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smallraindrops-blog · 10 months ago

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I Know A Place (just for you and me)

Part Three

WMFTD: Drabbles

WMFTD!Y/N X Hypnos

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: implied sex, AUs out of the wazoo, no beta.

Notes: sorry for being gone for so long. It wasn’t planned. Request that have already been sent are being worked on and I won’t be accepting any for the moment.

Enjoy the randomness

Run (Zombie AU)

The boxes of flavored oatmeal and fruit snacks were out of date but you didn’t care. It might as well have been a delicious bloody steak as far as you were concerned.

It also meant that the group would have food for the night. Maybe even tomorrow depending on how the other runners did.

Quickly you packed the goods into your backpack, flashlight between your teeth. There was a low rumble in your stomach but you ignored it.

You had gotten very good at ignoring your stomach.

The gas station had been destroyed at some point, broken glass everywhere, the shelves tipped over. It must have happened early on since there was a noticeable lack of gore.

After you searched the rest of the building, scowling when you had found the backroom empty of any stock, you began the run back to camp.

With a tight grip on the tire iron that had been with you since the first day, you tried to keep a steady and quick pace. It would be twilight soon and it didn’t matter how fast or strong a person was, no one wanted to be caught in the dark.

Everything had changed so fast. A mere year ago, you were among one of the famous boxers in the world, well on your way to the championship. Now, you were in a town with no name, fighting for your survival.

All because some rich asshole lied and sold meat contaminated with the ‘Wasting’ sickness to every single damn grocery in the nation.

Thankfully the run back was empty of any zombies. Which was odd considering how active they normally were during dusk.

You lifted a hand in greeting at the wall guards, and let the nurse do the check up before opening the doors. You saw that her hands were trembling. At your frown, she offered up a strained grin.

Several pairs of eyes lifted up in acknowledgment when you stepped past the imposing fences. You gave a nod - a silent ‘we got food tonight’ and got smiles of relief in return.

As one of the runners, you didn’t have to cook - thank gods, you weren’t that great of a cook back when spices were readily available, let alone now- and dropped off the goods in the kitchen.

It looks like some of the others had found a dented box of cereal, another found canned peas.

It was clear the group will have to widen the search radius soon. Food was running low.

You rubbed your face in frustration as you left the kitchen. So far the crops had yielded little and no one trusted meat easily now. No one knew how much the wasting disease affected other animals. Since the CDC had thought it wasn’t transmissible in the first place only to be proven horrible wrong.

The dorms were blissfully empty but you didn’t go to your bed. Sleep wasn’t what you wanted. The moment you saw him, a weight lifted from your chest.

He didn’t see you at first, his brow furrowed over the gardening book. His white curls were hidden by a red beanie but it had gotten long enough that his ends curled around his collarbone.

It wasn’t until he flipped to the next page that his eyes snagged on you and his lips curled up in a shy grin.

Gods help you, Hypnos had a gorgeous smile.

His smile had been the first real one you had seen in months when you found the military base. He had looked so angelic in the morning light with his white curls and amber eyes, you thought you really did die and he was there to guide you to the afterlife.

“Hey.” He greeted you quietly, tipping his face up for a kiss.

“Hey.” You returned just as quiet, finally able to breath past the knot in your chest.You kept the kiss gentle, cupping his chin. You just wanted to feel his warmth.

Just wanted him.

Once the kiss broke, you joined him in the cramped bed, dumping your backpack and weapons on the floor. Yours and his legs tangled together as you pulled him close. Until Hypnos, you had forgotten how good it was to just hold someone.

“Any luck?” Hypnos whispered, sighing in peace as he buried his face against the hollow of your neck.

“A little bit.” You muttered, closing your eyes. “Oatmeal. Some fruit snacks. Another runner found peas.”

“Ooh. Sounds delicious. Much better than my day. They had us work on escape routes today.” Hypnos murmured. “It's too bad, I was looking forward to the chance to work in the garden. I think the tomatoes might be fruiting soon.”

Your body tensed up at the words, your eyes snapped open, staring blindly at the lines of beds.

That… wasn’t normal. The practices for escaping were all in weekly rotation, along with training for first aid and weapons safety. Today’s training was supposed to be a refresher on medicine and emergency care.

The nurse’s tight, worried expression flashed in your mind's eye.

“Just in case.” Hypnos rushed to assure you, pulling away enough to smile up at you. “Others didn’t like it either but it never hurts to be safe. You know?”

You said nothing for a long moment, mind rushing. Hypnos’ smile changed into a faint worried expression as he whispered your name. You heard the question in his voice.

Realizing that he was waiting for you to say something, you offered up a smile, running your knuckle against his soft cheek. You prayed that it would be enough to hide your own stress.

“Yeah, you’re right, my love. It never hurts to be safe. I’m just tired.”

Relief bloomed in his face, lighting up his sleepy eyes and he gave you a quick kiss before returning to his spot. “We have time to doze before dinner starts.” Hypnos yawned, already halfway asleep.

You muttered a mindless agreement.

That nurse… Her hands were usually as steady as yours. Flesh made into steel.

But not today.

Then the noticeable lack of the dead wandering around… you thought you had gotten lucky.

Something was wrong.

Your eyes flickered toward one of the windows, it will be night soon. You had a hidden map in your bag. You weren’t that far from the mountains, from possible safety for you and Hypnos.

“Hey, how about we stay in my bed tonight?” You asked, cupping the back of his head. Hypnos gave a hum of agreement, “Sounds good to me. More quieter on your side anyway.”

You had lost everything when the world ended. Your parents, your friends along with most of your humanity.

At the end of the world, you had found him.

You will be damned before you lose him.

Ocean (mermaid, Hypnos’ pov)

Many had whispered under their gills of the lazy, spoiled Hypnos. The last child born to the Great Queen Nyx and possibly her greatest disappointment. But what they couldn’t say was that Hypnos didn’t do his duty to his family.

Hypnos grimaced, lifting his wrist up to study it as he wrapped his tail around the large tip of a jagged stone deep in the reef, his eyes locked onto his wedding band. It was thin but heavy, with pearls and rubies embedded in the gold.

No, Hypnos thought with a dim, hard satisfaction, they couldn’t say that.

Dozens of impossibly small fishes, their colorful scales glinting as they hurried away into hiding holes. Hypnos didn’t move for a moment, watching how the eels ducked deeper into their caves, how turtles began to quietly move away, the gentle anemones closing, even the handful of the sharks darted away.

Then a large shadow was casted over his form.

“You know it isn’t safe out here.” The deep timbre of his mate’ voice rumbled, causing Hypnos to shiver unwillingly, his fins fluttering in response.

Not turning around to acknowledge you, Hypnos straightened his back and crossed his arms. He stared past the colorful reef and out into the depth of the sea. “Well, that's why you are here, right? Everything now should be safe as- as… a school of planktons!”

”Until a whale shows up.” You replied, moving in front to easily block Hypnos’ view with your large form.

The differences between you and him couldn’t be more clear.

Hypnos had the bright colorful scales of his people, his tail was a rich red with dramatic ruffled fins edged with white. A trait that made him stand out the dark greens, blues and purples of his family and he was proud of it even if it made Nyx grimace at the mere sight.

In contrast, you looked like the very beasts that you and your people were meant to protect his kingdom from. At least twice as tall and more than double the size of Hypnos. You looked like you were born to fight with a tail of onyx black, thick and powerful, built to cut through water with a speed and power Hypnos’ kind never could reach.

Scars lined your muscular form, but the ones that caught Hypnos’ eyes were the huge circular marks along your shoulder and chest. He never had even seen a giant squid but you had. You had fought one and survived.

His eyes flickered toward yours, growing wide when he realized that you were studying him. Under your cool gaze, it felt like every ugly, childish part of him was laid out for you to judge. Yet his heart raced, a heated flush growing under his pale skin.

Hypnos scowled, unwrapping his tail as he drifted to the side to put some much needed space between you and him. It wouldn’t do for you to see his unwelcomed emotions.

”Just because we are married doesn’t mean I have to stay by your side at all times, like some poor lovesick anglerfish.” Hypnos muttered, pointly swimming away.

Not that you seemed to care, following him with ease. The deadly trident strapped to your back didn’t seem to slow you down at all.

“I never said that.” You told him, voice relaxed and low enough to rival the deep. If he had turned around, he would have seen the flash of warning in your eyes.

Hypnos scoffed. ”It was implied.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between the pair, one that weighted on Hypnos. He picked up speed, knowing you would keep up. Jerk.

Typically the reef, his home for as long his ancestors had existed, was flushed with life swirling all around. Now the creatures were hidden, waiting for the long shadows of his mate to leave. They never hid from him before. Hypnos wasn’t a predator; however you were and the animals of the reef sensed it.

Fed up, Hypnos swirled around to face you, shoving his hair out of his face. His annoyance deepened when you drifted past him lazily. “Is there something you want from me?” He snapped, his tail lashing slightly.

You stopped and turned to face him, far too close for comfort, the masculine line of your jaw stern as you stared down at him. Then something flickered in your eyes, a shadow that made Hypnos’ instinct scream at him to swim fast and far as he could.

Before he could move, your hands snapped out and caught him like he was a dumb prey. You pulled him flushed against your chest with one arm, your rock tight grip pinned his own arms down, keeping him from escaping.

Your fingers caught his chin and with a firm yet gentle touch you tilted his face up.

Hypnos wanted to scream but all he could muster up was a weak, breathless growl. You leaned down like you were going to kiss him.

Flames licked along his back, the memory of the first kiss shared at the altar rushing back. It has been chaste, soft with your fingers pressed against his cheek but there was a quiet, possessive promise of more.

A promise that Hypnos had been hellbent on avoiding, going so far as to sleep in a separate room from you and trying to stay as far away from you as he could. But it felt like you were always lurking now, watching him with the keen eye of a predator.

You stopped when just a hairbreadth away with a smile, your expression softening. Hypnos swallowed, his breathing shaky, his anger forgotten in the pounding rush of his blood, drowning out anything else. Then you chuckled, the dark sound vibrating through Hypnos.

“If you get eaten by something not me, my little nymph then the whole deal is off. So what I would like is for you to return to our pod.” Your smile dropped. “Now.”

With that you let him go.

With his cheeks burning from embarrassment, Hypnos glared up at you, dozens of bubbles escaping his mouth and gills as he bit back the many foul names he had come up for you.

”Oh, noooo. We wouldn’t dare to hope for that, now would we?” Hypnos finally snapped, not able to hide the bruising his pride just took. With that, he turned around and casted one last longing glance at the silent reef.

“When the pod of orcas are banished from the area, I can bring you back.” You offered. There was an unspoken apology in the undercurrent of your voice.

It was only for the sake of his people that he didn’t turn around and slap you. That and he knew it would fail.

“Very well.” Hypnos said stiffly.

Later, much later with the Reef only a memory, Hypnos returned to his chambers alone. He paused when he spied something on his vanity and drifted over, smiling at Monie, a littler pufferfish Hypnos had since his youth, dozing on the bed of seaweeds.

It was a small box, made from stone and kelp. With a furrow brow, he risked a peek. Inside there was a lovely red anemone resting on a stone, the tentacles swaying.

The note attached read, ‘Not an apology. A promise.’

Snapshots (BTIBN!AU)

The first photo Hypnos picked out was one taken in his junior year of college, with your arms wrapped around his waist, both grinning up at the phone. If one looked close enough, his face had thinned out and there was a shadow lurking behind your eyes. Hypnos never could explain why he picked that one.

He placed it on the wall with a simple black frame. (It was the first day out of the hospital, and you couldn’t stop touching him, he had caught a bad flu the previous winter and you had counted down the days until you could hold him close again.)

When you found one of the photos your parents took on prom night, you couldn’t resist placing it on the dresser.

The shy, happy smile on Hypnos’ face, the way you and he matched with red ties (a detail that Hypnos included for the wedding as well). And you, still a young idiot who was ignoring his parents’ amused eyerolls, were beaming down at Hypnos like he had hung the moon and stars.

You loved it (loved him) and glanced at it every morning as you got ready.

Another photo Hypnos added to the wall was the first day they got Moine. The little puff of cotton stared up at Hypnos with naked adoration in those wet black eyes. The first night they had fallen asleep on the loveseat together, Monie curled under Hypnos’ chin.

You had quietly taken the photo, heart overflowing. (Monie was never impressed by you, always choosing to walk away with a huff when you got home before Hypnos. Whenever Hypnos was ill, the little dog never left his side, loyal as you were.)

It took some time for you and Hypnos to agree where to place the wedding photos. Eventually some went into a shoebox, tucked away somewhere in the closet. But the ones that made it found a home on the fireplace mantle. Save for one.

Hypnos placed it on his nightstand.

(Meg had a surprisingly good eye for photography and had caught a moment between you and Hypnos. You and him had ducked away for a moment of privacy-or so you thought yet you couldn’t be that upset over it. Under the warm patio lighting, you and him were swaying alone, his head tucked against your shoulder. Your eyes were closed, cheek resting against the top of Hypnos’ head, your face relaxed for the first time all day. )

Countless more photos were added, of bright summer days and laughter. Of graduations, of parties and weddings. Of Monie and his beloved tennis ball.

Then…

Children.

Each one of them broke your heart when they came into the world screaming. Long nights of diaper changes and bottle feeding. Baseball games and ballet recitals with last minute poster boards projects. Bedtime stories and late night snacks. Scraped knees and first bike rides, of their first crushes and heartbreak, of birthdays and mundane ( and utterly perfect) days, of finding their own dreams and paths.

Then somehow they were grown.

(How was that even possible? Photos of their beaming faces, round cheeks with gap tooth smiles that changed into proud expressions with graduation caps, line the walls. Their childhood was told in fleeting moments caught in frames.)

Days went into months that turned into years that somehow became decades in a blink.

Your parents beaming over the dinner table. A few more lines on their faces and a little more grayer.

One of the most favorite photos you have of your parents was in your office. Gray at Pa’s temples, his body worn down by years of nursing and Achilles’ blue eyes made bigger with glasses, it was them simply holding hands during the last holiday with everyone together. As if they all knew subconsciously.

(Gods, only if you had the power to stop time in its tracks. You made sure to keep them together in the end. Not even death kept them apart for long. )

It was when you saw the newest photos Hypnos placed by the doorway that you had stopped in your tracks. You didn’t recognize yourself.

The photo was one of the bunch you and Hypnos had with the children and their partners. Hypnos looked beautiful as always, smiling cheerfully with his cheek on your shoulder.

You… you looked older, lines around your eyes formed, your hair a little more grayer than you remembered.

(It had been a good day, filled with laughter and joy, kisses made sticky with maple syrup and smiles warmed by coffee.)

When did you become this old man before you? You still felt like you were that kid in the letterman jacket, fingertips covered with spray paint and staring longingly at the beautiful boy with golden eyes that belong to the sunset.

You shook your head, scowling as you turned the lights off for the night and went looking for your husband.

He was in the bedroom, curled up with a new book under the thick quilt they had for years. He didn’t hear you come in, so you shamelessly took the moment to watch him, crossing your arms as you leaned against the door frame.

To you, Hypnos hadn’t aged a day. He was just as beautiful as the day you saw him standing on your porch on that summer day, eternal as the sunset itself.

His eyes flickered up, blinking behind the glasses that you had finally managed to convince him to wear. The black frames suited him, making the gold of his eyes vivid. He placed his book down and waited for you to speak.

”When did we get old?” You asked him with a sigh, walking over to your side of the bed. On your nightstand was a photo of just Hypnos, beaming at you from across a diner table, a mug of coffee by his elbow.

You don’t remember the occasion for the road trip. Just that he had looked like perfection in that early morning sunlight coming behind him.

(you could live countless lifetimes, it still wouldn’t be enough time with Hypnos.)

Hypnos smiled, lines forming around his eyes. “Did you just now notice?”

You grumbled, “I don’t feel old.”

Laughing, Hypnos gestured to you to join him and you obeyed as you always did. Like a puzzle piece, he tucked against you, his hand over your chest and you tightened your arms around him.

”I love you.” You murmured into his hair, running a hand along his back. It was the only words you could come up with because how could you even begin to summarize everything that he was to you? To thank him for choosing you, for their shared life, for the children and filling their home with laughter and love?

Hypnos kissed the hollow of your neck.

”I love you, too.”

(How did you get so, so lucky?)

Marks (Soulmate!AU)

“It is a pretty uncommon name. Are you sure that you are on the right website?” Pa sounded distant over the phone, the sounds of dogs barking and running around in the background.

With a heavy eye roll, you spun around in your chair and glanced at the soul mark website. Set up by the UN in the early thousand, it was meant to be a far easier way for soul mates to find each other.

Before the net, people had to rely on letters and documents and often prayer to find their one. Never before in known history, had it been so easy to find a soulmate.

Upon adulthood, most people put their mark’s name in the database along with an uploaded photo of the mark and their own names. If they were lucky, they would meet their soulmates that day.

“Yeah, pretty sure.” You muttered. Honestly, you weren’t in a rush. Most soul pairings seemed way obsessed with each other. Codependent if one would. Including your parents, much as you loved them.

Too much work. Too much time. Too many expectations.

”Hopefully they aren’t in one of those cults.” Dad said, his voice louder than Pa’s, “I have a friend who’s son in law was in one. So if-“

And you were done. You weren’t going to listen to this. Again. “Hey, I gotta get back to work. Love you guys, see you for dinner next week.”

Hanging up the call, you went to close the website yet your fingers lingered over the keyboard. It wasn’t that you haven’t looked for this Hypnos before. The name alone was enough to make you curious but nothing ever came up. Even now that you were comfortably settled in your early thirties.

With a huff of annoyance at yourself, you clicked it close.

The late golden sunlight caught on your mark, the red and gold poppies gleaming around your soulmate’s name. It had been with you since you were five years old, forming on your forearm overnight.

Mindlessly, you brushed your fingers along the flowers then you caught yourself and pulled your hand away like the mark burnt you.

On a damp Tuesday morning, your ancient electric kettle gave out. As in it caught on fire.

With a curse, you tossed it into the sink, black smoke causing you to cough. The smoke alarm began to scream, ringing in your ears and you were not awake enough to deal with this.

Once you were sure the kettle wouldn’t burn down your home, you stumbled out into the world, desperately looking on your phone for a nearby coffee shop.

Wet droplets landed on your face, cold and sharp against your skin. Realizing that you forgot your umbrella, you flipped the hood of your jacket up in vain against the oncoming storm.

Then as if the universe decided that it hated you and everyone else, the clouds began to pour rainwater down on the busy city street.

Today was most definitely not your day.

You picked up speed, water splashing against your legs until you found the small coffee shop and ducked into it. With some disbelief, you stared out into the city, feeling like a drowned rat.

Coffee, then you can sit down at a table while feeling sorry for yourself.

You got in line, trying to find something on the menu that wasn’t a bomb of sugar and cream. A young woman, with forest green dreads and toothy smile, was rushing around mumbling to herself. As she helped the customer before you, she took a moment to turn around and yelled to the closed back doors.

“Hypnos! I got a line and I need help!”

You stopped breathing.

It had to be a nickname. Surely.

Then the door opened, a man with impossibly white curls and an armful of bottles of syrup stepped out.

“I know Dusa, I know.” The man yawned, unaware of you staring at him. You couldn’t help it, he was the most lovely, most perfect man you ever saw. He plopped the bottles down onto the and turned to you as he tied up his black apron.

The first thing you noticed was that his bottom lip was just a little more fuller than his top one. Second, you noticed that his eyes were heavy with dark circles but that didn’t stop him from smiling cheerfully at you.

Gods, it hadn’t even been a minute and you wanted to kiss him.

Your eyes flickered to the name tag and there it was, same spelling and everything.

Hypnos. Hypnos. Hypnos.

“So what can I get ya today, sir?” Hypnos chirped, unaware that he had changed everything for you in a single moment. Thick white lashes framed around his golden eyes and you couldn’t breath.

Your mouth opened but nothing came out so you shut it, trying to come up with something. There were movies of people making the perfect speech, books filled with breathtaking moments of first meetings.

All you could do was stare.

”Sir?” Hypnos said, and he sounded like he was unimpressed with a touch of worry as his golden eyes - and how the world did he have those irises, it seemed too divine for a mortal- darted to Dusa.

“I-“ your voice cracked and you stopped. Now everyone was staring at you. You were being an idiot.

Without hesitation, you yanked up your jacket sleeve and revealed the soul mark. You could have swore the colors were more vibrant, more lifelike than ever before. Like the flowers had come alive just for Hypnos.

Hypnos’s name caught gold in the bistro lighting.

Hypnos’ mouth dropped open, his hand automatically wrapped around his forearm as he stared at your arm. He kept his arm close to chest as if trying to protect himself.

“It is you.” You said finally, like something inside of you had been missing and you had found it - found him, and the last piece clinked in place, like it belonged. You understood now.

For a long moment, he said nothing, only staring at you.

Then with an unusual calm, Hypnos turned to Dusa, “I quit.”

Without another glance at you, he promptly booked it toward the backroom and out of your sight.

You moved before you realized it, climbed over the counter and darted into the back to where Hypnos went. You ignored Dusa’s surprise cry, the murmuring of the customers as your eyes darted around the kitchen.

Realizing that the back door was opened, you rushed back out into the rain, and caught a glimpse of him just as he turned the corner.

With your jaw tight with determination, your heart pounding in a rhythm that belonged only to Hypnos, you gave chase.

Repetition (Reincarnation!au, Hypnos’ Pov)

The Wise ones, all three of them, were smiling over him. Their hands laid on his chest, over his heart. He stared up at the night skies, at the billions of stars. At the countless moments, lives flowing like river water over stone.

He was gasping for breath, tears streaming down his face. His wings fluttered like the delicate petals of Amare willows that bloom outside his childhood window.

He had been reborn.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

His Captain wasn’t much different from his other lives. Your eyes still burned with the intensity of a black sun, your shoulders were still broad enough to carry the weight of the world and countless scars still marked your body like constellations of the milky-ways.

Hypnos knew it was you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Turn out, finding you weren’t the hard part. It was everything after that. He wanted to fall in your arms, to feel your mouth against his and to rediscover you. He just wanted to be loved and to love you once more.

Maybe patience was the lesson he was meant to learn in this life but if his memory served him right, patience was a lesson he had learned before. Yet here he was, learning it once more.

It was hard, especially when he ached just being near you. Only he hadn’t seen you at all today or yesterday, you must have been too busy writing reports or something.

He stood before your personal rooms, playing with the keycard in his hands. You had given it to him after the second attack, a full three months after the first. It wasn’t for romantic reasons like Hypnos knew it was for some species, you had made that perfectly clear. Purely for emergencies, you had repeatedly told him.

Shaking away the bitter thought, Hypnos pressed on the intercom outside of the door.

It came alive with a faint glow, the robotic voice sounded bored as it spoke. “Name and reason?”

“It’s me. Hypnos. I mean. And I just…” Before he could recall the made up reason he had for showing up, the door opened.

With a deep breath,Hypnos stepped into the room. He couldn’t hide his curiosity as he tried to take in everything.

The living room was spartan, with only a sofa and loveseat that came with the ship. The low table in front was bare of any personal items. The open kitchen was empty as well, not a single bottle of spice out on the counter.

Hypnos was torn between worry and helpless amusement.

It was a faint thing, hazy like the river lethe but Hypnos knew this wasn’t new. It was familiar in a way.

‘A few blankets, pillows, a handful of warm lights and we could make this a lot cozier.’

Then your voice reached him, “Hypnos, in the office.”

”Coming.” Hypnos called out, glancing over the room once more time.

When he found you in your office, you were pouring over a starmap, a glass in your scarred hand. You took a sip as he knocked and waited for your permission to come in, even though he wanted to rush toward you.

You glanced at him, then nodded. Hypnos hurried in, before you changed your mind, the door closing behind him with a click.

He studied your office, unlike many others, You kept it simple, a dark desk with a nameplate and a few awards on the wall. On one side, there was a window, open to reveal the void of space, with far away stars gleaming.

If he knew you and he liked to think he did, you probably had at least ten different weapons hidden away somewhere.

Hypnos settled in the surprisingly comfortable chair before your desk, not saying anything.

You took a sip of your drink, the liquid amber in the dim lighting. “Can your species drink human alcohol?”

Your voice was husky, rich and dark as the mines of his home world and Hypnos shivered. His wings perked up in pure animalistic instinct but he stilled them, his stomach hot with embarrassment and maybe something else entirely.

“I can. Yes.” Hypnos replied, hoping his voice didn’t give away his thoughts.

You politely moved up from your desk to get him a glass and poured him a drink. The whole time Hypnos studied you, admiring the flex of your powerful muscles under the captain’s uniform.

When you came closer to hand over the drink, Hypnos wanted to pull you closer but he didn’t.

Hypnos curled his hands around the drink instead then sniffed it. It was a familiar smell, filled with sharp, warming spices. Where he had known this smell before…

“Rum. The makers claimed they were one of the original creators from Earth.” You told him, and tapped his glass with yours. At the same time, you and him took a sip.

Warmth flooded his mouth and raced down his chest before settling low in his stomach.

Then everything rushed toward him.

Ropes, sea salt, the sway of a ship, moonlight on dark waters, powerful waves crashing against earth, bruises on his thighs and rough kisses with rubies -or blood- and gold spilling everywhere.

Hypnos closed his eyes. Oh yes, he remembered that life. That had been one well lived.

Silence overtook as you returned to the map, writing notes down on a tablet. The starmap casted an pale blue glow in the room, millions of little stars gleaming over your desk.

Hypnos continued to drink, warmed by the liquid and memories that tasted like the ocean, the blue so deep he wondered he would ever see its likenesses again. He shifted, letting his legs swing idly, his wings swaying along in beat.

Then you turned the map off. The tablet dimmed.

Hypnos blinked, his wings fluttering softly with his curiosity.

“Tell me about one.” You ordered, leaning back against your chair. Your eyes were locked onto him. Hypnos swallowed, his pulse racing as he took one last sip. He pushed his empty glass toward you.

A beat of silence, then you grabbed the bottle, and using your teeth, uncorked it. Your eyes unwavering, like you decided you were ready to peel all of his secrets away. Hypnos hated how much he was looking forward to it.

He ached with so many unspoken words.

With a full glass of rum between his hands, Hypnos met your eyes. “Tell you what?”

“About one of these past lives. Or alternative universes or whatever.’” You replied with an unimpressed eyebrow, placing the cork back in, your thumb pressing down on it. “Any of them, your pick.”

Hypnos swirled his drink, his brow furrowed. He didn’t know which one he should pick. What if he chose badly and you kicked him out? Or pick one of the more fantastical ones and you thought him as a liar. Not mentioning the fact Hypnos was still recovering so many moments, like small, precious white shells on the beach, picking them up one at a time.

”It is hard to just choose one.” Hypnos admitted, unfolding his legs and shifted closer to your desk. He took a sip then sighed.

“One of the first ones I remember… Language wasn’t a thing, not really. All we could do was point and grunt if you will. We just hadn’t evolved to speak complex languages, not yet. The one of the courting gifts you gave me was a big clay jar, filled with bright red pigments for cave painting. My favorite color.” Hypnos paused, not able to look at your face.

He was terrified of what he would find in your expression. Yet the words spilled from him, like confessions of sin. “I still wonder if I could find the cave with our handprints. It must be out there somewhere- or maybe that planet had been swallowed up by its sun by now.”

Silence took over for a long breathless moment and Hypnos took another sip, deeper. He felt so warm, like it was mating season and all he wanted- all he wanted…

You finished your drink, the sound of glass loud as you placed it down.

”Tell me another.” You ordered as you stood, and Hypnos watched you move around your desk and stopped in front of him. All Hypnos could do was stare up at you, helpless. You leaned against your desk, powerful arms crossed and gestured for him to continue.

He swallowed, “There are so many, I can recall one where you were a superhero and I worked as handler. Then another world where you were an artist, often struck by fits of madness, you called me your beloved muse. There were so many where we met as children, in one of those lives, we shared a first kiss on a snowy night. Another one where you were a pirate…”

”A pirate?” You said with a quiet laugh. Hypnos flushed at your tone, not used to you sounding so light. He lifted his half-full glass with a smile before taking a quick sip.

“You were quite fond of rum.” Hypnos teased after he swallowed, a knot in his chest slowly slipping open, his stomach warmed. You leaned in, and took the glass from him. Before Hypnos could process what happened, you were downing his drink.

All Hypnos could do was watch, your Adam’s apple bobbing as you polished off the rum. One drop of rum almost escaped, but you caught it in time with a swipe of your tongue. He copied you without realizing it, feeling like he was at a feast but not allowed near the table.

You always kept the full uniform on, and Hypnos wished he was bold enough to reach over and reveal the secret flesh underneath, to trace the line of your neck with his tongue. His wings twitched and jerked, wanting to flare out in a mating display and woo his mate closer.

His wings were going to give him away with how obvious they were.

“The caveman one, was that the first one you remembered?” You placed the glass down. Your foot hooked around the chair leg and pulled Hypnos closer. The sound was loud in the quiet, a final warning.

But for what he didn’t know.

He grabbed the chair arms, looking down with a blush. Somehow he suddenly felt shy.

“Ah.” Hypnos tried to find his words, very aware of how much bigger you were than him. He could swear that he could feel your body heat this close. “No.”

Your fingers brushed along his jawline, curling under his chin and his breath hitched as his face was tilted up.

Like breathless gravity, Hypnos caught in your gaze, like the moon once to earth, lovers so close yet were millions of miles away. He couldn’t look away if he wanted to. Under the heaviness of your stare, he felt weightless.

”Tell me.” You ordered in a whisper, moving slightly closer, your other hand moving past his side and gripped the arm of the chair. Like this, Hypnos was completely trapped in.

Hypnos smiled. There was a touch of sadness in it. One that you noticed judging by the silght furrow in your brow.

“I was an immortal god and you were a dead moral. A man turned to a shade.” Hypnos whispered. He waited, sure you would pull away. You didn’t. Your thumb caressed along his cheek in slow, gentle swipes.

Hypnos let out a shuddering breath, closed his eyes. “Yet we found each other.”

Maybe he should say more but no words came. That life had been so vivid in his mind’s eye, a part of him still wondered if that universe still existed, far out of his reach, one where you and him existed forever in a small corner of the vastness so very happy and loving.

He hoped so, a quiet heaven with you was what his soul was made for.

“You terrify me.” You admitted, causing Hypnos to open his eyes with surprise. You gave him a rueful smile. Your voice was low enough to sink into Hypnos’ bones.

“Me?” Hypnos whimpered, not able to comprehend the idea of him being scary. Maybe if someone had a phobia of naps or of ridiculous creatures who walked into walls on occasion.

The mere idea of it… It was laughable.

”You just came from the stars one day without a single warning. I tried to stay away but I couldn’t. In every room I step into, I look for you.” You pressed your thumb on the corner of his lip. “I should be able to dismiss all these stories without a blink, of these past lives or alternate universes. But I can’t. I just can’t.”

With an easy grace, you leaned down, your breath hot against Hypnos’ mouth. And oh, how Hypnos wanted to lean in yet he couldn’t move.

“When I look at you, when you smile at me; Hypnos, it’s like coming home again.”

Hypnos knew it was coming but he still gasped against the press of your lips, his wings shuddering as you tipped his head up to deepen the kiss. It was so much better than any memory.

A hand cupped his cheek and he looked up at you unable to hide his tears. Your expression was soft and fond - and a little apologetic -as you smiled down at him. You looked so handsome in your military uniform. You promised to return to him the moment the war was over.

In the end, all he had left was a letter that spoke of your bravery and a folded flag.

Tears burned under his eyelids, Hypnos cupped your face between his hands, needing to feel you. He kept you close as the kiss continued between soft gasps and murmuring. His fingers trailed against your cheeks, feeling the start of rough stubbles along your jaw.

“Wait for me!” Hypnos called out, his birdlike wings on his back flapped in effort to keep with you. He was still too young to truly fly but he still chased after you anyway.

You laughed with pure joy, your wings casting shadows over the land as you returned. You dipped lower to grab his hands and lifted him up higher and higher.

In a singular moment, he was one with everything. His heart raced along yours, when you breathed in, he breathed out, two beings becoming whole and perfect once more.

His moral. His warrior. His dearest.

You didn’t wake even as Hypnos shifted, your head heavy on his thighs. Hypnos pushed your hair out your face, running his fingers through your locks.

That finally prompted you to wake just a little bit with a low hum. Your lips quirked up in a lazy smile. “Looks like I’m still dreaming.”

Hypnos scoffed, his heart overflowing as he leaned down to kiss you-

Then the kiss broke.

You pulled back, lips shiny and your eyes blown dark with lust, staring down at him. You panted harshly and Hypnos realized he was doing the same.

”Hypnos.” You said with a ragged and torn voice.

His heart stopped, sure that you were going to push him away. Only you didn’t.

“Hypnos.” You repeated brokenly, staring down at him. It was like you were seeing him, really seeing him for the first time.

The next kiss was just as amazing, he couldn’t tell where you and him began and ended. Memories rushed toward him, burning him along with the growing need deep in his core.

His hands roamed over your neck, shoulders and chest as he murmured your name over and over against your lips. You swore against his mouth.

Before he knew what was happening, you had silded your arms under him and lifted up and out of the chair with an ease he should have expected. You turned around and planted him on your desk, still kissing him, still touching him as you pushed him down onto his back.

Hypnos knew they should slow down, talk it out but he had missed you, craved you so much he didn't have it in him to stop if he wanted to. He felt starved until you touched him. His mating seasons had never felt like now, all gauzy heat and the hard, wonderful press of another body against his.

He was the personification of lust, of the euphoria that could be found in another.

Tangling his fingers in your hair, you and him kissed and kissed and kissed, hands caressing new flesh. Somehow it was new and familiar at the same time. The primal rhythm was built into their DNA, even now.

Hypnos tossed his head back, trying to breathe, trying to move with you as you consumed him, like the void of space swallowed countless stars. It was perfect, it was just you and him once more.

Everything ends, even this.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, your arms braced around his head as you tried to return to normal. There was a growing dampness against his neck. Hypnos blinked slowly up at the ceiling, still floating along the river of sensations and of returned memories.

He caressed the line of your back, pressed kisses against your scalp, his heart growing and love spilling out of him like new constellations as he murmured comforting words.

Later, you and him will speak of everything, of nothing and it will be good, it will be right. Because it will be what it always had been, you and him among the stars once more.

#wake me from this dreaming #hypnos x male!reader

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lykegenia · 2 years ago

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Just A Nightmare (NSFW)

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Characters/Pairings: Nate Sewell x Leah Kingston Rating: M Warnings: Light Smut, Blood

*Book 3 Spoilers ahead*

read it on AO3

A soft rustle of cloth in the blind dark pulls Nate from sleep. Half-aware, he cracks an eyelid on the dim interior of the room, lit more than adequately to his vampire senses by the spill from the streetlamps outside. He can hear rain, but there’s no sign either of danger or of what woke him, and so he rolls over in the cotton sheets, his fingertips questing under the covers for the comfort of warm, soft skin.

Leah mumbles something incoherent at the touch. As he curves around her back he peppers kisses along the ridge of her shoulder, catches a sigh as his palm closes over her breast.

“Are you awake?” he murmurs.

“Mhmmn… Nate…”

She turns in his arms, eyes blinking away sleep as her hand ghosts up his side and into his hair. A shiver skips across his shoulders at the faint drag of nails over his scalp. Her scent wraps around him, pulled deep into his lungs where it ignites the ember that always burns in her presence, and it drives him to slide a leg between hers, to smirk against her lips at the gasp elicited by the movement, the friction heady as the spike in her pulse and the way she shifts to give him access.

“Ya rouhi…”

His hands wander. One arm slips around her lower back to eliminate the space between them so that there’s some relief for his growing erection, and though it makes her back arch an instant later she’s searching for him again, drawing his mouth to the taste of his name on her tongue. She whines as he bears her onto her back. Grips his shoulders. Exposes her neck to the pleasure he trails along the curve of her jaw.

And there is the hum of her pulse – life – a river of power concealed beneath such fragile skin. Unable to resist, he strokes the column of the artery with the pad of his thumb, cradling her skull with his other hand as his thigh presses more deliberately against her sex and her body licks around his like a flame seeking new wood to burn. Her blood sings, goads him, and his fangs lengthen behind his lips.

She gasps again when he pierces her neck. When his fangs retreat, and the blood flows and he closes his lips over the wound to not waste a drop, the sound morphs into a mewl he can feel vibrate in her throat, and he wants more of it, wants the sweetness of her arousal with the heat of her power, wants to give pleasure as he takes this one small taste, wants –

“Nathaniel.”

At the sound of the voice, he tears away with a snarl. The familiar mockery in it chills along his spine, but the reaction only earns him a laugh. Cold and sharp as crystal, it’s nothing like Leah’s laugh, but he knows it just as intimately. He casts around in the darkness for its source, scanning the angled shadows and sifting through the familiar scents of clean washing and the herbs on the windowsill, until at last he catches sight of a figure in the corner of the room. Dark lips frame an insincere smile over gleaming teeth, which widens as he moves to Block Leah from the sight of it.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

“Oh, Nathaniel…” the figure croons as the distance between them closes. “The real question is, what are you doing?”

The icy gaze falls to the far side of the bed and Nate, fighting against the instinct to not turn his back, looks down.

His hands are coated with blood. Black and sticky, it covers him from navel to chin, the scent of it near-overwhelming as confusion wars with horror as his gaze is drawn like a lit trail of gunpowder to a sight that stops his heart.

“No…”

Leah’s hazel eyes stare glassily at the ceiling, her body limp amid the sodden sheets. Her lips are parted slightly, her head lolling on the pillow above a neck that is now nothing more than a charnel wreck of meat.

“No.” He reaches for her. “No no no no – what have I done –”

There’s no response when he breathes her name, no twitch of movement as he lifts her, bone pale and already cooling, into his arms. There should be a smirk, a sarcastic dismissal that she’s had worse. His trembling fingers leave dark smears across her cheek.

“This isn’t –” he tries, and swallows. “I didn’t –”

“Didn’t what, Nathaniel? Did you really expect it to end differently?” A slender finger curls under his chin and lifts his head. “This is what you are. This is what I made you. A monster, ruled by temptation, that sooner or later will destroy everything that he loves.”

Hatred settles like a ball of lead in Nate’s chest; his breath heaves.

“Did you like the taste of her?” the figure asks. “I’m sure it was sweet. Do you think she forgave you in the moments before her heart stopped beating?”

With a snarl of rage, he lunges –

And bolts upright in the bed. No jeering figure stands before him – there’s no trace at all of anyone else in the apartment – and when the panic finally recedes he forces an inhale and rubs a hand across his eyes, the cold sweat gathered on his brow. Rain patters on the window, creating prisms of light on the glass that are enough for him to see the duvet twisted and kicked off his legs.

He has to steel himself to turn around.

Leah, loosely tucked up on her side, hasn’t stirred. Her breaths come even and untroubled, but the relief that he hasn’t disturbed her is swallowed like Jonah by the memory of the nightmare that too easily superimposes itself over the peaceful scene before him. For a long moment, his hand hovers over her, torn between reluctance to wake her and the need for the comfort only her presence seems able to provide.

But the temptation still lingers strongly enough that he doesn’t trust himself. Even in his imagination, her blood is an irresistible lure, one that dries his throat and floods his mouth with the bitter, numbing taste of venom. Against his will, his gaze is drawn to where her arm pokes above the covers, to the delicate tracery of blood vessels marbled beneath the skin of her wrist.

He shouldn’t be here – doesn’t deserve to be. Disgusted, he pushes off the bed and pads through to the living room, his hand fisted in his hair tightly enough to cause pain. He needs air, needs to purge the dregs of the nightmare before Leah can see.

The rain pours down, drowning the world in white noise. It washes away scents, leaving the air clean, and the fizz of each individual drop against Nate’s bare skin, frigid though it is, lets him sink out of conscious thought so that the horror of them – of what he might have done – is cast adrift into the rapidly receding night.

The indistinct light of a grey dawn is starting to grow on the horizon when the glass door of the balcony slides open.

“You know,” Leah starts, “if you wanted a shower, I’m pretty sure there’s hot water in the bathroom.”

He just sags, cut by the tentative attempt at humour.

She sighs. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

She deserves better than to see him like this, but even so, when he turns to take her in, wrapped in a blanket with her feet bare, the sight of her lifeless in his mind’s eye flares like a second exposure on a photograph, and his stomach roils.

“It’s nothing,” he says, trying for a smile. “You don’t need to worry.”

“You’re sitting out in the rain like someone abandoned you at Christmas.” She leans, arms crossed, against the doorway. “I’m worried.”

“Leah –”

“At least come inside,” she grumbles. “It’s cold.”

He’s too selfish to deny her anything.

“I’ll drip all over your carpet.”

“It’s had worse,” she answers, shrugging. “Please, Nate. I… I don’t like waking up when you’re not there.”

His heart squeezes. Not that long ago, such a confession would have remained buried, and even now she drops her gaze and shuffles her feet, preparing to flee should the words prove to be a miscalculation. The fact that he’s caused Leah real pain while hiding from that in his imagination is a torture more exquisite than he can conjure for himself. It drives him to his feet, one unsteady hand already reaching to offer reassurance that he didn’t mean to leave her alone. Without a word, she shrugs the blanket from her shoulders to wrap it around him. She has to stretch up on tiptoe to manage it.

The movement shifts the oversized t-shirt she wears for sleep, but he doesn’t allow his gaze to fall to the new inch of skin exposed on her thighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead, daring to cup her cheek.

“Do you want to go back to bed?”

With the barest glance towards the bedroom, he shakes his head. “I had a nightmare.”

Leah’s gaze flicks towards the rain. “Interesting way to deal with it.”

“I dreamed I killed you.”

“Oh…” Her eyes widen, her heart spiking in a way he cannot bear. “Nate –”

“I can’t stop picturing it,” he confesses. “I – there was blood everywhere. I could taste it – I killed you.”

Silence. His breath shudders through his body, betraying the fear that the look in her eyes will match the disgust coursing through his veins. When a hand lights upon his cheek, he’s torn between flinching away and pressing it close enough to bruise.

“You didn’t kill me,” she says gently. “It was a nightmare.”

“It would be so easy. Just one mistake and I –”

“I trust you.”

He sags. “You shouldn’t –”

“I trust you,” she repeats, and guides her forehead against his to ground him. “If it gets too much, I know you’ll keep me safe – though if we could find an antidote to my weird mutant blood before we get to that point, that would be nice.”

A bubble of hysteria wells in his chest at that, as intended. Leah is so steady, so solid, her presence in his life an irony he has yet to reconcile.

“You have my word,” he tells her.

“Good. Now, are you coming back to bed?”

“For you?” He plucks up her hand, kisses the knuckles. “I would go anywhere.”

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #nate sewell #n sewell #nate sewell x detective #nate sewell x f!detective #twc book 3 spoilers #the wayhaven chronicles spoilers

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ear-worthy · 2 years ago

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Gastropod: A Seven-Course Meal Of Great Content

Assigning a genre to podcasts is an exercise fraught with all kinds of hidden dangers, trap doors, and booby traps. There are podcasts that either defy classification or, more often, have one foot in one genre and another firmly planted in another genre.

Gastropod, for example, is a podcast that is equal parts about food and history. The podcast seamlessly infuses each episode with a pinch of historical perspective and a smidge of foodie nerdiness.

In other words, the podcast makes you hungry for more.

Gastropod defines itself as a podcast about the science and history of food. It has aired since 2014 and is hosted by journalists Nicola Twilley and Cynthia Graber. With the incessant drumbeat of consolidation in the podcast industry, it is refreshing that Gastropod is an independent podcast produced and hosted by Twilley and Graber. They interview chefs, scientists, and historians to collect stories about the science and history of food.

Amazingly, the two hosts produce the podcast out of their homes in Somerville, Massachusetts, and Los Angeles, California, respectively. The podcast has grabbed its share of recognition by winning The 2015 International Association of Culinary Professionals Award for Best Culinary Audio Series (for the episode "The Golden Spoon"), Regional 2015 Edward R. Murrow Award for Best Small Online News Organization Audio Documentary (for the episode "The Microbe Revolution"), and, more recently, the 2019 International Association of Culinary Professionals Award for Best Podcast or Radio Show.

Some of their best episodes include Menu Mind Control from November 2019, where Twilley and Graber talked to Alison Pearlman, author of a book on menus called May We Suggest. Pearlman stressed how a menu has to persuade diners to want what the restaurant sells in the interview. So how do menus do that—and are they somehow subconsciously manipulating our choices? Are there universal principles of effective menu design that savvy diners can identify and outsmart? In this episode, the hosts deftly decode the history and science of the not-so-humble menu.

In August 2020, Gastropod released the episode What The Shell? Cracking The Lobster's Mysteries. In it, the hosts take us on a trip to which the lobster began as prison food to today where's it's an expensive indulgence. Then the hosts explain how the lobster eyes’ intricate mechanism would become a template for scientists to build a telescope.

High on the gross-out scale is the explanation that lobsters urinate through their face, while listeners learn that lobsters don't back down from other sea creatures and are very eager to mix it up with real or perceived enemies. Then, Twilley and Graber go through an unusually detailed explanation of lobster sex. The female squirts urine into the desired mate's den, who invites her in for several days of intertwined antennae and claws.

Moreover, the hosts do not shy away from controversy. Witness the March 2020 episode White Vs. Wheat: The Food Fight Of The Centuries. In the episode, the hosts enter the fray between white bread boosters and the wheat advocates. Along the way, they review 1920s claims that white bread breeds criminals and the central role played by Wonder Bread.

Recent episodes of note include the June 20th show about how human waste can be used as fertilizer for growing food. The June 6th episode takes on a historical journey about the pineapple. And their most recent episode on lab-grown meat may gross out some, and excite others who see it as a way to feed our planet without destroying it.

Why is Gastropod such a critical and listener favorite? First and foremost, Graber and Twilley are terrific hosts who play off each other so effortlessly and have the timing of a well-oiled team.

Whether they are discussing how Leonardo da Vinci invented the first pasta machine, how Jack Daniel learned how to make whiskey, or the history of birthday cake, Graber and Twilley infuse a passion for discovery, a constant search for insight from facts, and a strong desire to inform into every episode.

Each episode, which is about fifty minutes long and is released every two weeks, delves deeply into details about the historical, cultural, and scientific background of the episode's subject and features interviews with multiple experts, sometimes recorded on location at laboratories farm fields, or archaeological digs. This attention to detail and on-site reporting (which costs money and time) demonstrates their commitment to scrupulously researched and carefully curated episodes.

Gastropod does use Patreon for its hierarchy of fans who donate -- from Fans to Supreme Fans. Hosts Graber and Twilley again prove that independent podcasts can thrive and compete, going up against Spotify, Amazon, and other podcast “Big Shots."

Editor’s Note: In August 2021, Gastropod announced a long-term partnership with Eater and the Vox Media Podcast Network (VMPN), effective with Gastropod’s August 3 episode.

#podcast #podcasting #foodie #food

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potteresque-ire · 4 years ago

Note

Can you talk more about the usage of the word "wife" to talk about men in the BL context? I've noticed it in BJYX (particularly with GG), in the (English translations) of MDZS, and then it came up in your recent posts about Danmei-101 (which were super helpful btw) with articles connecting the "little fresh meat" type to fans calling an actor "wife." My initial reaction as a westerner is like "this is very problematic," but I think I'm missing a lot of language/cultural context. Any thoughts?

Hello! First of all, for those who’re interested, here’s a link to the referred posts. Under the cut is arguably the 4th post of the series. As usual, I apologise for the length!

(Topics: seme and uke; more about “leftover women”; roster of feminisation terms; Daji, Bao Si & the origin of BJYX; roster of beautiful, ancient Chinese men; Chairman Mao (not part of the roster) ...)

[TW: feminisation of men]

In the traditional BL characterisation, the M/M (double male) lead pairing is essentially a cis-het relationship in disguise, in which one of the M leads is viewed as the “wife” by the creator and audience. This lead often possesses some of the features of the traditional, stereotypical female, but retaining his male appearance.

In BL terms, the “wife” is the “uke”. “Seme” and “uke” are the respective roles taken by the two male leads, and designated by the creator of the material. Literally, “seme” (攻め) means the dominant, the attacking / aggressive partner in the relationship and “uke” (受け), the passive / recipient (of actions) partner who tends to follow the seme’s lead. The terms themselves do not have any sexual / gender context. However, as male and female are viewed as aggressive and passive by their traditional social roles, and the attacker and recipient by their traditional sexual roles respectively, BL fandoms have long assigned uke, the passive, sexual “bottom”, as the “woman”, the “wife”.

Danmei has kept this “semi” and uke” tradition from BL, taking the kanji of the Japanese terms for designation ~ 攻 (”attack” is therefore the “husband”, and 受 (”receive”), the “wife”. The designations are often specified in the introduction / summary of Danmei works as warning / enticement. For MDZS, for example, MXTX wrote:

高貴冷豔悶騷攻 × 邪魅狂狷風騷受

高貴冷豔悶騷攻 = noble, coolly beautiful and boring seme (referring to LWJ) 邪魅狂狷風騷受 = devilishly charming, wild, and flirty uke (referring to WWX)

The traditional, stereotypical female traits given to the “uke”, the “wife” in Danmei and their associated fanworks range from their personality to behaviour to even biological functions. Those who have read the sex scenes in MDZS may be aware of their lack of mention of lube, while WWX was written as getting (very) wet from fluids from his colon (腸道) ~ implying that his colon, much like a vagina, was supplying the necessarily lubrication for sex. This is obviously biologically inaccurate; however, Danmei is exempt from having to be realistic by its original Tanbi definition. The genre’s primary audience is cishet females, and sex scenes such as this one aren’t aiming for realism. Rather, the primary goal of these sex scenes is to generate fantasy, and the purpose of the biologically female functions in one of the leads (WWX) is to ease the readers into imagining themselves as the one engaging in the sex.

Indeed, these practices of assigning as males and female the M/M sexual top and bottom, of emphasising of who is the top and who is the bottom, have been falling out of favour in Western slash fandoms ~ I joined fandom about 15 years ago, and top and bottom designations in slash pairings (and fights about them) were much more common than it is now. The generally more open, more progressive environments in which Western fandomers are immersed in probably have something to do with it: they transfer their RL knowledge, their views on biology, on different social into their fandom works and discourses.

I’d venture to say this: in the English-speaking fandoms, fandom values and mainstream values are converging. “Cancel culture” reflects an attempt to enforce RL values in the fictional worlds in fandom. Fandom culture is slowly, but surely, leaving its subculture status and becoming part of mainstream culture.

I’d hesitate to call c-Danmei fandoms backward compared to Western slash for this reason. There’s little hope for Danmei to converge with China’s mainstream culture in the short term ~ the necessity of replacing Danmei with Dangai in visual media already reflects that. Danmei is and will likely remain subculture in the foreseeable future, and subcultures, at heart, are protests against the mainstream. Unless China and the West define “mainstream” very similarly (and they don’t), it is difficult to compare the “progressiveness”—and its dark side, the “problematic-ness”—of the protests, which are shaped by what they’re protesting against. The “shaper” in this scenario, the mainstream values and culture, are also far more forceful under China’s authoritarian government than they are in the free(-er) world.

Danmei, therefore, necessarily takes on a different form in China than BL or slash outside China. As a creative pursuit, it serves to fulfil psychological needs that are reflective of its surrounding culture and sociopolitical environment. The genre’s “problematic” / out of place aspects in the eyes of Western fandoms are therefore, like all other aspects of the genre, tailor-made by its millions of fans to be comforting / cathartic for the unique culture and sociopolitical background it and they find themselves in.

I briefly detoured to talk about the Chinese government’s campaign to pressure young, educated Chinese women into matrimony and motherhood in the post for this reason, as it is an example of how, despite Western fandoms’ progressiveness, they may be inadequate, distant for c-Danmei fans. Again, this article is a short and a ... morbidly-entertaining read on what has been said about China’s “leftover women” (剩女) — women who are unmarried and over 27-years-old). I talked about it, because “Women should enter marriage and parenthood in their late 20s” may no longer a mainstream value in many Western societies, but where it still is, it exerts a strong influence on how women view romance, and by extension, how they interact with romantic fiction, including Danmei.

In China, this influence is made even stronger by the fact that Chinese tradition places a strong emphasis on education and holds a conservative attitude towards romance and sex. Dating while studying therefore remains discouraged in many Chinese families. University-educated Chinese women therefore have an extremely short time frame — between graduation (~23 years old) and their 27th birthday — to find “the right one” and get married, before they are labelled as “leftovers” and deemed undesirable. (Saving) face being an important aspect in Chinese culture introduces yet another layer of pressure: traditionally, women who don’t get married by the age agreed by social norms have been viewed as failures of upbringing, in that the unmarried women’s parents not having taught/trained their daughters well. Filial, unmarried women therefore try to get married “on time” just to avoid bringing shame to their family.

The outcome is this: despite the strong women characters we may see in Chinese visual media, many young Chinese women nowadays do not expect themselves to be able to marry for love. Below, I offer a “book jacket summary” of a popular internet novel in China, which shows how the associated despair also affects cis-het fictional romance. Book reviews praise this novel for being “boring”: the man and woman leads are both common working class people, the “you-and-I”’s; the mundaneness of them trying build their careers and their love life is lit by one shining light: he loves her and she loves him.

Written in her POV, this summary reflects, perhaps, the disquiet felt by many contemporary Chinese women university graduates:

曾經以為，自己這輩子都等不到了—— 世界這麼大，我又走得這麼慢，要是遇不到良人要怎麼辦？早過了「全球三十幾億男人，中國七億男人，天涯何處無芳草」的猖狂歲月，越來越清楚，循規蹈矩的生活中，我們能熟悉進而深交的異性實在太有限了，有限到我都做好了「接受他人的牽線，找個適合的男人慢慢煨熟，再平淡無奇地進入婚姻」的準備，卻在生命意外的拐彎處迎來自己的另一半。

I once thought, my wait will never come to fruition for the rest of my life — the world is so big, I’m so slow in treading it, what if I’ll never meet the one? I’ve long passed the wild days of thinking “3 billion men exist on Earth, 0.7 of which are Chinese. There is plenty more fish in the sea.” I’m seeing, with increasing clarity, that in our disciplined lives, the number of opposite-sex we can get to know, and get to know well, is so limited. It’s so limited that I’m prepared to accept someone’s matchmaking, find a suitable man and slowly, slowly, warm up to him, and then, to enter marriage with without excitement, without wonder. But then, an accidental turn in my life welcomes in my other half.

— Oath of Love (餘生，請多指教) (Yes, this is the novel Gg’d upcoming drama is based on.)

Heteronormativity is, of course, very real in China. However, that hasn’t exempted Chinese women, even its large cis-het population, from having their freedom to pursue their true love taken away from them. Even for cis-het relationships, being able to marry for love has become a fantasy —a fantasy scorned by the state. Remember this quote from Article O3 in the original post?

耽改故事大多远离现实，有些年轻受众却将其与生活混为一谈��产��不以结婚和繁衍为目的才是真爱之类的偏颇认知。

Most Dangai stories are far removed from reality; some young audience nonetheless mix them up with real life, develop biased understanding such as “only love that doesn’t treat matrimony and reproduction as destinations is true love”.

I didn’t focus on it in the previous posts, in an effort to keep the discussion on topic. But why did the op-ed piece pick this as an example of fantasy-that-shouldn’t-be-mixed-up-with-real-life, in the middle of a discussion about perceived femininity of men that actually has little to do with matrimony and reproduction?

Because the whole point behind the state’s “leftover women” campaign is precisely to get women to treat matrimony and reproduction as destinations, not beautiful sceneries that happen along the way. And they’re the state’s destination as more children = higher birth rate that leads to higher future productivity. The article is therefore calling out Danmei for challenging this “mainstream value”.

Therefore, while the statement True love doesn’t treat matrimony and reproduction as destinations may be trite for many of us while it may be a point few, if any, English-speaking fandoms may pay attention to, to the mainstream culture Danmei lives in, to the mainstream values dictated by the state, it is borderline subversive.

As much as Danmei may appear “tame” for its emphasis on beauty and romance, for it to have stood for so long, so firmly against China’s (very) forceful mainstream culture, the genre is also fundamentally rebellious. Remember: Danmei has little hope of converging with China’s mainstream unless it “sells its soul” and removes its homoerotic elements.

With rebelliousness, too, comes a bit of tongue-in-cheek.

And so, when c-Danmei fans, most of whom being cishet women who interact with the genre by its traditional BL definition, call one of the leads 老婆 (wife), it can and often take on a different flavour. As said before, it can be less about feminizing the lead than about identifying with the lead. The nickname 老婆 (wife) can be less about being disrespectful and more about humorously expressing an aspiration—the aspiration to have a husband who truly loves them, who they do want to get married and have babies with but out of freedom and not obligation.

Admittedly, I had been confused, and bothered by these “can-be”s myself. Just because there are alternate reasons for the feminisation to happen doesn’t mean the feminisation itself is excusable. But why the feminisation of M/M leads doesn’t sound as awful to me in Chinese as in English? How can calling a self-identified man 老婆 (wife) get away with not sounding being predominantly disrespectful to my ears, when I would’ve frowned at the same thing said in my vicinity in English?

I had an old hypothesis: when I was little, it was common to hear people calling acquaintances in Chinese by their unflattering traits: “Deaf-Eared Chan” (Mr Chan, who’s deaf), “Fat Old Woman Lan” (Ah-Lan, who’s an overweight woman) etc—and the acquaintances were perfectly at ease with such identifications, even introducing themselves to strangers that way. Comparatively speaking then, 老婆 (wife) is harmless, even endearing.

老婆, which literally means “old old-lady” (implying wife = the woman one gets old with), first became popularised as a colloquial, casual way of calling “wife” in Hong Kong and its Cantonese dialect, despite the term itself being about 1,500 years old. As older generations of Chinese were usually very shy about talking about their love lives, those who couldn’t help themselves and regularly spoke of their 老婆 tended to be those who loved their wives in my memory. 老婆, as a term, probably became endearing to me that way.

Maybe this is why the feminisation of M/M leads didn’t sound so bad to me?

This hypothesis was inadequate, however. This custom of identifying people by their (unflattering) traits has been diminishing in Hong Kong and China, for similar reasons it has been considered inappropriate in the West.

Also, 老婆 (wife) is not the only term used for / associated with feminisation. I’ve tried to limit the discussion to Danmei, the fictional genre; now, I’ll jump to its associated RPS genre, and specifically, the YiZhan fandoms. The purpose of this jump: with real people involved, feminisation’s effect is potentially more harmful, more acute. Easier to feel.

YiZhan fans predominantly entered the fandoms through The Untamed, and they’ve also transferred Danmei’s “seme”/“uke” customs into YiZhan. There are, therefore, three c-YiZhan fandoms:

博君一肖 (BJYX): seme Dd, uke Gg 戰山為王 (ZSWW): seme Gg, uke Dd 連瑣反應 (LSFY): riba Gg and Dd. Riba = “reversible”, and unlike “seme” and “uke”, is a frequently-used term in the Japanese gay community.

BJYX is by far the largest of the three, likely due to Gg having played WWX, the “uke” in MDZS / TU. I’ll therefore focus on this fandom, ie. Gg is the “uke”, the “wife”.

For Gg alone, I’ve seen him being also referred to by YiZhan fans as (and this is far from a complete list):

* 姐姐 (sister) * 嫂子 (wife of elder brother; Dd being the elder brother implied) * 妃妃 (based on the very first YiZhan CP name, 太妃糖 Toffee Candy, a portmanteau of sorts from Dd being the 太子 “prince” of his management company and Gg being the prince’s wife, 太子妃. 糖 = “candy”. 太妃 sounds like toffee in English and has been used as the latter’s Chinese translation.) * 美人 (beauty, as in 肖美人 “Beauty Xiao”) * Daji 妲己 (as in 肖妲己, “Daji Xiao”).

The last one needs historical context, which will also become important for explaining the new hypothesis I have.

Daji was a consort who lived three thousand years ago, whose beauty was blamed for the fall of the Shang dynasty. Gg (and men sharing similar traits, who are exceptionally rare) has been compared to Daji 妲己 for his alternatively innocent, alternatively seductive beauty ~ the kind of beauty that, in Chinese historical texts and folk lores, lead to the fall of kingdoms when possessed by the king’s beloved woman. This kind of “I-get-to-ruin-her-virginity”, “she’s a slut in MY bedroom” beauty is, of course, a stereotypical fantasy for many (cis-het) men, which included the authors of these historical texts and folklores. However, it also contained some truth: the purity / innocence, the image of a virgin, was required for an ancient woman to be chosen as a consort; the seduction, meanwhile, helped her to become the top consort, and monopolise the attention of kings and emperors who often had hundreds of wives ~ wives who often put each other in danger to eliminate competition.

Nowadays, women of tremendous beauty are still referred to by the Chinese idiom 傾國傾城, literally, ”falling countries, falling cities”. The beauty is also implied to be natural, expressed in a can’t-help-itself way, perhaps reflecting the fact that the ancient beauties on which this idiom has been used couldn’t possibly have plastic surgeries, and most of them didn’t meet a good end ~ that they had to pay a price for their beauty, and often, with their lowly status as women, as consorts, they didn’t get to choose whether they wanted to pay this price or not. This adjective is considered to be very flattering. Gg’s famous smile from the Thailand Fanmeet has been described, praised as 傾城一笑: “a smile that topples a city”.

I’m explaining Daji and 傾國傾城 because the Chinese idiom 博君一笑 “doing anything to get a smile from you”, from which the ship’s name BJYX 博君一肖 was derived (笑 and 肖 are both pronounced “xiao”), is connected to yet another of such dynasty-falling beauty, Bao Si 褒姒. Like Daji before her, Bao Si was blamed for the end of the Zhou Dynasty in 771 BC.

The legend went like this: Bao Si was melancholic, and to get her to smile, her king lit warning beacons and got his nobles to rush in from the nearby vassal states with their armies to come and rescue him, despite not being in actual danger. The nobles, in their haste, looked so frantic and dishevelled that Bao Si found it funny and smiled. Longing to see more of the smile of his favourite woman, the king would fool his nobles again and again, until his nobles no longer heeded the warning beacons when an actual rebellion came.

What the king did has been described as 博紅顏一笑, with 紅顏 (”red/flushed face”) meaning a beautiful woman, referring to Bao Si. Replace 紅顏 with the respectful “you”, 君, we get 博君一笑. If one searches the origin of the phrase 博 [fill_in_the_blank]一笑 online, Bao Si’s story shows up.

The “anything” in ”doing anything to get a smile from you” in 博君一笑, therefore, is not any favour, but something as momentous as giving away one’s own kingdom. c-turtles have remarked, to their amusement and admittedly mine, that “king”, in Chinese, is written as 王, which is Dd’s surname, and very occasionally, they jokingly compare him to the hopeless kings who’d give away everything for their love. Much like 傾國傾城 has become a flattering idiom despite the negative reputations of Daji and Bao Si for their “men-ruining ways”, 博君一笑 has become a flattering phrase, emphasising on the devotion and love rather than the ... stupidity behind the smile-inducing acts.

(Bao Si’s story, BTW, was a lie made up by historians who also lived later but also thousands of years ago, to absolve the uselessness of the king. Warning beacons didn’t exist at her time.)

Gg is arguably feminized even in his CP’s name. Gg’s feminisation is everywhere.

And here comes my confession time ~ I’ve been amused by most of the feminisation terms above. 肖妲己 (”Daji Xiao”) captures my imagination, and I remain quite partial to the CP name BJYX. Somehow, there’s something ... somewhat forgivable when the feminisation is based on Gg’s beauty, especially in the context of the historical Danmei / Dangai setting of MDZS/TU ~ something that, while doesn’t cancel, dampens the “problematic-ness” of the gender mis-identification.

What, exactly, is this something?

Here’s my new hypothesis, and hopefully I’ll manage to explain it well ~

The hypothesis is this: the unisex beauty standard for historical Chinese men and women, which is also breathtakingly similar to the modern beauty standard for Chinese women, makes feminisation in the context of Danmei (especially historical Danmei) flattering, and easier to accept.

What defined beauty in historical Chinese men? If I am to create a classically beautiful Chinese man for my new historical Danmei, how would I describe him based on what I’ve read, my cultural knowledge?

Here’s a list:

* Skin fair and smooth as white jade * Thin, even frail; narrow/slanted shoulders; tall * Dark irises and bright, starry eyes * Not too dense, neat eyebrows that are shaped like swords ~ pointed slightly upwards from the center towards the sides of the face * Depending on the dynasty, nice makeup.

Imagine these traits. How “macho” are they? How much do they fit the ideal Chinese masculine beauty advertised by Chinese government, which looks like below?

Propaganda poster, 1969. The caption says “Defeat Imperialist US! Defeat Social Imperialism!” The book’s name is “Quotations from Mao Zedong”. (Source)

Where did that list of traits I’ve written com from? Fair like jade, frail ... why are they so far from the ... “macho”ness of the men in the poster?

What has Chinese history said about its beautiful men?

Wei Jie (衛玠 286-312 BCE), one of the four most beautiful ancient Chinese men (古代四大美男) recorded in Chinese history famously passed away when fans of his beauty gathered and formed a wall around him, blocking his way. History recorded Wei as being frail with chronic illness, and was only 27 years old when he died. Arguably the first historical account of “crazy fans killing their idol”, this incident left the idiom 看殺衛玠 ~ “Wei Jie being watched to death.” ~ a not very “macho” way to die at all.

潘安 (Pan An; 247-300 BCE), another one of the four most beautiful ancient Chinese men, also had hoards of fangirls, who threw fruits and flowers at him whenever he ventured outside. The Chinese idiom 擲果盈車 “thrown fruit filling a cart” was based on Pan and ... his fandom, and denotes such scenarios of men being so beautiful that women openly displayed their affections for them.

Meanwhile, when Pan went out with his equally beautiful male friend, 夏侯湛 Xiahou Zhan, folks around them called them 連璧 ~ two connected pieces of perfect jade. Chinese Jade is white, smooth, faintly glowing in light, so delicate that it gives the impression of being somewhat transparent.

Aren’t Wei Jie and Pan An reminiscent of modern day Chinese idols, the “effeminate” “Little Fresh Meat”s (小鲜肉) so panned by Article O3? Their stories, BTW, also elucidated the historical reference in LWJ’s description of being jade-like in MDZS, and in WWX and LWJ being thrown pippas along the Gusu river bank.

Danmei, therefore, didn’t create a trend of androgynous beauty in men as much as it has borrowed the ancient, traditional definition of masculine Chinese beauty ~ the beauty that was more feminine than masculine by modern standards.

[Perhaps, CPs should be renamed 連璧 (”two connected pieces of perfect jade”) as a reminder of the aesthetics’ historical roots.]

Someone may exclaim now: But. But!! Yet another one of the four most beautiful ancient Chinese men, 高長恭 (Gao Changgong, 541-573 BCE), far better known by his title, 蘭陵王 (”the Prince of Lanling”), was a famous general. He had to be “macho”, right?

... As it turns out, not at all. Historical texts have described Gao as “貌柔心壮，音容兼美” (”soft in looks and strong at heart, beautiful face and voice”), “白美類婦人” (”fair and beautiful as a woman”), “貌若婦人” (”face like a woman”). Legends have it that The Prince of Lanling’s beauty was so soft, so lacking in authority that he had to wear a savage mask to get his soldiers to listen to his command (and win) on the battlefield (《樂府雜錄》: 以其顏貌無威，每入陣即著面具，後乃百戰百勝).

This should be emphasised: Gao’s explicitly feminine descriptions were recorded in historical texts as arguments *for* his beauty. Authors of these texts, therefore, didn’t view the feminisation as insult. In fact, they used the feminisation to drive the point home, to convince their readers that men like the Prince of Lanling were truly, absolutely good looking.

Being beautiful like a women was therefore high praise for men in, at least, significant periods in Chinese history ~ periods long and important enough for these records to survive until today. Beauty, and so it goes, had once been largely free of distinctions between the masculine and feminine.

One more example of an image of an ancient Chinese male beauty being similar to its female counterpart, because the history nerd in me finds this fun.

何晏 (He Yan, ?-249 BCE) lived in the Wei Jin era (between 2nd to 4th century), during which makeup was really en vogue. Known for his beauty, he was also famous for his love of grooming himself. The emperor, convinced that He Yan’s very fair skin was from the powder he was wearing, gave He Yan some very hot foods to eat in the middle of the summer. He Yan began to sweat, had to wipe himself with his sleeves and in the process, revealed to the emperor that his fair beauty was 100% natural ~ his skin glowed even more with the cosmetics removed (《世說新語·容止第十四》: 何平叔美姿儀，面至白。魏明帝疑其傅粉，正夏月，與熱湯餅。既啖，大汗出，以朱衣自拭，色轉皎然). His kick-cosmetics’-ass fairness won him the nickname 傅粉何郎 (”powder-wearing Mr He”).

Not only would He Yan very likely be mistaken as a woman if this scene is transferred to a modern setting, but this scene can very well fit inside a Danmei story of the 21st century and is very, very likely to get axed by the Chinese censorship board for its visualisation.

[Important observation from this anecdote: the emperor was totally into this trend too.]

The adjectives and phrases used above to describe these beautiful ancient Chinese men ~ 貌柔, 音容兼美, 白美, 美姿儀, 皎然 ~ have all become pretty much reserved for describing beauty in women nowadays. Beauty standards in ancient China were, as mentioned before, had gone through significantly long periods in which they were largely genderless. The character for beauty 美 (also in Danmei, 耽美) used to have little to no gender association. Free of gender associations as well were the names of many flowers. The characters for orchid (蘭) and lotus (蓮), for example, were commonly found in men’s names as late as the Republican era (early 20th century), but are now almost exclusively found in women’s names. Both orchid and lotus have historically been used to indicate 君子 (junzi, roughly, “gentlemen”), which have always been men. MDZS also has an example of a man named after a flower: Jin Ling’s courtesy name, given to him by WWX, was 如蘭 (”like an orchid”).

A related question may be this: why does ancient China associate beauty with fairness, with softness, with frailty? Likely, because Confucianist philosophy and customs put a heavy emphasis on scholarship ~ and scholars have mostly consisted of soft-spoken, not muscular, not working-under-the-sun type of men. More importantly, Confucianist scholars also occupied powerful government positions. Being, and looking like a Confucianist scholar was therefore associated with status. Indeed, it’s very difficult to look like jade when one was a farmer or a soldier, for example, who constantly had to toil under the sun, whose skin was constantly being dried and roughened by the elements. Having what are viewed as “macho” beauty traits as in the poster above ~ tanned skin, bulging muscles, bony structures (which also take away the jade’s smoothness) ~ were associated with hard labour, poverty and famine.

Along that line, 手無縛雞之力 (“hands without the strength to restrain a chicken”) has long been a phrase used to describe ancient scholars and students, and without scorn or derision. Love stories of old, which often centred around scholars were, accordingly, largely devoid of the plot lines of husbands physically protecting the wives, performing the equivalent of climbing up castle walls and fighting dragons etc. Instead, the faithful husbands wrote poems, combed their wife’s hair, traced their wife’s eyebrows with cosmetics (畫眉)...all activities that didn’t require much physical strength, and many of which are considered “feminine” nowadays.

Were there periods in Chinese history in which more ... sporty men and women were appreciated? Yes. the Tang dynasty, for example, and the Yuan and Qing dynasties. The Tang dynasty, as a very powerful, very open era in Chinese history, was known for its relations to the West (via the Silk Road). The Yuan and Qing dynasties, meanwhile, were established by Mongolians and Manchus respectively, who, as non-Han people, had not been under the influence of Confucian culture and grew up on horsebacks, rather than in schools.

The idea that beautiful Chinese men should have “macho” attributes was, therefore, largely a consequence of non-Han-Chinese influence, especially after early 20th century. That was when the characters for beauty (美), orchid (蘭), lotus (蓮) etc began their ... feminisation. The Chinese Communist Party (CCP), which started its reign of the country starting 1949, also has foreign roots, being a derivative of the Soviets, and its portrayal of ideal men has been based on the party’s ideology, painting them as members of the People’s Liberation Army (Chinese army) and its two major proletariat classes, farmers and industrial workers ~ all occupations that are “macho” in their aesthetics, but held at very poor esteem in ancient Chinese societies. All occupations that, to this day, may be hailed as noble by Chinese women, but not really deemed attractive by them.

Beauty, being an instinct, is perhaps much more resistant to propaganda.

If anything, the three terms Article O3 used to describe “effeminate” men ~ 奶油小生 “cream young men” (popularised in 1980s) , 花美男 “flowery beautiful men” (early 2000s), 小鲜肉 “little fresh meat” (coined in 2014 and still popular now) ~ only informs me how incredibly consistent the modern Chinese women’s view of ideal male beauty has been. It’s the same beauty the Chinese Communist Party has called feminine. It’s the same beauty found in Danmei. It’s the same beauty that, when witnessed in men in ancient China, was so revered that historians recorded it for their descendants to remember. It doesn’t mean there aren’t any women who appreciate the "macho” type ~ it’s just that, the appreciation for the non-macho type has never really gone out of fashion, never really changed. The only thing that is really changing is the name of the type, the name’s positive or negative connotations.

(Personally, I’m far more uncomfortable with the name “Little fresh meat” (小鲜肉) than 老婆 (wife). I find it much more insulting.)

Anyway, what I’d like to say is this: feminisation in Danmei ~ a genre that, by definition, is hyper-focused on aesthetics ~ may not be as "problematic” in Chinese as it is in English, because the Chinese tradition didn’t make that much of a differentiation between masculine and feminine beauty. Once again, this isn’t to say such mis-gendering isn’t disrespectful; it’s just that, perhaps, it is less disrespectful because Chinese still retains a cultural memory in which equating a beautiful man to a beautiful woman was the utmost flattery.

I must put a disclaimer here: I cannot vouch for this being true for the general Chinese population. This is something that is buried deep enough inside me that it took a lot of thought for me to tease out, to articulate. More importantly, while I grow up in a Chinese-speaking environment, I’ve never lived inside China. My history knowledge, while isn’t shabby, hasn’t been filtered through the state education system.

I’d also like to point out as well, along this line of thought, that in *certain* (definitely not all) aspects, Chinese society isn’t as sexist as the West. While historically, China has periods of extreme sexism against women, with the final dynasties of Ming and Qing being examples, I must (reluctantly) acknowledge Chairman Mao for significantly lifting the status of women during his rule. Here’s a famous quote of his from 1955:

婦女能頂半邊天 Women can lift half the skies

The first marriage code, passed in 1950, outlawed forced marriages, polygamy, and ensured equal rights between husband and wife. For the first time in centuries, women were encouraged to go outside of their homes and work. Men resisted at first, wanting to keep their wives at home; women who did work were judged poorly for their performance and given less than 50% of men’s wage, which further fuelled the men’s resistance. Mao said the above quote after a commune in Guizhou introduced the “same-work-same-wage” system to increase its productivity, and he asked for the same system to to be replicated across the country. (Source)

When Chairman Mao wanted something, it happened. Today, Chinese women’s contribution to the country’s GDP remains among the highest in the world. They make up more than half of the country’s top-scoring students. They’re the dominant gender in universities, in the ranks of local employees of international corporations in the Shanghai and Beijing central business districts—among the most sought after jobs in the country. While the inequality between men and women in the workplace is no where near wiped out — stories about women having to sleep with higher-ups to climb the career ladder, or even get their PhDs are not unheard of, and the central rulership of the Chinese Communist Party has been famously short of women — the leap in women’s rights has been significant over the past century, perhaps because of how little rights there had been before ~ at the start of the 20th century, most Chinese women from relatively well-to-do families still practised foot-binding, in which their feet were literally crushed during childhood in the name of beauty, of status symbol. They couldn’t even walk properly.

Perhaps, the contemporary Chinese women’s economic contribution makes the sexism they encounter in their lives, from the lack of reproductive rights to the “leftover women” label, even harder to swallow. It makes their fantasies fly to even higher, more defiant heights. The popularity of Dangai right now is pretty much driven by women, as acknowledged by Article O3. Young women, especially, female fans who people have dismissed as “immature”, “crazy”, are responsible for the threat the Chinese government is feeling now by the genre.

This is no small feat. While the Chinese government complains about the “effeminate” men from Danmei / Dangai, its propaganda has been heavily reliant on stars who have risen to popularity to these genres. The film Dd is currently shooting, Chinese Peacekeeping Force (維和部隊), also stars Huang Jingyu (黄景瑜), and Zhang Zhehan (張哲瀚) ~ the three actors having shot to fame from The Untamed (Dangai), Addicted (Danmei), and Word of Honour (Dangai) respectively. Zhang, in particular, played the “uke” role in Word of Honour and has also been called 老婆 (wife) by his fans. The quote in Article O3, “Ten years as a tough man known by none; one day as a beauty known by all” was also implicitly referring to him.

Perhaps, the government will eventually realise that millennia-old standards of beauty are difficult to bend, and by extension, what is considered appropriate gender expression of Chinese men and women.

In the metas I’ve posted, therefore, I’ve hesitated in using terms such as homophobia, sexism, and ageism etc, opting instead to make long-winded explanations that essentially amount to these terms (thank you everyone who’s reading for your patience!). Because while the consequence is similar—certain fraction of the populations are subjected to systemic discrimination, abuse, given less rights, treated as inferior etc—these words, in English, also come with their own context, their own assumptions that may not apply to the situation. It reminds me of what Leo Tolstoy wrote in Anna Karenina,

“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

Discrimination in each country, each culture is humiliating, unhappy in its own way. Both sexism and homophobia are rampant in China, but as their roots are different from those of the West, the ways they manifest are different, and so must the paths to their dissolution. I’ve also hesitated on calling out individual behaviours or confronting individuals for this reason. i-Danmei fandoms are where i-fans and c-fans meet, where English-speaking doesn’t guarantee a non-Chinese sociopolitical background (there may be students from China, for example; I’m also ... not entirely Western), and I find it difficult to articulate appropriate, convincing arguments without knowing individual backgrounds.

Frankly, I’m not sure if I’ve done the right thing. Because I do hope feminisation will soon fade into extinction, especially in i-Danmei fandoms that, if they continue to prosper on international platforms, may eventually split from c-Danmei fandoms along the cultural (not language) line due to the vast differences in environmental constraints. My hope is especially true when real people are involved, and c-fandoms, I’d like to note, are not unaware of the issues surrounding feminisation ~ it has already been explicitly forbidden in BJYX’s supertopic on Weibo.

At the same time, I’ve spent so many words above to try to explain why beauty can *sometimes* lurk behind such feminisations. Please allow me to end this post with one example of feminisation that I deeply dislike—and I’ve seen it used by fans on Gg as well—is 綠茶 (”green tea”), from 綠茶婊 (”green tea whore”) that means women who look pure / innocent but are, deep down, promiscuous / lustful. In some ways, its meaning isn’t so different from Daji 妲己, the consort blamed for the fall of the Shang dynasty. However, to me at least, the flattery in the feminisation is gone, perhaps because of the character “whore” (婊), because the term originated in 2013 from a notorious sex party rather than from a legendary beauty so maligned that The Investiture of the Gods (封神演義), the seminal Chinese fiction written ~2,600 years after Daji’s death, re-imagined her as a malevolent fox spirit (狐狸精) that many still remembers her as today.

Ah, to be caught between two cultures. :)

#tell-me-everything #pie metas #yizhan #bjyx

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troutfur · 3 years ago

Text

A preamble to the live reading of Hunter’s Moon/The Foxes of Firstdark by Garry Kilworth

As a work within what I’m going to be calling the mythic subgenre of naturalist animal xenofiction (as coined by YouTube user Cardinal West on his excellent video detailing the history of the genre), mythic NAX for short, one of the primary appeals of a book such as Hunter’s Moon/The Foxes of Firstdark should lie in how the author incorporates real biology and behavior of the animals he’s writing about onto the fictional human-like society he’s constructing.

Thus, before we dive into the live reading on the blog, I thought it’d be good for us all to be more aware of actual fox behavior so that we may better appreciate the bits of real animal behavior incorporated into the text and recognize the artistic liberties taken by the author. I’m writing a short distillation of my preliminary research done on the following four webpages:

https://www.nwf.org/educational-resources/wildlife-guide/mammals/red-fox

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/mammals/facts/red-fox

https://www.discoverwildlife.com/animal-facts/mammals/understand-fox-behaviour/

https://www.wildlifeonline.me.uk/animals/article/red-fox-behaviour-the-social-hierarchy

Obviously, as a Warriors fan, I’m not too demanding about biological accuracy in my mythic NAX novels, but I still expect the authors to incorporate it in some way. The Erin Hunter team’s portrayal of a feral cat colony may not be completely accurate but it shows in places they are at least aware of the basics of how they operate.

I’m also not a biologist nor do I have any particular knowledge of foxes, so I’m doing all this preliminary research from scratch. Obviously, I’m not going to go super in depth or go into super academic sources. This is, afterall, being done for fun.

Distillation of my research unde the cut:

OK so! Fox social groups are organized around a breeding pair and their offspring. A typical fox social group will comprise about 4-6 adults, although in certain cases there may be as many as 10, about evenly split into vixens (females) and dog foxes (males). The breeding pair is typically in charge of setting scent markers around the territory the group occupies and fighting off intruders.

Foxes exhibit a dominance hierarchy between them which determines their access to food within the range their territory occupies. Though it typically doesn’t escalate beyond ritualised displays of dominance in adult foxes, because of how dominant dog foxes and vixens will steal food from their subordinates, feeding is not a particularly social activity. Unlike cats, foxes don’t bring back surplus food for the benefit of the whole colony, nursing vixens and cubs are fed by the dominant dog fox.

The dominance hierarchy begins to develop soon after birth, cubs as young as a week old are already fighting amongst themselves for their mother’s milk. During the first four weeks of their lives, cubs remain underground and within that timeframe is when fights for dominance are the bloodiest. About 20% of fox cubs die during this timeframe and end up cannibalized by their siblings. After that, mortality during struggles for dominance within the group is much more rare.

The fox life cycle begins towards January to February, when vixens enter in heat and dog foxes who aren’t part of a social group already fight each other in order to be able to mate with the available vixens. At these point vixens dig undeground dens (called earths) where they’ll raise their cubs. These are born towards mid-March and emerge from underground around April. Because of how struggles for dominance affect access to food, dominant cubs, whichever their sex, may appear as much as twice as old as their siblings.

From their fourth to their seventh week, the cubs wean off milk and begin eating meat. Through playfighting they begin to learn essential hunting skills and reinforce the social hierarchies formed underground. When the cubs are old enough to begin foraging and hunting on their own, tensions begin to spark between them, their older siblings, and even their parents. These come to head in the autumn when, having attained sexual maturity, submissive dog foxes and vixens strike out on their own in search of a mate. Or failing that, attempt a coup against the breeding pair.

Social bonds among the group are reinforced mostly through grooming. More dominant members are groomed more and thus have stronger bonds. Even in cubs this is true as mothers pay more attention to their more dominant offspring. This is why the submissive members of the group are the ones most likely to go off on their own when the time for scattering comes.

Fox lifespans in urban environments are pretty short, usually averaging 18 months, but in more remote and rural environments 6-10 years is more common.

#Jace reads TFoFd #Hunter's Moon #The Foxes of Firstdark #xenofiction #fox #foxes #non-cat xenofiction #not warrior cats

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the-fiction-witch · 4 years ago

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She’s Not Yours P3

REAL LIFE X THE LAST LEGION

COUPLE TBS X READER

RATING SMUT + DARK

WARNINGS FOR VARIOUS ABUSE AND SEXUAL ABUSE

I sat in a council meeting bored as usual but I had new things to focus on, every morning she has done that to me and I couldn't stop thinking about it, all except this morning we where running very late and we didn't have time. And I could feel it, it was throbbing, it was rock hard in my pants often having to cross my legs under the table to try and restrain it somehow. I'd do anything to get my cock back in her mouth again, I need her so badly, I couldn't keep my eyes off her as she walked around doing drinks and such. Watching that beautiful body move concealed by that little dress,

"That's enough, for one day," I said and they all nodded "come on" I told her heading out the room she followed as always struggling a little as I marched back to my room shutting the door quickly behind me

"Something the matter my king?' she asked turning to me I didn't answer I just grabbed her waist kissing her as intesely as I could, she kissed back confused but egar too I grabbed her ass folding her over that thin dress till she pulled back "I am sorry about this morning Thomas"

"It's fine. It's not your fault. But…. My darling please"

"What is it Thomas?"

"I need you, it hurts, please…"

"I see" she smiled holding my hand tugging us over to the sofa I was confused as to why but she kissed my hand and turned away before she bent over using the higher part of the sofa to rest her stomach

"May I?"

"You may my king"

"Ummmmm thank you my darling' I told her kissing her cheek I was excited we'd never done it before but I wanted to badly. I pushed off my pants and she tugged up her dress exposing herself me "uuhh darling, your beautiful" I told her she clearly blushed but didn't answer I didn't waste time slowly pushing in, it was a thousand times better then her mouth, I grabbed her hips as soon as I was inside, my hips working on there own fast and hard moans falling from my mouth like a waterfall, lost in my own little world like nothing existed but me and her. Knew I was being rough but I couldn't stop it, I couldn't control myself hearing her lusty groans and gasps was driving me wild. "Uuuhhh uuhhh my darling! Y/n! Please…. I'm so close!" I begged she gently began to move her hips meeting them with my own and I was on another fucking planet! Lost in my own world my hips moving so fast and hard I didn't even care about anything but how good she felt!

I heard a knock on my door but I couldn't bare to stop I honestly don't even think of I tried I could

"What!" I yelled

"Your advisor wishes to see you about something my king" I guard said

"Umm… um…. Tell him to come back later! I'm busy!" I yelled back trying hard not to moan but I felt her tighten around me and she screamed louder then ever before which made my hit my own moving my hips like crazy Inside her before collapsing in her "fuck I love you"

"I love you too Thomas" she giggled between her gasps "did I please my king" she asks getting up and wrapping her arms around my neck

"Umm you always do my darling," I smiled picking her up making her wrap her legs around me carrying her to my bed "again!"

"What?"

"You question your king?' I smirked "I said again my darling, I wanna hear you scream for me again!' I growled dropping her on my bed and crawling on top of her kissing all over her wrapping my arms around her as much as I could

But the door knocked again

"I said I'm busy! In fact…. I'm gonna be busy. All night long" I smirked "and if someone disturbs me again. I'll cut off whatever hand they knocked on the door with" I warn

I stood on the balcony watching the sun begin to set across the city having a little wine

"Thomas?" I heard y/n call, I had left her in my bed to sleep, we had visited the flower gardens across the city today and they made her walk all the way there and back so I was letting her sleep a while that Andi had I just had her on her back pushed into my matress the last hour and a half she wondered out only her chain around her neck she came over and wrapped herself up with me

"Hello you, get back inside. You'll get cold" I told her kissing her head

"It's to hot"

"Is it now?" I laughed giving her lips a kiss "go on, I don't want everyone to see you. You know the kinds trouble someone found you here"

"I am your maiden, I take care of you. I'm meant to be here" she giggled going back inside making sure I watched her

"Ummm your not usually naked thought"

"I can be if you'd like my king"

"I bet you can." I smirked "put your dress on"

"No"

"No? You deny your king?'

"Because I know my king wants me naked"

"How do you know what I want?" I smirked going inside shutting the door behind me

"I always know what my king wants" she smiled giving my lips a kiss and stroking my half hard cock thought my pants

"Smart girl. Bed. Now" I ordered

"Yes Thomas" she giggled

I laid in bed unable to sleep, u couldn't turn my head off tonight

"Ummm" I heard her gently moan on my chest I smiled giving her a little kiss, we had to be very careful but I managed to let her stay up here with me some nights even if we had to be quiet.

"Y/n?" I asked her

"Hummm?"

"Sorry, I know your tried but… I have to ask you something"

"Of course ask away my king" she smiled cuddling closer to me

"How long… have you worn this?" I asked tracing my fingers across her chain

"I was give it, when I was born"

"Born?"

"Umm my mother was a slave so, I was give one as soon as I was born, they had new links are you get bigger so it still sort of fits"

"Sort of?" I asked she sat up sitting on my stomach she moved her chain back slightly it pressing hard into the other side of her neck to get some gap on the other side and I saw where the chain rubbed her skin raw all day everyday a scar that would never fully heal from years without it being removed "doesn't it hurt?"

"It does. You learn to ignore it"

"Y/n. What is it like? For a slave?"

"You don't want to know that Thomas"

"Y/n. I'm there king. I need to know, and I need to know the truth and your the only person who can tell me that" I begged "so please, tell me everything"

"Yes my king" she nods "my mother was a maid in the palace, no older then us. One of the council men or so she said tried to use her but she forced him away, so they sent her to the amours to serve there…. They would burn her, and whip her, torcher her, and rape her. When I was born from… one of the men she didn't know who, I was sent to the laundry I would wash clothes and bedding mostly I… I never saw my mother again. They would hit your knees and ankles if you didn't do right the laundry" she explained "when I was to big for the laundry they sent me to the library to assist the book makers" she said "but… the men there, liked little girls."

"What do you mean?"

"They… liked little girls best."

"Y/n, my darling. Why didn't any of them day anything?"

"Of course we did. You think anyone listens to slaves? We where just slapped and ordered to be silent. When I got to old there they sent me to the kitchens, it was hot work and hard they'd boil your skin for speaking, burn your toes for messing up, whip you if you where slow, cut our your tongue if you where caught stealing food even just bits of moldy bread" she explained showing her various scars from all the places she has worked and the things that he been done to her

"Why would people steal moldy bread?"

"Because there starving,"

"Starving? I thought slaves where always homed and fed"

"Homed? You sleep on the floor of whatever you worked. Often chained to work stations having to sleep in puddles of your own and other piss and shit. Fed? Someone might be thrown some rotten meat or old bread once a week if you want to eat it, you have to fight for it like rats. I've seen children's hands cut off for stealing apples because there so hungry they are days from death, seen old men whipped to work faster on broken bones, women forced to work while in labour. And God forbid you speak back or try to escape then… death was a mercy"

"Why have you never told me this before?'

"I didn't think you cared" she shrugged

"Y/n of course I care. I…. I didn't know they treated you all that way. I…. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. If I'd known I would have-"

"It's alright Thomas. You barely even leave the palace. I can't blame you for not knowing" she smiled "what about you?"

"What?"

"I want to know what it's like. To be a king"

"Okay" I smiled "my mother was the only child of the last king, so they got her married off pretty quickly, my father was prince of the outlanders they hoped it would bring union but… it didn't really work. My uncle killed him"

"I'm sorry Thomas"

"It's fine. I never even met him. My mother was already pregnant then and… when I was born it just. It ripped her apart, she died a few days after. I never met either of them all I have is the statue of them in the hall. They kept me safe and made me king the council and the advisor did it all till I could walk and talk I think they mostly still do honestly, it's strange you have… very little freedom as a king. I keep getting told I can do anything I want and yet I'm not allowed to bathe myself or dress myself, but I don't know anything else. I was crowned king at three the first real choice I ever made was… you."

"Why didn't you kill me?"

"I couldn't. You where… scared of me. And that's not the sort of king I wanted to be and I… kinda liked you" I smiled "I wanted used you happy, not see you dead, there's alot of things I wish I could change"

"Like what?"

"I'd like it to stop. All of it. I don't want people to suffer for me. I don't want people to starve while I have more food then I'll ever eat, I don't want women to give up there bodies for food or just the safety they won't die tomorrow. And I… I wanna marry you, not just have you as some little slave girl who I have sex with. I want to marry you, make you my queen"

"That sounds very nice Thomas" she smiled nuzzling with my neck

"I will, someday. I promise" I smiled kissing her head.

I sat on my throne bored, nothing was going on so I just had to sit here.

"A drink my king" y/n smiled bringing me some wine

"Thank you darling" I smiled taking it from her "why am I doing this?"

"I don't know my king. The advisor says you must"

"He says I must do alot of things" I sighed "y/n, come sit with me"

"I can't my king it is the throne" she says

"Do you deny your king?"

"Never" she blushed

"The come and sit with me" I smiled she giggled and came sitting beside me but both of us barely fit "hang on." I said moving her hips to sit on my lap "there. That's better isn't it darling" I smiled kissing her cheek

"Much better my king, much cosier" she giggled

"Umm bet your much more used to sitting here"

"Very much so" she giggled

"Now… as were alone. How about we, have a little fun" I whispered and she giggled and nodded "that's my girl" I smirked making her stand a moment as I tugged my pants down she giggled and pulled her dress up, she moved back and gently slipped down my cock every inch pushing Inside her heavenly pussy "ummmm you feel so good. Why would I ever need any other woman in the world" I smirked gently moving her hips to move her back and forth sending ripples of pleasure across us both, I bit on her shoulder a little to stop my moans "ummm quiet darling, we'd be in alot of trouble I'd we got caught" I smirked

"The king fucking a slave girl on the throne of the kingdom" she giggled

"I'm sure knowone would blame me they saw your gorgeous pussy" I smirked starting to bounce her up and down "but there not going to. Only I get to see my beautiful darling" I smirked getting faster and faster trying hard not to moan, I moved a hand up her dress to fondle her breast as she bounced faster and faster I bit down hard giving her shoulder love bites to stop myself from screaming and from someone hearing us I felt her tighten she moved my hand to her mouth to muffle her screams as she came I smirked and kept bouncing her until I hit my own groaning into her ear as I finished as deep in her as I could making she she got every drop. And just as we walked down I heard footsteps, she quickly jumped off my lap and stood by the throne as usual fixing her dress I smirked blowing her a kiss and doing my pants back up and just as I did the door opened with my advisor and the council with some rather unimportant news, I was barely listening just smirking to myself glancing at her beside me seeing how tight her thighs and legs where as she desperately tried not to drip everything down her legs.

I sat in the meeting room undeniably nervous, I kept y/n close to me, I heard them marching down the corridor, I held my breath as the doors flew open showing five men, my uncle in the centre

“Hello Nephew”

“Hello Uncle,”

“You think I can be summoned to your audience like some damn dog!”

“Well you clearly can”

"What do you want"

"I want. This to stop. The attacks on my people the desecration on my lands the -"

"Enough. I understand" he says "you've grown up. Starting to really sound… like your father"

"It's been a while since I saw you last"

"Just because your older. Doesn't make you anymore of a king. I cannot simply call of my men, they have a habit of doing whatever the want" he smirked as the men he brought with him beg wrecking the room "that's something you don't understand is it, when people don't do whatever you ask of them"

"I am the king!'

"And they are not your people they are mine, I am there king. So why would they listen to you"

"Because I'll execute them if they don't"

"Will you now? You know the rules kiddo you hurt one of mine or I hurt one of yours" he smirked "she's beautiful" he smirked looking at y/n

"She is no concern of yours"

"Isn't she? I think she is" he smirked "hello beautiful" he smirked going over to where she stood "you get more beautiful every time I visit" he smirked his hand on her arse

"Do not touch her"

"Why? She's a slave, is what's she's for" he smirked "infact, for dragging us all this way. boys! For a present for you!" He smirked throwing her over to the other men who started grabbing at her

"Leave her alone!" I yelled "by all the gods in this world you will leave her be!"

"Oooh you really do like her don't you, naughty naughty liking a little slave girl, let's see what you like about her then" he laughs "boys, have you turn with her" he ordered

"No! You leave her alone!"

"Ignore him, carry on!"

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lilbitof-alilbitch · 3 years ago

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The Girl(s) at the Rock Show

The culture surrounding the music industry, particularly the rock scene, was largely built on the abuse and degradation of women. Read that again and repeat it to yourself if necessary. Growing up in the scene, we always thought it was a safe space, a place where you could be yourself and get away from the world for a little while. And to an extent, it is just that, somewhere where those who are different can feel a part of something. But for women and female-aligned people, it’s not as simple as that. Even if you cast aside the general misogyny of the fact that we must worry about dressing “too slutty” for fear of being mistaken for a groupie, the real issues reside in the predatory behavior of the men in the bands. For it seems like every day new allegations and accusations are coming to light, showing the true nature of the bands we grew up adoring. Grooming, assault, abuse, general sexual misconduct, and more are the reality for women and female-aligned people in the scene. Not only have the behaviors associated with those crimes been largely accepted in the rock scene, but for a long time, they were encouraged and celebrated.

My mother often romanticizes the 1980s, when rock music was at the height of its popularity. And as she reminisces, she’s told me a countless number of times that it was common for women to wear negligees to bars and shows. No doubt to help boost their chances of catching the eye of a band member. And how can you blame them? The motto of the times was “sex and drugs and rock and roll”. Being a groupie wasn’t frowned upon back then, but rather expected of the women in the scene. But these expectations are derogatory in and of themselves. Women were expected, and encouraged, to always be on display like pieces of meat, for male pleasure. It was the cultural norm, a cultural norm we’ve been fighting for decades now. And while Generation X may glamorize the 80s, and despite enormous strides in feminism during this time and before, women in the scene were treated like dirt.

Speaking of “dirt” I can’t think of a better example of the mistreatment of women in the rock scene circa the 1980s than an incident that Nikki Sixx wrote about in Motley Crue’s 2001 autobiography The Dirt. As he was having relations with a girl, he got the oh so hilarious idea to have bandmate Tommy Lee switch places with him, like it was some sort of tag-team sport. The issue here is, neither one of these men informed the woman, who consented to sex with Nikki Sixx, not Tommy Lee, of what was happening. That’s rape. Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee raped this girl, and the book was still glorified enough to become a movie. Now, for obvious reasons, this scene never made the movie adaptation. But the question is: how could they have allowed this book a movie adaptation in the first place? Answer: Because it was the 80s. That’s just how things were. Incidents like that were probably commonplace. It’s seen as ridiculous to protest things that happened in the past where the cultural mindset of the time deemed it appropriate. And that movie quite literally brought Motley Crue back from the dead, with a whole new generation of fans ready to rock. It gave an even bigger platform to actual rapists and revered that lifestyle. If a band was caught doing that today, luckily it would be career-ending. It’s almost 2022, and the scene is just now moving to a place where behavior like this results in being canceled, and rightfully so. However, we need to get to a place where we can take away the platforms of abusers, despite how many years have passed since their abuse. Or we’ll never get the rock scene to become the safe space we always thought it was.

While on the subject, how does Steven Tyler still have a platform? How was he able to grow into the enigma he is today? Is he one of the best rock musicians of our time? Quite possibly. But did he, in 1975, at the age of 27, convince a 14-year-old groupie’s parents to sign over guardianship to him so she could move in with him as a live-in girlfriend? Yes. How did that get swept under the rug for so many years? How did nobody seem to bat an eye? That’s not only a 13-year age difference with a minor, but I’m sure the relationship was sexual. And yet, here we are, 47 years later and what does Steven Tyler have to show for it? Fame, fortune, and a slot as one of the most influential rock artists of our time, despite grooming and statutory raping a minor. It’s no wonder we still see these issues today in the scene when artists are just now beginning to see consequences for this kind of predatory behavior.

These days it seems like no band can be completely trusted. Not in the age of media, with new information coming to light what seems like every day. Even bands that claim to be feminists and stand with victims have been caught up in webs of manipulation and abuse of power. And repeatedly, we women and female-aligned people are left wondering if anyone with the slightest position of power can be trusted, if there really is a safe space out there for us. Because it’s certainly not the rock scene like we all grew up thinking. How could it be? When bands thought it was okay to invite minors on their bus or van during Warped Tour days. When young girls have been so frequently complimented on their breasts by band members that instead of being uncomfortable or disgusted, they celebrate. I mean, it wasn’t but a little over a decade ago when it was common practice to make rape jokes on stage. It’s amazing how we ever saw this as a safe space. But it’s not our fault. We surrounded ourselves in a culture that told us those things were funny and/or okay. We put our complete trust into adults who were supposed to be helping us, not taking advantage of our adoration. We didn’t know any better, we were kids. But they should have.

The irony of the scene not being safe for us is that the scene would be nothing without us. Without our devotion and dedication, artists wouldn’t ever get to where they do. We are the backbone of this industry, and yet instead of being met with gratitude, we’re looked down on and exploited. We shouldn’t have to fear for our safety at shows. We shouldn’t have to live with the soul-crushing pain of finding out that a band you’ve dedicated a decade or more of your life to is nothing but a bunch of predators. But we do. And damn it, we deserve better, way better.

So how do we get to “better”? We need more women and female-aligned people in music for starters. The numbers are insanely low regarding women in the music industry, making up only 22.4% of all chart-topping artists, 12.2% of all pop songwriters, and a whopping 2.3% of all producers. We need them in these and so many more positions; security, touring crew, stagehands, you name it. Women know how to keep women safe, and the more women we have in positions of power the safer we are.

We also need to start holding artists accountable for past mistakes. Just because something was acceptable a few years ago doesn’t mean that it was ever okay. Apologies need to be issued, changes need to be promised and made. And a huge conversation needs to be had between artists and fans about boundaries, what they are and how to set them properly. Bands have too much power over us when really, we should have the power over them. We made them what they are. The very least they can do is give us basic decency and respect.

I see a day where women in the rock scene are finally safe, but it’s going to take a lot of hard work to get there. We have decades of cultural norms to undo, and sometimes the fight seems fruitless. But I refuse to give up. How can I? When I have nieces who will be old enough to go to shows on their own one day. When the little pieces of what’s left of 15-year-old me keep dying off with every new accusation that surfaces. No, we can’t give up. Not now, not ever. We made this scene what it is, and we can make it what it needs to be too.

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doyouwanttoseeabug · 4 years ago

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One Last Stop - Review

Tucked away amongst my anally retentive Kindle collections is a little folder called Comfort Reads. Normally I wait a bit for a book to echo round my ribcage for a little bit before I add it there. It’s an eclectic collection – Naomi Novik, The Rook, Cemetery Boys. It’s the books I read when I’m having a bad day, the ones that feel like having a beer with a very old friend who’s already seen you cry/vomit/snore more times than you can count. I added One Last Stop to that collection as soon as I finished reading it, which was roughly four hours after I started.

It’s not that One Last Stop is good – though it very much is. The slightly sci-fi twist feels like a natural part of the story’s magic when it so easily could have ended up a shoe-horned in plot device. I was even willing to accept unquestioned the presence of a psychic. A god-damn psychic. It seamlessly blends together a time-travel story, two separate mystery threads – Jane’s real identity and the location of August’s missing uncle – and a love story. The plotting falls seamlessly into place, the dialogue sings off the page and the characters are the coolest group of friends you’ll never have. There’s emotional meat to the story too, with a subplot about August’s mum that resists easy answers. Too often romance novel heroines have lives that seem slightly too easy, with one pre-defined hitch that keeps tripping them up until it’s healed through the power of sex. August is never static. Her healing – and even that seems too simple a word – occurs across the entire book, suffusing every page. It’s one of the most honest depictions of the awful, messy flux of being twenty-three in a big, new city that I’ve ever read on the page.

But that’s not what’s magical about this book. This book creates a community – a very queer community, but one that’s never trying to be the queer community in a way that’s heavy-handed – and invites you inside. This book braids your hair and tells you secrets. This book buys you a beer and asks if you want to come to a drag show two seconds after you left. There’s every kind of family in this book – found, biological, political, historical – all building up to a voice saying you’re not alone. You’re never alone.

Red, White and Royal Blue sits proudly in the Comfort Read selection, and I love it with all my heart. But the queerness in this book speaks even more profoundly to me. RWARB was so much about the politics of being gay, about laws and the media and Gallup polls. For a long time, that was the only way I could understand myself as a gay person. Growing up in a place where being gay was only mentioned in R.E. classes when we discussed ‘religious’ (Christian) views on homosexuality or in fun ‘debate’ exercises set up by teachers about gay marriage, I felt like all being queer meant was being in an endless, constant fight. And I battered myself senseless against kids saying slurs, or kids repeating Romney (god, I’m old) talking points, and it felt exhausting and lonely and not even in a way I could talk to anyone about. Whenever I did, the question I inevitably got was ‘why don’t you just let it go? Why fight with someone who’s mind you’re never going to change?’ But I couldn’t, because I was a queer person – and visibly, uncomfortably, everyone-knew-before-I-did queer – and this was the only way I knew how to be queer.

It took me a long, long time (and a few good friends, and a lot of Googling) to find out that there was more to queerness than that. To see that Pride wasn’t just a political demonstration but a celebration I was invited to and that my queerness isn’t defined as a reaction against straightness but just is. This book is all about queerness as an us rather than the us against them I spent so long thinking it was. With the exception of August’s mum, there are no straight characters in this book. Being gay in One Last Stop is life, it’s magic, it’s art, it’s family – and yes, it’s political, with Jane providing a link back to a harsher past in a way that felt incredibly real. It’s a book that says ‘look how far we’ve come’ without ever saying ‘so be content with what we have’. ‘We survived and we’re still her, fuckers’ while still acknowledging how much we lost.

I hope this book finds it’s way into the hands of a thousand of the lonely teenage girls I was. I think it will mean a lot to them.

#bookblr #one last stop #bugs reads

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

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Survey #451

“taste the waste of their god’s grace & spit your hate upon your young”

Who are you subscribed to on YouTube? A shitload of people. Do you like to go to the farmer's market? Yeah, sure. What will (or was) the color of your wedding dress be? Probably black. What's your favorite melon? I don't really like melons, actually. What was the name of the last pet of yours that died? Teddy. :( When was the last time you wished the day would just get over with? Literally every day. Seriously. It's funny, I dread fighting to sleep at night, but I also just want it to be time to sleep so time will pass. My life is just so fucking boring that I just... wait for something exciting to happen. Name one person you've never had a fight with: Tez. What are you currently listening to? "Sex Metal Barbie" by In This Moment. What would you rather have: cat or dog? I prefer cats. Who is your least favorite person in real life? Probably my sister's husband. Do you ever watch anybody's live stream of... anything, really? I'll sometimes watch live let's plays. Does your house have security cameras? No. If you go grey as you age, would you dye your hair or let it be? I'll be dyeing it. What was the last establishment you stopped going to due to bad service? What happened? I'm not sure. What soundtrack do you listen to the most? Silent Hill 2's, definitely. Was there a family secret you weren’t told about until you were an adult? I don't know if it's really a secret, but I didn't know until this year that my dad did some really dangerous drugs before us kids were born. Do you have an opinion most people you meet seem to disagree with you? Yes. What’s something you like to have many options to choose from? Food, ha ha. Feels great to have a full kitchen after a grocery trip. What’s the strangest decorative object you own? Nothing "strange" to me. What’s a thing you couldn’t imagine doing with your life right now? One biggie is having a baby. I just... could not imagine. My life would plummet. What’s been your proudest moment? Graduating in the top percentile in my high school graduating class. What’s the filthiest non-pornographic movie you’ve seen? Omfg, Sausage Party. That movie was so gross. Do you know anyone who doesn't seem to be fond of animals? Thankfully, no. I don't even think I could befriend someone who doesn't like animals. Are you planning any outings or trips anytime soon? Whereabouts? No. Do you know anyone who has a phobia of a certain animal? Yeah, like me with whale sharks. Is there a particular brand of technology/electronics that you prefer? Not really, no. Is there a singer whose voice gives you goosebumps/chills? Amy Lee's. And is there a singer whose voice you simply can't stand? Yeah, such as Bob Dylan. Are there any authors that are particularly dominant on your bookshelf? Tui T. Sutherland, but only because I read their series Wings of Fire. Have you seen any photographs or videos that made you smile today? I'm sure on Facebook at some point. Which item in your fridge are you most looking forward to consuming? Does the freezer count? If so, this Healthy Choice grilled chicken pesto bowl I have in there. I am like addicted to them. Has anyone you know got into a new relationship lately? I don't know. If you menstruate, do you experience much PMS prior to it? It varies month-to-month. Have you ever had a tattoo covered up or added to? I had my Markiplier tattoo essentially redone by a better artist. I also plan on getting my "ohana" tat covered, as well as my "how rare and beautiful it is to even exist" one (I adore the quote, but it's not an original design, which I don't like having anymore), and I want to move and redesign my "perfectly flawed" one because I want a bigger tattoo in its location. Can you remember the last time you had a sudden change of mind? Yeah; I'm pretty sure I like-like my friend Girt now, something I was never entirely sure about. When was the last time you did something on a whim? *shrug* Were you raised by both of your parents? If not, then who raised you? Well, I guess both, but Dad didn't do a lot of the teaching part about life and stuff. Have you ever began a relationship with someone you knew for less than a week? No. Has one of your friends ever tried to ‘hook you up?’ Yes. Colleen tried that with me and Girt and only succeeded in making us very uncomfortable. She said something I wanted to slap her for that I won't repeat. What is your card game of choice? Magic: The Gathering. What is your favourite books series? I think my favorite series of all time was the Shiloh trilogy. I adored both the books and movies. Do you prefer landmarks or street names when being given directions? You'd better give me landmarks, ha ha. Do you read the prologues in the beginnings of books? Of course. What was your favourite gym class moment? There're such things as GOOD gym memories in school? Do you think that ocean boardwalks are fun? Yes. Do you dread when people ask you to sign their yearbooks? No, I always thought it was very flattering that they even wanted mine. Do you have a favourite Scooby-Doo movie? The Phantom Virus one. I had the video game as a kid, too. Could never beat the damn thing. Do you think it’s cute when toddlers try to run away and fall down? No? I don't like seeing children - or anyone - fall. Do you enjoy listening to your grandparents tell stories of their past? So, this really only happened once, and it was coincidentally the day I learned of her pancreatic cancer, but before Mom told me. I had an assignment to interview someone of an older generation about how various sources of media affected their lives, like the development of TV and such, and she really got into it. It was very interesting to learn about. Do you have a crush on someone? I guess I do idfk. If so... what does his/her name begin with? "D." What attracts you to them? More than anything, the fact he's been there for me without fail. Both single and when I was with Jason and he was interested in me, he's just... been there and has made an effort since high school to be in my life in one way or another. Do they know that you like them? Not anymore, no. We dated for a few months, but I broke up with him because he felt more like my brother, so I would assume he doesn't think I do. Maybe he still is family to me. I really don't know what I feel. If they don't know, why didn't you tell them? I might at some point, idk. We just haven't talked in a while. Name two people that you miss: Jason and Megan. Have you ever seen Titanic? When I was in the hospital, yes. Everyone was crying, lmao. Have you ever swam with dolphins? No, but I would. When was the last time you had a stomachache? Now. Mother Nature finally visited me after three whole fucking months and is v angry. What's going to bed early for you? Like 7:00. Do you want to have a big family in the future? Of pets! Human kids ain't for me. What was the last thing you did that gave you a rush? Hell if I know. Favorite Nicholas Cage movie? Ghost Rider. Have you had your Covid vaccine yet? Which one, if you have? Yes. I got Moderna. If you've had your vaccine, did you experience any side effects? I did on my second dosage. I was OUT of it the day afterwards, but then I was fine. What's the next item of clothing that you intend to buy for yourself? I need new bras badly. What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? It's called "Not Just A Pet Rock (Python regius)" and is a group for advanced ball python husbandry. It is very informative, but I will say there is a SHITLOAD of very rude elitists. Do you like your butt? Why or why not? NO because it's a PANCAKE and I want CAKE. Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? I personally think so. When Sara visited and we were trying to go to my older sister's so she especially could meet her, Ash entirely ignored Mom's messages. I know her homophobic husband well enough to nearly be able to guarantee he didn't want us coming over because the kids "don't need to see that." Ash kinda does what Nick says, so... you know. Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I know I'm happier with pets. Who was the last person you went on a date with? Sara. Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. What’s your favorite way to curl your hair? It's too short to do that. At what age did you start swearing? However old I was in 7th grade. What is something you physically can’t do? Clean up vomit lkdsjal;sdkjfa;lkwd. I can't clean up my pet's or even my own. I literally can't. My mom has to. What do like better, apples or oranges? Apples. I don't like oranges. Around the holidays, do you hope for snow? Yes!!! What are your top two favorite bands? Ozzy Osbourne and Metallica. How many people do you 100% trust? Like two. Maybe. Do you care what others think about you? Way too much. Has anyone ever called you a bitch? My grandmother has. Did you watch Teletubbies when you were younger? Omg yes, I was obsessed. Do you have any licenses other than your driver's license? I don't even have that. Could you live the rest of your life without eating meat? No. Not because I don't want to, because I do, but I would have an extreme protein deficit if I did that. Besides meat, I don't like enough protein-rich foods. Have you ever had a rolling backpack? Yes. Did you make any money today? I haven't made any money in a very, very long time. I'm only ever paid when someone hires me to take pictures for them. What was the highest place you've ever jumped from? I don't know. Definitely not very high. Have you ever gone swimming in a river? Yes. What was the last souvenir someone got you? I have zero clue. Do you have a favorite remix of a song? Hm. Perhaps this techno-y remix of "Psychosocial" by Slipknot. I don't know for sure, though. What do you think is the most saddest sounding instrument? Either the violin or piano. Do you really pay attention to the ratings on movies? Nope. Do you have a favorite species of wild cat (tiger/lion/cougar/etc.)? Probably clouded leopards aesthetics, but I think lions overall. If you had $500,000, what would you do with it? Pay off school debt as well as help Mom with various financial issues, buy new glasses, buy Mom and I a new house and car, get Venus a great tank with all the optimal supplies, get LOADS of tattoos, donate to various charities, adopt a few specific pets, travel to Yellowstone, get laser hair removal on my legs and teeth whitening... There are a lot of possibilities. Did the last person you touched lips with have a kid? Just scaly ones. :') "First loves are never really over." Is this true for you? Yeeeep... Did you like Michael Jackson before he died? I didn't really have an opinion on him. I know/like a couple songs, sure. What are some things that would make you break up with someone? If they became abusive, started doing drugs, acted arrogantly, didn't understand my mental conditions and were unwilling to be emotionally supportive, stuff like that. What was the worst breakup you've ever had? Ha, the one with Jason. For. Fucking. Sure.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''degrade'' by 3teeth

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samsoleil · 4 years ago

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9 and 10?

ask game

V I am sending the most fond vibes in your direction I hope they make it there okay!!

10. Your favourite season and why.

Honestly? Either S2 or S11.

Season 2: Sam has psychic powers and Dean is terrified that his brother might actually be bad, but is still ride or die for him. This is where we can see their relationship flourish without the search for John hanging over their heads. But y'know what does hang over their heads? John telling Dean he'll either have to save Sam or kill him, and Sam who is desperate to be saved and willing to be killed. And then!! when Sam dies!!! Dean saves him in the worst possible way!!!! Also, it's visually gorgeous. You've got the high contrast vibes from S1 but slightly less desaturated and you've still got the grainy film texture. An excellent time.

Season 11: Listen. I still think it should have been Chuck sending Sam visions. And I don't particularly care for the B plot. But Sam and Dean peak in this season for the first time since pre-s4 and it was amazing. It's the immediate aftermath of Sam literally unleashing "a force on the world that could destroy it" to save Dean. Codependency at its peak. And in two mid-season episodes they absolutely nail the S2 energy. I mean, establishing beyond any doubt that Dean loves Sam? And then making him think Sam is dead in the very next episode? Where Sam is also the dictionary definition of BAMF? Not to mention, Sam is just. so understanding of Dean and his messy feelings about Amara. Love that for them.

9. What episodes best encapsulates the brother’s relationship? Does this change throughout the series? Doesn’t have to be the best episode btw.

To answer the second question, the brother’s relationship very obviously changes throughout the show. It’s obviously very codependent from the get go (especially from Sam’s perspective! Literally unendurable), and it varies in toxicity. Some seasons they are very soft! Some seasons I want to shout at Sam to run for the hills and never return. And then there are some episodes in seasons where their relationship is literally awful that are wonderfully tender (like 08x21 when Dean says “You gotta let me take care of you, man”).

Imo, S1-3 are peak brothers. S4/5 are excellent to watch but not the most tender. S6 is on thin fucking ice. S7-10 are, generally speaking, when I would absolutely be willing to kill a man (Dean), but are still SO compelling because these crazy kids are devoted and have no moral boundaries when it comes to the other. S11 is a return to the good stuff! I haven’t seen the seasons after that but from what I have seen, Sam becomes a Dean apologist and Dean just gets worse. But they’re still codependent, so that’s fine. “You were gonna leave and you weren’t even going to tell me?” and “What about me? Would you trade me?” are baller lines. Sam is a grown man but he’s out here saving the world by being Dean’s baby brother. Iconic of them.

OKAY so. First question. I originally had several episodes per season but I have to limit it to 2, this is going to be too long otherwise. Also, as you well know, I've only watched up to 12x06, so I won't include S12 here.

Episodes (and explanations) under the cut!

Obviously, both 01x01 Pilot and 15x20 Carry On. Literally the perfect bookends for this show. I don’t need to elaborate.

01x05 Bloody Mary - Has the moment where Dean actually has an emotional conversation with his brother, because he’s switched on to Sam’s emotional needs. He was willing to let Sam blame him for Jess’ death so that Sam didn’t blame himself! And near the end it has the iconic line "You're my brother and I'd die for you." Dean, right? No! It was Sam!! Anyone with any sort of reservations about whether Sam cared about Dean in early S1 can refer to this episode. It’s episode 5!! of the whole show!! and it has that line!!

01x11 Faith - Sam has absolutely no regrets about someone dying to save Dean's life. In retrospect, this episode says a lot about how much Sam loves Dean.

02x01 In My Time of Dying - Sam can sense that Dean is there, either through psychic powers or because they are soulmates. Both are good. Also, Dean is told that he may have to kill Sam, which influences their dynamic for the rest of the show <33

02x21 All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1 - Dean, on his knees in the mud, telling Sam's corpse that it'll be okay and screaming his name. That is all. Also, after thoroughly chewing out a victim earlier in the season for selling his soul to save a loved one, Dean sells his soul to save a loved one.

03x08 A Very Supernatural Christmas - Sam decorated a Christmas tree with pine air fresheners to give Dean a Christmas. Obsessed.

03x11 Mystery Spot - Dean dies repeatedly, then dies for good for about 6 months, and Sam becomes a ruthless hunter in order to bring him back. Dean spends longer dead in this episode than he actually does at the end of S4.

04x14 Sex and Violence - Dean's siren is literally just a version of Sam that is devoted to Dean and would do anything he says.

04x22 Lucifer Rising - Bobby coming for Dean's life. The VOICEMAIL!! Dean acting as though them being family is a cure-all and saying he'll beat Sam up, but also apologising. I'll take it. And then, of course, the voicemail Sam hears, which is more or less what Dean said in 04x04, and that being what tips him over the edge. The edge, of course, being killing Lilith to avenge Dean’s death, which has been his quest since the end of S3. Excellent.

05x16 Dark Side of the Moon - Ohoho. This episode. You know why this episode is here.

05x22 Swan Song - Same as the above! Dean who doesn't have a plan, just doesn't want his little brother to die alone. Sam, who fights off the devil himself and (essentially) kills himself to save his brother and the car they call their home. That memory sequence, for me, gave Sam the power not to save the world, but to save his brother. The world was just a bonus.

06x11 Appointment in Samara - "Dean doesn't care about me, he just cares about his little brother, Sammy, burning in hell. He'll kill me to get that other guy back." Dean's anger at himself for screwing up and forfeiting Sam's soul was. a lot. Also, Sam begging for his life and Dean just continuing anyway? Horrific. But very testament to their relationship at this point. Dean wants Sammy back and he WILL kill this other guy to do it.

06x22 The Man Who Knew Too Much - Sam being right about the consequences of having his soul put back in. And "You know me. You know why. I'm not leaving my brother alone out there."

07x03 The Girl Next Door - I was tossing up between this and 07x02 but. this has some flashbacks to past Sam!! Unfortunately, it also has Dean punching Sam for using the Impala, the car they both rely on to get around. And Dean murdering Sam's childhood friend for killing rapists. This isn’t an episode that makes you think “Awh, they’re codependent!”, it’s an episode that makes you send Sam vibes screaming at him to get out.

07x14 Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie - Ever think that maybe Sam fears clowns because he associates them with being abandoned? Also, nostalgia vs reality.

08x09 Citizen Fang - The voicemail from S4 is still hanging over our heads. Dean asking “Does that sound like the Benny we know?” and Sam replying “I don’t know Benny.” Dean keeping Benny away from Sam because Sam is apparently the one who will kill monsters with no nuance or remorse. But this episode is on the list specifically because of how pivotal the line "Yes, I do – too well. In fact, every relationship I have ever had has gone to crap at some point. But the one thing I can say about Benny – he has never let me down." is in absolutely wrecking Sam's mental health down the road!

08x23 Sacrifice - For obvious reasons! “You know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let you down!” and then Dean’s speech of blatant lies. It sounded good, though. Dean really is that devoted, but unfortunately he has amnesia.

09x01 I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here - Autonomy violation. This is what advanced care directives are for. Dean being so dependent on Sam that he would violate his autonomy and trick him into consenting to possession. Dean will do anything to keep Sam alive, including destroy Sam.

09x16 Blade Runners - The parallels between Colette and Sam are unbearable. “Drop the blade.” Also, Dean becomes SO feral when Sam’s cheek gets cut.

10x19 Book of the Damned - Sam’s speech! “But I can’t do it without my brother. I don’t want to do it without my brother. And if he’s gone, then I don’t….”

10x24 Brother's Keeper - Ahahahahaaa. Sam kneeling down in front of Dean and letting him kill him, if he wants. Dean not doing so. Please do not emulate this relationship in your real human lives.

11x04 Baby - Obvious reasons. Also, the perfect example of how these two communicate. Dean clearly states his opinion so that Sam has something to base his arguments around, and then Sam provides his perspective. That meta about how Dean and Sam communicate and how Sam is the major decision maker opened my eyes. Impeccable takes.

11x16 Safe House - The thing Dean loves being Sam (and Sam being genuinely relieved that it was!!). Sam propping Dean’s sleeping body against the fridge while saying “I got you! Stay with me.” Him cradling Dean in his arms and patting his head and Dean being SO confused but not fighting it.

11x17 Red Meat - Okay, I lied about the 2 per season thing, I just needed all three of these episodes. They are too good to not include. Dean joking to hide how scared he is for Sam? Being willing to let all three of them die just because he thinks Sam is dead? Attempting/committing suicide to try to bring him back? Sam fighting through immense pain to get back to his brother? This episode is so good. They are absolute lunatics (affectionate).

#emblian #ask game #answered #spn #V I LOVE YOU!!#kael.txt

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wazafam · 4 years ago

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When most people think of anti-hero or villain teams in the DC Universe the immediate group that comes to mind is the Suicide Squad. It's certainly a novel concept: A bunch of street-level villains getting bombs stuck in their head and sent out on the kind of missions that no one else is crazy enough or desperate enough to attempt. It's resulted in some pretty classic comics too. No disrespect to Rick Flagg and company, but DC's got a much better villain team on its roster; a gang of damaged or outright deranged misfits who take on some of the most twisted quests ever to pop up in the DCU, that's when they're not hooking up stabbing each other in the back. Behold, the Secret Six in all their unstable, lovable glory.

While a TV adaption was once optioned by CBS, the Secret Six has always been an obscure title. The team originally started as a spy comic of sorts in the 1960s, followed by a reboot in the 80s. The most beloved and interesting version of the team came to form with writer Gail Simone's Villains United mini-series, created as part of the Countdown to Infinite Crisis tie-ins.

Related: The Suicide Squad's Biggest Mystery is Finally Explained By DC

Led by a disguised Lex Luthor under the moniker of Mockingbird, the team consisted the Suicide Squad's own Deadshot, and a cadre of D-list villains and new creations like Catman, Cheshire, Knockout, Ragdoll, a random Parademon, and Scandal Savage. While many team-members would be killed off over time or switched with more high-profile characters, Catman, Deadshot, Scandal, and Ragdoll remain mainstays of the team through all of Simone's initial run on the series. While they initially started as villains bent on world domination, in truth, the Six are a lot closer to outlaws or mercenaries. They take on various jobs, some heroic and some outright despicable. Really anything that puts meat on the table. It should also be worth noting that they're all a bunch of weirdos.

Villains United proved to be lightning in a bottle that would spawn an entire run. The series about a group of oddball characters that don't fit in with heroes or villains struck a perfect balance between black comedy and character-driven drama. Every character in the series gets such a unique and fitting characterization. Deadshot is a pornstache personified; Floyd Lawton has never been as skeezy or charming as he is under Simone's pen. Ragdoll is essentially a violent contortionist version of Dean Craig Pelton from Community. Scandal Savage is the badass lesbian ninja and daughter of Vandal Savage, who serves as team leader and voice of reason throughout the series. Lastly, Catman is probably the most remarkable character on the team and the closest thing to the protagonist of the series. Before Secret Six, Thomas Blake was written as an overweight loser who was eaten by a talking Gorilla in Brad Meltzer's Green Arrow series. Simone rewrote the character from the ground up and created one of the most layered and cool Batman knock-off's ever. He also snarls like a cat when he fights.

Related: Harley Quinn Claims Deadshot's Power in DC's Suicide Squad

Apart from the main four team members, Bane and an immortal banshee named Jeannette round out the team for the rest of the series. While Jeannette is simultaneously a frightening and charming character with a unique backstory, Simone's take on Bane is one of the best. Secret Six sees Bruce Wayne's greatest foe trying to turn a new leaf. He's kicked his steroid habit and is acting with utter honor, Bane also immediately tries to be an upstanding father figure to any distressed young woman he sees, resulting in a hilarious running gag throughout the series.

Secret Six is a mature book in every sense of the word. It's packed to the brim with sex and violence, to the point where it's absolutely incredible that DC allowed some of the stuff in the book to happen. Catman bites a man's face off, there's a sex scene between Mad Hatter and one of his hats, and almost everything that comes out of Ragdoll's mouth is jaw-droppingly obscene. But apart from all the blood, and bad words that usually get things pulled off TV, Secret Six features intricate character development and some very grown-up storylines. They find themselves rescuing a group of enslaved Amazons (after they're hired to guard the prison of course). Catman's infant son is kidnapped by a group of psychotic criminals, leading him onto a bloodthirsty rampage. Scandal grapples with the death of her girlfriend for a large part of the series. Then of course there's that trip to hell.

Related: Batman: Bane Just Returned in the Last Way Fans Expected

"The Secret Six goes to Hell" may sound like the title of a schlocky horror movie, but it reads like something far different. Each character comics to the realization that they're damned no matter what. While Deadshot and Ragdoll aren't particularly shocked about their own fates, it's a surprise for the rest of the team. For Bane in particular, it's heartbreaking. The series had served as a moving redemption story for the Man Who Broke the Bat, discovering that he won't truly change is a pretty haunting conclusion. However, he's since proven to be pretty irredeemable.

While there are lot's of very dark moments in Secret Six, the tone of the book is never dreary or bleak. A slice-of-life feeling is prevalent in the series that is absent from the bombastic, multiverse shattering world of superhero comics. It's not uncommon to see members of the Six eating dinner together or chilling out in a hot tub. One issue sees Catman pick up a tub of ice cream for a depressed Scandal Savage. Deadshot and Jeanette end up in a fairly healthy and supportive relationship together. And speaking of romance, the other members of the team set Bane up on a date and it's as hilarious as it sounds. Refreshing little asides like this differentiate the book even further from standard superhero fare.

Related: The Real Reason DC's CATMAN Has Basically Disappeared

There will never be another team like the Six. No other series from the Big Two will ever be packed with this much humor, tragedy, and outright weirdness. Where else can you see a joke like Catman transform into a compelling character or Vandal Savage get stabbed in the neck with some chopsticks by his own daughter? Where else can you see Bane try to make his team-mates go on a diet or Deadshot get in a Western style duel with Deathstroke? And on that note, there's even a one-off issue that sees an Old West version of the team, and it's awesome too. Gail Simone created one of the ultimate villain comic book teams. A unique series about a group of terrible people who love each other taking down worse people that don't. The Secret Six is one of the funniest and most badass teams in all of comics, and they don't need to be implanted with bombs in their necks to do it either.

Next: Suicide Squad Could Be Adding The Perfect Batman Villain

DC Has Another, Better, Suicide Squad | Screen Rant from https://ift.tt/3rtwB2V

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yeoldontknow · 6 years ago

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Joyride & Finesse | Chapter 1: Network-King | M

Author’s Note: part of the EXO Customs collaboration with @ninibears-erigom @baekwell--tart @fairyyeols @kyungseokie @suhoerections @skjdln @kpop---scenarios @kimjongdaely | this story features dark themes, including but not limited to: weapons trafficking, gang activity, use of a child for weapons transporting (this is based on the very real activities that occurred in the late 80s/early 90s in Manhattan and the Bronx), PTSD, and graphic depictions of death. Do not read if these topics make you uncomfortable and take the warnings seriously. Pairing: Yixing x Reader (oc; female; eventual) Summary: A brief history of Yixing’s life - if, that is, you can call it a life. | please see series summary for full context Genre: gang!au; action; suspense; drama; smut; au Rating: NC-17 Warnings: weapons trafficking; use of a child for weapons transport; gang activity; car theft; arson; gun use; graphic depictions of blood; graphic depictions of death; explicit sex; unprotected sex; creampie; mentions of pimping; references to PTSD - please take these warnings seriously and do not read if uncomfortable. Word Count: 6,405

Six days after Yixing’s ninth birthday, a man with calloused hands and blood beneath his fingernails promises him a large sum of money.

Outside his grandfather’s restaurant, the fry cook scrawls an address on an order book, grease stains dotting the paper and smearing the ink. Slung over his left arm, a black backpack, the thick straps adjusted short enough for a child to keep their balance, swings haphazardly, weighted and slow; ominous, but Yixing assumes this is because the pendulum of the clock in his grandmother’s den swings just as slowly, and the swing reminds him he is idle and therefore of not much value.

The man smiles as he hands him the paper, a slow pull of his cheek loaded with promises and secrets, though not altogether comforting. But Yixing feels the thrill of inclusion as he slides the backpack over his shoulders, grinning alongside these men who tower over him, glad that he has been given a sense of purpose. Beneath the neon green of the restaurant sign, the ruddy brown of blood is highlighted in the crevices of the cook’s fingers, and he wonders if by the end of the night he too will be stained.

This, he decides, is the colour of initiation, and he feels a sudden thrill in the anticipation of being painted.

Six blocks down, and the straps begin to rub into his shoulders, irritated as the weigh slides the neck of his shirt down. As he walks, he wonders if it’s books - chef books or recipes from the old land, as his grandmother calls it, secrets that she won’t even tell his mother because she was not from their village. Or, perhaps, he carries wrapped meats, provisions for the restaurant written on the paper, supporting their community the way a family does.

Thirteen blocks down, and the sting from the backpack is matched only by the intensity of his curiosity. He pauses, leaning against a real estate office that has recently gone up for sale, windows shattered and building looted. Stretching his neck, he debates opening the pack and redistributing the weight, but the note in his hand says to deliver sealed and the way the fry cooks’ arms bulged as he wrote the words reminds him of the heavy way his cleaver never misses a slice, and so he decides to let it be.

The marks, he knows, are probably red, and the longer he walks, the darker they will be. Ruddy and red and powerful.

When he reaches the back delivery door of the address, sweat has gathered on his brow, and he wipes it quickly away with the back of his wrist. If he appears weak, it is likely the money he receives will be less than promised - he isn’t exactly sure why he thinks this, only that his grandmother has told him weak men buckle when they’re offered opportunity, and he doesn’t want to be deemed anything less.

Yixing knocks three times on the door before a woman with a severe brow stands in the entryway, eyes glancing through the alley before falling on his face. Mute, she cocks an eyebrow at him as he hands her the order slip, and almost immediately she pulls at the backpack. Her hands do not touch him, expertly sliding it off as though she’s done it before, has had this done to her, and she gestures for him to leave, yelling at him to go home to his mother.

Confused, he turns to leave before she grabs his hand and slips a folded wad of money into his palm, eyes refusing to meet his before she shuts the door.

Feeling small and bewildered and utterly insignificant, though not entirely disappointed, Yixing lingers behind the restaurant for a moment before a light in a basement window turns on. From where he stands, he can see the top of the woman’s head as she moves quickly. He shuffles closer, kneeling amongst the bushes for a better look as her hands tug at the zipper of the bag.

Three black bags, taped closed, are pulled from the pack before it’s thrown to the floor, and Yixing can see the irregular heavy shape the bags take, glad that he was not as weak as he once thought he was. The bags are large, and loaded generously, and he feels proud for carrying such a heavy load so quickly.

She rips open the plastic as another man joins her, taking a bag and doing the same. Yixing blinks, unsure what he’s seeing is true, before he realizes there is no trick of the light and no film crew around him to tell him what he sees is fake.

From the bags, they pull pistols - several pistols - which they line neatly in a row and count, nodding and talking as though negotiating, but Yixing cannot hear them. His eyes fall to the guns, their sleek barrels and the way they gleam in the low light, catching all that is bright and good and absorbing it, without giving anything back. He’s never seen a gun before, only in the movies he watches at night when its past his bedtime, and something about their elegance makes him decide this shade of black is his favourite colour.

Yixing looks to his palm and counts fifty dollars, exactly the amount he was promised.

Delighted, he sneaks away from the window and walks with a happy bounce he does his best to contain. He’ll be able to eat for three weeks with this money, and hopes he will soon be given more.

When Yixing is eleven, he is certain there has never been a girl more beautiful than Baozhai.

She is unafraid to laugh loudly, to beat the boys at sports, to fight for what she believes in, and to smile widely even though her teeth are not entirely straight. Her calligraphy is not the best, neither elegant nor clean, but it is committed and diligent, and he supposes these are her most important traits. From across the room during Sunday Chinese school, he watches and wonders what it would be like to sit next to her.

Would they talk about her father, and the deliveries he makes for him? Would they talk about his calligraphy, and the way he can never seem to get his strokes at the correct angle? Would they talk about the flowers she wears in her hair, a different one for everyday, and how he thinks she is always in bloom? Yixing is eleven, and is already happy to surrender the topic of conversation to keep her happy, assuming this is real love because he simply wants to keep her close.

The first words she ever says to him make his blood run hot, mouth running dry and stopping him from formulating a coherent reply.

‘I went to your family’s restaurant the other night,’ she says, walking home beside him after class because Meixing got a ride home and she lingered a little too long by the bike rack looking for her friends and Yixing smiled, a sign of companionship. ‘It was really good.’

Yixing stares at her, wide eyed as a blush creeps into his cheeks. In the cold winter of the sunlight, he’s sure it’s obvious he is not warm, that it is she who has turned him pink, but he does not care. He can’t care, because she giggles, and he’s glad he is the reason she made any sound at all.

‘Next time I go, you should be there,’ she continues, watching her feet as she walks, tip of her shoes kicking at upturned stones. ‘We can study together.’

Yixing nods, amazed that luck smiles on boys who move guns from place to place for money, and who learned their fractions by helping their fry cook weigh cocaine. When she smiles, Yixing doesn’t have time to feel badly he wasn’t there the first night she went, only excited that he will get to be there the next time and the next time, sitting in his favourite booth towards the back and showing her the way he learned the calligraphy for flower just because of her.

‘I’d like that a lot,’ he manages, sounding small and childish and very unlike the man he feels he is between the hours of 9PM and midnight. ‘Name the day and I’ll be there.’

Baozhai turns the corner after letting her hand rest on his shoulder, her fingers giving a light squeeze full of hope and expectation and affirmation, and Yixing feels it all the way home. The child in the air bites at his cheeks, but still cannot take the warmth from her palm.

And he feels it the rest of the night, as he walks in the foreboding darkness towards her father’s woodworking shop, backpack slung over his shoulders. He feels it as he sits with her father, counting the guns - revolvers, this time - and learns the fastest way to remove serial numbers from the metal. He feels it as the joints in his fingers burn from the effort of scratching and scratching and scratching, the muscles in his face aching just as much from the effort of wearing his smile.

He feels it even as she walks into her father’s shop, eyes falling on Yixing before going wide and skin taking on the ashen pallor of shock.

Glancing from Yixing to her father and back again, she lingers in the doorway, knowledge and understanding narrowing her eyes and her expression into one of disgust. He wants to speak, wants to call her name and say he only does it for the money, only does it because it’s something to do, but she turns from him, back full of steel and posture straight as she leaves the shop and shuts the door.

He doesn’t feel it after that, can hardly even remember the thrill of it.

Baozhi never talks to him again, and he supposes luck, for boys like him is a fleeting, brief experience, one he was never meant to carry.

Yixing is thirteen when he learns how to drive in a stolen car.

His cousin, Longwei, sits beside him in the passenger seat, laughing and laughing until his eyes become crescent moons, as Yixing’s harsh right turns leave donut scars in the empty parking lot. Hands gripping the wheel tightly, letting the vibration of the steering wheel turn his knuckles white, Yixing does not ask where or how or why Longwei has delivered him this Porsche, but he assumes it does not matter. Longwei has no intention of keeping it, anyway.

It took years for Yixing to get his calligraphy right, years for him to master the art of stealing from his mother without her noticing, and weeks, if he’s being generous, to learn how to pickpocket without his fingers moving the air. But in driving, he realizes, he is a natural. Here, he does not need to take his time or take instructions twice. Here, he does not have to be shy, no longer hiding the fact that he flourishes so quickly at something; even though he is not yet tall enough and must sit on a pile of his school books; even though his foot only just touches the pedals; even though he revs the engine and does not bother to quiet the shrill yell of pleasure that reverberates in his chest.

He’s being foolish, but in this moment he realizes he makes his own rules. And here, in the driver’s seat of a car that will soon disappear - gutted clean or shipped away or simply just vanishing - he understands the difference between being granted a purpose and finally making your way <i>home.</i>

‘I knew you would like this,’ Longwei tells him over the roar of the engine, and the joints in Yixing’s fingers become sore, lips curling into a smile he’s certain appears savage. ‘I did this for you.’

Yixing’s smile falls. People don’t do things for him. People, he knows, don’t do things unless it benefits them in some way, unless they get safety or satisfaction or a piece of your spirit to carry with them, and he slows down, cautious - not of the road, but of his cousin. It’s the first time he notices the gleam in Longwei’s eyes, how vindictive a sparkle can truly be when motive is misplaced from kindness.

Longwei is family. Longwei will not hurt him. But already, he feels things being taken from him, feels the brief essence of boyhood slipping away from his grasp before he’s even put the car in park.

One year later, in a parking lot not unlike the one in which he learned how to drive, Yixing watches his cousin die.

It’s the first time he’s seen a gun being pointed at a body, and it alarms him to realize the first thing he notices - beyond the fact that it is being pointed at Longwei; beyond the fact that the stranger in front of them states, calmly and altogether too gently, that he will not leave until he sees blood - is the serial number has been scratched off. Idly, he wonders if he’s touched this gun, if it was his hand that removed the details - the only thing that could trace this moment back to the man whose confidence in the hold of the gun dictates that he has done this before.

‘Do you know what happens to tigers when they take things that don’t belong to them?’ the man says, reaching through the car window and gripping Longwei’s shirt.

He presses the gun against Longwei’s stomach, and Yixing waits, unflinching, expecting his cousin to fight, to flip this scenario around, to do something other than whimper and tremble, but he does not. “I did this for you,” Longwei’s voice echoes from the back of Yixing’s mind. A full year under his cousin’s wing, and Yixing has lost count of all the things they’ve done together - all the things Longwei has shown and given and delivered, without price or consequence.

Five years older than Yixing, and Longwei has gone through a great deal to ensure Yixing could remain at his side - losing friends and permanently in the state of earning trust; keeping one eye on him and one eye on the road in front of him; bringing him home first even if, through the chill of the air and the hairs that stood on end along their arms, they knew they were being followed. He stole cars and money and bags full of things he would never let Yixing see, but in surviving, he did not put forth any effort.

His cousin shakes his head. ‘Please, he’s just a kid -’

It’s the last thing he ever hears Longwei say, and in that moment Yixing is unsure if he’s ever heard his cousin say the word please. He’s still mulling over the sound, the shock and the unusual cadence of it, before the echo of the word is cut off and severed.

‘They get poached.’

He’s familiar with the barrel of a pistol, has touched and cradled and scratched into them, but never has he heard them. Longwei screams, he’s sure of it, but still he does not hear it. Yixing thinks he may never hear anything ever again.

Four gunshots ring out and the noise of it makes his blood run cold, ears taking on a ring that turns his vision fuzzy. Longwei falls limp, eyes glassy and staring straight ahead, empty and unfocused and gone. Yixing waits for him to move, for Longwei to smile and say this was a moment for him to learn - a reminder never to leave your window down, to never let your guard down. But he does not move.

Beside him, the door is ripped open, though Yixing does not remember leaving it unlocked. Hands grab him, pull him out of the passenger seat and drag him into the parking lot. His arms are held behind his back while the man smiles and cocks his head to the side, smiling and smiling, while Yixing breathes through his open mouth, unwilling to smell his cousin’s blood on the air. The symbol of a dragon is stitched into the man’s beanie, and Yixing’s eyes trace the pattern over and over, hoping to erase everything but the caricature and the symbolism from this moment.

‘Put his hands all over it.’

The command hardly moves the craters in his face, scars and red marks turning his skin tight and waxy. At this angle, he almost appears to be burning alive from beneath his flesh, consumed by wrath and rage.

Yixing is thrust forward, his left arm extended against his will and he fights the hold, yelling and battling, suddenly awake and aware. Laugher surrounds him, but the ringing in his ears only warps this sound into a painful resonance, one that makes Yixing scream in the hopes of forcing the world into silence. The gun is placed into his ungloved hand, fingers wrapped around its glossy metal and stained with his prints.

He’s pushed forward again, his right hand dragged over the handle of the passenger door before a hair - several hairs - are ripped from his head and dropped into the seat. They are framing him for this, placing traces of him everywhere, ensuring that - even if it took weeks, or months, or years - he would be found, and found guilty.

They abandon him not long after, leaving him alone with the smell of piss and shit and blood and bullet casings. The sun has just begun to set when Yixing finds the energy to move, away from the car and towards a gas station he spots on the side of the road half a mile away. Face expressionless, he uses the last of the cash in his wallet to buy a container of gasoline and a lighter, turning briskly on his feet without accepting his change.

He knows this looks suspicious.

He does not care.

As he pours the gas over the floor, the seats, his cousin - opening the hood and the trunk and pouring a generous amount there, too - he considers how much the burn of his closeness to this inferno will hurt. He wonders if he will hear it - he hasn’t heard anything in the hours it took him to walk away and back again, gladdened that he’s gone completely numb to existence, and hoping that the sensuousness of existence never returns again.

He’s clear headed this way. Nothing, he thinks, has ever been so linear.

He tosses the lighter into the car and walks just far enough to be out of arm's reach of the heat before turning around and watching, with little awe or emotion, the car sizzle and smoke not unlike a bonfire. Even from this distance, the smell of burning flesh eats at his nose hairs, burning his sinuses with its sourness, but he breathes it in deep.

Unsure how long he remains, eventually he walks away, long before the fire has a chance to reach the full tank of gas, long before any residual explosion gives away the history of this night, and long before he has the opportunity to consider joining his cousin.

“I did this for you,” Longwei had said.

Yixing wonders if it was worth it.

It is raining the day they bury his grandmother.

It is raining and he is sixteen, anxiously standing on the precipice of becoming a man and wholly unprepared to be gifted a crown.

He keeps his eyes trained on the ground, regarding hole in the earth that swallows the remains of her body and the barren waste he considers his memories of her body with a dry mouth and a shallow grimace. Occasionally, he finds himself distracted by the black umbrellas that blot the sea of white clothing, glad for their contrast against the flower arrangements that surround them.

Digging his feet into the squelching grass, hoping to break the silence of the grief that wallows in the overcast clouds, he feels, neither reassuringly nor supportively, the eyes of Kyungsoo as they bore into his spine, an announcement that someone is there for him and not for the woman who taught men to fear. He does not turn around, aware that the distance Kyungsoo keeps is crucial to maintaining the delicate pretense of peace, but he is glad for someone, anyone, he could consider a friend after everyone excluding family - a loose, vague term that made him chew at his tongue - was denied visitation.

But Kyungsoo remains, standing across the street and on an entirely different plot of land, silently threatening a war just by witnessing their pain, an Yixing is glad for the danger of it.

Yixing’s mother weeps when they return home, settling on the couch beside his father as her empty eyes scan the room, aware she is being greeted without greeting anyone in return. Her posture remains rigid and his father’s hand holds hers as if posing for a portrait, conscious of the eyes on their bodies and holding her against him in an awkward show of companionship, mimicking the affection he has witnessed in the threads of humanity he has bothered to notice.

Yixing settles against a hard, wooden chair in the kitchen, eyeing the food that has been brought for them from family, and family, and family, without feeling any appetite, wishing instead he could be somewhere he did not have to feign anguish or loss. The white of his shirt is still dotted with rain when three men approach him, and he studies the yellowed marks they leave in the fabric, choosing to ignore the imposing figures he assumes are loitering to extend, once again, their condolences.

Instead, they sit before him, dragging stools from the bartop counter and placing themselves directly in his vision. They tell him a lot of things - a lot of dark, and terrible, and horrible things he imagines other sixteen year old boys would struggle to stomach. But he’s held guns; and burned a body; and learned not to cry at the sound of a bullet tearing organs; and lost the will to love freely, and he supposes these things are harder for anyone to hear than the fact that their grandmother was the leader of a Triad group from Shanghai, the Tiger of the blackmarket, and her throne belongs to him.

‘You’re going to be in charge of a lot of money, kid,’ one of them says, envy evident behind his speech.

He would later learn this man’s name is Bing Wen, and he is not incorrect. A large sum of money, much larger than he can comprehend, will soon be transferred to his name. And, at the shock and awe of the sheer magnitude of it, he will go to his grandmother’s grave and curse her for keeping his family so poor.

But not yet.

In this moment, Yixing only looks at them, eyeing them suspiciously as he dips his finger into a plate of peppered chicken, collecting the oil and rubbing it over his bottom lip. It stings against his skin, tiny tingles of pain grounding him to this reality as his mind remains empty, the scent of incense mixing with pepper and the implication of their words. He likes money, and he likes power, but most of all he likes the look on people’s faces when he stands before them unafraid to die and absolutely unafraid to watch them die.

Yixing is sixteen, and he decides this kind of authority could be fun.

Yixing is sixteen. And at sixteen, he becomes a king.

Yixing’s network makes nine thousand dollars on his eighteenth birthday, which is coincidentally the day he learns it is easier to chase pleasure between a woman’s thighs than it is to chase money. The start of this day looks absolutely nothing like the way it ends, and he is glad to be a chameleon, fitting into whatever shape the world requires of him.

Today, a knife was held to someone’s throat because Yixing demanded it. Today, a shipment as organized back to Shanghai - a warning and a threat for anyone who dares challenge him again. Today, he pressed cocaine against his gums, celebrating his good fortune with a brief bump, and got paid in crisp bills for the quality of his product.

And tonight, he recognizes the way women smile when he speaks, aware that he is someone worthy of being noticed.

There’s something addictive about the feeling of money in his pocket, a sense of power and pride rooting itself in the base of his spine. He stands taller, walks faster, shoulders rolled back and expecting the air to part for him. Weeks before his coming of age, he noticed women would smile when he spoke, heads cocking to the side as if bewildered by the sound of his voice, and now he decides to use the magic of beautiful boyhood to his advantage.

He is honey, and he knows it, an aphrodisiac hit that makes women lick their lips as they spread their legs - only slightly in the hopes that he will see it and, better yet, want it - as they recline in their chairs, waiting to be taken. It’s no different tonight, and, perhaps, the money and the manhood he carries amplifies his transcendence. A thin lipped woman lounges against the couch, puffing her chest to ensure he notices the perky roundness of her breasts beneath her tube top, skin warm and shimmering from the summer heat.

Across from her, Yixing eyes the length of her body, cock stirring to a semi-hard state as he regards the yellow undertones of her lips. He wonders if her pussy looks just as golden, if it would part with the same ease as the air if he spread her with his thumbs, and his tongue runs dry, wanting to suck her clean.

Sensing his arousal, she rises to a stand and does not bother to straighten her skirt, letting the smooth length of her thighs remain on display. Tying her hair back, Yixing watches with a placid expression as her breasts lift with the effort, top moving with them to expose her midriff, unashamed of letting him look before he tastes her against his teeth.

They disappear into a bedroom, the bed full of coats and boxes which he pushes to the floor as he bites languidly at the tendons in her neck. She steps out of his arms, pushing her skirt down to her feet before removing her top, cocking her head to the side when she stands, naked and refusing blush, and notices Yixing remains fully clothed.

Quirking an eyebrow at him, she smirks. ‘Are you scared, pretty boy?’

It’s the first time he’s been asked this question, and he almost falters. Even when he was nine years old and men with murder on their lips handed him a backpack, they did not bother to ask if he felt fear - up until this moment, he did not think he had a choice.

‘I’m not sure I know how that feels,’ he replies, honestly, a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

She shrugs, turning to lay down on the bed and spreads her legs, idly rubbing a finger over her clit to keep herself wet. ‘Man’s first inhibition is always being naked in front of a pretty girl.’

Yixing chuckles, letting his expression darken at her confidence. ‘You have a high opinion of yourself.’

‘You’re here because you want to feel like a man,’ she reasons, arching her back as she slips the tip of her middle finger between her folds. ‘I’m allowed to interpret that however I want to make sure we both get off.’

‘Looks like it’s just you,’ he counters, licking his lips as her eyes flutter closed momentarily, and nodding in the direction of her wet cunt.

‘I’ve never seen you with a woman.’ Her words are carried on a high pitched breath, her own mouth curved into a blissful smile. ‘Word is you’ve never done this and I want to make sure I can come. It’ll be over quick.’

Yixing undresses slowly, hypnotized by the movements of her fingers and studying the motions. She maintains a steady rhythm with two fingers, and he wonders how much better she would feel if it was his hand, if those were his long fingers - he wonders how he would feel, how much pride he would take in filling her with himself.

When he settles between her thighs, she wraps her small hand around his cock and guides him to her entrance. He braces himself above her, unsure what to do with his weight, but the feel of her hand around his girth and the silky entrance rubbing wetness over his tip is enough to have his thighs already shaking. Now, he understands what she meant by saying this will be over quick.

‘Stay like that,’ she commands, releasing her hand from his cock and the base of her palm against her clit as she fingers herself. The spread and movement of her folds makes Yixing’s arms shake, and he latches his mouth around one of her nipples to distract himself. Arching into him, she holds his hip with her free hand, keeping him still as she lets her sensitive nipple be teased to a hardened nub, bringing herself closer and closer to release.

Eventually, she moves both her hands to the flesh of his ass, and nods as she pushes him inside.

The tight warmth of her walls around his cock has his eyes rolling back, biceps trembling as he thrusts messily into her. It takes only a few thrusts before he comes, spilling into her as he chokes back a moan and keeps himself quiet. She laughs as she comes, slightly and vaguely, not nearly enough to be satisfied. Even as he collapses against her, she writhes beneath him, weaseling her hand between their bodies and guides herself to the full bloom of an orgasm. Her walls clench rapidly around his softening cock, and he relishes the sensation of the pleasure mixing with discomfort.

It feels, he supposes, much the same as knowing men die for the money he earns.

‘You’ll be a natural,’ she says, pulling her hand away from her wetness and running them over his lips. He sucks at the tips, brow furrowing at the slight bitterness of her flavor. ‘You didn’t crush me with your weight. Most guys are shit at that the first time.’

Yixing says nothing, thinking on sex and pleasure, driving and working, the market he runs and the sensation of his come dripping from her cunt.

He’s a natural at a lot of things, a lot of grim and horrific things, and he’s glad sex is just as messy as money.

It means he doesn’t have to learn to be careful. In this, he is just as natural as driving.

You buy your freedom on the night Yixing leases his first McLaren Coupe. He does this with money, credit if he’s being honest, fully intending never to give the car back. You do this with a knife to the stomach of your pimp - a knife to his stomach, his chest, and his dick - fully intending never to go back.

He turns off Main Street, driving along the river and expecting to run into Baekhyun, hoping to watch as jealousy seeps into his irises and to pull away before his palms can mark the hood with his prints. Tonight, he wants to pretend - pretend that this is his car to keep, that his life is as simple as expensive metal and carbon put together with the sole purpose of moving fast. He’d like a life like that, existing without thought and without care, he thinks, and he wants the pink and passionate smile that always forms on Baekhyun’s lips when he teases to help him along with the fantasy.

Instead, he sees you.

He’s unsure how you’ve made it so far, but given the state of you he imagines that the people who have seen you have given you a wide berth. Pulling up ahead, Yixing parks the car and watches you approach in his side mirror. He recognizes you from high school, neither popular nor an outcast you were merely someone quiet, another face in the crowd that did not bother to make themselves known. You kept to yourself, and now he wonders what crowd wound up keeping you.

The blood smears on your thighs have dried, turning a muddy brown beneath the ripped denim of your shorts, and splotches on your neck mean you have witnessed something messy. Arms crossed over your chest, your eyes remain empty as you walk, neither looking around you nor in front of you, seeing through space as you walk and walk, jaw set like iron in the effort of keeping yourself moving.

Resting his head against the seat, he closes his eyes and hums, conflicted. This is breaking every rule he has ever sent for himself and for his team - you never pull over for someone, you never stop, you always move, and you never give pause. But he knows you, and he knows how it looks to have seen someone die. He recognizes the features of his fourteen year old self in yours, sees Junmyeon's hollowed expression in your unfocused vision, and he knows that death will always catch up to those who face it alone.

And so, he gets out, leaving the door open and calling your name.

'Y/N.'

You pause in front of him, looking around for others to follow close behind, and when they don't you fix your gaze back on him, the fierce heat of it enough to make him bite his tongue.

'Get in the car,' he offers, keeping his voice calm. 'I can keep you safe.'

He's not sure why you comply, but you do, wringing the blood stained slickness of your fingers together. Yixing's eyes follow the movements as he cats glances away from the road to your trembling hands, and when he stops at a light he reaches to the glove compartment and pulls out a rag. It's meant to clean his prints from the wheel before he sells this car off to some unassuming, overexcited college student, turning a profit and turning away from the situation altogether, but he supposes you need it more. And you certainly need it to not stain the interior.

'That's not my name anymore,' you mumble, wiping and wiping at your skin.

Yixing keeps his eyes trained on the road, knowing not to look at someone who feels raw enough to take a life.

'No?' is all he says, accepting your truth for what you need it to be.

'It's Eve.'

Yixing nods, turning the corner to take you to his house, still unsure why he chose to do this at all.

'Did he decide that for you?' he questions, noticing the purple bruises on your arms as you press the cloth into your skin.

'No.' It's the loudest you've been, the full richness of your voice catching him off guard. 'I did, right after I watched the life fade from his eyes.'

Yixing nods, rebranding you at the same time he considers the sheer consequence of you. You are a bad idea - all of you, from the death and the mess and the baggage are a thing that runs the risk of weighing him down. But he knows, inherently, that you won't.

However long you spent under the wing of a man who pressed himself against your body in the hopes of breaking your soul was not enough to ruin you, choosing instead to break his flesh with your bare hands. You are resourceful. You are smart - uncoordinated and full of risk, but smart enough to know the only person anyone can fully trust is themselves. And you are unafraid, prepared to burn the world so long as it ensures your survival.

You are a bad idea.

At twenty, Yixing is addicted to bad ideas, and the idea of you is full of promise.

It’s a cloudless night towards the end of August when Yixing finds himself, twenty-one and standing on Junmyeon's porch, preparing to make promises. The chill in the breeze ensures summer's end, the oncoming storm of September and plans and change carried with the wind, and he grits his teeth as he considers his assets.

Dongkyu’s death is an unspeakable loss, the kind that puts tangible grief in the air and reminds Yixing of the ash he tasted when he burned his cousin’s body, and he wonders how he’d be now if someone had promised to help with revenge. He knows how that feels, the fire it puts in your veins and seemingly endless drive that pushes and pushes and pushes until you don’t recognize yourself in the mirror anymore. You felt it too, still feel it sometimes when you wake up screaming and scratching at your skin, remembering the way men pushed themselves inside you and demanded that you feel them.

Yixing thinks if there’s anyone who understands Junmyeon, its you and him.

It takes a long while for Junmyeon to answer the door after he rings the doorbell, and he’s surprised that he’s the first one here. Sun set hours ago, his first stop of the night a shipping container by the airport where he picked up guns and drugs and a car he gutted with Huang. But his eyes do not droop with tiredness. He wanted the adrenaline push of the job to lead him here, ready and wired and feeling in control before the details of death turn him cold.

When Junmyeon opens the door, he doesn’t need to say anything - he doesn’t even extend his arms for a hug or extend his condolences, Junmyeon simply knows. He’s ragged and hollow, but alight just the same, blood boiling with a vengeance that Yixing feels against his skin like electricity.

The air burns with change, and they - eyeing one another wholly aware and wholly prepared to tear the world down - burn with a rage that will set their futures in motion.

Yixing is twenty-one when he crosses the threshold into Junmyeon’s house, already a king, and a man, and a god, and finds himself becoming a brother.

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264 notes · View notes

retardkid · 4 years ago

Note

1-150

1. Who was the last person you held hands with?

hm.. ex gf i think

2. Are you outgoing or shy?

shy

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing?

a friend of mine i think but i am nut sure

4. Are you easy to get along with?

depends

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you?

6. What kind of people are you attracted to?

i do not know

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now?

haha no

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind?

my ex gf

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable?

yes but just irl

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with?

hm a friend online

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say?

good morning

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now?

just few examples ^^

Cyberbitch26- Juliet Dies In Your Arms Tonight

Toto - Africa (Rayvolt Euphoric Frenchcore Remix)

Haustier - Track To Feel Valid To (Euphoria)

Kryonix - Lebendig Begraben

Gigi D'Agostino - L'Amour Toujours

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair?

i think no

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles?

yes

15. What good thing happened this summer?

i graduated

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

hm....

17. Do you think there is life on other planets?

yes

18. Do you still talk to your first crush?

19. Do you like bubble baths?

i did not tried it

20. Do you like your neighbors?

21. What are you bad habits?

a lot

22. Where would you like to travel?

all over the world travelling is nice

23. Do you have trust issues?

yes

24. Favorite part of your daily routine?

eating

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with?

belly and legs

26. What do you do when you wake up?

take medicine

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker?

i like my skin color so non of these

28. Who are you most comfortable around?

a friend of mine, i m sostly calm around everybody that is not part of my family and that is a nice person

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up?

30. Do you ever want to get married?

i wanted but i m thinking about it if i should do it really.

31. Is your hair long enough for a pony tail?

no :(

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with?

i do not know

33. Spell your name with your chin.

what? oh ciuhnya< nb

34. Do you play sports? What sports?

35. Would you rather live without TV or music?

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them?

yes

37. What do you say during awkward silences?

something

38. Describe your dream girl/guy?

attractive and well educated, helps you and is on your side

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in?

cheap shops

40. What do you want to do after high school?

i finished highshool so uhm what am i doing? i m at home my wish is to start a vocatinal training

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?

idk

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean?

i m hungry and agressive

43. Do you smile at strangers?

no but i try to but it is awkward

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean?

other space hopefully more civilized than we

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning?

food

46. What are you paranoid about?

people who talk about me think

47. Have you ever been high?

48. Have you ever been drunk?

yes

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about?

yes

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore?

blue

51. Ever wished you were someone else?

yes but as a joke i m happy to be not someone else

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself?

bad habbit about eating too much or doing not enough sport

53. Favourite makeup brand?

non

54. Favourite store?

55. Favourite blog?

56. Favourite colour?

blue

57. Favourite food?

food in general

58. Last thing you ate?

chicken

59. First thing you ate this morning?

nothing im hungry

60. Ever won a competition? For what?

yes

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what?

i punchd somone after school

62. Been arrested? For what?

63. Ever been in love?

yes

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss?

girl kissed me while i had a seizure i could not react just saw that ugly face

65. Are you hungry right now?

yes i am

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends?

i have a good friend found here but never ever found another good friend here lot of garbage some people are really nice and correct i really like to communicate with them to and a lot peopple are always open for questons #realtalk

67. Facebook or Twitter?

non

68. Twitter or Tumblr?

tumblr

69. Are you watching tv right now?

70. Names of your bestfriends?

secret

71. Craving something? What?

food,money, an apartment

72. What colour are your towels?

diffrent

72. How many pillows do you sleep with?

one dirty one i should wash

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals?

i liked it a lot as child but no

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have?

i have 5 maybe

75. Favourite animal?

broccoli

76. What colour is your underwear?

olive

77. Chocolate or Vanilla?

chocolate

78. Favourite ice cream flavour?

vanilla

79. What colour shirt are you wearing?

green

80. What colour pants?

non

81. Favourite tv show?

non

82. Favourite movie?

non

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2?

did not watched

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street?

did not watched

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls?

did not watched

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo?

dori as far as i remember

87. First person you talked to today?

no one

88. Last person you talked to today?

brother

89. Name a person you hate?

idk

90. Name a person you love?

ex gf

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now?

idk i m hungry <.<

92. In a fight with someone?

93. How many sweatpants do you have?

i never counted them

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have?

5 or 4

95. Last movie you watched?

it was a good one but forgot the name

96. Favourite actress?

97. Favourite actor?

98. Do you tan a lot?

99. Have any pets?

not yet maybe i will buy a mantis

100. How are you feeling?

i feel okay

101. Do you type fast?

102. Do you regret anything from your past?

a lot

103. Can you spell well?

nope

104. Do you miss anyone from your past?

yes

105. Ever been to a bonfire party?

kinda yeah

106. Ever broken someone’s heart?

hm i think yeah

107. Have you ever been on a horse?

yes it died

108. What should you be doing?

idk

109. Is something irritating you right now?

why i feel sad right now

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt?

idk

111. Do you have trust issues?

yeah

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of?

113. What was your childhood nickname?

thats a secret

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state?

yeah

115. Do you play the Wii?

no but i played it and i liked it

116. Are you listening to music right now?

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup?

never ate it

118. Do you like Chinese food?

never ate it

119. Favourite book?

actually i have many books i like

120. Are you afraid of the dark?

yeah

121. Are you mean?

sometimes

122. Is cheating ever okay?

no but hot

123. Can you keep white shoes clean?

i never had white shoes

124. Do you believe in love at first sight?

yes

125. Do you believe in true love?

yes

126. Are you currently bored?

yes

127. What makes you happy?

idk beeing busy.

128. Would you change your name?

129. What your zodiac sign?

virgin

130. Do you like subway?

not that much

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

suck his dick

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

hm idk

133. Favourite lyrics right now?

have no right now

134. Can you count to one million?

nevver tied but i think i could

135. Dumbest lie you ever told?

have no idea

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed?

closed

137. How tall are you?

1.90 cm

138. Curly or Straight hair?

curly

139. Brunette or Blonde?

brunette

140. Summer or Winter?

autumn

141. Night or Day?

morning

142. Favourite month?

idk maybe april

143. Are you a vegetarian?

no i llove meat

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate?

white chocoate *hearteyes*

145. Tea or Coffee?

tea

146. Was today a good day?

kinda

147. Mars or Snickers?

sniggers

148. What’s your favourite quote?

go big or go home

149. Do you believe in ghosts?

just if i am afraid

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page?

“German” Woman!

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zalrb · 5 years ago

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What do you think are the successes and downfalls of Shonda Rhimes' shows?

I think Shonda is good at creating torturous relationships and I don’t mean that they’re well-written, I mean that they’re portrayed well, I believe the tumultuous, gut-wrenching, push-pull relationships

She’s good at getting actors who, for the most part, have chemistry together (romantic, platonic etc)

and she’s good at getting solid to good actors

I also think she’s good at drama, she’s good at knowing what will get people to tune in even if it’s ridiculous

However, I think she is bad at story.

One thing that gets old and is kind of clunky is that whatever case the main characters work on actually reflects what’s happening in their personal lives, it’s kind of interesting for the first couple of seasons of Grey’s (Derek has to make a choice between Addison and Meredith and it’s somehow comparable to the surgical team having to make a choice between which patient gets to live and who has to die)

but when Scandal does it (Olivia “betrayed” Fitz with the election rigging and she’s working for a couple where the wife betrayed her husband by cheating on him and they’re both having simultaneous arguments about how their respective relationships are ruined)

and Private Practice does it (this teenage boy goes around biting girls because of the vampire craze or something and one girl gets sick because the boy is sick and she doesn’t want to tell them who bit her because she ‘loves’ him but he’s cheating on her by biting other girls - it’s been a long time since I’ve watched Private Practice - and Charlotte and Cooper are having issues so Charlotte draws on their pain to relate)

it becomes a crutch and it becomes predictable, cases - at least to me - become less exciting because it all relates back to the thorough storyline in really obvious ways.

When it comes to relationships, she likes middles because middles are where all the meat is, where all the drama is, where all the fun is so she just wants to be here:

all the time.

But how did we get here? Fitz sees Olivia and is automatically attracted to her, fine, but why do they have this Romeo-Juliet-esque tragic love story? I can glean what he’s supposed to love about her but what does she love about him?

Also Fitz has no real obstacles; he isn’t torn between his presidency and Olivia, his wife and Olivia, his kids and Olivia, he will do literally anything and everything for her so then the dramatic tension is nonexistent, Olivia having a fear of commitment sort of becomes a bullshit excuse when there are arguments like this:

consistently because she has no reason to be this upset when Fitz and some of that is an Olivia problem as a character and some of that is a writing problem because Shonda didn’t give them real stakes -- him being married and the president doesn’t matter if Fitz doesn’t care about either of those things.

Derek and Meredith had more substance than Olitz in the sense that at least Derek had tried to work things out with Addison for an entire season as a way to do the right thing and Meredith’s commitment issues did get tiring, considering that I believe the entirety of season 4 is dedicated to her going to therapy to get over them but they weren’t as exhausting but I still had issues with their narrative. For the most part, their chemistry made them work but they had a one-night stand, I guess the sex was great and suddenly that means they love each other? In the first season just before Addison shows up, Meredith talks about how she knows literally nothing about him, they have no conversations, why exactly is their love story so grand?

Lexie and Mark, what do they do, what do they talk about, he finds her attractive, she finds him attractive so they have sex but why is it love? Why is it this? Why is it this deep? I find the angst super fun but I don’t find any reason for it.

Mellie and Fitz, the narrative kept changing to the suit the needs of the story, in one iteration they’re happy

In the next iteration there was never any love, it was just a merger

Then Fitz doesn’t want Mellie sleeping with Andrew

and this would be fine, if this were about their different perspectives on their marriage, if the point was how memory can be deceptive, if we really dug into why Fitz doesn’t want Andrew and Mellie sleeping together, but the way it plays out it just looks like inconsistent writing.

Another aspect of being bad at story is about narrative framing and characters, specifically in Scandal. Olivia’s descent doesn’t work for me because when we meet Olivia she’s jaded and breaking the law and she’s representing rich, white powerful people in Washington D.C. She doesn’t come across as a Gladiator, she doesn’t come across as wearing the White Hat or fighting the good fight, she comes across as a woman who uses her skills to keep powerful people powerful and so when it’s supposed to be this whole thing about how she’s become a monster, how she’s becoming B6-13, how she becomes a murderer, it would be more poignant if we started when Olivia was naive and idealistic and we see her cut more corners and become more and more corrupted the longer she’s in this world but She comes into the show savvy, including the flashbacks when she meets Fitz, which would be fine if they did what they did with Giles in BTVS where he’s book smart but lacks street smarts until he starts working with Buffy. But we don’t do that.

Shonda also reuses a lot of storylines (I mean I already spoke about the crutches and also, Olivia and Meredith are very different characters but they both have the commitment issues, the parental issues) and one that comes to mind is female characters who are considered unlikable or difficult being raped. It’s not a storyline I particularly care for

And after a while, Shonda shows just get to a state of ridiculousness that I tune out, I can only watch bombs in hospitals and hospital shootings and plane crashes so much before it stops exciting me. B6-13 can only be an exciting threat for so long, moving onto an organization that is B6-13 Plus isn’t going to get me excited. Private Practice actually just got dull for me.

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ginnyzero · 5 years ago

Text

Writing Breathable Moments; What/Why

I’ve mentioned “breathable/ma/quiet” moments in the past and how the Dawn Warrior has very little of them and the Lone Prospect is chock full of them. But I don’t believe I’ve ever explained what that means.

So, what are “breathable/ma/quiet” moments? Is it anything like breathable cotton?

No. Not really.

Breathable moments in your manuscript are moments of rest for the reader. In the Japanese, this is called “ma.” Miyazaki explains these moments as being extra. They are the rests between action. It’s the backgrounds, the sighs, the little moments in time between beats in the story that convey time, space and who the character is.

Not everyone is a fan of these types of moments. They feel that the ‘breathing’ room in the story slows it down and delays the action. That these scenes have no purpose and need to be cut out entirely. This is a very Western and very modern contemporary type of thinking where everything is about speed and the bottom line and cutting things “to the bone.”

Books of all types have been reduced to pulp fiction penny dreadfuls rather than Dumas or Dickens who were paid by the word and so they really bloated their works to get more money. Then there is the High Fantasy Tolkien approach where the breathable space in the story is Tolkien either giving backstory like in the Ents or describing massive amounts of scenery. Or, there is the Brian Jacques approach where breathable moments are describing epic feasts and putting in funny songs.

Whether or not you find these moments of rest important really depends on your style of writing. How much do you care about character and relationship development? How much do you care about relaying the background and history of your world? How important is describing the setting of your story? Is there something going on in the culture of your people that’s important enough to show it rather than to summarize it?

Because breathable moments, the quiet moments are about showing the intimate details of your characters, your setting, and your world building. Depending on what your goal is for your story is going to necessitate whether or not you have these breathable moments in your work.

Tolkien was trying to write a history. He wasn’t telling an adventure tale. He was relaying/translating a historical document. It was important to him to tell the history of the world, of the Ents, and to expound upon the landscapes. Whereas, his contemporary, Lewis was writing an allegory for children about the Christian life. To him, the story was more important than the details and history of the world. So much so, that he only included tiny bits of history that were important in the Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe. It was only later in other books that we found out more about, say Jadis, and where she came from.

Are you a Tolkien or are you a Lewis?

Both types of storytelling are valid! It’s up to you as an author to decide how fast you want the action beats to proceed. Your story can be tight and fast and like an action movie in words. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Or your story can still be tight but punctuated with moments for viewers to relax. This could be more drama or art house or well, Spirited Away. Bang. Pause. Bang. Long Breathe. Bang. Bang. Pause. Bang. Bang. Bang. End. Or, the plot of your story can be conveyed with mostly breathable moments leading up to the final action. This is more maybe an adventure story or a thriller story type of set up. Maybe even horror.

Let me use different Urban Fantasy writers as examples. Kim Harrison and Patty Briggs have very little breathing room in their books. Patty Briggs writes books at about 110K words and Kim Harrison’s Hollow Series clocked in between 150K and 165K words. Kim Harrison usually put her biggest breathing moments at end of the book. Patty has a bad habit of even turning dates into major action sequences and cuts off any breathing before it really begins. Breathing room is more like a punch line. Most urban fantasy writers including Seanan Maguire, Faith Hunter, Jennifer Estep and Cassie Alexander all fall into the category (plus a few others I’ve read.) We are told these characters have friends and hobbies and lives outside of their job, but we’re never really given a chance to see them do more than ‘finger their shell collection.’ (I think that’s a Cat Adams example.) We “know” the characters, but at the same time, we don’t because we’re never given that breathing space where they aren’t about to be pushed off the edge of a volcano all the time. It’s all quips and punches but no long walks on the beach and banter with their friends.

Jim Butcher puts a moderate amount of breathing room in his books. Whether or not this is a good thing is debatable. Harry Dresden’s investigations don’t always involve a lot of explosions right off the bat. He is a private eye and this does involve some tedious things like “talking to people.” Harry isn’t completely without friends. He just tends to avoid them for months at a time until he’s got three days to save the world and then suddenly he needs them again. But at least we know that Harry walks his dog and spends time playing DnD with the Werewolves. Because we see it. Laurell K. Hamilton also has a moderate amount of breathing room in her books. Most of it is taken up with sex! Rachel Caine is also a good example. Occasionally, she drives her car real fast, manages to get a tan, and goes shopping.

The urban fantasy/dark fantasy writer with the most breathing room that I’ve read is Anne Bishop. Anne Bishop makes the characters and their relationships the heart of her story and the plot is moved forward more by what the characters do rather than outside forces acting whether the characters like it or not. For instance, in the Others series, the main character runs away and the villains are trying to reclaim her. She is learning how to live life as a normal person and hold down a job interacting with species that are in no way human. And these non-human creatures (who can look human) do everything they can to protect her and that is the story. So, there are long stretches of the book that is her learning her limits and how to do things like drive a golf cart. The characters and the culture is what makes the story enthralling. (And, yeah, you don’t want her to go back to the villains either. You’re rooting for her to remain free.)

You as a reader or writer have to decide what category you fit into. I’m more of a Jim Butcher/Anne Bishop preference type of reader/writer. I liked Kim Harrison well enough because there was enough words put into the book that I could sink my teeth into the world even if there wasn’t a lot of quiet moments. It was the fact the character never seemed to learn anything and became super special important that put me off The Hollows Series.

Now, back to my own books. In the Dawn Series, there isn’t a lot of breathable moments. I have Roxana and Marcellus go on a date. There is some teasing all around and at the end I have a wedding because there has to be a wedding. (Is it Roxana and Marcellus? I’m not telling you!) But honestly, the book goes from one action beat to the next with very little pause. It’s not a history. It’s an adventure story about a Princess trying to evade her curse. It doesn’t need a lot of history or explaining or paragraphs of ogling the scenery. None of that is important.

On the other hand, Tales of the Heaven’s Heathens MC, while not a history, I’m trying to write about a culture. It’s a mix of biker culture and in this case werewolf culture. I created a werewolf society that lives within the veil hiding from the greater human society. They don’t necessarily think like humans or act like humans completely. I want to show this instead of telling it. The characters also take jobs, security jobs, and they can either step aside and let things happen or they can take action doing something about it. The books are very character driven in this aspect.

For instance, in the upcoming book, I have a chapter or so where Savannah takes Gideon shopping. Now, I could just say that Gideon hates clothes shopping and be done with it. But Jasper is “special” and they don’t have department stores, so Savannah is being nice and taking him to where he needs to go to buy clothes. But that’s still not the point of the scene, the point of the scene is to compare and contrast Savannah and Gideon and their werewolf states of mind. I want to show the difference in how they’re handling being attracted to each other and resisting it. It’s part of the romance aspect of the book.

But for many people, many writers that type of scene would be redundant and be edited out because it has nothing to do with the main story of smugglers invading the Heathen’s territory. I agree. It doesn’t have much to do with that at all, except getting Gideon to look like a villain in leather pants.

Sometimes a girl just needs a boy to be in leather pants.

To me, the meat of the story in Heathen’s isn’t the explosions. It’s not the gun fights or car chases. It’s the people. It’s the families. It’s showing the relationships and how they work together for the good of the pack while still managing to have disagreements. (And it’s not as easy to write as you’d think because I’m going against years of ingrained prejudices about emotional labor. And I’m not a werewolf, I’m a human. I have to reorient my thoughts.)

It's also set in a future where the world has been reshaped by a war. The town they live in was built after the war to very specific codes. Eventually, we'll go to a huge city and I'll describe that too. That's breathable moments.

There are lots of readers (and publishers and agents) that really love books that are 100% action all of the time. They want books that are plot driven where the character is an afterthought rather than the instigator of the action. Which is fine. I get it. At the same time, there are those readers who like authors like Butcher and Bishop who put more ‘breathing’ space into their works. I think there is plenty of room for both.

#writing advice #writing tips #breathable moments #writing tumblr #writer tumblr #writrblr

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