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jockpoetry · 4 years ago

Note

supernatural sees women as a tool for development and strengthening of narratives/motivation and dean sees his body as a tool. is that anything?

When I saw this ask I really made the 🥴in real life. So, yeah anon, I do think there’s something to this.

Quick Disclaimer before I actually launch into my thoughts™: A lot of my read of Dean stems from my experience as both an oldest daughter and a transman. Being the oldest daughter was an experience I lived for many years, but I am also a man. I wasn’t raised as a man, I wasn’t socialized as a man, and even though once I came out upon reflection my masculinity was obviously there. Like I was a man™ before I knew I was a man. Even when I actively tied my identity to femininity for a long time! A lot of my prideful moments were based around statements like: “I was the only girl who (fill in the blank).”

So I am just putting that out there before I launch into my spiel about Dean/Gender/Tool because they all interlock for me.

I am also going to apologize in advance because I know this has fully gone off the rails and I’m not even done writing it yet. If this is incomprehensible ! Well, happens to the best of us.

First off, most importantly I guess before we discuss womanhood and Dean and the way both are utilized on the show I need to say that I personally don’t subscribe the whole Dean is female coded thing.

It’s a read I can absolutely understand. But for me..he’s not.

He’s a hypermasculine man to the point that when (and because he is written as a punchline, as the stupid™ brother, as the whore™, as the mother/father™, as daddy’s blunt instrument™, etc) Dean deviates from the pre-accepted definition of hypermasculine it’s Wrong.

It’s Instantly Feminine.

I think the internet has made the world very black and white, or blue and pink maybe. This point, I think, colors a lot of these discussions. Dean cooks, he cleans and so therefor he’s female coded. When that really just feeds back into the whole toxic masculinity loop. You can’t be masculine and cook and clean and cry. That’s for feminine people only.

I get the argument! I do, I just think that Dean’s actions are not inherently feminine, it’s just in the vacuum of Female and in the Absence of Traditional Masculinity it makes sense to assign him female coded and move on.

IN FACT the way that Dean is the action hero of the show, the Masculine™ one on the show - but he cries, and he rages, and he cooks (Again and Again) and cleans (Again and Again). The fact he’s macho and confident but he has so little self esteem. Is frankly insane to me. You have this blaze of glory character who is so depressed that they have him kill himself. Twice. In explicitly “I hate myself, I hate hearing all the things I hate about myself, I want to destroy myself” ways.

On just a regular ol’ network show that is just ungodly bad at times. They let their Male Hero cry - all the time (if I linked every example of this the essay would be...longer than it already is, but just take my word for it). Dean tears up and grieves and shows more than just Angry Horny Violent™ (he shows plenty of that, don’t get me wrong) but he’s Emotional (Again and Again and Again). In many different ways!

I mean, beyond even just tearing up, they make their Male Hero™ face sexual violence in pretty, uniquely horrifying - and queer! - ways.

Let’s make it clear, they did a lot of this unintentionally.

Or they do it as a joke.

Off of dean for a moment to say women are plot devices in this show. I could probably count on one hand female characters who have sincere depth to them that have roles outside of progressing plot, filling a filler episode, and who are still alive. Like even characters such as Charlie who are wholly developed, and interesting, are only remembered/mentioned/utilized to progress plots or fill an episode out - and then she dies. For pain™ for plot™ for no other reason than to traumatize a character.

Which let’s also make it clear Dean’s trauma is also only used as a plot device (as is Sam’s but in a different way, and Cas’ trauma is a whole other barrel of fish we’re not gonna dive into right now). Like wholesale full stop they don’t actually care about what happened to him. Unless it’s relevant in an episode.

Oh that boys home he was left at when he was 16 for months? Sure we’ll sprinkle that in in the back half of the series. Oh he was covered in bruises and said it was from a hunt (when it’s clear contextually they were from his father but saying the fantastical but true is easier than saying the uncomfortable but true). As Dean says though the story became the story, he was sixteen. He just went along with what John said.

We only see Dean ever truly rage at John, by the way, when either Dean is dead (when he’s between life and death and he rages at John, right before John “apologizes” for traumatizing him, for putting too much on Dean’s shoulders, and fucking dying) or John is dead (the Djinn episode where Dean is straight™ and John is dead™ and he goes to his grave and just yells and rages like he should have to his father in the real world).

Dean’s trauma from being both tortured and torturer in hell? Yeah, we don’t talk about that after it’s Relevant™. Even though it’s clear - especially in the demon!dean, mark of cain era, all those years later - Alastair still has his hooks inside of Dean. I stopped watching originally after s8 ended. I was fed up with the show, and with this whole renaissance I’ve been doing a rewatch and I’m into season twelve now and it really has never come up again.

Even when he had the mark of cain and he was tasked with questioning and accused of torturing it was “the mark has changed you” and not “you were victim and victimizer in hell for forty years, which is longer than you’ve been alive on earth” (and, was about as long as he wound up living. Which is desperately sad.

Because we talk about Sam’s desire for a “normal” life but, Dean wanted out too. He was tired in the first few seasons of this show, he never had a chance to taste freedom (we don’t count the boys home, because that was a different kind of regimented life, and it was a false freedom) the way that Sam did in Flagstaff with Bones or at Stanford with Jessica. Love for Dean is sacrificing, it’s putting himself/his happiness/his well-being last.

Because Dean only knows love in the context of violence (like all of these fun examples, for starters) is a phrase that I’ve said a lot both in private chats and on here, and I absolutely think it goes to him being a tool (a blunt instrument, a plot device, so both textually and metatextually) instead of a person. Which Cas sees Dean’s shame/guilt and sees that side of Dean because he touched his soul, and saw more than just the Righteous™ man, more than just the tool, he saw A good man, not a machine.

On the other side though you have how “bad guys” view Dean: Desperate, Sloppy, Needy, Dean’s hole (Again), which is again so wildly counterintuitive to the story of a Macho Man Hero™. You’re using vocabulary that is both queering him and feminizing (and I know this a meme format, but sincerely it is done in a derogatory way it is feminizing. It’s breaking him down to bare parts, to a sloppy hole).

My whole rewatch I have been absolutely fascinated by how identity and free will is utilized/conceptualized on this show. Castiel has been my main focus, but Dean and how he is framed by himself and others is...fascinating - and frustrating. The writers inconsistency lends itself not only to this unintentionally queer character, but also one that again is incredibly easily read as a non-traditionally masculine character.

As a feminine character.

This show has so few female characters that of course it had to foist the roles/behaviors/plots that a female character might have onto a male character. Which I think is part of why reading Dean as trans (either transmasc, or transfemme) is so easily done like.

Half of these are shit posts, but you can find trans allegories/textual evidence in this show again, again, again, again, and again. And this is unintentional, they don’t want you to look at Dean and see woman, former future or present. Like a lot of these I’m sure are punchlines for them, because women/queer folk are punchlines to them.

Sometimes the only women in an episode are random witnesses who get two sentences of dialogue, and then the main guest character is a man. Who flirts with Dean, and Dean is receptive to it.

They paint themselves into a corner, there are female Rabbi. So easily could Aaron have been a woman instead of a man, but they made the choice to play up the HaHa Dean & Men card.

Because, again, Dean has filled the slot of Woman™ of Female Lead™ and the flirting would’ve been straight if Dean was a woman. It’s a plot device, they needed to have the guest character be disarming, be cute, make the main character flustered.

It’s just the main character is a man, because they’re allergic to women. But they still need those female plots, tools of femininity, to move their show forward. I mean I am a big subscriber to transmasc Jo (no idea if anyone else is with me on this one, but let me explain). Jo is in love with Dean (concept) not Dean (actuality). Which, we’ve all had our eggs cracked by someone like that. We were in love with them until we realized we just wanted to be them.

He loved her like a little sister, she loved him like a lost idol. He’s a golden calf and she dies for him, because she believed in him, she was the original character dashed at the altar of the Winchesters.

I fully believe if she had lived and if this show had a crumb of actual good writing Jo could have been a deeply compelling transmasc character. But I also think she’s a fascinating inversion of Dean. Dean is a Masculine Character who subverts Toxic Masculinity, Jo is a Tomboy™ she’s not your (if you take it straight, literally and metaphorically) average female love interest. She’s angry, she’s not soft at all, all edges and corners and thorns. She isn’t helpless, she’s stubborn but not in a “you’re going to get punished for this” way. She’s right when she’s stubborn. She’s helpful, she’s a martyr.

I could do a whole other essay just on Jo (and Ellen, and Ash, what a fucking trio!) but needless to say Jo was one of the first...plot device feminine tools sacrificed to this show. She was a regular, she was unique, she was an engaging character, and she still died (to progress the plot? no. for man pain? yeah, for like three episodes maybe, and then it’s forgotten just like the rest of Dean’s trauma, as we mentioned above).

Dean and Women and Love is a very interesting tool used too because. Boy they sure try to make Dean love women and it fails in small ways, and in big, meaningless, failed het domesticity (again) ways. Not to mention whatever Lust (in the form of a woman) having no effect upon him, when they could have used that moment to assert his Masculinity and Heterosexuality. He behaved normally? And...also...whatever the fuck the Adios thing was!

Like they have these opportunities to make him Traditionally (toxically) Masculine, but make the choice to...not? To soften him. Because it’s a tool. He’s their female lead, textually he had to take on the role of mother(/father) to Sam, but...I mean this is a million miles long already. I know, but we absolutely can’t not talk about his Paternal/Maternal behaviors. (Which appear again and again again and again, outside of his relationship with Sam even/especially). He’s the mother hen, sage, safety net, beacon, home to so many side characters they meet.

I mean in many ways Jody is also a Dean comparison. Lost her family. Found a new family. She is non-traditionally feminine, but easily flustered and Silly™ (let’s just drop the entire sex talk over family dinner scene with Alex and the boys and looking to them for help, even though she was already a mother, and she’s a cop, and a hunter and this confident no nonsense individual.... She’s not). We are meant to see her as this hard ass, but she makes extra food for the boys to take back to the bunker. She’s deadly in a fight, but also still easily overwhelmed and put into damsel mode, and she cares so much even in the face of adversity.

It’s also fun to see how Jo | Jody are reflections of Dean at different points of his life. Younger, cocky | Older, settled.

Even when the text tries to tell us that he’s not.

When it reminds us that he’s violent. That he is his father, even if he says that Sam is more like John (which was reflexive, which was angry because of Adam and how Sam was behaving like Dean in that episode, and yes there are parallels to be drawn between Sam and John, the show barely dives into them). Instead we’re told that Dean is John (Again and Again and Again and Again).

So intensely that a fanfictionalized version of the Winchester Gospels makes it an entire fucking musical number.

And yet, despite the texts insistence to make Dean Macho Man Father Reborn™ We get this Dean who is silly (and directly compared/contrasted to the female character in this scene), soft, in heels, nagging, and... Sully (you know Sam’s imaginary friend who has the same Haircut Dean has, who is a softer, shorter, friendlier, campier, version of Dean who was a replacement For Dean until the real one let Sam back in? That? Sully?) it’s hard to take them seriously.

Hell, even when he was A DEMON? What did they do? They had him sing off-key drunken karaoke, they had him doing this ! Like that’s your hero, unhinged, free to be as bad as he could be, and you put him in a cowboy hat in a romance with the king of hell.

The Female Lead, everyone. Who’s biggest betrayal(s) comes at the hands of his love interest (again, a man even though it was an angel who could’ve taken any vessel! who could’ve been recast, who canonically dies admitting his love to Dean - that one), who he tries so hard to be loyal to.

The contradictions of his character are laughable. He is so emotional, but if he is engaged about his emotions? He shuts down, or he’s exasperated about being asked about them. It really is Female Lead/Only Here For The Plot disease, because everything is more important than him. How’s he doing? Doesn’t matter outside of the context of how x character is doing or that y character is dead. Or his emotions only matter if they’re done in penance.

They also really do frame him as Pretty Boy™ in a violent way, or in a derogatory manner. They’ll give us homoerotic shots like this or these and never really acknowledge how these are gay shots. Sorry the gun scene is a a straight up sex scene, the beer sip spilling out over his mouth is oral, the scene where Cas fills up Dean’s glass with whisky is also a sex scene, they do this shit on purpose but accidentally queer it up. If Dean was a woman these scenes wouldn’t even matter. They’d be passing moments, but because he is not just a man but A Man™ they’re insane to see.

Not to mention all of these scenes and all the ones I haven’t linked where Dean dresses up. He performs masculinity, but he performs femininity too. He’s a plot device that is slotted in to whatever role they need. He’s Super Straight Butch Man™ but coaches the lesbian on how to successfully flirt with a man. He’s Action Hero™ who sits through a montage with the same lesbian and yays and nays her outfits, and enjoys himself.

Fuck he loves dressing up, he feels better in these costumes because performing a character is easier than being himself. Because who is Dean? He’s a tool, both textually and metatextually. It is exactly how the women and because of the women on the show that Dean is the way that he is. If there was a more steady female presence Dean would not be half as much of a plot device or half as camp/gay/feminine/non-traditionally masculine/queer coded as he is.

In conclusion....

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn meta #spn #gender #anon #replies #messages #my writing #ANYWAYS PHEW okay anon i don't know if i even fully got to your point but i woke up at like 3:30 to this ask and i've been fixated on it #HOPE THIS IS EVEN JUST a little bit coherent #the way i meant for this to talk so much more about transness and eldest daughter syndrome and just FORGOT #oops #oh well

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derekfoxwit · 3 years ago

Text

Doctor Dorpden’s Critical Tips of Prestige

Note: This post was made with satirical intentions in mind. I’m only emphasizing because I’ve had a couple of comments on previous joke posts I’ve did take it seriously. With that said, here we go.

Tip 1: For starters, remember that when looking at the work, if the Mystic Knee twitches fast enough to punch a hole in a wall, this suggests that the work should be near the lowest of the low. No further development of opinion is needed.

Tip 2: For an equal degree of sophistication, give the warm comfort of nostalgia at least 5 times more chances than the new thing that MAY seem actually poggers.

Tip 3: If you have the anecdote of encountering shitty fans, then use them as a scapegoat for the show they flaunt over being shitty. Clearly, they’re always making the show the way it is.

Tip 4: If you haven’t heard much about a newer film or show you’re yet to watch, there’s an 85% chance that film or show is actually not worth your time. The Father (2020) isn’t as widespread as Joker (2019) for a reason.

Tip 5: At this point, just go for the Asian Artist Dick. I’m actually in the mood to see merit in that because I want to look edgy against cute doodles. Stop attacking Uzaki-Chan, you cowards!

Tip 6: Avoid the electronic tunes. They’ll make you smell like a bum, for there’s no structural in a music album that’s nothing but wubs.

Tip 7: If you see a Tweet that looks dumb, use it as a means of generalizing all the fans of a work as sharing that same opinion.

Tip 8: If the cartoon I’m given doesn’t provide me with mature ideas such as slicing an Arbok in half or fake boobs, then the cartoon might as well be on the same level as Teletubbies.

Tip 9: You know the music is (c)rap when it brings up drugs, regardless of lyrical context.

Tip 10: Raw mood is the indicator of quality cartooning. If you’re quick to assume the worst in the newest HBO Max original cartoon, then you got thyself a stinker. Same thing if you were super bummed out when watching a new thing, regardless of anecdotal context.

Tip 11: When you’re not given continuous throwbacks, ensure you’re as reductive and over-generalizing about the works shown as possible.

Tip 12: If your hazy and imperfect as hell recollection of a children’s film, whether it’s Wall-E or Lilo & Stitch, would describe said film as “too sugary” or “key-waving schlock”, then that HAS to be the case. No meat on that bone whatsoever.

Tip 13: Simpler, more graphic style that isn’t as realistic as old-school Disney or Anime? You got yourself a lazy style with zero passion put into it.

UPA? Who’s THAT?!

Tip 14: Don’t trust anyone saying that western children’s cartoons had any form of artistic development after 2008 (with, like, TWO exceptions). If it did, why didn’t we go from stealing organs in a 2001 cartoon to showing opened stomachs in a 2021 cartoon?

Tip 15: Big booba is always important to the strong female character’s quality.

Tip 16: Only MY ships count, for they provide me with a feeling of intelligence.

Tip 17: “PG-13″ and “R” rating just simply mean you’re not caring for expressing themes in a sophisticated manner. It’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 18: In this age of smelly radicals, “Death of the Author” is more important than ever. Without it, this’ll imply that a classic like The Matrix was secretly toxic, due to what the Wachowskis have to say about it being an “allegory of trans people.”

Tip 19: Turn the fandoms you hate into your torture porn. Ask in Tweets to Retweet one sentence that’d “trigger” them. Go out of your way to paint all of them as blind consoomers. That’ll show them, and it’ll show how much more intelligent you are compared to those clowns.

Tip 20: Whatever the Mystic Knee dictates upon the first viewing of a work is what shall indicate the full structural extent of the film.

Tip 21: The mindset of a 2000s edgelord is one that actually understands the artistry of the medium of animation. Listen to that crazy but ingenious man.

Tip 22: Because sheer ambition makes me feel manly, the high pedestal you bestow upon a cartoon work should be based mostly on the mere mention or mere suggestion of serious topics. This means that pure comedy is smelly.

Tip 23: Is the new work tackling subjects that you’ve loved a childhood work of yours for covering? Just assume it’s super bare-bones in that case compared to the older case, for there’s nothing the older work can do to truly prove itself otherwise. Seriously, Letterboxd. Stop giving any 2010s cartoon anything above a 4/5

Tip 24: If the Mystic Knee is suggesting that the work is crummy, then consider any explanation off the top of your head for why the work in question is crummy.

Tip 25: Sexual and gender identity is inherently political, so don’t focus on them in the story. It’s no wonder why Full Metal Alchemist has caught on more than the She-Ra reboot.

Tip 26: Since I got bothered by a random butt monkey type character in a crummy cartoon, I’m now obligated to assume that having a butt monkey will only harm the writing integrity of the cartoon.

Seriously, Mr. Enter....what?!

Tip 27: We’re at a point where pure comedy for a kids’ cartoon is doing nothing but dumbing down the children. Like seriously...... I doubt Billy and Mandy would ever use farts as a punchline, unlike these newer kids comedies.

Tip 28: The difference between the innuendo in kids’ cartoons I grew up on and the ones Zootopia made is the sense of prestige they give me. Just take notes from the former instead.

Tip 29: Wanna make a work of artistic merit? Just take notes from the stuff I whore out to. It’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 30: Always remember this golden rule: If the newer work, or a work you’ve recently experienced the first time, was truly great, why isn’t it providing the exact emotions from your younger, more impressionable years?

Tip 31: If the Mystic Knee aims to break the bones of a character doing certain things (.i.e. having body count of thousands; lashing out to character; etc.), that means the character is bad and deserves no redemption.

Tip 32: If you want me to believe there’s any intrigue or depth in your antagonist, give them redemption, for I am in need of that sorta thing being spelled out. Looking at you, Syndrome. Should’ve taken notes from Tai Lung.

Tip 33: In a case where you’re going “X > Y” (.i.e. manga compared to western comics), ALWAYS CHERRY PICK! Use the recent controversies of the “Y” item while pretending that the “X” item has never had anything of the sort.

Tip 34: BEFORE you bring up those comments that shat on the original Teen Titans cartoon back when it was new, whether for making Starfire “more PC” or whatever.......the DIFFERENCE between them and me is that THEY were just bad faith fools that couldn’t see true majesty out of blind rage. I, however, am truly certain that calling any western TV cartoon from 2014-onward a work that transcends its generation suggests a destruction of the medium.

Tip 35: Based on fandom growth, it shows that any newer show isn’t being watched much by kids, but rather loser adults that act like children. Therefore, there’s more prestige in what I grew with.

Tip 36: The focus on children is bad at this point since the children of today have attention spans that flies would have.

Tip 37: A select few screenshots (or even one) of either a less elaborate attacking animation, less realistic game graphics, or a less on-model image in a cartoon indicates EVERYTHING about the work’s quality.

Tip 38: Consuming or writing media where characters go through constant suffering is little more than gaining pleasure out of it. YOU SICKOS!

Looking at you, Lily Orchard!

Tip 39: Whether it’s a sexual awakening story or just simply a romance, focus on a character being lesbian, trans, bi, etc., then it shouldn’t be in a kids’ work. It’s too spicy for them by default. Kids don’t want romance anyway.

Tip 40: The very idea of a western cartoon with no full-blown antagonist (i.e. Inside Out) is a destruction of animated artistry. Sorry, but it’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 41: Unless it’s my fluffy pillow, such as Disney’s Robin Hood, it should be obligated to assume the inserting of anthros is only there to pleasure the furries. Looking at YOU, Zootopia!

Tip 42: With how rough and rash The Beast was, it shows that he was more of an abusive lover. Therefore, I refuse to believe that Beauty and the Beast has any of the meticulous moral writing that most of Disney’s other 90s films has.

Tip 43: When you suggest one work should’ve “taken notes” from another work in order to do better, BE VAGUE! Those who agree will be shown to be geniuses.

Tip 44: Remember how morally grey Invader Zim was? That really goes to show how little the Western Animation scene has been trying since that show. Really should just be taking notes from that series (and of course anime).

Tip 45: Even if I have a radar that clearly indicates such, hiding the item I look for inside an enemy is always bad, for I refuse to believe it would be inside the enemy.

Goddamn it, Arin!

Tip 46: People struggle understanding your gender identity or pronouns? All there is to see in that is a giant cloud of egotism that reads “My problems” zapping another smaller cloud that reads “other people’s problems”. Seriously, kids are starving, so WHAT if you identity confused someone. Grow a spine!

Tip 47: Stop pretending that adaptations should colorize how a story or comic series should be defined. No way in FUCK can a cartoon or film incarnation become the definitive portrayal of my precious superhero idol.

Tip 48: Enough with your precious “limited animation” techniques, YOU WESTERN HACKS! All you’re doing is admitting to sheer laziness and lacking artistic integrity. Now if you excuse me, I’ll be watching more anime, since that gives me a sense of prestige.

Tip 49: If getting five times more detail than the 2D animated visuals have requires someone getting hurt, so be it. No pain, no gain after all.

Tip 50: Yes, I genuinely struggle to believe there’s this majestic level of layered material without having the most immediate yet still vague re-assurance practically yelling in my face. But that’s STILL the work’s fault, not mine.

Tip 51: Every Klasky-Csupo cartoon has more artistic integrity than any of them cartoons with gay lovers such as Kipo or the Netflix She-Ra show.

Tip 52: If Sergio Pablos’ Klaus is anything to go by, we have no excuse to utilize those smelly as fuck digital animation “styles” found on Stinky Universe, Suck-Ra or Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turds.

Tip 53: Stop projecting your orientation onto works of actual talent. Seriously, how does Elton John’s I’m Still Standing expel ANY rainbow flag energy?

Tip 54: Hip hop and electronica have been the destruction of music, especially the kind that’s actually organic and not farting on the buttons of a beeping or drumming gadget.

Tip 55: The audience for cartoons has become significantly less clear over the years. We should just go back to Saturday mornings of being sold toys or shit kids actually want.

Tip 56: PSAs for kids shouldn’t be about ‘woke’ content. They should be actual problems such as doing drugs; not playing with knifes / outlets / matches; or acceptance.

Tip 57: The instant you realize a detail in a childhood work that’s better understood as an adult, you’re forced to paint that work as the most transcendent thing in the world. It’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 58: Before you lash out on ALL rich people, remember this: #Not All Rich People.

Tip 59: There’s nothing to gain out of the (c)rap scene other than becoming a spiteful, gun-wielding thug that sniffs weed for breakfast.

Tip 60: Since the Mystic Knee told me to get anal about prom episodes in several gay cartoons, this shows that writing about one’s younger experiences just makes you look pathetic.

Tip 61: Another smelly thing about Zootopia is how it was painting a police chief as stern and exclusive. #Not All Chiefs

Tip 62: Me catching a glimpse of Grave of the Fireflies as a kid and turning out fine shows that you may as well show kids more adult works without worry. No amount of psychological questions being asked will suggest otherwise.

Tip 63: There’s a reason why the Mystic Knee keeps leaning more toward the 90s and early 2000s than most decades. That knee KNOWS where there’s a sense of true refinement.

Tip 64: The BIG difference between rock and electronica? Steward Copeland actually DRUMS. All that the likes of Burial, Boards of Canada, Depeche Mode and several others did was push drum buttons.

Tip 65: One exception to the golden nostalgia is when the work in question doesn’t stuff your face with fantastical, bombastic stories. At which point, there can only be rose-colored blinds covering Nickelodeon’s Doug. Nothing of merit or personal resonance to be found.

Tip 66: Remember that the sense of nuance in the work comes down to there being everything including the kitchen sink, whether it involves multiple geographic landscapes; giving us hundreds of characters; etc. Only through the extremes will I be able to tell there is nuance.

Tip 67: Once you see a joke that has an involvement with sexual or violent content, just ignore the full picture and just reduce it to having nothing to it but “sex, violence, gimme claps.”

PKRussel has entered the chat

Tip 68: With all the SJWs messing up the art of comedy, lament the times where you could be called a comic genius, NOT a monster, for shouting out the word “STAB,” calling a gay weird, painting Middle Easterns as inherently violent, etc.

Tip 69: Guitar twang will always win out over (c)rap beats. There’s a reason your grandma is more likely to listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd than Kendrick Lamar.

Tip 70: Once the Mystic Knee notices a lack of squealing at the video game with linearity, that shows there’s more artistry in going full-blown open world.

Tip 71: Related to Tips 66 and 68, ensure your comedy gets as much information and mileage out of each individual skit as possible. EMPHASIZE if you need to. Continuously spout out your quirky phrase of “STAB” if needed.

Tip 72: Based on the onslaught of TV shows with many seasons and episodes, animated or otherwise, it shows that there’s more worth going for that than simply having a miniseries or a 26-episode anime.

Tip 73: Building off of the previous tip, you’re better off squeezing and exhausting every little detail and notable characterization rather than keeping anything simple and possibly leaving a stone unturned, especially if there’s supposed to be a story.

Tip 74: Playing through the fan translation of Mother 3 made me realize how much some newer kids’ works just try too hard to get serious. Why even make the kids potentially think about the death of a family member?

Tip 75: The fear I had over Sid’s toys from the first Toy Story and similar anecdotal emotions are the be-all indicators of what kind of show or film is fitting for the children.

Tip 76: Seeing this British rapper chick have a song titled ��Point and Kill” just further exemplifies the fears I’ve had about rappers being some of the most harmful folks ever.

Tip 77: The problem with attempting to make a more “relatable” She-Ra is that kids aren’t looking for relatability. They want the escapism of buff fighters or something similar. This is why slice-of-life is so smelly.

Tip 78: Based on seeing the rating of “PG-13″ or “R,” I can tell that the dark humor is little more than “hur dur sex and guns.” Given the “TV-Y7 FV” rating of Invader Zim, the writers should’ve taken notes from that instead just so I can sense actual prestige.

Tip 79: The original He-Man has more visual intrigue in its animation than any of those smelly glorified doodles found in the “styles" of the 2010s and early 2020s.

Tip 80: It’s always the fault of the game that my first guess (that I refuse to divert from) on how I have to go through an obstacle won’t work.

Tip 81: Zootopia discussing prejudice ruins the majestic escapism I got from my precious childhood films from 1991-2004. Them kids might as well be watching the news. Now to watch some Hunchback after I finish these tips.

Tip 82: There is no such thing as an unreasonable expectation, and there’s especially no wrong way to address the lack of met expectations! For example, if you expect some early 2010s cartoon on the Disney Channel to be a Kids X-Files, yet you get moments such as some girl getting high on stick dipping candy, you got the right to paint the worst out of that show for not being “Kids’ X-Files.”

Tip 83: Related to my example for Tip 82, if you get the slightest impression of something being childish, you know you got yourself a children’s work that does little than wave keys and has basically nothing substantial for them. In this situation, those malfunctioning robots found in Wall-E are the guilty party.

Tip 84: Without the extensive dialogue that I’m used to getting, how can one say for certain there was any amount of characterization in the title character of Wall-E?

Tip 85: Ever noticed yourself gradually being less likely to expect an upcoming work or view a work you’re just consuming as “the next best thing”? That’s ALWAYS the fault of smelly “artists” (hacks really) and their refusal to give a shit.

Tip 86: It’s obligatory for your lead to be explicitly heroic just so there is this immediate re-assurance that they’re a good one.

Tip 87: Without the comforting safety net of throwbacks, one cannot be for certain that there has been an actual evolution of a series or the art of animation and video games.

Tip 88: Don’t PSA kids on stuff they give zero fucks about. That means no gender identities or pronouns, race, etc.

Tip 89: Don’t listen to Mamoru Hosoda saying that anime women tend to be “depicted through a lens” of sexual desire. He’s just distracting from the superior prestige found in anime women.

Tip 90: If you’re desperate to let others know that your talking points are reasonable, just repeat them over and over with little expansion on said talking points.

Tip 91: 7 or more seasons of art is better than 26 episodes of art. EVERY TIME!

Tip 92: Always remember to continuously talk up the innuendo and mature subject matter of the childhood work as the most prestigious, transcendent thing of all time. With that in mind, there’s a high chance that your favorite childhood work will be better known than Perfect Blue (1997), and there’s likely a reason for that.

Tip 93: An art style that gives many characters relatively more realistic arm muscle details will always shine through more than any sort of art style done for “simplicity” (laziness, really).

Tip 94: Seeing a few (like, even VERY FEW) people show more enthusiasm for Steven Universe over Invader Zim really shows the lower bar that has been expected out of the western animation scene compared to anime.

Tip 95: Electronic music makes less conventional time signatures cheap as hell. REAL music like rock makes them the exact opposite.

Tip 96: If your Mystic Knee suggests that the 90s cartoon being viewed doesn’t showcase a vague sense of refinement or artistic integrity, then every related assumption of yours is right. EVERY TIME!

Tip 97: Doing everything and the kitchen sink for one series or movie shows a better sense of refinement and prestige than any form of simplicity. THIS includes character design as well.

Tip 98: The advent of that Star Wars: Visions anime really shows just how stinky western cartoons have become.

Tip 99: For those wondering, no, Europe isn’t being counted in my definition of “western animation”. Doing so is a complete disservice to prestige.

Tip 100: If even less than half of these tips aren’t being considered, you can kiss that prestige badge goodbye. After all, I SAID SO!

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t4tbruharvey · 3 years ago

Note

(This is my third attempt at sending this ask kabjsbbd tumblr...great functioning website)

I would love to hear your Sugar and Spice headcanons! I got some, too, but those are more...vibe concepts (as in: what aesthetic and energy/personality I think they should have) than headcanons, so I'm curious what someone else thinks about what those two should be like

omg yay. gonna somewhat format this and also it'll range from silly to semi-serious but like. they're batman forever characters they're not going to be super heavy or anything

spice used to be a goon for harvey before being promoted to whatever her job is now, which she got because she was very over the top even then and was just generally a dramatic fem goth. as such she's pretty strong and tall and stuff bc that's how you get hired as a goon (and not a secretary or anything bc there was that one nerd from 2f strikes twice but he was NOT a goon). she's definitely more of a hater and she swears a lot, but she's been working with two-face for the longest time - i like thinking abt her when she's, idk, late 30s? older than she was in batman forever, and she's been their close associate for over a decade at LEAST, same w sugar - and as such she's like. not protective, per se, but she would say they're friends and she makes an effort to get him as a person bc like, fuck dude, nobody else is doing it. she genuinely likes harv. they're actual pals. and also she has big splotchy freckles all over her face but she covers them up.

sugar is, first and foremost, trans and a physics masters student. like those are the two MOST important things about her in my mind for SURE. anyway it's relevant bc after spice got promoted, she and two-face decided they needed another [person who does the same thing as spice] to balance it out and it was just chance that they saw sugar around the gotham u campus. they knew she was like, ideal, bc she was essentially angelcore elle woods in a room full of blue-plaid and grey slacks nerds. she's also down to be evil, which is fun, and she uses the money from schemes and shit to pay off her student loans <3 and also just sort of hang out in the penthouse. she gets on reasonably well with harvey bc they're both academia bitches, but she HATED spice at first.

echo and query play into this bc i think there was a time when twiddler was soooort of happening, and echo and query were round a lot so sugar and spice sort of both decided that they wanted to date echo and query. except echo and query were already dating and they only discovered this later, so it was an awkward few weeks and echo and query found it VERY funny. anyway after that they started to properly get along, and by now they're not only dating but they're also two-face's closest crime-friends. the four of them are a fucking UNIT they're best friends and they all hang out. and also sugar and spice are big on tiktok

*spice voice* or they WOULD be if not for punchline getting them suspended

#quick clarification if i'm saying harv/twoface i mean bbh/twoface and if i say two-face i mean both of them in this post #doesn't apply to other posts just this one #spice fucking. checks her phone and yells one day THEY TOOK. MY FUCKING ACCOUNT. ITS GONE #harv voice just make a new one spice voice NO U DONT UNDERSTAND I HAD 900K FOLLOWERS ON THERE

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schmokschmok · 4 years ago

Text

everything changes, nothing perishes

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Jon Sims x Martin K. Blackwood

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin K. Blackwood, Gerry Delano, Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Wordcount: 10.000

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Alternate Universe - College/University

Romantic & Platonic Soulmates

Brief Georgie/Jon

Amicable Breakups

Trans Melanie King & Martin Blackwood

He/Him & They/Them Pronouns For Asexual, Nonbinary Royalty Jon Sims

HOH Tim Stoker

The Mechanisms Are The Archivist’s College Band

Summary

It’s just like Martin to get a soulmate who’s already bound to someone else.

A "the first words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin"-au but the twist is only a twist if you haven't read the first installment of the series (which is not necessary but appreciated).

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395876

Complimentary Georgie/Melanie Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25056415

CN: Alcohol (mentioned), Canon-/Fanon-typical Martin Loneliness, Food (mentioned), Toxic Parent-Child Relationship (Martin’s mother)

Just got drunk and walked in.

It’s kind of a funny story, Martin supposes, what with the admission of alcohol being the catalysator and the cocky confidence of the script. When he was young, he thought about this sentence a lot, even though his idea of ‘getting drunk’ didn’t correspond to reality. (He still thinks a lot about it, but it’s not as rose-tinted anymore. Or at least he likes to think it isn’t.)

He never pictured a face or an actual voice to accommodate the words. But he thought about the tone, and the inflection, the way someone might say it with anger or arrogance or the intensity of a really great punchline.

The stories he made up were full of bravery and heroism, of drunk shenanigans and questionable decisions, of happy accidents and laughter. Fantastical in places, but realistic most of the time.

On better days he imagines a whole group of people close to him – friends – waiting for him in their favourite pub or on a patch of grass in front of the college he’s going to attend soon or in the flat of one of them. He imagines them chatting and retelling stories animatedly, laughing and talking over each other in enthusiasm and comradery. And one day there would be someone new, someone Martin would not have seen before. And in the moment, Martin would get into earshot, they would say it: Just got drunk and walked in. And it would be the start of a story about the lack of courage and the finding of it on the bottom of a bottle. Or the beginning of a tale about someone trying to do good, being all on their own, however. Or it would be the end of an adventure of nerves and worry.

Martin can see himself with someone equally as anxious as him. But he can also see himself with someone cockily declaring that they drunkenly walked into a place they shouldn’t have been in as well.

On worse days he imagines hearing the words in a crowd, only in bypassing, the source of countless daydreams and nightmares swallowed by the masses of people going on about their day without ever realising he was there in the first place.

One thing stays the same though in all of his imaginations and phantasies. In every single version Martin can think of, he falls in love with the voice before seeing their face first. It doesn’t matter if the words are yelled in arrogance and vanity or muttered self-consciously and kind of self-deprecatingly or hesitantly contemplated. He falls in love so fast and hard he stops breathing for a second then and there.

He had years upon years to build up enough expectations to know it only needs a little shove to snowball all of his fluttering endearment into the devastating, all-consuming love he was always destined to feel.

Martin is a romantic at heart and it doesn’t matter that all of his what ifs are futile and unrealistic, he’s in love with the idea of having a fairy-tale romance and that’s enough as it is. With all its daydreams and the gentle warmth in his stomach.

He doesn’t want to be lonely, really, he tries his best not to be. But it’s hard and he doesn’t know how to change it. When he still lived with his mother, she complained a lot about him being home all the time when he wasn’t working. (He shouldn’t think too much about it, she also complained a lot about him being away too much – no matter if he was out working or meeting up with somebody who could turn into a friend.)

The first two years in college didn’t change that fact at all. He was friendly with most of the people he met in his department and at the events he attended. But he wasn’t friends with them by any means. And that had always been the problem, hadn’t it? They thought he was a good lad, a nice chap, a dapper mate, a “we should hang out sometime!” and an “it’s lovely seeing you here!” but he’s not interesting to talk to. People don’t remember him because: While he can hold small talk relatively well, conversations with him tend to be one-sided. He asks the right questions, listens and reacts appropriately to the things people tell him, but he doesn’t reciprocate, can’t counter a story with a story because they’re either too personal or too embarrassing or don’t exist at all.

The first person talking often enough to Martin to make him share a few selected stories here and there is Gerry Delano. They share a single class and find themselves sitting next to each other, sharing and comparing the notes they made during the lecture. They haven’t met up outside of their shared class before, so Martin’s pleasantly surprised when Gerry asks him to come see his band the up-coming weekend.

He’s late. Because of course he is. One time. One single time he gets invited to something, so naturally he has to put in overtime. He’s at least an hour late, maybe even a little bit more. The text he shot Gerry to let him know that he’s late sits unread and unanswered in their chat and Martin feels awful.

Eventually, he reaches The Anglerfish, the small student bar just off the campus that hosts open mic nights and concerts for student bands. Gerry’s band is supposed to play tonight as the closing act; the after-act for a bigger student band Martin’s never heard of – The Mechanics? The Mech– something something. Apparently, they have a longer set than the other bands so Martin could be lucky to only have miss one or two songs of Gerry’s band.

Martin hasn’t listened to a single song of any of the bands that play tonight, so he’s not sure what to expect from the evening. Muffled music spills out of the slightly ajar windows, but he can’t make out a genre or any specific instruments, so he reaches for the handle of the door and takes a deep breath, for the last time relatively alone, then he opens the door and goes into the dimly lit entry way.

The first thing he hears are the chattering voices of people standing off to the bar and sitting at tables lining the walls, but when he dives into the crowd, simultaneously scanning it for Gerry’s lanky figure, he hears it.

“Just got drunk and walked in,” declares a voice loudly and with a manic kind of arrogance. Martin freezes in place. This is all wrong.

But he doesn’t get the chance to dwell on the fact that he heard the phrase etched into his upper thigh verbatim from someone he can’t even see, because the crowd doesn’t stop moving. Despite Martin’s need for the whole world to take a fucking breather, the people behind him shove him into the room and he tries to get air into his lungs again, but he only manages a few shallow breaths before the voice carries on and Martin realises that it has to be the singer on stage who said the most fateful words of Martin’s life.

The voice is gruff now, deeper and drunkenly confident.

Careful not to bump into too many people, Martin navigates through the crowd, trying to catch a look at the stage. In spite of his height it proves difficult and he goes further into the bar, diving into the crowd, while absolutely forgetting why he came in the first time: To meet Gerry who wanted to see the band Martin’s currently enraptured by, before playing with his band.

Finally, he manages to find a place at the far-right side of the publicum – close enough to see the stage but far enough to not stand in the way of the fans that came specifically for the band.

The song’s still going, and Martin scans the stage briefly. The band’s bigger than he expected and if it weren’t for the sheer presence of the person standing front centre stage, clutching the retro silver microphone with only one hand, Martin’s sure he’d have to look at every member of the band to determine who he’s looking for.

Adjusting his glasses, he attempts to take in every detail he can but he’s pretty far off and he can’t see everything he wants to. The things he can see are their long brown hair, dishevelled and laced with braids to keep it from falling into their face, goggles perched on their head like a headband; the dark brown skin of their face and hands and the lower half of their left arm; the black paint around their eyes, rampant like ivy roots; the black nail polish on the hand holding the microphone; the white linen shirt underneath the muddy brown waist coat, a dip hem skirt in the same soily brown over fishnet stockings and heavy brown boots with at least four or five centimetres of heel.

Their voice sounds like it’s made to narrate and yell and sing and– well, talk, actually. It sounds like a voice Martin would love to talk to and listen to and wake up to and– shit. This is bad and, did he mention, this is all wrong.

A narration begins and Martin realises all of a sudden that it took one measly song for him to lose all dignity and sense of appropriateness and instead win all of the love at first sight he dreamt of but didn’t anticipate to, well, suck so much.

He can’t have a crush on someone like, like that! Someone beautiful who carries themselves with ease and swagger and confidence. Until now he thought he could do this, you know, meeting his soulmate and instantly falling in love and maybe even talk to them like a civilised human being. But he was wrong, god was he wrong! He can’t talk to that ethereal being in fishnets. This is, wow, this is so far out of his comfort zone, he involuntarily takes a step back.

The only reasonable explanation is that he must have misheard the narration, must have missed a quintessential detail of what happened. Or it’s a very strange coincidence, his soulmark isn’t the most non-sensical sentence, there’s probably plenty people out there being able to say the exact same sentence. He just hasn’t met them yet.

Still, he can’t avert his eyes, he’s transfixed on the stage, listening to the, to be embarrassingly frank, horribly hot voice laying down the events leading to Oedipus’ Trial of Wits. Everything except the stage steps back and Martin’s brain singles out the band. The elbows touching him and the feet stepping on his don’t feel as real anymore, or maybe he’s less real in this weird interspace of knowing your soulmate or crushing on a complete stranger with the intensity of a thousand burning suns.

But there is no way to know, is it? He can’t go back and enter the bar again, consciously heeding the sentence that caused his distress. The only things he can think of doing are either getting to know the singer, who introduces himself as Jonny d’Ville just a few songs later, which is pretty creepy and Martin doesn’t want to do that – or he has to attend the next concert (or next concerts?) to determine if he merely misheard which doesn’t seem like a better alternative, if Martin’s honest.

So, still unsure what he should do next, he focuses on Jonny d’Ville and the way he gestures while narrating and singing like he’s winding his thoughts forth; the way he sits down during the songs he’s not involved in; the way he can’t hold back when Marius von Raum sings the part of Herakles and he mouths the words excitedly before jumping back to the microphone to sing the part of Zeus; the way he uses a single drumstick to beat the drum and holds the harmonica; the way he draws a steam punky gun and flourishes it like a natural extension of his arm.

“I’ve been looking for you!”

Gerry’s voice is so close to his ear, that the sudden proximity startles him more than the actual talking to him, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He’s not far gone enough to admit, even if it’s just to himself, that he was captivated by the band so much that he didn’t even realise that they neared the end of their act.

“D-Didn’t you get my text?” Martin yells back, leaning back, out of Gerry’s personal space. “Had to put in overtime and when I got here, I couldn’t find you.”

Gerry waves dismissively and shouts back: “Well, I found you at last, we’re up next!” He grins self-consciously and nods towards the stage. “Don’t really wanna get up after them but the crowd’s hyped up so maybe they’ll accept us as one of them.”

Even though his gaze flickers to the stage multiple times, Martin succeeds in looking at Gerry and smiling encouragingly. Then he says: “You’ll do amazing, Gerry. Don’t worry.”

While Gerry opens his mouth, the last notes of Elysian Fields carry through the bar and applause rings out. Jonny d’Ville takes a step forward, basking in the applause of the crowd and chugging water from a half litre bottle. As the applause dies down a bit, he lifts the microphone up again and exclaims: “Thank you! Thank you! Now, we are aiming to put that on CD, ehh, sometime around July. It won’t be exactly the show that you saw, this is, well, this is the debut. This’ll be refined and processed, et cetera, et cetera.” He bows outlandishly. “But if you want to help with that occurring – and you know you do – there is a crowdfunding, an indiegogo page, uhm, for this, uh, CD, there’s lots of,” he fumbles for words, “lovely perks from dice to patches and all sorts of brilliant things. So, go there, give us all your money.” The crowd laughs. “And then we will make a CD and we will send you the CD and you can listen to this to your heart’s content, uhh,” the crowd cheers again, “but thank you so much for coming!” He gives a few more thanks, then he says. “We’re going to, well, we’re going to leave you, uhm, with one quick final song and I think you probably know which one. So, sing along if you know the words.”

And the crowd knows the words.

Involuntarily, Martin steps back, overwhelmed by the sheer energy that erupts because of the people around him jumping up and down, yelling the lyrics to Drunk Space Pirate.

After that, it doesn’t take too long for The Mechanisms to clear the stage off their instruments and The Black Eyed Keays to set up their own act. Gerry comes out, hand gripping the neck of his electric guitar harder than necessary, knuckles lighter than the rest of his tan hand. His band is composed of five members including him, Martin’s yet to meet them.

Before he can start really looking at the other four musicians, he can see Ashes o’Reilly coming through the makeshift curtain separating the backstage area from the public. They goe straight to a woman standing off to the side, while politely dismissing people congratulating them and trying to involve them into conversation. As Martin averts his eyes because it seems like a private moment, he sees Jonny d’Ville leaving the backstage area, pulled through the curtain by Raphaella, their hands intertwined.

Something in Martin halts, something that had been on edge for the last hour or so, something that seemed to only be satisfied by the crushing reality of his potential soulmate holding the hand of someone other than him. (They could be friends, Martin knows that, he’s not that dense to think that everyone holding hands has to be romantically involved with each other. But it doesn’t stop him in the slightest of thinking that he wants to be in the place of holding Jonny d’Ville’s hand. He doesn’t even know the real name of the guy and already wants to hold his hand. Pathetic. And definitively creepy.)

Shaking his head to remind himself that he’s here for Gerry and The Black Eyed Keays, he turns away from Jonny d’Ville and Raphaella stopping at the bar, but out of the corner of his eyes he catches sight of Raphaella wrapping her arms around Jonny d’Ville’s waist.

As far as Martin can tell, it’s going well for him, wonderful even, just perfectly fine. He realised today that he hadn’t spent too much time wondering about The Mechanisms or Jonny d’Ville in the past few months and he’s rather proud of himself for not obsessing. His shift ended a tad early today, he didn’t have any costumers that grinded his nerves, the night provided him with a good eight-hour long sleep, and he didn’t even have nightmares.

This is the literal incorporation of a good day. Martin doesn’t have too many of them, so he tries to really bask in the feeling, who knows how long it’s going to last.

On the way out of the Ceaseless Watcher, he picks up two cups – one filled with black coffee and one with a herbal-fruit tea blend – and starts walking to the patch of grass in front of the Jonah Magnus’ University where he’s supposed to meet Gerry. Careful not to spill coffee or tea or burn himself, he clenches one of the cups between his forearm and his chest, while he fumbles for the phone in his pocket.

For a second, he contemplates coming to a halt to text Gerry that he’s on his way, but he doesn’t want to stop, being in the momentum already. While concentrating on proper (or at least somewhat comprehensible) grammar and typing the right letters, he’s paying a little less attention to the way as he should. Of course, he notices the change of underground from the hard-stomped way underneath the trees to the openness and softness of the grassy patch. But, actually, that’s about it. It’s not too crowded because it starts to be too cold outside to properly hang out, so he doesn’t even have to navigate through groups of students.

The thing is: Martin doesn’t really think something (or someone) could cross his way, so he doesn’t even try to pay attention to the area around him. And that’s why he doesn’t reckon with the incredibly inauspicious sounding crinkling when he steps on something that is decidedly not lawn.

Martin stops dead in his track, draws a shaky breath and wants to say anything (like an apology probably), but the only words leaving his mouth are a softly whispered: “Oh no.”

The words of apology are stuck in his throat and he doesn’t dare look up from the sketchpad he stepped on unintentionally. Right on top of a study of the two statues in front of the academic museum of arts is a rather perfect imprint of the sole of his boot. Martin swallows.

“You cannot be serious,” drawls a voice that makes heat rise in Martin’s cheeks – out of shame and recognition all the same.

As if the voice had snapped Martin out of a stupor, he rushes to say: “Oh, god, I am so sorry.” Shoving his phone into his coat pocket and setting down the two cups, he crouches and starts to wipe at the now slightly damp paper, more apologies tumbling from his lips.

“Alright!” The voice cuts him short, impatiently. “Stop it. It’s alright. Don’t bother.”

Two hands reach for the sketchpad, taking it out of Martin’s hands without further ado.

“I’m really sorry,” Martin says again, still not daring to look into the face of the person he just ruined the day for. Instead, he’s looking at their hands – one of them pulling the sleeve of a jumper or hoodie out of the sleeve of their coat and over their other hand to gently dab at the paper that already starts to get wavy where Martin’s boot hit it.

The person who is definitely not Jonny d’Ville (because Jonny d’Ville is a stage name and Martin doesn’t know who the human being in front of him is) retorts curtly: “I gathered as much.”

“Is it …”, Martin interrupts himself, shifting his weight so that he’s sitting on his heels instead of the balls of his feet. “Was it important?” He scrunches his nose. “I mean, I didn’t– didn’t destroy, like, a project for a course you’ve been working on for months, did I?”

“No,” they reply but their tone suggests otherwise. “It’s not … It’s nothing.”

They stop dabbing at the paper and Martin realises that they’re looking at him now and that it would be the polite thing to look back. It costs him approximately a metric shit ton of effort to lift his eyes and meet theirs. But he manages. (Just about.)

Martin regrets his decision to meet their eyes at approximately the same time that he can start making out the details of their face that he hadn’t been able to see in the dim light of The Anglerfish and the distance between him and the stage. It’s the exact same moment that Martin realises that they are as beautiful as Martin thought they would be. In a more reigned in and moderated kind of way – their hair confined in a bun, their face not painted with ivy roots but dotted with circular scars, and their outfit more suitable for daily use – but nonetheless beautiful.

“It doesn’t look like it’s nothing,” Martin says softly, and he doesn’t know where he’s getting the courage from. (Probably nowhere, he’s not exactly thinking as it is. And ‘not thinking’ is not the same thing as conjuring up courage.)

A scoff slips past their lips and they reply: “It is, though. And even if it wasn’t: I don’t see how this could be of any concern to you.”

Martin averts his eyes and looks down at the two cups he placed next to the place where the sketchpad had previously lain. The shock of already having his foot in his mouth is probably the reason why Martin just goes on: “If I want to make it up to you, I need to know just how bad my clanger was.”

His gaze flickers back to their face and takes in the steep corrugation between their drawn together brows.

Slowly, they say: “You don’t have to make it up to me.” They look almost appalled at the thought, and Martin’s not sure if he should be offended on his behalf or theirs. (Does he look like someone who ruins peoples work and then walks away? Or did nobody ever thought about righting their wrong when interacting with them?)

“I know I don’t have to,” Martin retorts, then he backpaddles and tries to correct himself: “I mean, you don’t seem like someone who’d enforce rectification but … I want to.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Make it up to you, that is.”

“Oh,” they say softly, and Martin thinks that they seem like they didn’t even notice they said anything at all. Absentmindedly, their left hand fiddles with the hem of the maybe-sweater-maybe-hoodie sleeve still pulled over their right hand.

“This was absolutely and entirely my fault,” Martin says when they don’t speak up again. “So, if it would be alright with you, I would like to, I don’t know, buy you a coffee?” The blush on his cheeks intensifies because he knows what this could look like. But someone like them would never even consider that someone like Martin could hit on them, so he tries not to dwell on that thought for too long. “I work at the Ceaseless Watcher, so, you could drop by and get a coffee on the house?”

Martin attempts a smile but it’s a rather weak one. The palms of his hands are clammy and a little numb, but he doesn’t dare wiping them on his trousers to get rid of the feeling.

“Are you working on Thursday?”

In all honesty, Martin didn’t reckon they would actually agree. Much less on the first go. (Such things don’t happen to Martin. He is never lucky enough that things just work out.)

“I– uh, yes,” Martin rushes to say before they can think about changing their mind. “Five to eleven.” An owlish blink in Martin’s direction. “P.M.”

“Good,” they say, both hands now lying flat on their sketchpad. “Then I will see you on Thursday.”

Martin takes this as his cue to stand up and leave, and it takes him almost ten whole minutes until he realises that he doesn’t even know the name of the person he had just met. And it takes him almost five more minutes of self-loathing and -pity until he remembers that they will see each other again. Next Thursday.

Maybe one time everything can work out for Martin. Just one time.

It doesn’t work out for Martin.

It doesn’t work out for Martin, so obviously and severely, that Martin genuinely thinks about hiding in the employee’s bathroom so that Jane can take over the register and deal with the slowly trickling in students of the Jonah Magnus Institute.

Jon (that’s his name, Jon without an H, it’s short for Jonathan, narrowed eyes at Martin’s name tag, Martin) has a girlfriend that is beautiful like a flower meadow in full bloom underneath the blue open sky. But they don’t just look great together (and they do, Martin’s perfectly and painfully aware of that fact), they seem to get along greatly, too. (Which is good! It’s not like Martin’s begrudging someone’s happy relationship or anything. It’s more like … he envies it? Envies the apparent ease and comfortability that come with knowing someone intimately for a long time. Envies the way they lean into each other and share private smiles. Envies the look of contentedness and trust when they look at each other. – Or maybe he’s overanalysing things he has never been part of. Eternally condemned to an etic approach to romantic relationships.)

Today, however, Martin wants to flee the scene because Jon looks livid and Georgie’s attempts to calm him down seem rather futile. They’re barely in earshot when Jon hisses: “I still don’t understand why you invited her along.”

“It’s not every day that you meet your soulmate,” Georgie replies soft spoken and with an exasperation that implies that it’s not the first time she has said this sentence to him. “And I won’t let you antagonise her just for the sake of it. At least get to know her. If she’s as bad as you think she is, you get to tell me that you told me so and I’ll back off.” She smiles at him. “Deal?”

But she doesn’t wait for him to answer, instead she turns to the counter where Martin’s been standing the whole time, trying to look like he hasn’t been eavesdropping, and greets him: “Hey, Martin.”

“Hi.” Martin tries to smile through the awkward glances Jon shoots him. “What can I do for you?”

“Two latte macchiatos, one decaf, one regular, and one white coffee,” she replies. While he’s ringing up her order, she continues: “And maybe if you could answer me this: Do you think Jon’s approachable?”

Martin stops dead in his tracks and Jon splutters: “Georgie!”

“What?” Her gaze flickers between an indignant Jon and the redder and redder growing face of Martin. She tilts her head in confusion and furrows her brows.

Jon hisses: “You can’t rope Martin into your schemes, you wretched thing!”

“Why not?”, Georgie questions before Martin gets to have a word in this. (Not that Martin would actively try to intervene when they’re obviously fighting about something important. Something Martin doesn’t want to think about while they’re still standing right in front of him.)

“Because,” Jon starts to say, but Georgie’s bulldozing on: “Martin is the newest addition to our squad and you brought him in, so, if anyone knows if you’re approachable or not, it’s him.”

“Martin is not a part of our friend group,” Jon says bewildered, then the realisation that Martin’s right in front of them sinks in. But the words are out in the open and the damage is already done.

“Jon!” Georgie exclaims, her voice filled with outrage (or at least something that comes close to outrage).

Martin smiles weakly and says: “It’s okay, Jon’s right. We’re not friends, or anything.”

It’s true, even though Martin had hoped that they could become friends. Or at least acquainted. Sometime in the future. (But Martin has to admit that Georgie thinking that Martin belongs to them in any kind of way – it felt nice. Nicer and bigger than it should probably have.)

“Oh,” Georgie says, brows even more furrowed than before, and a look of contemplation on her face that Martin can’t decipher. Then she shakes her head and Jane calls out for Jon and Georgie to collect their drinks.

They continue their argument while walking away, and Georgie sends him a soft smile and a wave over her shoulder before they grab their coffees and head for a table near the front of the café.

Martin tries not to look at them too much, or at all even, but he must have failed embarrassingly, because he notices Jon’s displeased face before he realises that someone has entered the café and beelines for the table Georgie and Jon sit at.

And that’s the moment Georgie’s and Jon’s conversation hits him full force. Jon’s soulmate has come into their life. Jon‘s soulmate has come into their life and the soulmate in question has just entered The Ceaseless Watcher. Which means one thing: Martin is not Jon’s soulmate.

Martin laughs lowly and self-deprecatingly and thinks: It’s just like him to get a soulmate who’s already bound to someone else. If he’d tell his mother, she’d probably tell him he had it coming without ever specifying why.

“Sounds exhausting,” Gerry says, both arms on the counter and more slumped against it than standing upright.

Martin shrugs his shoulders and says: “That’s just uni life.”

“It’s not,” Gerry retorts, pulling a face. “I’ve been lying on my bed the whole weekend, working on a few new songs. What you’re doing is the Martin way of life and, no offence, but it sounds exhausting. Three out of ten, wouldn’t recommend.”

“I kinda … take offence?” Martin’s voice goes up way too much at the end of the sentence, and Gerry waves his hand dismissively. “Did you just come by to insult me?”

Gerry grins and extends his arm to ruffle Martin’s hair (which is not something Martin expects other people to do and that’s why he doesn’t really know how to react to it), before he says: “Nah. Don’t. If it’s working for you, go ahead. – I’m here because my roommate and their girlfriend broke up, so I’m waiting for them to, I don’t know, cheer them up, I guess.”

“Oh,” Martin says eloquently. “I’m sorry?”

Gerry shrugs. “It’s alright, I think. They didn’t sound too upset on the phone.” Then his gaze falls on the giant clock on the wall behind the counter. “Should be here soon. Could you please ring up one regular latte macchiato and one decaf?”

Nodding, Martin punches the order into the register and Gerry reaches for his wallet. Then Martin steps over to the coffee machine to prepare the two different shots of espresso and heat and foam the soy-oat milk blend.

They exchange a few more quips while Gerry carries the hot beverages to a table next to the wall and gets back to the counter because they don’t want to disturb the other patrons by talking too loudly.

Gerry’s about to go on a tangent about the breaking of his G and B strings, when the bell above the door chimes and someone enters The Ceaseless Watcher.

Without intent or his own volition, a bright smile plasters itself onto Martin’s face, before he even turns towards the door – pavloved into customer friendliness – and sees Jon walk into the café. His smile falters a bit, but he manages to uphold it and greets: “Hey, Jon.”

Jon nods in reciprocation and says: “Martin, Gerry.”

“Oh, you know each other?” Martin asks, already one finger on the register to punch in Jon’s order, but Gerry’s hand makes an abortive gesture.

“Jon’s my roommate,” Gerry explains with another gesture towards the table where the two latte macchiatos wait for them. “Didn’t know you were acquainted.”

A blush creeps up Martin’s neck and he forces an embarrassed groan back down his throat. He’s torn between processing the information that Jon and Georgie broke up (apparently) and the realisation that Gerry used they/them pronouns for Jon.

“Well, we are,” Jon replies curtly and frees Martin from saying anything at all. Jon already turns to leave the counter when Martin squeezes out: “Jon, could I– would you– just a moment?”

Jon nods and Gerry walks to their table to give them a moment of privacy. But Martin doesn’t continue, because the questions that pile up in his mouth and block the way for the thing he actually planned to ask try to fight their way over his lips. Did Georgie and you really break up? Is it because of your soulmate? Are you alright? Is Georgie alright?

“Yes, Martin?” Jon looks vaguely annoyed. (Or maybe Jon looks obviously annoyed, but Martin doesn’t want to accept it because he’s a hopeless romantic and thinks that even if he is not Jon’s soulmate, Jon is still his and that must mean something, right? The universe wouldn’t be as cruel as to present Martin his soulmate only to make them hate him, right? – Yes, of course, Martin knows that soulmates don’t have to be romantic or even platonic, that a shared soulmark only means this person will have an impact on your life and that it is on them to find out what kind of impact that is. But Martin wants it to be positive. He desperately craves for it to be positive force in his life. And he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if this thing ends up being a giant fluke.)

Martin clears his throat and tries to ignore the burning behind his eyes.

“Just,” Martin swallows down everything that doesn’t have any place being in his mouth, “Gerry used they/them pronouns for you and … I don’t want to misgender you?”

Jon’s face doesn’t tell Martin anything. If Jon is pleased knowing that Gerry uses the right pronouns; if Jon is annoyed that Gerry made a capital t Thing out of Jon by using gender-neutral language; if Jon doesn’t really care either way. Jon just looks at him. It’s a bit unsettling.

“If you don’t want to talk to me about this, I get it,” Martin continues softly when Jon doesn’t say a thing and only studies Martin’s face. “You don’t have to. But I would like to, you know, respect it if you preferred a specific set of pronouns.”

Martin shrugs to shove the weight off his shoulders, but Jon’s stare turns disconcerting. Uncertainty making its way into Martin’s chest, until Jon says slowly: “I use he/him and they/them pronouns. At the moment it’s the latter.”

A nod in acknowledgment earns Martin something akin to a smile, the smallest of uplifts of the corners of Jon’s lips, and warmth spreads through Martin’s cheeks and chest.

They lift their hand in a wave goodbye until they seem to realise that they’re not actually leaving but rather sitting down at the table Gerry’s still waiting at, and duck their head in something Martin wants to call embarrassment.

For a few minutes while nobody walks up to the counter and everyone seems to be busy except Martin, Martin takes a plate out of one of the cupboards and places two pastries on it. Then, after a few pacing steps forward and back again and too much hesitation, he walks over to Gerry and Jon and places the plate on the table.

Jon opens their mouth to say something and Martin can see the questioning look on Gerry’s face. But he cuts the discussion short by blurting out: “On the house.”

In an attempt to mask the anxiety already spreading through him, Martin smiles his brightest smile, turns around and walks away. (Which: Who does something like that? Jon must suspect that Gerry has told Martin something Martin shouldn’t know about. Or they must think that Martin is an absolute court jester. And given Gerry’s face, at least Gerry suspects that Martin is not acting out of sheer courtesy.)

(Martin desperately wishes for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.)

Georgie and Jon are broken up for good, or that’s at least what Jon says to Martin. This is remarkable because of two things: First of all because it means that Jon is actually talking to Martin except for, you know, ordering coffee or awkward small talk while Martin prepares the beverage. And secondly because Martin didn’t think their split would actually last. Georgie and Jon are, even if it sounds impossible, the perfect pair and Martin isn’t sure how they managed to not be soulmates.

Since Martin tried to clarify Jon’s use of pronouns, Jon has significantly warmed up to Martin and Martin isn’t sure if it’s because of this or because Jon can’t spend as much time with Georgie anymore. (It’s not like they actually take a break from seeing each other. Gerry told Martin that Jon and Georgie went to an outing together on the same night they broke up.) Either way, Martin’s suddenly confronted with a Jon who asks him low-voiced how he’s doing and who hesitantly wants him to have a good day.

“He/him day,” Jon says instead of a greeting. He wipes sweat from his forehead and tries to tug every stray strand and wisp of hair behind his ears or underneath his hair tie – rather unsuccessfully.

Martin throws a glance behind Jon to assess the situation in the café and if he can risk leaving the counter for a moment. When he deems it safe, Martin says: “This reminds me … Wait a moment, I …”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but instead walks into the little storage room in the back of the shop to fish a little box out of his bag and come back to the front of the café. A small blush blooming on his cheeks, Martin smiles at Jon and says: “Hey, Jon.”

Jon furrows his brow as if he hadn’t realised that he skipped an essential part of the conversation, then replies dutifully: “Hello, Martin.”

“So,” Martin begins, “I’ve been thinking. We’ve been talking about your pronouns and …” Martin trails off and presents the little box he retrieved from his bag. He opens it and showcases two braided bracelets, one in salmon pink and one in teal. “I heard about pronoun pins and bracelets? Had some yarn laying around and thought … if you want to, you could use them to indicate your preferred pronouns?”

At the end, Martin’s voice trails off and he sounds a lot less sure about his idea. His uncertainty is a mix out of ‘did I overstep’ and ‘am I too much’, but the way Jon’s furrowed brows melt into something entirely else lets Martin think that he’s not as much a burden as he feared.

Cautiously, Jon reaches for the bracelets, stopping mid-air to throw another glance at Martin who can’t stop himself from making a weird combination of nodding and shrugging.

Jon takes the two bracelets out of their box and Martin throws the empty box into a drawer underneath the counter. He runs them through his fingers, feeling the texture of the yarn and the structure of the fish braid pattern. Pocketing the salmon pink bracelet, he extends his right arm with the teal-coloured one towards Martin, asking: “Could you tie it?”

The uncoiling of the knot right underneath Martin’s midriff makes Martin smile and he takes the bracelet out of Jon’s hand to tie it around Jon’s wrist. He miscalculated quite a bit with his own wrist as reference, but he is able to comfortably wrap the bracelet around Jon’s wrist two times, before he ties it into a loose knot. The colour looks nice against the warm undertone of Jon’s skin and up-close Martin can see the smaller and bigger moles scattered across his lower arm.

Martin’s not sure if it is he who lets go of Jon’s arm first or Jon who takes his arm back, but he knows that he looks up from where he held Jon’s wrist just a few seconds ago and catches sight of Jon looking at him. It’s not a look Martin can decipher. As so often, Jon looks like he’s trying to make sense out of something Martin has said or done. (Or maybe he’s trying to make sense out of Martin as a whole. The same way Martin is still trying to grasp the essence of Jon.)

“This is really nice,” Jon says, and it sounds more like he’s turning every word three or four times before releasing it into the air between them; like he’s somehow forcing the words out after analysing and approving them, because they don’t want to be heard. But the way he cradles his wrist and the bracelet with such great care and a little disbelief shows clearly that he’s serious. Jon’s eyes snap upwards to look at Martin again, and Jon adds: “Thank you, Martin. That’s really,” he draws in a breath, “considerate.”

Not sure if he should dismiss Jon’s words or not, Martin ducks his head and turns towards the register: “Decaf or Regular?”

“Surprise me,” Jon replies with a shrug of his shoulders. Martin tilts his head in confusion and Jon clarifies: “Gerry and Georgie think I drink too much coffee, but I don’t necessarily like them interfering with my life choices, so we made the deal that every time we drink coffee together, we order one decaf and one regular and it’s a surprise who gets to drink the decaf.”

Chuckling lowly, Martin retorts: “That’s a nice tradition.”

Jon pays for his coffee and Martin turns around, reaching for the decaf beans, safely out of Jon’s sight. For the taste, he adds much more ground coffee than Elias normally allows him to use and sprinkles a bit of cocoa powder on top of the milk foam. Then he hands Jon the final product and smiles.

Their fingers almost touch when Jon takes the mug out of Martin’s hands and he starts to walk away for two and a half steps, before he turns back again and asks: “When does your shift end?”

“Oh,” Martin throws a glance at the clock behind him, “in about an hour? Why?”

Jon shifts his weight and replies: “I thought I could use a walk, and that, maybe, you could use a walk, too?”

This seems to cost even more surmounting than thanking Martin, but it fills Martin with warmth and the hope that Jon doesn’t hate him. (He should know by now that Jon doesn’t hate him, they’ve been friendly for quite a time now, but the fear that Jon [or anyone, really] could suddenly decide that Martin is too much and too overbearing is prevalent.)

He swallows all that down and says: “Yes, I’d like that.”

When Melanie and Georgie get together, Martin’s not entirely surprised. Actually, he’s not surprised at all because Jon himself has told Martin that Melanie had asked him about his feelings for Georgie. (I don’t get it, Martin, do I look like I would begrudge them their relationship? Do I look like a fragile thing that needs to be coddled? No, Gerry, shut it.) But part of Martin wonders if Jon’s really as alright with the situation as he makes it out to be. As far as Martin knows, Jon and Georgie had been dating for quite a while, and Melanie is Jon’s soulmate. It must be a horribly awkward situation to be in.

Somehow this hasn’t kept them from hanging out as a group, though. Melanie and Georgie are lying in the shadow of a tree, while Sasha and Tim rampage through the water, and Jon and Martin, they sit on the small landing stage, their feet dangling in the water.

Jon’s hand is resting right next to Martin’s and it would be so easy to reach out and grab it, to intertwine their fingers and just enjoy the weight of Jon’s hand in his. But they have never done something like this, Jon is an untouchable entity in the night sky, beautiful like the milky way but foreign and unjudgeable with his disconcerting stares and assessing questions and brutally honest words. And a mere mortal like Martin can’t just reach for the hand of a natural phenomenon like Jon Sims.

So, he takes his hands into his lap instead to keep himself from doing something ill-considered like taking Jon’s hand anyways.

For a moment, they watch Sasha and Tim, but when they head back to the picknick blanket Georgie and Jon had brought and where Georgie and Melanie are leisurely sitting, Jon indicates that they could go back to the others, too. So, they get up and walk back to the others. (Martin’s hand twitching to reach for Jon’s.)

“No way! You’re lying!” Tim’s voice is barely more than a whisper, while he’s scrubbing his hair as dry as possible with a towel.

Sasha’s hand reaches out for Tim’s ankle to direct his attention to her, and she says while signing simultaneously: “Nobody can hear shit of what you’re saying.”

“Louder?” Tim asks and it’s obvious that he tries to adjust his volume. But Sasha shakes her head. “Louder?” Sasha shakes her head again and Tim waves dismissively, before he continues to towel dry his hair.

“What’s going on?” Martin says, sitting down next to Sasha, quietly marvelling at the fact that Jon sits down next to him even though the space doesn’t necessarily allow it.

Melanie’s cheeks redden (a foreign and unsettling sight, if Martin is honest), and she seems to think about her answer for a moment, before she finally extends her legs, showcasing multiple sets of names written on her skin. Sasha’s, Tim’s, Georgie’s and Martin’s. But most prominently right in the middle Jonathan Sims in the same curvy scripture as the rest, but instead of a felt tip marker, it seems to come from under Melanie’s skin.

“Oh,” Jon says right next to Martin and Martin thinks: Oh, indeed.

That is, however, where the similarities between Jon and Martin end, because while Martin starts to panic at the obvious evidence of Melanie’s and Jon’s soulbond, Jon says: “Georgie, this is your handwriting.”

“Yes, it is,” Georgie replies cheerily, before pointing at the crook of her arm. “And you know what? That’s Melanie’s handwriting.”

“Congratulations,” Jon deadpans, but Martin can feel the rigid line of Jon’s shoulders relax.

Just for a moment, though, because Georgie says: “And you know what that means, Jon! There’s still someone out there waiting to be found by you!” And Jon is as tense as before.

“I hope not,” Jon replies, and Martin can’t help himself hoping that Jon is right. Because Melanie turning out not to be Jon’s soulmate doesn’t automatically turn Martin into Jon’s soulmate. Martin doesn’t even know what’s written on Jon’s body, and even if he knew he’s not sure he could remember the first thing he ever said to Jon.

Georgie only smiles, used to Jon’s antiques and clearly mentally occupied.

“You’re making such a big deal out of it,” Tim says while turning his C.I. back on. The volume of his voice adjusting to an appropriate level when he’s finally able to hear himself again. “Out of anything, really. Why don’t you just enjoy the knowledge that somewhere out there is someone who enjoys talking to you, like, without any obligation.”

Out of Jon’s sight, Georgie starts a countdown (three – two – one!) with her fingers, and as if she had given Jon a sign, he goes on a tangent about determinism. Martin has never been as in love with Jon.

Oh.

MartiniKolada: sos

MyKeaymicalRomance: what did you do?

MartiniKolada: i had an oh. oh. moment MartiniKolada: you know where you think oh. and then it hits you like oh. but it’s italic and the italicity of the moment hits you right in the face??

MyKeaymicalRomance: i don’t think italicity is a real word

MartiniKolada: italicness then??

MyKeaymicalRomance: maybe italicisation?

MartiniKolada: does it really matter???

MyKeaymicalRomance: probably not lol

MartiniKolada: as i was saying MartiniKolada: i just had the mortifying realisation that i think i love jon?? like, not likelike but lovelove?? and idk what to do, like, what WILL i do next? burst into a song or into tears??

MyKeaymicalRomance: oh, well, i think it’s probably too early to tell him

MartiniKolada: “probably” he says

MyKeaymicalRomance: well, what do you want me to say?

MartiniKolada: idk???

MyKeaymicalRomance: do you want me to come over after my class?

MartiniKolada: yes pls ))):

MyKeaymicalromance: k

#10

It’s October, and their semester break is over in two weeks. Martin’s already dreading having to go back to courses and classes because he’s not sure if the last few weeks of seeing Jon almost every day are over if they both have to pick up work again. (The good thing is that the others will come back from their visits home. Martin doesn’t know how it happened, but he’s grown close to Gerry and Jon’s squad and actually misses them.)

Now, however, he concentrates on the fact that Jon asked if he would like to stay overnight because Gerry’s away and he doesn’t want to be alone tonight. He said It’s eerily quiet and Martin didn’t need more to say Yes, I mean, yeah, no problem, I’d love to. Because: It’s not like Martin regrets agreeing to Jon’s request, it’s more that Martin’s utterly overwhelmed with the thought that he is going to spend time sleeping in the same room as Jon. (Embarrassing, right?)

“You seem distracted,” Jon states and reaches for the mousepad to pause the film they’re watching. Or in Martin’s case: attempt to watch.

It’s not a new development that Jon and Martin sit on Jon’s bed, huddled close together, to watch a movie or play a two-player game Jon has found on his hard drive. But it being old news doesn’t prevent Martin from marvelling at the way Jon’s thin frame fits in neatly with the curve of Martin’s fat stomach and thigh. And the way Jon seems to melt into Martin over the course of one evening, almost liquified at the end, nestled into Martin in a manner that Martin couldn’t recreate if he tried to; absolutely unretractable when Martin tries to reconstruct how he could find himself in a situation like this.

“A bit,” Martin agrees, studying the cursor now resting on the nose of the protagonist. “It’s nothing.”

“If you don’t want to watch a film, we don’t have to,” Jon says and it’s only because they’ve been spending so much time together that Martin recognises the defensive tone of Jon’s voice as concern. (A few months back he would have definitively thought that he had done something wrong and that Jon is annoyed with him. And the knowledge that the anxiety coiling underneath his midriff is with great certainty unfounded and only fabricated by his own brain makes warmth spread through his whole chest.)

“No, it’s alright, really, it’s nothing,” Martin repeats placatingly, already reaching for the mousepad to unpause the film.

But Jon catches his wrist mid-air and says lowly: “I hate when you do that.”

“What?” Martin’s hand sinks until it hits his stomach, but Jon’s hand remains wrapped around Martin’s wrist as if he needed to keep Martin by his side; as if Martin could somehow muster up the volition to get up and go.

Jon’s gaze is entirely on the junction of their skin, probably focusing on the way Martin’s skin tone clashes with the salmon pink of one of the two bracelets Jon’s wearing tonight. (Or probably not because Jon doesn’t really care for things like that.)

“Well,” Jon says to Martin’s wrist, “when you say it’s nothing even though it’s clearly something.”

Self-consciously, Martin contemplates for a hot second telling Jon the truth. That he just likes being with him even though Jon doesn’t feel the same way as Martin. That he likes how they fit together like matching salt and pepper shakers. That he likes the firmness of Jon’s hand around his when Jon excitedly grabs Martin’s hand and forgets to let go again. That he likes Jon’s distracted (and to be honest distracting) soliloquies and overexcited monologues.

Being honest, however, isn’t worth the awkwardness that will most likely be the result of confessing his feelings, so Martin deflects: “That implies that you’re always telling me right away when something’s bothering you. But that’s not what you do, is it?”

Jon pulls a face. “No.” He sighs. “No, it’s not.”

Without thinking, Jon shifts the weight of Martin’s wrist in his as if he’s trying to feel for Martin’s pulse. For a moment, they’re both silent, dwelling on thoughts they’re not ready to share, yet. Or maybe only Martin’s not ready to share, yet, because Jon concedes softly: “You’re right. So, if I were to share a matter that has been on my mind lately, would it be more encouraging or pressuring for you to hear about it?”

Martin weighs both options, partially occupied with the way Jon’s still holding onto his pulse. Then he concludes: “Both, probably? I mean, it could be both.”

“Do you want me to tell you anyway?” Jon asks, lifting his gaze and focusing on Martin’s face. (Jon has this incredibly unsettling habit of looking at people at precisely those moments it’s the most disconcerting, gaze unwavering and the only thing betraying his own nervousness is the way he fiddles with the hem of his sleeves or the jittery tapping of his fingers against the fabric of his trousers.)

And since Martin can’t refuse Jon anything, he nods.

“You know, this is probably ridiculous and you’re going to make fun of me, endlessly,” Jon says, a barely visible crinkle appearing between his brows, “but Georgie said that she doesn’t understand why we haven’t kissed, yet. And it’s been on my mind ever since. Should we be kissing, Martin?”

Martin almost chokes on air. “What?” He must have misheard. Or misunderstood. Because it’s absolutely impossible that Jon said this particular string of words without any hesitation.

“Well,” Jon says, obviously growing uncomfortable, “I told her that she should stop being presumptuous, because if you would want to kiss me you would say as much. But Georgie said she wouldn’t be surprised if you were to think that I’m kiss averse as some asexual people are and that you were ‘too bashful’ to ask for clarification.” Jon breathes in and out, once, then twice. Martin’s trying hard not to mcfucking lose it. “We’ve been dating for quite some time now and I hope you’d feel comfortable enough to ask me things like that instead of assuming my stance. However, I do see now that I should put my own house in order first rather than waiting for you to say something.” The crinkle between his brows smooths out. “So, the quintessence is that I would like to kiss you, Martin, and that I would like to know if you were amenable to this idea.”

Owlishly blinking, Martin tries to make sense of all the admittedly beautiful but absolutely impossible words that Jon has said just now. He’s not sure which part he should be concentrating on and his thoughts crash into each other, tumbling onto his tongue, only to get buried underneath a new load of thoughts just a nanosecond later.

The thing that actually makes it past Martin’s stupor is: “We’ve been what?”

Jon furrows his brows again and replies slowly: “Dating.”

“And you didn’t think I needed to know that??” Martin’s voice cracks, eyes wide and cheeks reddened. The pressure of Jon’s fingers around his wrist loosens and Martin wants nothing more than to hold on dearly, but at the moment he can’t do anything but stare at Jon’s face that shifts slowly into a look of embarrassment.

“Well, I thought– I didn’t,” he groans lowly. “I thought you knew.”

“How should I have known?” Martin doesn’t really want to argue about this, but the words tumble out of his mouth, absolutely unstoppable. “Did you send me a formal enquiry? Ask me to be your boyfriend while we were doing incredibly romantic things like shopping groceries? I would have said yes, don’t get me wrong, this is not a ‘I don’t want to be dating you’ because I do very much want to date you.”

Martin’s breath goes hard, and he attempts to focus on the blush that bloomed on Jon’s cheeks sometime around the mention of Martin calling himself Jon’s boyfriend and that deepened further when Martin stressed that he wanted to be Jon’s boyfriend as well. But then Jon’s smiling. Not a barely visible lift of the corners of his lips but a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I think,” Jon says, shifting the weight of Martin’s wrist again, so he can intertwine their fingers completely, “that everything we do together is inherently very romantic. Even grocery shopping.”

“Oh, my god,” Martin tries to hold back a giggle and fails, “you’re a sap! This is unbelievable. This should be illegal.” He wriggles his other hand out of the almost non-existing space between them and cups Jon’s hand in both of his. “You can’t just spring the fact on me that we’re dating, only to change your behaviour a hundred and eighty degrees and say things like, things like that!”

“I’m only adapting,” Jon replies, lifting Martin’s hands and pulling them in close. “I thought we were taking it slow because you never made a first move, and I didn’t want to be too much.”

“Then we’re in the same boat, huh,” Martin says while he’s watching Jon pressing small kisses on Martin’s knuckles. “So, what do we learn from this, Jon? Don’t talk to Georgie about those things, come talk to me.”

Jon snorts. “You’re one to talk. I can’t count the times Gerry told me to ‘go get my man he’s pining again.’ It was embarrassing.”

“Imagine how embarrassing that is for me?! I was literally gay on main while he thought we were already dating?!” Martin makes a suffering noise at the back of his throat, but Jon doesn’t stop pressing small kisses into his knuckles, so it’s not as bad as it could be. “We need to cut ties with Gerry but that shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No, that’s feasible,” Jon replies. “Very sensible.” He puts down their intertwined hands. “A thing that would be very sensible, too, is telling me about the reason you were distracted earlier.”

“It seems ridiculous now,” Martin says, but Jon nudges him with his shoulder to prompt him to go on. “I just thought about how hard it is to sit next to you and not kiss you.”

Jon lifts himself up on his elbow and murmurs: “That is a lie, Martin K. Blackwood.”

“Only half of it,” Martin replies softly, before he closes the gap between them and kisses Jon with as much care as he can conjure.

(The light shove Martin gets when he asks “so, we’re boyfriends now, huh?” is definitely deserved.)

#the magnus archives #fanfiction #jonmartin #jon sims x martin blackwood #wtgfs on the side #dating without knowing #softness #pure and unadultered softness #college au #schmok writes #i forgot to post this back in the day but since tma ends today #FLUFF for all of you!!

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wizardoutofoz · 4 years ago

Note

Why don't you just unfollow people you disagree with instead of hounding them?

I’m sure this is in response to me commenting on the public posts that art-is-art-is-art keeps making.

I don’t believe I am “hounding” anyone? I am responding to something I think could be hurtful, and to new statements as they are made.

I don’t think I’ve been impolite? I’m not on anon, she can respond to anything I say, I’m not sending her hate, I’m expressing my opinion. I linked an article in one comment?

I think transphobia is a serious issue. It’s not like “omg, you don’t think the fictional character I like is the super hottest? Agree to disagree!”

It’s something I feel strongly about. Trans people have to fight for acceptance all day long. I benefit from not having to worry about it 24/7 (I manage to be a hot mess even with a ton of privilege!)

It must be exhausting, to have to constantly justify your existence. I’m not the most functional human on the planet, but when I have the energy I think it’s important for people with privilege to argue for the people without.

Because advocating for yourself is hard.

I’m an art teacher. I have trans students. I have watched a girl sit staring blankly at nothing, waiting to be called to her guidance counselor’s office, to be told she had to cut her hair because boys couldn’t keep it long. I have had to gently distance myself from students who were so excited to have a teacher that treated their identity as real that they stayed after school to talk my ear off about anything and everything, and I had to awkwardly force conversations to an end and leave lest it become unprofessional. I have been nearly fired for putting up a pride flag for them and other queer students.I have people I consider family who are trans.

I try to change people’s minds on the issue of trans people being dangerous, or icky, or a punchline, or a sex object, whenever I am given a chance. In hope that if enough people do life will be less bleak for them, and others.

Not having that conversation and just blocking someone I disagree with? That doesn’t do anything besides sequester the both of us in our own little fake bubble of no conflict, and no one who disagrees.

Sorry for the long response, I’m incapable of making a succinct point! You probably won’t even read this, how would you even know I responded unless you checked up?

And to be clear: I don’t think I’m some sort of brave crusader fighting for justice, saving the marginalized from evil!

I just, think it’s important to challenge transphobia and I am doing my best.

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reading-while-queer · 5 years ago

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The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For, Alison Bechdel

Rating: Great Read Genre: Graphic Novel Representation: -Lesbian ensemble cast -Racially diverse ensemble cast Trigger warnings: Reclaimed D-slur, animal death, cheating, divorce, cancer, casual transphobia, biphobia, and ableism, difficult topics ranging from war to AIDS to 9/11. Note: Not YA; sexually explicit

If you’re familiar with Fun Home or Are You My Mother? you’ll know what I mean when I say that Dykes to Watch Out For is no entry level work - though Dykes to Watch Out For is difficult for different reasons. While Bechdel’s ruminations on her childhood, psyche, and sexuality require a decent amount of outside reading to be fully appreciated, Dykes to Watch Out For requires an equally rigorous knowledge of the political landscape of the past forty years.

But on the other hand, the more things change, the more they stay the same. The wars, elections, discourse, and protests are not so unfamiliar. If I had to pinpoint Dykes to Watch Out For’s continued importance to lesbians today in just one idea, it would be this: “Against the sweeping backdrop of history... everyday life pretty much continues” (371).

It’s not a major theme of the work, yet it is the shape of the final tapestry. Politics, discourse, trauma, and sickness make their ravages, and here we all are, much the same as we ever were 10, 20, 30 years ago: this pattern, far from intentional, emerges from the tide-like flow of 30 years of comics. But it’s why Dykes to Watch Out For is so special. And we have the privilege of going back to look into that reflection of the 80s, 90s, and 00s and recognize familiar features. The political scenery may be different (or, honestly, not so different) but has daily life changed much?

I first tried to read Dykes to Watch Out For as a curious high schooler, and my eyes glazed over. Without having absorbed enough recent history through cultural osmosis, nor having developed a taste for gray morality, I just didn’t get it. Two characters would have an argument on the page, both of them would make provocative points, and then Bechdel would refrain from telling her reader which was in the wrong. Neither character was a straw man; it almost felt like Bechdel was arguing with herself, trying to decide what was right - if there even was a right answer. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, especially when the vocabulary and context were both tantalizingly out of reach.

Reading now, I found the once alien discourse all too familiar. The same exact discussions were being had in 1985 as are being hashed out on Twitter. One of a hundred examples is whether gay marriage is a buy-in to the privilege bestowed by heteronormativity. Bechdel asks if marriage is a patriarchal model that can be salvaged, but she doesn’t have an answer for you, just a prompt to chew on.

Another example is Bechdel’s discourse on the outliers of lesbian spheres: trans lesbians, trans men, genderqueer people, and bisexual lesbians (Would you believe that term is used in the text - and equally as contentiously?). These are conversations we are all very familiar with. However, this discourse is especially interesting in a work that took 30 years to write. The reader combs through 30 years of metamorphosis in just a handful of hours. Bechdel’s tongue-in-cheek “Whatever will they come up with next?” is printed in the same volume with genuine consternation on who is allowed to be a lesbian.

Trans women start as a punchline. But on most topics, Dykes to Watch Out For tends, eventually, to stop itself to re-evaluate. Thirty years later, one of the main characters IDs as genderqueer, finds herself meeting trans men and doing drag king shows, fights with her friends over their trans exclusivity, and in the end, ends up advocating for and co-parenting a teenage trans girl, who ends up a main character in her own right. It’s one of Bechdel’s firmer positions on right and wrong, although she doesn’t hesitate to mouth the opposite argument, too.

Plenty of sympathetic characters say transphobic things which just hang in the air, unaddressed. It’s maddening - but in sticking with the material, I got to see the characters who flubbed the pronouns and complained about gender confusion eventually get in line - changes which are not commented upon and happen so gradually in the thirty years over which the comic was written, that they mimic how change happens in real life. In our own lives, change may seem impossible, but then you blink, a decade has passed since you first came out, and half the homophobes have come around. Much the same for Dykes to Watch Out For, which is almost as much a memoir as Fun Home (albeit of Bechdel’s discourse rather than her life). I think every cisgender lesbian should read it - it’s a powerful antidote against TERFism, not because it lays down the law, but because it meets you where you are and gives you the chance to say your piece without ridicule, before taking you by the hand and showing you something kinder. If Dykes to Watch Out For has anything to teach us, it’s that hard lines in the sand make you look like a dick thirty years later. Take Sparrow’s story arc. Mo, Lois, and Ginger are thrown when their friend Sparrow starts dating a man. They say some rotten things about how betrayed they are, how they don’t know if they can trust Sparrow anymore, or her politics - but when they are overheard, the “discourse” suddenly becomes real. That’s their friend, and her feelings are hurt. What else can you do for your friend who has spent decades of her life as a lesbian, whose identity is culturally and socially interwoven with lesbianism, and who identifies as a bisexual lesbian - except love her?

A frequent lesson is that anyone can be reactionary - even the left-est of leftists. Years later, when Sparrow faces an accidental pregnancy, her friends overwhelmingly pressure her to keep the baby, not because of their politics, but because of their excitement - yet the impact, if not the intent, is anti-choice. It’s ideas like these being brought to the forefront that make Dykes to Watch Out For something special.

In her introduction to the book, Bechdel frets over both keeping up with the changing current of discourse (XVI)

...and her own role in shaping that discourse (XVII)

But her work speaks for itself: if we are to do right by one another, we must prioritize one another, not the rules. The same conversations will be had again, and again, and again, from 1983 until we all go blue in the face. We can’t control someone angrily shouting into the room (or Twitter timeline) “but WHAT about BISEXUAL LESBIANS?” and the chaos that follows - but we can accept that someone will shout it again in twenty years, and that the following chaos will be so nearly identical to the previous chaos as to challenge whether it is chaos at all, or just the universe putting on a matinee performance of the same old song and dance. Is it useful to put on your tap shoes and sing along? Or do you end up hurting the feelings of a genuine friend who just happens to be one of the outliers this time around?

Dykes to Watch Out For is thought-provoking (as you can see, my thoughts have been well and truly provoked), occasionally in poor taste, but mostly surprisingly sympathetic, both to its more marginalized characters, and to its wrong-doers - this comic doesn’t have any villains. The initial gag, that Bechdel would write a catalog of lesbians like a lepidopterist giving clinical attention to a series of specimens, works to her favor. There are no bad lesbians and good lesbians. At least, not essentially. This approach lends Dykes to Watch Out For more staying power than it might otherwise have had - it’s relatable. You know these people. You’ve had some of these arguments, and hurt each other’s feelings over them. Your friends live in the mildewy house that’s kept at 64 degrees in the winter, where you’re as likely to be walked in on in the bathroom as not, a home where everyone in the friend group feels free to stop by.

Here in the future, we have the immense privilege of watching how these parallel lives to ours play out. The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For may be a comic for a different generation, but Bechdel has given us something fascinating from both a history and literary perspective. She has put to paper a sprawling epic about lesbians growing from their twenties to their forties, getting married (or not), progressing their careers, having children, having PTA meetings, having affairs, and doing civil disobedience with their kids. Rarely do we see the map from here to there laid out so meticulously. I read this book voraciously, both the earlier chapters that relate to life as a new adult, and the later chapters, which serve as a window into what life was, and could be.

For more from Alison Bechdel, visit her Twitter here.

#the essential dykes to watch out for #alison bechdel #lesbian #great read #graphic novel #protagonist of color #not ya #reviews only

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illnessfaker · 4 years ago

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[ cw: f-slur, rape mention ]

no reblogs pls. this is a long vent.

haha not to be a hysterical faggot crippled shut-in freak or anything but the way ppl talk abt the defensiveness around the f-slur that some gay/bi male users (and some transfem users) on here as if it's some kind superiority pissing contest thing and not primarily about...respecting the boundaries and experiences of those gay/bi male (and transfem) users. like...being on this site as a fag-adjacent person (i say that half-jokingly because it sounds silly on one hand but on the other that's the most accurate descriptor of my gender identity, lol) is becoming increasingly draining and upsetting with how "progressive" homophobia against gay/bi men is apparently becoming, like, a meme among lgbtq people and that's acceptable somehow bc lgbtq people aren't cishets or because it's "only online" and therefore doesn't matter.

like idgaf abt ppl who aren't gay/bi men (or transfem) using the f-slur in every single context possible. if they're affectionately referring to their gay/bi male (or transfem) friends with that word (so long as said friends are comfortable with it) that's one thing. who cares. i even rb'd something where a cis butch (iirc) lesbian was talking about a gay man she knew who she was affectionatly calling a faggot and the things she said warmed my heart. if they're throwing it around at every opportunity or using it as an edgy insult against random strangers on the internet, that's another. the users on here who do the latter also regularly display behavior that like...shows a pretty clear disdain for gay/bi men (or transfem ppl) not apart of their online or "irl" circlejerks and echo chambers, and that is in no way disconnected from their love of using the f-slur, lol.

the "it's only online and so it's unimportant uwu go outside" thing also really feels like such a spit in the face as someone who both lives in a rural area full of cishet white men with guns that might try to kill me if i walked out of the house in drag (not to mention i live with my bf and his family and his parents are homophobes themselves i'm sure), and is also someone with health issues that usually keep me at home and in bed when i'm not working. i didn't always live here but even in my hometown the only "lgbtq space" i had was the high school GSA which didn't do shit other than the day of silence and was attended by people i did not feel safe around (e.g. my ex-friend who was very emotionally manipulative and ended up raping someone.) i don't have any other lgbtq spaces to go to other than online ones. if i never joined tumblr i might still be a self-hating cishet girl, or i might be dead, who knows. like, i've accepted at this point that personhood isn't something i'm allowed in (outside of my whiteness) so fuck me i guess if we need to but the idea that other young, impressionable, and/or traumatized lgbtq people who only can meet other lgbtq people and learn about lgbtq things online for whatever reason don't deserve to have us make an effort on cultivating internet spaces that are as accessible and safe for them as possible, or that their experiences and feelings are somehow unimportant is just...vile. like ofc not everyone needs to "pander" to "logged on" disabled fags like myself maybe but if you have any kind of large following on social media maybe consider that the things you say and do on said social media have like...an actual effect on other people instead of pretending that it's "just online" and therefore consequences for your actions either don't matter enough (to you personally) or somehow don't exist.

but going back to the fag thing, most popular lgbtq tumblr users on my dash i see nowadays just...simply do not give a shit whatsoever about gay/bi men, to the point they're normalizing "progressive" and "acceptable" homphobia against us bc they've convinced themselves due to the bigotry some gay/bi men (often cis, white, and wealthy mind you) exhibit we are "the cishets of the lgbtq community," despite horrific violence still being committed against us every day and despite other lgbtq people being capable of engaging in that violence themselves. ppl make thinly veiled jokes and memes where the punchline is men having sex with each other or effeminacy as if those things aren't primary avenues for gay/bi men being abused, assaulted, and killed (including acts of abuse and assault of a sexually-driven nature), as if said jokes and memes don't serve to normalize the mentalities that drive homophobic hate crimes. it's not like...a coincidence that most lgbtq people who makes these jokes aren't gay/bi men (or transfem). this doesn't even get into how things like homophobia and anti-effeminacy can pretty much boot certain gay/bi men from manhood...or womanhood...or any place in gender altogether.

call me exlusionary if you want but i think it's fair to say that the chances of people who aren't gay/bi men (or transfem*) facing the repurcussions of those mentalities in any meaningful way, the chances of these people actually having lived as or going to live as "faggots" is any meaningful sense is slim to none, and that's why they're so comfortable participating in this shit, and that's why i'm triggered(tm) by them "reclaiming" faggot (which doesn't really involve reclamation bc calling random strangers on the internet or gay/bi men you hate a slur isn't reclamation you morons), because frankly if you're not apart of either of those groups, you're just not a fucking faggot. it's not your word just because some rando on overwatch called you it for picking hanzo in comp. period. end of story. it's also just extremely absurd to try and claim faggotry as something you experience while...readily and happily engaging in homophobia and fag-hate (which isn't synonymous with the former term but i'm talking abt ppl who probably seldom ever engage which discussions and theory surrounding how homophobia instrumentates itself in society - or at least that which doesn't conform to their worldview). within the gay/bi male community there's plentu of masc "straight-acting" gays who weaponize this shit against fem gays and they (should) get held accountable in the same way. you're not special.

and god, being told my gendered experiences as a fag-adjacent person where (white) cafab women are fully capable of engaging in social forms of "oppression" against me and other fags in undeniably gendered ways is somehow an outlier and therefore not reflective of broader social by (white) masc urbanite tbros with definitively more social standing than i'll ever have in my life, as if i somehow developed this understanding of gendered violence just based off my own life and not...the reported and sometimes even recorded experiences of countless other fags who get mocked and silenced because anything that deviates from a watered down, shoddy cis feminist take on gender is fake news(tm) or bordering on saying misandry exists (like no it doesn't exist but acting as if homophobic shit like anti-sodomy laws, for example, has zero to do with gay/bi men's manhood is just nonsensical). convos on here abt gender being mostly dominated by (white) cafab women or sometimes (white) masc trans guys is such a mistake lmao.

anyway i'm tired and stressed and pretty done with having "acceptable" homophobic shit shoved in my face on a daily basis both online and offline but nevertheless i must persist because i'm not lucky enough to have anywhere else to go, really. just...think critically abt ur actions regarding gay/bi male sexuality and gender-stuff pretty please. please.

( *disclaimer just in case that i definitely don't see transfems as some "type" of gay/bi men. there are transfems who identify with gay/bi manhood and/or faggotry. there are transfems who don't. that's entirely up to them. thank u. )

#op #🌙#homophobia #gender #site culture #no reblogs -

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queermediastudies · 5 years ago

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Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and Self-Exploration

The movie I chose to review for this assignment is The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994). This movie follows two gay men and a transgender woman who all work as professional drag queens as they travel through rural Australia to perform a four-week residency at a resort. Tick (aka Mitzi) is the one who booked the residency because it is his wife’s resort, where she lives with their son. Tick needs a change of pace and to address his history with his wife and son. He is accompanied by his fellow performer Adam (aka Felicia) is young and adventurous, he sees the trip as an adventure and a chance to fulfill his dream of climbing a mountain dressed as a drag queen. Lastly, Bernadette is an uptight transgender woman who has recently lost her younger husband and decides to accompany the other two on their journey. They embark across the Australian outback in a rundown bus that they christen Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. The three queens meet many new people along the way and have various positive and negative experiences throughout the trip. During this trip they address their own personal problems and bond as a group while truly experiencing an adventure. This movie is a comedy of misadventures and feeling like a fish out of water in rural Australia. Told through a queer perspective and utilizing camp aesthetics this film questions identity, sexuality, and stereotypes with humor and a flair for the dramatic.

This film covers a lot of ground and looks at many important themes and topics throughout the film. The four key themes identified in this film are identity, sexuality, queer culture, and camp. These themes are explored through aesthetics, dialogue, and experiences that cause us, the viewers, to question our understanding of what it means to be queer.

This film looks at identity in a unique way. It shows queer identity through the actions and personalities of Tick, Adam, and Bernadette rather than explicitly stating that they are queer. This is demonstrated the most in Tick’s fluid sexuality. Tick has a wife and a son, who was born after he began performing as Mitzi, and they have been living in a small community while he has been living in the city. This journey begins because Tick’s wife calls him and asks him to come perform at the resort she runs. Bernadette and Adam do not know this at the beginning of the film. When they learn about Tick’s past they question his sexuality, specifically whether he is bisexual or gay, and Tick refuses to label himself. “Queer theory posits that sexuality is a vast and complex terrain that encompasses not just personal orientation and/or behavior, but also the social, cultural, and historical factors that define and create these conditions for such orientations and behaviors. As such, queer theory rejects essentialist or biological notions of gender and sexuality, and sees them instead as fluid and socially constructed positionalities” (Benshoff & Griffin, 2004, p.1). It is later revealed that Tick’s wife is also sexually fluid and has dated women in the past. Another interesting identity category employed in this film is urban versus rural cultures. “Identity may then be understood as the interface between subjective positions and cultural situations” (Andersson, 2002, p.4). This film portrays rural communities as white, uneducated, and masculine. The only friend the group makes on their journey is with a man who often talks about how he has traveled throughout his life before settling down. This is a common portrayal of rural communities across media.

The three main characters in this film all work as professional drag queens. They transform into alternate personas through the use of makeup, costumes, and wigs. Throughout the film Tick, Adam, and Bernadette wear wigs made from a myriad of materials, costumes that speak for themselves, and makeup that completes the illusion. These three individuals embody camp aesthetics and fierceness. “By fierceness, I mean a spectacular way of being in the world—a transgressive over-performance of the self through aesthetics. This over-performance works simultaneously to change the dynamics of a room by introducing one’s sartorial, creative presence into the space as well as it is to crystalize, highlight, and push back against limiting identity categories” (Moore, 2012, p.72). To these queens there is no such thing as too much, or being extra, they aim to create an illusion and entertain not just with their performance but with every aspect of their existence. These over the top performances and costumes set them apart from the people around them, especially as they enter the rural towns in the Australian outback. Their appearance itself questions what queerness, masculinity, femininity, and identity mean. “To be fierce is to transcend and to unravel, to self-actualize and to return the gaze. Because of its transgressive potential and deep connection to showmanship, fierceness allows its users to fabricate a new sense of self that radiates a defiant sense ownership through aesthetics” (Moore, 2012, p.72). Drawing inspiration from their favorite divas Tick (Mitzi), Adam (Felicia), and Bernadette challenge the perceptions of everyone they meet, bringing a flare for the dramatic and snarky humor everywhere they travel.

While this movie shows many positive views of queerness that break down some of the dominant ideologies held by the majority of audiences. It also includes some problematic representations and subplots that conform to those dominant ideologies. This includes representing AIDS as a gay problem, transphobic jokes, and problematic portrayals of people who are different from the three main characters.

In the film Tick, Adam, and Bernadette stop to spend the night in a small town. Tick lost a bet to Adam and so they enter the town in full drag and get a room at a motel. They then choose to go out to the bar where they have a tense encounter with a butch woman who says they do not belong in the town and should leave. After Bernadette insults the woman and “puts her in her place” they end up getting drunk and partying with the towns people. The next morning, they leave the hotel to see that someone has painted “AIDS FUCKERS GO HOME!” on the side of Priscilla. This is clearly a homophobic statement against the only obviously queer people in the town. This moment is starkly different from the camaraderie experienced in the bar the night before in the bar. Using AIDS as a way of attacking queer people shows the view that AIDS is a gay disease, and that their mere presence will spread the disease to this town. “Such diverse conceptualizations of AIDS are coupled with fragmentary interpretations of its specific elements… stereotypes about homosexuals generate startling deductions about the illness” (Treichler, 1987, p.34). This view is a harmful stereotype that negatively impacted medical policy and puts lives at risk. In the early 90s when this movie was made the AIDS epidemic was still a concern for many individuals. Using this as a way of demonstrating a homophobic attack on the main characters uses that stereotype and knowledge as a way to demonstrate ignorance in the community. Despite using the stereotype to display ignorance, it still uses AIDS as a synonym for gay. “We cannot effectively analyze AIDS or develop intelligent social policy if we dismiss such conceptions as irrational myths and homophobic fantasies that deliberately ignore the ‘real scientific facts’” (Treichler, 1987, p.34). The stereotype of AIDS as a gay disease cannot be dismissed or used simply as an ignorant view held by uneducated rural communities. AIDS has a much longer and damaging history.

One of the three main characters in this film is a transgender woman named Bernadette. In the beginning of the film her trans status is only mentioned I reference to how hard to was for her to find her partner, who has recently died. As the group embark on their journey through the outback there is more attention on her identity. Many people in these rural communities are not used to seeing a group of queer people and they often do not accept them. This film utilizes transphobic jokes to demonstrate this. However, the main person who insults or critiques Bernadette’s identity is Adam a cis white gay man. Adam routinely calls Bernadette by her dead name, Ralph, as a way to get a rise out of her. It upsets her every time so he does so throughout the film with little regard to how it makes Bernadette feel. Many members of the LGBTQ community are not accepting of transgender individuals, especially when they fail to pass as cisgender men and women. This is a current problem in the community, and a film that is targeted to that community should not use a person’s gender identity as a punchline. It is somewhat obvious that Bernadette is transgender and this causes many people to ask her about her trans status, including very personal questions surrounding her body. “Particularly emphasizes the performativity and social construction of identity by referring to transgender as people who move away from the gender the were assigned at birth, people who cross-over the boundaries constructed by their culture to define and contain that gender” (Fischer, 2018, p.94). While Bernadette is good natured about these questions and willingly answers them it still reduces her trans status to her physical biology. Bernadette is a tough woman and displays this in multiple tense situations throughout the film, but she is largely used as support for the other characters or as the spokesperson for the transgender community. She even plays a mothering figure for Adam after he is almost assaulted in a town for going out dressed as a woman and flirting with straight men. Despite Bernadette’s kindness and support Adam continues to invalidate her identity and use her dead name as a joke. “Scripted and fictional content engaging trans characters often reasserts heteronormativity rather than challenging or subverting gender binaries in efforts to appeal to dominant, cisgender audiences” (Fischer, 2018, p.98). This shows a lack of respect for an already marginalized community, who routinely face threats of physical violence, and reduced trans identity to biological essentialism.

In The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert almost every character is white. There are only two scenes in the movie where people of color are shown, and they are used exclusively to further the storyline or feature the three main characters. First, there is a group of aboriginals having a party in the middle of the desert. The adults in the group are shown drinking and talking with some playing music, while there are children sitting on the ground. After Tick, Adam, and Bernadette get there it is awkward at first. The band playing finishes their song and Tick, Adam, and Bernadette get into drag and perform for the group which is embraced. This is a very different from the reaction of a group of white townspeople who see the group in drag near the beginning of the movie. This is a moment of community, however, there is no interaction outside of this moment. Rather the aboriginals are used as an audience for Tick, Adam, and Bernadette without having any lives or personality outside of this moment. “Much depends on how common ground is defined, and in recent years an important multicultural critique has shown that too often the middle ground has been assumed to be that of relatively dominant positions: white, males, and middle-class” (Warner, 1991, p.16). This moment of community only happens because they are with other people who fall outside what is considered the norm. Instead of being queer they are people of color. The only other representation in this film is an Asian woman, Cynthia, living with her husband in a small town. This representation portrays her as negatively, she speaks in broken English and is looked down on because of her past as a sex worker. Her husband expects her to be submissive and when she is not he ignores her or verbally reprimands her. Then when she chooses to leave him, he is given the sympathy of the group while she is considered crazy. Cynthia is used as a foil to show that performing as a drag queen is not morally wrong compared to other forms of entertainment, like Cynthia’s performance. Cynthia is used only to show that Tick, Adam, and Bernadette are moral and respectable compared to her. “Queer struggles and those of other identity movements, or alternatively of other new social movements, often differ in important ways—even when they are intermingled in experience” (Warner, 1991, p.18). Cynthia is used as a pawn to further the respectability of the three, white, main characters.

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My identity as a white cisgender bisexual woman allows me to both appreciate and enjoy the movie while still questioning its problematic traits. My identity influences how I view all media texts because identity is built through an individual’s environment and experiences. In this section I will look at how my race, sexuality, and gender influence how I experienced this film. This movie centers on white individuals with only a few scenes that include people of color, and they are represented in potentially damaging ways. This is a common problem in films that center whiteness. It is also a common problem for films made in the 1990s when many white people were less socially conscious of bias and stereotypes for people of color. The people of color shown are exclusively used to either further the storyline for the three white main characters or as a joke that serves to relieve some of the tension built up in the narrative. These portrayals are damaging especially for the marginalized groups represented. This film was widely popular among white gays and negatively portraying other marginalized groups furthers racism and discrimination within the gay community.

This movie addresses sexuality in a unique way. Instead of making sexuality a clear binary it is shown as a spectrum that can shift throughout an individual’s life. This is an important representation considering how prominent binary thinking is even today. The main character Tick has a wife and son, while he has also had boyfriends. He refuses to identify his sexuality and says he is not bisexual or gay he is with people. It is later revealed by his son, Benji, that Tick’s wife has been in relationships with women as well as men. This shows that sexuality does not have to be defined. While this concept is explored they also prominently feature a transgender character in this film. While there are some transphobic jokes and Bernadette does not pass as a cisgender woman, the only romantic storyline throughout the film centers on Bernadette and Bob (a mechanic in a small rural town). Showing a romantic relationship between these two characters challenges how transitioning is understood, Bernadette has had a gender confirming surgery but she does not pass for a cis woman, and the stereotypical portrayal of rural communities shown in the rest of the film. As a bisexual woman I appreciate sexuality being shown as fluid rather than in binary terms. Bisexuality is not always accepted in the queer community and many people see it as a stepping stone to becoming gay or as a pit stop before going back to heterosexuality. This film challenges that notion and even states that sexuality does not have to be defined or proven to anyone else. I like the portrayal of trans womanhood in this film because it questions beauty standards and focuses on how comfortable Bernadette feels with herself. While the movie discusses stereotypes of transness it does not make that Bernadette’s entire identity.

This film is enjoyed as a celebration of queer aesthetics and renowned for its costumes and pays tribute to camp; it also has a lot to say about queerness. It wraps up its critiques and challenges in comedy but, it still questions the dominant ideologies surrounding identity and social positioning. This film has flaws, many of which are not uncommon for a 90s movie, and these must be recognized however it also has important social critiques that are still relevant today. The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert utilizes queer aesthetics to examine identity politics and question dominant ideologies.

Reference:

Andersson, Y. (2002). Queer Media? Media Research in Progress, 1(1), 2–10.

Benshoff, H., & Griffin, S. (2004). General Introduction. In Queer Cinema: The Film Reader (pp. 1–15). New York, NY: Routledge.

Fischer, M. (2018). Queer and Feminist Approaches to Transgender Media Studies. In Terrorizing Gender: Transgender Visibility and the Surveillance Practices if the U.S. Security State (pp. 93–107). Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press.

Moore, M. (2012). Tina Theory: Notes on Fierceness. Journal of Popular Music Studies, 24(1), 71–86.

Treichler, P. A. (1987). AIDS, Homophobia, and Biomedical Discourse: An Epidemic of Signification. AIDS: Cultural Analysis/Cultural Activism, 43, 31–70.

youtube

#queer media #camp #priscilla queen of the desert #trans #lgbtq

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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years ago

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A Little Bit in Love (chapter two)

The crack ship keeps on cracking

Please consider leaving a comment, in the tags or on Ao3

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As the first few weeks of term went on, Percy learned a lot about his new roommate. It was just that very little of it came from Caleb himself.

Mostly out of passivity, Percy found himself hanging around in a loose group of boys he’d known all his life but never really found himself liking, sons of his father’s friends and associates. And very often the conversation would turn, rarely kindly, towards his red haired roommate, who he’d apparently been paired with at the last minute after he’d gone against his father’s demands and requested a room in the dorms. Percy grimly couldn’t imagine any other scenario where the son of their most generous donor and someone like Caleb, dragging around the multitude of reminders that the school was embarrassed to have him here, would be placed together.

Depending on which part of him they felt like needling, the boys would joke about his too big uniform, his almost impossibly tiny frame, the fact that he was trans. Percy never joined in, just sitting there with his distaste hidden behind quick subject changes and pretending he couldn’t hear.

But he never walked away either.

As much as he didn’t like what his sort of friends said about Caleb, he couldn’t help but be maddeningly curious about him. A few times, on late evenings, when he’d be idly thumbing his way through his brand new copies of the assigned texts for their classes, stretched out on his bed, and Caleb would be in amongst a fortress of his own second hand versions of the same books, Percy would try and start conversations. Caleb would flinch whenever he did, as if the casually thrown out words were blows, and then give small, singular answers like he was being interviewed. Like everything was a test.

Percy would give up after a few questions got him nowhere, not wanting to make Caleb more uncomfortable.

What he didn’t learn from the jeers and whispered comments of his peers in the dining hall and corridors outside of classrooms, Percy picked up from observation. The two of them shared a bedroom, a bathroom and he couldn’t help but notice things.

There were textbooks on Caleb’s bed that he didn’t recognise, even with Percy taking a full load of classes. After a little waiting and watching, catching sight of Caleb in the hallways, he eventually pieced together that they were required reading for anyone taking classes in magic. Spellwork wasn’t even an option for freshmen, you could only take those classes in later years and, even then, after a unique set of aptitude tests. But there were the books and there was some homework on his lap, sheets of symbols that were as incomprehensible to Percy as his mechanical blueprints probably were to other people.

Some things were less interesting, more worrying.

Percy laced up his rugby boots carefully, methodically. He couldn’t afford for them to slip.

They had been gifts on his last birthday from his sister Vesper, the only gifts he’d felt had been bought for him rather than who his family imagined he was. They were sleek black things, moulded studs clacking in a very satisfying way when he walked. They were beautiful.

All he had to do now was make the team so he had a chance to wear them.

He was so wrapped up in his own nervousness, he didn’t hear the bathroom door opening.

He did hear the embarrassed squeak Caleb loudly emitted as he realised the room he’d just walked into, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his body.

Percy jumped, well aware of how horribly red he instantly turned, “Sorry!”

Caleb looked like he was ready to bolt but somehow also simultaneously frozen, like that horrible midway state in a nightmare, being desperate to flee but unable to move, “I...I thought you’d be at the trials already.”

If he wasn’t so laser focused on how much he wanted to curl up into a tiny ball, Percy would have been a little impressed that Caleb knew where he’d been going. How much attention had his shy roommate actually been paying?

“I’m just about to head out, it’s not until half past,” he grimaced apologetically, jumping up, “I’ll head out.”

He’d told himself not to. He’d done so well, training his eyes on Caleb’s face no matter how awkward that made it but as he turned, they fell. Even after so long at the school, Caleb still had the deep set tan to his lower arms and legs, the one that showed how much time he’d spent working in the sun. That surprised him.

And he was so, so thin. Dangerously thin. About to snap sort of thin.

The kind of thin that only came from never having enough.

Percy bit his lip, ducking his eyes. He hadn’t realised just how much Caleb was hiding.

Before the door closed, he caught a small, shy voice, so soft it was like it was deciding whether to speak up at all.

“Good luck, Percy.”

He was so stunned, he just stood for a moment while the door clicked behind him, eyes wide.

He was learning more and more. Maybe he’d start hearing it from Caleb himself.

Lunch the next day was it’s usual noisy affair. Even boys raised by money were still boys and when they were crowded in together, hungry and itching after being in lessons all day, they let themselves go a little.

Percy deliberately showed up a little late, going to see his Engineering professor about homework he didn’t really need help with, so he knew when he entered his usual group would already be seated and Caleb would already be off in the corner, a book propped behind his plate like a shield. He got his own meal and quickly, purposefully, walked right past his table and sat a seat down from Caleb, as far from them as it was physically possible to be.

Caleb didn’t notice at first, pupils darting along the lines, too lost in what he was reading like his brain was as hungry for the words as his body was for the food in front of him. But he slowly seemed to realise that a lot of startled eyes were on him and he looked up furtively, already half cringing for a blow.

“Hey,” Percy said quietly, casually, like there was nothing unusual about their situation.

Caleb looked utterly stunned, spoon paused halfway from his mouth to his plate, “Um...hey.”

“Good day?” he continued in the same light, unconcerned tone, sipping his water idly.

“Um...yeah. Fine,” Caleb’s eyes darted between Percy and Percy’s glaringly vacant seat over with the other young gentry of Whitestone. He looked like someone waiting to hear the punchline of a joke clearly at his expense.

“Did you understand a single thing Professor Mattheison was saying?” They shared a mathematics class.

The tips of Caleb’s ears went red and he risked a smile, “No. It sounded like he was talking another language.”

Percy chuckled, “You’re lying. You knew exactly what he was talking about.”

Caleb seemed to shrink, like his first assumption was that his intelligence was something to be ashamed of. But when Percy did nothing but look at him expectantly and smile, he relaxed.

“Well...okay, I did. But he didn’t explain it very well.”

Percy laughed, almost deliberately loudly. Loudly enough that those few friends of his that weren’t already starting incredulously now definitely were. After a few beats, Caleb laughed along with him. It was more of a slight chuckle but Percy expected that was as close as Caleb ever got.

“Hey,” Percy ventured, feeling it was probably okay at this point, “Do you want my garlic bread? I’m not going to eat it.”

Caleb looked down at his own bare plate and across to Percy’s, expression hesitant but there was definite desire in them. They weren't permitted seconds and Caleb always ate every scrap of what he had, not quickly but certainly in a way that suggested he wanted to eat quicker but was self conscious about it. And now Percy knew why.

“Sure,” Caleb murmured, taking it and immediately falling on it.

Percy smiled in relief, though not when Caleb was looking.

Things went like that for a while. Percy divided his mealtimes equally between Caleb and his usual group. When he sat with his old friends, he’d pointedly ignore questions about his change in routine, only answering when pushed with a curt, “He’s my roommate. Why wouldn’t I sit with him?”

The other boys were always careful around Percy, like he was their version of his father, the head of their little microcosm of their parent’s infinitely more complex social hierarchy. Most of the time it just made him feel awkward and exposed, like he was the lead in a play but he hadn’t learned his lines. But now he could use it to his advantage, drawing on the well of de Rolo ‘how dare you even breathe the same air as me’ face everyone in his family seemed to have. The snide remarks and comments about Caleb lessened whenever Percy was around them, though he had no doubt they continued as soon as he was out of earshot.

When he was with Caleb, he would always eat no more than half his meal, no matter how hungry he was, even if he’d just come straight from the rugby pitch and was ravenous. The rest he’d slide along to his roommate, insisting he wasn’t in the mood, that it would just go to waste anyway.

Caleb wasn’t a fool, evidenced by the fact that most of the books he brought down to dinner were in another language or had diagrams in them so complex they made Percy feel a little dizzy. He clearly had some idea of what Percy was doing, it was there in his eyes. But he didn’t refuse.

Initially it seemed to be some kind of grudging acceptance, a realisation that if he was going to be made fun of, if this was all going to turn out to be an elaborate joke, he may as well get some extra food out of it. But after a few weeks with no reveal, no punchline, he seemed to relax a little. Soon they were having what could even be called a conversation, the book closed and resting between them rather than serving as a barrier.

And when the door closed on room 2.04, Caleb came to life even more. Though he spent most of the evenings tackling the mountain of homework he always seemed to get in between they would sit on their beds and chat, both of them feeling something unwind inside their chests. Like they could say anything, things they wouldn’t dare say beyond their little room.

Like someone was actually listening to them.

Part of Caleb, the part that was left cold and small and scared after years of never really having friends, of having people hide sneers behind their smiles for a variety of different reasons, told him what a bad idea this was. He had no reason to trust Percy, beyond a silly little crush on him that was certainly not helped by his roommate’s tendency to lounge around in rugby shorts. He smiled kindly, he shared with him, he spoke softly but other people had done that before and still something soured, turned them cold and vaguely disgusted with Caleb.

But the rest of him was charmed enough, desperate for companionship enough to not listen. He’d been caught off guard by just how homesick he was, thinking naively that his desire to be here at the most prestigious school in the world, the one he’d worked so hard to attend, would mean he’d never think of home. But, two months in, he was finding himself desperate for another voice to speak to him kindly, for someone to smile and ask how his day was going, to show some small amount of care. Even if Percy would eventually tire of playing the charitable friend to the sad little scholarship boy he’d been lumbered with, for now it was something Caleb needed so badly the eventual hurt was worth the risk.

“So, wait, you built it yourself? A working dimmer lamp? When you were seven?”

It might have just been the light, but the tips of Percy’s ears seemed to go a little pink, “Come on, Caleb, you were probably making things levitate and fly around the room at that age. And I bet you didn’t need gears and wires to do it.”

Caleb had to admit, his affinity for magic, gleaned from nothing but the scant few arcane books the town had to offer, had come about around that time. But he was no less impressed.

“Still, that’s incredible,” he insisted, hugging his knees to his chest, “How did you get all the stuff you needed?”

A mischievous look flitted across Percy’s face, “I took apart my older sister’s vanity and a few toys my younger sister never played with. Cassie didn’t mind but Ves was furious. After she chased me around the house, my parents started getting me the equipment I needed. I think they clicked on that if I wasn’t given it, I’d just take it and cause more trouble.”

Caleb felt a little pang, he’d have loved that kind of closeness with a sibling. Growing up on a farm by himself had come with its lonely moments.

“So you’re kind of a tinkerer, huh?”

“Yeah,” Percy gave a little shrug, like it was something he was used to defending, “I just like seeing how things work. Taking them apart, trying to put them together in different ways, making stuff entirely new.”

“That’s a little like magic,” Caleb observed, resting his chin on his knees. He was a little warm, in his oversized school sweater and trousers, but no way would he take any of it off.

“How so?”

“Well, all the wizards who came before came up with their symbols and their spells and all of this. Anyone can learn them and reuse them. Only great wizards can take those components and see new ways of linking them so you can make something that no one has ever thought of before in the thousands of years we’ve been working with them.”

Percy smiled rather than looked concerned at Caleb’s outburst, none of the usual second hand embarrassment people usually responded with when he talked like a textbook.

“And that’s what you’re going to do, huh?”

Caleb blushed, knowing he looked like a tomato when he did, thanks to his red hair, “I mean...maybe. I’d like to try.”

Percy shifted, long legs left mostly bare by his shorts lying crossed over each other now. Caleb winced at how obsessively he was paying attention to them, “Well, not that I know a damn thing about magic. But if there’s anyone who could do that, I bet it’s you.”

Caleb didn’t know what to say to that. He was already blushing, his body had no response left so he just kind of stammered and looked down.

Percy seemed to get it anyway, standing up and stretching his arms up above his head, “I’m going to shower before I turn in, alright? Turn the lights off if you want to, I’ll manage.”

“Sure,” Caleb swallowed, eyes flickering to the clock and seeing it was incredibly late. As much as he’d loved to lose himself in the new book he’d checked out from the library, he didn’t want to be yawning his way through tomorrow’s classes.

His eyes snapped straight forward again at the whisper of fabric against skin as Percy, apparently trying to kill him no matter how unknowingly, casually swept his loose white shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor on his way to the bathroom.

Stop he snapped at himself, trying to turn his full attention to climbing under the covers, pulling them up high over his head. The sound of running water and Percy humming softly was muffled until it could have been happening two whole rooms away.

But part of him still strained towards the sound.

This is the last thing you need, he growled as he snapped his fingers and killed the lights, not even taking a moment to enjoy how easy that had become, you’ve finally gotten a friend, don’t ruin it with a stupid crush.

Caleb paused as the exhaustion he spent his day shoving to one side finally crept up on him. He’d never even thought that word before but there it was, refusing to budge and actually feeling like it belonged there.

He had a friend. Percy was his actual friend.

He’d come to this school expecting to find powers inside himself he hadn’t known were there, he’d come expecting it to be the first step in learning to bend all of reality to his will and control the world that had refused to let him in for so long.

But this was the one thing he’d ever expected.

#critical role #Percy de rolo #caleb widogast #modern au #slow burn #college au

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knuckleduster · 6 years ago

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Ruben do you have any josei recs :D

i do bc there’s a LOT that i have read that are good but some are very heavy so ill give some warnings too

pieta by haruno nanae is a very good psychological yuri abt two girls. it deals w familial abuse and suicide very graphically, the author has done other work like double house but i havent read that yet

helter skelter and river’s edge by okazaki kyoko are very very good (especially helter skelter) but are SUPER heavy. helter skelter deals w beauty standards, the modeling business and to what lengths people go to be beautiful, its a very good read and one of my favorite manga of all time but it deals very graphically with a LOT of stuff like unhealthy sex, fatphobia, eating disorders, drugs, abuse, and there’s gore. similar warnings go for river’s edge but this one is about far younger people so the warnings are amplified. river;s edge is abt high schoolers in a suburb and it deals w being gay, bullying, bad relationships, and also eating disorders and modeling again. okazaki has made a lot of other manga too but most aren;t online for free. i still want to read pink so i might buy it but until then i cant rec any of her other work.

yamaji ebine has a lot of good work about lesbian relationships that are more yuri than josei but im counting it, love my life is an absolute recommendation for anyone, about a young lesbian and her parents, girlfriend and friends. free soul is good too, abt a young lesbian manga artist who runs away from home and ends up living w an old artist. the manga deals both with her love life and her making a manga abt a black lesbian singer. this one deals with incest but only mentioned. indigo blue is about a novelist who is married to a man but falls in love w a woman and writes a book about it. sweet loving baby is a collection of short stories and i didnt like all of them as much as her longer work but its worth reading and very short.

in clothes called fat by moyoco anno is about eating disorders and its very good but also very heavy. i havent read it in a while so i cant give detailed content warnings here but you should be able to find those somewhere

collectors by uko nushi is a more light hearted yuri/slice of life manga abt a lesbian couple where one spends too much on fashion and the other on books and they love each other a lot despite being so different

paradise kiss by yazawa ai is about a girl who by chance ends up modeling for a group of fashion students and in turn completely changes the way she thinks about life. the romance is ehhh and the ending can be disappointing but everything else is good. im reading nana by the same author right now and its good but im not that far into the story so cant give a full explanation. also parakiss has one character who is a trans woman but who is very often treated as a joke and misgendered and some of the characters being gay or bi is also used as a punchline from time to time.

anything by the year 24 group is more shojo but a lot of their themes overlap w josei so you could look into that. i havent read a lot of their work though.

ohana holoholo by torino shino is cute but i dont think it was ever fully translated? if it was someone send me a link. i havent read it in a while but its a found family story w a lot of lgbt characters

im forgetting about a lot but my problem is that i dont remember what ive read so maybe ill add to this list later

#josei #pigwithsock #ask #mine

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theshinsun · 6 years ago

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Shinsun’s Haikyuu!! master fic rec list

Yeah so...I figured I should make a list for haikyuu!! as long as I’ve made one for KNB. This one’s probably gonna be just as long.

KNB list here.

Again, stars by the ones I consider must-reads, but otherwise these are in no particular order

*jaywalkers by Batman – (mainly KuroTsuki, also DaiSuga, BokuAka, etc, multichapter/series, completed) This college AU is...to date, probably the best use of fanfiction as a medium that I’ve ever seen. I’d recommend this fic to everyone who enjoys Haikyuu!!, everyone who enjoys college shenanigans, and really anyone who just enjoys a good story. Jaywalkers is a novel, jam-packed with humor and feelings and rich character arcs and little moments that feel so real and hit so hard that you’d swear you’ve experienced them yourself. The language is beautiful, and so is the story, it’s so worth reading through at least once. (I’ve probably re-read it close to four times now, and this author’s writing style has significantly impacted my own).

*the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle by kittebasu – (IwaOi, multichapter, completed) Stumbled across this fic on someone else’s rec list, and dove right in without realizing it was over 60k words...but it was so worth it. Oikawa is an entomologist, Iwaizumi is an Olympic volleyball player and is avoiding him. There is humor, there is angst, there are postmodernist time period switches, this fic is a ride and I love it.

*I like the way your clothes smell by Mysecretfanmoments – (KageHina, multichapter, completed) I would be hard-pressed to find a Haikyuu!! shipper that hasn’t read this fic by now, but on the off chance you haven’t, what are you waiting for? It’s KageHina awkwardly trying to figure out how to be together for 20 chapters and it’s great.

*romance ‘n’ all that jazz by rarepairenabler – (GoshiHina, oneshot) Musician AU! Goshiki and Hinata both want to play their respective instruments on the same street corner…rivalry and hijinks and eventual feelings ensue. This fic kinda gives off a Kids on the Slope vibe and the language is at turns gorgeous and hilarious, I definitely recommend giving this a read.

*Last Year’s Wishes Are This Year’s Apologies by Zee – (UshiOi, oneshot) A really good UshiOi fic in which Oikawa is rude, and then drunk, and then even more rude…also I remember a blowjob scene in there somewhere that had a significant impact on my smut-writing style…if that tells you anything.

*The Dream That Wakes You Up by rarepairenabler – (OiKuroo, multichapter, completed) One of the best fake dating AUs I’ve ever read, in which Oikawa is a sex god and Kuroo inevitably catches feelings for him but then there’s the whole fake dating rules thing of course.

Daredevil on the Slope by Smokey310 – (BokuAkaKuroTsuki, multichapter, completed) Roadtrip fic with the OT4! I love Smokey’s writing tbh it’s just the right amount of ridiculous and sincere and it gets me every time.

Only The Jellyfish Know by Anonymous – (IwaOi, oneshot) It’s the Seijou third years being hilarious dorks and also best friends on the last day of their last year in school together.

moonfall by Batman - (KuroTsuki, oneshot) Again, Batman’s writing shines in a league all it’s own, in this modern magic/witch AU about the five things of Kuroo’s that show up at Tsukishima’s house, and the one thing that never left.

#SnapShots by freakofnature – (KageHina, KuroKen, etc, multichapter, in progress) It’s the pastel punk au that handles gender nonconformity with surprising…realism? I dunno, I kinda want to say comfort, like the author seems really comfortable with writing trans folks and as a trans folk myself I say kudos, ‘cause I seriously struggle with that shit.

the perfect stranger by downmoon – (DaiSuga, multichapter, completed) Now if you know me, you know I’m a sucker for single dad AU. This one’s got single dad Daichi and it is...perfect. Also Kageyama and Hinata are little kids! I love this fic it just makes me smile every time I read it please go read it so you can smile too.

right in the head by Mysecretfanmoments – (BokuAka, multichapter, completed) It’s a zombie apocalypse AU! With all the drama and bloodshed you’d expect from that, but also a couple surprising twists and turns that set it apart from the rest. A bit of a long read, but a good one.

Apple Curry by inkleafclover - (TeruDai, oneshot) A really adorable single dad!AU with Daichi and Terushima, cooking things, and Kageyama as Daichi’s son which is just...precious. This one is short but so cute.

To Build a Home by rarepairenabler …Actually fuck it anything by rarepairenabler it’s all gold. this one, though…is a oneshot, with OiBoKuroo (idk what their ship name is) as neighbors and BoKuroo are already together and Oikawa is crushing hard and it plays out pretty much how you’d expect. Amber’s writing is phenomenal though, I’d give all their fics a go at least once.

Nishinoya The Brave by azumanishi – (implied AsaNoya, oneshot) This one is super short but the payoff is fantastic. It’s literally a joke, but the punchline is so damn good and well-timed it gets me every time. Always worth a read.

Disney’s “Tsukishima The Reverse Mermaid” by Smokey310 – (BoKuroTsuki, multichapter, completed) Department store/stuck in an elevator AU. I had to dig to try and find this one again but I really love it, as always with Smokey’s writing it’s equal turns of humor and emotions and that just makes for a good read.

Cloudy With a Chance of UFOs by masi – (UshiOi, oneshot) Here it is, the fic that made me ship UshiOi. Oikawa’s a space enthusiast, Ushijima’s a farmer I think? They meet when Ushijima discovers a crop circle in his wheat field.

World Will Follow After by Authoress – (DaiSuga, oneshot) Biker Daichi and ice cream shop employee Sugawara. What could go wrong?

now, keiji by livecement – (BokuAka, oneshot) Bokuto helps Akaashi when he needs to relax...it’s definitely effective *winkwonk* This one features stubborn Akaashi and dominating Bokuto and we all need that, right?

What Are We Drinking Anyway by Smokey310 – (TsukiKage, oneshot, plus some unrequited OiKage) I wouldn’t usually ship this but this fic like…understands that these two don’t really work together and the only reason they do here is because they’re drunk. It’s really well-written and witty and I enjoy it. Also Kageyama calls Tsukishima a hippopotamus at one point.

love and victory by bigspoonnoya – (KageHina, oneshot…but also part of a series) In this one Karasuno loses to Shiratorizawa (eventually), but still, some things never change.

favorite color? by rarepairenabler – (BokuAka, oneshot) just a really adorable little fic about Akaashi’s preferred method of dealing with Bokuto’s spiraling.

Defectio Solis by Moami – (KageHina, oneshot) Hinata’s stopped talking to Kageyama, and he slowly self-destructs as he tries to figure out why.

Yaku and the Beanstalk by Mysecretfanmoments – (LevYaku, oneshot) Lev gets his arm stuck in a vending machine…because of course he does…and Yaku has to deal with him.

Timeless (We Have 30 Days) by glass_owl – (IwaOi, oneshot) And finally, this angst monster. Basically it’s a universe where a number appears on you a certain amount of time before you’re supposed to die. Iwaizumi finds out Oikawa’s been numbered. Enough said.

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demisexualemmaswan · 7 years ago

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The Hanging Tree [6/21]

Catch up on Tumblr

Catch up on Ao3

Tagging @gretelsmaias @literatiruinedme @lesbxdyke @messdress @goddiva@the-last-blapple @leatherrumandthesea @andiirivera @piratesbooty63fan@izzyd03 @writemyanchor @drunkenssoldier @looselipswontsinkships @jump-on-winds-back @justanotherflailgirl @themrandmrscaptainswan @ohmakemeahercules @myideaaofperfect @karamelshipper @winterbaby89 who have liked previous parts of THT

A/N: Minor descriptions/depictions of violence in the fifth to last paragraph! Enjoy!

“Where does the king keep his armies?” Killian asked her as they headed downstairs to breakfast.

“Where?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow at him, knowing that the punchline was going to be absolutely terrible.

“In his sleevies,” Killian said with a grin, his eyes lighting up as she let out a giggle in spite of herself.

“Killian, that’s the worst joke I ever heard. Worse than Henry’s dead fish joke and that’s really saying something,” she complained as she sat down for breakfast. He laughed again, tilting his head back, and a pang of homesickness rose up within her.

Killian seemed to read her mind, and said softly, “I’m sure Henry’s well taken care of. He probably stayed up late, waiting to see if he can watch any footage of you on those screens that are in the town square. Or he’s working on a welcome home present for you when you come back.”

Emma nodded, finding her throat too closed up to respond. “Was an awful joke,” she finally muttered out in an attempt to bring some levity back into the room.

“I know, that’s why I told it,” he responded, pushing the last apple toward her. She took a bite out of it and watched him thoughtfully. “What, is there something on my face?” he asked, leaning in closer so she could inspect it.

“Yeah, your face,” Emma snorted, shoving him away.

“Now that’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard,” Whale announced, sitting in between them. “I’m glad you two have made up because we have work to do.” He pointed at the bowl of fruit so Killian would eat something. “It’s training day. This is the first time all week you’ll mostly be left unsupervised with the other Tributes. You need to eat to keep up your strength.”

“What’s in the training center?” Killian asked.

“More weapons than you’ve ever seen in your life. Practice areas, hand to hand combat arenas, survival guides. Anything you could possibly imagine that you’d need to help you survive in the Games,” Whale rattled them off in what seemed like a practiced speech. His brow furrowed and his gaze sharpened when he looked at them. “It’s a real doozy of teenage hormones and aggression and I want you to partake in none of it.”

“Don’t we have to…y’know, train in the training center?” Emma asked, looking up at her mentor.

“That’s not what I meant, Bright Eyes,” Whale harrumphed. “What I mean is you need to be smart. A lot of the other Tributes will make the next few days about showing off their strength and you absolutely cannot do that.”

“Why?” Killian asked.

“They need to underestimate us,” Emma replied, looking over at Whale. He nearly dropped his flask and she grinned a little wider. “Well, if you watch the other games, a lot of underdogs made it to the top 8…that’s how you won, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Whale said with a strange little smile. “Well, color me impressed, cygnet. You do follow the advice I give you.”

“Cygnet?” Emma laughed. “What, like a baby swan? I’m not a baby, I’m seventeen.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Whale chuckled, sitting down in front of her to grab something to eat. In the end, he settled for a piece of toast and began rummaging through the cabinets. “Most of the people I hang out with are in their forties. Seventeen is nothing.”

“Really, I thought most of the people you hung out with are at least hundred years old because they’re all scotch,” Tinkerbelle said dryly, coming into the kitchen with her hair done up nicely. “Also, who are you calling forty?”

“I forgot, you’re actually like three hundred years old underneath all that makeup,” Whale said in a snarky voice, sipping at his drink.

“Make sure you drink some water before we go anywhere today,” Tinkerbelle replied, putting a water bottle down on the table in front of him. “Don’t want you having a heart attack and leaving our tributes mentorless. Although sufficed to say, they might actually stand a chance without you.”

“Oh my God…” Emma sighed, eating more fruit. “Kill me if I ever get like that with someone.”

“Careful, Swan. We could get close in the arena and then I’d have to kill you, and then all our bonding would be for not, wouldn’t it?” Killian murmured with a smirk. Emma laughed into her meal in spite of herself. “All right, how long do you think it’ll take before they stop arguing?”

“At least twenty minutes?” Emma offered.

And true to form, it took Whale and Tinkerbell about twenty-five minutes to stop arguing. The argument only stopped when the ceiling announced to them that they had only about half an hour before Emma and Killian needed to be down at training.

“So we watch,” Killian said to Whale as they walked down to the training center, trying to redirect the conversation. “Might we have a need to show off our strength at any given time? Isn’t it a good idea to do that?”

“Not unless it’s life or death,” Whale replied. “People have died in the training arena, though they take more and more steps each year to prevent that from happening. Emma and Killian’s eyes both widened and they looked at each other. “Usually they get killed by a Volunteer in one of the upper districts in a gruesome show of force. Again: a doozy of teenage hormones and aggression.”

Emma’s heart began to pound against her chest and she scooted closer to Killian. They both started to fall behind their mentor a little. “Shouldn’t we fight back then? Be able to defend ourselves?”

Whale rolled his eyes. “I’m the mentor here. I give the advice,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “Otherwise, they can figure out what you’re about. I don’t even know what you two are fully capable of.”

“Shouldn’t you know? You’re our mentor,” Emma said curiously. “Don’t you need to know what we can do? Y’know. So you can help us.” It was hard to repress the flare of irritation that rose within her. At every turn it seemed like the games were more and more against them. How were they supposed to survive if the one person who was required to keep them alive didn’t know everything about them?

Whale shook his head, a shadow passing over his face. “You never know what they’re gonna pull for next year’s Quarter Quell.”

“Who said you’re even making it to the Quarter Quell?” Tinkerbell called back from the front. “Your liver might give out before then.”

“Please. The ceiling wouldn’t let me die, would you, ceiling?”

“Victor Whale. Vital signs normal. Kidney function good. Liver trans—” the ceiling rattled off before Whale waved it silent.

“So what can we do for the next few days?” Emma asked, trying to hide the shakiness in her voice. Suddenly, all she could picture was Henry looking up hopefully at the screen for a face that would never show.

Oh, God. I need to get back to Henry. I need to.

Killian briefly slipped his hand in hers and she could feel his hand shaking. Whale stopped short and the two nearly crashed into him, never letting go of the other’s hand.

“First off, you have to breathe because they will eat you alive in there if they can see you’re afraid,” Whale said flatly, spinning around to look at them. “You’re allowed to be afraid, but for god’s sake, hide it, or I guarantee you they’ll be carrying you out in a body bag before the week is out.”

Emma nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Whale’s next words floated in and out of her ear, competing with the loud thumping against her chest. Every time she snuck a look over at Killian, he didn’t seem to fare much better.

I don’t want to die.

“Any questions?” Whale asked, looking down at them. They both stared up at him blankly before he nodded and clapped his hands together. “All right. Have fun, stay alive, and don’t get beaten up too badly.” The Mistguards all but shoved Emma and Killian into the room. They both stumbled and took a look around them. Twenty-two other kids milled about the room, some uncertainly, some like they were ready to devour the room. Emma and Killian looked at one another as one of the Tributes was shoved to the floor by Felix, who stood menacingly over him.

“Scared?” Felix taunted, leaning over into the boy’s face. “Well you should be. Wait until I’m through with you.”

“Save it for the Arena,” a Mistguard called, stepping a little closer to the fray, but not close enough that he really could stop Felix from terrorizing any of the other Tributes. Emma stepped forward, shoulders squared and eyes blazing, ready for a fight. Killian grabbed her hand and squeezed tightly. “Emma, no. Remember what Whale said,” he said urgently. Emma tugged ineffectively at his hand, scowling at him for a moment before standing down.

“Tributes, there are several stations positioned throughout the room,” a booming voice announced. Several of the Tributes jumped, while others smirked and sneered. “There is a weapons arena with several specialized training regimens, a survival station, a digitized survival handbook, and a sparring arena. You may not bring items from one station to the next. If you do not comply with the rules and regulations, there will be consequences.”

“What could possibly be a greater consequence than being here?” Graham muttered, and there were a few snickers around the room

Emma’s eyes swept over the room, noting each thing the ceiling listed was in its own corner, lined up with at least two Mistguard. Though there were more doors lining the training arena, in case more needed to be called. She couldn’t see any of the Mistguard’s eyes through their shields, and she wasn’t sure if she was more grateful or unnerved.

“You may begin Day 1 of 3 of your training,” the ceiling announced before it clicked off

Emma moved to start weapons training, when a soft “oomph” and a few snickers caught her attention. The girl tribute from 11 lay sprawled out on the floor, Walsh leaning over her menacingly. “You’re so tiny, I could gobble you up right now and still have room for lunch,” he growled in her face. The girl reached to scratch him, or punch him, of something to get away, and Walsh pinned her only hand above her head.

“Leave her alone!” Killian said angrily, moving to stand in front of Walsh.

“Two one handed wonders?” Cruella asked with a sneer, coming to Walsh’s other side. “At least this one is easy on the eyes.” Felix and Walsh began circling around Killian, before they were joined by a boy with slicked back hair and imperious sneer.

Emma’s eyes flickered to the Mistguard, who didn’t seem to care. Hans raised his arm to strike, and she stepped forward to intervene on Killian’s behalf. But she didn’t need to. Before she even blinked, Killian and ducked beneath Hans’s raised arm, twisted the raised arm behind Hans’s back and forcibly shoved Hans to the floor. Cruella and Felix both moved, as if to strike Killian, as did the other girl tribute from Two. Emma tried to weave her way through the crowd to get closer to Killian, but a Mistguard stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

“Anyone else want to go?” Killian said in a breathless growl, leaning in closer to Walsh. Walsh uneasily looked away from Killian’s piercing stare. “Best let her up then, mate.”

“Get off of me!” Hans declared, trying to wriggle free from Killian’s strong hold, but found he couldn’t even budge. “You’re dead!” he screamed. “As soon as we get in that arena, you’re dead!”

“Very threatening with your voice muffled by the floor,” Killian snickered, and Emma felt her stomach unclench somewhat. “Are you going to let the girl up, Walsh, or—” But Killian didn’t need to finish his sentence as the girl in question took advantage of Walsh’s slack grip, elbowed him and bounced up triumphantly when Walsh keeled over, holding his stomach.

Killian got up of Hans, chortling to himself, and made his way back over to Emma. Felix shoved him in the back as he was walking, and Emma slipped through to grab Felix by the throat, pinning him against the wall. “Pretty low life thing to do, attack someone when their back is turned,” she muttered.

“Best listen to the lady, mate,” Killian replied, unable to hide the amused quirk to his mouth. Felix tore his head out of Emma’s grasp and walked away muttering to himself.

“All right, enough is enough,” a Mistguard finally intervened. “All of you, begin your training. The next person to start a fight will be escorted out of the training room and will be banned from entering here again.” The tributes began to shuffle away, trying to distance themselves from the alliance that was already forming. Hans, Cruella, Felix and Walsh immediately headed to the sparring ring, followed closely by the other

“That was quite the show there, Swan.” There was a note of affectionate and surprise tinting his words. She wasn’t sure she could take in the look on his face that most likely matched them.

“Your back was turned,” Emma muttered, the tips of her ears turning pink. “So much for not being a part in all the hormones and aggression, huh?” She was determined to look anywhere but Killian’s surprised, yet affectionate, glance, when she noticed the girl from 11 holding her stump to her chest. “Hey, I think she’s really hurt.”

Killian and Emma both moved forward to see if they could help, when a boy stepped in front of them. The other tribute from Eleven glowered down at them, a good head taller than both of them, the light reflecting off his shaved, ochre brown head. “Imani is fine,” he muttered in a low voice. “She doesn’t need your help.”

“Mogarzea, my stump is bleeding and I don’t have it with me,” Imani piped up anxiously. The little girl turned to a Mistguard. “Excuse me,” she said, looking up at him. She seemed to fold into herself, clay in a potter’s hands as the Mistguard stood over her. “I have medicine in my room. May I fetch it?”

“No!” the Mistguard snapped, raising his baton over his head. Imani flinched and raised her arms to protect her head, her ebony curls swinging about her russet brown face. Morgarzea prepared to confront the Mistguard when Imani slipped her hand around his to calm him down. The two shared a long look before taking a step back. The Mistguard stalked away, and Emma couldn’t be entirely sure, but she felt like the man was smirking underneath his visor. She fidgeted uncomfortably, looking over at the man who was now talking in a low voice with other members of the Mistguard.

Killian moved closer to Imani, kneeling beside her. “There’s a wrap that you can make with fig leaves and aloe,” he told her in a low voice, showing her his stump. “There’s a type of plant that I use to cover it and help it heal in my district. May I show you? It’s probably in the survival station.”

Imani’s eyes lit up when her eyes landed on Killian’s stump and she nodded. “You’re like me,” she declared, her voice filled with wonder.

Killian offered his arm to her and Imani slipped hers in his. Emma couldn’t help but smile at the eagerness in his voice when he asked what she used in District 11 as a salve.

“We use honey and sugar at home. Can I show you? I don’t know if we’ll have it in the arena,” she could be heard saying as she and Killian walked together toward the survival station. “But it’s easy to make if you can find it. Where did you get your leather brace?”

It stole Emma’s breath away when she remembered that Imani was the same age as Henry.

“Emma! Emma! Emma!” Henry came barreling up the front steps, water flying all around him. Killian stood at their gate, giving Emma a little wave.

“Kid, you are soaked!” Emma laughed, scooping her brother up into her arms. “What, did your sailing lesson turn into a swimming lesson?”

“Well, kinda, the boat hit a rock and I fell from the crow’s nest into the lake,” Henry admitted. Emma tightened her grip around him for a moment, bringing her hand around to cup the back of his head. It didn’t matter to her that her clothes were going to be soaked. Henry was always her number one priority.

“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly, scanning him for injuries. He didn’t seem any worse for wear, but she had to make sure. “Did you hit your head or anything?”

Henry curled in closer to her and he added cheerfully, “It’s okay though! I was all freaked out for a moment and then Killian told me to count to ten. So I did and then I found I could swim again!”

He looked out, expecting Killian to be right behind him, and frowned when no one was there. Emma couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment inside her chest. “He was just right there…I wanted to thank him for helping me and invite him for dinner. We were trying to catch fish, but I didn’t get anything. What’s he gonna eat?” the boy murmured, frowning a little bit to himself.

“I’ll bring something by his boat in the morning. Now go inside and draw yourself a bath!” Emma commanded playfully, tickling her brother just to get to hear him giggle. “I won’t have any sailor under my roof freeze to death because their Captain didn’t have towels on his ship.” She kissed the top of his head and sent him inside.

She went to follow Henry to start on their dinner, but found her feet unwilling to cross the threshold. She looked around one more time, hoping to catch a glimpse of dark hair, or dark clothes. Her hand lay still on the door knob, looking out over her empty yard.

“I brought you something,” Killian called, running back up the street. In his arms was a long package, covered in a blanket. Emma rushed forward to take it from him, feeling the weight in her hands. Her brow furrowed with confusion. “I found this in the woods. The lad told me that you’d been looking for your father’s sword and I—”

Emma stopped him right there, her eyes wide as she unwrapped the sword. “How did you…where did you…” she asked in a wavering voice.

“Think nothing of it,” Killian said, scratching behind his ear. “Really, it was nothing.” A drop of rain fell on the tip of his nose and he scrunched it up. “I best get home before it really starts to come down on our heads. Good night, Swan.” He walked her up to her front door, only three feet from where they’d been standing in her front yard.

“Thank you, Killian,” she said softly, her hand still on the door. He started to get farther and farther away before she called out, “Hey! You have something to eat for dinner, right?”

He lifted a hand and kept walking. Soon, he became no more than a black speck on the horizon before he disappeared altogether.

Shaking her head, Emma went over to the weapons arena. “Hello, Miss Swan,” the ceiling said pleasantly. “Based on your stature, district, and vital signs, might I recommend training with a bow and arrow?”

“No, I’m taking the sword,” Emma responded, coming over to a long row of swords. A green arrow appeared, pointing a sword in the middle and Emma picked it up, spinning it around a few times.

“Sword Beta 47. Used for training approximately one thousand and four hundred times. Notably used by victors David Nolan, Mulan Fa, and Blackbeard,” the ceiling told her. Emma lifted an eyebrow but said nothing as she stepped, taking a few more practice swings. “Would you like to begin a training sequence?”

“Uh, sure,” Emma said, wishing she could make eye contact with someone. She shifted from foot to foot, giving her head an irritable shake. “Start me off with something easy. It’s been awhile since I’ve used one of these.”

“Begin Training Sequence Alpha,” the ceiling announced. One holographic person appeared before her, its sword held high. “Your goal is to incapacitate one rival.”

Emma nodded. Three short beeps sounded and then a long beep. The hologram moved at her and she stepped out of the way, feeling the air of the sword come by her. When her opponent’s arms were both facing down, she raised her arms and struck the holograph’s arms with her sword.

It disappeared.

“Winner!” A screen popped up in front of her with little fireworks and confetti. “Winner! Would you like to try again?”

“Uh, can I try the next training level?” Emma asked, giving her sword another experimental thrust.

“You wish to begin training sequence Beta?” the ceiling asked.

“Sure,” Emma said, rolling her neck from side to side and squaring her shoulders.

“Begin Training Sequence Beta,” the ceiling announced. Emma took in a deep breath, leaning forward on her right foot. “Your goal is to incapacitate one rival.” Once again, the beeping noises sounded and the holograph appeared. It lunged at Emma and she blocked its parry.

The hologram stepped forward. She stepped back. It moved right and she moved left. The clash of the sword sounded as real as if she were fighting a real opponent. Stepping to the side she struck her opponent in the back of the head.

“Winner!” The screen popped up in front of again. “Winner! Would you like to try again?”

“Next level,” Emma requested, not even out of breath. By now, she was starting to gather a small crowd around her, watching her training session with interest. It consisted of Killian, whose eyes were wide with shock; Imani, gazing up at her curiosity and thinly veiled delight, and Graham, whose expression she couldn’t read.

“Begin Training Sequence Gamma.” The ringing sound of metal seemed amplified as Emma twisted and turned away from her opponent. Her breath even seemed louder. Three times, Emma and her opponent struck blades before she kicked it away from her and sent it sprawling. With a cry, she struck her opponent, but hit didn’t disappear like the others. Pixelated orange dots began to fall from her holographic opponent. Through it, she could see Walsh leering at her, clearly eyeing her form, though now the form she wanted to be appreciated for.

Her eyes narrowed and she kicked her holographic opponent right between the legs before stabbing it in the throat. It disappeared in a puff of smoke. She jerked her chin up at Walsh, glowering at him. She was inwardly pleased when he seemed to no longer be smirking at him and let him know with a little smirk of her own.

“Bloody brilliant you are,” Killian told her when she came out of the ring, her head held high. He was grinning excitedly, his blue eyes on her and her only. “Incredible, lass. If the Tributes were all like that dummy, we’d be done for. Though, I can’t imagine the clean-up would be that easy. Come on, let’s take a bit of a break and fade back into the background.”

It was meant to be a jest, but a cold, swooping sensation passed through her stomach. Emma looked out helplessly over the other twenty-two children—Whale was right, they really were just children, weren’t they?—in the training center. Finally, her gaze settled on Killian, her chest twisting as she saw his lips moving to tell her something, but she couldn’t hear him.

The only thing she could hear was the question which seemed to echo louder and louder until it blocked out all else.

How am I supposed to kill any of them?

#the hanging tree #cs au #blaire's writing #cs au fic #captain swan

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