#the story serves me not the other way around.

[caitified]

thanksgiving

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:none

thanksgiving with caitlin was something you’d been looking forward to for weeks. it was your first time hosting together in your shared apartment in indianapolis, and caitlin was determined to make it perfect.

you stood in the kitchen, focused on making sure the turkey was carved just right when you felt a familiar presence behind you. caitlin’s arms snaked around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder.

“need some help?” she asked softly, her warm breath tickling your ear.

“you’re supposed to be entertaining your family,” you replied with a smirk, leaning back slightly into her embrace.

“they’re fine,” she said, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “besides, i missed you.”

you rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t hide the smile spreading across your face. before you could say anything more, caitlin’s brother strolled into the kitchen, his eyebrow raised at the two of you.

“okay, lovebirds, save it for later,” he teased, grabbing a drink from the counter.

caitlin turned to face her, not letting go of you. “jealous much?” she shot back with a grin.

“hardly,” he replied, but the amused look on his face betrayed his sarcasm. he walked back out to the living room, shaking his head.

caitlin kissed your temple before finally pulling away. “i’ll let you finish. but don’t take too long—i’m not sharing you for the whole night.”

you laughed as she disappeared into the other room, and after a few more minutes, you emerged from the kitchen with the turkey, setting it down in the center of the table. everyone cheered as caitlin helped guide you to your seat beside her, sneaking a quick kiss on your cheek as you sat down.

dinner was lively and full of stories, many of them from caitlin’s time at iowa. her dad was in the middle of telling a particularly embarrassing story from her childhood when caitlin reached under the table, lacing her fingers with yours. she leaned in close, her voice low enough for only you to hear.

“can you believe this? they always gang up on me during the holidays,” she whispered, her mock-annoyed expression making you stifle a laugh.

“you love it,” you teased, squeezing her hand.

“maybe,” she admitted, grinning. “but only because you’re here to make it bearable.”

you shook your head at her dramatics but couldn’t help feeling a warmth spread through your chest. moments like these, where caitlin’s playful charm was on full display, made you fall for her even more.

after dinner, while the others migrated to the couch to watch football, you stayed behind in the kitchen to start cleaning up. caitlin joined you soon after, rolling up her sleeves and grabbing a dish towel.

“you don’t have to help,” you said as she started drying dishes.

“i want to,” she replied, glancing at you with that soft smile she reserved just for you.

the two of you worked in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of conversation and laughter from the living room serving as a backdrop. then caitlin broke the quiet.

“you know,” she said, leaning against the counter once the dishes were done. “i think this might be my favorite thanksgiving ever.”

“why’s that?” you asked, turning to face her.

she stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “because it’s the first one with you.”

her words made your heart race, and before you could respond, she cupped your face in her hands, kissing you softly. it was a moment of quiet intimacy amid the chaos of the holiday, a reminder of how much caitlin meant to you—and how much you meant to her.

“i love you,” she said when she pulled back, her forehead resting against yours.

“i love you, too,” you whispered, smiling up at her.

and as the night went on, surrounded by love and laughter, you couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the holiday than by caitlin’s side.

[ivystoryweaver]

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

This has been in my drafts for a year, enjoy that

Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Summary: You expected your best friend to be as optimistic about Life Day as he is about everything else. But he's different this year. (This is set after the events of The Last Jedi if you're interested in the timeline)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Content: Poe is a sad/tipsy/handsy puppy, angst, inebriation, drinking, kissing, misunderstandings, discussions of death, probably inaccurate Life Day nonsense, friends to lovers, pining, this boy's trauma deserves some attention ok

Poe wasn't at breakfast.

He missed your morning run together.

Life Day spirit was in the air and General Organa had released as much personnel as could be managed, particularly those who celebrated.

Maybe Poe headed back to Yavin 4 without mentioning anything?

Your best friend usually told you everything, so if he left without saying goodbye...

"Have you seen Poe?" You asked a few dozen people throughout the day, even going so far as to find General Organa, pleading with her to tell you if he was off on a solo mission, or a secret one.

She assured you she had ordered no such mission.

So where was he?

Deciding to head back to your room to change for the festivities, you tried to shake off the anxiety prickling your skin. After a quick trip to the fresher, you put on your best outfit - which was basically the only thing you owned that wasn't Resistance-issued attire.

Upon checking Poe's room one final time, you reluctantly made your way to the mess hall, which, for the people remaining at the Resistance base, would serve as a dance floor.

Colorful strings of lights illuminated the dimly lit room, mismatchedbulbs from droids and ships and even various lanterns. Trinkets special to Resistance members were strung up here and there - good luck charms and souvenirs from missions - anything that would reflect and sparkle and shine.

As if holiday magic itself was guiding you, the sparkle of a familiar gold necklace glinted, catching your eye. All the sudden, there he was, sitting in a corner, surrounded by people, slurring his way through a story of battle glory.

Shit, he was already tipsy? Not good.

His dark brown eyes brightened as they landed on you.

"There you are," he laughed out, reaching out for you, suddenly ignoring the others vying for his attention. "I was just talking about you, come here."

Despite the fact that he was nestled in a corner booth, he insisted you shimmy your way to sit down beside him.

"Poe, it's okay, there's no room. I can just - "

"Nooo, 'sokay," he waved his hand dismissively before reaching up to pull on your sleeve. "Sit with me, right here. Been waiting for you."

Poe was so damn stubborn when he'd been drinking...which is how you ended up smooshed up against his side, halfway on his lap.

"You smell so good," he murmured, burying his nose behind your ear as his arm slid around your waist.

Nudging him with your shoulder, you couldn't help but smile. "How much have you had to drink? It's early."

The corner of his mouth curled knowingly as he touched his forehead to yours. "Started early. You weren't here to stop me."

Your face heated up at how flirty he seemed this evening. "What are you talking about? I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Not everywhere or you would have found me here," he shrugged, pushing his half empty drink toward you. "Gotta catch up."

"Uh, no thank you," you giggled, trying to find a comfortable sitting position that didn't land you all the way in Poe's lap. On second thought, maybe if you finished Poe's drink, you could keep an eye on what else he chose to imbibe for the rest of the evening.

"Actually, give me that." You downed it in a couple gulps, to Poe's great amusement and a whoop from your table mates.

"Okay, okay, you have to play the game too," a fellow pilot informed you, nodding to a cheap looking bottle of something or other in the middle of the table. "Truth or dare?"

You glared over at Poe. "Truth or dare? How old are we?"

"Four-hundred thirty-seven," an alien pilot opposite you teased. "Haven't played Truth or Dare since I was around two-hundred."

"Exactly," you decided to let a couple of centuries make your point.

"Come onnn, play with us," Poe breathed on your ear, goosing your ribs, which sent your backside jerking against his thigh as you shrieked in surprise. You nearly lost your balance, but Poe wrapped his arms around your torso to steady you.

"Truth or dare?" You were asked again.

With a groan, you decided on truth.

"You've hooked up with Commander Dameron," she declared. Everyone at the table leaned in, ready for your answer. You should have known.

"No, I haven't. That's the truth."

"Commander?" She challenged, fact-checking your statement with Poe.

"Don't ask me, it's not my turn," he mysteriously shrugged, which elicited some 'oooh's' and made you groan.

The game continued until it was Poe's turn. He choose truth and was posed the same question as you. His answer confirmed yours - no hookups between you. That fact didn’t stop his thumb from languidly tracing circles on your stomach as he held onto you.

On your next turn, you tried to avoid another probing question by choosing dare.

"Kiss Commander Dameron," the older alien pilot challenged. You felt a chuckle rumble in his chest.

"Fine," you shrugged, turning your head to peck him on the cheek. A chorus of 'boo's' went up, but you silenced them, letting them know they didn't specify where or how you had to kiss Poe.

So, naturally, when it was Poe's turn, he chose dare, and was dared to kiss you. On the mouth.

"Okay, time for bed," you decided, attempting to climb out of your crowded seat and off Poe's thigh, which you were certain had fallen asleep by now underneath your weight.

"Aw, don't go," Poe complained, keeping a loose hold on your wrist, but not holding you back, in case you really wanted to leave. "It won't be Life Day without you. Promise I won't kiss you."

Your eyes met his and you swore you saw a flicker of sadness dance across them. "Okay, I'll stay, but no more Truth or Dare." Hitching your thumb at your table mates you whispered, "They're ganging up on us."

"Then let's go dance," Poe proposed, releasing your wrist and clambering out of the booth and onto the dance floor. Just to make you laugh, he did a silly twirl and struck a pose before offering his hand. “Shall we?”

"Wow, you are so drunk," you cackled taking his hand and following him willingly.

You made it to the middle of the makeshift dance floor, and he pulled your hand to his chest, slipping his other arm around your waist as you began to sway to the music.

Smiling at him sweetly, you released his hand, pushing your fingers up over the exposed skin of his chest, revealed by one too many buttons unfastened. Not that you were complaining. Up your fingers traced, toying with the chain nestled there, over the smooth column of his neck. His throat bobbed under your touch.

Looping your arms around his neck, you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, swaying back and forth with a silly, dramatic flare, which earned a chuckle from Poe. His hands found your hips and squeezed, dragging you closer until your chest pressed against his and his forehead dropped to yours.

"What is going on with you?" You murmured, heart fluttering in your chest as you attempted to keep your wits about you.

"Nothing, just...really glad you're here. Missed you today," he whispered, alcohol tinged breath ghosting your lips.

"Could've fooled me. I couldn't find you anywhere, Poe. I thought you went back home for Life Day without even telling me."

"Without you? No," he shook his head as if trying to clear the cobwebs. "Not without you. Without telling you, I mean."

“But I couldn’t find you,” you insisted, resisting the urge to toy with the curls at the base of his neck. It felt good to be close to him - to have his attention. But he wasn't in his right mind and you couldn't take advantage of your friendship. "I thought maybe you were avoiding me. I was worried."

His gaze dropped, jaw clenching as your swaying eased to a stop. "I'm sorry."

In a group, drinking and telling stories, he could keep up a festive facade but you saw right through him.

"Hey," you softly redirected his gaze back to yours. "It's Life Day. You love Life Day. Right? The tree and the lights?"

"Yeah," he whispered, eyes flickering down to your lips. "I just...I'm not feeling so festive this year."

Stepping back, you ran your palms down his arms and took his hands. "Wanna get out of here? Let's get some air. We can look at the tree."

He nodded, following your lead out into the night, gripping your hand as if you might evaporate right before his eyes if he let go.

You walked quietly for several moments, cheeks burning as a few passersby noticed you holding hands with the Commander, prompting you to finally release your hold. Without the tether, Poe’s walking slowed, turning into a listless stumble, which was how you realized he might not be in any shape to take a stroll through the woods.

Perhaps he was better off tucked into a booth, surrounded by people. The fact that you misread the situation and his needs brought a wave of trepidation and regret. You stopped walking and turned to him, pressing your palms against his chest.

It took his mind a second to catch up, so you guided him around the side of the closest building - closed for the holiday. Steadying him up against the wall, with hands on his chest once more, you apologized. “I should take you back to your room.”

Gripping your elbows, he stared at you so intently it made your knees go weak. As your body swayed into his, he wrapped his arms around you, gathering you close. Mistaking it for a hug, albeit an intimate one, you turned your head to lay it on his chest, but his mouth met yours, capturing your lips in kiss.

All the air rushed out of you as he tasted you, spreading his hand over the curve of your back and pressing and pulling you into him harder. The heat of his tongue and the solid warmth of his body consumed you utterly and you found yourself kissing him back with fervor.

The sound of voices and a clattering bottle nearby jolted you out of...whatever this was, sending you stumbling back, dazed. You felt as drunk as Poe apparently was, but from him alone rather than the half drink you’d downed.

Poe, mistaking your withdrawal as rejection, reached for your arms, murmuring, "No, no, I'm sorry, don't go."

Noticing his obvious distress, you allowed his touch, gripping his biceps through his leather jacket. "It's okay. I'm here," you breathlessly gasped, mind reeling and heart pounding. "Let me take you back."

"I don't want you to go," he whimpered, grip on your forearms tightening. "Don't be mad. I don't want...I can't - "

"Hey," you soothed, touching his cheek to direct his bleary gaze to yours. "I won't leave you. Not ever."

This seemed to appease him and he followed your lead back to his room. Your instincts seemed to somehow be way off with him tonight, and you regretted tearing him away from the fun he seemed to be enjoying before you interrupted.

Maybe it was you. Perhaps that's why he'd avoided you all day. Hot tears burned your eyes as you guided him to lie down on his bed. As he pleaded with you not to go, again, you hushed him, swearing you wouldn't.

You worked his boots off his feet before helping him sit up to remove his jacket. Climbing into bed, you wrapped your arms around him, guiding him to lie down on your lap. His distress calmed almost instantly as he murmured, "thank you" a few times, burying his nose in your tummy.

"Love you so much," he whispered so faintly, you convinced yourself he must have said something else.

Raking your fingers through his slightly damp curls, you shushed him a few times, realizing you'd never seen him like this. Tipsy? Yes. Drunk? Maybe once or twice. Handsy? Always. But broken? Not like this.

He fell asleep in minutes and only then, did you let tears escape your eyes. Before long, you felt your eyes grow heavy, so you worked your way down onto the bed, hoping not to wake Poe.

Somehow, exhaustion mingled with the pounding in your heart - from worry, from sharing Poe's bed, from the flavor of alcohol on your lips from his kiss. And from the words he uttered - things he probably wouldn't even remember.

Sleep finally came, granting you both reprieve.

The next morning, you awoke while there was barely light in the sky. Since Poe was still asleep, you decided to freshen up a bit and get him some toast and something hot to drink. You crept out of his room and back again as quietly as you could manage.

Upon your return, you were surprised to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows digging into his knees and head in his hands. Dark curls tumbled over his fingers, obscuring his handsome face from you. His shoulders slumped defeatedly.

"Hey there," you softly greeted, presenting the tray of bland food and hot tea to him like an offering. "How are you feeling?"

"Like an asshole," he lamented, voice muffled by his hands.

"Well, I'm used to that," you attempted lightly. "But you had a lot to drink last night. What was that about?"

Raking his fingers down his face, he managed to face you then, eyes bloodshot and lips parched. It was kind of endearing to see him not looking completely perfect for once.

"First of all, tell me how pissed you are. I can take it." He visibly withdrew, waiting for your verdict on how he behaved last night.

"I'm not pissed," you assured him, "just really worried. Why don't you eat something and then we can talk?"

After Poe choked down some toast, you decided to swing by your room and change while he visited the fresher. You promised to return, and when you did, he was waiting for you with open arms.

Folding you close, he breathed on your ear how sorry he was, over and over, while you pressed your nose to the clean scent of his damp neck, exposed by the clean, thin shirt he wore.

Easing back, you reached to toy with the wet curls flipping out behind his ear. "What are you sorry for?"

"Where do I begin?" He scoffed, his gaze dropping. "I ruined your Life Day. I ignored you all day. Kissed you."

"So...you're sorry for kissing me," you clarified, your stomach dropping.

"Yes. No." He shook his head, confused. "I didn't want to be alone." He winced, regretting the words as they left his mouth.

Your jaw clenched as you struggled to maintain your composure. "So you're sorry for kissing me? Or you're sorry that you kissed me while you were drunk, just so you wouldn't be alone?"

Pacing away, one hand landed on his hip while the other tore through his hair. "That's not what I meant. I...I was trying to forget everything and just drink and have fun, but not with you."

Shit. Wrong wording. Again.

"So, that's why you avoided me all day." It wasn't a question. The realization of it stole your breath from your lungs and you sank down on the bed as tears burned your eyes.

"No, baby. No." Poe was quick to kneel down before you, reaching desperately for your hands. "This is...shit, this is coming out all wrong." Seeing tears pool in your beautiful, shining eyes seared his insides with guilt and shame - his companions ever since the events leading up to the Battle of Crait.

"Tell me what's going on," you whispered. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," he insisted, bringing your fingers to his lips and kissing them urgently.

"Too many people have died," he finally confessed, his head bowed and his voice a broken whisper. "It was supposed to be Life Day, but there's only death. We lost over half the fleet."

"I know."

"So many families couldn't celebrate Life Day. Too many." His eyes met yours, wet with fresh tears. "And how many of them are dead because of me?"

"Poe, we all know what we're signing up for when we join. We're all ready to give our lives, you know that. You can't possibly take the blame for what the First Order has done to us."

"There's blame enough for me to share, believe me," he insisted. "And I just couldn't hang anything on the tree yesterday and celebrate life. Not with over half of us gone."

Eyeing him sympathetically, you squeezed his hands. "Life Day isn't only about being alive. Death is a part of life. Life Day is also about remembering the dead. And part of living is grieving the dead, and sometimes feeling a little guilty that you're still here."

“But I don’t, though,” he admitted. “I’m glad I’m here, and more than that, I’m glad you’re here. You, most of all. You're the one person I don't wanna...that I can't..."

"Come here," you coaxed. Poe joined you on the bed but never let go of your hands. "You're my one person too, you know. The person I look for after every mission. The one person I need to be okay.

"It scared me so much yesterday when I couldn't find you," you went on.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "Please don't hate me for yesterday. It's been a long time since I had that much to drink. I know it's no excuse for what I did."

"So you don't remember, then...what you said?" You should have known Poe would only kiss you and utter heartfelt confessions when he was wasted.

Releasing your hand, he titled your chin up to meet his gaze. "I know what I said. I do love you. Always have." A nervous, breathless laugh escaped his perfect lips. "But I understand, you know, if you don't - "

You silenced him, pressing your mouth to his for a tender kiss. "Believe me. I do."

The sadness lingering behind his eyes started to seep away, replaced by a flicker of hope. "Is there any way we could re-do yesterday?" He proposed, tracing the shape of your jaw. "I only have one meeting today."

"That sounds perfect," you agreed, leaning into his touch.

Hand in hand, you visited the Life Day tree, said the prayers, remembered those lost. Then you had something to drink with friends - just one though, before dancing and laughing all evening.

When he kissed you this time, he meant to do it, and everyone saw it. And when you walked back to his room, he asked you to stay. And you did. Every night.

1000 Follower/Holiday Celebration Masterlist

Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[lovehotelreservation]

chapter two: used to burn cds full of songs i didn't know summary: worldwide fame and a political tie or two has you--one of the biggest pop stars around--in dire need of reliable protection. thankfully you have four ex-military retirees to entrust your wellbeing to. but what happens when that protection turns possessive? rating: pg-13 (rating will increase across certain chapters) story pairing: f!reader/task force 141 | chapter pairing: f!reader/price previous chapter | next chapter

would u believe me if i said part of the reason this fic exists in the first place is because i was listening to the mean girls remix and i placed price in the perspective of julian casablancas divorcedly singing about his failed relationships while thinking of the reader frolicking in the back as charli goin "THIS ONE'S FOR ALL MY MEAN GIRLSSSSSSSSSS" 😭😭

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Price was old.

He was well aware of this.

Whether it was the lumbering and lingering ache of a strained muscle from a campaign that greeted him upon waking up in the morning, or Johnny and Kyle snickering together of his first job being the lad who told Scrooge that it was Christmas Day, Price was well aware of the crows feet by his eyes.

And the refined and honed strength of his backhand across the back of Johnny’s and Kyle’s heads that only decades of experience could provide.

He wasn’t one to keep up with trends, but he was at least aware that buying music wasn’t the same either.

Instead of having his choice of Virgin Records or HMV to stroll up to on a Saturday morning, there was now Spotify or Apple Music on his phone.

It was a curious and nice thing however, to see that you–as a current artist–were still keeping the lost art of physical releases alive with your music.

While standard for you as a pop star, there was something kind and nostalgic to be able to pop open a CD case and pluck a thin shiny disc from within.

Though, here he was with a celebratory cigar in hand at a local pub not too far from the Shangri-La with the others–one that aligned more with their average shared tax bracket–, befuddled at the album that was handed to him, one that looked to be more the size of a Bible than the thin plastic cases of before.

Your first solo album. 

A gift from you to him, Kyle, Johnny, and Simon that was given by your manager–Pearl, a woman whose knife-like acrylic nails, insistence on wearing sunglasses indoors, and an air of Dior perfume and cigarette smoke served as a quick snapshot of a no-nonsense industry veteran–on their way out from the hotel. The introductions and pleasantries were short and curt, her handshake firm and cold before she departed to return to her room upstairs.

Inside the ornate packaging of your album included a lyric booklet that looked to be a mini-photo book instead, pictures of your album’s photoshoot within–so unlike the thin booklets of before.

What did stand out most to him was the small card that featured a photo of yourself on the front and a signature printed on the back.

“Ahh got yerself gold right there, Captain! Her fans would kill ya for that,” Johnny chuckled, brandishing the card he received: the outfit was the same but your pose was different and he wasn’t as fortunate to receive a signature on his.

Neither did Kyle and Simon apparently, the former curiously checking your wiki page on his phone while the latter gleamed through your lyric booklet with nary a word.

Price brought his cigar to his lips for a puff, his eyes trained on your photocard, taking in every detail presented.

From having previously seen you so meek, quiet and shy to now holding a card of you dressed in full glamour, doe eyes gazing up to the camera and–

He glanced further down.

–your dress cut nice and low.

His lips pursed slightly in thought.

Perhaps it wasn’t the most professionally appropriate to be ogling his client or morally appropriate to be ogling the young woman who one of his good friends entrusted her safety to.

But hey–Price simply liked what he saw.

“You wanna trade, boss?”

Price’s gaze flickered over to Johnny, who held out his photocard: it was you with your back turned towards the camera, your eyes fixed in a wink and your fingers fixed in a peace sign. While his question was posed in a light tone, the look on his face was more like that of a puppy.

He returned his gaze to his card.

That look on your face, that revealing dress of yours.

Cigar smoke was held in his mouth a second more before he carefully released it from his lips to keep the heady clouds from floating over your card.

Shifting his eyes back to Johnny’s pleading features, he proceeded to flicker some cigar ash over a nearby tray. “It’s a tough economy out in the world, Johnny.” Practically hearing the Scot’s heart break from across the table, he held up your card once more, tapping on the front a few times–right on your cleavage at that–as he affirmed with a nod and his tone light. “I’ll be keeping this should I need to start bartering at Sainsbury’s.”

Johnny was left to seek comfort from Kyle and Simon for a trade.

“Let me save you some time, mate–I’m keeping mine.”

“Kyle, I didn’t even–Fine, fine. Simon let me see what ya got, yeah? Not like yer actually gonna do anything with it.”

“A picture’s worth a thousand words, Johnny. Hers is 10,000–start tellin’ me why I should give mine to you.”

“Dinnae gimme any of that cheek, ya bastard!”

As this went on, Price tucked your photocard away into the pocket of his bomber jacket, letting his hand linger over the printed rectangle for a moment longer.

Your beauty was worth more than gold, that was for certain.

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thank you for reading!!! for the warm reception upon debut!!! working on this piece has really reinvigorated a passion and drive for writing and i hope you all enjoy what's in store!!! 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

and just as a little something something, here's the title of the next chapter:

sweat marks all on my clothes

i wonder who shall be the focus next time !!! 🙆‍♀️🙆‍♀️

[hyperpotamianarch]

So, Jewish Fantasy! A very nebulous idea that tries to catch form in many different ways. I don't know much about how it works outside of Israel - I saved the recommendation list that circulated around here but didn't try anything from it yet (outside of Spinning Silver, which I read before I ever saw the list). So, if anything of what I say seems ludicrous to you because you've seen a book that does it well - don't hesitate to recommend it to me! Though I'm not sure how applicable it will be for what I'm about to say.

There are a couple of angles from which one can try to get at Jewish Fantasy: through using Jewish folklore and myth as a basis for your story, through using Jewish characters or by writing out of a Jewish cultural context. In certain stories, different angles tend to be more pronounced - Charashta is based on Midrashim and Jewish folklore, Spinning Silver has Jewish characters, and Agam HaTzlalim is written out of some degree of Jewish culture. Yeah, two of those are Israeli books that weren't translated, feel free to give alternative examples but those are the only one I can safely talk about since I've actually read them.

I could elaborate more on that, but what actually made me want to write a post on the topic was a post about how so much of Fantasy is Greek (in a way) and Sci-Fi is Roman. And that made me think, what about Jewish Fantasy? And while this is a topic I've thought of and been somewhat involved in conversations on for some time now, this is looking at it from a particular angle. An angle which could be examplified by the simple question: why is there no Jewish Disney Princess?

All right, all right, settle down. I know about the Vanollope von Schweetz thing. Quite frankly, considering the source for it is the word of the actress and that it has no effect on the story whatsoever, I think I'm fine with ignoring it. Feel free to shout at me in the comments, hopefully the rest of the post will explain this better.

You see, the problem is that Disney Princesses mostly come from stories about Medieval Europe, and in that particular time and place "Jewish" and "royalty" were inherently contradictory. A Jewish girl couldn't have been a princess, because Jewish communities were never a part of the ruling class. At least not in medieval Europe.

Now the reason what I'm saying is rubbish is because of other contradictory examples, like Mulan or Tiana, and maybe Pocahontas or Esmeralda. And based off of those examples I could probably whip up a couple of ideas on how to do an interesting Jewish Princess story - base it on the Book of Judith, for example, or offer a Jewish twist on some European folktales (which might be hard considering some of them actually have straight up Jewish characters playing as the villains), or... have a movie about Jews assimilating into European culture... Yeah, I can see why Pocahontas or the Hunchback of Notre-Dame might feel a little uncomfortable. But the point is: Fantasy is based on Medieval times, and Jews' role during that time wasn't one of royalty.

You can't really write a medieval Jewish kingdom, because there wasn't really any. And yes, many people try using the Khazarians for that. However, their kingdom was only Jewish for a century, maybe, before it was completely destroyed. Plus, we barely have any data on what it looked like, and its culture was likely very different from Jewish culture. So the medieval presentation of Jews would have to be of a persecuted minority. That, essentially, is what we see in Spinning Silver: a Jewish family in medieval times, a member of which serves as our protagonist. And Maryem is pretty much constantly angry about the antisemitism flourishing all around her. So I suppose that could be an example to follow - along with the stories about Maharal of Prague and the Golem, fighting blood libels.

So, you can portray Jews as an oppressed minority, constantly fighting their persecution. An alternative could probably be following the example of Ḥassidic stories, talking about the Rebbe, the Renter, the Trader and the Widow (regular character archetypes in such tales). You could have the antagonist be the local Pariz, nobleman, or perhaps the gentile that decided to be a robber, or occasionally a fellow Jew who out-leassed your protagonist from their home. All regular tropes in the day-to-day life of an... (checks notes) early modern Eastern Europen Jew? Huh. I suppose it's not exactly the same period.

Either way, if you want your story to be more fuly Jewish, to not always play against the backdrop of a non-Jewish kingdom, you have some interesting options. The first question would be: are you taking from the past or the present? If you choose present, well, you can choose between Diasporan or Israeli culture. In addition, this will more or less constrain you to some type of Urban Fantasy or other Hidden World stories, with not much of an option to delve into Epic Fantasy. If that's what you want to do - great! Go ahead and do that. Personally, I have some degree of a problem with how I've seen Israeli culture portrayed in stories so far, but that's a story unto itself.

If you choose past... well... Jewish history is nothing if not long. And if we're really trying to make a more Jewish backdrop, we'll probably need to pull from Jewish independant states or kingdoms. Of which there are a couple that can be used - Ancient Israel throughout the time of the Tanach, from the Judges through the first kings and the divided kingdoms of Judea and Israel; Yehud Medinta, which while it existed under the Persians had a Jewish governor for certain periods; the Hasmonean Dynasty, with all its ups and downs; the Kingdom of Adiabene, which converted to Judaism for a time; some short-lived Jewish independant states in defiance of the Romans; and of course, the infamous Kingdom of Khazar. There are also legendary kingdoms of the lost 10 tribes, which could possibly work as interesting additions. It is also important to note that in the Tanachic period I included a pretty vast array of periods, including the Judges (periodical local saviors and heroes), the House of Sha'ul (which isn't too easy to characterize), the Davidic Dynasty (Temple! Prophets! A bloodline promised to last! Evrything you might want from a kingdom), and the Kingdom of Israel (a couple of dynasties have their own characteristics, but most didn't survive for long).

Maybe I'll try my hand in suggesting what a kingdom based on the Hasmonean Dynasty could look like later. For now, let us start with: there is no medieval Jewish kingdom, so we'll take one from the Hellenistic period or from the Bronze Age to cover it up! Either that, or we'll try figuring out the structure of the early medieval kingdom that converted to Judaism that one time.

I'm not sure how much of a point I made, really. Thank you for reading, and have a good day!

[alexanderwales]

Movie Review: Upstream Color (2013)

I watched Primer when it came out on DVD. It's one of the few movies that, when I finished, I immediately watched a second time. I loved it. It was dense and opaque, and benefited greatly from a second watch, which made the whole thing slot together like a nice little puzzle. It was filmed on a razor-thin budget, with one of the main characters being a writer, director, producer, and editor. I immediately put Shane Carruth on my (then short) list of directors to watch.

So I've been meaning to watch Upstream Color, his second movie, for a full decade now. The reviews for it were never very good, and every Primer fan I knew of said that it was no Primer, and I guess I had other stuff going on for literally a dozen years. I keep a "to watch" movie list, which is usually 20-30 movies deep, and other stuff kept taking priority for one reason or another. I wanted to be in the right mood for it, that was definitely part of it. So I watch a movie every two or three days, something like 100 movies a year, and that means that since Upstream Color came out, I have watched more than a thousand movies instead of watching it.

Spoilers Follow

Let's start with the obvious: Upstream Color is no Primer.

I think that I could fit the story of Upstream Color into a single paragraph. It's not complicated. When we start any movie that my wife doesn't think she'll like, she goes to look up the synopsis and reviews and trivia and stuff, and she quoted me a review that said it was an "opaque mess", and ... I don't agree with that, but I can see where they're coming from.

Here's my plot synopsis:

A man (credited as "Thief") discovers some worms that can be used to induce a hypnotic state. He uses them to hypnotize a woman, Kris, and makes her give him her entire net worth while under hypnosis. When that's done, he leaves, and she writhes around under worm control until being summoned by some music by a different, unconnected man (credited as "Sampler"). The Sampler takes the worm out of her body, implants it into a pig, then releases her. She wakes up with no memory and her life is shattered. Later, she meets Jeff, who had the same thing happen to him, they fall in love, they have a psychic connection to these pigs, they gradually get more in touch with what happened to them, then they go kill the Sampler and rescue the psychic pigs.

I don't think that there's anything in there that anyone could be confused about. The movie spells everything out. There are one or two plot beats aside from that, but this is about it.

It's how the movie does this which is unusual. It's taking show, don't tell to its limits, almost never with dialogue that clarifies anything, and its scenes muddle into each other, with none of them feeling like they last more than a few seconds. There is essentially no grounding, even when it felt to me like there should be, and the movie doesn't ever really stop being a visual tone poem. I found this grating in the first five minutes, then got used to it, and eventually started to find it grating again. I guess my best point of comparison is Terrence Malick's Tree of Life, which I thought was more effective but also did grate on me a little bit.

When a moviemaker does something like this, particularly an auteur (or would-be arteur) like Shane Carruth, I always start by assuming that this is part of the point, that we're being fed the plot one way instead of another because it ties into whatever is going on thematically. And here ...

Where I thought it was most effective was the sequence when the baby pigs were being drowned, since we're almost required to have that whole thing be done with Kuleshov effect, cutting back and forth between the pigs and Kris and the pigs and Jeff. It's a nicely evocative little bit of cinema, even if I didn't think that it emotionally landed for me. Where it's less effective is when we really would have been better served by just having some straightforward exposition, or more standard filmmaking, but I guess if you're committing to the bit, you're really committing.

So what's the story about? What's the analogy, what's the theme?

Kris and Jeff are drawn together because of the psychic connection from the worms/pigs, but also (in my opinion) because they've both been victims of this horrible thing that's happened to them, their entire life having been torn down by some thief, then made to believe that they were somehow responsible. So they've got the psychic thing going on, yes, but they also have parallel traumas, and the same sort of gap in their lives. I think this what I'll call Thesis One, the shared bond of trauma.

Another major thing that struck me when watching the movie was that both our protagonists seem insane from the outside. They have this weird connection to each other that no one could understand (though they don't seem to have friends or family or anyone to talk to who could find it weird). They mix up their memories, and sometimes fight about that. They have bouts of irrationality, paranoia, anger, grief, with no explicable-to-them source. They feel like there's somewhere they're meant to be, but they try to follow that sense, and it leads them nowhere. To me, this immediately said "mental illness", so I'm going to call this Thesis Two, the terror of knowing that something isn't right with you, but having no idea what it is, having this internal feeling inside of you, patterns of behavior that make sense at the time. This movie is basically not shot like a horror movie in any way, and does not use the language of horror films, but I think it does share a lot thematically with the subgenre "mental illness horror" where the protagonist thinks they're crazy. That our two protagonists seem intensely codependent helps push that line.

Lastly, at least some of the movie is about personal identity and meaning, though I'm not sure that I would called that Thesis Three, mostly because I don't know what it's trying to say about personal identity. Clearly both Kris and Jeff are attempting to construct meaning in the wake of what's happened to them, and their identities bleed together with their overlapping memories, but this is just not fulfilled very much, and some of it is wrapped tightly in what I'd call the mental illness stuff.

Even if I'm reasonably confident in what literally happened in the film, and what it's about, there are a few things that don't really click for me.

In a normal film, I would expect that the sequence goes:

woman gets hypnotized and wormed

life is ruined

lots of strange thoughts and adventures with another man who is equally crazy

revelation that she's not crazy after all

revenge and catharsis

But in Upstream Color, the Thief and Sampler are implied to be operating entirely separate from each other. There's a little gap which can't entirely be closed through inference, but it's implied the Sampler incidentally pollutes the water with dead worm-pigs, the organism infects plants, those plants get (totally be coincidence?) taken up by exotic plant foragers, then bought by the Thief. So the Thief and Sampler apparently don't have any relationship with one another.

And yet, it's the Sampler, who removes the worms from people and puts them into pigs, that gets killed in the end. Yes, he was the one to kill the Kris-pig's piglets, but ... I don't really understand this narrative beat. Do they assume that he was the Thief? The Thief gets away with it, and all we see of him in the end is that he's sadly shaking his head because the magic worms are all gone.

I mean, yes, the Sampler is a creep who uses his psychic connection to peep on stranger's lives, and yes, most of these people (seem to be) victims of the Thief, and it's fucked up to not give them information or closure. But if the Sampler and Thief are unrelated, which seems likely to me, then it feels like the Sampler is taking bullets better meant for the Thief? Or is it just because he killed some piglets?

And what does that mean?

I am, moreover, confused about what the function of the Sampler is when compared to what the themes are. Does he tie in with the mental illness angle? No, not really. Does he tie in with shared bond of trauma? Only in that he's preventing people from getting closure, I guess. He's a voyeur, a failed artist, some of this ties to personal identity, but again, it doesn't feel like a strong thesis, it just feels kind of random, especially since we have virtually nothing to go on as far as the Sampler's motives or history. He seemed to me like he was mostly just an artist, with the sounds of nature as his primary art and the experiences of other people as his secondary "art".

I'm going to give my hot take on this movie now, which is that I would have liked it a lot better if it were more traditionally structured. The opening five or so minutes really made me think that I would have been better off leaving it on the to-watch list. The "piecing together the location of the Sampler and getting revenge" stuff was super rushed and kind of nonsensical, and offered no catharsis, only confusion.

Overall, I would say I didn't like the movie. I think it was trying too hard to be deep (for me this is a very high bar to clear), and didn't benefit from the experimental aspects, and would have been better if it at least had a stronger idea of what it was trying to say.

I will now go read some reviews, and maybe that will help something click for me. Hopefully I haven't missed anything major.

[theweeklydiscourse]

The reply to your initial post isn’t wrong. Regardless of whether or not you liked their tone, they are correct in stating that The Darkling never “gave” Genya to the King with the intention of pumping her out. This is not to say that his actions were morally pure, but they’re certainly not what most of the fandom construes them as. Here’s a passage from Bardugo’s Genya focused short story, The Tailor:

I'd told myself I would be dignified. I would plead my case rationally. But when Ivan closed the door, I started to cry. The Darkling might have chastised me or turned his back. But he put his arm around me, sat me down at the table. He poured me a glass of water and waited until I was calm enough to take a gulping sip.

"Do not let them humble you," he said softly.

I'd had a speech prepared, a hundred things I wanted to say. All of it went out of my head, and I sputtered the first thing that came into my mind.

“I don't want to wear this anymore," I pleaded. "It's a servant's uniform."

"It's a soldier's uniform."

I shook my head, choking back another sob.

"If you tell me you cannot bear this, then I will send you from here and you need never wear those colors or walk the halls of the Grand Palace again. You will be safe, I promise you that."

I looked up at him, not quite believing. "Safe?"

"Safe. But I can promise you this, too: You are a soldier. You could be my greatest soldier. And if you stay, if you can endure this, one day all will know it."

(…) His face grew serious. “I can promise you safety,” he said. “Or I can promise to see your suffering repaid a thousandfold.” With the pad of his thumb, he brushed a stray tear from beneath my eye. “You decide, Genya.”

That choice was hard, but this one is easy.”

So no, the person who responded to your post isn’t coping, they are telling you the truth. Even though his larger motivations (the liberation of Grisha) show through in this exchange, it is still true that he offers Genya a way out. It’s not as morally black as most make it out to be, but it’s not pure either. I’m clarifying this specific detail because I believe that the Darkling’s actions towards Genya are more upsetting compared to the other things he’s done. BUT, if we’re going to criticize him then we can at least stick to the facts.

The fact is that Genya was brought to serve the Queen and that same Queen failed to protect the girl in service from her own husband. Genya remained in her service because she was the Darkling’s spy, but it was the Queen who ignored Genya when she needed help and punished her further for her husband’s actions.

It’s a little funny that you mocked that person for humanizing such a villainous character when the author herself goes to great lengths to do the very same thing. Just look to the novella she wrote about him, and then look to the additional graphic novel adaptation of that novella in which he is portrayed as unambiguously sympathetic. He is humanized time and time again (even in the example I just cited in The Tailor)

All this to say, I can understand being disgusted by a character’s actions but I wouldn’t be so hasty to dismiss the facts of the narrative.

"The Darkling from Shadow and Bone should've been an enemies to lovers situation"

Do people just forget that the darkling is an abuser and a pedophile and a groomer??

I will genuinely never understand how people can read what he did to Genya, nevermind Alina and Nikolai and Zoya and countless others, and still romanticize him. He gave a child to an adult man, knowing what would be done to her and then he hurt her so badly as an adult, sorry a teenager, she was unrecognizable to her closest friends

There's something to be said for how easily his character manipulated people and how that's the point of the type of abuser he is but jesus h christ at some point common sense has to kick in too no? Yeah okay he's hot, wow amazing not like there's ever been a hot man before, like I'm sorry a bit of self respect wouldn't go astray. I genuinely couldn't imagine reading about what he did to Genya and feel anything but nauseous at the thought of him

I can understand people who empathize with him because of what he was fighting for, that's what makes him so compelling, but actually romanticizing him? Wanting him to be the love interest?? No I'm sorry there's something so sickening about that

[emcads]

sometimes people will say to me "oh but in canon –– !" metaphorically i am putting a finger to your lips. i make stuff up. it pleases me.

[goldkirk]

When did the latest 1,000 of you follow me??? good lord hi and welcome, I should maybe pay attention to my notifications and activity page more 😭

[majorshatterandhare]

I’m thinking about how the Mechs use energy, because they do things and live and therefore they *must* use energy, that’s how physics (and biology) work.

I had the idea that they are always absolutely frigid to the touch because they suck in heat from the environment like an endothermic chemical reaction.

[winepresswrath]

I got extremely sick and watched all of love between fairy and devil in a miserable haze and I've gotta say 1) bodyswapping at its finest 2) with slight tweaks the idiot ball did not need to be passed around so much/at all 3) the fuckup little brother industrial complex still has me in its grasp but this time I've gotta give it up for the shifufucker. they really nailed the miserable oblivion of quasi-incestuous all consuming devotion & that's not even my thing. Good job team!

[kymal]

heres another controversial m9 animated series opinion but i hope they cut out like 95% of the 'everyone has a crush on jester now' stuff...

[coolspacequips]

I feel like I broke the seal and now I keep wanting to urgently tell you guys about this mean gay valet, too, RIP

[kenmakaashi]

ik people don’t like alan but honestly I think there’s more that we don’t know and I’d like him to appear more (which I assume he will bc of the main plot + the love plot)

[eorzeashan]

Thoughts incoherent cuz it's too early for me still but hc that during Onslaught + Echoes Eight returns to the Empire but mostly to manage Jadus' financials and other garbage that he can't take care of all the way over in solitude, so he just returns to tend to his property and other shit, all the while playing the role of bereaved widower whose husband hasn't come back from the war so he can pretend he's too melancholic and aggrieved to get involved in current conflicts (liar). This of course, makes a lot of Sith fall for it bc when he starts swiping at his tears it gets really awkward, and it's a bad look if you ask someone's weeping spouse to fight for you instead when they're wailing about how they feel so unsafe and alone and they're just a weak little officer who needs a big strong Sith to protect them yet they will wait an eternity for Lord Jadus to return and oh woe.

The minute they leave, he drops the act.

[sluttish-armchair]

Me: “I’m going to stop procrastinating and read The Invisible Man this weekend.”

Me, not even a day later: “Hehehehe Fahrenheit 451 go BRRRRRRR”

[featherymainffins]

How it feels to want to support your mutuals because their way of reading the source is also completely valid and interesting when your interpretation absolutely forbids pretty much everything they're cooking