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scary-movies-on-netflix · 6 months ago

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"The Zone of Interest" (2023): response to a terrible movie review

I don't usually do media criticism, but this "review" of "The Zone of Interest" (2023) has irked me since reading it in March. You'll excuse me whilst I rant about it a bit, ok?

Director Jonathan Glazer’s acclaimed movie “The Zone of Interest” recently won two Oscars — for best international feature film and for sound. Steven Spielberg has declared it to be the best Holocaust film since his own “Schindler’s List” came out in 1993. In his Oscar acceptance speech, Glazer, who is himself Jewish, invoked the Holocaust to criticize Israel’s military actions in Gaza. His speech drew some praise but also criticism from the Jewish community — including from the movie’s executive producer, Danny Cohen. But in some important respects, the film is even more troubling than Glazer’s speech.

Got it. This isn't really about the movie. It's about the fact that Jonathan Glazer dared to criticize the ongoing humanitarian disaster in Gaza. The author of this piece, this hit piece, is Peter Rutland. He's a professor of some sort at "Wesleyan University." As far as I can tell, he's never written a movie review before. He has written some other op-eds for CNN, including at least one acknowledging grievances on both sides of the Gaza conflict. That's actually a more measured statement than you'll see from most pundits these days, so the one-sidedness of this movie review is just confounding.

Let's continue:

The film documents the mundane life of the family of Auschwitz commandant Rudolf Höss (played by Christian Friedel) and his wife, Hedwig (Sandra Hüller), while the atrocities themselves are kept out of sight behind the concentration camp wall. It was inspired by the 2014 novel “The Zone of Interest” by Martin Amis, the enfant terrible of English letters whose works use satire as a vehicle for reveling in money, sex and power. What the satiric movie “Saltburn” does for the English upper class, “The Zone of Interest” is doing for National Socialism. While the evil of Nazism is an abstraction in the movie, out of sight and out of mind, viewers are invited to identify with the daily life of the family Höss. The lush images of the film convey an idyllic family life, with an immaculately clean house and bountiful garden. The Nazis loved their children and their pets. They played the piano.

The audience is not being "invited to identify with" the Höss family. We are being invited to pierce through their self-deception. Their existence is not "idyllic." Herr Höss is cheating on his wife. Frau Höss is brittle and mean. The children (the boys at least) are traumatized. The family has material wealth, including a "lush" garden and "immaculately clean house," but that's produced on the backs of slave labor. These are fairly obvious points. Frau Höss's mother understood (which is why she snuck out in the middle of the night), but this is apparently too obscure for Rutland to grasp.

Glazer has explained that his goal was to show that the perpetrators of the Holocaust were not monsters but humans, just like us. It could have happened anywhere: to anyone, by anyone. Viewers are invited to consider that as we go about our mundane lives, evil is taking place somewhere behind a wall, which we chose not to look over.

Yes! That's the point! Atrocities aren't committed by monsters. They're committed by people. Actual people.

But the whole idea of making a Nazi pastoral film is historically misleading and frankly offensive. As Israeli film critic Avner Shavit has pointed out, Glazer has managed to make a film about the Holocaust in which we never see any Jews.

First of all, "the idea of making a Nazi pastoral film" might indeed be "frankly offensive," but art has no obligation to make you feel good about anything. Good art challenges you and forces you to consider strange perspectives. Sometimes it might offend you! Second, why is "the idea of making a Nazi pastoral film" "historically misleading?" The Nazi government had an entire government ministry dedicated to pumping out propaganda, including pastoral films.

The second point (that "Glazer has managed to make a film about the Holocaust in which we never see any Jews") is just boring and tendentious. Peter Rutland, people have multiple senses. No, we don't see any Jews. We hear them. Their suffering is ever present. The film was praised for its sound design, which included and highlighted the horrors being inflicted upon the Jews. Apart from that, yes, Peter Rutland, you actually could make a Holocaust movie without any Jews in it. (Has Peter Rutland seen "Conspiracy" (2001)?) That's called art.

Likewise, in a 45-minute discussion of the film by the cast and crew at the Cannes Film Festival in May, the question of Jews never came up. Instead, producer James Wilson talked about how white racism and colonialism were driven by beliefs “that were very similar to the ideas that were propagated by National Socialism in the 1930s.” An audience member saw connections to the “Don’t say gay” law in Florida.

This point has nothing to do with the movie. Peter Rutland, pedant, is just upset about the statements made during one press conference. Again, this is not a movie review. It's a hit piece.

But the Holocaust happened to the Jews, at the hands of the Nazis and their collaborators, and its specificity should not be diluted into a general meditation on the banality of evil.

The Holocaust happened to the Jews. This is not disputed. This movie does not make light of that fact. But Peter Rutland continues, "its specificity should not be diluted into a general meditation on the banality of evil." Why not? No, really. Why not?

Peter Rutland is once again demonstrating that he's angry about Glazer. Instead of complaining directly about Glazer, he's bitching about a movie he clearly doesn't understand. I'm actually questioning whether he understands art at all. The Holocaust "should not be diluted into a general meditation" on things. Really? "Schindler's List" (1993) is a movie about the Holocaust and a meditation on the nature of evil. No movie needs Peter Rutland's permission to be about multiple things at once.

The movie’s conceit is not a particularly clever or original take on history. The fact that the guards had happy moments during their time at the camp was vividly revealed by the photo album of deputy commander Karl-Friedrich Höcker that was donated to the US Holocaust Memorial Museum in 2007.

I don't really care for Peter Rutland's thoughts on what's "clever or original." He sounds like a bore and, as explained above, barely seems to understand the nature of art.

Glazer is echoing elements of the “banality of evil” argument laid out in Hannah Arendt’s “Eichmann in Jerusalem.” In his 1961 trial, Adolf Eichmann’s defense was that he was just a bureaucrat carrying out orders. But Arendt was wrong. Due to the release of long-hidden tapes that started to become available in the 2010s that the Nazi official made while in exile in Argentina, we now know that Eichman, the chief logistics officer of the Holocaust, was an ideological zealot deeply committed to National Socialism.

Peter Rutland misspelled Eichmann's name. Ha ha.

For some time scholars have studied “banal nationalism”: the expression of national identity in everyday life. But there was nothing banal about the Holocaust. Indeed, the film implies that Höss was just doing his job. But Höss was not just a bored bureaucrat and family man. He was a fanatical Nazi who had joined the party in 1922 and was sent to jail for participating in a political assassination the following year.

What even is the point of these two paragraphs? Peter Rutland realizes that isn't actually Höss on the screen, right? This is a work of fiction. Moreover, this doesn't diminish the point that people committed the Holocaust. People like, yes, Höss. They weren't literal monsters. They were men and women with jobs and families and pets. I went to a museum in Erfurt, Germany, where they built the furnaces for the death camps. They were designed by engineers, built by workers of various types, and then delivered by truck or train by drivers. That's the "banality of evil": regular people mindlessly and unquestioningly performing all the little necessary acts that it takes to produce industrial-scale evil.

People need to be reminded that this capacity for evil can exist inside them. We can't just assume that this evil will never emerge, hope for the best that we can keep it inside. It's always going to be a struggle to control this side of our nature.

“The Zone of Interest” is rather tedious as a film. It barely has a plot, and the conversations and daily routines are repetitious. Several scenes will leave viewers confused, such as the one where Höss finds a jawbone while fishing in the river and drags his kids out of the water. I would not have known what was happening except I had previously read in a review that there are supposedly human remains being dumped in the river.

Peter Rutland's article is rather tedious as a movie review, because it's not a movie review. This man does not understand film.

Likewise, the local girl going out at night to leave food for the camp inmates (based on a true story) will have mystified most of the audience. The scene will have pleased the Polish authorities who helped to produce the film, since it portrays the Poles as helping the Jews. Yes, some Poles did heroically help Jews. But some joined in pogroms, or betrayed Jews in hiding to the Germans. These grim facts have been documented by historian Jan Gross, provoking intense controversy in Poland. No sign of that in this film.

This is a ludicrous complaint. Did Peter Rutland run this by anyone before sending it to CNN? Did any editor at CNN suggest that maybe a movie doesn't have to address every single historical point that could be possibly be raised about a particular time period? This is a tightly-constructed movie about a specific set of characters, but now he wants it to suddenly expand in scope to address how some Poles were collaborators of the Holocaust. Does Peter Rutland raise this same complaint about every movie he sees? Did he watch "Schindler's List" and seethe that it didn't include information about Polish collaborators? Did he watch the beginning of "Saving Private Ryan" (1998) and rage that it didn't focus enough on the brave Canadian soldiers fighting on Juno beach? I doubt it. He just wants to whine about this movie because he disagrees with some statements by Glazer.

There is a long history of fascination with the aesthetics of the Third Reich, as in the films of Leni Riefenstahl. Back in 1975, Susan Sontag wrote a perceptive essay condemning the fetishization of Nazi paraphernalia. “The Zone of Interest” will certainly appeal to those who admire the aesthetics of Nazism: the striking uniforms, the distinctive “fashy” (short for fascist) haircuts, the nice animals. It will also appeal to people who like gardening.

This movie is a meditation on character and memory, but Peter Rutland repeatedly demonstrates that he doesn't understand that. He collapses everything to a mere celebration of aesthetics, because, based on everything he's written, he only comprehends the surface details of what he's seeing on the screen, and even that comprehension is clouded by his personal animosity toward Glazer.

But viewers who want insights into the tragic history of the Holocaust should look elsewhere.

This is a pathetic. Peter Rutland offers no insights into this movie. This is a political op-ed disguised (poorly, I might add), as a "movie review." Both the author and CNN should be ashamed for publishing this piece of shit.

#zone of interest #media criticism #the zone of interest

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ptergwen · 4 years ago

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web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

if i forgot you please lmk!

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #spiderman #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic

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irisonthecliffside · 1 year ago

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Saying that we should ignore RWRB flaws because it's gay is foolish, we criticize movies that star straight characters? Why makes having gay characters in your movie some sort of criticism deflecting shield? Also, it's not like RWRB is a fantastic movie narratively or politically. Which leads me to my problems with it. They completely erased the fact Nora was Jewish, in a time where antisemitism is on a violent rise. If you talk about how important representation is for not cis/het and not white people, you need to extend that care to Jewish people or else you're being a hypocrite.

A more story related critique of Nora: I understand that "Nora" isn't actually book character Nora, she's June and Nora combined, but combining two very different characters, one family oriented, emotionally intelligent, self sacrificing, and the other friendship oriented, booksmart, and mischievous creates a bland character with just some bland zingers. I don't understand why they didn't choose June as the name character, especially since Nora doesn't leak Richard's involvement in A+H outing (more on that later) her purpose in the plot, which is emotional support, is closer to June's role in the book plot. I think they chose Nora as the name character over June because they thought "Henry already has a big sister, they can't both have big sisters" this is stupid because no one cares if they both have big sisters.

Henry's family is definitely the biggest narrative weakness in the movie. In the book we're shown through character interaction Henry's family dynamics, in the movie Henry's family dynamics are either explained by a voice over that's only in the beginning of the movie (which is widely regarded as a terrible narrative device), or told to us in the middle of the movie. I don't think that the movie touched upon the depth that Henry and Bea have in the book. Which leads me to my next point: they should have scrapped Bea.

Bea has no characterization other then Nice and Feminine in the movie. Bea's backstory, personality, and contribution to the narrative were scrapped, so why is she here? It would be better for the narrative to show more tension between Henry and Phillip so to show Henry's already existing dislike of the Crown, his growing confidence that being with Alex gives him and then when he finally rejects the crown the scene is a satisfying conclusion to a proper character arc rather then just the final scene of the plot.

The another key problem in the movie for me that is both political and story-wise is how Pez was adapted. The movie took away all of Pez's characterization, to the point that no one calls him "Pez" only Percy, a name in the books he says he hates. I'm very critical of that, because although in the books it's never explicitly labled, (which is fine) Pez seems to present fairly fem, to the point he calls himself "auntie Pez". Removing the bulk of Pez's gender non-conformity from the movie was a massive mistake. Again, we're in a time where the political right in America and the entire world is trying harder then in previous years to enforce strict gender roles and remove trans people's rights to self determination. Removing the gnc elements from a character in a large amazon movie, is a bad move. From a narrative perspective, Pez doesn't do anything to the plot, hell he barely has a line of dialogue! Henry and Pez's friendship is entirely off screen. Why does a character who doesn't push the plot in any respect exist?

(also, I'm one of the whitest girls I know, so take this take with a grain of salt, but the only two Black characters in the movie (Nora and Pez) are casted as emotional supports for the mains with very little characterization eg: no one mentions that Nora's the VP's kid and a genius? And then immediately are paired off with each other? Esp since Nora wasn't Black in the book???? Did they change it because a white girl with a Black guy was obscene or some other bullshit?? It seem just makes me :I)

Pez and Bea being rewritten to be more in line with their respective gender roles is just one example of major moments that are changed to be more straight (for lack of a better word). The most egregious one imo is changing the gay bar where the cast are surrounded by other gay people who won't say a word, and the gang have a great time where they can be their authentic selves and not sorry about straight society's judgment and bigotry, to a texas themed bar with a bunch of straight people, and Henry's karaoke solo looses it's plot significance as him not being a stuffy price (and dare I say "acting gay") and still getting love and support. Another key example of these changed that changes the entire tone of the movie is when Alex comes out to her. In the books it was a heartfelt interaction between two bisexual people. In the movies it's played as a joke (a joke that wasn't very funny, not even in a SJW way "don't joke about that stuff" way, the scene didn't have funny dialogue imo) in the movie it's played as between a straight? (is Nora straight in this movie? I think so?) girl and a bi guy. It looses that love these two characters have for each other, it looses the queer solidarity. In the book Nora puts down her burrito and lets it go cold to be there for Alex for god's sake! That's love!

Because I'm not a total hater, here are some things that I liked in this movie:

Firstly there are two really beautiful scenes: the first one is where Alex and Henry have penetrative sex for the first time, the scene is lit gold, they're looking at each other with such affection and care, watching that scene just makes your heart wilt.

The second one is during an interaction on a stage (usamericans will know it as a dock). The way the scene is choreographed is really interesting, because the audience can see both of the characters reactions, but the two characters can't see each other, and the audience can see that they're having two completely different conversations. It's an awesome scene to watch. Another great thing about this movie is that the actor's have a great sense of physical comedy. The movie industry often avoids physical comedy because it's seen as "cheap slapstick that creates fake laughter" I think this movie is a great example of how physical comedy can be used. I genuinely laughed out loud with this movie.

The thing that benignly irritates me most about this movie is the cinematography. The cinematographers over use medium, cowboy, and medium full shots. There is hardly any closeups or full shots, good movies use a combination of shot sizes to keep an enrapturing environment and help tell the story. There is none of that (that I could find) in RWRB, which creates a bland atmosphere and a major contributor to this movie's bland vibes.

Originally, my biggest political gripe of this movie was Nora's Jewishness being erased. However, upon reflection I think that this movie makes a critical failure in it's antagonist that is deeply out of place for the time we are in politically as queer people. In the book the antagonist was the Republican Party Candidate Richards. Richards was clearly just a personification of the Republican Party, he's a sex offender who's family has been in power for a loooooong time turning the wheel of power in his favour. He paid a photographer to stalk Henry and Alex. Proof he did this is transported from a queer person in his political campaign, Raphael Luna who isn't in the movie, to Nora, who decodes it and releases it as proof sending a critical blow to Richard's campaign. In the movie a queer person is the one that outs Alex and Henry.

I think that this move might be a message directed at queer internet types, because they have a reputation of forcing people out, assuming people are gay/trans (calling someone an egg for example) when it's none of their business what that celebrity ID's as, or what's going on in that strangers head.

I agree that those types of people deserve to be called out, but when you have one character who's: the antagonist in the books, a personification of the Republican party, (a party that's end goal as far as queer people is concerned is to make gay sex a crime, gay marriage illegal, and make it legal for straight/cis people to kill us for being queer among other things (like causing the apocalypse in the name of constant capital growth)) and then in the movie the main antagonist is a queer person who isn't in the book, and gets jealous because the got rejected by one of the mains which causes him to out the mains out of pettiness and clout, it's just so tone deaf to the situation we're in. In conclusion the RWRB movie is messy. Both politically and narratively. It has several flaws to critique. Of course I would never begrudge someone for enjoying this movie, I loved certain parts of it! But don't pretend it's just a cutesy feel good movie.

I’ve seen a lot of people decry criticism of the rwrb movie as simply either homophobic or anti-cringe, with the statement ‘let queer people have our cringe rom-coms’ a common defense. This idea is flawed for many reasons, not least of which being that this movie is like… barely queer. Sure it’s about a queer couple, but that’s about where it stops.

First off there’s the blatant bi erasure, with no discussion of Nora’s sexuality, no June/Nora/Pez, the word bisexual only being used once or twice in the whole movie, etc. Second off is the complete lack of queer education or community: where is Alex learning about the gay lib movement and feeling like he understands something new, deep within himself? Where is Henry talking about his role amongst the erased queer figures of the past? Where are the crowds supporting both of them, in the US and the UK? (the scene at buckingham where you don’t even see the crowd felt so cheap) Where was Amy’s role as queer elder and protector? Where was Luna, and Alex’s realization as to why he looked up to him so much and why his betrayal hurt so bad? Where was Alex realizing he and Liam had actually ‘had a thing’ when they were younger, and reconnecting with him as someone who can fully be himself? Where was all the support when they got outed? Where the fuck was Catherine? Where were Bea and Catherine fighting for them during the confrontation at buckingham? Movie!firstprince feel so isolated and without community, which is just SO not the world CMQ created in the book.

More broadly, the movie just felt so shallow. I completely understand the need for adaptation and translation to a new medium, but so many of the things they changed either lower the stakes or remove them entirely. Bea is a non-character, with no depth or backstory. Nora only exists to tell Alex to fuck Henry. Pez gets all of one line in the entire movie. June does not exist, which should completely change things because Alex does not act like the only/eldest child of the POTUS. We never really see the emails and a lot of them are adapted to onscreen dialogue, so what exactly was leaked? Why are they called the Waterloo letters? No one watching the movie alone will know. Who leaked them? I figure the movie implies it was Miguel, but then why have Richards be a character at all? CMQ was making a point with the Richards/Luna story, and the movie having a new side character as the “villain” is just… so disappointing. We don’t see any of the scenes of Henry acknowledging how fucked up the monarchy is (other than a few throwaway jokes), the comparison to the Empire, any of the Bea storyline, or him trying to avoid military service and renounce his royal inheritance, so the one line towards the end when movie!Henry has an outburst about the monarchy being antiquated is just completely unearned and comes out of nowhere.

They kept the line where Oscar tells Alex that ‘sometimes you just have to jump and hope it’s not a cliff’ but it’s now completely devoid of the context— that line is about Oscar telling Alex he doesn’t regret getting together with Ellen, no matter how it ended. It doesn’t work the same if Oscar and Ellen are still happily married! (Justice for Leo also tbh)

In the confrontation at Buckingham, the king (don’t get me started on the things they changed to avoid comparisons to queen liz) still suggests to Henry that they should claim the leaks are deepfakes and deny it, but Alex already gave the live televised speech in the movie timeline! It’s out already! The entire scene with the king honestly just does not work if Alex has already made the speech. Also side note, there’s absolutely no way in turbohell that Alex would make that speech without talking to Henry first.

There’s so much more I could talk about, from more script shenanigans to the Pip of it all, but this is honestly already way too long. All I want to say now is that it’s obviously everyone’s prerogative to like a movie or not, and nothing anyone else says should change the way you personally feel about a piece of art. That does not mean, however, that any criticism of said art is incorrect or unwarranted. You can like something and still acknowledge its flaws. And no, cringiness is not this movie’s main flaw.

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lukasspookas · 3 years ago

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My Linked Universe headcanons that are DEFINITELY NOT just me projecting

Time:

Has trouble seeing himself as an actual person, often feels like he's living someone else's life

Loves to sing, sneaks it in wherever he can, much to either the delight or annoyance of the rest of the chain

Plays the guitar, likes to duet with Malon

Has suppressed his emotions so much for so long he has trouble fully feeling them

Dissociates a lot, relates to Wild with this as well as shared trauma over involuntary time travel and permanent loss of certain life experiences and feeling as though they were "too late"

Makes a lot of those "Dad Grunts" where he makes a sound every time he even slightly exerts himself

Speaks fairy language, sometimes has secret little conversations with Hyrule that no one else gets

Feels responsible for everyone, as though he has to protect and defend each and every one of them despite the fact they are all quite capable

Talks to animals a lot, has that in common with Twilight and Hyrule

Got his armor engraved by the Gorons as a gift for helping them

Twilight

Allergic to cats but doesn't care

Has horrible handwriting, writes emo poems about Midna, shared them with Shad once who loved his writing and encouraged him to keep it up

Cannot. Dance.

Will growl at you like that one furry kid in middle school

Really awkward relationship with Zelda, never knows what to say because their only shared experiences are their relationship with Midna and traumatic experiences with Ganondorf and Zant

Very much an older brother sort to Wild and Wind especially

Talks to animals a lot, especially cats, goats, dogs, birds, and bugs

Herds the others like a sheepdog (shocker!)

Not very fond of social interaction, much much much prefers books and animals

Kids either think he is really cool or terrifying, either way it's a confidence boost

Sky

Taps his fingers, flaps his hands, and stims a lot when he's happy

Speaks eloquently until he stutters and his voice cracks horribly and he gets flustered

Loves simple but nice things, especially handmade things, really gets along with Four because of their shared love of handmade goods

Has ADHD, spaces out a lot

Loves feeling cozy, bundles up at every opportunity

Tends to think his problems aren't as important as the others'

Has athsma and terrible stamina, can't run for more than a few seconds

Feels obligated to fix and help everything because he feels like every thing bad in the others' lives is his fault

Sleep is his go-to coping mechanism

All of his dreams are about Sun, some are fluffy and sweet, others are dark and disturbing

Has OCD, does a lot of rituals like counting and having to fold all his clothes a specific way

Feels happiest when he's helping others

Wind

Can accidentally be very loud when he gets excited during a conversation

Can't tell the difference between a lobster and a crab

ADHD to the max

Surprisingly good at giving advice (he is a big brother after all)

Loves spending time with the others, but feels guilty for taking up their time

Passionate about a lot of things that he never really gets the chance to talk about, tends to overshare accidentally

Feels like he's annoying to the others, which is quickly reacted to with reassurance and kindness

Hates dry air with a passion

Very respectful to the elderly unless they're jerks

Four

Middle child syndrome, very good at solving problems

Overly critical of himself, never satisfied with his own work

Can't eat anything even remotely spicy (thinks bell peppers, cinnamon, and some cheeses are spicy, which Wild finds ridiculous)

Has a special interest in smithing and swordsmanship, knows everything there is to know about metal and weapons

Makes gifts for the others all the time

Eats lots of little snacks throughout the day as opposed to a few large meals

Embroiders his clothing as a coping mechanism for stress

Has OCD, constantly checking to make sure his swords aren't broken or rusted, won't step on cracks in the dirt or road, has to sheath his sword a certain amount of time

Really bad tinnitus caused by the colors constantly buzzing in his brain, likes to listen to Time sing and Sky play the harp to cope

Warriors

Feels bad for the others because of how unlucky they are and how underappreciated they were, has some guilt over the hero worship he received

Goes out of his way to make sure others know they're appreciated and important

Always on edge, can't relax, always anticipating the next fight anxiously

Doesn't know anything outside of war and battle

Treats others kindly because making others happy makes him feel confident and happy

Has anxiety over measuring up to the expectations of being "The Hero" and "The Captain," acts confident because he thinks it'll make him confident

Doesn't care for rich or sweet foods

Always giving the others advice and compliments in order to make sure they feel appreciated

Legend

Emotionally distant with the others because he's lost so many people that he doesn't want to get too attached for fear of losing them too

Wishes he didn't care as much about the others as he does

Swears a lot, often in other languages

Gives the others "anonymous" gifts (everyone knows it's him, they just don't say anything)

Severely touch starved but also scared of physical contact

Hates the sound of his own voice, wishes and often imagines he had a voice like Sky or Time but would never admit it

Loves sweets

Can tell you an extensive story about every single item in his collection

He collects items because he's been on so many adventures that without souvenirs he fears he would forget them altogether

Likes doing art but thinks all his art is bad

Will not tolerate self deprecating comments, aggressive positivity

Allergic to flowers

Wild

Extreme insomnia, scared if he sleeps he will wake up with no memory again

Not great at emotional vulnerability, but will always try to be there for the others when he can, even if he doesn't know exactly what to say

Wants to try everything because he is afraid of truly dying and losing the opportunity to do so, makes the most of every moment

Loves colors and sounds, tries to appreciate every little detail of life that he can

Asks a lot of questions, doesn't want to miss anything

Keeps a journal for fear of forgetting things again

Utterly and completely tone deaf, can't sing or play any instrument whatsoever

Despite this, quite likes music as it eases his tinnitus, sustained from his injuries from 100 years ago

Doesn't really understand gender or sexuality, doesn't use labels for himself

Loves architecture, takes pictures of it whenever he can, wants to become an architect to help rebuild his world

Hyrule

Easily drained by social interaction but enjoys it nonetheless

Loves animals, especially bugs, will hold them and talk to them for hours

Sees the others as stronger and nobler and more heroic than himself

Very strong ADHD, often wanders off by accident because he thought he saw or heard something

Swears a lot (even more than Legend) but not to be mean, it's just how he talks

Tries not to swear around Sky because he knows it makes him uncomfortable but still slips every now and then, he apologizes furiously but Sky assures him it's ok

Very good at singing but very insecure about singing in front of others, loves learning folk songs and stories, has them memorized

Doesn't ask for help very much because it makes him feel weak, when he does, he goes to Time, who counsels him with understanding, patience, and kindness

Wears loose clothing, hates it when his clothes cling tightly to him

Feels he doesn't deserve comfort or luxury

Gets panic attacks randomly, hides up in trees and sings to himself softly when they happen

Likes to compare he and Wild's bone collections

Dyslexia and nearsightedness, couldn't read or do math to save his life

Can't cook, prefers to just eat herbs and fruit straight from the source

Like Legend, is severely touch starved but isn't fond of physical contact

Doesn't find anyone annoying

Sorry this is really long

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

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Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 14 - ao3 -

If Lan Qiren hadn’t had any idea on what to do with Cangse Sanren to begin with, he had even less of an idea of what to do when he received a letter from his sworn brother which, after some deciphering of the small talk and insincerely meant pleasantries that could just as easily be read as implicit threats, seemed to boil down to so I hear you have a lover now? and also come to the Nightless City at once.

I do not have a lover, Lan Qiren wrote back crossly. You should send whatever spies you have packing because they are clearly completely useless to you. Also, I have classes that I have no intention of missing. If you want company, recall that you have a wife.

That won him a few weeks of blissful silence, possibly due to Wen Ruohan’s shock but more likely due to Lan Qiren having spitefully chosen to send his reply by usual post rather than by special post, which was more expensive and also generally reserved for important sect matters and not for obvious fishing attempts for gossip about the personal lives of juniors.

Which Wen Ruohan should be above, anyway. What did it matter to him?

The response, not long after that, went something along the lines of so what you’re saying is that you haven’t won the immortal mountain’s disciple yet? if you come to Qishan, I can advise you and that irritated Lan Qiren most of all, because right up until that point he hadn’t known that Cangse Sanren was a disciple of the famous Baoshan Sanren, the best-known immortal still in contact with the mortal world.

Mostly because Cangse Sanren hadn’t ever bothered to introduce herself.

It bothered him, a little. More than a little. She knew how much he valued people acting according to the rules; even if she didn’t care for them, shouldn’t she respect his inclination?

(It turned out that she didn’t introduce herself because she didn’t have a proper name, just the title that everyone used for her. Baoshan Sanren let everyone keep the name they came to the mountain with, but Cangse Sanren had come too young for any name at all, and so she’d never gotten one in all the suspiciously unspecified years she had spent on the timeless mountain. It was a pretty good reason not to introduce yourself, as such things went, and it also belatedly explained why she took offense to people calling anyone old.)

I am not trying to win anyone, he wrote back to Wen Ruohan. And even if I was, which I am not, I would still have classes and am not currently at liberty to travel. Has there been some sort of terrible tragedy such that your Wen sect is so desperate for additional people in the Nightless City?

You are not just any person but my sworn brother, Wen Ruohan responded. Am I not entitled to see you? Maybe I want to see this beard you’re reputedly growing.

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes and threw the letter into the box he was keeping all the others. He was trying to grow a beard, as it happened, though being a newly-turned eighteen it was a slow and frustrating process. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked the itchy feeling of it growing, either, but stroking his chin as if in thought was nearly as cathartic as waving his hands, only more socially acceptable; he liked that part very much.

He’d always had a tendency towards strange motions – moving his hands or arms, tapping on things, or rocking back and forth when he was especially distressed – but his brother had always hated it especially, always quoting Do not move arbitrarily at him even though he knew that that wasn’t the fundamental meaning of that rule. That wouldn’t have been so much of an issue, except most other people seemed to agree with him, citing the importance of acting in a dignified and restrained manner, limiting unnecessary movement and remaining still and calm as a placid pool of water no matter what the circumstance.

The beard was an acceptable compromise. Given how common beards were in the sect, it would be hard to criticize Lan Qiren without accidentally insulting an elder – and it felt so good to be able to move freely, the action serving as an aid for emotional regulation that he desperately needed.

Of course, Cangse Sanren thought it was ugly.

Lan Qiren didn’t agree, but he also didn’t think it was any of her business what he did with his face. Even if it was ugly, so what? He wasn’t particularly egotistical.

Accordingly, he thanked her stiffly for her opinion and then proceeded to ignore it.

Apparently, that didn’t sit well with her, a fact Lan Qiren only discovered when he woke up one day, groggy and unclear as to what had happened the night before, to find himself shaven clean and Cangse Sanren beaming at him from within his own room, to which he had never invited her.

He did not react well.

Stories of your shouting have reached even Qishan, Wen Ruohan’s next letter said. Was what your little lover did really so bad? I hadn’t known you were so sensitive. It’s not as if it won’t grow back.

This is your fault, Lan Qiren wrote back, irrational and upset, his calligraphy rough from the way his hand shook – though whether in rage or something else he couldn’t quite tell. I don’t want to hear from you.

Truly his reaction had been out of proportion with Cangse Sanren’s offense. Shaving a beard, especially a half-grown thing like that, was little more than a childish prank, even if it had taken him several months to get as far as he had; in the end, it was really only a blow to his vanity, and perhaps the loss of a convenient emotional crutch.

And yet, when he’d woken up and seen her there where she wasn’t welcome – when he’d realized that he couldn’t remember the evening before, just the way he couldn’t remember what had happened in the Nightless City that day, waking up to Wen Ruohan smiling at him and an oath he didn’t know nor want – when he’d tasted the sour taste of day-old liquor on his tongue –

He’d panicked.

She’d realized it, he thought in retrospect; the ever-present smile had slowly dripped off her mouth as he stared at her blankly for the first few moments, frozen, and had morphed into an expression of shock when he had broken through his paralysis to start screaming at her to go, get out, leave – he’d even picked up some of his own things to throw at her, just to make her leave faster.

He continued smashing his things after she’d gone, unthinking in his frenzy and unsure why he was so upset, and in the end when clarity had returned and he realized what he’d done he’d been so ashamed that he’d grabbed his guqin and slunk away, retreating to the rooms where the Lan sect entered into seclusion. He couldn’t go into real seclusion with so little preparation, of course, but he was practiced enough at inedia that he could skip meals for a few days and not need to see the world for at least a week.

Part of the feeling of shame was that he didn’t know why he had reacted so badly. Wasn’t it normal for peers his age to play that sort of trick on each other? It hadn’t been meant as a real insult.

He had no right to feel so betrayed.

And yet, he did.

Cangse Sanren had visited later that day, her hand tapping lightly on the door bound by wards and her normally brash voice murmuring explanations and not-quite apologies – saying that she hadn’t realized what it had meant to him, that she wouldn’t have done it if she’d known, asking if he wouldn’t come out to talk to her about it and let her apologize properly.

He ignored her.

He ignored her the next day and the day after, too. His hands were unsteady when he tried to play calming songs for himself, his music tangled and knotted up like the feelings in his chest.

On the fourth day, she came and sat by his door in the evening, late and near to curfew.

“I didn’t know, you know,” she finally said after sitting there for nearly a shichen. “About what happened to you in the Nightless City.”

His hands froze over the guqin.

“Drinking liquor comes as easily to me as breathing,” she continued. “No one’s ever been able to play a trick on me because I got drunk – it’s everyone else who falls over in the end, not me. Maybe what why, when someone told me how badly your family handles its liquor, I thought only of how funny it would be…and not how it would feel, waking up and realizing that you didn’t know what happened. What someone could have done to you.” She was silent for a moment. “What I did do.”

Lan Qiren shut his eyes tightly.

Yes, he thought to himself. She was right. That was why he was so upset.

It wasn’t about the beard at all.

“An oath made when you didn’t know it doesn’t count, you know.”

He laughed harshly, the sound catching in his throat like thick mud. “It does,” he said, and his voice was hoarse from the lack of speech. “Of course it counts. It’s my honor, in the end…anyway, there’s no reason for me to lose my head over it. Sect Leader Wen’s powerful and influential; there are those who would cut off their right hands for a connection with him, much less an oath of brotherhood.”

He wasn’t even all that angry at Wen Ruohan for doing it, either, not really. There wasn’t much point – his few experiences with the other man so far showed that that was just what he was like, always taking instead of asking, and scheming was as innate to inter-sect politics as fighting. Might as well be angry at his grandfather for the ancestral weakness to liquor in the Lan lineage.

It had only been the shock of Cangse Sanren’s unexpected actions that had made it feel like a knife stabbed into his back, a scabbed-over wound suddenly ripped open again.

“You didn’t trust him,” Cangse Sanren pointed out. “You trusted me. And I scared you.”

Perhaps that was true.

“You’re still you, you know. Even while drunk.” She chuckled. “You talk more, care less what people think of you; you’re a little more willing to stand up for yourself, a little more bitter, a little less consciously kind. You told me all about music, something that went over my head, then went to sleep in just the right and proper way, albeit right on the floor. I had to wait until you were asleep to shave you.”

That was a relief to hear. Lan Qiren hated the idea of being so vulnerable.

Although – perhaps he wasn’t. According to Lao Nie, he’d apparently kneed Wen Ruohan in the balls that night for bothering him with nonsense or possibly for trying to leave before he finished explaining something, sometime either before or after their oath.

(After, he assumed. If it had been before, it seemed more likely that he would’ve ended up dead.)

“Anyway, I wouldn’t have done anything serious,” she added. “You wouldn’t have woken up married or anything.”

“It’s not you,” he assured her hastily, alarmed by the thought. “I didn’t mean to imply anything about your character, which I know is good; I know you wouldn’t have done anything like that. It’s only – you don’t always know what people think is enough, coming from the immortal mountain as you do. If someone really wanted to push the issue, or if you didn’t have the background you did, just you being in my room unattended might’ve served as an excuse. And then where would we be?”

She was silent for a while.

“You really don’t want to be married to me,” she finally said. “You’re not playing games or anything; you really don’t.”

Lan Qiren felt something lurch in his chest.

“No,” he said, painfully honest. “Did – did you?”

“Maybe a little,” she said, and Lan Qiren winced. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to him, not even when others had suggested it.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” she said, and her voice was warm. “Don’t worry about me, Qiren; I’ll get over it soon enough. There’s no pain I won’t forget a day later, never learning anything, it’s just the way I am.”

He gnawed on his lower lip. “…can I ask why?”

“Why you, you mean?” He could hear her shrugging through the door, the fabric of her clothing rustling against the wall she was leaning against. “You care about things, deeply and truly. Rules, honor, the right path…I like the way you think, the way you care. You have a good heart and a good brain. Why not you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and felt rather a wretch over the whole thing. “I didn’t mean to…to…”

She laughed. “You didn’t lead me on, Qiren! You only ever treated me as a friend, and I was, I think. Maybe still am?”

“You are,” he said, and looked down as his guqin, then sighed, picking it up and going to the door. There was no point in pretending to be in seclusion now that the knot in his heart had loosened, and he was starting to get hungry. “Come on, let’s go. I feel a need to graze on the kitchen’s leftover vegetables, as if I were a wild rabbit.”

She beamed up at him, round face shining like the moon.

The next day, after he finished doing penance for missing classes without advance notice – two dozen strikes, but no more – Lan Qiren went down the mountain and purchased some tea said to have especially strong stimulant properties, and gave it to Cangse Sanren.

She blinked at it, then looked at him.

“If you brew this in the morning, you won’t be so tired all the time,” he told her, and shrugged. “Since we’re friends and all.”

He didn’t have that many friends – so few as to not even have recognized her as being one. He was determined to cherish them.

She smiled.

The next day after that, there was surprising news in the Cloud Recesses, the gossip reaching the classroom faster than the messenger sent there specifically for that purpose.

Wen Ruohan had come to pay a visit.

#mdzs #lan qiren #cangse sanren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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dannyboyzone · 4 years ago

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Why these Lookism Bad Guys are liked, a rant by me

Alright, so I have came across a post talking about how Johan is hated on despite being a "bad person", and trashing other characters for absolutely no reason other than guilt tripping people. I personally think the post is immature, but due to my own personality and mental state, it has still got me kind of pressed, because it all sounds ridiculous. This post will be about some people in Lookism that are viewed as a bad people and or are hated on, and why I think they are liked. I won't speak for everybody liking these characters, and it will include some characters that I hate. This post is just to give a general idea for people who are really ignorant about why some characters might receive love. You might have come across that post, and if not, I am talking about this one below. - Well, only a small part of it, that threw me off. -

I didn't include the person's username out of respect and also so they don't feel attacked or anything of the sort.

Before starting this off, there are a few things I would like to say. If I sound petty, I truly don't care. I never saw anybody hating on Johan, at max maybe give criticism, I also don't hate Johan or try to disvalidate anyone's feelings, just get some things straight. Liking someone's looks does not immediately mean you are attracted to them, neither does liking the person's look you are attracted to mean you are toxic. It means you are loving. If you like someone's personality, you will find them beautiful consciously or subconsciously. If someone finds a character handsome, it is not a crime, people have types and preferences, and if they do it's none of your business. Hating good looking people doesn't make you woke, neither hating on people who are attracted to good looking people. What are you, Crystal Choi? And yes, people will be attracted to looks, it's a normal human act. People will notice if they find someone more attractive or unattractive which is not a bad thing. What is a bad thing when they start treating people different because of it. I assure you, most of the lookism fandom that I have came across doesn't do that.

This post will not include Seong Yohan because I never saw him get hated and I don't think nobody knows where he is coming from.

Samuel Seo

Yeah, so what seemed to be a surprise for me is that not a lot of people like Samuel, or at least understand why the people liking him would. Now, I personally feel no romantic attachment towards him. - Which is yes, normal, even if he is fictional. It's called fictophilia and I better see no judgement about it. - However, I do love Samuel a lot, and would love to care for him and grow a strong bond. To me, Samuel is not a monster. At all, believe me, Samuel isn't liked only for his looks. For me, personally, I love him so much because I can relate to him. I absolutely hated him at first, but grew to love him because he is human. He is complex, has a hard life and isn't perfect. That's exactly why I love him, and someone else I really adore does too. Yes sure, as you grow to like someone's personality, you find them handsome and or pretty. It's so much easier to say someone is pretty than to say, 'Hey, I love this person because they helped me go through so much.' Not everyone has the same love language, not everyone is comfortable with blunt affection. Besides, Samuel can and will achieve anything he wants. He has SO much sides to himself, not just 'good looking violent guy with big tits'. That's not Samuel at all. Besides, if PTJ oversexualises him, it's hard to not notice his body.

Yes sure, Samuel hits women, but I personally, don't f%cking care. Your vagina doesn't define if you deserve violence or not, your behaviour and the person's you face personality does. I am personally someone that doesn't mind violence as long as the person deserved it, because some scumbags in this world do. If they happen to be a woman, that's not on me, they shouldn't have done whatever they did. If you are not a violent person, I am not even sorry to tell you this, but you are probably sexist. It's not like all women are fragile and unable to get hit. Besides, if his violence is the problem, why is it fine that he hits men? Because men can handle it? According to statistics women have a higher pain tolerance. By your logic, you should call him out for hitting anyone in his way. Stop acting like hitting women is a necessarily bad thing, start saying that hitting innocent people is a bad thing.

If you must hate on him, maybe use the fact that he killed his abusive and neglective parents. Don't give a hard time to others for liking him though.

Ahn JongGun

Does Gun seem like a bad guy? Absolutely, he has done some horrible things. Then why do we like him? Because he seems to have a smaller character development coming, he has so many things to him and he is an absolutely incredible and complex character. I am very curious of his background and what caused him to be so violent and yet so calm. I like him because he allows himself to be human. From his religion, to his knowledge of material arts, to his adoration towards Vasco's material arts teacher - I forgot his name, so excuse me for that -, to his attention to details, to his fashion sense, it all makes him human. It's nice to see someone be a human, instead of just 'hot guy' or 'villain'. He is a nice character that brings many depth to the story. I could list a hundred of reasons why I love him, and no, none of it is his "weird" fashion sense. I do find him incredibly stylish, I just think some people in this fandom don't understand fashion. - Oops, I guess. - My main reason to liking him is that he is most likely either bisexual or pansexual. That he has a crush on Daniel. I might seem like I have a weird fetish or something, or that I am a crazy "fangirl". That's not the case though. I am a part of the LGBTQ+ community, and while not huge, I adore the hell out of the representation. It's nice to see such a smart, elegant and powerful guy be the representation. Because he is a character that's not there simply to be gay and full of stereotypes. Like, no hard feelings if you fit into stereotypes, but as a person who doesn't fit into them, it's a refreshing thing to see someone that's allowed to have many sides to himself other than just 'the gay friend'. Of course I am sure there are a lot of people who have many other reasons to love him, like his endless knowledge of material arts. There is so many reasons to be interested in his character, and just because you can't see it that doesn't mean others are blind to it too.

Yeah, he might have slept with countless women, but the main reason you can't count it is because he never stated the amount of women he slept with, neither did anyone else. Sure, he did say that Daniel is better than any women he ever slept with, but for all you know that could have been 3. Even if, it doesn't matter. He could have slept with 3, or 70 women. It doesn't matter, because not everyone's sexual life will reflect your own. And other people's sexual life is none of your business. Sure, you can say it's only fiction, and that I am overreacting, but when it comes to such small or personal details, people tend to put their own personal view into it. It's really not fine to shame others for their sexual life. As long as he uses protection, and didn't make anyone pregnant and doesn't play with the feelings of anyone, who gives a f%ck.

Some people tend to lash out sexually if they experience trauma or stress, and no, I don't mean they go and r%pe people, I mean that they go and have sex with different people who give consent. Even if he doesn't do it because of that, why does it bother you so much? Sex isn't a disgusting act. Some people like it, some people don't. Whatever their decision is, as long as no one is hurt, you should respect their decision.

Kim JoonGoo

Alright, this got me f%cked up. Goo is such a good character, and no way he would ever cheat on his S/O. He has morals and a lot of good sense in himself. Sure, he might have said that Samuel will be his secret friend, which led OP to believing Goo would cheat, but that's... a terrible reason, in my opinion. Gun knows that Samuel works for Goo, and Goo owns up it too. Besides that, nothing, absolutely nothing would lead to the fact that Goo would cheat. Because he wouldn't.

Now, why do I like Goo, and why some other's might like him too. He is such a well put together character, unpredictable yet so simple. He damages people to a point they have to retire, doesn't get scared of murderer, is a money maniac and hates his boss. You would think, he is dirty and fits the "gangster" stereotypes. That's not the case at all. He is more hygienic than most of the characters of lookism, if not the most hygienic one. He hates drinking and smoking, doesn't have tattoos - not that there is anything wrong with that - and is incredibly patient.

He might be a money maniac sure, but his ability to control money so well the way he does just shows how high his IQ is. I find that amusing, since it's something hard to do. What I completely love to the moon and back about Goo is his creativity.

When he gets into fights, he is patient and maybe let's himself get hit a few times. That's a good thing because he has time to learn about what he is facing. I think that's neat, because not a lot of people think about that during fights, and he taught me to do that. Also, the way he harms people is very creative too, no matter how harsh that sounds. He stabs people with chopsticks, kicks people with a glass piece stuck in his shoe and harms people with a katana. It's all so unpredictable yet fits him so well. I really love the way he fights and handles situations because it tells so much about him. Also, he is so fun, who would do karaoke after beating a bunch of guys unconscious? Only your one and only Kim JoonGoo. He is such a fun person to study and to read about.

So, no, I will not put up with the bullsh%t that he would cheat on his s/o, because he is a very respectful and none judgemental person. Just because his fights look violent to you, and his friendship with Gun unstable, that doesn't mean he is a bad person. It just means he is different from you, and yeah, he does f%cked up things, I won't deny that. That's exactly what makes him an interesting character.

Xiaolong

Now, I personally don't like Xiaolong that much, so this will not come from heart, but a place of logic. For a disclaimer, I am not caught up on the latest chapters, because I want to binge read it.

Now, even though I do not like Xiaolung, I can see why other people would.

He is a responsible person, who takes good care of himself even though he has to look after Vivi 24/7. He is not only good in his job, but takes it very seriously too. He isn't afraid to take action to make sure his job is going smoothly, and that everything is on it's place. He would do anything to protect Vivi, which can be appealing to some.

And from what I saw from spoilers, he is very strong. No, admiring his strength does not make the person toxic or fragile. It means they find the place in their heart to appreciate the type of struggle and hard work he puts into it. He has an unique way of fighting, which I could only see a small portion of. However it's clear that he must be impressive. I completely understand if people find that neat.

Also, Xiaolong seems like such a f%cking loyal person. That's so incredibly important. A lot of people can find that appealing, for various reasons. I am aware there are poly people, or anything similar to that, but loyalty is so important for some people and can form a very deep sense of love.

Yeah, he might take care of Vivi when she is drugged and let her get away with drugs but consider this that's his job. He is payed to do that and swore to do his best in it, as it's very important to him.

Outro;

Yeah, I don't care, like who ever you want to and defend them, but if you drag down other characters and guilt trip people because of liking specific characters, you are not going to be "woke" or special. And I will find you, and e a t you. - For legal reasons, that's a joke. -

That is not the only post that I saw shame those characters and people who like them, but is the one that made me messed up.

This fandom absolutely loves shaming people if they love the character design and looks of their favourite character. Let me tell you something though; You are missing the point of the whole manhwa you are reading.

Finding people attractive and beautiful is completely normal. Treating them differently because of that is not. As far as I am concerned, I never saw any lookism fans hate on characters they find less attractive. - Rather on the attractive ones. -

People have a type and that applies to looks and personality. Literally everyone does, even if it's unconsciously.

If you want your favorite character to get more love, don't make other people's comfort characters look bad on purpose, because in their eyes they aren't simply the bad qualities you see in them. And if you highlight them at least make sure they are true or at least reasonable bad qualities.

Well yeah, that was my little rant. And I didn't even mention the psychological aspects of why each character is like, or in other words what people they might attract. Or, the difference kind of personal life experiences people had to go through to appreciate each kind of little detail about the characters.

Yeah, this is the end of my little rant. If this post will get actual mature answers and discussions, I will make a similar one for Vinjin, Logan, Olly and Jiho. Yeah, I hate all of them, but other people might not.

END

#lookism #외모지상주의

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authorialarcanist · 3 years ago

Text

It Seems I'll Never Understand (Kagerou Project)

Genre: Angst

Rating: Mature

Pairing(s): Tateyama Ayano x Kisaragi Shintaro

Summary: "...Hey, Shintaro. Why'd you do it? I mean... You could have stayed out of it. It wasn't your fight."

In a world where Shintaro Kisaragi was the one who killed himself on that fateful august day two years prior, Ayano isn't sure what she can do with her life. Living in fear of the Snake of Clearing Eyes, all she can do is think back on the past, and wonder - why it was that her best friend took her place when she's sure he must have hated her, and when was it that it all went wrong.

Shinaya roleswap with a focus on making it work with as few changes to canon as possible.

---

It’s late - late enough that it’s gotten truly dark out. I’m walking along the road to my home, a boy next to me. The bridge we’re crossing seems to stretch out endlessly into the distance, illuminated only by the moon and the street-lamps we’re passing by.

I fiddle with my scarf absentmindedly as I steal a glance at his face. I’m so glad… I was finally able to become friends with him. Or, well… maybe ‘friends’ isn’t the right word just yet. To him, I’m sure I’m still just that stupid girl who made him tutor her for hours after class.

Still… I tell myself that this is the most important first step. Mm-hm. Now that I’ve introduced myself, I’m sure that we’ll be friends - real friends - in no time at all.

“You really saved my life! I never would’ve been able to finish that problem set on my own.” I grin weakly as my babbling inevitably turns to self-deprecation. Ah, well… after my terrible performance back there, trying to act cool for my new friend was a lost cause already. Well, if this was a manga, at least this might be the part where the aloof genius breaks character to reassure me that I can do it?

“Even with my help, it took you way too long…” He sighs. “Geez. I only came here to get my wallet, too. I must be really unlucky.”

—Yeah, right. I’ve only known this guy for a few hours now, but it’s pretty obvious that tender support isn’t his strong suit.

“I really am sorry…” I shrink a little under his criticism. “But! I promise, I won’t forget about today!”

“What are you saying? Didn’t you just say you forget things no matter how much you study?” Ow… I guess I did say that, but… he really has no faith in me at all, huh?

But he just doesn’t get it! Not quite panicking, I redouble my efforts to explain myself. “Today’s special! I’m going to try extra hard not to forget, so it’ll be okay!”

He hums in contemplation and stares away into the distance. And then—

—“Liar.”

I recoil from the sudden accusation. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve broken your promise already, haven’t you? You can’t even remember my name.”

He picks up his pace, and though I try to follow, I can’t seem to move forward.

“Huh? Of course I can!”

“Really? Then why haven’t you said it?”

“Why are you so focused on that all of a sudden?”

“Say it, Ayano.”

“Stop it!”

“Say my name.”

“I— You’re—“ Tears spill from my eyes. I’m trying to say it. Why — why is this happening? Why couldn’t we just keep walking together, chatting about nothing important, like friends do?

“…Yeah. I thought so.” He stops walking, and for some reason, I freeze as well. I have no choice but to watch his back as he speaks. “I guess it’s not your fault, though. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “But… Try to remember, okay?”

He turns to face me again.

His eyes are red.

“If you can’t remember soon, then—“

——

Knock. Knock. Knock. Three hesitant raps on my door.

The sound wakes me from my dream. Already, it’s growing too hazy to remember. All I can say for certain is that hewas there.

He’s always there in my dreams. Maybe it’s some cruel balance for the fact that he’ll never be there again in real life.

“Ayano?”

At the sound of the voice calling for me, I turn over in my bed and bury my face in my pillow, trying not to make any sound to indicate that I’m awake.

“Ayano, please, I know you’re in there. I just want to talk.”

I don’t respond. My father is dead. That’s the best way to think of it. The safest way to think of it. Even when the snake lets him out, it’s only in the hopes of getting me to snap.

“Ayano, I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been the best father to you, since your mother died. But please, I just want to know what happened. What happened to Shuuya and Tsubomi and Kousuke. Why you won’t talk to me. Ayano, please.”

My hands clench against the pillow. I force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

“Ayano…”

In.

Out.

“…Just… think about it, okay? I’m here, if you’re ever ready to talk. Even if you need another two years, I’ll still be here.”

A lie. Dad won’t be here. Just the snake.

“…I love you.”

I stay silent, waiting until the sound of footsteps fades from my hearing. No matter how many times I go through this, it never gets any easier. But… I can’t talk to him.

Even if the snake wasn’t privy to his every thought, I can’t bring myself to speak with the man who sold my world.

“…Is… he gone?” A tinny voice whispers from my computer’s speaker.

I listen for a moment. When nothing happens, I nod. “Yeah.”

My computer monitor lights up as it exits sleep mode, and a girl in blue peeks out from her hiding place behind a browser window. “…I still don’t understand why you don’t leave here, Ayano-chan…”

I shake my head. “I… I just can’t. I’m sorry, Ene.” Ene… that’s what this girl calls herself. About a year ago, she popped out of an email and decided to stick around. She tried to put on this sassy, hyper front at first, but it fell apart pretty quickly.

I’m pretty sure I know who she really is, after all. And she knows I know. I just haven’t been cruel enough to push the topic.

It’s not like she has much of anywhere else to go, after all.

“…Okay. I get it.” She looks down at the taskbar and pokes her index fingers together. “Just… hang in there, okay, Ayano-chan? Do your best.”

“Like my best has ever mattered,” I mumble, and sit down at my computer chair. To be honest, my activities since dropping out of school two years ago have been nothing, nothing, and a heaping dessert of nothing. It’s not like I have any sort of online life to speak of, even. It’s just that… ultimately, there’s nothing else to do when I’m living under the same roof as my father. I can’t risk going outside at the wrong time and having to face him. At least he respects the boundaries of my room; and the snake finds it convenient to leave me a sanctuary under his supervision for as long as he doesn’t have any need of me.

“…So, um… Ayano-chan?” Ene glances up at me, a little shyly. “Can I ask about whether…”

Ah. That. I shake my head. “…I’m sorry. I’ve tried talking to him while my father was away, but Konoha really doesn’t seem to remember anything about us.” Konoha… the white-haired boy the Clearing Eyes took in really is just another reminder of my failures. Still, I know that’s not hisfault, and I can’t really blame Ene for being too scared to check up on him herself. Talking to him hurts badly enough for me, and I still hadn’t been quite as close to Haruka as she was. Honestly though, whenever I’d felt safe enough to slip out and check on him, Konoha had seemed pretty nonresponsive. Forget remembering me and Ene; he didn’t seem to remember anything, not even basic things like rain.

“I see…” Ene droops. This happens every time she brings up Konoha; as much as she’s tried to be around for me, I don’t have the first idea how to comfort her when this topic comes up.

Well, honestly, I don’t think I’m in a place to be comforting much of anyone. Back when I tried all those years ago, it only ended in pain.

In the end, I go with the tried and true method of pretending I didn’t see anything. When there’s nothing you can do, acknowledging the problem only ends in more tears, after all. I pass the day mindlessly browsing the web and making more paper cranes for the army that chokes every available surface in my room. Occasionally, I can’t help but fantasize about what things might be like if I had Paper-Animating Eyes. Sending an army of little origami birds to get revenge on the Clearing Eyes… it’d definitely be a more efficient way of getting a wish granted.

Ah well.

At least my father has work during the day and the snake has better things to do than waste time in this lonely house during the nighttime, so I’m able to check on Konoha and grab something from the kitchen for lunch on most days. That’s particularly important, because dinner can be much more spotty, depending on whether my father is in a “bury his problems in work” mood or a “try desperately to be present to make up for selling his soul to an evil snake” one. Well, okay, I really don’t know how much he’s able to retain about what the Clearing Eyes does when in control of his body, but if he really is oblivious about everything that might actually be worse.

Unfortunately he seems to be in a “try to atone” cycle right now, so I’m running off of a single meal when the knocks return once again.

“Ayano.”

Ene hides behind the browser window again, and I click off of the tab showing a video of a mongoose taking down a snake.

…What? Look, I have to deal with the spite somehow.

“I know you’re in there.”

I stay silent.

“I’ve got another mission for you, Ayano. You know the deal by now.”

I freeze. This isn’t dad.

“I trust I don’t need to spell it out for you?”

It’s the other one.

“I’m waiting.Or is this some pathetic attempt at rebellion? If so, I have to applaud. It’s the most pointless one yet.”

I finally find my voice. “I-I understand.”

“Heh. Good.” The snake chuckles. “Two children are coming to stay in this house soon. Your father’s sister-in-law, and some hanger-on. When they’re here, you’re going to be the model of a big sister, understand? Get them to trust you, and then make sure they’re in a certain place on August fifteenth.”

I shrink in on myself. Children? Please, no…

“I said, understand?You know what’ll happen to your family if you refuse…”

“N-no!” I shoot to my feet in panic. “No… I understand…”

“Good.” What should be my father’s voice drips with malice. “See? Wasn’t that easy? Goodbye, Ayano.” Saying the last two words in an odd sing-song voice, the snake leaves. I collapse back into my chair, hugging myself.

“A-ayano-chan…” Ene peeks back out from her hiding spot.

I turn to her with wide eyes.

“Ayano-chan, you don’t have to do this. Please, we can fight back. I’ll help you.”

…If only. But no, I know it’s hopeless.

I can’t fight the snake. All I can do is delay the inevitable.

I shake my head, and start disconnecting the speakers from my computer. If Ene tried to do something brave, and the Clearing Eyes found out…

“…Ayano, please…”

I pull the plug on my monitor. Ene may still have access to the inside of my computer, but the most she’ll be able to do in the house is open and close the CD drive.

“…sorry…” I whisper quietly to myself, even though I know she can’t hear me.

God, how did things turn out this way?

——

I have many precious memories, moments I’ve spent these past two years trying desperately not to forget. Reading storybooks at bedtime with my mom. Meeting my little siblings for the first time. The way my dad’s face used to look when he’d play with us, long before everything happened.

If you were to look through those treasured days, flipping from one to another as though they were files secreted away in a lockbox, one might still stand out from the rest. Perhaps it’s laminated, or hidden behind a false back. Not because it’s more precious than the others - I wouldn’t trade my family for anything - but because it’s unique nonetheless. A moment elevated in its rarity, and in the pain it brings me - not the dull ache of my mom’s face, nor the stabbing betrayal of my father’s failures and mine, but a gaping void of ‘what if’s.

The first time I ever got to see Shintaro smile.

It was during our second year of middle school, a couple months after the day I finally introduced myself. The last test I’d gotten back had been my lowest score yet, and with exams rushing to meet me, I was honestly in a panic.

But then, Shintaro’d spoken up. For the very first time, he gave me a totally unprompted offer to help me study.

“Thank you so much,” I’d sobbed. “I don’t know what I was gonna do…”

“Ugh, don’t be annoying about it!” He’d refused to meet my eyes as he grumbled. “I just know that if you failed your exams I’d somehow get dragged into helping you catch back up. It’s just easier to get this over with this early, alright?”

Whatever his stated reasons, I still felt like I’d been saved when he stuck around to help me pound the latest lessons into my skull. And I don’t know if we finished faster than usual, if something good had happened to him at home, or if his guard was just down that day for some other reason, but one way or another, he decided to stick around and chat for a bit afterwards.

I can still picture it clearly. That sunny classroom, me perched on my desk to bask in the light from the window, him leaning his chair back as we killed time… and the glint of light that drew my eye to the spine of a book just peeking out of his bag.

“Hm? Hey, Shintaro?”

“What?” He glanced lazily back at me.

I tilted my head to read what I could from the spine. It rung a bell; I’d overheard some of the other girls in our class talking about it from time to time. “Isn’t that ‘Let’s Fall In Love’?”

“HUH?” I winced at the sudden crash as Shintaro lost his balance and fell in a heap.

“Ah! Are you okay? I’m sorry!” I rushed to help him up, but he just scrambled back until he was pressed against the wall.

“W-w-w-what are you talking about? I-I don’t, I mean, that’s not—“ Shintaro grabbed suddenly for his bag, but his hand missed its mark and sent the contents spilling out as it toppled over instead. The book landed face up, its cover proudly displaying a drawing of a boy and a girl standing together in a very shoujo-esque artstyle. Emblazoned above the picture was ‘Let’s Fall in Love ~ by Yumeno Sakiko.’

“Umm…”

“I mean! It’s Momo’s! Yeah! My little sister wouldn’t stop pestering me, so I picked up her copy for her, uh-huh! I definitely don’t read shoujo manga!” His stuttering picked up pace as he scrambled for excuses, and I couldn’t help it - some part of me kinda wanted to watch him squirm for a little longer.

So, I grinned slyly and searched my memory of my classmates’ conversations. “Uh-huh? You know, with how Mamiko and Oze were talking in the latest chapter, don’t you think there might be a chance they’ll—“

“THAT’S HERESY!” Shintaro slammed his hands down on the ground, and I winced at the sudden spike in volume. “Mamiko and Suzuki are meantto be together!” He clenched his fist and held it to his chest. “I can’t imagine how anyone would think otherwise after that moment in volume 7! And anyways, Oze and Waka may be having a fight right now, but everyone… knows…” He trailed off as my control failed me and I started to giggle. “…Fine. You caught me. Happy now?”

At the sight of him forcing down a pout and struggling to regain a serious expression, I laughed even harder.

“…So I like shoujo manga. Is it really that funny to you?”

“No, no! I’m sorry!” I did my best to get myself under control. “It’s not that, honestly. You just looked so earnest, and then you kept trying to hide it… If reading that sort of thing makes you happy, then I think that’s a goodthing! It’s actually kinda c—“ I suddenly realized what I was about to say, and blushed heavily. “—I mean, it’s kinda cool! Yeah! You shouldn’t worry what other people will think about your interests, you know?” Oh yeah, that was an absolutely stellarsave, Ayano. Absolutely nobody was gonna suspect that you almost called your classmate ‘cute’ without thinking. Aside from, I dunno, people with eyes.

Thankfully, all of that intelligence must have come out of Shintaro’s perceptiveness instead, because he let it pass without comment. “So…” Shintaro seemed to be looking anywhere in the room other than my face, which might have helped the whole ‘not noticing my face doing a bonfire impression’ thing. “Do… you also read it, then?”

“Huh?”

“Y, you know! ‘Let’s Fall in Love’!”

“A, ah! Right!” I snapped out of my thoughts. Right, let’s just pretend that slip never happened for now, and I can unpack whatever the heck it meant on my own time, when I won’t make my one school friend think I’m even more of a weirdo than he already does. “Ehehe… Not really, actually.” I scratched the back of my head and grinned sheepishly. “I was just parroting something I overheard. I’m more into the shounen stuff, you know? Hot-blooded super sentai fighting to save the world, and all that.”

“Really? But they’re so formulaic. You can see everything coming from a mile away. And how do those guys get through posing dressed like that and not die of embarrassment?”

Well, I couldn’t just sit there and take that. “What? Hold on a moment, like your mushy stuff is any better! Aren’t they all just ‘boy meets girl, cue nothing happening for the rest of their school lives’?”

“Wh— they are not!There’s nuanceand relationship growth and everything!” Woah. Shintaro was looking about the most fired up I’d ever seen him! At that thought, an idea clicked in my head.

“Hmm… Alright, then!” I grinned at him and gave a sharply enunciated chuckle, heh-heh-heh. “Why don’t you tell me more about this series, and if you manage to change my mind I’ll give reading it a try? And then, in return, you’ll watch an episode of Engine Sentai Go-Onger with me, and we’ll see how you feel about heroes after that!”

Shintaro rose to the challenge. “Fine! Come on then, I’ll teach you about why Yumeno-sensei is a master! I mean, her portrayal of Mamiko’s inner struggles alone touches the heart, even for a boy like me! There’s this moment in chapter 12 when she…” He lit up as he talked, gesturing wildly with the plot points. I’m a little ashamed to say that I actually stopped paying attention after a few moments, because my focus suddenly seemed drawn to his face. He was grinning - actually grinning, the first genuine smile I’d seen from him in, well, ever- as he opened up about his interest.

I can only remember thinking two things as we walked home that day.

The first was, ‘What a pretty smile.’

The second was, ‘…oh. Crap.’

…So, yeah. It looked like I maybe had a teeny little crush. That was okay! It was fine! It meant I was finally starting to grow up, right? Anyways, whatever Shintaro’s romance manga said, I was pretty sure that people were supposed to get a lot of those with time. They didn’t have to mean anything, or, y’know, gamble their only real non-family friendships on the chance that someone who was really smart and cute would still want to hang out with a dumb girl they barely tolerated helping out if she asked.

Not a problem! I’d just go about my life as normal, and it’d fade in time. Eventually, I’d probably look back on this day and laugh.

…And if in the meantime, I wanted to see him smiling like that again? Well, that could be my little secret.

——

Of course, let nobody accuse me of being a good planner. Obviously, the darn thing only seemed to get stronger with time. Wanting to see Shintaro smile because I wanted him to be happy slowly morphed into wanting to be the reasonhe was smiling like that. Hoping that maybe, if I could be the one to make this lonely boy smile, that’d mean I was actually worth somethingreally the hero I pretended to be.

Mom died, and I had to be the strength for the whole family as dad seemed like half his world had gone missing, but no matter how much I needed comfort of my own, I wasn’t ready to tell him.

We met Takane and Haruka, and one friend turned into three, but even though I’d only be gambling 33% instead of 100, I was still too scared to tell him.

And then I found out that dad had changed, what the thing in his body had planned for Haruka and Takane and my siblings, and suddenly my stupid little feelings didn’t seem so important. I had to research the read eyes, and I needed Shuuya to cover for me, and in the end I didn’t have the attention to spare for my friend my crush my…

…for Shintaro. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice our growing distant. Why I didn’t notice things growing strained.

Why I didn’t notice that I really was just burdening him with my own expectations.

Didn’t notice until a hill at sunset, a hand snatched away, his back receding into the distance while I stood alone.

After that, I wondered about a lot of things. How much had been genuine, and how much really had just been putting up with me. How much of my motives had been pure, and how much had been that dark little thrill of seeing him down and feeling like I was still needed.

How cruel it must have been, to plan what I was planning and still try to hold onto his hand until the last minute.

So I didn’t try again. I delegated as much school time as I could to Shuuya (and carefully didn’t wonder why his face was growing more stressed, why his own time seemed to draw thin.) I withdrew further, and dedicated everything I had to my lonely mission. August fifteenth came all too soon at last, and I shoved my responsibilities onto Takane, told her to be honest with her feelings even as I swore that my own were better ignored. I wrapped my scarf around my neck, the colour of a hero, I steeled myself and turned to mount the stairs, and I was interrupted.

“Shuuya? What are you doing?” My little brother had arrived in front of me, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath.

“N, neechan, please!” Panting, Shuuya raised his eyes to meet mine. They glistened with tears. “You have to— you have to stop Shintaro-kun! He’s about to do something really stupid!”

“Huh?” I was taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s already gone to the roof! I couldn’t do anything! Neechan, please!”

“The roof?” I still didn’t understand, but I burst into a run anyways, leaving my brother behind. Why was Shintaro even here today, when he didn’t need summer school? Why did Shuuya know about it? What could he be doing on the roof, other than…?

He wasn’t involved. God, please, he wasn’t involved, why was he here?

I took the steps two at a time, ignoring the pain shooting through my lungs, and had no choice but to stop for breath and lean against the wall for a moment when I finally reached the door leading outside.

My father’s voice filtered in from outside. No - not my father. The thingwearing his skin. “Honestly, kid.” He sounded mildly exasperated, like my dad did whenever a student had turned in a particularly baffling answer on a quiz. “You think that you’re gonna be the big damn hero? You really think there’s a single thing you can do here to beat me?”

“No.” Shintaro, this time. “Honestly, it’s a stupid plan. Totally useless in every way. But hey.” A dark chuckle. “Objectively speaking, the life of a rotten boy like me is just worthless enough to make it worth trying.”

I’d finally caught my breath, but at that it caught in my throat. Did he mean—

I burst through the door, screaming, “Shintaro, NO!” The roof was empty except for two people. My father, standing on solid ground looking mildly vexed. And Shintaro, clad in that red jersey I’d said I liked, the color of a hero, sitting perched half-on the fence around the edge of the roof and half dangling over open air.

His eyes met mine, and no matter how hard I try I know I’ll never forget the way his face clouded over, the way his eyes darkened, or the words he said to me at that moment.

“…Oh.

“Ayano.

“The very last person I wanted to see.”

His final curse delivered, he leaned back. The world distorted around him, horrible discordant red tearing open fangs in the sky.

And he fell.

I must have screamed, but it’s a blur. I just know that by the time I came to, I’d fallen on my knees, and the thing that took my father was laughing.

Laughing.

“Ha! You kids never fail to surprise me, you know that? I never once would have expected that depressing little thing to get up off his ass and do something like this!” He paused. “Well okay, I guess I would, but the part where he tried to stand up to me was still new.”

Before I even knew what I was doing, I’d jumped to my feet and was tackling him. “SHUT UP!”

“Whoops!” Somehow, my father’s body stepped out of the way before I could react. I found myself impacting concrete and rolling on the roof, scrapes all over my body where I’d fallen. “Come on, brat. You’re a big girl now, you should be used to hearing swear words by now. Or wait, are you angry about the boy?”

With a wordless scream, I threw myself at him again, but this time he casually stuck out a leg and tripped me.

“You might still have time to save him, you know. Throw yourself off the roof after him, and maybe you could convince him to come on out and bring me that snake he stole.” He sneered. “Of course, it’d mean making this whole little sacrifice play all for nothing. And this guy” he tapped the side of my father’s head, “might even willingly help me kill the brat if you did! Oh, now thatdespair would be delicious to see.”

I swallowed the pain as my fists clenched, scraped raw though they were. “…Shut up. You… you’re just trying to convince me because you know your plan’s finished. You can’t gather the snakes now. There’s no… no more reason to kill Takane and Haruka, or the others.”

*snrk.* The monster covered his mouth with a hand.

“What’s supposed to be so funny?”

“Ha! Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just… you think this kid managed to save your friends? Please.” He rolled his eyes. “He was too late. They’re already dead.” He shrugged and continued in a sing-song voice. “And anyways, the boy was a goner already. You should be thankingme; this way, at least he has a chanceof living for another year or two.”

“W…what…?” I slumped, the fight draining from my veins. No. It couldn’t be. Takane and Haruka… they were gone, too?

My “father” walked up to me and rested a hand on my shoulder. To anyone watching, it might have just looked like a father comforting his daughter; but I could feel his fingers dig into my flesh in a vice grip. “Still, working this all back out from the top is going to be a pain. And that’s not even counting all of the cleanup I have to do! It’s one thing for those other two kids; I’d made preparations for them. But spinning the sudden disappearance of this brat, too? No, that’s far too much work.” He crouched down until he was level with me, a too-wide smile on his face. A shiver ran down my spine. “So, Ayano.I’m going to have you do me a little favor, alright? And before you consider trying to do something brave, consider just who it is that has your family’s life in his hands, hmm? Don’t say anything; just nod.” I nodded, stricken. Everything I’d planned had come to nothing in a few short minutes. “You’re going to find Shuuya for me, and you’re going to have him go make himself look like this guy -“ he waved vaguely at the empty edge of the roof - “’s body for me. A suicide should be easy enough to explain away. Especially when the victim was as gloomy-looking as this asshole here. Honestly, people’re gonna think it was a miracle he lasted as long as he did.” My fists clenched again at relentless slander, but there was nothing I could do. I was totally and utterly defeated. “You got it, Ayano? Do this, and I’ll let the people you care about live a little longer.” He chuckled. “…Well, what’s left of them, at least. Hahahaha!”

How could I have ever thought I could be a hero? All I’d managed to do was arrive too late to save either of the snake’s intended victims, and drag a bystander to his death in the process.

In the end, tears streaming down my face, all I could do was nod.

——

“Neechan!” Shuuya rushed up to me the minute I exited the school. He grabbed my hands - I didn’t resist - and gasped at the scrapes all over them. “What happened to you? Where’s Shintaro-kun?”

“Shintaro— He’s—“ My voice caught.

“Nee…chan…?” I could see the exact moment Shuuya caught on. His eyes widened and his face fell, all in one motion. “Dammit! And just when the guy starts to convince me he’s not all bad, he has to go and do something like this…” His hands tightened involuntarily around mine, but I couldn’t even find the energy to wince.

I spoke in a flat voice, forcing myself to put one word in front of the next. “Shuuya. There’s something very important I need you to do.”

“Huh? What is it?”

“You need to use your power to turn into Shintaro. Let somebody discover ‘his’ body, so there’ll be a record. If you don’t, then… then he’ll…” My voice caught again, but I forced myself to continue before Shuuya could ask any questions. “And then there’s one more thing you need to do. I need you to take Tsubomi and Kousuke, and go away. Go somewhere far away from here, and don’t— don’t tell me anything about where you’re going. You can’t contact me at all, okay? I can’t have any way to find out more about you.”

“W—what?”

“It’s the only way that you’re going to be safe. I… we can’t stop the Clearing Eyes. He can have you all killed in a moment.”

Shuuya must have been able to see the seriousness in my eyes, because he didn’t try to debate the point. “Okay, but… Why can’t you come with us? We can all run, that’ll be safer!”

I just shook my head. “…No. He… he’ll find me, somehow. He knew how to respond to everything that I tried. Anything I do… no matter what, I’m sure he’ll…” I hugged myself and started slowly walking towards the path home. It was clear to me now. I was nothing more than a puppet dancing on the Clearing Eyes’ strings.

“W-wait, Neechan! Come back!”

“Goodbye, Shuuya. Please don’t forget to do what I told you. Consider it… My final request as your sister.”

“NEECHAN!”

——

“…Hey, Shintaro. Why’d you do it?”

I lie on my back, staring at the empty ceiling as I talk to the air.

“I mean… You could have stayed out of it. It wasn’t your fight.”

The cranes crowding every surface above me seem to swirl and distort, like a heat haze.

My head keeps playing his final moments on repeat. Even as the happy days grow dimmer and dimmer, I can’t seem to forget his last words no matter how hard I try.

‘The very last person I wanted to see.’

“If… if you hated me so much, why didn’t you just let me be the one to jump? Why take my place?”

I wonder… if I’d been the one to jump that day, would he have been able to do what I couldn’t? I indulge in a brief fantasy of Shintaro, red jacket flapping behind him, standing tall with my siblings as they face down the Clearing Eyes together.

…Somehow, I just can’t see it. Sorry, Shintaro.

‘The life of a rotten boy like me is worthless’

“…Did you hate yourselfthat much? Were you so sick of life that you grabbed the first excuse you could find?”

…Maybe. But… somehow, as much as he tried to shut the world out, I can’t help but see Shintaro as someone who was brimming with life underneath it all. At the very least, whenever he talked about his sister, he didn’t seem like he’d want to leave her.

The thought of Momo-chan makes me wince. Another memory, this time of her crying and screaming at me when I’d tried to comfort her.

When I’d broken down and sobbed that it was all my fault.

I can’t blame her for hating me. To be honest, I wonder if it wasn’t what I was secretly hoping for.

Just another case where Ayano’s self-satisfaction came before actually doing her job.

My alarm clock rings. I’d set it instead of my phone, to make sure Ene couldn’t try and be a hero. (I can’t help but hope that she’s given up on me, and found her way to somebody who’ll be a better friend.) It means that the children…

…my victims…

…should be arriving soon.

I push myself to my feet. In the end, even blaming myself is just pointless self-satisfaction. I’ve made the choice to play this role; I made the decision that these two children were worth less than the family I know and care about.

It doesn’t take too long to get myself presentable. I choose an outfit that looks like its owner hasn’t been in hiding for the last two years, and glance at my scarf, hanging wrinkled and dusty on a hook.

My hands shake.

And I turn away without touching it. I don’t deserve to wear that color.

Not when red is the color of blood.

“Sorry, Shintaro. Guess you made the wrong trade, in the end. Even a genius like you makes mistakes, huh?”

With that snide remark, I turn my back on his sacrifice and walk out into the house.

…Still, a thought flits across my mind.

—Ah, I would have liked to see that smile, just one more time.

The doorbell rings. It’s time.

I hide my feelings behind a smile, painting it from ear to ear.

And I open the front door.

#kagerou project #tateyama ayano #kisaragi shintaro #fanfiction #shinaya #suicide cw #angst #i promise future fics for this series will be happier once i'm ready to write them #happy kagepro day!

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j-pankratz · 4 years ago

Text

The Slumber that Creeps to Me

Geraskefer. 7208 Words. Rated T. Jaskier pulls an extreme all-nighter (read: 60+ hours) to finish a paper he procrastinated on, and finds at the end of it that sleep does not come as easily as he’d hoped. Tags for: Sleep Deprivation, Self Destruction/Lack of Self Care, Hallucinations, Nightmares, Overstimulation, Hurt/Comfort, Whumping the Bard, very loving partners, and a happy ending. <3 AO3 link in the reblog!

As with most disasters spurned by his own cockiness, Jaskier felt as thought that all in all, the situation could have been worse.

The idea to have Geralt and Yennefer spend the spring holiday break at Oxenfurt was, in his defense, ingenious. His students weren’t around, the weather was gorgeous, they all had varying degrees of business in the city, and they could fuck each other senseless at any hour of the day. In a bed. A nice one, provided he was a legitimate professor, now. Well, visiting. Well, it was complicated. But they were his rooms, and that’s what mattered.

When Jaskier gotten the prestigious offer to write the season’s main article for the Continent’s most respected Bardic Journal, he’d just sort of figured he’d… fit it in, somewhere. He had seventeen months, which was plenty enough for him. Then he’d just work with the editors, and have a centerfold piece. It was an honor. He was excited about it! He’d meant to get to it sooner, but decided the summer before that he’d devote the winter to it. But… he’d… he’d been distracted. It wasn’t often the entire family gathered at Kaer Morhen. So, he thought, he’d do it later.

But the first few weeks after winter were, of course, spent with Geralt. And the week after that, a trip to the coast, where he’d played a festival and met up with Ciri, who was becoming an amateur critic herself. And then by pure, absolute happenstance, after 3 more weeks of travel he happened to end up at an inn that he definitely hadn’t heard Yennefer was staying at. So that more time gone. And then he’d arrived in Oxenfurt, and he’d really meant to get to work on it, but there was so much to prepare for! He wanted things to be right for them.

And then Yennefer and Geralt had actually arrived, and the idea of anything possibly being more important than their presence flew his mind.

And now, here he was. If he wanted to get it in on time (unfortunately, that wasn’t a suggestion in this case, more of an actual, terrifying requirement,) he’d need to submit it in… gods above, less than three days. 60 hours, if he was doing the math.

There was no word limit, nor a minimum. But, ever the maximalist, he knew it was going to be… long, if he was going to do it right. They’d edit it down, but it was the focal point of the journal, they’d been leading up to it for ages now. Ahh. Well. There was only one thing for it, he supposed.

“I’m working through the night on my paper!” He’d announced that morning, sitting straight up in bed, jostling his sleepy lovers. “No one bother me! I will be at the dining table until further notice!” He swung himself out of bed and made for the door.

“Pants,” his lovers chorused together.

“Right!” he'd said, and marched back into the room.

He’d pulled all-nighters in his youth. In fact, he couldn’t count the times he’d worked through the night, deposited a composition or essay on his professor’s desk with some polite conversation and maybe a wink, and then promptly fallen asleep during the lecture itself. Just a 15-minute power nap, really! Then he’d be back up and at it again, working through another night just to sleep through the weekend. He’d done it before, he could do it again.

Well, it’d been 25 years ago, but that didn’t change much, did it? He still felt spry, agile, hearty— hell, he’d spent the better part of the last twenty odd years chasing after a Witcher, and later an additional princess and mage— surely he should be in better health now!

This was completely accomplishable. Admittedly, he could have written this sooner… but he hadn’t, and here he was.

Geralt and Yennefer both set out early on different errands, leaving the bard to some peace and quiet. Relatively.

He spread his work and references out before him. 7 books, 4 pamphlets, his favorite quills, a hundred fresh pieces of parchments, his lute at his knee. “Alright,” he said aloud to his empty Oxenfurt apartment, “Just sit down and write the damn thing. Sitting part, definitely done. Writing next. Just… write.”

He stared at the page.

“No! No, no, do not be impossible about this. Just start the thing.”

The page stared back.

“Ah, blast,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. This was fine. Just… do the awful, disgusting part of beginning, and then he’d be off. The sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish, after all! He took a breath, and put his pen to paper.

Yennefer returned a few hours later, a book and small parcel in hand. Jaskier looked up to see her sweep through the room, a commanding presence, though she didn’t acknowledge him yet. A few waves of her hands and a pot of tea was put on to boil, her hair was put in a bun, and three mugs were floating down from a shelf.

“Lovely to see you too,” he smiled as Yennefer poked through the tea collection. He could practically hear her fond eye roll. She neatly plucked two from one box and looked back at him in question. “Ah… peppermint, if we’ve got it?” and she turned back to the cupboard grab it.

“Any progress?” She finally asked.

“A bit, actually!” Jaskier said cheerfully. It didn’t look like much, but he’d done half a page with almost no errors, and he’d made plenty of notes in the margins of the books he’d need later. It was better than he’d hoped it’d be going by this point, at least. He was kicking academia’s ass. Or, he would be.

The kettle whistled and Yennefer poured the tea, bobbing all three of the tea bags up and down as they steeped. He watched her lean against the counter, casual, relaxed, gorgeous, before realizing she was staring back at him. “Um! Yes, no, definitely good. Got a lot of… those words, you know, they are definitely here. Looking very sexy. The words! The writing is looking… very sexy, very curvy… letters. Sensuous words, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sensuous words.”

“Yeah, yes. Like… contemporaneous… and… iguana.”

“Iguana.” She let out a little huff of a laugh and something in Jaskier’s chest tightened and loosened in quick succession. And in a moment she was there, sliding him a large mug with the carving of a rather playful looking bear on one side, batting at a butterfly.

“Oh! My favorite. Thank you, thank you.”

“Mmm,” she said before waving a hand to cool down their tea a bit. She took a seat opposite him, scanning an eye over the table. “Think you’ll be done by tonight?”

Jaskier laughed. “Darling, I’ll be lucky to be done by tomorrow morning.”

“You’re planning to stay up all night, bard?”

“Unfortunately.” He took a sip. “Should be done by tomorrow afternoon, if I keep steady at it.”

“After tea, of course.”

“Of course.”

Yennefer stretched out a bit, kicking her feet onto Jaskier’s lap and rolling her neck. They sat there a moment, sipping, pausing, drinking in each other. There was something nice about taking a moment of stillness with someone just as frenetic as he was, someone who was usually just as itching for something to do, even if she went about it differently. The grace of choosing stillness, he thought, was not something to ignore.

Yennefer reached the end of her mug and tapped its ceramic walls lightly.

“What’s next for you?”

“I have to refresh my potion stock, so I’ll be at the market for supplies. You sure you don’t want to take a break and join?”

Rat’s ass. He fucking loved the Oxenfurt markets. “I’m afraid I can’t. Academia calls.”

“Who does it call for, exactly? What’s that I hear…” She cocked her head and listened intently. “Who is it calling for… is that… V… Val… Valdo?” Jaskier hefted her feet off of his lap in protest, and she laughed. He plucked his quill from its stopper, and went back to hovering over his paper. Introduction mostly accomplished, now he had to really lead in to his point, give some proper context. He flipped through a book beside him.

Yennefer rose smoothly from the table and went to move her mug to the sink. “When Geralt gets in, tell him I need toadflax and bluebells from him? Might as well put him to use.”

Jaskier flipped through the pages, thumbing through for a note he’d sworn he’d made ages ago, when he belatedly tried to register his mage’s words. He could have his fun, too.

“Blue…Yennefer, you want me to tell Geralt that you need blue balls from him?”

“Bells! Bells, you absolute child!” she said. “Honestly. Blue balls? Really, Jaskier?” He was giggling. “I don’t need to ask to give either of you blue balls.”

“Exactly, Yennefer, you provide that service for us anyway, free of charge!” A balled-up napkin hit him in the head and he laughed joyfully.

“I can’t stand you. I’m leaving, you’ll never see me again.”

Jaskier looked up through his grin and met her twinkling, happy eyes. “Tonight then?”

“Tonight,” she agreed, and left with a quick ruffle of his hair.

“Still working?” Geralt said as greeting later in the afternoon. The desk was neater than Jaskier expected it to be this far in, only a few books open, dog eared and marked in colored ink. He’d written a page and a half since Yennefer left, and it was good, it was, but he’d need to go back and make edits later. His long empty mug of tea sat far across him.

“Mm,” he agreed, continuing to write. “Ah, Yennefer came through earlier,” giving a gesture to the waiting mug of tea on the counter. Geralt made his way over to the mug, and gave it a small igni to warm it. He smiled fondly down at the drink—what a terribly lovely sight he was. Warm here, and safe. Couldn’t it be like this always? The three of them here, comfortable and happy? No, he supposed, but gods how he wanted it.

“She’s at the market now,” Jaskier continued, “wanted me to ask you about...” He lifted his pen and squinted. “Ah, toadflax and bluebells.” He looked up at Geralt, smiling. “Blue balls,” they said together, sporting matching shit-eating grins, Geralt’s albeit much smaller. “I made the same joke myself,” Jaskier added.

Geralt snorted. “How’d she take that?”

“Oh, as well as you’d hope. We’ll never see her again, of course.” He turned back to his work, reading over the last paragraph. He could feel Geralt approach to stand behind him, and while he’d normally shoo his witcher off, he was too deep in concentration to bother.

How long was too long to linger on the progression of oral storytelling to bardship? It’s not like he could ignore it, (Geralt’s hand came to grip his shoulder, a thumb rubbing against it tenderly) as it was a crucial tenant of the argument— but there was plenty to be said for assuming the literacy and foreknowledge of the reader. (He leaned in to get a closer look at Jaskier’s page, the soft warmth of the tea in his other hand bouncing off his chest) But this was to be in a journal often referenced by first years, and he knew how much he would have loved a paper that had everything all in one—

“How’s it going?” Geralt asked softly in his ear.

Jaskier waved a hand over the mess before him. “You know. It’s fine, I’m just not sure at what point I’m lingering on points to excess.”

“Mm,” Geralt hummed understandingly. “Tell the story. Trust your gut.” He gave Jaskier a nuzzle and light kiss against his cheek before taking up the empty mug off the table and walking off further into the apartment.

“I always do!” Jaskier called back. Mm, if only this were as simple as telling a story. Well…Oh—if he spent this paragraph referencing the progression it would end up taking up more room, be a run of the mill lead-in, but if he wrote the actual history as a short story itself, now there was an idea, he could make his point and give the context. Oh, fuck, brilliant—

“Back soon,” Geralt was saying as the front door slipped shut, but the bard was too lost in his work to do more than give a small nod of his head.

The sun was falling, making a graceful bow into the horizon. Warm light spread out over the streets of Oxenfurt like the last pushes of tide, ebbing, and flowing, and sinking back into night.

“Ah, fuck,” Jaskier muttered, crossing out a spelling error with a snarl.

His shoulders ached, and his lower back was going to be the death of him. He was on page 7. All he could see was the work ahead of him, winding off ad infinitum. If he didn’t pick up the pace, he might have to go 60 hours straight—he shivered. Not ideal. He took a breath, stood up and stretched a bit, his muscles groaning in thanks. A quick bathroom break later and he was sliding back into his chair, still warm, his papers grinning up at him, sardonic.

He’d take a meal break at 10 pages, he told himself.

He stood to stretch and his head swam. Well. Plenty of reason to stay seated, he supposed.

Geralt and Yennefer returned at 12 and a half pages. He turned his head in greeting, and when he looked back he got the first real look at the table in hours—it was a disaster, crumbled pieces of parchment, empty quills, and little notes strewn everywhere. Some books propped open, the pile of parchment looking more like a mountain slope, an empty glass from when he’d chugged water hours ago.

His loves were clearly a few drinks deep as they came through the door, and completely unmarred by the woes of academia. Bastards, honestly.

“Hi, hello, hope you had a good evening, I—”

“Come to bed,” Yennefer said, suddenly right behind him. Two small but firm hands came to his shoulders, rubbing deeply.

“Ah! Oh, fuck—oh, yes, darling, right there—”

Geralt came to his other side, tipping his head up for a kiss, which he moaned into. His witcher’s tongue was soft, pleading, tempting him—his mage’s hands pushing almost painfully against his aching muscles. He wanted to cry, it was so good. It was so different than the last… however many hours it had been that he had been sitting here. Geralt pulled away, and Yennefer’s hands came to rest as well.

“So?” Geralt asked, his voice deep and velvety. “Bed?”

“I…” gods, who had he become? “I can’t. I want to, I just—”

Yennefer placed a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s fine,” she said, and he knew it was, but he hated denying them something they all wanted. “Have you eaten?”

Jaskier frowned. “Fuck. Not really.”

Geralt sighed and went to the pantry. “You’re getting a sandwich,” he grumbled.

“Ooo, Geralt, dear heart, would you heat it up? Use some of your,” he wiggled his fingers “your witchery magic?”

Geralt turned and glared. “You’re getting a sandwich.”

“He’s so mean to me,” Jaskier muttered to Yennefer, “I can’t believe he’s so mean to me.”

His mage snorted a laugh into his hair. “You’re really staying up all night, then?” She waved a hand and the curtains around the room swept shut, and his lantern began to burn steadily.

“Looks like it,” he sighed. Geralt retuned a moment later, plated warm sandwich and glass of water in hand.

“Fuck. Thank you.” He took it and took a bite, suddenly ravenous. He looked up at both of them, staring down in fond amusement. “Fank—” he swallowed his mouthful of sandwich. “Thank you both, truly. I’ll be up a bit. If you need something, call, yes?”

They rolled their eyes. “He tells us to call if we need anything,” Yennefer muttered. “Don’t get into any trouble,” she said, and with a peck on the cheek from both of them, they disappeared into the bedroom.

He looked back at his work.

Okay. 12 ½ pages in. He could do this.

At 15 pages, he felt ravenous again, and made a second sandwich. Not as good as Geralt’s. Geralt’s sandwiches weren’t even that good, but they were made by Geralt, which added a certain kick, a novelty he adored.

He drank another glass of water and shook his head. Back to work.

At 17 pages, sometimes the world swam before him. He gripped the edge of the table. Fuck.

He was so tired. 23 pages. He kept writing.

It was terrible. The whole paper was a mess. Nothing made sense and people were going to laugh at him. 25 pages.

He heard a sound. Was that Geralt rising for the bathroom? Was it an intruder? Light crept in through the window. 27 pages.

There was a ringing in his ear. His writing was getting increasingly larger. 27 ½ pages.

Geralt gave him a soft nuzzle to the top of his head before padding through to the kitchen. Jaskier’s heart ached. His bones ached. Writing was hard but right then it felt impossible. 27 ¾ pages.

Geralt lingered, and Jaskier felt his nose twitch. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for him to leave. He couldn’t have any distractions right now. He shut his eyes tight until he heard the bedroom door close once more.

Yennefer entered hours later, sweeping the curtains over with a flick of her hand. Bright light flooded the room, painting the desk in all its full, disgustingly messy glory. “Well—”

“Could you ask next time?!” Jaskier snapped. “Some of us need consistency to concentrate!”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, and they stared at each other. Some part of him wanted to slap himself but the rest was just so irritated. Who’d she think she was, anyway?

After a moment, the mage turned and left with a flick of her hand to sweep the curtains shut again.

“Headed out,” Geralt said at 30 pages. “Contract.”

“Good,” Jaskier muttered. “I mean. Good that you’re—fuck. Whatever.”

Geralt stared. “You need rest. It’s been more than 24 hours.”

“I need to fucking finish.”

“Yen said—”

“I’m sure she did,” Jaskier muttered, driving his heels into his eyes. Gods, his eyes burned. Silence hung.

“She portaled out this morning.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Great. Love that. I’m a fucking disaster, thank you for the reminder, Geralt.” He waved toward the door. “Don’t you have a contract?”

He turned back to his papers, shifting around to look for page 11, and didn’t think about how long it took before Geralt left the apartment.

His hand was shaking but he was at 34 pages. He still had so much to say. Fuck. But he was in it now.

He scarfed down some soup that was mostly broth at some point, and he’d under-salted it, but it was something. His eyes kept going blurry; traitorous things.

The bear on his mug was plotting his downfall.

38 pages and Jaskier felt like the gods themselves had gifted him with the knowledge he now bestowed onto meager commoners. He was a genius.

At 43 pages, he had stopped to lay out the entire essay on the ground, so he could see it all. The words sometimes swam before him, and he had trouble remembering what he was meant to say next. Once, he looked up, confused as to where he was. And then, at 44 pages, the guilt of snapping at his dearest loves, the weight of this behemoth paper he wasn’t even sure he could finish, and his own self-doubt crept in and seized him up, leaving him breathless and in tears for… awhile. Everything hurt. He had to keep going.

At 48 pages, he saw a griffon fly through his window, and he named it Kalvin. He turned whatever color Jaskier wanted him to turn, which was very considerate of him. Kalvin was his only friend now, and with a little convincing, might become his editor, too.

At 55 pages his chest seized, and it was hard to breathe for a moment. He closed his eyes but—no, no, couldn’t do that. If he fell asleep now, he’d never finish in time. He tried to relax, got some water, leaned against the counter. Everything was a mess.

He sat back on the floor, his work around him. Keep going.

“I don’t think there’s anything about anything that I have to be doing right now. Kalvin, you’ve… you’ve got to understand, this could be my finest work! It’s good. It’s pretty good here in… in this part, here. In that other part it’s just okay, but that’s why you come in with your big claws and you’re gonna. Rip up the bad parts. Don’t rip up the good parts. Right? Yeah. Do you think they’ve forgotten about me by now?”

He looked down. 57 pages. Took a long blink.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “That’s fair.

He had to write two extra pages so that he could skirt around referencing Valdo Marx’s work as anything other than a contradictory point. Maybe it would have been fun to use his own writing against him but he didn’t want to give the satisfaction of being referenced positively in a centerfold piece.

He lost the essay.

“Fuck—oh, gods, where did—”

He turned around, looked down. Oh, there it was.

“Thank fuck.”

The curtains were still closed and the charmed lantern was still burning, but Jaskier knew it was night by the time he reached 63 pages and Geralt came in.

Jaskier looked up from his spot kneeling on the floor. Geralt looked fine. He was a little dirty. There were some gushy bits. Probably blood. He was tired. Or just mad. Maybe he hated Jaskier.

“You’re still—?!” Geralt asked, looking at Jaskier like he’d just said a griffon named Kalvin had flown in the window earlier and now they were friends.

“I met a griffon,” Jaskier heard himself say. Geralt stared. “We’re friends now.”

“…You need to fucking sleep.”

“No.” Jaskier went back to the margin he’d devoted to drawing circles in. “Sorry ‘bout earlier.”

Geralt sighed. He might have talked but Jaskier didn’t hear, just kept writing.

“How often has that been happening?” he heard Geralt ask.

“What happening?”

“Where you fall asleep for a moment.”

“I haven’t! Fallen asleep.”

“Fuck,” Geralt said. He looked very nice, except for the goop all over him. Well. Even that wasn’t so bad, when the underneath bits were Geralt. His Geralt. Looked so warm, so strong, so able to carry him.

“Later,” Jaskier replied, and went back to his words. The familiar pop of a portal sounded in the bedroom. Their eyes lingered on the direction it came from, but Yennefer didn’t open the door. They looked at each other, and then back at the door which remained very much shut. “She’s mad.”

“Yep.”

“At me.”

“Yep.”

There was a pause. “Are you covered in blood?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh.”

“Not mine.”

“That,” he said pointing to the Witcher, “is good.”

“Mmm.”

“Sticky though.”

“Definitely sticky.”

Yennefer came out of the doorway, and Jaskier blinked. When he opened his eyes again she was much closer than she’d been and was in the middle of talking. Magic, he assumed.

“—yourself very lucky, bard.”

“Yeahh,” he said. “Sorry. ‘Bout… Sorry.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. There was a look in her face. Eyes? And her mouth. It was hard to name. Words were hard, when they weren’t the words he desperately needed to write.

“—for a while,” Geralt was saying. “Jaskier. How close are you to finishing.”

“Soon!” Jaskier said. “Soon! Soon. Due… 1pm tomorrow. What time is it?”

“10pm.”

“Fuck. Psshhh. I can… I can do it.” He looked up at Yennefer. “Sorry. Really. I… I’m just tired,” he admitted. “Shouldn’t have snapped. Not fair to you.”

Yennefer stood there, arms folded, emanating some emotion Jaskier had lost the concept of around page 41. Geralt walked further into the apartment, into the bedroom. Oh right. Blood armor. Ick.

He went back to writing and tried to ignore the desire to cry again, and then suddenly Yennefer’s shoes were in his line of vision.

“Let me read it,” she said.

“Oh.”

They stared at one another. She had such a pretty face. He might have been smiling. She rolled her eyes and then came to sit next to him. She quickly found the first page and began.

Halfway through it, he spilled ink on the bottom half of page 64, and wept. Yennefer gave him an attempt at a comforting pat on the back.

Yennefer had read the pages and risen; “It’s good. You need edits, but it’s somehow decent. Good. Whatever. A little… loose, toward the end, though,” made herself a cup of tea, and entered the bedroom.

Either a few moments, or 20 minutes later, Geralt emerged.

“What are you at now?”

“69 pages.”

“Nice,” Geralt said.

“Ha. Yeahhh,” Jaskier agreed.

“That’s not what I—” Geralt sighed the sigh that meant his face was going all pinch-y. “Close to the end?”

“Mmm. What is the end, really?” Geralt made a different pinch-y face. “Soon.”

“Come to bed tonight, Jaskier.”

“I’ll try,” he said. He blinked, and Geralt was gone.

There are a lot of words in an essay that are very hard to spell.

Jaskier ate the rest of a loaf of bread.

For a while, he swore he walked the streets of Oxenfurt while still warm in his professorial housing.

Kalvin’s accent changed three times and at one point he was on fire.

85 pages.

Geralt woke first, as always; There he was! That was his love. So much of his heart.

With shaking hands, Jaskier had brought himself up to sit in his chair, and sat staring down at his work. He looked up at Geralt with a lopsided grin. “I did it,” he said weakly.

“Need help putting it together?”

The tears fell so quickly he didn’t realize it was happening. “Really?”

Geralt sighed softly and knelt down, organizing the papers.

Yennefer emerged a bit later—There she was! His love, a chunk of him was hers entirely. He smiled. “Look!”

“Mmm. And now you can sleep.”

“NO!” Jaskier cried and leapt to his feet, “No, no, now… now is presenting time. To… the editors. Not Kalvin. But I turn it in… and then sleep,”

He had a sudden burst of energy, and tried to step over Geralt and the papers, but fell into the table instead, before the Witcher steadied him from below.

“Ohhhh, thank you dear. It’s time for… presentation! Mm.” He leaned into Yennefer’s warmth at his side, though she did not wrap her arms around him as he’d hoped. “Help me pick out an outfit.”

He blinked. Yennefer was in front of him now, looking at him with a frown, her hands around his waist. Geralt’s hand was against his forehead. “No! Stop that! I’m fine. I’m fine! See me! Fine. It’s action time. Let’s go!” and he marched off to the bedroom.

The floor was suddenly very close to his face.

“Did I—”

“You fell on your face.”

“Have I—”

“You’ve asked three times now, yes.”

There should have been fanfare when he turned it in, but there was only the grateful smile of Edmond, the young new assistant, a firm handshake, and a promise he’d hear back from them very soon, for a quick summarization of their initial thoughts. Or, he’d used all those words, Jaskier forgot which order they’d come in.

The three returned to the apartment, and everything happened very slowly and so quickly he found it hard to keep track. There was definitely a bath drawn for him—gods, it had been days, hadn’t it— oh, fuck, he was gross, wasn’t he—a full meal, and a celebratory drink. He’d made a few good jokes, and all he could see were Geralt and Yennefer, smiling at him. An empty glass. A bar of soap. A long quill. A messy table. A pile of books and an empty mug. They deposited him on the bed for sleep, and left together.

Jaskier lay there, waiting for sleep to take him.

It did not.

He was so tired he could cry. He did, a few times. He couldn’t think straight. All of it, everything, hurt. His body ached. He tried to soothe himself down alone, rocking himself in the hopes it would work. But nothing.

What if he could never sleep again? What if he would always be awake, forever? What if this was how he died?! Oh gods, he didn’t want to die! He still had edits to approve!

Eventually, he could feel himself getting closer. He adjusted himself, lay on his back and took deep, measured breaths, kept his eyes closed but relaxed. Okay. Okay. Sleep.

He was falling, so violently and so fast that when he jolted awake, he forgot he’d been lying on a bed in the first place.

Fuck.

He tried again. It happened sometimes, it was fine. He’d be fine.

He tried breathing deeply once more, trying to let the distant scents of Yennefer and Geralt now embedded in his pillows overtake him.

A fear so powerful it gripped his heart and twisted, whispered to him, ‘this is what dying is, you’re going to die’ and he once again jolted awake. He threw his head back against the pillow and winced; even that hurt.

Fuck. Fuck.

He kept trying. Over, and over, he’d get so close to sleep and then right at the precipice, something would yank him out of it.

Once, he saw Yennefer falling off a cliff. Another time, he saw Geralt stabbed through the chest. At some point, he saw Ciri screaming, and his hands flew out to pull her close, only to find nothing there. Sometimes it was himself falling, and sometimes it was the world below him falling instead.

He’d really done it this time. Stayed awake so long, sleep had abandoned him entirely.

It felt like twelve years before Yennefer and Geralt returned, slipping into the room quietly. He sat up in bed, startling them both.

“Please,” he said quietly, “I can’t. I don’t know why I can’t I just—I can’t. My body won’t let me, I want to but I can’t—”

“How the hell—” Yennefer started, walking over to him with a palm out to check for a curse, maybe? It didn’t matter. He wrapped her hand in his and clutched it to himself, desperate for her. She was so warm. So alive.

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed, “It’s been nearly 70 hours already, Jaskier.”

“Let me just put him down with magic,” Yennefer started, but Geralt put a hand up.

“We can’t. It’s a temporary fix. if he can’t fall asleep on his own without magic, it’ll get harder and harder for him. We need to get him to fall asleep without it.” They looked down at him. What a disgrace he must look like, how pathetic he was. He turned his face away in abject shame. He couldn’t even fall asleep right.

While he looked away, Yennefer tore her hand from his as she and Geralt discarded their clothes into heaps beside the bed, crawled beneath the covers on either side of Jaskier. They hated him. They must. How could they not?

“It’s fine, you don’t—fuck, sorry—”

Geralt shrugged. “Don’t be. I know how bad it gets. It’s different for a Witcher, but no sleep is the whole reason we met Yennefer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaskier said softly.

“As I recall, the solution then was to have vigorous sex on the floor.” Yennefer ran a finger along Jaskier’s chest. “Sound appealing?”

“I—yes, Yennefer, it sounds appealing.” He fidgeted, tried to focus on the feeling of Yennefer’s delicate touch. He was oversensitive enough that it felt like fire, but nothing… stirred, and each word he spoke felt like he was pulling honey from his tongue. “I don’t… much as I’d like, I’m not sure I’d be... up for it right now.” Yennefer’s head fell against the pillow and she flattened her hand, ran the palm up his chest to rest above his heart. Pressed a kiss there.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, but they were looking at him, he could feel every inch of their gazes and it was all too much. He whined in agony. “I can’t do this. Fuck. I can’t, just put me out. We try it again tomorrow, I—”

“Jaskier. You can. Tell us what you need and we can help you,” Yennefer said, sweet but firm. And that was her, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t think. Wanted to. Wanted so much. Wanted to be asleep.

Jaskier curled up on his side, exhausted of being exhausted, when he felt Geralt slide up closer behind him. “Can I hold you?” he murmured into the bard’s shoulder. Jaskier nodded, and felt Geralt’s arm come around him and under his own arm, felt it slide up his chest and cross it protectively.

“Feel good?” Jaskier nodded, and then cracked his eyes open, met Yennefer’s, concern palpable.

He lifted one arm just slightly. “C’mere?” And she did, curled into his arms and around him, tucked her head under his, kissed the top of Geralt’s fingers. He held her close, and was held by the two in turn. Breathing, somehow, felt easier between them.

“Breathe, bard,” Yennefer urged him softly. Geralt buried his nose in Jaskier’s hair, took in a deep breath, and Jaskier tried to follow.

They breathed softly, all together, slow and safe. Soon, he was drifting into sweet oblivion.

‘You,’ Fear said, wrapped around his sternum, ‘will crumble, the moment you let go of wakefulness.’ It gripped him, and tugged him back to reality.

He jolted again. “Fuck, dammit, cock wringing—”

Yennefer pulled back to look at him worriedly. “Is that what’s been keeping you up?” she asked.

“It’s, I don’t know, something just pulls me back, I try to fight it but…”

“Mmm,” Geralt agreed. “Sleep starts. Happens sometimes.”

“The hell are sleep starts?”

“They’re… when you’re too on edge to sleep, or just haven’t in too long, brains… fizzle. Keep you awake. It’s a survival instinct—it makes you think you’ve got to stay awake to stay alive. Feels like falling? Or… a shock. Sometimes other things. Hallucinations.” Geralt pressed a kiss to the back of his head. “It’s scary. It’s meant to be. Your body thinks it’s fighting for its life.”

“I am never letting you doom yourself like this ever again,” Yennefer said, and while it was probably meant to come out angry, she just sounded worried.

Geralt hummed and agreement. “Try again, we’ve got you. We’re not letting go.” Jaskier took a breath. They had him. They had him.

Yennefer lifted a hand to Jaskier’s temple. “May I?” And he let her in, easier than breathing. She gave him Ciri laughing, wind chimes on the breeze, the soft roar of the coast. Geralt hugged him tight, ran his other hand through Jaskier’s hair, tried to keep the bard’s breathing aligned. Now, what had he ever done to earn these two?

Soon, sleep came to him again, and he could feel Yennefer ready to soothe anything that came for him in his mind, Geralt ready to defend against anything that dared hurt his resting body. The darkness crept in, and he felt peace.

Geralt was reaching for him, falling, bleeding, screaming.

“FUCK!”

“Shh,” the real Geralt hushed him. “We’ve got you.”

“Fuck, there’s got to be something else,” Yennefer groaned. “What’ve you tried so far?”

“I have tried… to fall asleep.”

Yennefer and Geralt both huffed small laughs. “No. Positions—”

“Only the good ones.”

“Meditating?” Geralt asked.

“Darling, I haven’t had a thought in my head in hours. This is meditation.”

“Drugs?” Yennefer asked.

“I will try the drugs!” Jaskier said with a drowsy cheerfulness, as Geralt replied “No drugs. No.”

“Ugh,” Jaskier groaned, and shifted to lie on his stomach. Oh. This was… better. He nestled into the pillows, and a soft contented sigh drifted from him.

“That feel better?” Geralt asked as he ran a hand up and down Jaskier’s back. “Mmm,” Jaskier replied. Yennefer’s hand joined Geralt over his chest. Oh, they were going to make him cry.

And then it was too much, too much feeling, like his brain couldn’t handle all the sensation, and he felt Yennefer come to pause, and a moment later, Geralt’s hand as well. ‘That better?’ Yennefer asked in his mind. Jaskier gave her the memory of his favorite hug with her, warm and happy as her legs wrapped around his waist, and his favorite with Geralt, crushing and firm and full of too many emotions to speak aloud.

“Could…” he said softly, “Just. Talk? Not to me. Just… to each other. Just wanna hear you.” He could almost hear their smiles, and felt as they settled in on the pillows beside him, arms and hands intertwining on his back. Yennefer’s head on his shoulder, the gentle planes of Geralt’s chest on his other side. “If you need us, Yennefer and I are here. We’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He nodded into the mattress, cool and soft below him.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

“G’night Yennefer.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

"G’night, Geralt.”

He started to fade into oblivion, but stopped himself before he got too far. Not fear, not anxiety, a conscious stopping. Somewhere above him, Geralt was telling Yennefer about the contract from… sometime in the past few days, and Yennefer was telling her own story about some town gossip with a woman and her hens, which, it might have been a metaphor, but he’d basically forgotten what those were by now. He breathed deeply, felt their words flow through him, and when he felt brave enough, he let go, trusting they would catch him.

He could have sworn he heard wind chimes, somewhere.

The small amount of light filtering in through the curtains was golden when he awoke. His head both ached and felt light as a feather, his muscles screamed and cried but half of it was in relief. He gave a small stretch and yawned. “G’morning,” an amused Geralt said to him, lounging in a chair he’d brought beside the bed, reading a book. His legs were propped up on the bed beside the bard’s and Jaskier stretched to bump their toes together.

“What time…?”

“You slept 13 hours.”

“Fuck.”

“You probably need more.”

“Yeahhhh.”

“Feel alright?”

“Like a real human being,” he said. “Hungry, though.”

“Mmm.”

Yennefer slipped in the door, but, noticing Jaskier was awake, rose a hand. “May I?” she asked, voice dripping in sarcasm, gesturing to the curtains.

“You may,” Jaskier offered, covering his face with his hands. “Ohhhh, gods, how bad was I?”

“Genuinely awful,” Yennefer said, as Geralt was saying, “There’s been worse.”

“Normally I’d withhold this,” the mage said, withdrawing a small envelope from her pocket. “But, under the circumstances…” she cleared her throat.

“To one Julian Alfred Pankratz. We were extremely pleased to receive your manuscript yesterday afternoon. Our editors are will have their notes to you by the weekend, but we wanted to reach out and extend our most sincere compliments on your work. It is—oh, a flood of adjectives, I’m skipping these. Etcetera, etcetera, sucking your dick, etcetera alright, here—and meticulous in construction. We can tell,” Yennefer said, dragging out the final sentence, “you made good use of your year of writing time to complete the work.” Jaskier and Geralt by this point were holding back true howls of laughter.

“And won’t you believe it, there’s more. Ahem; we have a number of suggestions and questions already, but encourage you to get your well-deserved rest as we prepare our feedback. We are grateful to work with you, and thank you again for your stunning entry. There’s a postscript,” Yennefer added. “As a quick and personal note, we cannot have helped but notice the nature of your penmanship; we mean no offence, but would encourage you to see a doctor of the eye to fit you with some spectacles.”

“My—my penman…? What’d—” and Yennefer, who had clearly been waiting for this moment, brought out a rather crumpled piece of parchment with an ink stain at the bottom—ah, yes, the original page 64— and showed it to him. His eyes were… gods, they were aching, but he was clear minded enough now to see that each line had become at least twice it’s normal size. The lines were far from straight, dipping and bending toward the edge of the paper, the letters changed directions at random points, and a fair amount of the words were smudged so completely they were hard to make out.”

Jaskier stared in horror.

“They. Is that. Is that what it looked like? Really?”

“It’s worse than most of the ones that made it in,” Geralt said, carefully.

“Most?!”

“You drew pictures on one of them,” Yennefer said.

“Oh my god. They…they must…”

“Adore it, clearly,” Yennefer said, setting aside the paper. “It wasn’t worth the strain, and you’ve definitely firmly embarrassed yourself, but they’re either embarrassing themselves by fawning praise on you,” she said, sliding onto the bed, “Or you’re actually just… very knowledgeable and talented, even when addled by sleep deprivation.”

There was a pause, Jaskier soaking this in; it hadn’t been worth it, exactly, but it wasn’t all bad. In fact, it was quite good, and Yennefer was complimenting him outright, so, very good.

“Or both,” Geralt added.

“Definitely both,” Yennefer agreed.

Jaskier groaned. “You can’t be mean to me. You’re in my house and I am extremely tired, which means that you, by law, must kiss me and tell me nice things about myself.”

Geralt laughed, light and free, and Yennefer slunk slower down into the bed. “You get no kisses,” she said, “You get sleep and rest.” She grabbed a pillow from under her head and plopped it delicately onto Jaskier’s face.

“Boo,” Jaskier said, muffled beneath the thing. He closed his eyes. Geralt muttered something, and Yennefer gave a snort of laughter, and then there was silence.

“Are you two kissing up there?!”

More silence.

“UGH,” he groaned, and sunk into his soft, sweet mattress. Oh, beautiful mattress. How he adored it, how he adored his two loves on top of it. He listened to their kissing, soft, and sweet, and knew he’d join them soon. But it was so warm down here. Even as one of them removed the pillow, he could only bring himself to open his eyes for a moment, to see them both leaning to kiss his face gently, before returning to each other. He took a long, deep breath, and listened to them swirl around him, until all he could feel was their love and the sweet caress of his pillow.

#Geraskefer #Jaskier Whump #Soft Geralt #Soft Yennefer #The Witcher #Witcher Fic #jaskier #geralt #yennfer of vengerberg #sleep deprivation #insomnia #hurt/comfort #Witcher Whump #Butterbard's Fics

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leftonraed · 4 years ago

Text

The Night We Met - Episode 1

pairing : Taehyung x OC genre : bodyguard!au, singleparent!au, idol!au word count : 2.4k summary — Taehyung gets terrible news and finds himself in a delicate situation

Prologue | ep.1 | ep.2 | ep.3 | ep.4 | ep.5 | ep.6 | ep.7

The past month has been a complete blur. If you asked Taehyung to narrate the course of events after the moment he had been in charge of his niece, he wouldn’t be able to, especially when that small time frame included the one event he thought he’d never attend this quickly in his lifetime —

Hwiin got a little startled after he answered the door. While gauging his mood after several weeks of silence, she couldn’t take her eyes off the sullen man who seemed absent.

He was dressed in a dark suit. His hair was fully covering his eyes and had been dyed black, she was just at that moment able to notice it’d never been that long before.

The small heels of his shoes echoed loudly inside as he shuffled towards the living-room.

The gloomy winter sky, visible through the wide windows, narrowed the penthouse and gave the impression they lived in a black and white movie.

The shades of grey clashed unpleasantly with the barely audible cartoons displayed on the wide flat screen where Hina was sitting in front of. She hardly glanced Hwiin’s way.

She removed her purse and coat and put them on the couch while Taehyung kissed and whispered words to his niece. He didn’t get any response either. He stood up and joined Hwiin.

“I didn’t know how to do this-” he trailed softly as her eyes followed his hands feebly unfolding a paper with her eyes. He cleared his throat constricted with sorrow, “I wrote a couple of things down. If I forgot anything, send a text.”

She took it from him and realised she hadn’t said anything yet. What were you supposed to say in this situation, she wondered. The man she thought she knew so well almost struck her as a stranger and left her struggling for the right words.

Hwiin carefully looked up at him and felt her heart hurting at his sight. She should’ve been there for him those past weeks. She became angry with herself the longer she stared at his forlorn expression.

“Taehyung...” She hugged him tightly, as her way to make it up to him. He remained still. He didn’t want Hina to see him break down and cry.

“Thank you,” he only managed to whisper before she took a step back.

She quietly watched him walk out and never before had she felt a greater need to be by his side. She didn’t do anything of this sort.

She walked around the couch to sit next to the little girl she had been requested to look after for the day and tried to empty her mind. All she wanted was for this day to end.

So did he.

___________________________________________

He didn’t seem present during the entirety of the funeral.

His parents, he used to be so close to but had drawn away from after his debut as an idol, didn’t even manage to make him say anything. They didn’t bother him about it and respected his own way of mourning the family loss.

Taehyung could sense his brother’s in-laws itching to ask him about Hina but held themselves.

While he made other attendees think he looked elsewhere and “too expressionless” in their opinion, he’d actually been doing his best to keep it to himself. He couldn’t tell what helped him hide his emotions, it was so unlike him but he had held steady.

He was right behind his home’s door when he heard Hina’s cries before he even walked in.

Worry instantly frowned his face as he found Hwiin holding the little girl in her arms, soothing her.

“She’s been crying the whole time since she woke up from her nap,” she informed him with a hint of despair. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Hina looked at him and he felt his feet naturally pulling him towards her when her arms stretched outward in his direction.

He held her closely and she tightened him to herself, burying her face in his neck.

He would never know for sure but she sounded grief-stricken and gave him the impression that he was the only one left capable of assuaging her.

Taehyung felt his legs give in and knelt down.

He was finally giving in.

Tears, held deeply back within, coursed down in an unbroken stream to dampen her dress. His body hiccoughed his ache so violently, it seemed it wanted to retaliate for the strains he’d inflicted himself.

Hwiin watched silently with sorrowful eyes as the two of them sought comfort in each other. She caught herself wondering if his niece somehow understood she’d never see her parents again.

__________________________________________

Taehyung never questioned his brother’s wish to have him take care of his daughter if something were to happen. He isn’t living the ideal kind of life to raise a toddler and there are many to criticize him about it, his manager being the first of them, but having Hina feels surprisingly right.

He’s grateful to have her keeping his mind off things but she also reminds him unintentionally of her father and the other way around will inevitably happen.

He sometimes ponders the doubts he has as a caretaker, unpleasant thoughts that come flooding his mind every time he’d fail doing the right thing or get rejected by her; he gives a chance to others scenarios playing out different outcomes but they never satisfy him.

He seeks comfort in the reality that he needs a lot of time to get better at it and that there’s no reason to rush. It’ll give him enough to make his mind about the way he’ll have to address their reality one day.

One of his priorities is to make sure his home has everything his niece would need. This meant visiting his brother’s empty house. Hwiin had asked him if he’d need her but he preferred to be on his own and planned not to linger longer than necessary.

__________________________________________

“You didn’t tell me what you’re planning to do about the few shows left,” Hwiin suddenly initiates, locking her phone.

Taehyung sighs when Hina whines at his umpteenth attempts to keep her from drawing on the wall. Defeated, he stands up to show his manager out.

“Did you hear from Seojun?”

“Nope. I sent him a text a few days ago. He never answers my calls.”

“I can’t see myself going anywhere with her. And I’m definitely not bringing her with me.”

It’s Hwiin’s turn to sigh, although she does it out of light exasperation. “What about my babysitter idea?”

“Out of question.” She lifts her head at his sudden firm tone. “I don't want her to be around strangers.”

“What will you do if you don’t hear from him anymore? Taehyung, you can’t stay at home indefinitely.”

“If I have no choice-” He cuts off himself. “I’m sure everyone will understand.”

She pinches her lips and cranes her neck up to stare somewhere in the empty hallway, keeping her calm.

Leaning on the hand he’s holding the door with, Taehyung tilts his head to glance at her with a hint of amusement.

“I’ll call him myself.”

She looks back at him and blinks slowly, thankful. They say their goodbyes and he closes the door.

When he comes back, Hina’s still putting the finishing touches to her art and Taehyung ponders the thought of throwing the felt tips away once she’s done with them.

He plops himself down on the couch and takes his phone out of his pocket. He quickly finds his bodyguard’s number and makes a phone call. The line rings once.

“Taehyung!”

“H-hi,” he answers, surprised at the man’s quick answer. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

“I’m happy you called! I’m doing really good. What about you?”

“I’m okay- I think.”

“I know you’ve heard it when we last talked but I’m really, really sorry.”

“Thank you. I’m doing okay, ‘promise.”

Seojun doesn’t need to see him to doubt his words but gives him the benefit of the doubt. He tries to change the subject, “How’s the little one doing?”

“Good…” Taehyung’s gaze is directed at Hina's long hair. “I still didn’t get one word from her though.”

“Don’t worry about it, she’ll talk when she’s ready. You shouldn’t force these things.”

Taehyung hums in thought. “How did your break go? How’s everyone ?”

“Very good. Everyone’s doing great.”

“Glad to hear that!” Taehyung smiles a lazy grin and remembers the purpose of his call. “Seojun, I’m sorry I bring this a little abruptly but- when do you think you’ll be coming back? Hwiin told me she tried to contact you-”

“Ah yes,” he suddenly exclaims. “I actually wanted to talk to you directly.”

Amused, Taehyung’s brows furrow slightly. “Right.”

“I’ve never liked the way she looked down on people. But you do well to bring that up.”

He frowns a little more, anticipating.

“I… I don’t think I’ll be coming back anytime soon, Taehyung.” There’s a short pause. “I've been thinking about it lately and we’ve talked a lot with my wife… The fact is that- my family misses me and I miss them.”

Taehyung doesn’t know what to say immediately, “I’m sorry to hear that... But I understand.”

“Really? It’s just that- they’ve barely seen me the past six years and I thought maybe I needed to extend that break for a little longer while.” Seojun feels terrible now that he’s brought the news. As if the death of his brother wasn’t enough of a change.

“I totally do- I just- I don’t know what to do to keep working and look after my niece at the same time. I mean, th- there’s no one else I trust equally to look after her when I can’t.”

“I know and I’ve made sure you guys wouldn’t be left hanging.” He’s quick to reply, “I found someone to take over. Your agency’s already abreast of it. They’re okay to hire that person but they told me they wouldn’t make any decision until they get your last word.”

“Can you tell me more about him?”

“It’s actually a woman, she’s around your age. She’s attended the same security school I did and was the top of her class. I know her personally and was the one who offered to take the helm. I wouldn’t recommend anyone else to stand in for me.”

Taehyung would never doubt Seojun. They regard each other as family, so if Seojun trusted that woman enough to take charge of his responsibilities, he wouldn’t question him further.

“Okay.”

And it’s not like he could think of a better solution to tell Hwiin.

Seojun is relieved when he hears his answer, however he can feel he doesn’t seem totally convinced.

“I promise you, you won’t miss me once she starts.”

___________________________________________

“Hina,” complains Taehyung. “Why are you being so difficult? I thought you liked mashed carrots.”

He’s helpless and covered in what once has been her lunch. She’s on the verge of crying and shaking her legs, irritated. Her arm sways her small plate and Taehyung catches it before she makes an even bigger mess. She starts whining loudly.

“One second,” he mutters while cleaning her stained face before standing up to take her out of the high chair. She stops crying and leaves to watch cartoons still on T.V.

“I’ll go change. I’ll be in the bedroom,” he announces like he doesn’t know he’ll be ignored and leaves.

The doorbell rings a couple of minutes after, taking both Taehyung and Hina by surprise.

Seeing her uncle nowhere around, she stands up to totter toward the entrance holding onto her soft toy. Taehyung just got rid of his dirty clothes when he decides to come out only dressed in a pair of red boxers, remembering he’s expecting Hwiin to come by.

He finds Hina trying to reach for the handle, perched on her tippy-toes.

“Let me help you,” he smiles lightly at her when he looks down, seeing her small face after she craned her neck to the fullest. He taps in the security code and opens and she hurries to push it wide open.

“Hello.”

Hina walks to go behind him at the sight of a stranger. There’s a short silent while that lasts awfully long the second Taehyung understands he’s in his underwear and that he doesn’t recognize you.

“You’re not Hwiin,” he trails quietly.

You shake your head looking back at him very calmly.

From the corner of your eye, you notice his niece hiding behind his leg, peeking shyly at you. You squat at her level and blood rushes up Taehyung’s cheeks.

“You’re Hina, right?” You look at her. “This is for you.”

He pulls himself together. “You didn’t have to,” he chuckles abashed.

His niece stares at the toy piano you offer her. You press one key to make a sound and lit it up in hopes to get her pleased with it.

Taehyung can’t help but think a gift is the last thing she deserves after the tantrum she threw just minutes ago. “Say thank you, Hina.”

She carefully takes it from you and there’s a hint of a satisfied smile on your lips.

“Who’s Hwiin?” You gaze up at Taehyung.

Shit. You need to get up. He needs to put on some clothes, he thinks.

“My manager. Are you-”

“Y/N, your new bodyguard.” You straighten up with your hands behind you.

“Taehyung. Nice to meet you.” He feels Hina, pulling the hem of his boxers and swiftly takes her in his arms. She keeps an iron grip on the toy. “Uh- Please, come in.”

You step inside when he moves away and closes the door behind you. He stares at you as you take a look around, surprised you remain unaffected by his lack of clothing but still thinks it’s not the appropriate way he should have welcomed you in.

“I’m sorry about the mess, I didn’t know you’d come home so early.” He explains as he puts down Hina. “Make yourself at home. ‘Be right back.”

You watch him disappear without a word, his niece follows him while gazing curiously at you. You bring your eyes back on the splendid view the penthouse overlooks.

When Taehyung comes back, closely followed, you’re still standing nearby the window. He’s intrigued and curious as to what made you so special in Seojun’s eyes.

///////////////////////!\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Feedback very much appreciated Reblog if you wish to read more

#taehyung smut #taehyung scenarios #Taehyung fluff #bts smut #bts scenarios #taehyung angst #bts imagines #bts reactions #Taehyung x oc #taehyung x reader #bts fluff #bts angst

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ladykissingfish · 4 years ago

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Under The Mistletoe with the Akatsuki // Part Three //Sasori

Sasori

Why must he do this? Why must he comply with such an inane human “game”? Things sure have change since he was a child; it used to be that kisses were an expression of intimacy shared by people who loved each other, not public fodder for critique and criticism. Regardless, here he is, so he prepares himself for the inconvenience.

Kisame

Kisame is one of the taller members of the group, so he has to bend quite a ways to bestow his kiss on the minuscule redhead. He chooses to go with a kiss on the forehead, which slightly annoys Sasori; he’s NOT a damn child, for God’s sake. But perhaps it’s for the best, because even from this angle Sasori can see the shark-man’s incredibly sharp and pointed teeth. A kiss on the lips may have caused damage to Sasori’s wood (which was made from softwoods so as to present a more human look than the rest of his body). Kisame tells him he’s a good sport, to which Sasori nods and smiles. If he ate food, he’d join him and Itachi for tea later. As it is, he says that when his time here is done, they can enjoy a game of Shogi later, as both of them are avid, excellent players.

Itachi

This child always looks so timid before he has to do things like this. Itachi presents one of the most interesting case studies for Sasori within the Akatsuki; he’s unique even among this unique group. Itachi and Sasori have spoken in-depth before about the sharingan; it’s techniques, the different levels. One of Sasori’s ultimate goals is to find a way to replicate the sharingan into one of his puppets, thus making it the ultimate weapon. Itachi often says that when he “finally dies”, Sasori can just take one of his eyes and transplant it into one of his creations. A “joke”; but this kid sure jokes about death a lot. Anyway, Itachi leans down and lightly kisses Sasori’s cheek. Sasori is once again struck by that powerful feeling of chemical imbalance, of chakra that’s rotting and a body thats just barely holding on. This kid; Sasori is a talented medical jutsu user, and could surely help him in no time at all. But once again, this is the path Itachi has chosen. Even if Sasori doesn’t understand it, he will always respect Itachi and his choices.

Hidan

Expectedly loud and unpleasantly crude. “I’m probably gonna be picking fucking splinters outta my damn lips!” “He’s so goddamn short I’m gonna bust my back just bending down!” Eventually he shuts up, puckers up, and delivers a dry kiss to the redhead. Very dry. Dry even to the one made out of wood. When the kiss ends Sasori tells Hidan that he’s clearly dehydrated, and should make it a point to drink more water. “Ah? So you wanted a wet kiss, eh? Always knew you were gay!” Keeps berating Sasori until Kakuzu comes up and drags him away, much to Sasori’s (and everyone else’s) relief.

Pein

Although he and Sasori only have about a four year age difference between them, as with everyone else, he looks at the puppet master in a very fatherly way. However he hold’s Sasori’s maturity level to be a bit higher than most of the others, and their mutual respect for one another is in a different league. Pein asks if Sasori desires a kiss, and Sasori responds by saying that it’s unnecessary. Pein nods, and continues on to whatever tasks he was engaged in before.

Kakuzu

Is really starting to think that instead of playing childish games like this, the Akatsuki’s free time would be better spent trying to earn the organization some much-needed money. Still, the others are playing along, so he may as well. He goes to kiss Sasori’s forehead but, being without his glasses, misjudged the distance and ends up kissing the bridge of his nose instead. Sasori thinks to himself, Kakuzu may be a gruff S.O.B at times, but he’s really not such a bad person. He’s calm, smart, and conscientious. Sasori’s intention of turning himself into a puppet was so that he would live forever, and if Kakuzu truly was immortal, then Sasori would be in good company once everybody else died out. Well, IF they could find a way to do away with Hidan, anyways.

Konan

Konan always smells good. Incredibly good. Does she wear some sort of manufactured scent, or is that her natural odor? Sasori wants to ask, but is hesitant; he doesn’t have much experience with women, and therefore isn’t aware of what may or may not be deemed an offensive question to them. Konan gives him a very soft butterfly-touch of a kiss to the lips, but Sasori barely notices it, he’s so focused on her aroma. This actually presents an interesting chemist challenge for him; to try and replicate her smell using no data other than his olfactory senses. He’s always grateful for an opportunity to try something different, so he thanks her; the fact that she thinks he’s thanking her for the kiss is completely irrelevant, as she goes away smiling.

Tobi

This kid ... or is it man? How old is he, exactly? Sasori has no idea. Almost everything about Tobi is a complete mystery, and that bothers somebody like Sasori, who strives to find the truth in all things. Underneath the mask, past the voice and the continued ridiculous antics, Sasori often gets the impression that there’s more to this individual than meets the eye. Absurdly, something about him reminds him of Itachi, although the two act like compete polar opposites. For the kiss, Tobi doesn’t take off his mask; instead he just presses the object against Sasori’s left cheek, and then his right, telling him that this is how they kiss in other countries. An interesting tidbit, if true ... and how would this guy know something like that? How extensive were his travels, before joining this group? How much does he actually know? Well, regardless, Tobi’s turn has ended, so Sasori shelves his musings for another day.

Zetsu

Zetsu approaches Sasori and asks if he can kiss his neck. He explains that in humans, their strongest scent comes from that area, and he wants to see if it’s true for Sasori. Sasori consents, and Zetsu leans in and delivers a peck to the arc of Sasori’s throat. He stays there for a long time, sniffing, and when he emerges, he informs Sasori that he smells much like a tree, although the scent isn’t any stronger from that area than at any other point. An interesting observation, maybe, but not really one that Sasori has any use of.

Deidara

The young blonde artist is so crimson that he rivals the best tomatoes out in the garden. Sasori wonders if he’s seriously that angry that he has to kiss Sasori. After all, he doesn’t think that Deidara exactly likes him; he’s always complaining about the way Sasori leads their missions, and the arguments about what “true art” is were never-ending. But when Deidara gets close to him, Sasori can see a different reality; Deidara is scared. Sasori can see the throb of his temple as his heart pumps, he can hear the harsh breathing that Deidara is trying (but failing) to keep hidden. What in the world is this brat scared of? He’s not speaking (for once), but now Sasori is concerned that the kid might be nearing a stroke. He figures the only way to calm him is to take the initiative himself. So he steps out from under the mistletoe, cups Deidara’s cheeks, and pulls his face down into a kiss. Immediately, there’s a change. Deidara’s body temporarily goes completely limp in Sasori’s grasp, making the redhead think that he’d actually fainted. He goes to break the kiss to administer aid to him, but before he can move, Deidara suddenly grips Sasori’s face, and his lips are no longer bystanders but aggressors, exploring his older partner’s mouth. Sasori stands still, feeling a twinge of surprise. This kiss feels ... different, from the others. Are humans always this soft, this warm? He hasn’t noticed these things as strongly with the others as he is with Deidara, although that could be because the latter is much closer than the others were. After what seems like an eternity, Deidara breaks the kiss, and smiles. Another rarity; Sasori doesn’t often see an expression from him that isn’t a smirk or a sneer or a scowl. He smiles ... but then he promptly tells Sasori that he’s “a terrible kisser, hm!” and goes back to his room, leaving Sasori ((and everybody else)) staring after him in confusion.

#the akatsuki #under the mistletoe #kissing #sasori #deidara #hidan #zetsu #kakuzu #tobi #konan #pein #kisame #itachi

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 4 years ago

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The Critique of Manners Part IV

~Or~

A Very Amused Review of Emma (1972)

One doesn’t really know where to begin with this one. I’ve watched a few of these 70’s/80’s period drama adaptations, but I’ve never written a review for one. I think the tricky thing is it doesn’t feel fair to judge them against more recent adaptations because the approach and quality are so very different to modern television making.

But people do. I’m sure it’s different for people who grew up watching these, who are just used to them and their objectively terrible, stagey quality and can look past that particular weakness on the sheer power of nostalgia.

So I’m going to try and find a middle-ground here where I ignore the stagey and obviously dated aspects and judge it primarily on its value as an adaptation – is it faithful to the book?

Let’s dive in.

Cast & Characterization

Normally I would start with Emma and Knightley but this time I’m gonna switch it up a bit and do them last because… well we’ll get there in a bit.

Let’s start instead with Mr. Woodhouse. I have to say, I kind of like this take. The 1996-7 and 2009 adaptations all kind of went for the same type of older man: a bit stout, or in Michael Gambon’s case… however you would describe Michael Gambon. With Donald Eccles, however, this version goes for a rather more frail looking Mr. Woodhouse; in fact to compare him to any recent Mr. Woodhouse, I suppose he comes closest to Bill Nighy (although the general characterization is of course very different.) He’s a ridiculous but lovable soul who seems always, of course, worried about his own health and comfort, but in his own selfish way, concerned for his friends and family as well. My only complaint is that maybe they over-utilized him.

I thought the casting of a plump Mrs. Weston (Ellen Dryden) was an interesting choice, and definitely different from other versions. Her acting was actually really good too.

I wasn’t quite so pleased with the characterization of Mr. Weston, on the other hand. I have huge issues with this script vis-à-vis the men, but Mr. Weston and Knightley in particular. The problem with Mr. Weston is how he’s written as just verging on uncouth at some points. There are way too many rustic contractions here: “Ain’t I looking well too, Miss Emma?!’ “’Ark at that eh? The sly young rogue!” “Oh I think it looks tolerably gay and festive, don’t it?” and then just throwing himself back on the grass and chortling when Emma makes her fateful Box Hill faux pas? Like, what the hell? I’m not saying he shouldn’t use a few casual contractions (“How d’you do?” for example) but he seems almost like a positive country bumpkin and I don’t think it’s appropriate; he doesn’t talk like that in the book and I’m just all-around not here for it.

Constance Chapman, a well-respected character actress of the time was cast as Miss Bates, while Molly Sugden, of Are You Being Served? fame was WASTED in the bit-part of Mrs. Goddard. If you ask me, they should have swapped this casting, since I think Sugden, an outstanding comedienne, could have done so much more with the Miss Bates role than the usual wittery-old-lady style chattering Chapman delivered.

Mr. Elton was played by Timothy Peters (Right) and was, eh, adequate. They did slime him up a bit by having him over-eagerly offer to fix Emma’s bootlace, which she points out isn’t entirely appropriate for a man to do, especially the vicar and it’s pretty funny; but other than that, he has all the appearance of being a pleasant young man, as Mr. Elton should – becoming less pleasant as the story progresses.

One John Alkin (left) played Mr. Robert Martin, and he, too, was adequate. There’s not much of him and, since Mr. Martin wasn’t one of those characters this version decided to approach more three-dimensionally, there’s not much to say about him.

Frank Churchill is… OMG IT’S PRINCE HARRY FROM BLACKADDER!

Ahem. Yes, Robert East (BETTER KNOWN AS PRINCE HARRY FROM BLACKADDER) plays a very agreeable (and smarmy, but not too smarmy) Frank. I think honestly this is as good as this part could get in the 70’s, although at 29 he was a little too old for the part.

John and Isabella, in an interesting (?) casting choice, were played by brother and sister duo, Yves and Belinda Tighe. I actually really liked Yves’s John Knightley (he’s actually one of the more handsome John’s, in a 70’s kind of way; for note-taking purposes I have nicknamed him “Not-Harrison-Ford”), but his sister as Isabella seemed kind of old and had just a really annoying voice. Also she doesn’t look at all like Doran Godwin, and Emma and Isabella are supposed to look somewhat alike.

The real casting stand out for me in this version is Fiona Walker as Mrs. Elton, although she too was a little old for her role, I’ve said before that there are no bad Mrs. Eltons (only bad accents) and she just absolutely nailed the insufferable chatter to a definitive standard (until the recent adaptations – 2009 onward).

I did however, get the feeling in this version that they kind of wrote in a through-line where Mrs. Elton is putting the moves on Mr. Knightley (to the point where they actually wrote out Mr. Elton from scenes he should be in) which was one of those unnecessary deviations which made me raise an eyebrow and also was just… weird.

Now my question is – why do all of the young women in this series kind of look like evil dolls?

Debbie Bowen, from a strictly book accuracy perspective is one of the most accurate Harriet Smiths I’ve seen – in fact we don’t get another this accurate (to my way of thinking) until Louise Dylan in 2009, who fits roughly the same model (fair and shapely). Its Bowen’s acting I don’t like, but I know that in the 70’s, this kind of simpering acting for this kind of character was just unavoidable. It was the style at the time, so I’m cutting her a break critically; but the performance just doesn’t cut it for me.

This Jane Fairfax (played by Ania Marson) is not my favorite interpretation of this character. At first I thought she was going to be alright, but in her first scene she bursts out and actually shouts in frustration at her chattering aunt (which she has some basis for, I’ll admit, since Miss Bates, in her muddle-headed way, could very well have unwittingly spilled the beans about Jane and Frank) but this is far more feeling than we should even have a hint of from Jane at this point. The whole reason Emma doesn’t like Jane (other than the fact that Emma is an attention whore and Jane steals her thunder by being so admired and accomplished) is because she’s timid and demure and reserved.

But the biggest problem I have with this Jane is that she can’t even fucking sing. I know they write it away as her having a sore throat (Which I think is a pull from a different part of the book?) but this was just egregiously bad to me. This is the only time in the series they show Jane singing so it’s never actually established that Jane really is more accomplished than Emma (although they don’t show Emma herself singing or even playing at all either.) Could the actresses just not sing well so they decided to write around it? You could have dubbed it; you had that technology in the 70’s!

OK. Now it’s time to talk about Doran Godwin. I’ve never seen her in anything else so I don’t know if it’s just that she can’t act, but I have no idea what she was going for with this portrayal of Emma, and this is something so consistent and unique to her that I, for once, can’t justify blaming it solely on the director because you can’t direct crazy-eyes. They just happen; and they happen A LOT in this series.

I’ve struggled to find the words to sufficiently describe my feeling about Doran Godwin’s facial expressions and her acting in this adaptation. In my ribbon rating notes I think I describe her as a “witchy automaton”? I stand by it. Every time she talks to someone her eyes go very wide and she sort of looks like she’s trying to hypnotize everyone in Highbury. The effect is just absolutely inhuman. I never thought I’d ever see anyone with more patently crazed Crazy-Eyes than Timothy “Crazy-Eyes” Dalton – but man, Doran “Hypno-Witch” Godwin just stole the prize. Perhaps she escaped from the set of a Doctor Who? telling of the story where Miss Woodhouse has been replaced by an android.

You have scenes such as this in episode 2 , where Harriet is trying to get Emma to acknowledge Mr. Elton calling after them as they walk past the vicarage, and Emma ignores her by mechanically continuing to talk, looking straight ahead with laser focus. Of course, Emma is intentionally ignoring Harriet because she wants Mr. Elton to follow them, but that wasn’t quite apparent to me until the end of her ramble – which I had assumed she was forced to complete due to some directive in her programming. I have more to say on her characterization, but we’ll get to that in a dedicated section of the review.

John Carson might actually be one of the better Knightley’s, but I’m sorry – at 45 he was just too old. This is something you can play around with in other characters (Mr. Weston and Miss Bates after all, have no stated ages in the book) but not only do we know how old Mr. Knightley is in the book, they state in the show that Emma is 21 (Doran Godwin was actually 28) and that Mr. Knightley is sixteen years older than her – 37 or 38 – and John Carson is CLEARLY no 38. This obviously-over-forty appearance does have an effect on how I view his banter with Emma, and it’s more avuncular than the older-brother feel that Mr. Knightley and Emma should have.

Whether by direction or actor’s choice, Carson’s Mr. Knightley speaks in a way that just doesn’t feel period to me. He has a very sort of 20th Century, stock British, hearty-good-fellow manner, that dates this adaptation pretty badly and feels old-fashioned (but not in a Regency/Georgian way) even in the 70’s.

Sets & Surroundings

Normally at this point in the review I would talk about the British manor houses and estates used and how they measure up to the book descriptions but the publicly funded BBC ran on a much tighter budget in the 70’s (apparent in the production values and number of obviously bad takes that they just decided to leave in, in everything they made) and as such they couldn’t afford to film in and rent out large estates quite as much, so this has the trademark 70’s/80’s BBC sound-stage quality of all of their other productions of the period. That said, this production actually has some of the better sets I’ve seen and that’s saying something, for being made in the 70’s. The walls didn’t actually shake when doors were closed, and it didn’t feel as stagey as some other Austen serials of the time. (This doesn’t improve the very “on-cue” acting in the series, but I have to give credit where it’s due.) I believe they may used a real manor house for the exterior of Hartfield (and not a landscape pastel) and maybe some of the interiors too? I can’t say for sure, and I would love to tell you what house and where it is but I can’t find any credits on it. I’ll just say that I think it’s very suitable and leave it at that.

Costumes

Much like today, the BBC almost exclusively used, re-used and rented costumes for their period productions. Almost every costume in this series was also used in the 70’s and 80’s BBC productions of Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, and Pride and Prejudice (P&P being the overwhelming common denominator – almost every one of Emma’s evening dresses and pelisses was seen, primarily on Caroline Bingley.) Some of the shawls have been picked out in BBC Austens as recently as 2008.

For being made in the 70’s the costumes in this production are really kind of nice. They don’t date themselves too badly. The ones that do feel 70’s retro, in fact, were mostly styles borrowed from period accurate fashions that just happened to coincide with contemporary 70’s tastes, and which aren’t often used in Regency costumes today because, well they don’t coincide with our modern tastes. For the most part, they look well-made (although some of them do have that stiff, dingy polyester look to them and there are definitely some plastic pearls here and there).

I’m quite pleased with the silhouettes which don’t suffer from Square Bust/Boob Droop syndrome the way the 1980 P&P does. All of the assets seem to be lifted and shifted in the right places.

Daywear

I like Emma’s blue day dress the best of all her day-wear looks. It’s a rich color and has pleated cups (Also on her white day dress) which is a style I really love.

Emma wears the gauzy… let’s be kind and say ivory instead of “Yellowish” ruff during the day A LOT (Emma Pic 2). It’s a popular look on Jane Fairfax too (Jane Pic 2) and I just… I don’t like it. Not that it’s not period appropriate (because it unfortunately is) it just makes them look like Dr. Seuss characters to me, especially worn with short sleeves which is something these dramas do a lot and I hate it. It just makes the person in question look very awkwardly disproportionate to me, especially because. if they had long sleeves to go with it (which would be more correct from a historical authenticity standpoint) it would even it out so much better. Compare Jane and Emma to see what I mean. The single layer ruffle (Emma Pic 1) is much more agreeable to me. (I wanna point out that Jane wears the same green dress without any partlet or undersleeves for strawberry picking at Donwell, which is blatant Eveningwear-For-Daywear™ and looked really out of place since everyone else was wearing day-appropriate attire).

Emma’s wider, cuffed, long sleeves and Mrs. Elton’s puffy segmented Renaissance sleeves are exactly what I mean about period accurate styles that suit the 70’s in a way that they just don’t jive today. Even Harriet gets some.

Mrs. Elton Orange ™ is another crayon color Crayola should consider I think.

Harriet gets stuck with a lot of brown outer wear but her day clothes are otherwise pretty nice. I especially like the ivory and blue number (Bottom right) and her white day dress with blue accents (Top right) which I think is the nicest thing she wears in this whole series.

Evening Wear

Emma’s evening wear confines itself pretty exclusively to cool purples and blues except for her white ball gown. I find this interesting because other versions tend to dress Emma in warmer colors and pinks (As I’m very partial to purples and blues, I love all of them). I can’t say it’s inconsistent with Emma’s cold characterization in this version. Mrs. Weston’s evening gowns are uniformly amazing. I especially love her blue party dress, which is my favorite in the series.

Both of Harriet’s party dresses are characteristically pretty and girlish. The pink is a bit fussy for me but I love the blue one (which has a lot more detail but I couldn’t get a full length shot of it.)

I’m pleased that Jane is given a bit of a break from the Jane Fairfax Blue ™ trope with her evening wear. She has one light blue evening gown and gets a few green numbers, most notable being her mint ball gown. Her beige party dress is absolutely tragic though.

Mrs. Elton’s evening color seems to be chartreuse (Which I think was also the case in the ITV version? ITV fans back me up.) Her black overlay/spiky number is iconic of the Austen Bad Girl, but her ball gown is a bit disappointing in its simplicity to me.

I would love to have seen a full length shot of Isabella’s black and purple number because I have a suspicion THAT would have been my favorite but I just can’t make out enough detail on it.

Zig-zag patterns on the skirt are a huge theme in this version, which is so of the period. Mrs. Cole (shout out to another future Are You Being Served? familiar, Hilda Fenemore) looks straight out of a fashion plate in her dark green party dress, which has (drumroll please…) a padded hem!

Outerwear

This version has SO MANY PELISSES AND REDINGOTES. Are they all nice? No. No they are not; I particularly hate Emma’s fugly salmon number that she wears for Strawberry picking/Box Hill. Mostly because she looks SO over-dressed compared to everyone else who’s wearing loose fitting light clothes (except Jane, who’s wearing an evening dress). Just looking at her makes me hot. I’m also NOT a huge fan of her pink winter cloak. The one trimmed with… faux ermine? One can only assume. It looks awfully tacky.

That russet pelisse tho! This is one of my all-time favorites. It’s SO. PRETTY and so detailed (See this number on Jane in P&P ’80). I think her gray fur-trimmed pelisse is pretty fabulous too, but I do not like the hat she wears with it. The brim is kind of a funky shape to me.

I know I’ve criticized brown before, but I do like it in moderation and this version is astonishingly brown-free for being made in the 70’s, so I really like her red/brown velvet spencer, especially with the cream dress and gloves, and her hat has some amazing decoration.

Jane and Mrs. Weston are the only other characters who get pelisses/redingotes. I’m not a fan of Mrs. Weston’s fuchsia number, and while I like Jane’s, it does put itself solidly in the Jane Fairfax Blue™ category.

Harriet gets pretty much only one form of outer-wear, her brown school cloak (a different brown school cloak from the one in the ‘97 version, in case you were wondering) and while it’s pretty dull, it’s hardly unexpected. Here it is paired with her rather ugly blue bonnet, with yellow ribbon. The bonnet features heavily in this episode.

To be honest for the most part I totally forgot about the…

because a lot of it is very standard. No dandy standouts here, but overall it’s pretty okay and I’m really pleased to say that there are no bib-cravats. That’s not usually so much a problem in Regency Era stuff (Since ruffles were going out at around this time), but you can really distinctly see that the ruffles (where ruffles there are – usually on older men which is good) are part of the shirt and distinctly separate from the cravat. Also there are LOTS of high collars and they’re not comically high to the point where they get wrinkled, like they were in Emma. (2020), so points for that also. These are the screencaps I gathered going back over it for posterity.

Mr. Knightley doesn’t really get a lot of cool outfits. His best is his purple velvet evening jacket which somehow manages to not look ostentatious (but is his only dress jacket), and his gold-topped Prussian boots (which you should just be able to see bottom right.) The worst though… I’m sorry, (looks up costumer’s name) Joan Ellacott – do you really expect me to feel the weight of Emma’s cock-ups when Mr. Knightley is rebuking her in such a cartoonishly proportioned top hat? It’s like being scolded by the Mad Hatter. All of the men’s hats are pretty flared in this series too, and I’m not totally sure but, I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that flared top hats are not right for this period?

I think Mr. Weston only has one day outfit (which, in keeping with his characterization is pretty farmer-chic) and one evening outfit. Frank’s dark green day-jacket is a pretty standard look on him and I don’t think we get a fresh look until his fabulous blue jacket/yellow waistcoat combo that he wears for Strawberry Picking/Box Hill. I believe his evening jacket is also dark green but it was tough to tell. Again I think he has only one set of evening-wear. I would expect Frank to have more, since he’s such a dandy.

Mr. John Knightley doesn’t have much to write home about in terms of evening kit, but DAYUM, his blue traveling coat is DOOOOOPE.

Let’s Talk Script

This adaptation was directed by John Glenister and Dramatized by Denis Constanduros.

Now I’ve seen a lot of positive reviews for this on IMDB calling it the… let’s see here… “The best Emma I’ve ever seen” and “The most true to the novel”… *Takes off spectacles and sighs heavily* I’m afraid I have to disagree. Several people also really love Doran Godwin’s Emma (We’ve already gone over why I don’t, and I have also seen reviews that name her and her lack of charisma as the main sticking point preventing them from really enjoying it, so I’m not alone). I’ve also heard it described as “sensitively handled” “Intimate” and “The most faithful to the spirit of Austen” and so forth, and again maybe it’s that prejudice against the stagey production and… no there’s definitely some other reason I have a problem with this version.

Let me make this clear – I don’t totally hate it, and I’m not here to shame the people who really love this version. Once again – if this version gives you what you want from the story I think that’s great for you. I, myself, like it pretty well and I think it’s one of the better early BBC Austen serials. It’s certainly not boring; but I do want to go over some of the changes that were made and choices in the script.

Some of them aren’t really that egregious, but they’re annoying in that I think they didn’t need to be made and don’t really add anything. Characters being added to scenes where they didn’t need to be and written out of scenes where their presence was missed. Like writing Mr. Elton out of Box Hill (And really the whole second half of the series, to facilitate Mrs. Elton flirting with Knightley), and adding Miss Bates into the after-dinner scene, I think at the Randalls Christmas party? I’m sure this was done for expediency but you have six episodes. It’s not as though you’re strapped for time.

Particularly praised, as far as I’ve seen, is the scene at Christmas when Knightley and Emma make up after their argument over Harriet. It takes place in the nursery, which I suppose isn’t an unreasonable place for Emma to be fawning over her niece (in the dramatization she seems to have been feeding the baby, where in the book she is playing with her). The book doesn’t specify where the scene takes place, although I assumed it to be a downstairs room, and I’m not sure that it’s entirely appropriate for Emma and a man (even one connected to her family through marriage) to be alone in an upstairs room together with the door closed and no more chaperone than a baby. But in spite of this, perhaps inappropriate, level of privacy, the scene feels less intimate to me than the book, where in the course of the conversation, where Mr. Knightley takes the baby from Emma “in the manner of perfect amity” and holds her himself and it is very adorable and sweet. In the dramatization, Knightley sort of just stands next to Emma’s chair and leans down a bit. After this conversation in the book, John comes into the room to talk to George, while in the show Emma puts the baby in the cradle and they leave the room to go downstairs.

But there are more outstanding changes that just feel wrong to me. When confronting Emma about her meddling in Harriet’s response to Mr. Martin’s proposal, Constanduros changes “What is the foolish girl about?” to “What is the stupid girl about?” it’s not that big a change, but it makes Mr. Knightley sound unnecessarily mean.

I’ve already mentioned the, er, additions regarding Mr. Weston’s dialogue and Mrs. Elton, and Jane shouting at Miss Bates; but by far the biggest, worst additions were made with Emma. The worst, I think, is the handling of this scene in Episode 4 when Harriet is feeling heartsick following Mr. Elton’s marriage.

And for those of you who don’t wanna follow the link, here’s a transcription:

Emma: Now Harriet! Your allowing yourself to become so upset over Mr. Elton’s marriage is the strongest possible reproach you could make to me!

Harriet: Miss Woodhouse –

Emma: Yes it is! You could not more constantly remind me of the mistake I made, which is most hurtful!

Harriet: Oh Miss Woodhouse, it was not intended to be!

Emma: I have not said “think and talk less of Mr. Elton” for my sake, Harriet, because it is for yours I wish it. My being hurt is a very… secondary consideration, but please, please Harriet, do learn to exert a little more self-discipline in this matter.

Harriet: {Looks down} Yes, Miss Woodhouse.

Emma: We are all creatures of feeling; we all suffer disappointments, it is how we learn to suffer them that forms our character. If you continue in this way, Harriet, I shall think you wanting in true friendship for me!

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse! You, who are the best friend I’ve ever had? Oh what a horrid, horrid wretch I’ve been!”

Emma: Oh now Harriet – (She’s gonna console her now, right?)

Harriet: Oh yes, I have, I have!

Emma: Harriet, control yourself! (ha ha bitch, u thought) Now, you will tie your bonnet, and you are coming with me to call on Mr. And Mrs. Elton at the Vicarage…

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse –

Emma: Yes you are! And I’m sure you will find it far less distressing than you think.

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse, must I?

Emma: Yes, Harriet; but you may borrow my lace ruff if you wish.

Harriet: Oh may I, Miss Woodhouse? Oh, thank you!

(Look how evil she looks! She looks like she’s planning on baking Harriet into a pie!)

While this scene is in the book and much of the dialogue is also from the book, it’s the lines that were added that stick out to me. Emma does tell Harriet that her allowing herself to become upset over the Eltons is a reproach on Emma more than anything else and reminds her miserably of the “Mistake [Emma] fell into” but from this point, the script takes a left turn from the firm but kind appeal to Harriet to move on for both her happiness and Emma’s own comfort, to a far more manipulative strain.

Even after Harriet apologizes, she goes from simply appealing to Harriet to let herself move on, to basically telling her that she’s a bad friend. She treats Harriet like she’s unreasonable for feeling this way, where in the book Emma is very understanding and feels that “she could not do too much for her; that Harriet had every right to all her ingenuity and patience…” and only after Harriet goes all afternoon with Emma soothing her and no improvement in her spirits does Emma take any kind of reproachful tack whatsoever.

In this scene, Emma says that her own happiness is a secondary consideration (this is stressed much more in the book) but from the way she says it, it seems more like she just wants Harriet to shut up about it rather than actually meaning it. (This is a very prominent example of Emma’s not seeming to really like Harriet at all in this version, only tolerating her presence.)

AND THEN she does something which Emma in the book most certainly did NOT do and forces Harriet to come with her to visit the Eltons, as if to put her on the spot and test how good a little friend she will be. I can’t express how disgusted I am by the changes and interpretation here. This is the culmination of the general through-line of Emma’s manipulative characterization being taken to an extreme. She looms over Harriet sounding, by turns, like a school marm and a saccharine nanny. She’s like a (very) low budget version of Tilda Swinton as the White Witch in The Chronicles of Narnia.

My question about all of these changes is simply: Why? They don’t improve the story or the characters. They’re not big, but a lot of them just strike me as weird and unnecessary, but I guess there’s no accounting for artistic license.

Final Thoughts

So is it a faithful adaptation? I often find this a more complex question to answer for myself than one would think, since inflection and line delivery and even, at some points, intention behind what the characters say tends to be up to the interpretation of the person reading the book.

Is the dialogue faithful? Other than the many changes I’ve mentioned (and the numerous cuts and edits I didn’t – and besides no screenplay can be 100% faithful), for the most part yes.

Are the characters accurate to description / faithful in their portrayal – again this tends to be subjective and opinions vary. In my opinion, Emma is not. I’ve mentioned that Knightley is too old, and Emma not only seems more intentionally manipulative than I believe she’s meant to be, and also just does not seem 21. She acts and looks like a much older woman, especially when preaching at Harriet) but she’s also very gawky, and Emma is supposed to look very healthy and glowing.

So my book accuracy rating meets in the middle at a 4.5. It’s NOT the most faithful adaptation I’ve seen, nor is it the most fun or the most intimate, but it’s not totally a travesty either and there are good things in it, even with a robot witch playing the main lead.

Ribbon Rating: Tolerable (43 Ribbons )

Tone: 4

Casting: 5 (Witchy automaton Doran Goodwin plays opposite avuncular good-fellow John Carson. Fiona Walker stands out as Mrs. Elton.)

Acting: 5 (Doran Goodwin is by turns crazed and mechanical with some momentary touches of what might be actual emotion. Raymond Adamson way over-acts Mr. Weston as a hobbeldy-hoi, verging on uncouth.)

Scripting: 4

Pacing: 4

Cinematography: 4 (A bump up from the usual 1 or 2 for TV dramas of the time. Surprisingly less stagey than expected.)

Sets and Settings: 5

Costumes: 7 (Very clearly of the 70’s but drawing on perfectly accurate styles that jived well with contemporary taste)

Music: 1 (Plinky, poorly played piano music. Only used for intro and outro I think? Jane Fairfax can neither play nor sing.)

Book Accuracy: 5 (They changed a lot of small details. Lines are changed unnecessarily (Calling Harriet “Stupid” rather than “Foolish” – Why?) Mrs. Elton seems to have a thing for Knightley? People present when they shouldn’t be, others absent when they should be present, again without any apparent reason.)

#jane austen emma #jane austen #regency #period drama #costume drama #emma 1972

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silentauroriamthereal · 4 years ago

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So, I watched Happiest Season yesterday, and I have thoughts. A lot of thoughts. Spoilers abound and this is long, so I’ll put this under a cut.

Happiest Season: a review

You have to ask yourself how “happy” a happy ending really is when you glance down at the time bar on the film and see that there’s less than fifteen minutes left and none of the story’s problems have been even remotely resolved.

Skip to the closing credits, and I hadn’t changed my mind. This is a “happy” ending where a great deal of the problems in the plot were left either completely unresolved, or whose happiness wasn’t earned – wasn’t properly fleshed out, developed, supported, or in fact, even happy.

What an incredibly toxic family the Caldwells are. Let’s start with them: there are three daughters. Sloan has apparently cemented her parents’ permanent disappointment by having left a promising legal career in favour of raising a family. Side tangent: are we really still having this discussion, in 2020? This binary choice between family OR career? Besides, Sloan evidently developed a different, and very lucrative career. I also strongly dislike the way the perception of her marriage ending is portrayed as a failure. Her awful parents both resent her having left the legal field, yet have refused to now see her as anything other than a parent, ignoring her new career choice and, it seems, literally anything else about her. Then we have Jane, who is overtly abused. Treated as lesser than anyone else in the family apart from technical support with malfunctioning printers, Jane is constantly criticized, chastised, literally told to not put herself in the centre of the family for a holiday photo. I was horrified and devastated by the wanton destruction of her painting at the end, too. I’m happy for her that her book got published and that she found success there, but I hate that this brutal, completely unnecessary destruction of her art happened and was totally overlooked.

I’m going to come back to Harper, because there’s a LOT to say there.

The way the parents, Tipper and Ted, treated Abby, was appalling from start to finish. Leaving aside the ENTIRE question of the secret girlfriend thing, if my family ever treated a friend or even distant acquaintance the way the Caldwells treated Abby, I would be furious with them. I used to frequently bring friends who were international students or just on their own for the holidays to my parents’ place for Thanksgiving dinner or Christmas festivities. These people were so, so, so incredibly rude to Abby, from ignoring her when she first arrived to giving her a terrible bedroom with a door that doesn’t lock, to walking in on her multiple times while she was changing or in bed – that level of complete disrespect infuriated me! Just allowing those awful kids to be in her private space without any sort of discipline, consequences, or apologies was unacceptable. The way they treated Abby after those same kids – which she was stuck with, without any sort of request to watch them – planted that necklace on her, was unacceptable. The utter lack of apology for having literally accused her of theft, for accusing her multiple times after that – WOW. Treating Abby as though she was the unexpected, extra guest at the restaurant that first night, and giving the ex-boyfriend the parents kept shoving on Harper the proper one was unacceptable.

Then there’s how Harper treated Abby. Let’s start with the restaurant: first of all, had my parents pulled that stunt on my friend/guest/secret girlfriend, I would have let them know then and there that it wasn’t okay. And then I would have, I don’t know, asked the staff to bring a proper chair, and if that turned out to be impossible, I would have insisted that she take mine instead, and sat on the little chair myself. Asking anyone to closet themselves is an act of violence, and watching that as a member of the LGBTQ2+ community was actively harmful to witness. Again, a lot of the crap that Harper subjected Abby to would have been awful no matter WHO Abby was: you don’t abandon your guest to hang out with old friends. If they’re ready to go home, then you go home with them. It’s basic hospitality. Considering that Abby was Harper’s partner, that’s a whole extra layer of harm. THEN add the ex-boyfriend, a horribly-treated ex-girlfriend, and toxic old friends to the mix, and you have something beyond appalling. Adding this stuff on top of not standing up for Abby to her family, not insisting that she be given somewhere proper to sleep during her time in her parents’ house, not insisting that she be treated with the most basic respect, not defending her during the whole jewellery theft situation, and even going along with the parents’ de-invitation to that dinner – that’s inexcusable. You don’t treat other people that way, much less your partner. Then add Harper calling Abby controlling, while simultaneously having the nerve to get angry about Abby spending time with Riley, which is possibly the only good thing that happened for Abby during that entire, awful trip �� yeah. I was finished with Harper by that point.

Harper also actively participated in the way her sisters were constantly put down by their parents. The responsibility of being the privileged favourite is to use your status to bring others up. Harper doesn’t appear to have any sort of spine or courage whatsoever. It was only after she was forcibly outed by Sloan – and such was her privilege that the parents believed that it was a “malicious” lie rather than a “shocking” secret – that Harper even admitted the truth, and that was only after forcing Abby to watch her deny it yet it again. While I did love John (the gay best friend)’s entire speech about someone’s love not being the same thing as being ready to come out, there is nonetheless a ton of harm in forcing your partner watch that. It does affect them. It does disavow their identity at the same time, when they’re in a relationship with you. Her pattern of behaviour of throwing other people under the bus, like Riley, is very much intact.

I completely comprehend Harper’s fear of being rejected by her family. Apparently it was a well-founded fear, based on her awful, awful parents. That’s one of the reasons why the ending didn’t resonate for me at all: it wasn’t earned. Harper’s turn-around from being completely unwilling to have her parents know the truth to claiming that Abby was the only thing that mattered to her, came out of nowhere. It wasn’t a supported development. It happened too quickly. Similarly, the parents both going from being just about the worst parents on the planet to having a VERY sudden change of heart and behaviour, just happened unbelievably quickly. There was no questioning the entire history of their practises or what was wrong with them, no questioning how they’d treated any of their kids. The whole “consequence” for Ted was deciding, of his own accord, not to align himself with a politician who would force Harper to zip it – sorry, continue to zip it – about her identity. He shouldn’t have aligned himself with that woman in the first place. No one ever apologized to Abby about the way they treated her from start to finish, from patronizing her for being an orphan or the constant lack of respect shown her, to the false accusations of theft. Not a single part of it was atoned for at any point. Even Tipper being so disgusted with Abby’s ipad photography skills was disgusting. You just don’t talk to other human beings that way, and there was no resolution for me on any of this. There were also no consequences for Sloan’s horrific, SUPER-public outing of Harper, for Harper’s destruction of Jane’s painting, for the kids’ planting of the necklace on Abby, or for anyone’s horrendous treatment of Abby in general.

So yes: when you’re less than fifteen minutes out from the end of a supposed romantic comedy that was more upsetting to watch than entertaining or funny, and you’re actively rooting for the main character to walk away from her so-called partner and her toxic family, that’s not good. I’m not sold on the “romance” aspect, either. John (Dan Levy’s character) was the only good part of this movie, for me, and that’s overlooking his completely rude ignoring while on his phone at the beginning, or his negligent care of the animals he was supposed to be taking care of. (Gross, again – animals’ lives have value, too, and if my pet sitter killed my pet through negligence while I was away, I would be furious!) But his point about “sticking it to the patriarchy” in terms of Abby asking Ted for his permission/blessing to marry Harper was spot on. For all the hype about this being a progressive, lesbian, holiday rom-com, this film managed to perpetuate a lot of gross aspects of straight, white, misogynistic, heteronormative culture, like women being the property of their fathers and needing to obtain a male parent’s “permission” to marry another human being. The only person’s “permission” that was needed here was Harper’s, and then it’s not about permission – it’s about two adults making a consensual decision to commit themselves to each other. It’s great if you have the support of family – aka, BOTH parents, on BOTH sides – but that support is a bonus, not a prerequisite. Perpetuating the false dichotomy of family vs career for women only, is a harmful one to keep perpetuating. That question is never asked of men.

I was honestly kind of disgusted that Abby chose to stay with Harper by the end. I get it, but it definitely didn’t leave me with warm, romantic feelings. It left me with the deflated feeling I invariably experience whenever a woman makes the choice to be the bigger person and submit herself to a damaging situation or relationship. Mostly what I’m left with is anger that no one spoke up for Abby at any point, even John. That, and anger and sorrow over Jane’s painting. So yeah: it wasn’t as bad as bury your gays, but it also wasn’t really a happy ending for me, or super enjoyable to watch. Do better, Hollywood. Do a lot better.

#happiest season #reviews #lgbtq2+#bury your gays

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autumnblogs · 4 years ago

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Aside Glance: The Palpable Absence of the Dubiously Canonical

So you might have noticed throughout my writings that I have at the same time avoided directly talking about any of the expanded universe material while also occasionally alluding to it just enough to make it noticeable. At least, probably.

So to nobody’s surprise, let me say;

I don’t like the Homestuck Epilogues.

Before I dig into why, I wanna dig out what I think I actually do like about the Homestuck Epilogues. CW: for mentions of suicide, sexual violence, fascism, genocide, etc. Spoiler Warning for the Homestuck Epilogues, although if you haven’t read them by now, good; don’t. Keep reading for my thoughts on the Epilogues.

I do like that the Homestuck Epilogues say quite loudly and clearly that Fascism Is Terrible, and that Neo-Liberals are often Discount Fascists at best in terms of the material effects they have on the world that we have to share with them. They can often end up being interchangeable, and events can cause someone with a temperament predisposed toward Neo-liberalism down the path of bloody reactionary sentiment the way it did with Jane.

Homestuck has always been a pretty soundly anti-authoritarian work, and pretty aggressively contemporary work, so it makes sense that Homestuck^2 would reflect an internet culture rabidly obsessing about the politics of the Trump-Era United States, cast its villains as parallels to the Trump Administration, the grody religious movements it catered to, and the hyper-rich dingalings who benefited from it.

I do like that the Homestuck Epilogues develop the theme of criticizing the author and continues to call attention to its narrators, this time by explicitly casting them as villainous, and morally ambiguous/incomprehensible respectively. A central idea in Homestuck is the relationship between Author, Audience, and Characters, and the blending of the lines between them.

I like that it calls attention not just to the idea that a story’s narrator is an agent themselves, but also to the reality that the narrator may not have the best interests of either their readers, or their characters in mind. I like that the authorial powers of these characters are represented as overtly dangerous and evil when they are addressed at all.

I also like that the Homestuck Epilogues are rather brutally honest about the fact that sometimes, the people that you grew up with - your close friends - grow apart from you, and turn into kind of bad people. I’ve watched that happen in real time, and have had to stop hanging out with people because they just kind of... turned evil. That’s something that needs to be discussed more in fiction, and more honestly than the usual way. When the most visible example of like, someone you knew and loved turning into a bad person is like, Anakin Skywalker, maybe the world needs more stories about that.

So good, that’s what we’ve got for things I think were good to say. Well done.

What don’t I like about the Homestuck Epilogues?

In a word, I think, they are cruel. Relentlessly cruel. Even actively malicious.

Homestuck has, of course, always been rather mean-spirited and adversarial, pretty much since page one. And really, so has Andrew’s writing in general, since the days when he ran the site Team Special Olympics. His humor walks a fine line between and outrageous and genuinely offensive, as he dares you to say, “That’s fucked up!” so he can respond “it was just a joke, where’s your sense of humor?”

But the Epilogues transcend the usual sardonic envelope-pushing we can usually count on Andrew for, and instead opt to sink their teeth into the readers in an assault on the senses, and on the sensibilities. Reading the Epilogues is a brutal experience to endure emotionally, and in a lot of places, morally offensive.

And they are this way practically from the first page; our very first impression of the Homestuck Epilogues is a content warning that presents itself in such a way as to be almost unmistakably parodic. The stylization as an AO3 work, particularly in the context of Homestuck, where these sorts of overzealous content warning pages are associated with preachy jerks like Kankri, it comes across as a direct challenge to the viewer, and by a challenge, I really mean an attack. It is a mean-spirited joke at the expense of people who have a desire to curate their media experience - and then the authors have the gall to say that the one of the goals of the Epilogues is to challenge people to curate their media more.

Every time a character could conceivably make a bad decision, or become a more ill-conceived version of themselves, they somehow manage it, which becomes all the more unbearable because of the identification of character and audience that has been the case throughout all of Homestuck. If Homestuck introduces us to this entire cast and says, this is you, the Epilogues seem to follow up with and there is nothing good about you. Jade Harley somehow transforms into a grotesque caricature of a trans-woman, a girl who is sexually incontinent and predatory in a way that is directly tied to her having a dog penis - a state of being which the text variously slut-shames her for in Meat, or alternatively uses to blame her for ruining Dave and Karkat’s relationship in Candy.

John Egbert is severely depressed and dysfunctional, and this leads him either to go off and kill Lord English to chase the thrill of adventure and his own sense of purpose (in direct opposition to the all-but-explicitly-stated takeaway from Homestuck which Dave gives us, that the better option is to just leave the story alone altogether - explicitly the worst decision he could make according to the rules of Homestuck) or descend into decades of nihilistic solipsism while the world disintegrates around him.

Dirk’s worst natures take over him and transform him into a person who can only conceivably be satisfied either by becoming an arch-villain, or by murdering himself.

The Epilogues are aggressively cruel to Jake English, choosing to double down on the lack of emotional resolution he suffered from at the end of Homestuck, and squarely placing the blame for his own misery on his own shoulders, in a way which is pretty hard to read around, which is part and parcel of the general malice which Homestuck has historically treated mentally ill characters with. Nearly all the kids in Homestuck have suffered incomprehensible levels of mental and physical abuse, and the text expects them to simply overcome it sheerly by force of will. Sure, Jake is miserable but it’s his own fault, the text seems to say; if he’d just get his act together, like Dave, maybe he could get on with his life without being mind-broken by Dirk, or raped and whipped by Jane.

This isn’t even to delve into the flagship reveal of Homestuck 2, that Rose and Jade in the Candy Timeline have not only had a daughter of their own (without telling Kanaya), but that furthermore they have replicated their own trauma in her. Rose and Jade’s daughter has grown up completely emotionally alone, in the care of her Moms’ archenemy.

The point in all of this is not that the Epilogues have made everyone behave out of character or anything like that - I think it’s clear after a re-read especially that all of this is a conceivable direction that these characters could have taken. Rather, the Epilogues reliably choose to believe the worst of the characters of Homestuck in terms of their writing decisions. Everyone always makes the worst decision that they could make, or at the very least, nearly the worst. And because of the identification of reader and character, we can’t help but take away from that a sense that this is what the authors think of us as well.

And in case it wasn’t stated explicitly enough, a running theme throughout the Epilogues is that all this conflict and badness taking place is, to some extent or another, because we the audience are looking at it. As Andrew stated in relation to the Epilogues, there’s a kind of Happily Ever After possibility bubble around the characters that intrinsically collapses into conflict the moment we observe the events again - in other words, by participating in a story, we the audience members are somehow complicit in the characters’ suffering. Yet not all stories must be driven by conflict - and who triumphs and who fails in that conflict says a lot about what a story has to say about real life.

The Epilogues engage in a kind of voyeuristic cruelty, a kind of pessimism and cynicism, a kind of relentless ugliness that I have seldom seen, and to what end? The whole thing seems to me an attack on the audience.

Aside from general, abstracted claims toward authorial intent (which I think is there), I also want to say that, I can’t emotionally engage with the Epilogues, for a personal reason; as somebody who has struggled with almost daily suicidal ideation for most of my adult life, the way that the Epilogues deal with that subject goes from troubling to malicious and hostile in its treatment of Dirk’s suicide.

And staying personal, while I haven’t had to deal with some of the other sensitive topics that the Epilogues handle recklessly, handle them recklessly they do - Jake is serially raped by Jane, and in a way that he serves as a vehicle to move the plot forward, rather than with any kind of compassion for Jake’s condition. The possibility that Tavros Crocker might be being molested by Gamzee is brought up flippantly in one scene and played off as a joke.

The Homestuck Epilogues play at maturity through handling dark themes and sensitive topics, and reveal a profound immaturity in their authors because of the ways in which they are cruelly, insensitively handled over and over again.

I guess I’ll close with the least egregious thing. The Homestuck Epilogues just aren’t funny. Even at its bleakest, Homestuck has always been funny. In their relentless pursuit of cruelty, and the shared misery of their audience and characters, the Homestuck Epilogues forgo even this most basic element of Homestuck, which Andrew has always described as being basically a comedy.

Anyway; I will not be doing a thorough analysis of the Epilogues. I hate them too much and they suck.

#The Homestuck Epilogues #rape mention #suicide mention #fascism

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