#though it feels all very cliche and overdone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mask131 · 1 year ago

Text

Alright, after all this time, here is my opinion (kind of review?) of Netflix's The Monkey King, aka The Monkey King 2023 (at least one of the Monkey King movies of this year). I haven't done movie talk in a long time, but here we go. Also, spoiler-free!

Let's begin with the question everybody wants to know about. Is this movie bad? Definitively not. You cannot say in good faith and honesty that it is a bad movie. If you really disliked the movie, the most you can say is that it is "average" and not average as in a "mediocre, okay, decent, basic" kind of way - average as in "the bad elements are balanced by great ones". But if you ask me, the movie is good. Or more precisely it is "Good, but not without its flaws". It does have some little flaws here and there that prevent it from being an excellent or perfect movie, but it is a good/great movie.

Let's talk already of the little flaws first. Many people have already pointed them out before, so I won't expand on them much. I will say that I watched all of the movie in one go, without stopping, without even realizing how time went by, I truly watched the movie with ease and in one go - I originally just wanted to watch the first part and then stop and take it back later, I ended up binging the whole thing, so you know, classic Netflix type of product where you just do it all in one go (which is a good sign!). There was just one moment I cringed a bit, and that forms the weakest segment of the movie for me, and it is the second part of the "fake orchard of immortality" scene. But this is tied to the way the Dragon King and his minions are handled.

The Dragon King is a very cool-looking character based on an excellent idea, but I have to admit that it is one of the most... surprising elements of the movie because while in some scenes he is written as a great character that works, in other scenes he dangerously borders the overdone cliche. Overall he is an enjoyable villain and a good character that fits in the whole created world, but I admit some of his jokes fall a bit dull for me (though the finale made hm even greater than before - in all the senses of the term). It is a bit in the image of his villain song, "Take the world by storm": when I first heard it I cringed at some lyrics and jokes in the beginning and wondered why this song was here, but then I re-listened to it, loved it and it can't get out of my head. It perfectly translates the Dragon King character as a cool concept and great idea that sometimes is pushed a little bit too much when things should have been a bit more subtle or shortened. Another thing that I would call ambiguous is the heavy influence and references to Disney movies, of which the Dragon King participates as he is the most Disney-villain villain a Netflix product ever created. I think all this Disney influence will split people in two - on one hand some people will dislike it because they will see as just copying what has already been done before, and perceive there a lack of true imagination ; on the other hand some people will love it because they will get back the feeling of the Disney renaissance movies and will appreciate the homage and having back traditional Disney villains and characters "as they used to make".

For me the biggest "flaw" if you can call it a flaw - which isn't really a flaw because it doesn't "hurt" the movie, it would be rather... the biggest "blend" of the movie is the way the new plot is handled. Because the writers of the movie took no real risk, took no chance when devising a new plot to convey the movie. I am not talking about the adapting part - because they did a wonderful job at adaptating in a simple and concise way the entire whole first part of Journey to the West, into a simple, easy to understand, one hour and a half movie mostly aimed at a young audience. And that is definitively one of the good points of this movie, because it isn't an easy feat at all! But as a result, to make sure they reached this state, they went with a plot that is absolutely "classic" in all the senses of the term. Everything was expected, nothing in terms of plot-twist or plot-advancement felt new, I could already guess what could happen and where things were going. Mind you, I am an adult who watched numerous Disney and Pixar movies and who knows Journey to the West and several of its adaptations, so of course I wasn't going to be surprised. Again, this movie clearly is aimed at a young audience - one without an extensive cinematographic knowledge, and one probably unaware of Journey to the West, so I guess for this target audience the "generic-ess" or "bland-ness" of the plot won't be much of a problem. Plus, I am forced to concede that the new plot to convey the events HAD to be as simple and classic as that, because this was the best way to again, simplify the original material to create an easily accessable, reachable and understandable movie for an audience unaware of the source material or not familiar with the culture it came from.

Some people have also pointed out that "the cultural mix sometimes work, sometimes doesn't". I agree with this too. Because one of the specificity of this movie is that it tries to truly be a modern piece (and thus goes with the Percy Jackson, Asterix and co treatment of having more modern elements in Ancient China), and it tries to truly be a Chinese-American movie, by mixing purely Chinese landscapes, material and characters with American references and influences (such as the Disney one). Sometimes it works in funny way (I can't stress ow hilarous it is to have Sun Wukong live in a Disney-like universe), other times it makes you wonder if this was a wise decision.

So anyway, that was the little flaws that prevented the movie from being perfect. As some reviewers said "It is great, fun, fast, hilarious and cool-looking, but a bit odd from time to time."

But what about the GREATNESS of the movie? Oh, the things I saw, the things to say!

If the creators of the movie did not take any risk plot-wise, on the contrary they took all the risks with the visuals. Can I just say first that the animation is absolutely gorgeous and wonderful? And I want to stress something that many cynical or worn-down reviewers tend to forget: today's technology, and today's animation, is something wonderful and majestic and a prowess of technology and technique. I remember when everybody bashed on "Elemental" for the plot or the characters, and nobody took the time to point out how GREAT and FRIGGIN AWESOME the visuals and the animations were. Hopefully I have a bit of an "anchor" here in the form of... my mother. Because my mother stopped watching animated movies around the 80s or so, and only started back looking at some from the late 2000s onward (and mostly because I watched them as a youth), and every time I share with her a new animated piece, she keeps pointing out how amazed and shocked she is at animation style or animation processes that, for me, as a kid who grew up with the wonders of the early 21st century, were just "normal". It really puts into perspective how far we got into the animation world and how exceptional these movies are today - even if the content is bland, the creation, the material and the effort put in them is wonderful.

And Netflix's The Monkey King is definitively one of those movies that benefitted from the recent boom in unusual and daring animation experiences these late years (Elemental, the last Puss in Boots movie, the recent Spiderverse animated pieces, this Disney movie which featured the first openly gay character and that was completely ignored by the press and whose name I forgot about...). They truly played all the cards, with fast-pace action combat, unusual designs, vibrant color palettes, a true work on camera angles, daring to shift animation from 3d to 2D for some sequences, gigantic landscape works, etc etc... Now, I noticed that some people were put-off by some design choices in this movie. It is true that due to their choice of more cartoony designs for the supernatural beings (to contrast them with the human beings), some of the Immortals in particular can come of as better-versions, but still a bit off putting, of some of the 3D animated Addams Family designs. I admit this might not win over everyone - but at least that is a risk and a dare the anmators chose to still go into the unusual and bizarre. Again, the uniqueness and work and daring risks with the visuals truly complete and "excuse" the "genericness" and "expectedness" of the plot.

The other great thing about this movie is the characters. It has been a long time since any children movie characters grew on me, but their handling of the Monkey King was a perfectly simplified and child-suited interpretation of the original Monkey King - not sweetened up, but without playing too much into the horror aspect either, and using perfect metaphors to convey in a simply way what the character is about (the metaphor of the teenager more irresponsible and unwise than an actual child, the concept of the wild child that was never raised or loved by anyone and so got on his own all throughout his life). There is no real subtlety in the characters, just like in the motifs (the HAND! THE HAND IS EVERYWHERE!), but at least they don't try to do overtly subtle or complicated stuff - they know they are doing a simple, down-to-the-point, let's-go-and-have-fun-and-not-think-too-much, type of cast and story, and they do ther best to do something simple but efficient, unbsubtle but fun without being overtly blunt or hitting you too much on the head either. And the character of Lin actually grew onto me a LOT, much more than I would have expected. I actually liked the character - and the fact that she is a child depicted as intelligent, mature and reasonable might be part of this.

People also heavily praised the music, which I agree, the soundtrack is really cool. The movie is very fast-paced - which did bother some reviewers who said they couldn't just pause and breathe - but personally I enjoyed it, because again it works with their simplification and heavy reliance on visuals and characters more than plot, the fastness of the action and the quickness of it all allows you to just take the whole movie whole, without anything dragging on too much. Again, simplicity is key - and for example the whole "end of the fake orchard sequence" felt somehow cringe, precisely because there they slowed down the action and took a bit too much time on something that truly wasn't worth as much.

When I talked about the risks they took with this movie, I shall include one risk that I had doubts about but actually kind of paid off - the stick. It is not a big spoiler, but Sun Wukong's magical staff is here a full character, a sentient being, and acts as the "make some weird noise mechanical companion" to the hero, which has been a character archetype ever since Star Wars, the original Clash of Titans, and other American movies of this era. I had BIG doubts at first, but ultimately it didn't felt very cringe or badly handled, and it worked quite fine. Ultimately, I also have to admire the team for going this route because I do not think this iea had been ever brought up in any adaptation or retelling of Journey to the West - I think this is the first time the magical staff is treated as a character rather than a prop, and this participates in the uniqueness of this movie.

Of course, let's also conclude by the big effort made by this movie to have a majority of Chinese-descending participants for this piece. In fact, I will conclude my review on this final thought: I am quite certain that there are lots of Chinese cultural references I, and others, missed in this movie, due to not being familiar with Chinese culture. Everybody saw the Disney influence ; but I had to dig up and research to find out the influence on this movie of other animated pieces of China. For example, I discovered that this depiction and incarnation of the Dragon King seems to have been heavily influenced by the famous Chinese animated movie of the 70s, "Nezha conquers the Dragon King", a movie I have to shamely admit I had no knowledge of the existence prior to a few days. So I am fairly certain there must be other easter eggs and references to Chinese movies, animated pieces or mythological adaptations out there.

#the monkey king #monkey king #sun wukong #netflix's the monkey king #netflix's monkey king #monkey king 2023 #the monkey kign 2023 #journey to the west #journey to the west adaptations #jttw #animated movie #review #movie review #my opinion #netflix movie #chinese culture

52 notes · View notes

dinogoose · 2 years ago

Text

and now you’re mine (it was all by design)

“So uh,” Buck begins, leaning against the truck and crossing his arms over his chest, “Come here often?” He asks in the suavest voice he can achieve.

Eddie looks around, confused, “To a house fire?”

Not deterred, Buck nods his head.

The older man shakes his head, exasperated, as he continues rolling up the hose, “Yes Buck, it’s our job. What is wrong with you?”

(or, buck uses pick up lines to get with eddie. it doesn't go well.)

Buck's up late one night, going down the rabbit hole, following article after article to ease his active mind.

After he finishes reading one titled ‘6 Literary Masterpieces That Almost Never Saw the Light of Day’, he stumbles upon one called ‘40 Best Pickup Lines Ever!’ which is a bold claim, but Buck clicks on it anyways.

The lines are all ones Buck has heard before, the very cliche, corny, classic pickup lines. Ones that would likely never truly work on another living, breathing person.

Although, Buck is desperate.

So he makes a plan, he’ll finally confess to Eddie, finally ask the man he’s been in love with for years, out.

But of course, because he’s him, he’s going to use these overdone lines to do it. What could go wrong?

(Later, when he tells Maddie about this plan, she smacks him upside the head for being an idiot)

—

His first attempt happens on a call- which in his defense, it was as they were wrapping up, and no one was injured.

He gives himself a little pep talk, trying to psych himself up. The only thing it does however is make Ravi think he’s crazy as he watches him mutter to himself.

Then using all the confidence he can muster up, he struts over to Eddie.

“So uh,” Buck begins, leaning against the truck and crossing his arms over his chest, “Come here often?” He asks in the suavest voice he can achieve.

Eddie looks around, confused, “To a house fire?”

Not deterred, Buck nods his head.

The older man shakes his head, exasperated, as he continues rolling up the hose, “Yes Buck, it’s our job. What is wrong with you?”

Buck huffs, ready to explain himself, or maybe try a different approach, when Bobby calls for everyone to get back in the truck.

Eddie shoots him one last baffled glance before he gets on the truck.

Buck shakes his head, slightly dejected. He’ll just need to try again.

—

Another opportunity presents itself during some downtime they have in between calls.

Buck finds Eddie lounging on the couch, watching Hen and Ravi playing an intense round of Mario Kart. (Buck is pretty sure there’s money riding on it)

He plops down on the cushion next to him, which Eddie pays zero mind to as personal space doesn’t exist in their friendship.

Eddie’s hand is opened, facing palm up from where it’s resting on his thigh. Buck bumps their knees together, attempting to gain his attention.

The older man turns to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed together asking a silent question. Buck leans in closer,

“Your hand looks heavy, can I hold it for you?” He asks, gesturing to Eddie’s hand. Eddie’s eyebrows scrunch together even more as he squints at Buck.

“What?” Is what he eventually asks, still scrutinizing Buck as if the answers to all his questions will be displayed clearly on the blonde's face.

Buck just sighs, long and drawn out before turning away from Eddie.

“…Never mind.” He dismisses, missing the way Eddie’s lips tick up into a smile.

Buck is certainly feeling less sure of his plan, but hey, the third time's a charm right?

—

At the very end of their shift, Buck decides to give it one last go.

They’re removing their turncoats from their last call when Buck suddenly turns to Eddie,

“Are you from Tennessee? Cause you’re the only ten I see.”

“…I’m from Texas,” Eddie answers slowly, as he hangs up his coat.

“I know you’re from Tex-“ Eddie walks away towards the locker rooms, “-as. Man, I thought that was going to work.” Buck whispers to himself, another failed attempt under his belt.

Though this time Chimney had a front-row seat and is now cackling so loud Buck can feel his ears ringing.

“What was that?” Chim asks in between his laughter, Buck shoots him a glare that makes Chimney laugh harder.

Despite not wanting to tell him in the slightest, because Chimney’s an asshole, Buck feels like he should tell someone about this plan (this plan that’s stupid and half-baked at best).

“I’m trying to… ‘pick up’ Eddie, using pick-up lines.” He tells him using hand quotes. Chimney doubles over, nearly cracking his head on the linoleum.

“God- sometimes I can’t even believe you’re a real person, Buckley.” He stands up, wiping his eyes, “Well, I’m off to tell Hen about this, but,” Chim glances over to the locker rooms, “good luck, lover boy!” Then he claps Buck on the back, before leaving him standing alone.

Buck trudges to the locker room, not prepared for the awkwardness he and Eddie have been experiencing all day (that’s entirely his fault).

“Hey, man.” Eddie greets casually as if what happened five minutes again didn’t occur.

“Hey,” Buck says back, before changing from his uniform into his civvies with practiced ease.

Eddie is already done, and holding his duffel, due to his head start, but he seems to be waiting for something.

“Do you want to come over?” The brunette asks, catching Buck a little off guard.

“Oh- uh- yeah. I’ll follow you home?” It’s phrased as a question, but they both know this routine well, so Eddie just nods affirmatively.

He leaves and Buck takes a moment to slam his head into his locker.

—

Eddie unsurprisingly beats him home, (home, he meant the Diaz’s home) so Buck takes a moment to freak out on his porch.

What if Eddie confronts him? Calls him out for being a weirdo who’s been horribly flirting with him all day?

God, Buck doesn’t think he’d survive if Eddie turned him down, even if it was gentle and kind, because Eddie is a wonderful man who does his best to be good (and he succeeds, it’s one of Buck’s favorite things about him).

Buck honestly might be a minute away from a panic attack when the door in front of him swings open, startling him out of it.

“Did it hurt?” Eddie asks once the door is fully opened. He’s changed into a soft t-shirt and sweats, and Buck feels his mouth dry up.

“What- huh? Did what hurt?” Buck asks, meeting Eddie’s eyes, which seem to be sparkling with… amusement?

“When you fell from Heaven.” The older man deadpans. Buck squints in confusion at him, until everything clicks.

“You dick! You knew!” He shouts, jamming a finger into Eddie’s chest. Eddie just snorts at him, dragging him inside before shutting the door.

“Of course I knew, I’m not an idiot.” The words are mean, but he sounds incredibly fond so Buck lets it slide.

“Oh, my god. I cannot believe you right now.” Buck declares dramatically, though his hand now rests over Eddie’s heart, craving the contact.

“I’m sorry!” Eddie exclaims through laughter, “I had to, you’re my favorite person to mess with. But to answer your early question, yes, you can hold my hand for me.”

Buck shoves him a little, then grabs his hand intertwining it with his own.

“Chimney made fun of me for using pick-up lines on you.” Eddie’s smile grows upon hearing this.

“Rightfully so.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Yep, one hundred percent.” Eddie agrees easily. He tugs Buck closer to him, their faces inches apart, “Now will you kiss me?”

Buck closes the gap between them, slotting their mouths together perfectly. They move against each other in sync, always in sync.

When Buck bites gently on Eddie’s bottom lip the older man gasps, opening up for Buck’s tongue.

They break apart both panting.

“Hey, what material is your shirt made of?” Eddie asks suddenly, still slightly out of breath. Buck tilts his head dazed.

“‘Cause it looks like boyfriend material.”

(here’s it is! it was slightly rushed because I’m traveling currently, but I hope you still enjoyed! thank you for reading!)

#tv: 911 #buddie #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fic #911 fic #911 fanfic #chimney han #awkward flirting #silliness #buck x eddie #buddie 911

64 notes · View notes

takeariskao3 · 2 years ago

Note

Hi Hannah, I can’t wait for the next chapter of tpfy! You mentioned a couple of next gen tpfy fics you were thinking of writing, are those still in the works?

hi! you sent this message several weeks ago and i didn’t have the heart to answer at the time because i thought it was going to be “i wish but no” type of an answer

and it still *kind of* is a no. or maybe not a no but definitely a not right now, but i figured it’d be fun to share anyway. i do have a story that lives in my head sometimes. i really want it to be about mothers and daughters and sisters and girlhood and growing up. ruby is the main pov character and i imagined the timing to be the summer after her second or third year at hogwarts. it doesn’t really have a plot (and the ones that’s i’ve thrown around feel cliche and/or overdone)

HOWEVER … i do have a prologue. from ginny’s pov and an epilogue too but that’s spoilers

so here, have some mom ginny to soothe the soul (under the cut for length)

Prologue

Parents don’t have favorites.

At least, that’s what her mum always said, even though Ginny never quite believed her. Molly Weasley had seven children, surely she had to prefer one or two over the others. It was only reasonable.

Ginny had asked, of course. Dozens of times. Always as some sort of joke, but still… she’d asked.

It’s Percy isn’t it? Wait, that’s absurd. It’s got to be Bill.

Her mother would sigh and give Ginny her most exasperated expression, then follow it up always with the same statement.

Parents don’t have favorites.

It wasn’t until Ginny was fourteen that she realized she’d asked so many times because she’d always suspected it might be her. And she couldn’t bear the thought of maybe, possibly, once being the favorite and somehow letting her mother down enough that she would lose that designation.

Then, when she was sixteen, she stopped asking altogether.

Because parents don’t have favorites, except maybe when a child gets taken from them forever.

It took until she had her own children to understand the lunacy behind such an idea.

Turns out, it’s true. Parents don’t have favorites. Ginny loves her three children fiercely, without question, without hesitation, and absolutely equally.

However, one caveat to this fact is that her children, however much she loves them all the same, are vastly different from one another. And therefore her relationship with each is distinct and unique, and completely individual to them.

Lily, their first, turned the we into three, and Ginny couldn’t define or quantify the emotion that she felt when Harry held his daughter for the first time. Lily looked just like him, just like Ginny said she would. With jet black hair that stuck up all over the place; bright green eyes that were always observing; and a thin, angular face that never quite filled out, even as a baby. Ginny often joked that she did all the work and Harry got all the credit, but deep down she knew she wouldn’t've had it any other way. Lily gave Harry something he’d never had in his entire life. Someone that was wholly and completely his.

She made them a family.

And if Lily kickstarted the whole thing, James, their baby, completed it. Mostly because Ginny was terrified of following in her mother’s footsteps and somehow birthing twins, but also because James was an impossible act to follow. He never settled as a baby, always kicking and flailing and babbling to his sisters’ delight. As a toddler, he never did things in the right order. One day he couldn’t be bothered to pull up on the ottoman, perfectly content to crawl places at fifteen months old, then the next, he simply stood up and started running. Once he was finally up and going, he never sat still. As a child he was constantly wandering and exploring and yelling “Mum! Look!” right before revealing a toad, or an anthill, or, one time, a very disgruntled opossum.

And that was James: happy, determined, and someone who didn’t even know the concepts of fear or failure existed.

Lily was the overture, James the finale, and Ruby — their sweet, darling Ruby — was the glue that held it all together.

She came pretty soon after Lily. Not Molly Weasley soon, but still, soon. And it’s an understatement to say Ginny was overwhelmed by day to day life with a newborn and a two year old. Thankfully, Lily was pliable enough to get carted between uncles and godparents and the Burrow for little spurts of time when Harry was traveling for work or when Ginny desperately needed a bath. And somewhere along the way, as Lily grew and flourished into independence, Ruby became Ginny’s constant companion. Ruby was her snuggle bug, her little shadow, her mini-me as she was the only one of the three who’d inherited the Weasley copper hair. She’d been strapped to Ginny’s chest in a wrap for the first eight or so weeks of her life, and subsequently got extremely used to Mum’s presence. She wanted held to sleep, not just rocked to sleepy. She wanted “Mummy, hold you?” and “Mummy, cuddles?” anytime, day or night. Even when it was middle of July and they had every window thrown open to coax in some hint of a breeze, Ruby was snuggled into Ginny’s side, sweaty and hot and fast asleep, but never quite close enough to her Mum.

She was hardly ever needy, or dramatic in her attachment, just resolute. Ruby knew what she wanted, and usually, what she wanted was Ginny. However as she got older, her timidity developed into quiet confidence, and then into staunch beliefs of right and wrong. She didn't have to learn what was good or what was bad, Ruby just knew. Inherently. Intrinsically.

She got that from Harry.

Because heavens knew Ginny had her struggles with knowing what was right and what was easy. What she didn’t know, was that it was possible, as a fully grown woman, to look up to an eight year old; but as Ruby stared down a girl twice her size and told her to stop tormenting the birds at the observatory, Ginny knew in that moment that her daughter was quite possibly her hero.

Ruby was also Ginny's to protect. Hers to grow and nurture and advocate for. The other two were just different. Lily had Harry, God-forbid James ever need anyone, but Ruby? Ruby was hers. Ginny would burn the world three times over for any of her children, but she was quite confident in Lily and James’ own potential for conflagration, and Ruby was the only one who would need her to.

Because Ruby wasn't a fire, she was an ocean. Thoughtful and deep, sometimes tumultuous, but steady as the tides.

It took Ginny a long time to understand that her protectiveness was largely unnecessary. Because when it came to fire versus ocean, ocean won. Every time.

But again, just to reiterate, parents don’t have favorites.

#tpfy next gen #the path from you #anon #answered

59 notes · View notes

unclewaynemunson · 2 years ago

Note

( 🥐 anon :D )

i'm writing my first steddie fic and i was wondering if you had any tips for writing them. or just tips in general. i've written before, but i haven't written ships before. ):

HELLO MY LOVE!!!

Honestly me writing always kinda feels like a bunch of possums in a trenchcoat pretending to be somewhat articulate, so i feel completely and utterly out of my depth giving writing advice tbh! It's really fucking sweet of you to ask that though, seriously, that's so kind of you and I've been thinking about it all day.

Anyway, I'm just gonna go with an overdone cliche here and say, find a story worth telling. And for me personally in fandom the most important thing would be characterization. Like, stay close to the source material and keep asking yourself, "Would they do this? Would they say this? Are they turning into someone I want them to be or are they still true to their essence in the show?" And even with that basis you can take a loooot of liberty - for me it always kinda feels like coloring I guess. As long as you stay between the lines you won't be changing anything too major about who they are, but it's all up to you whatever the hell happens within those lines. You can choose your own colors, make your own patterns, be as creative as you want with it. So don't let yourself be confined by rules too much, and most importantly, have fun with it :D Don't write for the likes or the recognition, because while that's certainly a great part of it, the very best part of writing is having a blast just you and your keyboard and nothing else.

And lastly, I'm suuuuper curious about what you're gonna write, so if you wanna tell me about it, my askbox is so very open! (I also get it if you wanna stay the lovely anonymous 🥐 and don't necessarily want me to read your shit so don't feel pressured tho! Hope you're having a great day and sending you all the good writing vibes!!)

3 notes · View notes

tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 14 days ago

Text

I've watched a whole lot of stand-up hours in the last couple of months, that's what I've decided to do with my media time lately. I've written about a few of them that particularly stand out, though there are lots of others that sort of run together, or I'll watch them at a time when I don't have a chance to write posts, so even if I really liked them, I end up not mentioning them.

However, I really have to specifically mention this one, because it was so good and so memorable:

I'm pretty sure this was the last Phil Nichol show that's been recorded but I'd not seen - I've seen the others on GFS, and the two older ones that are on NextUp (they include his 2006 one that won the Edinburgh award). I've liked all the Phil Nichol stuff I've seen, but this one, Welcome to Crazytown, was really different and showed off incredible skill and I enjoyed it a lot.

It's all written in verse, tightly scripted yet chaotic, deep in character yet all the fast-paced energy that is distinctly Phil Nichol. I must admit it took me until about five minutes in, at first, to work out that he's 100% in character and none of this is based on reality, and then I had to re-start the video and watch with that understanding.

So, if anyone wants to hear an hour-long comedy poem, in character as an American slam poet telling a night in a gritty and crime-ridden city, told with the speed and ferocity of someone who's taken a lot of drugs that increase their speech's speed and ferocity (that last thing isn't only in this show, that's just how Phil Nichol talks), I recommend purchasing that GFS video. It's an incredible feat of writing and performing.

That show reminded me of how much I like Phil Nichol, and I ended up listening to his very recent episode of the Angel Comedy Podcast, which is two hours long and very interesting:

I nearly skipped this when I saw that the episode description mentions that he discusses "cancel culture". Phil Nichol is a bit "old school" in a few ways, he's one of those edgy comedians where I could imagine that he has the potential to be among those guys who react to the cultural "wokeness" tide with defensiveness and a reactionary nature - I didn't know whether this had happened to Phil Nichol, I could just imagine it was possible, and to be honest, if it had happened, I didn't really want to know.

But I decided to trust how articulate Phil Nichol is whenever I hear him talk, and figure this podcast episode would be worth listening to even if it does apparently mention "cancel culture", and I was glad I did. The discussion went up and down across its two-hour runtime, and I certainly didn't agree with everything he said. In fact, he said a lot of stuff with which I disagreed. But he said it thoughtfully, and without reducing people to "woke" cliches, and with a genuine effort to consider multiple points of view, and it made for an interesting discussion. Overall, I did not come out of that thinking he's gone down the anti-woke rabbit hole - even though he easily could have done that, and many of his contemporaries have. I don't think he's right about everything (in my personal opinion), but I think he's reasonable. And it was interesting to hear a conversation like that - one that gets into the incredibly overdone and now-boring topic of cancel culture - in which I disagree with a person, but still feel like the discussion was reasonable.

Here's one thing that stood out to me at times while I was listening to it: Phil Nichol had all these cool stories of comedians he respects and has worked with and wants recognized, and as a comedy nerd, I loved hearing stuff like that. But as he told story after story of all these different comedians and their place in history, I did find myself thinking, occasionally:

Most of Phil Nichol's comedy stories are 20 or so years old, and of course things were different back then, white men made up a far greater proportion of British comedians, so it makes sense for them to be featured in his stories. I'm thinking of that interview that Russell Howard did in 2008, when he complained (in a very un-PC way that I'm sure he wouldn't say now - at least, he wouldn't say it into a microphone while being recorded for a podcast) that sometimes women are more likely to get panel show spots than men (again, it was 2008 when he made this complaint, long before the BBC ruled against all-male panel lineups, back when Mock the Week had plenty of those, but apparently it was still a problem that occasionally they put one woman on there, anyway I'm getting off topic and didn't mean to start going on about that again, but seriously, what the fuck, Russell?), because the women have a "USP". That's a problem, isn't it? If just being a woman - given that women are 50% of the population - counts as a unique selling point to make you stand out from the crowd, then there aren't enough women in the crowd.

Anyway though, I recognize that being a woman in comedy was, in fact, in some ways a USP back in those older days, as there were fewer of them than there are now. But still, there were some of them. I also recently listened to Oliver Double's episode of the Angel Comedy Podcast, and he told a lot of old stories about comedy in the 80s and 90s, and he named plenty of women. They had women back then. I think it might say something about Phil Nichol's perspective, when he feels like the type of comedy that used to be funny is now unfairly maligned, but also, when he's listing the centrepieces of that golden age of comedy, they're all white men.

(I'm also aware that saying this is hypocritical of me because my own blog can get too focused on white and/or male comedians sometimes. My main obsession is the Chocolate Milk Gang, which is almost all white and almost all male. But at least they had, like, Josie Long. Occasionally Isy Suttie. There were women in comedy back then.)

To be clear, Phil Nichol did not go on that podcast and say "I hate that racism and misogyny aren't considered funny anymore!" If he'd said that, I would not be writing this post about how I like him. He said a bunch of stuff about how cultural norms are changing, and people's reactions to comedy change in good and bad ways, and people aren't on the same page about how to interpret stuff. But he did manage to have a discussion about cancel culture in comedy that was actually interesting, which I'd thought would be impossible by late 2024.

He also said he hates a comedy show with a strong message or that tackles an issue, which was a very weird thing for Phil Nichol to say, given that he won a large award for his 2006 show that was explicitly (very explicitly) an anti-war protest. And his 2005 show definitely tackled some issues. Tackled them brutally, I'd say. Tackled them so hard that someone should have brought in the concussion assessors. This will make more sense if you've seen his NextUp shows, but not a lot more sense, just like the shows themselves. They're very good though.

0 notes

romanreadsbooks · 1 month ago

Text

The Bear and The Nightingale by Katherine Arden - Review

TL;DR

4.1 Stars

Pros: Characters, atmospheric writing style, glossary

Cons: Confusing character names/nicknames, slow paced

Continue the Series? Maybe

Spoilers in review? No

Opinions going in/why I picked it up:

I have a friend that I buddy read with and it was my turn to pick a book. I was a little reading slumpy/brain dead in December so I wanted a unserious romantasy with winter vibes that I could turn my brain off and read

I googled "winter romantasy" and The Bear and The Nightingale was what was recommended in a couple of Reddit threads. Now that I've read it, I don't think if I would classify it as 'romantasy' by the common definition of that genre. And it was very much a brain-heavy book, at least for me.

Luckily, just before this, I read A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles (fantastic book btw), so I was already primed for all of the Russian terms and names. Additionally I am a frequent reader of fantasy so I am used to the early struggle of learning new terms/names/magic systems.

My buddy for this read did not fair well, unfortunately. She has not read any Russian-set books also does not read a ton of fantasy, so she did DNF the book. It was a little too dense and slow going for her at the time, which is understandable.

Likes:

Now, I have spent basically my entire life in places where it rarely gets below freezing and only snows once a decade, so take everything in this section with a grain of salt.

Basically I love winter.

It is by far my favorite season and I was always excited when my last employer would send me off to the northern states in the middle of January so I could live in the snow and spend time in the cold, middle of nowhere forest towns (and do my job I guess). Even though I was frozen to the bone, my heart was warmed.

This books brought that feeling to me despite it being ~40 degrees fahrenheit the majority of the time that I was reading it. The imagery Arden creates is so visceral and captivating that I felt the freezing ice of the world on my skin. We may not have gotten as much romance as I expected (more on that later), but we definitely got the 'Winter' side of it.

Another thing I really appreciate about the writing of this book is the dialogue. It was period appropriate without being difficult to read, which I fear is a common issue in some of the few historical fiction books I've read this far.

Additionally, I really liked all of the characters, even the stereotypical ones. There is of course the protective brother and evil step mother, but it felt much more like an homage to the core of fairytales rather than a overdone cliche.

And everyone say it with me: We love fantasy books with a glossary! Unfortunately it was at the back of the book, so I did not see it until I had already finished. But there is one at the back with the various creature names and descriptions. Definitely would have made heavy use of it had I'd known.

Dislikes:

To add to the confusion of learning a whole new cast of characters upon jumping into a book, there are multiple alternate names for the same character. For instance our main character, most often called Vasya, is also called Vasochka, Vedma, Vasily, and Vasilisa. All similar enough that you can often attribute it to the correct character, but still takes a second sometimes.

To my understanding this is very common in Russian or Russian-inspired literature, but that doesn't make it not confusing to the unfamiliar.

This next dislike is not at the fault of the book. It is purely my misunderstanding, but I wanted to mention it because it did impact my reading experience.

As I said, I specifically searched for 'romantasy', and so when I read The Bear and the Nightingale, I expected that romance would be at least noticably present. The entire time I was like "who the hell is the other half of this romance??"

After reading, I would absolutely consider this book just a straight up fantasy. The romance is so minor that it's barely there -- just a single, chaste 'i might not see you ever again' kiss. It's possible, if not likely, that it will be more prevalent as the series continues, but we're just focusing on book one here.

And I'm sorry but this book is *so* slow. It's barely over 300 pages but it felt like a 500+ page slog. A beautifully written, interesting story, but a slog none the less. I would hesitate to cut out anything, but perhaps one or two more active scenes could have been added to balance the slow pacing just a tiny bit.

At the same time I would warn against adding too many because you want to maintain the brutal, long winter vibe the book gives off. A difficult balance to strike, to be sure.

Other Notes:

Themes of Christianity depicted in the more "be afraid of God" kind of way than a "God is loving and forgiving" way. I have limited experience with the Christian faith, so it does not bother me, but if you are very devout/don't like to read works critical of Christianity, this might not be the book series for you.

This book is filled with transliterations of Russian folklore names into English and they are not always the most accurate. I personally know absolutely nothing about Russian folktales so I honestly didn't notice until the author pointed it out in their note at the end of the book.

There are names that have the same ending in Russian, but are spelled two different ways in the English names for no other purposes than to be nicer to the English-reading eye.

If you are someone who cares a lot about the accuracy of Russian language or are already familiar with Russian folktale names, the authors choices in the transliteration may annoy you.

Finally, the age of the main character. By the end of the book Vasya is like 14. The book is set in 14th century Russia (Rus') in an aristocrat family's estate, so women are married off basically as soon as they have gone through puberty. I suppose it's "normal" for the time and social class, but still a little uncomfortable to me personally.

Rating Breakdown:

Characters: 9

Atmosphere: 10

Writing: 9

Plot:8

Intrigue: 8

Logic:7

Enjoyment: 8

Dialogue: 7

Total: 8.25/10 or 4.1 stars

#book review #katherine arden #the bear and the nightingale #booklr #books and reading #fantasy #historical fiction #4.0-4.4 #january #2025

0 notes

jefsuibhne · 1 year ago

Text

“Babbling like a Pagan”

I had some big spiel worked out in my head I’d planned on writing today

Oddly enough though, Pastor Brian covered the exact same talking points except he did it much better.

He even used the same verse I’d planned on opening with. (John 3:16)

Writing this stuff out helps me better conceptualize.

The theme was “unity”

I’d cracked smug jokes at all religions for so long that’s it’s been a rough habit to break.

Not that I should never joke about my own, I should just go about it a better way. Ragging on Christians is overdone and cliched- the low hanging fruit, besides I AM a Christian, I should strive to unite , not divide. There’s enough Christian in fighting as is.

Besides, if I wanna troll people’s religions; the more fun choice is Satanists and Luciferians.

They take themselves embarrassingly seriously.

How can people be so campy yet so serious at the same time ?

I once said, “Anton Lavey is just spooky Ayn Rand.”

Haha

One is quickly reminded that they do NOT turn the other cheek, they get butthurt instead.

Unity

There are no worse enemies for Christianity online than Christians themselves.

I attend several denominations and not once have I heard any of them say, “our doctrine is the ONLY way to Salvation.”

I expected to hear it a lot, surprisingly not though.

Christians are way more diverse than I’d known.

At the end if the day, it’s about that core belief in the message of Jesus Christ.

Online on the other hand is a different story.

So much infighting it’s tragic

The trivial differences dont even matter at the end of the day.

I count the Mormons as my brothers in Christ, despite everything else

They do profess JC as their Lord and Savior.

They very much practice what they preach

Which I highly respect.

I’ll come back to the subject later on and see how this post aged

Prayer.

I’m slowly making my way through the Bible and have only delved much into the gospels.

I’m a minimalist when it comes to prayer on my end.

Let’s look at what Jesus tells us about prayer

”“And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. “This, then, is how you should pray: “ ‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one. ’“

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭6‬:‭5‬-‭10‬, ‭12‬-‭13‬ ‭NIV‬‬

My understanding from that was we should emphasize and pray the Lord’s Prayer most often.

No neeed to add or take away from it, as God knows what we’re praying for before we do.

I know talking about it is akin to “being like the hypocrites on the street corners, but I feel mabye my experience will help someone else some day

I don’t make big lists of things to pray for. I make mental notes throughout the day and then pray the Lord’s Prayer throughout the day

That doesn’t mean one should keep prayer to a minimum.

Quite the opposite in fact

Once I pray the Lord’s Prayer, I close my mouth and LISTEN

Spend some time in quiet adoration

Silence speaks volumes.

It’s sometimes not until days later that the silence is translated to “the message”

I place not much value on memorizing creed after creed and prayer after prayer

When does all that become “babbling like pagans” ?

Maybe I’m taking that a bit too extreme.

Lord’s Prayer

Listening time

Repent

repeat

I’ll get better at writing again the more I do it.

Once I work all the rust out of my brain

Thanks for reading

Stay tuned

Stay weird

0 notes

sadmezcalita · 29 days ago

Text

Six more reviews about two Graywolf African Fiction prize recipients, two LeGuins, a disappointment, and a nice surprise.

Ursula K. Le Guin, Conversations on Writing - I actually have minimal memory of this too but I remember having a lot of fun with it. Love hearing Le Guin on anything ✌️

Alexandre Dumas, The count of Monte cristo- the introduction included a passionate and self-conscious defense of "People call it immature, but if it was immature, would it have... murder violence and lesbianism?!"

Good to know the same lines are being used for equally mediocre works years later.

My actual thoughts on it: it was good until the main character got out of prison. Everything after that was just boring drivel about how successful hed become. I haaaate when people complain about classics with a smug "clear he was paid per word" but. It's clear he was paid per word 😂

Khadija Abdalla Bajaber, The House of Rust - one of the best I read this year. Fresh and beautiful fantasy, exactly what the genre needs. Heartfelt without being cloying, actually so fantastical, in a setting so far from me yet so vivid with how Bajaber paints it. I was struck with wonder throughout.

A great exploration of a father daughter relationship, and of a young girl feeling at odds with the expectations of her culture and what she makes of it. I do really really appreciate the way it was done. There's a lot of fantasy narratives that go "but you're a girl" "so what" that end up feeling so wilted and overdone but this one truly truly feels like a young Muslim girl reconciling her difference from the world with so much heart.

When the adventure is done, half the book is still there! speaks to how much love and thought was put into it. Right when I was growing hopeless for the genre a brilliant author proved me wrong. I think the key most of the time is just reading indie publishers and outside west europe and the U.S - hah. Lastly, I think this book has imprinted Mombasa on me. I think of that city now like I know it, even though I've never even been to Kenya.

Mohsin Hamid, The Reluctant Fundamentalist - A short well written book, very straightforward in a way I appreciated. I enjoyed how the story was framed and honestly it was quite thrilling. As an immigrant... I'm perpetually very tired of immigrant trying to fit in stories and I felt this one closer to anything else in terms of how you feel that sense of... betrayal of your third world country in seeing and experiencing all the opulence and freedom of the global north. I'm surprised a book like this was received so well in an immediately post 911 environment. Also Lahore mentioned :)

Noor Naga, If an Egyptian Cannot Speak English - Another recepient of the Graywolf African Fiction Prize. I had very mixed feelings about this one. [SPOILERS]

So I spent this book criticizing it heavily as a piece of fiction - things like finding the author's exploration of an American's return to her country of origin very ... cliche or perhaps overly sugary in it's naivete, very dull in its depiction of privilege. That an upper class American woman could not fathom such a thing as classism made me roll my eyes to the back of my head.

Then comes the big reveal - it's a memoir. I didn't know how to feel about that. In one way I really felt tricked, that I had passed judgment on the author's depiction of her own rape and abusive relationship, slimy from knowing that all the lurid details of her ex partner as a "subject of her colonial gaze" were real down to his death, and doubly annoyed at the main character's whining about how she got called out on twitter for blackfishing and having maids at her mansion. Mostly I felt tricked for even being led to believe it was all fiction.

I never had a positive opinion on autofiction, I always found it very self fellatious, and now I can't change my mind. It's hard to judge a memoir as art, so I simply don't consider it such. I can't say anything else on it.

I will say though.. I think the Graywolf African Fiction prize should perhaps be handed out to people born and raised in Africa, not people who grew up in Manhattan with maids at their feet, moved there, and then wrote a book about how novel the Global South was in its desperation or whatever. But it made me write this much about it so at least that's something.

Ursula K. Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven - Another Le Guin, with lots of popular quotes you see around like “The end justifies the means. But what if there never is an end? All we have is means," and "A man can endure the entire weight of the universe for eighty years. It is unreality that he cannot bear." I would totally recommend it for an exciting and meaningful read.

Scifi set in a future, dystopian Portland, Oregon. I interpreted to have strong anti-psychiatry messaging. I say this because I saw comparisons of the relationship between patient/therapist to citizen/state. The state here is a paternalistic liberal beuroacracy that has your life at a whim with an aggressively heartless and utilitarian philosophy, racist and ableist at it's core, disguised as idealism.

I think this is the kind of book that made me feel more things than have thoughts I could articulate, very dreamlike indeed.

2024 Book Review Post

Was making this on bsky, but I hate character limits so here we are

Chinua Achebe - Things Fall Apart: I have nothing to say on this that probably wasn't already said much better. It was absolutely gutwrenching and I want to read more of Achebe's work.

Toni Morrison, Sula - My first Morrison and it was amazing. She's such a master of perspective, when that first person comes out, it's like a flower unfurling into an overpowering fragrance. Every character is a world in their own, and even the town feels like a person. Totally haunting and need to reread to appreciate it more.

Simin Behbahani, A Cup of Sin - exquisite. I discovered Behbahani while I was in Pakistan but couldnt find her poetry avaialble anywhere online or in person so it was the first book I RUSHED to buy when I came to the states. Each rich line drips with imagrey that mixes decadent luridity and beauty. I have a vivid memory of my first horror movie, an indian soap where a woman reached inside a mans chest and squeezed it so he bled from his mouth then licked it up. That's what how I feel when I read her poems (whether I feel like the man or woman is more confused.) I want to learn farsi so bad. Planning on scanning and uploading it so no one suffers without it like I did.

Iraj Pezeshkzad, Hafez in Love - I have a very vague memory of this honestly. I didn't find the prose or plot very but I recall being entertained by court poet drama. It was ok.

Cheon Meong-Kwan, Whale - Im wary that anything described as "sweeping intergenerational drama" is gonna be a dull booker prize bait but wow, this beat the expectations that cliche description set up. Very unique and immediately captures you, I LOVED the honey bee womans plot. Just that one chapter got me. I'm usually good with depictions of sexual violence (done tastefully!!) but I had to stop bc of the gratuitous teen rape. I'll probably try to read it again once I get that archipelago books subscription I want so bad.

Toni Morrison, Recitatif - my second Morrison.. a short story where I spent more time reading essays and reviews on it than the work itself! That's how you know it's good. A race blind story where the author dares you to make presumptions so you can ask yourself why. Even I couldn't help myself from trying to figure out the character's races, then asking why I thought thwt. The cruelty all are capable of in the right conditions.

#exhalation #book review

8 notes · View notes

moonsun2010 · 3 years ago

Text

So I watched Squid Game

#rich ppl make poor people play death games #squid game #sae byeok #my art #artists on tumblr #illustration #yall this is a show i 100% recc to watch it is RIPE with interpersonal strife #helps that the show isnt simply i think its q self aware of overdone cliches #and so chooses to focus on the interpersonal relationships and the childhood stuff #of course theres graphic violence but even as someone squeamish it was tolerable #i am thinking about the parallels... old man and gi huns mom... sae byeok and ji yeong... sang woo gihun #i cant pick a fave chara theyre all so good ali saebyeok old man #i like that theres enough un tied up plot threads that a season 2 could be made without season 1 feeling emptt #because season 1 was VERY well done #rife eith foreshadowing all over the place and tiny details #i hope someone makss analysis vids for it like parasite 2019 #gosh the tragedy and angst though... this is a show you have to binge in one go because it will not leave your mind till its done #and even then. mmmmm :#im gonna draw more fanart for this theres so many moments gosh #anyways this is not a show you want to be spoiled for so just go in as blind as possible

2K notes · View notes

deartouya · 3 years ago

Text

“ dating hcs ” [ izuku midoriya ]

-> summary: the mandatory, cliche, what dating izuku midoriya would include headcanons.

-> pairing: deku x gn!reader

-> word count: 1018

-> warnings: gn!reader, fluff, talks of food/eating, reader is seemingly a pro hero

↳ Izuku is such a devoted and focused boyfriend, despite being so nervous, you’re always at the forefront of your mind.

↳ He’s naturally very protective, overly aware of the dangers both you and he faces in everyday life, so he’s always checking up on you- asking what you’re doing and where you are. He doesn’t want to seem oppressive or controlling, he just wants to make sure you’re okay.

↳ He plans date nights months in advance so that he’s able to attend and no one has to cancel or postpone dates. And by plan, I mean plan. He knows the venue, his outfit, and any additional activities. He knows how precious free time is for heroes and he takes every step available to ensure you have time together.

↳ Izuku’s doting doesn’t stop after the date either. If you’re not living together, he walks back to your apartment- no matter how hard you protest. And the moment you’re out of his sight, even if he’s in his car out front, he’s texting you. Asking if you’re alright and safe and if you need him to do anything. He likes knowing you’re okay.

↳ Any sort of strong pda turns him into a flushed and stuttering mess. The longer you’re together, the better it gets- but he’s always at least a little flustered around you. He can’t help it, every time he looks at you he’s hit with the full force of affection and it sends his brain into overdrive.

↳ After he gets more comfortable around you and in your relationship, he loves to hold your hand- no matter where you are. It’s such an understated and casual affection, one that doesn’t attract too much attention but it helps him know that you’re there with him. It also pleases the hidden possessive part of him, letting everyone around you know that you belong to each other.

↳ A large part of him is also extremely pleased anytime you show any sort of possessiveness. You called him your husband once on accident, not even thinking about it, and you’d never seen him turn redder. You were worried he might’ve passed out, he was unable to form a coherent sentence or thought for several straight minutes. He just liked the idea of being yours.

↳ Very overdone, but I do think he has a notebook on you. Nothing too creepy, just things he wants to be able to remember about you down the line. He takes note of all your favourite shows- the characters you like, you hate, and the arcs to talk about afterwards. Doesn’t matter that he’s never seen them- they’re important to you so they’re important to him. He also has a list of all your favourite and least favourite foods so that he’s able to order for you when you’re not there.

↳ Izuku definitely has a very cheesy collage of pictures taken on dates and throughout the duration of your relationship. He also has drawn more of those initial + initial hearts in not just your notebook, but all of his notebooks than he’d like to admit.

↳ Izuku isn’t the best cook in the world, that’s for sure. Not incompetent, his mom taught him the basics to make passable food to survive, but it’s definitely not enjoyable. So, he adores you when you cook for him. No matter how good you are, he feels so cared for and looked after. You made him soup when he was sick and he nearly started sobbing. It’s something you put time into and he loves it.

↳ He gets so rigid when you fall asleep on him during movie night, staring down at you and refusing to move an inch. Sleep is such a vulnerable state and it means so much that you feel that comfortable around, that you trust him. Halfway through the movie, he does pull a fluffy blanket over your shoulder though, tucking you further into him. Nearly passes out when you cuddle into him, you’re just so cute and he loves you so much.

↳ Izuku always has anything you could ever need on him at all times, just in case. He has your favourite snacks and candies in his backpack, plasters and first-aid kit, the chap stick you use, and at least four hair ties. He likes knowing you can depend on him.

↳ He’s such a chatterbox [ affectionate ] with you. He’s always talking to himself, but the moment he gets comfortable with you and you tell him that you value his opinion- he’s rambling to you instead. Most of your free nights are spent splayed on a couch or bed, Izuku’s head cradled in your lap as he talks about a new improvement on his suit or the movie he went to see the day before.

↳ He really likes when you let him lay on your lap, hands in his hair. Feeling you twirl green curls around your fingers is so calming, lulling him into a cuddly, sleepy mess. He insists on returning the favour, but you could play with his hair all day. He’d let you too.

↳ Izuku wants to be around you more than he can, desperately. This leads to him spending all his free time on the phone with you. He calls you when he’s on his way home from work, asking if you need anything or if you’re hungry. He can pick something up? Are you sure, honey? He gets a break during patrol? On the phone with you. Doing mundane paperwork at his office? He’s calling you. And if you’re ever forced apart for a week, or god forbid a month, he’s on the phone every night, talking you to sleep and admiring your pretty, sleepy face. He always signs off with an “i love you, honey” and obnoxious kiss to the phone.

↳ Overall, Izuku crafts such a close, intimate relationship with you. You’re both able to read each other like open books, knowing every expression down to minute details and knowing how to flip any negative emotions back into contentment and happiness.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x you #deku x y/n #gn!reader #izuku x reader #✶ writes #✶ writes.bnha #✶ writes.deku

480 notes · View notes

thehaemanthus · 3 years ago

Text

Haves and Have-nots

SURPRISE turns out when I have deadlines I’m really good about writing quickly

Wrote this for @azrielshadowssing ‘s ACOTAR Writing Circle. This is part one of a Modern AU Feysand fic, to be continued by different writers for part two and part three. Can’t wait to see what others do with this!

Enjoy!

Feyre hissed a sharp note as her elbow knocked into a cup of paintbrushes. Firing off curses under her breath, she quickly straightened the cup and dumped the paintbrushes back in before shoving it on the nearest unoccupied space on her shelf.

Scrambling across the room— and tripping on the drop cloth she’d laid out— Feyre slammed her hand on her phone to check the time.

They were going to start arriving any minute.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she continued to mumble obscenities. It didn’t help her cleaning speed, but it did make her feel better.

Frantic hands hastily capped paints and shoved brushes out of sight. Feyre carefully toted her easel and half-finished creation to a corner, making sure it faced away from the one room studio. The drop cloth was a crumpled mess, missing the crisp corners and lines it usually received when Feyre folded it up. She had time to take her brushes to the sink before the irritating scream of the buzzer signaled her time was up. She hustled to the front door of her apartment, buzzing the anticipated guest up and unlocking her front door before sprinting back to the sink. Then she sprinted to the window and shoved it open a grand total of five inches, each of which was a hard fought battle that the window screeched through.

It would be fine. This was fine. Finish cleaning, get out the snacks, act like she was tastefully and intentionally unprepared to host this movie night that she had been obsessing over for a week now.

“Feyre, love!”

The tension that squeezed Feyre’s heart released. That was the power of Mor’s voice, that was how warm and welcoming it sounded.

“Hey!” she tossed over her shoulder, rushing to finish cleaning her brushes. “How was your week?”

“Dreadful,” Mor slid next to Feyre, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. “So many meetings. Why didn’t you save me, Feyre?”

“I like this extra affection,” she joked through the burning blush on her face. Mor was a very attractive woman and Feyre was not immune. “What did I do to deserve it?”

“It’s a down payment,” Mor said. “So that next time, you’ll come up with some reason to need me and I can skip my meetings.”

“I think you secretly like sitting at the head of a table and being in charge,” Ferye said. “No matter how much you complain.”

“Please, Feyre, I don’t sit at the head of the table unless I’m dealing with the male investors and I need to stake my claim.” Mor tossed her hair over her shoulder. On anyone else it would look overdone and cliche, but no gesture or look on Mor was ever anything but perfect.

“You’re done with those stuffy quarterly meetings though, right?” Feyre dried her brushes on a rag. “Back to the real work next week.”

“Hm, we have that meeting on the new product branding,” Mor leaned back out of Feyre’s space. “Are you getting to sit in on that?”

“I am.” Feyre couldn’t help the proud grin. She was just a team member, just another graphic designer for Mor’s growing empire, but she got to sit in on this big meeting. A year ago, Feyre never would have seen where she ended up. Even more shocking— that Mor would some day end up in her dinky little studio apartment.

She hadn’t expected to strike up a friendship with Mor, but somehow it had happened. Two months after graduating, she ended up at Mor’s tiny start up. A year later, and things were no longer so tiny. But their humble beginnings had made everyone close, and for some reason, Mor had been especially taken with Feyre.

“Can I help with anything?” Mor asked as Feyre finished drying her hands.

“Um…let me get out some bowls and snacks, and you can help put it all out.” Feyre darted around the small kitchen, bringing out the grocery bags of cookies, chips, and candy she had purchased for movie night. Certainly a dent in her budget, but a worthwhile one.

Mor tore open a bag of chips and poured them into a bowl. “You got a lot.”

Feyre busied herself with setting out the snacks, avoiding Mor’s gaze. “I like to…know I did a good job.”

“I know,” Mor said. “There’s enough here to make everyone happy. Now come on, I know Cassian said he’d bring the projector and screen, but we can move some stuff around before then.”

The only reason Feyre scored on hosting this movie night was because of the studio apartment. Just big enough to prop up a big screen, lay out some rugs, and lounge in a pile like they were at a sleepover. Cassian was bringing the projector and screen, and everyone had said they would bring blankets and pillows, so all Feyre was really providing was the space and the snacks.

She only hoped it all went right. She liked these people that Mor had introduced her to. The youngest, Tarquin, was still three years older than her. At 22, almost 23, Feyre often felt naive and clueless.

And it wasn’t just her age. It was who she was and who they were.

Mor had her own company, started with money and the connections she had from her family. Others owned their own businesses or held high-power jobs, sat on boards of directors or managed massive inheritances.

And then there was Feyre and her studio apartment on the edge of the city. Fresh out of college and vowing never to get another roommate unless the alternative was being unhoused, it could take upwards of an hour to reach her new friends at their apartments, townhomes, the fancy restaurants they didn’t need reservations for, and the exotic coffee shops they always wanted to meet at.

Sometimes it felt like Feyre had fallen into a dream and couldn’t wake up. Sometimes it felt like a nightmare.

Slowly, guests trickled in and her studio was transformed into a giant slumber party. Feyre scrambled to make sure everyone was comfortable. She handed Azriel a pack of Cadbury chocolate buttons she got just for him because he didn’t like sharing his chocolate, then monitored the microwave as several bags of popcorn rotated through. When Amren arrived, she made sure the older woman had a wine glass in her hand, and she kept Cressida’s gluten-free cookies set aside until she showed up.

“Oh, sweetie, you didn’t have to do that,” Cressida beamed. “How nice! I brought my own snacks but…”

“Oh,” Feyre deflated. What, Cressida didn’t think she could be a good host?

“No, no, this looks so much better!” Cressida grabbed the box of cookies and sauntered to the growing pile of pillows on top of Feyre’s rug. At the far end of the room, Cassian and Mor were snapping at each other as they tried to get the projector set up.

She did a quick headcount. Everyone was present and accounted for. Well, those who were able to make it, anyway.

“Ready to start?” Feyre’s voice rose in an attempt to be heard over the din.

“Not yet!” Mor waved a hand, eyes glued to her phone. “Rhys will be here in ten minutes!”

Several emotions competed for space in Feyre’s head. A bit of shock, panic, joy, and dread.

Cressida perked up. “I thought he was out all week?”

“Just got back a few hours ago.” Mor waved a hand. “It was one of those fancy retreats where they talk and eat and drink more than they work.”

“Don’t you know, that’s called networking, Mor,” Cassian snickered.

“The point is,” Mor said. “Rhys will be here soon.”

Rhys would be here soon. Rhys was coming. To Feyre’s small little studio. The ten minutes rushed by much too quickly, and then he was there.

“It’s movie night, not a happy hour—”

“How did you get here so quickly?”

“Sit, sit— no, you idiot, take off your shoes first!”

“Where’s the remote—?”

“Rhys, your shoes are so shiny I can see my reflection.”

Feyre stood on the edge of the mess, watching as everyone greeted Rhysand. He welcomed their affection with an easy smile, obediently removing his shoes like Mor wanted and folding himself to sit down. He was out of place in his gray button up and slacks, made just slightly casual with rolled up sleeves and a few buttons undone.

“I dropped off my bags at home and came straight here,” Rhys explained.

“Mor, what favor did you trade to get him to come?” Azriel asked.

“No favor,” Rhys said. “No convincing needed. I’m happy to be here.”

Sure. Happy to be in Feyre’s small apartment, sitting on the floor, after days in one of the most luxurious resorts in the world, talking to people who made more money in a month than Feyre did in years.

“Ready!” Her voice was a little too loud, but she didn’t let that stop her from starting the movie, getting settled, then handing a bowl of popcorn to Rhys.

“Thank you, Feyre darling,” Rhys grinned. “And thank you for inviting us—”

“Shh!”

Feyre shared a grin with Rhys. She was captivated by him until he broke the staring contest. While Rhys watched the movie and threw a handful of popcorn into his mouth, Feyre watched out of the corner of her eye. God, even the way he chewed was attractive.

She would not be surprised if everyone was clued into her massive crush by now. It started out as annoying attraction— a man too pretty for his own good. Then Feyre actually talked with him, and she could feel that attraction grow into something more dangerous.

But she maintained control of her rational mind. It was fine to have a crush. Healthy and normal. She knew nothing would, could ever come out of it. Rhys was seven years her senior and out of her league.

A harmless crush, one that was embarrassing should anyone ever mention it. But Feyre would get over it one day.

One day, she would be able to sit next to him in the dark, watch a movie, and retain what was on screen. But when the movie was done and the lights flickered on, grumbles and stretches and plans for the next meet-up floating in the air, Feyre found she hadn’t really enjoyed the movie at all. She had just thought about Rhys.

Her friends gathered their things and helped clean up. She pushed them out of her house, insisting that she could handle it herself. It was late, they needed to get home, Rhys had just come back from a flight that day and needed to rest. The offers for help and cajoling flew back and forth for ten minutes as Feyre worked to empty her home.

Soon, Feyre thought she had gotten everyone on their way. But when the door closed and the sink was running in the kitchen, she realized she missed a person.

Rhys washed the dishes silently, without complaint.

“Oh— Rhys, you don’t have to…” Feyre scrambled over. “Really, it’s fine. Leave it.”

He smiled at her. “I’ll wash, you dry and put away.”

“You should get home,” Feyre insisted. “You must have had a long day.”

“I’m fine,” he shrugged. “Slept a bit on the plane. It’s nice to stand and be a little active.”

He wasn’t stopping, and Feyre couldn’t move him. So she dried the dishes and put them away as he washed.

When she was on the last of the bowls, he gently touched her lower back. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.” He brushed past her to her bathroom.

Feyre finished cleaning the kitchen. Tomorrow she’d do her chores, sweeping and mopping, dusting, there was a load of laundry to do…

“What’s this?”

Rhys’s voice blended into the sound of the city at night— sirens and people talking, cars rumbling and music drifting out of windows. She spun around, watching as he turned her easel to see her work in the light.

“Oh, that’s just…” Feyre wrung her hands, stepping closer, not knowing if it was to explain or to gently remove his hands and hide her painting once more. “Um. A small project.”

“Looks great.”

“Yeah, it’s almost done,” she shrugged. “Just uh, something for fun.”

It was more than that. Feyre didn’t know why she concealed the truth.

The painting was based on a family photo, a loose retelling of a depressing story. The photo was crisp and clean, showcasing lifeless smiles and leeched personality. Feyre, Elain, Nesta; three young girls molded into identical shapes for this occasion. Their mother, ice cold and beautiful, and their father, prideful.

Feyre did not remember the day they took that picture, standing in front of their new home before the housewarming party.

“Your family, right?” Rhys murmured. “Mor told me that your mother passed when you were young.”

“That’s the last picture we took all together before she died,” Feyre nodded at the canvas. “Well no— obviously that’s not the picture. I meant, the painting is based on the picture.”

“Based on, but not the same,” Rhys said softly, still staring at the canvas.

“Yeah.” Feyre wrapped her arms around herself, shielding something vital. “How could you tell?”

“I don’t think any parent would accept this as the finished product,” he chuckled. “You don't look very happy.”

“No.” Feyre smiled. “I remember really hating that dress.” But that’s only part of it.

Rhys hummed. “You look like you were a stubborn child.”

Feyre tilted her head back and forth, noncommittal. “I didn’t act the way my mother wanted me to act.”

“And your sisters?”

Elain looked like a doll. If they all looked slightly lifeless in the photograph, Elain was completely dead in the painting. Stripped of her own personhood as a child, she had to grow and come into her own. Nesta, on the other hand, looked mean. An outsider would think her cruel. Feyre knew that her oldest sister was just fierce, and it took time, maturity, and experience to learn how to channel her fire away from the undeserving.

“We were all…different people,” Feyre sighed. “I don’t know. I tried to capture how I felt during that time, who I thought everyone was. It seemed more honest. I look at that photo, and…I used to think I should feel more, you know? That’s the last picture I took with my mom because she didn’t want to take pictures when she was sick. But I couldn’t feel anything about it because it felt fake. So…I thought if I tried to paint it, show a little more honesty…I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” Rhys finally took his gaze from the unfinished work, smiling at Feyre. “I think it’s pretty brave.”

She didn’t expect that. “Cool”, maybe, said in a way when someone didn’t quite know what word to use. “Interesting”, to show that it wasn’t his style but he could appreciate it.

But brave?

“Like I said, just a little project.” Feyre uncrossed her arms, walking to the front door. “I’ve kept you long enough.”

“Do you paint often?” Rhys asked, taking his sweet time in joining her.

“When I can,” she shrugged. “I am lucky to have a job where I get to flex creative muscle every day, but my thing was always painting.”

He hummed. “Do you do commissions?”

Feyre laughed. “It’s just a hobby, Rhys.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I’d paint for friends,” she said. “No payment necessary.”

“Good to know.” Rhys finally opened the door, casting one last look at the painting before sliding out of her apartment. “Goodnight, Feyre darling.”

“Good night.” ~*~

It was the “Feyre darling” that started the crush.

Slipped out when Feyre was still new, still an outsider, she had first found it insulting. Infantilizing and rude, since they barely knew each other. Rhys figured out it annoyed her, and that only made him whip out the nickname more.

Then it stuck. Then Feyre paid attention. “Feyre darling” became less mocking and more affectionate.

A nice nickname, an inside joke between friends. Rhys would not be whispering it in her ear or saying it with tenderness.

Rhysand was turning 30 soon, and he had a full time job and promotions under his belt and property he owned. Feyre was 23 and in her first full time position and making spreadsheets to budget every month and hope to tuck away some money into a meager savings account. She had to ask HR how a 401k worked.

A harmless crush that would pass, that’s all it was. In the meantime, Feyre focused on being a good friend.

The next time everyone met was when Mor hosted one of her dinner parties— complete with a nice tablecloth (and a table large enough to fit them all), pretty plates, a separate salad fork and dinner fork, and wine pairings. Mor catered from exclusive restaurants, treating guests to a rotating variety of cuisine.

Feyre arrived early to help set up, rubbing her chilled nose as the elevator brought her up to Mor’s floor. The weather wasn’t cold yet, but it was turning nippy. The elevator ride up was long enough to get her mostly defrosted, and the warmth in Mor’s apartment finished off the job.

Large windows gave a magnificent view of the city. At night, staring out at the thousands of lights was mesmerizing, and during the day Feyre could spend an hour just observing all the life happening down below. Inside, Mor had furnished her apartment with warm colors and clean lines.

They chatted as they expanded Mor’s massive dinner table, adding in a piece in the middle and chairs to the ends.

“So,” Feyre started. “I have a question for you.”

“As long as it’s not about work.”

“It’s not,” Feyre said. “I need a picture of Rhys’s family.”

She hadn’t missed the way Rhys looked at her painting, or the way he asked if she did commissions. Rhys was intrigued by the idea of turning a photo into a nice painting, and his birthday was fast approaching.

While others might get him nice gifts, a new expensive watch or tickets to some high-culture show, Feyre had less to work with. She could spring for some nice oils and a new canvas though.

Mor set down her stack of dishes, giving Feyre her full attention. “Why?”

“When everyone was over for movie night, he saw this piece I was working on,” Feyre said, explaining the concept and Rhys’s interest. At the end, Mor loosened up a bit. “So, yeah, I think it would be a good birthday gift.”

“I think he would like it,” Mor said. “He would appreciate that you put so much time and effort into creating something. But…how much do you know about Rhys’s parents and sister?”

“Nothing,” she freely admitted. “Other than they’ve all passed.”

Mor nodded slowly. “Your personal project is focused on revealing…truths, I guess. Are you going to attempt the same with Rhys?”

“I’ll try,” she shrugged. “But it’s not personal, so it’s not the same.”

“Right,” Mor hummed. “Well. I’ll say this. Rhys’s parents did love each other, very much. But his father was always focused on legacy and security for the family, so much so that I think he missed a lot of what was right in front of him. They went through a lot of passionate ups and downs, but it seemed like things could have been settling when Rhys’s sister was born. I remember going to their house and feeling like something changed. But then…”

“They died,” Feyre completed the thought.

Mor nodded. “Rhys…obviously it still hurts, but he’s in a good place now.”

“Do you think he’d appreciate the portrait?” Feyre worried.

“I think so,” she shrugged. “Try and take his temperature today. If you think you can pull it off, I’ll send you a picture.”

They dropped the conversation to finish preparing. Feyre obediently dished out food into pretty platters, finishing up with putting together the salad when the guests started to arrive.

Around Feyre, conversations about planning exotic holiday vacations, the latest fluctuations of the stock market, gossip about the family everyone else knew, and insider knowledge about the passage of some labor bill shot back and forth.

It would be easier to be jealous of these people if they were anything but kind.

The first time Mor introduced Feyre to some of her friends— just Cassian and Amren— Feyre had almost run away. Amren had complained about her trip to Austria, and Cassian had bemoaned the black-tie event he had to attend and the tuxedo he would have to dust off.

She hadn’t expected a deep conversation to happen right there, middle of the day, lunch at a trendy restaurant. But somehow the topic had come up, and she learned that she and Cassian had more in common than she originally thought.

Obviously, Feyre had been wary about judging a book by its cover ever since then.

Plenty of people in this group were born with silver spoons in their mouth, that was true. But, blessedly, they were aware of it.

“Oh no, you don’t want that,” Helion found Feyre at the wet bar, looking through bottles of wine. “It has an expensive price tag, but it’s not worth it. Try this one.”

“Thanks.” Feyre waited as Helion poured the dark red into a glass, just a bit for her to taste. “Not bad.”

“Amren will tell you it has notes of cherry,” Helion shrugged. “It takes a real snob to detect that, I think.”

Said the man who owned a stable of horses upstate.

Feyre poured herself more wine, letting the warmth flood her senses and fill her with confidence. She had a goal for tonight. If she backed off now, it would be too easy to let it go.

She lingered near the drinks, hoping for the chance to spring her trap. Any moment, Mor would announce the start of dinner and they would have to take their seats.

Rhys wandered over, reaching for the jug of water, and Feyre stepped forward. “Hey, Rhys,”

“Feyre, how are you?” he smiled, pouring himself water and then facing her.

Step one, complete.

“Enjoying the cooler weather,” she said. “But I know that in a couple of months, I’ll be saying the exact opposite.”

“Not a fan of winter?” Rhys asked.

“Not a fan of the cold.” Inescapable, penetrating cold. Memories of little to no heat and numb toes. “My birthday is in the winter, so…it’s not all bad.”

“Right,” Rhys said. “December 21.”

“Yup.” She tried not to smile too broadly when she realized Rhys knew when her birthday was. “And…you’re November…?”

“Sh!” He hissed, but the exaggerated way he looked around told her it was mostly comical. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of my birthday.”

Feyre’s head tilted in confusion. “Mor is your cousin— how can you hide your birthday from her?”

“They all know when my birthday is,” Rhys said. “I just don’t want to remind them.”

“Scared of turning thirty?” Feyre teased.

“No, aging is a gift,” he said with unexpected sincerity. “Just…don’t like inconveniencing people.”

Something shuttered on his face, but Feyre couldn’t probe into it. She didn’t have the time. Later. She might get that chance to ask another time, who knows?

“Well,” she tried to be relaxed, but the way she gripped her wine glass probably was giving away her nerves. “I’d like to make you a gift. And before you say anything, it would not be an inconvenience! It would be something I want to do.”

“Oh, Feyre, you really don't—”

“I insist!” She plowed forward, though was mindful to keep her voice down. Rhys didn’t want people knowing, so she could respect that. “You asked if I do commissions— and when people ask that they are interested. So I’m going to paint you something.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Do I get to know what it is?”

“I’d like it to be a surprise,” Feyre said truthfully. “But I also don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“I really don’t care what it is,” Rhys said without hesitation. “I’m sure I’ll appreciate whatever you make.”

Feyre bit her lip, trying to think of a way to phrase her question without giving it away. “Well…I don’t know. I asked Mor what she thought—”

“Then I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said, looking away for a moment when someone called his name.

She panicked just a bit. “Rhys, I should just ask—”

“Feyre,” he interrupted gently. “Really. Don’t worry about it so much.”

“This is a painting for you,” Feyre pointed out. “I could misinterpret horribly…”

“If you need direction, you can ask Mor.” Done with the conversation, Rhys backed away. “But I’m interested in your vision, Feyre darling.”

Well. That was as definite an answer as she was likely to get. The next day, Mor sent over the photograph.

~*~

There was a strange balancing act in creating this kind of art.

The piece had to be revealing and poignant— there was a message there, and it needed to be expressed. But too obviously, to gaudy or in your face, and it could not be appreciated.

The depth needed to be in the detail. Feyre aimed to create something that was pleasant to look at upon a glance and beautiful to meditate on. She did ask Mor about Rhys’s family, just wanting to know enough to not offend.

The hand that Rhys’s father laid on his wife’s shoulder had a tighter grip, just a bit exaggerated from the photo. His little sister got a twinkle in her eye, a tilt in her head that screamed innocence and just a hint of something impish. Rhys’s stance changed, from perfectly upright and still to something more dynamic, feet positioned as if ready to keep moving. And his mother got some imperfections, flyaway hairs and an uneven posture as she leaned just a little bit closer to her daughter. Her smile grew, crinkling her eyes.

Feyre added movement, added some life that didn’t exist when everyone was trying to look their best for a fancy photo. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. There was a story happening.

The next time everyone crammed together, it was at Rhys's townhome for game night. Monopoly and Catan were banned, as they took much too long and created some extreme emotion, but Battleship, Cards Against Humanity, Clue, and Uno (with some crazy house rules) were some of the approved offerings.

Feyre shrieked in laughter and playfully booed, sampling a few of the games with a rotating cast of opponents and participating as a spectator in lulls. When the pizza arrived, everyone broke to grab a slice.

“I can’t believe we won’t be able to do a Halloween party,” Cressida bemoaned. “When’s the next time everyone is going to be in town? What’s the next excuse to get together?”

“Thanksgiving?” Helion offered.

It was probably Rhys’s birthday, but Feyre kept her mouth shut. So did Mor, Cassian, and Azriel.

Cressida didn’t get that memo. “Huh, maybe…wait no! Rhys! Your birthday!”

He accepted the attention with a smile. “Yes?”

“Don’t do that.” She was close enough to playfully slap his shoulder. “It’s in just a few weeks! What are we doing?”

Rhys shrugged. “I don’t have any plans.”

“Oh no,” Cressida gasped like it was the worst thing in the world. “But you’re turning thirty!”

Helion laughed. “No need to remind the man, Cress.”

“You’re older than all of us, you shouldn’t be making fun of anyone’s age,” she shot back. “But really, Rhys. No plans?”

“Nah,” he shrugged.

Cressida huffed. “Is no one else bothered by this?”

Silenced greeted her. Feyre was giving her own present, and it was a private thing that she would most likely present to him when they were not in a group setting. She was sure that Rhys would probably do a quiet family thing at home with Mor, Cassian, and Azriel, maybe Amren too.

“Unbelievable,” she rolled her eyes. “I bet you all forgot.”

“I didn’t forget,” Azriel said. “I already have a gift in mind.”

“It’s a 30th birthday! You have to do something more fun than just a gift!” Cressida said.

Tarquin shrugged. “It’s a little late to plan now. I’m sure if Rhys had wanted something big, he would have said.”

“Please, it’s Rhys,” Cressida snapped. “And it’s not too late. I already have an idea and I can put it together.”

“Do I get to know?” Rhys asked. “It is my birthday, after all.”

“We’re spending a long weekend at the family beach house,” Cressida announced.

Ferye frowned. “Isn’t it a little cold for a beach vacation?”

“It’ll be fine,” Cressida waved a hand, already scrolling through her phone.

Mor cleared her throat. “The beach house is in Turks and Caicos.”

Oh.

“I’ll get the staff to prepare the house,” Cressida murmured. “We’ll have catering for a party, but for those of us staying at the house I’ll have to make sure the staff does grocery shopping…”

“Free beach vacation? I’m in.” Cassian said.

Cressida pointed at Cassian. “That’s the spirit! It’s Rhys’s birthday! It’s a milestone! Let’s make it fun! I’ll book a DJ and put together a guest list for one night, and that can be the larger party, but the rest of the time it’ll be just us. Mor, you still have that guest list from the summer picnic, right? They’ll all be able to fly out for a weekend.”

“This is too generous, Cress,” Rhys interjected with a polite smile.

“No way,” she put her hand on his arm. “Not for you.”

Something curdled in Feyre’s stomach. She looked away, but the sight that greeted her wasn’t much better. Amren and Varian were looking at his phone, seeming to be searching for flights. All the faces were of mild interest.

“It might be a lot, but it’ll be worth it.” Cressida turned back to her phone. “Right, I need food, I need to contact the staff, we’ll have to coordinate flights and rides…and I’ll need to go shopping. Mor, what was that name of the boutique you were talking about? The appointment-only one, I know it’s late notice but do you think they could fit me in?”

“Cress, it’s winter, they won’t have bikinis…”

Feyre sipped her cider, then rose to throw away her empty plate. The rest of them could talk about their fun plans. She would not be participating.

She didn’t have the money to fly out of the country for a long weekend, especially not with little more than a month's notice. Not to mention the vacation time. The only people who would be able to do such an insane thing were her insanely rich friends.

She knew Cressida wasn’t purposefully excluding her. Feyre was a newer friend, not even that close to her, and Cressida probably never had to make those accommodations.

Hell, Cressida probably didn’t even include Feyre in the invitation. It would be beyond generous to open her home to someone she didn’t really know that well.

Feyre tried to mollify herself as she darted to the bathroom. So she wasn’t participating in this fun. That was fine. She had her own way of celebrating Rhys’s birthday, and that was enough. And if she had to take an extra few minutes in the bathroom to get her emotions under control, well, that was just healthy and mature.

She meandered down the hall, hoping that the conversation had moved on and she could convince Azriel for a rematch at Battleship.

“...it’s really a lot, Cress,”

“You deserve it.”

It was rude to eavesdrop. Feyre should have just keep walking. But she didn’t move out of the hall, keeping to the shadows and out of sight from the bright kitchen.

Rhys’s laugh seemed a little forced.

“I mean it,” Cressida’s voice was so low Feyre almost didn’t catch it. “If you had it your way, you would stay at home for your birthday and return any gifts. This is the compromise.”

“Well, at least you are talking about it with me,” Rhys sighed. “I hate when people push their ideas on me.”

“Who would push themselves on you?”

“Happens more often than you’d think,” his voice was just a bit strained. “It just… reminds me of my dad railroading me, or pretending he was giving me options when he was really just trying to force me into accepting his decision. He didn’t understand that what was important to him wasn’t important to me”

“Well, the vacation is mandatory,” Cressida said. “The itinerary is on the negotiating table.”

“Thanks for the transparency,” Rhys answered. “I really didn’t want any surprises though…”

Feyre heard enough. She slipped into the living room and tried to forget the conversation.

Logically, she knew that Rhys was not talking about her and her gift. But she also realized that she might be doing exactly what Rhys just said he despised. She didn’t take his no for an answer when he said she didn’t have to do anything for his birthday. She took something she cared about— her art— and assumed Rhys would care. She even hedged on telling him what the painting was.

Oh God, the painting included his father. Mor said Rhys had a rocky relationship with him, but that was true disdain Feyre had heard…what had she done?

She was in a trance for the rest of the evening, going through the motions and forcing smiles. Blessedly, everyone was so consumed with party planning that Feyre flew under the radar.

“I’m going to head out,” Feye announced when she had enough. Cressida, in the interest of being transparent, asked who could help cover costs and started rattling off astronomical numbers. No one said it, but being able to cover the cost of the music or food or chip in for a fun excursion suddenly felt like the price of admission.

“I should get going too.” Just her luck, it was Cressida that spoke up.

Feyre kept her attention on her phone, wincing at the price of getting an Uber. Subway it was, then. She tugged on her coat and said her goodbyes, ready to be done with the night. Feyre hustled outside, hands in her pockets to keep them warm as she walked towards the nearest station.

“Feyre!”

She resisted grinding her teeth together and turned around, a pleasant expression plastered on her face. “What’s up?”

Cressida stalked closer. “Where are you going?”

“Um,” she looked around, as if that would provide clarity to the question. “Home?”

Cressida rolled her eyes. “You’re taking the subway.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What?” Feyre gaped.

“You’re not taking the subway alone at this time of night,” Cressida said. “I can’t believe Rhys would let you leave his home without offering a ride.”

Rhys knew better than to try and control Feyre. And he probably was busy planning his fancy birthday vacation.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve done it before—”

“Come on,” the other woman turned away, expecting Feyre to follow. “I’ll drop you off.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I insist!” Cressida unlocked her car, opening the passenger door open like a chauffeur. “Get in.”

“You live in the opposite direction,” Feyre backed away. “It doesn’t make any sense—”

“You live so far, it’ll be faster for me to drop you off than to take the subway,” Cressida pointed out. “Just get into the car, Feyre, don’t be so stubborn.”

She hated taking the offered favor. But it would be faster and more comfortable to go with Cressida.

Feyre got into the car.

If Cressida thought it was awkward, she didn’t say anything. The low volume of her music filled the air, quiet enough to hold a conversation if they desired.

Ferye really didn’t want to talk. Cressida, though, obviously wanted the exact opposite. “Are you getting anything for Rhys?”

“Um,” she hesitated. Her gift suddenly seemed so silly. But the longer she was silent, the more suspicious it would seem. “I was going to paint something for him.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” Cressida said one thing, but her tone said something different.

Feyre sat up a little straighter, defensive. “What?”

“I don’t see Rhys as an art guy,” she shrugged, conveniently avoiding Feyre’s gaze and keeping her eyes on the road. “I mean, sure, he might kind of like it. But he’s not like Amren, right? He’s not going to gallery showings and stuff, he’d buy something to hang on his wall from Crate and Barrel.”

“Well…I’m glad I can give him something nice then.” Maybe. Her great idea seemed less and less ingenious by the minute, but Ferye could salvage something. Some sort of pretty, but meaningless piece to hang in a hall. She didn’t have any other ideas.

“Oh no, I don’t mean to discourage you!” Cressida said. “Really! I know you care about your work, and I can tell that you would put so much of yourself in it. And I’ve seen some of your stuff, you’re really good. I’m just one opinion.”

Feyre swallowed roughly. “But you don't think it’s a good idea.”

She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “I just don’t want to see you hurt when Rhys doesn’t react the way you might want him to. It’s Rhys, he’ll appreciate the gift of course. But it’s…ugh, how do I put this? Helion is arranging a private tour of an observatory because Rhys is a nerd obsessed with space. Mor is probably going to set aside a day for them to spend together and reminisce on childhood memories. And I want to give him a vacation because he always works so hard and literally never takes a moment for himself.”

“And my gift…” Feyre could barely speak. “Doesn’t matter as much.”

“It matters,” Cressida shot a glance at Ferye. “It does, because it matters to you. But don’t project that onto Rhys. Like I said, he’ll appreciate it, but I don’t want to see you get hurt because he doesn’t seem to care or like it as much as you might anticipate.”

Thankfully, they were only five minutes away from her apartment. Enough time for Feyre to fall silent in quiet contemplation, a late night a good excuse for the murmur of thanks and quick retreat when Cressida dropped her off.

As soon as she was out of the car, icy wind pierced her shields. Feyre’s throat tightened as she hustled into her building, pounding up the stairs. By the time she was through the door, she was well and truly humiliated.

Her phone chimed. Feyre automatically glanced at it and then wished she hadn’t.

Good appointment with orthopedic surgeon. Elain’s text read. Identified a problem, Dad will need more physical therapy, but they’re hopeful it’ll lessen the pain.

Nesta’s reply appeared. Send the bill, we’ll split it three ways. How many weeks of therapy?

Idk, at least 8 I think.

Feyre sagged, falling against the closed door. She and her sisters were getting by now, but their dad’s medical bills always put a strain on all three of them.

Definitely no vacations, or even trips to fun cafes, or going to see a new movie in her future. Not for a while. She took a deep breath, already thinking about her spreadsheets, then looked up.

The unfinished portrait taunted her from the corner.

She was such an idiot. Rhys might think her painting was cool, might have shown genuine interest— but that was because he was Rhys. He wouldn’t make her upset or be anything but kind, simply because Feyre was Mor’s friend.

But she wasn’t a part of his life, wasn't in the same circle. She had foolishly projected her own passions onto him, poured her soul into something that could never see the light of day again.

Grabbing a trash bag from under the sink, Feyre stalked towards the easel.

Pack it up. Get rid of it, and this entire night. She had miscalculated what to give Rhys, and quite honestly she had probably been miscalculating about her place here for a while.

She felt like a nice little pet, a charity case to be ogled by the rest of them until it was convenient to leave her behind. But that didn’t worry them, because they had been to her studio and they knew her too well, and what kind of broke 22-year-old would walk away from rich successful friends?

Feyre sniffed back tears, the product of a long week and too many bottles of cider at game night. She needed sleep. Rest, and in the morning she would be feeling less sorry for herself.

But first.

The painting stretched the plastic bag, sharp corners poking out. Feyre almost left it at her door, ready to be thrown out. But it was too obvious there, too in-her-face. She banished it under her bed instead. There, it could keep the monsters from her nightmares company and be forgotten under a layer of dust and regret.

#acotarwritingcircle #acotar #acotar fanfiction #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand

62 notes · View notes

flying-elliska · 3 years ago

Text

I came across another one of those "there is absolutely zero homophobia in this story about queer characters that's amazing !!! " posts (Or at least the op was intent on reading no homophobia at all in the text even when it was hinted at). And those types of post always give me such weird mixed feelings. I have seen a lot of them in the last few years.

I'm not discussing anyone's personal preferences - that is entirely up to them. And I also agree that I want more stories where queerness is not a big deal and people's problems come from other places. And queer characters can have the same amount of fun fluffy romance.

HOWEVER in the way ppl talk about queer stories (thinking predominantly abt book related spaces) these days it's often like any kind of obstacles or adversity makes it "bad representation" and honestly...that kind of worries me.

That's partly a matter of personal taste - a while back I went on a sapphic book reading binge and I found too many of them way too saccharine and boring and cutesy without depth.

But also - there is an element of cultural amnesia here that I can't help but link to the way some parts of online queer communities nowadays end up falling for conservative/queerphobic rhetoric often out of sheer ignorance (terfy bullshit, heteronormativity, assimilationism/wanting to be seen as normal at all costs/shaming queer people seen as too weird/gnc, sex negativity, gatekeeping, etc etc). It is still important for queer people who grow up in more progressive environments to know about the resorts of homophobia and heteronormativity. Because knowledge is power, and progress is never guaranteed.

Like it's amazing that more and more young people grow up without having to be worried about that stuff ! That's something the queer community has been fighting for for so long ! But still nowadays, a majority of queer people live in bigoted environments, and a majority of queer people alive have experienced homophobia and bigotry. And there is a subset of young, often very privileged in other ways, queer person generally living in ultra-liberal bubbles that I wish remembered this and was more mindful when they spoke. Because I have heard stuff that really made me angry - about how "tragic gay stories" were tired and annoying and overdone and less valuable. And like, personal taste, wanting more fluff, that's one thing. But calling stories that are often real people's past or even present worthless because they're kind of a bummer and not entertaining enough - well, that's deeply disrespectful, disturbing and circles all the way back to homophobic.

I was thinking about this the other day bc that mindset has influenced me in ways I don't like. I do often write homophobia into my stories and sometimes I feel kind of bad about it, wondering if it's like, perpetuating cliches or exploitative etc etc. But actually fuck that noise. Homophobia had a huge impact on me growing up. I grew up in a deeply homophobic environment - I was called a d*ke in disgust before I was old enough to know what it was, I first learned about queerness through images of characters that were all sinister, ridiculous, pathetic, or predatory ; bisexuality meanwhile was either invisible or supposedly fake or psychopathic ; I grew up surrounded by people making shitty jokes and casually using slurs, bullying people who didn't adhere well enough to gender roles (and a few times that was me, too), my bff in HS was all like "gay guys are ok but queer women are gross" - I soaked up that shit like a sponge and it's no wonder I didn't figure out my sexuality until my early twenties - I had repressed the hell out of that shit because it was so scary. Even though my experiences were not as direct as other people, it was still the ambient background to those very formative years. And still today - like, we regularly hear on the news about lgbt people being attacked, one of those attacks happened a few blocks from where I live ffs, and I supposedly live in one of the most gay friendly countries on Earth ! So I am well within my rights to explore that shit through fiction.

Do I blame people for wanting a break from that ? Hell no ! I do too sometimes. But I do NOT want to hear bullshit about how queer stories that are less than perfectly happy are somehow bad, regressive or less valuable.

I think personally what I truly want is more nuance. Sometimes I feel like we switched right from having mostly super tragic stories where queer characters were completely crushed by overwhelming oppression to a predominant mood that is very, like..."feel good stories only, homophobia is solved!!!!! If you still feel bad it's all in your head you're stuck in the past/annoying and we don't care about your trauma!!!!!" (hmmm big toxic positivity and online performativity vibes). I think the stories that have brought me the most, personally, are those where queer characters still experience some level of oppression but manage to fight the system/find some measure of joy and happiness regardless/crush their bigoted enemies while being very badass about it, all the while having epic romances and very full lives and also other complex problems.

I mean there is probably media that does this that I haven't found yet (pls send me recs if you have any). But it still feels too rare.

I don't only want fluffy escapism or idealism in fiction. I want to get strength and hope from characters who do manage to overcome less than ideal situations, I want to find recognition, I want to learn about other people's lives, and yes, sometimes, I want the catharsis and validation of tragedy.

And also ? I think you can still manage to address these things in stories and also have fluff and a happy ending. It's too often annoyingly one note, like characters who suffer too much are too broken to recover or hope/fluff is not believable in a world where bad things happen or you can't explore heavier topics in what is supposed to be a happier story like ! This feels like marketing segmenting bullshit to me. Life is beautiful and horrible all at once !!! The one doesn't exclude the other !!!!

#lgbt rep #lgbt representation #queer culture #lgbtqia #queer representation #homophobia #queer stories #d slur cw

71 notes · View notes

writingquestionsanswered · 4 years ago

Note

I’ve started writing a book that was heavily inspired by a movie. It feels like no matter what I change, there’s still the same tropes and stuff from that movie I was inspired by. What can I do to make my story more original and distance my story from that movie?

Making a Story Different from Source Material

First, keep in mind that tropes are usually inherent in the subject matter. If your story's premise is even a little similar to the source movie, those tropes are going to be there whether you want them or not.

But, remember: tropes are fine... they're good, actually. What you want to avoid are cliches, which are tropes that have been used the exact same way so many times, everyone is sick of them. If you're worried that a trope in your source story has been overdone in that exact same way, find a way to do it a little differently.

Diversifying the Tropes in Your Story

While you can certainly eliminate some of the tropes your story shares with the source, and you can add tropes the source doesn't contain, you can also just find ways to use the tropes in different ways.

Let's take a look at The Vampire Diaries and the Twilight Saga, two very similar but very different stories. (note: for TVD I'm referring to the TV series specifically rather than the book series.) They both follow a small town high school girl who falls for the hot guy at school, finds out he's a vampire, learns there's a supernatural underworld in her town, and eventually becomes supernatural herself. Because both of these stories are set in small towns, feature high school characters, and contain vampires and werewolves, there are a lot of tropes that exist in both. What matters is that these tropes are used differently in both stories. Here are some examples:

Trope: "Big Bad Ensemble"

Twilight Saga - The Volturi, 3,000 year old "coven" of vampires who reside in a small Italian village, administering the rules and laws of vampire civilization and are seen as vampire royalty. Despite being very old, they are not the first vampires, they're just among the oldest and the ones who fought to be in charge.

The Vampire Diaries - The Originals, aka the Mikaelson Family, a thousand-year-old family of Scandinavian vampire siblings, created when their witch mother dabbled in dark magic in an attempt to make her children strong enough to fight werewolves. While they're also somewhat regarded as vampire royalty (all vampire lines descend from them, after all) they do not rule over the vampire world in any way, though they do have a lot of power and influence.

Trope: "But I Can't Be Pregnant"

Twilight - A human character becomes supernaturally pregnant with a vampire's baby, via sexual intercourse, despite the fact that no one knew it could happen. The resulting baby is of course also supernatural.

The Vampire Diaries - A vampire character becomes supernaturally pregnant with two human babies thanks to a magic transfer facilitated by witchcraft, though she and her friends had no idea such a thing was possible. The resulting babies were already supernatural (because their bio-mom was a witch) and did not take on any vampire characteristics due to the womb change.

Also, The Vampire Diaries - A werewolf character becomes supernaturally pregnant with a supernatural baby as the result of intercourse between a vampire/werewolf hybrid and a werewolf. The baby inherited the witch side from her paternal grandmother. Also, no one realized this was possible. The pregnancy results in a "tri-brid" baby, who is part wolf, part vampire, and part witch (from her paternal grandmother.)

Trope: "Daywalking Vampire"

Since both stories feature vampires who are also high school students, it's necessary for these characters to be able to walk around during the daytime. Both stories approached it differently.

Twilight - In the Twilight Saga, the vampires are only affected by direct sunlight. It doesn't hurt them, but it sparkles off their skin and makes it pretty clear they're not human. The author got around this by choosing a story location that experiences a lot of overcast, rainy days. Then, the vampires just did whatever they had to do to avoid direct sunlight.

The Vampire Diaries - In TVD, sunlight burns the skin of vampires and will ultimately kill them, so vampires either avoid sunlight or they have to wear "daylight rings," which are spelled by witches to protect the wearer from the negative effects of daylight.

Hopefully that gives you an idea of how easy it is to take existing tropes and make them just a little bit different. Doing that will go a long way in making your story stand out from its inspiration source.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

Visit my FAQ

See my Master List of Top Posts

Go to ko-fi.com/wqa to buy me coffee or see my commissions!

#writing #writing tips #writing help #writing advice #wqaadvice

151 notes · View notes

kythed · 4 years ago

Text

“teenage wasteland.” kuroo tetsurou x reader

4:08pm.

“yo,” kuroo says, opening the door quickly after you ring the bell, “you finally made it.”

“what do you mean, finally?” you complain, kicking off your shoes and slipping inside. the dry heat of his family home’s living room assaults your bare face, a sharp contrast to the december frigidity outside. “you texted me like ten minutes ago.”

“felt like longer,” kuroo says with a crooked grin. “you want something to drink?”

“water?”

“I kinda meant something stronger, but sure, water,” kuroo says, filling a glass at the kitchen sink. you furrow your brows.

“something stronger? I’m sorry, but last time I checked we were still underage,” you say, and kuroo laughs breathily — it’s almost a giggle, actually. for the first time since arriving, you notice an odd flush in his cheeks. “oh my god. are you drunk?”

“drunk?” kuroo gasps. “no, no. tipsy, yes. drunk, no.”

“tetsurou,” you scold, reluctantly letting him pull you towards the hallway. “all those big, bad college boys can’t have been a very good influence on you.”

“I’ve had a stash of jack daniels hidden beneath my bed since sophomore year,” kuroo whispers conspiratorially. “those ‘big, bad college boys’ have nothing to do with it. speaking of which — you want some?”

you shake your head vehemently and dig your heels into the carpet, realizing he’s trying to drag you into his bedroom. despite being kuroo tetsurou’s official best friend of a decade, you’ve never been inside his room before. you’ve never been inside any boy’s room before, actually — you’ve never been much of a rule breaker.

(you suppose that’s why you and kuroo get along. you’re forever the straight-laced goody goody, and he’s forever the secretly bad, outwardly good honor roll kid.)

“I don’t drink,” you insist, and kuroo loops his arms around your neck. you stiffen. “and stop being so touchy. it’s freaking me out.”

“what?” kuroo says, feigning offense. “you don’t like my hugs?”

“no!” you say, and he shoots you an exaggerated eye roll. “you’re being weird. I can probably count the number of times you’ve voluntarily hugged me on one hand.”

kuroo ignores you, choosing to instead pick you up and toss you over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.

“kuroo tetsurou, you’d better quit it before I call your mother!” you pound on his back, a little taken aback to feel his shoulder muscles rippling under your palms as he staunchly marches you into his room. “I do not want to enter your disgusting cave of a room, you teenage garbage troll!”

“getting real creative with the insults there,” kuroo laughs, setting you down and backing up against the door to block you from running out. “come onnnnn. I thought we could play a game of monopoly or something. listen to the radio. finish the bottle before my mom comes home and whips my hide.”

you sigh and perch your hands on your hips. “so that’s why you invited me over.”

“no, no,” kuroo protests, crouching to pull a clear bottle of amber colored liquid out from beneath his bed. “I also just vastly enjoy your company.”

“why not just throw it out?” you ask, gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed.

kuroo’s room is a lot neater than you imagined it would be — navy bedspread tightly tucked in at the corners, vinyl floor completely clear save for a small rug. his desk is probably the messiest part of the entire room, holding an old, chunky desktop that’s covered in post-its with smudged, scribbled notes, ranging from “email prof. miyazawa about missing grade” to “buy mom flowers to apologize for broken mug.”

there are a couple posters on the wall, too, one for the japanese national volleyball team, and one for some punk-looking band dressed in an overabundance of leather, ripped denim, and hair feathers.

“this shit was expensive,” kuroo says, gesturing to the bottle before screwing the cap off and taking a long draught. your eyes widen as he drinks down a quarter of the remaining liquid, his adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. “I can’t let it go to waste.”

“I think you’ve probably had enough of that,” you say, gently twisting it from his hands. kuroo smiles angelically before coming to tower over you.

“if you’re not gonna drink it, I will,” he says, reaching out to grasp the bottle’s neck. you hold onto it stubbornly.

“you’re clearly wasted, tetsu,” you say. “just let me throw it away.”

“I may have a small drinking problem,” kuroo says, “but I’m sober enough to know I’m not about to throw away the fifty bucks I spent on that. give it.”

“no!”

“yes.”

“nooooo!”

“yes!”

kuroo tries to wrench the bottle from you, and you spend a solid thirty seconds wiggling in his grasp before finally pulling it away. in an impulsive attempt to keep kuroo from getting even drunker, you bring the rim of the bottle to your lips and chug the rest of the whiskey.

kuroo’s eyes widen, and he guffaws loudly. “that was a lot of alcohol just now.”

you nod, wincing at the acrid taste, unwilling to swallow — the liquid is still swishing in your cheeks. you move to go spit it out in kuroo’s sink, but he grabs your arm.

“do not spit that out,” he warns. “that’s over two hours’ worth of minimum wage salary. I don’t work twenty hours a week in the wendy’s drive-thru just for you to flush it down the drain.”

“mmmm,” you protest, breathing through your nose. “hrghhhh mmm mm mhm.”

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say,” kuroo says, obviously trying to stifle his laughter.

you gesture wildly to your face, and then to the empty bottle, and then back to your face.

for a moment, kuroo wrinkles his nose, and then slowly smoothes out his expression. a small smile stretches across his lips, and he steps close to you. you’re acutely aware of your personal bubble being popped, as well of the fact that he smells strongly of old spice and mango body wash.

“I’ll do it then.”

“mm?” you squeak in confusion when he takes your chin in one hand and guides your face close to his. you’re not sure if you’re smelling the alcohol on his breath or tasting it on our own tongue. you’ve never been this physically close to your best friend in your life, and you can firmly say you’re absolutely petrified. you shake your head vehemently as he slowly leans down, tilting his head.

“calm down,” he says quietly, and in spite of yourself, you do. “I’m just taking a drink.”

then he presses his mouth to yours, and you freeze. oh, shit.

kuroo wedges his tongue between your lips, forcing them open, and then he sucks the whiskey from your mouth, one hand keeping your jaw open while the other snakes around your waist. your eyes widen just as his close, almost as if he’s enjoying the kiss. slowly, you close yours too, letting yourself melt into him as he keeps kissing you even after swallowing the liquid.

it lasts for a good ten seconds before you reluctantly pull away, letting your hands rest on his shoulders. he’s smiling, evidently very pleased with himself.

“what the hell was that?” you say breathlessly, searching his face.

“I was thirsty,” kuroo says nonchalantly. “and a little drunk. and you’re very pretty, as far as best friends go.”

you feel like you should be offended, yet you can’t quite bring yourself to be. you’re definitely flustered, though, and a little embarrassed. (okay, a lot embarrassed.)

“I think, um, I think I should go,” you say, breaking eye contact. kuroo raises a hand to stop you, but you brush him off, bounding out of the room to grab your bag and keys from the kitchen counter. “we can talk about this later, okay? you need to go take a nap or something.”

“no, hey, wait —”

but you’re already out the door and in the car, jamming the key into ignition. you just kissed your best friend. or did you? does that count as a kiss? or was that just kuroo being stupid? your mind spins with useless speculations on the drive home, and as you sprawl out on your bed for an hour afterwards. it’s not until later that evening that you check your phone, greeted by a handful of social media notifications… and a text from kuroo.

with shaking hands, you swipe it open, face immediately splitting into a grin.

kuroo: sorry about that

kuroo: ok, not really

kuroo: I’m not that sorry

kuroo: cuz you’re a good kisser

kuroo: a really good kisser

you: you too

you wait for a moment as the three little dots on kuroo’s side pop up.

kuroo: thanks

kuroo: I was still kind of stupid tho

kuroo: my b

you: you regret it?

your fingers shake in suspense as you await his answer, feeling all the world like a lovestruck fifteen year old. you’re a little disgusted to find yourself suddenly crushing on kuroo tetsurou of all people, but what can you say? maybe falling for your best friend is a little cliche. maybe it’s a little overdone. maybe the fact that you kissed him with a mouthful of whiskey belongs in a cheesy teen movie, but you can’t help but find yourself delighted that it happened.

kuroo: nope. not at all.

kuroo: not at all.

#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu oneshots #tw: alcohol #meg ur comment on my shitpost inspired me #HEH #hihqnetwork

208 notes · View notes