time favourite pieces of costuming. Similarly to The Great, The Favourite utilises clearly recognisable aspects of 18th-century fashion - with ermine fur trim, half-length sleeves, and periwigs - but stylised so that everything conforms to a solidly black and white colour palate.

The Favourite's costumes are gorgeous and evocative of their time period - with well-portrayed mantuas, riding habits, fontanges etc. - all while conforming to Lanthimos' characteristically off-beat style. The shared colour palate really puts the three leads on equal footing in a visual sense, which is key in exploring the relationships that Abigail and Sarah are able to manipulate Queen Anne into developing. Had the colours and fabrics been historically accurate, I believe the movie would have risked making Anne too visibly above the rest of her court, but the striking congruence among the cast successfully solidifies their ability to exploit one another, regardless of status.

────────────

I don't know if there are any conclusions to be drawn from this, I just love talking. If you've made it this far - thank you for reading! I hope you found at least some of this interesting.

I'm always open and eager to discuss this topic, so please do let me know your thoughts - What are your favourite period drama costumes? What piece of costuming made you go OH JESUS WHAT IS THAT???

Anyway, thank you for going down this little rabbit hole with me - my asks are always open! <3

#history #period drama #period drama costumes #history posting #reign #the musketeers #bbc musketeers #the spanish princess #the buccaneers #becoming elizabeth #emma 2020 #firebrand #bridgerton #the great #the favourite #historical fashion #historical costuming #costume design #helena has opinions

32 notes · View notes

futbol16 · 2 years

Text

Back From Lyon • Alexia Putellas

Word count: 2,1k

Leaving Barcelona wasn’t a decision you thought you’d ever have to make, but you had to. It wasn’t that the team or the manager didn’t want you there, no, they asked you to stay and although you would have loved nothing more, it simply wasn’t something you could do.

You found yourself in Lyon for the 2019-20 season winning the UEFA women’s champions league scoring two of the four goals against Barcelona. It was bittersweet having to beat your former team, a team you called home.

All you wanted to do was wrap all of the Barca girls in a big hug and apologize to them but you knew you couldn’t, instead you watched with tears in your eyes as Alexia cried on the grass.

You were called over for a quick interview, still on the field and you stood in front of the camera with a small smile.

“La Víbora and La Reina are rejoining their forces, what do you think about that?” the reporter asked you after your last match with the club. You laughed at the use of your nicknames, a piece of your hair flying in your line of sight due to the wind.

“I'd like to think it’s a good thing, you know Alexia and I grew up together, this had been our first time in different clubs, apart from her one season at Levante. Yeah, yeah it will be nice to get back home to Barca.” you nodded at your own words before confetti is thrown at you by one of your teammates who drags you away from the interview.

Your return to your hometown was well awaited by the fans and your teammates as you had promised your manager to only have one season away from the club. He was reluctant to agree but upon hearing your explanation for the sudden want to leave, he understood that it was more than football.

You were just as excited to get back, though there was a nervousness sitting at the bottom of your heart, wondering if the distance helped resolve the conflict you once had.

The Barca team sat in the meeting room as their coach and manager introduced the new signings. It was secretly made into a game by the women, competing to see who could guess the player first, based on the introductory video they’d play.

Three of the new players were brought up from the B team and as the last video ends, Mapi exclaims worriedly.

“Where’s Y/N?” she looks towards the manager who opens his mouth but is cut off by multiple of the women.

“Yeah, she promised she’d be back!”

“She’s not staying in Lyon, right?”

Coming to the conclusion that the only way he could silence them was to show the video, he types away at his computer before the cheering of the crowd fills the room as the video starts.

“RAS RAS RAS” the crowd chants as you make your way out onto the field.

“She's quick. She's smart. The take-off power she has, her speed with the ball.”

“We all know her strengths, she’s undoubtedly one of the best in the world.”

Your Barcelona and Lyon coach both speak into the camera, clips from interviews.

The Barca girls watch your skills shown on the video with knowing looks, smiles and the three new signings with looks of amusement and adoration for you.

“She became a role model, children all over the world love her. Y/N gets purple boots, then the whole world gets purple boots.” Ada Hegerberg, your now former teammate, comments with a laugh.

“She plays with flair, she plays with passion. Everything she does is for football.” Your best friend, Alexia says.

Alexia looks down to her lap, playing with her fingers and she feels eyes on her, no doubt Jenni or Lieke’s.

You soon enter the room with a blinding grin and quickly catch the two women that throw themselves at you. You hug Leila and Mapi once you’ve managed to set them down.

Your teammates are quick to greet you, all trying to catch up with you and voicing how happy they were about your return.

“Please welcome back Y/N Ras!”

On your first match back with Barcelona you show the fans again just how good you are and it’s obvious that you still have the strong chemistry with your teammates that you had before Lyon. It’s like you never actually left.

The game ends with a wonderful win to Barca, something that doesn’t surprise anyone too much.

Sitting in the locker room you pull Mapi and Leila into you, laughing away at one of the comments the girls made. You don’t see Alexia looking over at you, or maybe you just choose to ignore it, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Jenni who nudges the brunette next to her.

“What’s up with you? Normally the two of you would practically be sitting in each other's lap after such a win.” Jenni raises an eyebrow at the silence that follows her words, Alexia not daring to open her mouth.

Jenni sighs at her. “Have you talked to her yet?”

Once again Alexia stays silent, though she shakes her head. Jenni pulls her into her side.

“Well promise me to speak to her during the next week.”

It’s now your turn to turn to them, eyeing their closeness with a frown, you knew they were close, they always had been but you’ve never seen Jenni look at the girl like that before.

Throughout the next week every hangout soon turns into team bonding, the girls wanting to spend as much time with you as they could. Your routines and habits with Leila and Mapi continue to be, the two of them haven’t left your side since your return.

Jana, one of the girls from the B team approaches you, grinning and saying something about a wall with your face. You look at her confused and she directs you to one of the hallways of the training facility.

It seems that while you were away the club had turned it into some sort of hall of fame. Large pictures of former and present Barcelona players are painted onto the wall ranging from Lionel Messi to Melanie Serrano and your eyes widen as you stumble upon your own picture.

Walking closer you read the Individual achievements listed under your jersey number.

Ballon d'Or Féminin: 2019

The Best FIFA Women's Player: 2018, 2019

UEFA Women's Player of the Year: 2017-18, 2019-20

UEFA Women's Champions League Midfielder of the Season: 2019-2020

World Soccer Women's World Player of the Year: 2017, 2018

Catalan Player of the Year: 2014, 2016, 2018, 2019

Spain women's national team Player of the Year: 2019

Fútbol Draft Best XI: 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2018

These were only a few of the listed titles and you look up abruptly at the sound of cleats hitting the floor. You spot Alexia walking towards where you stand, she as well looking at your picture.

“Pretty nice, no?” she asks, but you don’t look at her, eyes still skimming over the list.

“I don't remember getting so many..”

“Well I guess it was hard to keep count of.” you look at her with distaste and with a click of your tongue you shake your head at her, turning and walking away.

“Wait, Y/N!..”

You weren’t going to have this conversation again. It was why you had asked for a loan in the first place and you thought the distance between the two of you would help, but clearly it hadn’t.

Alexia doesn’t manage to find you and she gets to the pitch out of breath, Jenni looking at her weirdly, She doesn’t pay Hermoso any mind though, her eyes locked on your form now leaning against Leila.

The next time Alexia finds you alone is after your extra practice with her, something that had been a normal occurrence for the two of you since before Barcelona.

Although your chemistry was undeniable and the two of you played better together than ever before, it seemed as though you had made it your mission to avoid the brunette whenever you could.

She thinks you’ve already left when she takes a quick scan of the field but instead finds you sitting on a ball, already showered and wrapped in a hoodie, staring into space.

She softly lets her training bag slide down her shoulder and fall to the ground with a soft thump and she gets her own ball, silently sitting next to you. She hopes you won’t leave as she scans the side of your face, but you continue to stare straight ahead.

“I’m glad you’re back.” she states honestly, but you only hum at her words.

“I missed you, you know.” you turn towards her at that, trying to figure out if she’s telling the truth. She gives you a small nod and you let out your own “I missed you too.”

You expect the next question even though you wished she wouldn’t bring it up in a calm moment like this when the two of you finally talking to each other.

“Why’d you leave?” you don’t answer her. “I mean come on Y/N, you were great here, the team was complete, there was no reason for you to leave!...Did I do something?”

The look of disbelief that crosses your face makes her almost fall off the ball she’s sitting on and you stand, fists balled in anger. She’s quick to follow you, ready to reach out if you were to leave her there again.

“You accused me Alexia! How can you forget that?!” she recoils at the hurt expression slowly taking over your features.

She wants to reach out, to smooth out the furrow of your eyebrows but she knows this isn’t the correct time for that.

So she listens to you instead.

“You accused me of one upping you in everything, in wanting to take away your glory or whatever. My last year at Barca was spent listening to your complaints about me getting each award before you, you didn’t understand why I was the only one getting the recognition when we came from the same clubs. You made me feel like I didn’t belong here, that I didn’t deserve it.” you take a deep breath, angry tears sliding down your cheeks.

“You called me selfish Alexia! That’s what happened.” you attempt to pathetically wipe away the tears, failing as more just keep appearing.

She’s crying now as well and for a moment you feel guilty, but she deserved this. You both knew it.

Your best friend has turned against you, forcing you out of her life for those few months. You didn’t only lose Alexia, you lost your family too. Alexia’s little sister, Alba, was also very close to you and their mother had practically raised you.

Alexia pulls you into a hug, one you don’t fight as your emotions come crashing down and you grasp her jersey tightly as you hold onto her for dear life.

She lets you cry, herself quietly crying into your hair. The two of you stay like that for a while, unknowingly calming each other and when you pull away from her, the defeated expression on your face makes her heart break even more.

“I'm so sorry, God I’m so sorry Y/N I wish I had never said those things, I’m so sorry -” she’s ranting but all you can focus on is the way the lights of the pitch make her eyes shine even more and suddenly you’re back to your younger self who’s crush on her best friend was obvious to everyone, except to said friend.

Her words die in her throat as you reach out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear before your hand moves to cup her face and she leans into your touch.

“Just promise me to never do it again.” you whisper, you had forgiven her the moment you left but she didn’t know that.

Alexia slowly moves closer to you, your bodies flush.

“Never ever again.” she nods truthfully and you pull her closer, her own hands holding you impossibly close by your waist. You contemplate for a second, wondering if this is the right thing to do but as you gaze into her eyes, all your doubts vanish.

Both of you melt into the kiss and Alexia savors the moment, it had been something she wanted to do since the two of you were 16 and making your international debut together.

“I love you.” you mutter on her lips.

“I love you endlessly.” she confesses before pulling you into another kiss and the two of you stand in each other's hold under the few lights lighting up the pitch.

You were definitely more than happy to be back from Lyon.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #futbol16

556 notes · View notes

my-vanishing-777 · 27 days

Text

A World Without Men

The women of South Korea’s 4B movement aren’t fighting the patriarchy — they’re leaving it behind entirely.

Youngmi’s childhood was a difficult one. The 25-year-old nurse was born to a poor family in Daegu, South Korea, known for being one of the most conservative cities in the country. Youngmi’s mom left the home when Youngmi was young to escape her husband’s physical abuse, leaving her and her sister behind with him and their paternal grandmother. When she was 5, her 8-year-old sister started losing her hair from stress.

As she grew older, Youngmi found herself depressed, unsure of what her future held, and financially unstable. In Korea’s patriarchal society — in which women are generally expected to defer to their fathers and to adhere to rigid beauty standards — she felt like a perpetual victim, obsessed by the wrongs done to her by her father and pressured into maintaining her appearance in order to please men. Despite her meager budget as a nursing student, she purchased new clothes each season, spending a lot of money on cheap, poor-quality clothes from H&M. She wore makeup religiously. “I could not go outside without any makeup. I felt ashamed of my face,” she said. “I had this pressure of wanting to look beautiful and wanting to be desirable, physically or sexually.”

While scrolling through Twitter in 2018, Youngmi came across footage of protests taking place in the streets of Seoul. In South Korea, where cases of femicide, revenge porn, and dating violence are widespread, a surge in spy-cam sex crimes, overwhelmingly committed by men, had mostly resulted in fines and suspended jail sentences, if they were prosecuted at all. That was not the case, however, for one 25-year-old woman who had taken a nonconsensual photo of a nude male model at art school and posted it online; she was sentenced to ten months in prison and court-ordered sexual-violence counseling. The demonstrations were a reaction to the blatant hypocrisy.

Youngmi was moved by the solidarity she saw, but there was one thing she found perplexing: Many of the women at the protests shaved their heads on-camera. As she began to follow more feminist Twitter accounts, Youngmi understood this was a public act of rejection of those same aesthetic expectations imposed on Korean women that have made the country a leader in grooming products and plastic surgery. She began to realize that “you know, men do not do that — men do not feel the pressure to buy clothes every season or wear makeup.”

Soon, Youngmi shaved her head, too, and stopped wearing makeup, joining the so-called “escape the corset” movement happening among young women in South Korea. The movement, which first gained popularity in 2018, saw Korean women publicly turn away from societally imposed beauty standards by cutting their hair short and going barefaced. (Youngmi was not alone — in 2019, a survey found that 24 percent of women in their 20s reported cutting back their spending on beauty products in the previous year, with many saying they no longer felt they needed to put in the effort.) This eventually led Youngmi to “4B,” a smaller but growing movement among Korean women. 4B is shorthand for four Korean words that all start with bi-, or “no”: The first no, bihon, is the refusal of heterosexual marriage. Bichulsan is the refusal of childbirth, biyeonae is saying no to dating, and bisekseu is the rejection of heterosexual sexual relationships. It is both an ideological stance and a lifestyle, and many women I spoke to extend their boycott to nearly all the men in their lives, including distancing themselves from male friends.

Through open chat groups on KakaoTalk, Youngmi connected with other feminists in Daegu, where she lived with her mother while attending nursing school, soon meeting each other offline. (“It’s so easy to recognize each other with short hair,” she said.) She stopped seeing her friends from high school and middle school whose conversations still revolved around makeup, clothes, and boys. When we met last November at a café in Seoul, where she’s been living for the last two years, she was barefaced and dressed comfortably in loose jeans and a white fleece jacket. Her hair was long enough to be pulled back in a ponytail, as she’d grown tired of people asking about her short hair at her nursing job, but it was tucked into a white baseball cap. Feminism, she said, had helped her recognize that it was patriarchy that was the problem, not her — that “the bad things that happened in your life are not your fault,” she said.4B is shorthand: bihon, is the refusal of heterosexual marriage. Bichulsan is the refusal of childbirth, biyeonae is saying no to dating, and bisekseu is the rejection of heterosexual sexual relationships.

For Youngmi and many others who subscribe to its basic premises, 4B, or “practicing bihon,” is the only path by which a Korean woman today can live autonomously. In their view, Korean men are essentially beyond redemption, and Korean culture, on the whole, is hopelessly patriarchal — often downright misogynistic. A 2016 survey by the Ministry of Gender Equality and Family found the incidence of intimate-partner violence at 41.5 percent, significantly higher than the global average of 30 percent. While 4B’s adherents may hope to change society — through demonstrations and online activism, and by modeling an alternative lifestyle to other women — they are not trying to change the men whom they view as their oppressors. It is too soon to tell whether this movement can survive and thrive over the long haul. But its ideas and actions have already affected the country’s online discourse, its politics, and most of all, individual women’s lives.

“Practicing bihon means you’re eliminating the risks that come from heterosexual marriage or dating,” Yeowon, a 26-year-old office worker, told me on a café terrace in the seaside southern city of Busan. We talked over coffee and pastries, along with Yeowon’s girlfriend and another of their friends, all of them wearing wide black pants and black sweaters and sporting cropped short haircuts. Those risks Yeowon alluded to might seem familiar — trading career for child-rearing and housework, as well as the threat of physical violence — but in Korea, Yeowon said, marriage presents an existential threat.

There was a time when Minji, a 4B adherent in Daegu, had wanted to get married, “because, you know, everyone wants to get married.” Knowing what she knows now, however — like that domestic violence, as she puts it, is so common — “I don’t want to get married anymore.” Minji, 27, is probably heterosexual, she said, and has liked a few guys in the past, but they wanted her to “treat them like a king.” So she has no problem boycotting the men of her generation, who are little better than her selfish and abusive father.

Even young women who are not members of the movement echo that they could not imagine dating or marrying a Korean man. Sooyeon, a teacher in her early 30s, told me that talking to her male friends “made me always feel like, ‘Oh, maybe I can never find a Korean man’ … Even in my generation, some guys expect a really traditional role from their spouse.” As if to prove her point, a recent survey by a matchmaking company found that women were reluctant to marry because of the division of housework, while men hesitated because of “feminism.”

t is unclear how widespread or popular the 4B movement is given its fluid online and offline nature and its evolution over the years, beginning sometime around 2015 or 2016 when a simple “no-marriage” lifestyle grew to include a boycott of men and reproductive labor more broadly. One article estimated 50,000 adherents; others have put the movement’s numbers at under 5,000. Its origin story is similarly complex, though its contours can be traced.

Following years of financial crises in which young people faced growing housing costs and intense competition for university spots and jobs, the way women and men related to each other openly soured. Beginning in 2013, the rate of college enrollment among Korean women surpassed those of men; today, nearly three-fourths of women are enrolled in higher education, compared with less than two-thirds of men. Previously, women were expected to drop out of the labor force after marriage or parenthood. Now, young men see their female peers as competitors for increasingly scarce jobs. (Several academics I spoke with noted to me that Korea is largely ethnically and racially homogenous, making gender the default and central societal fault line.) In online forums and on social media, disgruntled men began labeling college-educated women kimchinyeo, or “kimchee women,” giving a name to “the stereotype of Korean women as selfish, vain, and obsessed with themselves while exploiting their partners,” wrote feminist scholar Euisol Jeong in her doctoral thesis on “troll feminism.”In their view, Korean men are essentially beyond redemption, and Korean culture, on the whole, is hopelessly patriarchal — often downright misogynistic.

Around 2014 and 2015, a virulently misogynistic and anti-feminist community called “Ilbe” grew in size and prominence. In its interpretation, women were demanding additional rights and privileges when they already benefited from avoiding the country’s compulsory military service. To the Ilbe community, the entire female populace is gold-digging and shallow. Female Korean internet users responded by latching onto misogynistic strategies like trolling, mockery, and abusive language. Members of Megalia, one of the more prominent feminist sites in this period, coined the term hannamchung, or “Korean male-bug,” which stereotyped Korean men as “ugly, sexist, and obsessed with buying sex,” wrote Jeong.

In 2016, a young man murdered a young woman in a Seoul public bathroom, telling police after that he killed her because women had always ignored him. Despite the perpetrator’s own statement, police refused to label the murder a hate crime. Furious, women flocked to online feminist message boards, communities, and chat forums. This wave of digital feminism attracted women from all backgrounds, including working-class women like Minji and Youngmi, making it different from traditional Korean feminism, which was largely confined to universities, NGOs that often received government support, and other elite spaces.

In December of that year, as Korea’s fertility rate hovered at 1.2 births per woman (it has since slid to 0.78, the lowest in the world), the Korean government launched an online “National Birth Map” that showed the number of women of reproductive age in each municipality, illustrating just what it expected of its female citizens. (South Korean president Yoon Suk-yeol won the election in March 2022 with a message that blamed feminism for Korea’s low birth rate, and a promise to abolish the country’s Ministry of Gender Equality and Family. ) Women were outraged by the map, observing that the government appeared to consider them “livestock”; one Twitter user reportedly created a mock map illustrating the concentration of Korean men with sexual dysfunction. Several of these digital feminists responded with a boycott to the reproductive labor expected by the state and decided that the surest way to avoid pregnancy was to avoid men altogether. It was through these online communities that 4B emerged as a slogan, and ultimately a movement.

The blowback and fear that 4B practitioners experience underscores their conviction that Korea is still a frightening place for women. Yeowon’s photo was posted on an Ilbe site after participating in a feminist protest, and she was harassed and sexually threatened online for weeks. Youngmi said men have tried to physically attack her on the street three or four times. She recalled an episode when she and some friends, who all had cropped haircuts, were dining at a Japanese restaurant in Daegu. Throughout the night, the restaurant owner and his friends made gagging and puking noises and gestures at them. When Minji and I met at a coffee shop near the city’s central train station, she told me she was worried that someone in the café might post a photo of her online because she had short hair and was speaking openly about feminism. Others I spoke with insisted on using pseudonyms for safety reasons.

There are other consequences to forgoing long-term partnerships with men. Korea has the largest gender pay gap in the rich world, with women earning 31 percent less than men, and women still face widespread discrimination in the labor market, something the movement recognizes. A widely circulated 2018 tweet encouraged 4B women to save the money they would have otherwise spent on “self-fashioning labor” to sustain an independent life instead of winding up “a penniless granny with a wardrobe full of clothes.”

Women who commit to 4B “just work hard, because they know they will not have a breadwinner man or husband,” said Jeong, the scholar who wrote her doctoral thesis on troll feminism, adding that some take two or three jobs. Youngmi and her girlfriend live together about an hour by subway outside of downtown Seoul where rent is more affordable. Yeowon said her small studio apartment, the best option she can afford right now, is in an unsafe neighborhood near a market where drunken men often congregate after the local bars close. Her partner, who works in IT, recently moved apartments because her last one had cockroaches.

Several 4B women I met in Seoul still lived with their parents. Yeowon’s partner lives by herself but still eats at her parents’ house several times a week, even though they are no longer emotionally close. Her mother’s cooking is excellent, she said, and it saves her time and money. “I treat it like a restaurant,” she added. Youngmi and her friends created a map of women-owned businesses in Daegu so they could ensure their dollars went to supporting other women. “The economy is a very important issue for us,” she told me. Other 4B groups host events with personal-finance experts to help women learn how to save and invest. A subgroup of an online community called “WITH” (which stands for “Women in the Hell,” Hell being a nickname for Korea) is specifically focused on economics; members post job listings, advice on which banks are offering the best interest rates, and other financial tips. Han, a math tutor who runs her own tutoring company in Daegu, said she believes as women’s collective economic power grows, so will their political power, something she sees playing out over the next 20 years. Their interest in finance is both about the pressing matter of living an economically viable life today and the longer-term possibility that women practicing 4B at scale will eventually weaken the patriarchy. “When women are more economically influential, then it’s possible that the political parties will listen to women as important voters,” Han added. “But until then, I feel like women will still be utilized — their bodies will be utilized to reproduce.”

But it’s not just political backlash and straightened economic circumstances that pose a threat to the long-term sustainability of 4B and its influence. Like any social movement, 4B has its own internal rifts and divisions: Can 4B women be friends with men? With women who still want to date men? Does lesbianism privatize relationships, destroy feminist solidarity, and resexualize women, or is it a necessary foundation for a world without men? Some 4B practitioners also were turned off by the movement’s focus on cisgender women to the exclusion of trans women; many of the online communities require verification with a photo ID attesting to the applicant’s sex, and Minji said that one of the feminist communities she joined asked her to submit a video of her Adam’s apple, ostensibly to ensure she wasn’t assigned male at birth. But regardless of where they stand on these questions, for the more than a dozen 4B practitioners I met in Korea, these were academic disagreements that had little impact on their own personal commitment to living apart from men.

For a movement born of rage, what happens when the rage mellows or when other concerns take priority? Yeowon said some of her friends are “selective feminists” who forgo makeup when they meet up with her, but are ultimately not ready to give up the advantages that come with being conventionally attractive. “They cannot let go of this power as women, of using femininity,” she said. “There are these feminists who say, ‘Oh, I’m a feminist, I hate men, but I also want to be, you know, consumable.’” She and her friends described videos on YouTube of ex-bihon women who told viewers that they’d seen the light and returned to heterosexuality, narratives that recall the profusion of #TradWife content online.

At least for now, it is clear that the message of 4B, regardless of how it is practiced, or however closely its followers identify with the label, has provided a refuge for Korean women. Taekyung, 24, is getting her master’s degree in German literature at Ewha University, an all-women’s university with a robust campus feminism movement and a respected gender-studies department. On a beautiful fall day, she proudly walked me around the campus, which dates from the 1880s, showing me the campus gift shop and the area where students socialize and sometimes take naps.

She has tried to avoid men since high school, after doing a research project on Ilbe that brought her to web pages where men had posted nude photos of their female family members and discussed how to get away with rape. She went to Sungshin Women’s University, another all-women’s university, for undergrad. She doesn’t believe in labels for her own sexual orientation and has little interest in dating other women, but she does believe in political lesbianism as a way for women to establish lives separate from men — with an emphasis on the “political” rather than the “lesbian.” “I don’t need to try being a lesbian, because in political lesbianism, I can just be a person, like a normal person — a human being. I can be in a safe place,” she told me as we drank sweet-potato lattes at a campus café. The most important thing, in her view, is the absence of men. “Always, when I use the word ‘safe place,’ it means the place for women.”

For a movement born of rage, what happens when the rage mellows or when other concerns take priority?

Reporting for this story was supported by the Pulitzer Center.

#4B movement #radical feminism #female chauvinist

13 notes · View notes