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violettelueur · 4 years

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— JUJUTSU KAISEN EPISODE ONE || RYOMEN SUKUNA

↳ featuring : itadori yuji + fushiguro megumi + gojo satoru + ryomen sukuna from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mentions of blood + mention of killing + mention of mass murder (word massacres is mentioned) + mention of death + swearing and EXTREME grammar issues

↳ form : story

↳ published : 07 february

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 3.8k

↳ synopsis : within the jujutsu world, there were three famous clans to be aware of, the Kamo clan, Zenin clan and the Gojo clan. However, unknown to many sorcerers there was one last family that was known to be apart of the three, only for them to disappear after the golden era leading some to speculate that they had died in battle after the sealing of ryomen sukuna, but....

↳ next episode : for myself

↳ barista’s notes : to be honest with you guys, this little imagine here is such a mess and i had fun writing it since it have me an excuse to watch the first and a tiny bit of episodes one and two of jujutsu kaisen again ʕ￫ᴥ￩　ʔ

BEFORE READING, I NEED YOU TO BE AWARE OF THIS:

1. all the ‘curse spells’ mentioned in this are related to Bleach (their use of Kido - credits go to: Tite Kubo) so these ain’t my original ideas since i started this at like 11pm on a saturday night.

2. there is some dialogue missing since this is from your perspective as a reader and not Fushiguro’s or Itadori’s

3. as you all know, the storyline isn’t mine, it belongs to Gege Akutami

4. this whole thing might be confusing and please don’t expect a part two because i will do it when i am ready or feel like i can at the right time ʕ ᵒ ᴥ ᵒʔ

5. i don’t know, if i am going to add this onto my masterlist since this was just for fun to be honest!

thank you so much for taking the time to read this and i hope you enjoy your free cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen) ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡

“L/N, are you going to come with us?”

Looking away from the window you were viewing out from, you paused sipping from your carton of orange juice before turning your head to quickly discover two female students looking at you with anticipation in their eyes only for you to look at them in some sort of confusion.

“Come one, don’t tell me you didn’t hear about it? Coach Takagi and Itadori are competing!” one of the girls complained, obviously slightly annoyed at your oblivious nature to the news that was going around the school at this moment in time.

“Competing for?” you then questioned, as you stood straight from your leaning position causing the other female student to then rapidly answer by saying, “Coach is trying to requite Itadori for the nationals, so if he wins then itadori has to join the track club to compete!”

‘Huh? What a drag’

“So do you wanna come to the track field with us to see who is going to win?” the two students asked again in a desperate tone, leading you to look at the window you were previously looking from to see the exact location that they had stated. “I’ll watch from here, it has a higher and wider view, so I would have a better look” you replied, before pointing at the track field that was on the other side of the glass causing the students to look out before nodding.

“We really want to see it up close, so we’ll see you tomorrow yeah?” the first female student asked, leading you to smile and nod at them before seeing them rapidly take off to the track field trying to make sure they arrived before the competition started.

Turning your smile back into a straight line, you turn back to the window that you were looking through before being interrupted while placing your drink’s straw between your lips letting the sweet but citrusy juice flow down your throat. Admiring the view, you decided to let your eyes roam free for a bit to see if there was anything interesting to observe before the supposed ‘competition’ started, which then led you to pause at the sight of the closed rugby field down below.

Coming out of the ground was a horrific creature with four arms before climbing up the pole revealing its large teeth leading you to stare at it with complete boredom as you then mentally took a quick note to exorcise it later when the school closed. However, what also came into your sights was a single male student down before staring at the same curse you were observing causing you to continue analysing the situation.

‘Can he see it? I don’t recall a student here having any curse energy’

From what you could tell, the student had black erratic hair with his hands in his pocket but from what you could see that other’s couldn’t, there was a faint but noticeable aura of curse energy surrounding his body generating a feeling of curiosity but nervousness within your stomach as you place your empty carton away from your lips. Suddenly, the male turned around leading you to have somewhat a clearer view of him, only to discover that he also had a pair of emerald eyes which then made you come to the conclusion that he wasn’t a student from the school. How could he? You could tell this ‘student’, and yourself was the same age meaning you would have at least seen him once or twice down the hallways and there was no new information about a student coming in, if there was, it would have been a buzz.

‘Don’t tell me one of the clans managed to find out about me?’ you anxious thought, leading you to take a short step back ensuring this sorcerer didn’t have a vivid view of you when you did of him. Hearing some cheering, you turned your head to the other side to find a small crowd forming with a metal ball being flung as two students ran out to measure the length between the dip of the sand from the coach indicating to you that the competition had started.

“14 metres!’ the one student shouted, leading to a round of applause from the audience spectating the event. However, from what your ears were managing to pick up, there were cheers for Itadori leading you to wonder if you could recall the classmate they were shouting for.

“Ah~ Itadori Yuji ha?” you rhetorically asked the air around you, not expecting an answer in return. Itadori Yuji was a first-year student like you were, member of the small occult research club with second years Sasaki and Iguchi when he could be in any athletic club if he wanted to. However, understandably you knew some people would rather do something than what their natural talents indicated. Once again, you saw the metal ball being thrown - this time from the pink-haired students - only for it to land that the corner of the football goal, yet what was the shocking thing was that the metal of the goal was bent leading you to look at the sight within widened eye - of course, you knew Itadori was fast and strong but not to the extent of what you had just witnessed.

“Wow, no wonder he was called ‘Tiger of the West Middle’,” you muttered under your breath before quickly reverting your eyes to find the sorcerer you were wary of. Surprisingly, he was now on the track field looking upon the competition mixing well with the other students like a little chameleon. Although, before you could continue to observe the student trying to see what his intentions were, Itadori suddenly ran past him with his large backpack on, only for the erratic-haired sorcerer’s eye to suddenly widen the second they crossed each other leading him to reach out for your classmate. However, there was only dust to be collected as Itadori was suddenly out of reach.

“Just what are you trying to gain, sorcerer? It’s already a drag that you’re here,” you quietly mumbled irritation before turning away from the window you were gazing from to collect your school bag from your classroom since you left it there to not have the burden of carrying it on your shoulder. However, what you didn’t notice was the same sorcerer peering up at the same window you were looking from with perplexity painted on his face.

‘Was someone watching me?’

ꕥ

“Don’t tell me someone got a hold of that damn finger?” you angrily stated, as you suddenly felt an immense amount of pressure invade the school causing you to wonder if there was anyone within the school with you right now, as you began to increasingly worry about whoever got a hold of the special-grade object that you found a few nights before.

“I put a protective seal on it, who the hell broke it!?” you muttered, as you panicky ran up the stairs trying to follow the presence of the object you were desperately trying to get a hold of before forcibly pushing a door open leading it to smash against the wall as you continued to sprint across the halls.

As you quickly turned the corner, you saw a large curse blocking the path leading you to instinctively flow your curse energy flow to your hand to the tips of your finger as you began to confidently recite the spell you were about to cast after you had finished drawing the symbol with your curse energy in the air.

“Disintegrate, you black dog of Rondanini! Look upon yourself with the horror and then claw out your own throat! Binding Curse Spell number nine: Geki!” you chanted, leading to a thin light aqua aura of curse energy to surround the curse causing it to become completely paralysed. However, before you could cast another spell to destroy the curse, there was a sudden interruption causing you to look at the person in complete shock as they flew into the corridor from outside the window only for you to discover it was your own classmate.

“Itadori!” you screamed, only for him to grab what seemed like two people away from the curse as it was still immobilised from your spell leading you to turn to the side to find that it was both Sasaki and Iguchi in his arms causing your eye to further widen only for you to be then distracted by the curse being blown away to your direction leading you to use another spell to make sure you were caught in the process.

“Binding Curse Spell number eighty-one: Danku,” you hurriedly stated, leading to a large rectangular defensive wall to shield you away from the decapitated parts of the curse as well as the technique being used for it to explode the way it did. Unexpectedly, once the pathway was cleared you suddenly came eye to eye with the sorcerer you were peering down on the track field this afternoon causing a wave of uneasiness to consume your body.

“Who are you?” he questioned leading to the two dogs beside him to growl at you showing their sharp canine that could easily pierce your skin if he commanded them to. Slowly, your hand moved to the hilt of your katana that was hanging horizontally on your back, before quickly coming to the conclusion that it wasn’t difficult to slice the two dogs down if you desired to.

“Shikigamis huh? I should just cut the user down before they could reach me, then they would disappear’

“Oh L/N? What are you doing here?” Itadori asked in shock, leading you and the sorcerer to look at him before the sorcerer suspiciously asked, “you know who she is?”.

“She’s a student at my school, she is in the higher class since she’s smarter than me,” Itadori explained, as he took the time to check on his two club members with a sincere look on his face to then discover that they were unconscious with Sasaki in a decent state with Iguchi in somewhat the same condition but with injuries to his face. Letting your shield gradually disappear, you slowly walked up to your senior as you crouched down to hover a hand over his face letting a flow of curse energy begin to heal his wounds.

“Itadori, how the hell did they get the finger?” you angrily questioned the boy while continuing to heal your upperclassman causing him to look at you in shock - due to your acknowledgement of the object - as he caught the cursed object that slipped out of Sasaki’s pocket once he picked her up in a bridal style.

“How do you know about it?” the sorcerer then asked, only to be quickly silenced when you gave him a heated glare only for itadori to then explain that he was the one that picked it up for them since they wanted to sneak back into the school to unwrap the talisman for research for the occult club leading an irk to appear on your forehead. “Wasn’t there like a talisman paper placed on the door? You know like those like sheet of paper with Ancient Japanese writing painted on it?” you asked in a stern tone as you completed the healing process only for itadori to give you a questionable look.

“There was a hint of paper being there, but it seemed like it was ripped off,” itadori answered wearily, leading you to look up at him with enlarged eyes as you let out a breath of complete shock.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN RIPPED OFF?” you screamed as you rushed to your feet before grabbing the collar of his classic yellow jumper. From what you could recall, there was no possible way for the seal to be completely ripped off by the hands of a normal person, not even a simple sorcerer could even go through the barrier you had placed on it leading you to turn to the sorcerer, who was looking at the argument that was occurring right in front of his face.

“Was it you? No, from what I can see, you ain’t even a high enough grade to even go through it...Ah shit,” you cursed as you let go of Itadori’s collar before beginning to try to think of all the possibilities that could have happened that led to this accident.

“So, is this it Fushiguro?” Itadori asked the sorcerer, completely ignoring you as you were in a state of shock and confusion on what was going on. “Yeah, that’s the special-grade curse object, Ryomen Sukuna’s finger,” the sorcerer confirmed with Itadori as he then quickly mentioned, “it’s a miracle that it didn’t get swallowed, thanks to L/N curse technique back there.”

‘Fushiguro huh? Not Zenin, that’s a relief’

“Why would anything eat it? Does it taste good?” Itadori asked in curiosity, leading you and Fushguro to look at the boy with a questionable look on both your faces.

“Don’t be stupid,” you and Fushiguro simultaneously stated causing both of you to look at each other in shock before you then explained, “you’d do it to gain stronger curse energy. It’s dangerous, so hand it over to Fushiguro, it’s best to have him keep hold of it since the seal I placed was broken.”

“Sure, sure,” Itadori casually said, as he outstretched his hand to pass the finger to Fushiguro. However, before the sorcerer could take the object away from Itadori’s gasp, a large hand began to reach down below the two people causing you to look up in fear before instinctively pushing the two boys away from the area it was trying to target.

“RUN!” you screamed, before the ceiling crashed down between both of you, leaving you completely alone and vulnerable as the dust invaded your sights. In a panic, you swiftly grabbed the hilt of your katana to release the blade from its casing revealing an all-black weapon your hands, but once the smoked clear you found Fushiguro trapped in the hands of the curse before being forcibly through to the concrete wall causing a few hints of blood escaping from his mouth, to which lead to the two dogs that were protecting Itadori as well as the two second-year to disappear.

‘Shadows? Don’t tell me…’

However, before you could even complete your sudden thought, there was a sudden flash of lights blinding you before the whole side of the school to be destroyed along with Fushiguro, who was thrown across. In a state of terror, you rushed outside before using your speed to jump up the height needed before stabbing back of the curse’s head with your katana before quickly retreating back, leaving it there as the curse screeched in pain while preparing another curse spell to use to finish off the monstrosity.

“Destructive Curse Spell number seventy-three: Soren Soka-” you screamed, but you were interrupted once you suddenly found Itadori aggressively punch the curse’s head leading Fushiguro, who was laying down on the ground with blood pouring down his face to angrily shout, “Itadori! Why can’t you understand to take those two and run?!”.

“You’re in big trouble yourself!” Itadori screamed back, before being swung around as he then suddenly was being dragged along the metal railings of the balcony before his body was then swung into the air.

“Only curses can exorcise other curses! You can’t beat it!” Fushiguro argued back, only for this attempt to fall on death’s ears as itadori continued to fight against the curse as he masterfully dodged its attacks before playing his own as he kicked its ruby eye.

“Besides, I have my own troublesome curse already!” Itadori declared, causing you to look at your classmate in complete annoyance since you didn’t have a single clue on what he was rabbling about. As of right now, all you were wondering was where the cursed finger was since the last time you had seen it was in Itdori’s possession.

Suddenly, before you realised it, the mentioned cursed object had slipped out of Itadori’s grasp causing you to quickly stand up on your feet to jump across the cure to reach it. On the other hand, it seemed like the curse was blocking your way by how it used both its arms to capture Itadori leading to the student to jump as high as he could to catch the finger by the grip of his teeth.

“You idiot!” you screamed, as you tried to concentrate your curse energy to flow to your palms as your katana was still within the curse’s head. “Hand it over to me or you'll be eaten, too!” Fushiguro yelled in a panic as he finally got up on his feet to chase after the wanted object.

Slowly, you raised your right hand before using your index finger to use it as a guide to where to aim your next spell at the finger without damaging your schoolmate in the process. “Destructive Curse Spell number one: Sho,” you quickly chanted leading to a small amount of curse energy in a concentrated manner to shoot from the tip of your index finger, yet before it even had the chance to hit the finger away from Itadori’s teeth, he threw thing finger up in the air using the force of his head leading your curse spell to be a futile attempt.

“There is a way to save everyone! I just need some cursed energy right. Fushiguro, L/N?!” Itadori cried out, leading you to again attempt to shoot the cursed finger away from where you assumed Itadori wanted it to go, while Fushiguro looked upon the situation in complete fear of what was going to happen.

“Don’t..Don’t do it!” Fushiguro shouted in a hostile tone, only for Itadori to swallow the special-grade cursed object causing you and the other sorcerer to look at the scene in complete disbelief.

‘He’s going to die, that’s a deadly poison..but...there’s a one in a million chance’

Suddenly, the arms of the curse disintegrated into small particles of flesh before Itadori landed on his feet, only for the curse to attempt to attack the salmon-hair boy again, leading to being completely destroyed with a single wing of an arm to which caused your katana, which was stuck within the flesh of the curse, to fly into the air before landing with a loud ‘clunk’.

Yet, that wasn’t your main concern.

Your feet were glued to the ground as you looked upon the sight right in front of you. Fushiguro was staring at the same scene with dread flooding his green eyes as Itadori was now covered with the black markings of what you both come to know from basic jujutsu knowledge.

‘Y/N dear, I’m so sorry for putting you through this, if Sukuna ever comes into this era, it is your duty as a sorcerer and the only offspring of the L/N clan to exorcise him, promise me that please?’

‘Why.....why did you have to die mother?’

“Ah, I knew it! The light feels best in the flesh,” ‘Itadori’ declared, as he then processed to rip his yellow hoodie in excitement before brisking his flesh to the moonlight that was shining right above him. “A cursed spirit’s flesh is so boring. Where are the people? The women?!” ‘Itadori’ questioned before jumping onto the railings as he continued his speech, “what a wonderful era to be in, women and children are crawling everywhere like maggots. Marvellous! It’ll be a massacre!”

Without the acknowledgement of who you deemed to be Sukuna and Fushiguro, you slowly raised your right hand with an open palm as you began to whisper another curse spell to make the exorcism a little easier for you, “Binding Curse Spell number sixty-three: Sajo Sabaku''. As you closed your palm, there was a sudden manifestation of a yellow electrified chain being created as it loosely surrounded the King of Curse before tightly securing its place around his body.

“Ah-” Sukuna said in surprise before taking a step back from the balcony to observe the yellow chains that encaptured him. “L/N!” Fushiguro shouted as he looked at you with widened eyes surprised at how you figured out how to retain him so fast.

‘At this rate, he should be somewhat easier to exorcise, Itadori has only one finger within his system, it’s going to be okay right?’

However, before you could even comprehend what to do next as your tactic you suddenly heard a change in tone of voice. “What do you think you’re doing with my body?” Sukuna asked, only for you to realise that it was Itadori who was speaking at this moment in time, “give it back”.

“How are you able to move?” Sukuna questioned his vessel back, as he was in pure confusion on how the human still maintained some control of his body. “I mean, it’s my body,” itadori answered back, only causing you more confusion on what was going on since Sukuna’s markings were still visible to his body.

“Don’t move! You’re no longer human,” Fushiguro stated in a serious tone, as he crouched down before moving his hand in front of him as he processed to make fists.

“Under Jujutsu regulations, Itadori Yuuji, I will exorcise you as a curse!” Fushiguro announced, causing you to look at him with surprise painted upon your face. However, since you were beginning to lose a certain amount of curse energy, your chains slowly began to disappear leading Itadori’s hands to now more freely while Fushiguro’s worries about you begin to increase.

“Wait, really. I‘m just fine!” Itadori stated in innocence, as he raised his now-free hands as if he was surrendering to the sorcerer while his markings began to fade gradually. “More importantly, you and I are both pretty beat up, let’s go to a hospital,” Itadori declared as he was worried for the male right in front of him. On the other hand, you suddenly realise that there were shadows slowly swirling around Fushiguro leading to your assumption earlier to be true.

‘Fushguro is a Zenin...I..have….to’

“What’s the situation?”

All of a sudden, a new voice came into the area leading you to turn your head to the side to find a rather tall male standing next to Fushiguro. From a quick glance, you could immediately inform yourself that had spiky white hair with a black blindfold covering his eyes, as he carried a paper bag on his arm while wearing a similar outfit to Fushiguro meaning he was another sorcerer.

“Gojo-sensei?! Why are you here?” Fushiguro asked in surprise, as he turned to look at what you assumed to be his teacher leading to the shadows around him to immediately disappear from sight.

“Gojo…” you muttered under your breath as you looked at the two male sorcerers right in front of you in horror as you came to the realisation on the situation you were facing.

‘Mother…..I’ve been found…..’

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arkhangelske · 3 years

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Hirohiko Araki discussing Yoshikage Kira

from Shueisha Jump Remix Diamond is Unbreakable Volumes 27 and 28. Volume 27 released on January 10, 2004, and Volume 28 released on January 26, 2004.

=SPOILERS FOR DIAMOND IS UNBREAKABLE!=

Part 1

Before we talk about Kira, lets talk about the town of Morioh.

It is modeled after a new residential development built close to where I grew up. Back then, I was looking at these new buildings and felt a sort of anxiety as opposed to admiration. “Was everything really going well [in there]?”

Looking from the outside, you see all these warm lights in the houses, but you have no idea what people are doing inside. These houses that looked the same were being built and they all looked pristine and happy. Doesn’t that sort of make you feel like a Kira might be [lurking] there? (laughter)

With ‘Diamond is Unbreakable’ my theme was to build out a town. I wanted to draw the humor and spookiness that might be lurking the peripheries of everyday life. Even myself now, there might be bizarre things going on if I just change my point of view.

I was also very influenced by the novels of Stephen King. I was reading them a lot in the 80’s and 90’s, but I especially liked ‘Misery’. The stage is fixed and you just keep delving deeper and deeper within it. Back then I read a lot of King novels.

Also with Part 4, I got to bring in a lot of my own tastes into the work so that was fun. Games, shops, Italian restaurants! With Tonio's store, I paid a lot of attention to what I was drawing down to the ornaments. It was great bringing that into the fold too… Research was also really easy—I just had to go home to Sendai (laughter) I would just go back, take a few pictures at a souvenir shop and draw them in—all within the realm of not being scolded [for frivolous travel] of course!

Also, Josuke's hairstyle, even my editor pushed back being like ‘Please draw a main character suited for the era’. But I thought it was good because he wasn’t. The way he cares about his hairstyle, it’s very ‘70’s~80’s delinquent’-like isn’t it? But when you go to the countryside, you occasionally see people like that (laughter) When I was a student, I would stay away from people like that because they scared me, but now there’s almost something endearing about them.

So it seems that when we remixed the comics, there were 7 volumes just dedicated to episodes related to Kira. I myself was like ‘Wow, did I really draw that much of him?’

One of the themes of ‘Diamond is Unbreakable’ is that Horror may be lying right behind our everyday lives. The reason for that is because I liked reading books on serial killers back in the 80’s—this is right before ‘Silence of the Lambs’ would be published and that became a trend—and I wanted to understand what the motivation of serial killers were. Why would you be born a human and do things like this? Those types of questions really interested me and the actions of these people I found really spooky.

So when I started drawing out ‘everyday life’, I had an initial assumption that a serial killer would be the enemy. A sort of different enemy from ‘Stardust Crusaders’, one that lies in wait. The ‘Stardust Crusader’ enemies came rushing in, but [I was thinking of] an enemy that would sort of lure you in… Eventually I was thinking of drawing something like that, but I wasn’t imagining Yoshikage Kira as a specific character from the start.

The first enemies were student-level enemies like Okuyasu and Keicho, also the guitarist Akira Otoishi—at first I was thinking of student level, delinquent level enemies. The reason for that being that I didn’t want to make a sort of ‘Greatest enemy’. When you create a ‘Greatest enemy’ to be overcome, to be the goal, the readers can’t focus on anything besides that. I didn’t want that to become a weakness in the work. For every story I wrote, I wanted the attention to be on what’s happening right now.

But it seems ‘Jojo’ readers really wanted a ‘Greatest enemy’ of some sort, I guess DIO gave off too strong an impact…. so when it seemed like the end was in sight, I thought up of Kira.

The name Kira is of course from ‘Killer’—so a murderer. Its very simple (laughter) The name ‘Yoshikage’… I wanted the first kanji of both names to be the same. Same with Jojo right? So it might be easy to remember if I aligned it around the letter ‘吉’. That;s all. But it sounded right.

I drew from Kira's point of view in his first appearance. I wanted to draw something from the point of view of the antagonist. Up until this point, I only wrote the villains from the point of view of the protagonists—the villains as seen by the protagonists. But antagonist has a point of view as well, and I wanted to draw what their mental state might be. Why does Kira commit murders? And I wanted to draw that in a fashion where he stays an antagonist and doesn’t become a protagonist.

So I didn’t want to make him a very sympathetic character. When you read about the young lives of these serial killers, you often see that they lived unhappy childhoods. But if you start drawing that out, they become useless as antagonists. So I took care to cut out those parts as best I could when building his character. That took a bit of work.

For DIO, he had a thing about becoming a pinnacle over humanity right? But Kira is pursuing true human happiness. That’s why he hates trouble. He just wants to live in a world of his own interests, and that’s what makes him dangerous (laughter) But he might have an philosophy of his own… The enemies up until that point like DIO and Kars were all aiming for the top—it might have been symbolic of the Japanese economy up until that point, like the bubble economy (laughter). Back in those days, DIO's might have been the more natural mindset and you might unconsciously sympathize more with that.

When I was drawing Kira, what people were looking for was tranquility. The idea that happiness is not about standing on top of others. Kira’s awards since he was a middle schooler were all for the #3 spot. Not #1 or #2, but #3. Not conspicuous, but still respectful. He himself has the talent to become #1. But standing out, making enemies, being chased, feeling pressure, feeling expectations he can’t handle that at all. There might be a lot of adults who think like that, but it’ll be creepy if someone was thinking that when they’re a kid right? It’s much cuter for kids to be like ‘I’m going to become #1!’ That sort of abnormality was what I wanted to draw, that sort of odd genius.

Killing Reimi Sugimoto when he was 18, that was Kira’s first murder. It’s around the same time Jotaro and his companions fought DIO. Maybe that was a sort of year when the stars aligned. A year of destiny. Josuke was saved by the man with the pompadour that year too, so a lot of things went on.

His first murder, it was probably by impulse. By chance, he saw Reimi and snuck into her house… and that changed his fate. If not for that incident, he might not have lived a happy life without killing, but the stars steered him wrong. And from there, you can’t shake fate. His first murder went a long time without being uncovered. You read about serial killers and how they have dozens of bodies buried under the floor. You wonder how that happens without being uncovered, but that’s really scary right? Maybe its driven by the apathy of the neighbors… With that first murder, Kira became destined to kill 48 people.

Part 2

Kira’s background of bottling up his nails… that was inspired from a real life story of someone who preserved his nails to monitor his own condition and stress levels. That person is not a serial killer (laughter) That nail story was interesting, and I remembered it. It seemed like something Kira might do… ‘When my nails have grown x millimeters, I’m doing great!’ ‘This is when I can never be caught!’ I feel like I do something similar… I measure my blood pressure and read from it my condition. Sometimes I feel invincible when the readings are good. There might be athletes who do that too… not with nails of course. Kira just does a sorta-creepy version of that (laughter)

Now for Kira’s family, do you remember that scene where you see a picture of Kira’s family, I put a lot of thought into drawing that. It’s not a fun-looking family, but it also looks sort of peaceful… and that’s creepy. The father and mother appears close to each other, but also distant. They probably haven’t ever really had a major fight either. When you read about a serial killer’s life, you feel chills when you come across a picture of them as a child. I wanted to imbue that picture with a bit of that feeling.

Now Kira’s father, he was a strange person. Not quite a criminal, but considered odd. He probably knew his son was a murderer and went ahead hiding his crimes. Of course, Kira’s father went to Egypt and obtained the bow and arrow from Enya to protect his son. Right around then, DIO was looking for allies around the world and Kira’s father was one of those accepted as having potential by him. The same for Okuyasu's father. People who had been scouted by DIO were all around the world, and even among them, Kira’s father and Okuyasu's father may have had extra attention paid to them as they were in Japan along with Jotaro. For the mother, I haven’t drawn anything about her at all, but I think she may have done a sort of ‘abusive coddling’ towards Kira. That’ll be scary right?

Even now, I wonder if I should have drawn out Kira's relationship with his parents in more depth. But I had to cut it out with much reluctance… or maybe I should say that I didn’t have the courage to draw that out. Like I said before, I didn’t want to detail Kira’s past too much. I didn’t want the readers to look at Kira and his father and think ‘these are actually very sad characters’. I drew out Kira’s mental state when killing, but if I started delving into the fundamental reason why he kills, Kira becomes a sort of sympathetic character… if you start emphasizing with Kira that’s not really appropriate for a Shonen manga. I didn’t want readers to feel sympathy. That may be the hardest thing about drawing out Kira. Although I think I might have been able to add another two or three volume if I started delving into Kira’s mental state, his motivations and his relationship with his parents.

I’m really interested in familial relations… the Joestar bloodline is about families too after all. When I draw a character, I start wondering about their parents or siblings. It might be because I was influenced by my parents and sisters a lot. When follow that trail, when you draw out an antagonist I start wondering what influences he got from his family. But if you start delving into that person’s background, you start straying from the theme. There’s so much you could draw out. Even DIO had a lot of influence from his father. But because this is a weekly serial manga, its always difficult to decide how to cut that out. I mean, you only have 19 pages to draw on a week. That’s no space at all. You basically just have to take one idea and run with it. But even then it won’t fit, so I have to think hard about how I might condense two pages down to one…

Kira was cornered once and had to flee. Some people thought that might be the end of Part 4, but I was always planning on reviving him. His flight is equivalent to DIO's resurrection. You think he’s lost, but then he surges back… around there was I really felt a sort of vitality from him. A different sort of vitality from DIO. DIO's is merely a biological vitality, but Kira was able to tap into the world of a sort of spiritual or mental strength. At that point, Kira trumped Josuke and his friends in spiritual strength. It’s because he had that resurrection that Kira became such a great antagonist. If he had given up then, he would have been a no-go.

I didn’t think at all about using Cinderella to change his appearance. When he was cornered and I was thinking hard about how Kira might escape, lighting struck me and I realized ‘hey I could just use Cinderella which I wrote about last episode!’ I’m basically thinking at a week-by-week interval and never about what happens after that. I don’t know about Jump manga these days, but it’s all about how I make this week interesting for me.

I also like that part after this where Kira becomes a ‘father’ as Kosaku Kawajiri. There’s a P.K. Dick novel about an alien masquerading as a father in a family; I wanted to draw something like that. Only the son knows that he’s an alien… those types of stories are fun. Those episodes are written from the point of view of the son Hayato Kawajiri, and I think it was good as it changed up the pace. After that you had a few Kira point of view stories and you saw that wife falling in love with Kira. I guess it’s plausible that you might grow to love someone if they’ve actually changed, but falling in love with a serial killer, that’s sort of abnormal too and good.

At the end, the son discovers his secret and Kira discovers a new ability. That’s an extension of his resurrection. It’s impossible to stick around in Jojo with the same ability, you have to power up. The youngling who develops into something greater is a common archetype in Shonen. It’s one of the things I feel are a ‘must have’ in a story. Josuke and Jotaro are sort of ‘completed’ characters so it’s difficult to draw a development scene for them, but Koichi-kun and Hayato Kawajiri fit that type. To see Kira also grow in parallel to them is an atypical way of fulfilling a Shonen stereotype.

On ‘Bites the dust’ ability. When you start thinking around the theme of time or rather time travel there’s a lot of variations you can delve into like stopping time, rewinding time… So its sort of like me passing on ideas I wasn’t able to use for DIO. I like the idea of time manipulation. I did something like that with ‘Golden Wind’ and ‘Stone Ocean’.

Writing the ‘Bites the Dust’ episodes were fun. It felt like I was assembling a puzzle or building a game. But because the same time was incremented so many times, I became concerned with whether the readers would follow along. I said this before too, but given that I only have 19 pages a week, I started wondering if this was appropriate for a Weekly manga. A weekly serial has build up story tension within those 19 minutes then pass it along to the next week. It’s a lot of work, but I see those as the rules I have to work within.

In the end, Kira dies after having been run over by an ambulance, and his face was obliterated and nobody could tell who he is.

With ‘Diamond is Unbreakable’ … with the town of Morioh, I wanted to trap it into a world of ‘eternity’. Like would the wife have been happy if she knew that her husband was no longer the same person? If she realized it, it would be a bit boring right? So I was fine with that state continuing forever and no answer being resolved. Within myself, Morioh will forever be in that state. What happened to Josuke after the series? I don’t think about that at all. Morioh is ‘eternal’.

I drew Kira also in a spinoff called ‘Deadman’s Q’. Being trapped in an ‘eternal’ world with his soul being unable to go to heaven or hell, I thought that might be a form of suffering or punishment too. The same thing with Diavolo in ‘Golden Wind’, but it might be a punishment to be trapped within eternity. In the commentary for the short story collection [‘Under Execution, Under Jailbreak’]

I wrote that I was tearing up as I drew the story (laughter) I was very invested in Kira. I almost understood his feelings, if only he hadn’t committed murder… I didn’t draw it at the time, but thinking back on it I feel that he might have been person with the burden of sadness too.

Out of all the villains I’ve drawn so far, Kira is my favorite. I like DIO too… but more than DIO. Because he was seeking a quiet life and wasn’t a character you would see often in a shonen manga, I was very invested.

This content comes from JoJo's Bizarre Encyclopedia (https://jojowiki.com), and must be attributed to its authors, as specified in the license.

#Yoshikage Kira #Killer Queen #jjba #diu #diamond is unbreakable #hirohiko araki #So I'm not a Kira fucker and I'm not super into things that try to paint him as something he's not #but obviously Araki wanted to make him at least a little sympathetic #he just couldn't because shounen tropes #I'm glad he made him into something at least somewhat more sympathetic for the afterlife #even if we'll never get more than that

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novelconcepts · 4 years

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Jamie & Dani short prompt- Online Dating au meeting online and being from bad past relationship. Thank u

This is probably a bad idea. It is, isn’t it? Almost certainly.

Why is she here?

Dani Clayton has been playing this particular set of thoughts--bad idea, terrible idea, why would you do this?--on repeat for three days. Ever since setting up that dating profile. Ever since realizing there isn’t much use in setting up a dating profile if you’re not going to use it.

Oh, it’s all fun and games, building the thing. Find a photo that accentuates all the best parts of your face--Dani, after an hour of careful consideration, wound up going with one that accentuated her hair, more than anything, but she suspects the same idea counts. Then, the profile. What do you like? Teaching, long walks, new experiences, bad coffee. What don’t you like?

Men, she’d thought, and snorted aloud into her wine before settling on: Deep water, accordion music, expectations, being called Danielle.

A little more flourish, tipsy keystrokes, a casually-framed short-version of her life. Perfect. And then...well, then you hit the publish button, don’t you? You decide, for better or worse, to jump off this diving board and see just how far you can stand to swim before the energy gives out on you.

The faces appearing before her hadn’t been bad, certainly. Pretty, most of them. Interesting, a few. Still, she hadn’t swiped right on any--once or twice, because she’d forgotten which way meant yes please, but mostly because no one seemed quite...right. Which, she’d thought, was silly. The whole point of an app like this is to cast as many nets as possible and see what comes up. The whole point is to have fun.

But every time she’d hovered over a promising image, a woman who likes dogs, or plays the violin, or goes rock-climbing in her spare time, she’d thought of him. Eddie. Who had taken one yes to a single date, and tried to make a whole life with her out of it.

Eddie, who had taken her two decades to pull away from.

What if the women here were the same? Not Eddie, exactly, but--presumptive. What if they believed a swipe-right was as good as a marriage proposal? What if she got bound up in conversation, and then a date, and then a relationship with someone else who just didn’t fit right?

Left. Left. Left.

And then: the mistake.

She hadn’t meant to swipe right. Exactly. She hadn’t planned, maybe is the better way of putting it, on swiping right. She’d only wanted to look at the woman’s profile a little longer. Only wanted to inspect the facets this woman had put out on display with almost resigned simplicity.

Some people, Dani had by now realized, wrote poetry and paragraphs to describe themselves.

Jamie Taylor had bullet points.

“Gardener. English. Likes: Plants. Stories. Tea. Dislikes: Bullshit.”

The end. That had been quite literally the sum of it. Gardener. English. No bullshit.

But the picture, somehow, Dani hadn’t been able to look away from. Not because of carefully-arranged lighting, not because of a curated model-clean image--but because the woman appeared to have posted the photo almost under duress. It came in profile, as though someone else had done the job, her head turned toward the camera as if interrupted. Her hands were buried in a flower pot. Her clothes were simple--a tank top, a silver chain resting against the jut of collarbones, a pair of worn-looking jeans with holes in the knees. Her eyes--some fascinating color Dani couldn’t quite place--looked somewhere between amused and irritated.

She looked real.

Stupid, Dani thinks now--because that was probably the idea, wasn’t it? This woman, Jamie, had planned to look exactly this way. Real. Vexed at the idea of putting herself out there. Reluctantly available.

It was a ploy, certainly--but one that seems to be working, because not only did Dani accidentally-not-accidentally swipe right, she found herself texting the woman. For hours. She’d expected much less, had figured this Jamie person would be as brief in text as she had been in bio, but...

Jamie had talked to her. Willingly. Teasingly, with more humor than truth, maybe, but with no sign at all that she was sick of Dani’s questions, bad jokes, nervous assessment that I really don’t do this, I honestly don’t get it.

I don’t, either, Jamie had replied, and that had felt like enough of a reason to keep testing the waters. Enough of a reason to keep the conversation going back and forth, back and forth, until nearly two in the morning.

Shit, she’d said. I need to be at work in four hours.

Shame, Jamie had replied, her tone already searingly familiar over text. Own your own business, make your own hours. Far wiser approach.

I’ll make a note of it for when I found an elementary school, Dani had replied, laughing. She hadn’t said she’d already been in bed for an hour, the phone resting on the pillow beside her head so she wouldn’t miss the buzz of a new message. It had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, with wine-warmed blood and the happy haze of good conversation. Jamie made her laugh. Jamie put her at ease. Jamie might not have been real, but she felt real, and that was good.

Better than anything she’d felt in years, if she was honest with herself.

Still, when the next day had come and gone with no message, she’d thought, Fair enough. Jamie had been good virtual company for one night. It was more than she’d expected to get out of this app.

Far more than she’d expected, particularly when Thursday night rolled around and her phone buzzed.

Teacher, yeah? No school on Saturday?

Correct, Dani had replied, as amused by the out-of-left-field text as she was irritated with how her stomach had flipped over upon receiving it. You have figured out the complexity of the American school system.

I am a genius, Jamie sent back, followed quickly by: Drinks tomorrow night?

Drinks. A thing that people do. A thing that adult people do for date reasons.

She isn’t real, she’d thought, even as her thumb was punching back: How’s 8? Miller’s?

A mistake. Definitely a mistake. Because the app had been a lark, and the conversation had been too easy, and the fact that she can’t quite pick out the colors in Jamie’s eyes from a single photo is making her crazier than she’d like to admit.

A mistake, saying yes. A mistake, suggesting the local pub-like establishment around the corner, whose beer-and-burger specials had kept her fed on too many evenings spent working late. A mistake, because once this goes south--as it’s absolutely bound to, as everything Eddie-shaped always has--she’s going to lose her favorite hangout in the deal, too.

And yet: here she is. Standing at the door, wondering if the outfit chosen for the evening festivities--tight jeans, pink blouse, hoop earrings--is too much or not nearly enough.

What am I doing here?

Maybe, she thinks with mingled alarm and hope, she won’t even have showed up. Maybe it’s all part of the ruse: look approachable, look human and normal, look a little too beautiful in the most grounded way possible--then, cheerfully, invite a woman to drinks and just don’t show. A fun story for whoever comes next. Can you believe she thought I’d want to meet her after one night of texting?

“Dani?”

English, Dani thinks with a sudden rush of heat. Right. Somehow, she hadn’t quite been prepared for the accent, which--coming out of this woman, draped with languid ease at a table--is truly a little more than Dani thinks she can handle just now. The accent, combined with the mess of curls dragged back from her face, and a dress sense that manages to be both casual and deeply attractive at the same time, is...

“Jamie,” she says, her voice a little lower, a little more hoarse, than is truly necessary. The woman pushes up from her seat, a small-framed figure in a black button-down, suspenders, ripped jeans. She’s pressing a hand toward Dani, offering a firm shake as though they are business partners, not an off-the-cuff bad idea of a date. “You look--”

“Never been here before,” Jamie says, almost apologetically. She gestures for Dani to sit before dropping back down in a sprawl that implies exactly the opposite of what her mouth is insisting. “Wasn’t sure about the, ah, dress code.”

“You--you did fine,” Dani tells her, wishing suddenly she’d gone for a dress. Or a different human body altogether. She feels too tightly-strung, too anxious for the easy smile on Jamie’s lips. “Um. You’re very. In person.”

“Very,” Jamie repeats, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is very American for wish I’d gone left, after all?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. That.” Bit too forceful, she suspects, judging by the smile spreading into a grin. “No, it’s just--your picture didn’t--tell me you’d be so...”

“Clean?” Jamie suggests innocently. She raises her hands, wiggling her fingers in a small wave. “Scrub up fine, when I need to. Seemed to call for it.”

“And you...sure did answer,” Dani says stupidly. “The. Call, I mean. I’m sorry, I really don’t do this often.”

Something seems to soften in Jamie, her smile less teasing as she leans across the table. “Hey, no worries here. Same person you were talking to the other night.”

Dani nods, embarrassed, and flags down a server. Drinks ordered, she draws in a deep breath.

“I mean, I haven’t done this in years. Or. Ever, I guess.”

“A first date?” Jamie asks. When Dani doesn’t answer, she adds in a knowing tone, “A date with a woman?”

“Both,” Dani says honestly. “My last relationship was--well, I mean, we were engaged--”

Jamie whistles under her breath, reaching up to scratch her head. “Blimey. What happened?”

“He’s...him.” It’s too much to go into on a first date, too much to explain, even though talking to Jamie over text had been so dangerously easy. “My best friend growing up, but that was...growing up.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, tilting her chin in thanks when the server deposits two full pint glasses and a basket of fries on the table. “Rough time, sounds like. I can relate. My last relationship also did not go well.”

“Was he also a man who thought you’d be all too happy to quit your job and take care of a bunch of babies?” Dani asks, perhaps a little too bitterly for the occasion. Jamie flashes another grin, sipping her drink.

“She was a woman who thought I’d be all too happy to take the fall when she got busted for possession.”

Dani gapes. “Oh. Oh--I didn’t know--I’m so--”

Jamie shrugs. “She wasn’t wrong. I was nineteen, and deeply stupid. Live and learn, as the poets say.”

“Which poets?” Dani asks, smiling a little. Jamie’s brow furrows.

“John...Lennon, possibly? Hard to say. Anyway, relationships are a chore and a half, but the greatest people in the world tell me thirty is too old to play musical bedframes, so. Here we are.”

No bullshit, thinks Dani approvingly. For what little she’d put into her profile, Jamie evidently hadn’t been lying about that.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were nineteen?”

“In my mind, I was still in the relationship at twenty-four, when they let me out. She didn’t agree. Found out she’d been married two years, by then.” Something darkens in Jamie’s eyes for a moment. She sighs. “Like I said. Not my finest. But I am, as they say, a shining beacon of reform these days.”

“Now, when you say they,” Dani teases, grinning. Jamie nods decisively.

“John Lennon. Definitively.”

There it is, thinks Dani, watching Jamie pop a fry into her mouth. There, the easy roll of conversation from the other night. As though they’ve known each other forever. As though two people who have thus far failed irrevocably at relationships make a perfect match.

Easy, she thinks. Don’t go wild, now.

“So,” she says, when the comfortable silence between them has grown a bit too comfortable for the setting, “who are the greatest people in the world? The ones who tell you thirty is too old for...did you say musical bedframes?”

Jamie laughs. The ring of it curls gently around Dani’s head like a soft hand, a sound she’ll find herself replaying later with a skipping heart.

“Not many willing to put up with a grump of my caliber, but Hannah and Owen fight the good fight. So long as I at least pretend to try.”

“Let me guess. They set up the account for you?”

Jamie makes a sort of gesture in the air with the hand not holding her glass. “Threatened to bury me in puns and children, respectively, if I kept putting it off. Owen’s still grumpy about the photo choice.”

“I liked it,” Dani says without thinking. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you did swipe as much. Mind if I ask why?”

Walked into this one. Still, she doesn’t mind as much as she probably should, not with the genuine curiosity in Jamie’s eyes. “You looked--don’t laugh.”

“No promises,” Jamie says, but with the gentle tone of one who knows exactly how much to tease before it’ll hurt. The idea warms Dani in a way she’s not quite ready to look at yet.

“You looked real,” Dani says. “Like you weren’t going to play games, or waste anyone’s time. Like you just wanted to be happy in peace.”

“That is,” Jamie says, holding out a fry for Dani to take, “sort of the idea, yeah.”

There’s an almost puzzled cast to her smile, like she didn’t entirely expect this answer, and is pleased by it at the same time. That same sense from the photo sweeps over Dani now--that this woman is authentic, even if she’s not always shiny, that she’s kind even if not entirely clean. That she doesn’t have any interest in muddled expectation or living a comfortable lie.

“And me?” Dani asks. She doesn’t entirely mean to--but she’s sure, in asking, that Jamie will answer. Jamie is unlike anyone else she’s ever met, the first person she’s ever known to meet each question head-on.

“Honestly?”

Dani nods. Jamie seems to consider it, turning it over in her head as she twists a fry between her fingers like a cigarette.

“All of it.”

“That’s,” Dani begins to laugh, “that’s not--”

“No,” Jamie says, and she isn’t smiling, exactly. Her eyes have a sort of shine Dani likes very much, but there is no hint of teasing in them now. “Really. All of it. You’re...very pretty, and that’s--but the way you described yourself. Like you didn’t care to be anyone in particular. You like new experiences, and bad coffee. You hate being called Danielle. I...I wanted to know why.”

“It’s not my name,” Dani says simply. Jamie gives a brief laugh, her hand moving across the table to lightly brush Dani’s fingertips.

“I wanted to know why all of it. Why do you like bad coffee--”

“It’s the only kind I know how to make,” Dani says automatically. “Just sort of leaned into it.”

“--and teaching--”

“I want to make a difference,” Dani says.

“--and where you most like to go on those long walks--”

“Anywhere I can breathe,” Dani says. Her fingers are hesitant, tracing the tips of Jamie’s. There’s something electric about this, about barely touching, about barely knowing someone and still wanting to give them neatly-packaged secrets shaped like the mundane.

Jamie is smiling. “See, that. I like that. All of it.”

It’s nothing, Dani thinks reflexively. A collection of details. A sparse approximation of a life. Eddie knows all of this, and then some, and never matched up to knowing her.

But this woman, leaning across the table with one hand outstretched, looks so different. Watches her with steady interest. Is listening to every word Dani says, though the bar is growing crowded around them, and soon, conversation will become a task instead of a gift.

“Would you,” Dani says, feeling certain that some mistakes are not as bad as they seem, “like to take one of those walks?”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. Tonight.” Emboldened by the smile, by the curl falling into Jamie’s eyes, by the knowledge that she still can’t quite make out what color those eyes are, Dani takes her hand. It’s so easy, she thinks she could do it even without looking. “Right now.”

No bullshit, she thinks. No expectations. Just Jamie looking at her like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Dani can’t blame her. This isn’t at all what she’d thought she was getting, walking in tonight.

But there’s something about it--something about the feeling that she’s been here before, or should be here forever, or will always find her way back to a woman who looks at her just like this--that almost makes her feel brave. Almost makes her feel wonderful. She rises from the table, laying cash beneath her half-empty glass, and feels a pleasant jolt in her chest when Jamie follows without another word.

If this a mistake, she thinks as they step out into the brisk evening air, it’s one she’s hungry to make.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie #okay I liked this one way more than planned #it's sort of nice doing a modern AU under a million words long

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olivinesea · 3 years

Text

In the Golden Dark, pt. 2

Part 1

a/n: This was already pretty much done so here you go. These parts are all rather short but that can be nice right? ~1.6k

i can’t concentrate if i keep seeing your face showing up in tea leaves lit up on my tv i can’t stand up straight under your gravity so i lay awake with my eyes closed

“Did you know 12% of people dream in black and white?”

“Wha-what?” Hotch groggily looked at the time on his phone. He had answered it blindly, autopilot kicking in to attend to the buzzing beside him on the couch. He blinked again and brought the phone back to his ear to hear Spencer’s voice more clearly.

“Yeah! It used to be a lot more when television was only in black and white but now that’s shifted obviously. Elderly people are still a lot more likely to have dreams that are—“

“Spencer,” Hotch interrupted the way the words were beginning to tumble out. When he was met with an abrupt silence he realized he didn’t have a follow up, he just needed a moment to breathe. To take in the dark living room, the flickering light of the television, its muted colors and grainy film showing a syndicated rerun, the kind only played in the middle of the night or the middle of the day, times when no productive person was meant to be watching. Something soft in its age, he found it comforting to put it on when he couldn’t sleep, woken again by nightmares that some monster had found their way to Haley and Jack. That they were suffering and he didn’t even know.

On the other end of the line, Spencer held his breath. He had been nervous about making the call, he wasn’t sure if it was too intrusive, too far across the boundaries they normally worked within. It wasn’t that he was worried about waking Hotch, he knew the other man was already awake. Even before they had started talking more, casually sharing details about the time they spent away from the office, it was obvious that Hotch did not sleep like a normal person. It was something else that they shared.

Seemingly endless minutes passed without another word from either man and his fear that he’d made a mistake grew. He told himself that Hotch was not pleased with the interruption. That he was being too assuming—why would Hotch be interested in anything he had to say at three in the morning? He’d called spurred on by the acute need to share a thought and, though he wasn’t totally conscious of it, a wish to hear that comforting voice, maybe even a quiet chuckle. He had smiled imagining that gentle sound, only he hadn’t realized it, the corners of his mouth moving without informing the rest of his mind. He touched his lips now with cold fingertips, running them over the dry skin, oblivious to the way his jaw clenched.

The silence between them hung like a bridge. There was a moment where both of them looked out at their respective living rooms, mentally steeling themselves to take a step and hope the other would meet them. Hope that they wouldn’t find themselves suspended over the water, alone as ever.

“I’m sorry for calling so late,” Spencer sounded so remorseful Hotch felt guilty immediately. He hadn’t meant cause him any anxiety with his long silence, he was just trying his best to gather his thoughts. To make sense of what he meant to do.

“It’s ok, really, I—“ Hotch hesitated, unsure how much detail to go into, how much reassurance was the right amount. He felt unreasonably awkward suddenly and twitched his fingers in irritation, “I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”

“Really?” Spencer scrunched his eyes up, disliking the eagerness bleeding from his voice. He couldn’t help it though, the prospect of having the other man’s attention, even if it was only his voice reflecting from a satellite, knowing that Hotch was listening made him feel more secure. He’d spent too many restless nights pacing his apartment, starting and abandoning tasks in attempts to distract himself from the way the night was pressing uncomfortably close, threatening to overtake his mind. To have a friend to talk to, to reflect back his own reality, was a gift he could barely believe he deserved.

Hotch grunted as he adjusted himself on the couch cushions, supporting the back of his head on the pillows, resting the phone between his shoulder and ear. With his free hand he pulled up the blanket that had tangled at his feet. “Wide awake,” he said dryly. “What were you saying about dreams?”

Spencer’s smile was so big Hotch could hear it through the phone as the man stumbled ahead with the details of some completely unnecessary study. Hotch wanted to ask what had led to him reading such a thing but he was enjoying the happy way Spencer was running through all the new material he’d learned. He adored listening to Spencer speak, how he sometimes stopped short when remembering a related detail and how there’d be a pause while he took a split second to make the choice whether to jump to the new train of thought. Hotch smiled to himself and was pleased enough to offer hums of interest at inflection points. He let his eyes wander back to the television, as the title credits of another episode of Bonanza played across the screen, the pale wheat and horses and cowboys, already a distant fantasy in the 1960s, ancient history by today’s standards. His eyes fell half closed as he continued to listen to Reid’s voice.

“And, they just published a new study about how sleep deprivation decreases the body’s pain tolerance.”

Hotch snorted softly at this. “They really had to get a bunch of scientists together to figure that out? Someone paid for that?”

“Well it is always important to gather data and scientific evidence for these types of things. Anecdotal testimony won’t lead to any developments in the care for conditions like chronic pain,” Reid paused when he heard more quiet laughter from Aaron. He grinned.

“Do you want to hear something really crazy? They’ve found a connection between a person’s favorite sleeping position and their personality. Can you imagine!”

“Hmmph,” Hotch sank deeper into the cushions, settling in for whatever came next.

The calls became as regular as the midnight pancakes. Spencer would call with some piece of trivia, every night a new topic. He had a seemingly endless well of knowledge to draw on. In truth he spent the day trying to think of new ideas to share, new information he thought Hotch would appreciate. For no reason other than his own private satisfaction, he grouped topics thematically. This week they were going to be talking about space.

Now Hotch was ready, drowsy but checking his phone every few minutes to see if he’d somehow missed it ringing. He was looking at it yet again when it buzzed. He stared at the screen for a moment before answering, letting the name that flashed send a small thrill up his spine. He was not sure how it’d happened but he had come to rely on these calls. They still hadn’t discussed it, hadn’t acknowledged what this extracurricular time spent together might mean. They were simply seeking comfort, not questioning how this might be perceived outside these invisible moments.

“Hey Spence,” he barely got the words out before Spencer launched into that night’s prepared curiosities.

“Did you know most of the visible stars are actually multiple star systems? The singular stars are so much harder to see that astronomers used to believe that it was fairly uncommon to find a singular star like our sun.They hypothesized this was a contributing factor to why we hadn’t found evidence of extraterrestrial life. It is much harder for a planet to have the stability necessary for a habitable atmosphere with the potential fluctuations of a binary star system. Without as many single stars it made sense that it was exceedingly unlikely for life to form outside of our solar system.”

“I think it’d be nice,” Hotch murmured, not really thinking about what he was saying.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, ah,” Hotch stammered, a little embarrassed to have the comment acknowledged. He felt his neck growing warm as he tried to make out a reply. “Well, having two suns. I think it could be nice."  “Why?” Spencer was genuinely curious.

“Um, I guess, I imagine it would be warmer for one,” he paused before adding on, waiting to see what Spencer’s reaction might be. He could almost hear the wheels of his mind turning with all the reasons Hotch’s logic was faulty. He hurried on before he became too self-conscious to finish his thought. “And, I’ve just never really liked the night, all the darkness. Maybe with two suns we could have a little more light in the world.”

Instead of responding, Spencer remained quiet, surprised by this uncharacteristically whimsical thought. Hotch could feel his whole neck had turned red, along with the warming tips of his ears.

“I—I don’t really like the night either,” he tried to sympathize. “It can feel…overwhelming.”

They sat for a moment, not sure where to take this or how the facts had turned into feelings.

“I’m happy I have you to talk to though.”

It was simple, but it was true and sweet and Hotch smiled, closing his eyes to better absorb the words.

“I’m happy too, Spencer.”

Now they were both blushing, the depth of meaning behind these brief statements readily apparent. For a moment, feeling the heat dancing across his face, Hotch wondered if this wasn’t a mistake. Maybe he was allowing things to become something irresponsible, something he couldn’t so easily walk back. He pictured Spencer, sitting across from him, animated and full of life, pulling further away from the shadows that teased around the edges. It didn’t matter, he decided. It didn’t matter what this was, only that they had found a hand to hold through the night.

“So, what else have you got for me?”

~Part 3~

#Criminal Minds #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #hotchreid #fluff

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southeastasianists · 3 years

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When Youk Chhang started writing letters to Zaha Hadid, it seemed like a quixotic mission. Chhang was beseeching the world’s most celebrated architect to help him build a genocide museum and research center in a small, wounded country. Eleven years later, books full of Dame Hadid’s designs for the center rest in his Phnom Pehn office, like precious secrets. Chhang has made significant strides in his quest, though the most important step remains.

The fact that Chhang made it to this point—that he even is alive—is a triumph. Like many other Cambodians from his generation, he suffered through horrors during the Khmer Rouge regime: He was tortured for picking mushrooms, and watched as his pregnant sister was cut open and killed under the suspicion that she had stolen rice. The teenager escaped to the Thai border in 1982, as fighting continued, then to the Philippines, and eventually the United States. He finally returned to Cambodia in 1992, where he worked as a UN election observer as the nation began to recover from over 20 years of genocide, brutality, and war.

A world away, Hadid was having a career breakthrough. Years after gaining attention in the architectural world for her creative designs, none of which were ever built, the architect finally found clients to realize them. Her first landmark building, an angular concrete fire station later used as an exhibit space, was completed in Germany in 1993, beginning a long run of success.

In 1995, Chhang became the director of the Documentation Center of Cambodia, or DC-Cam. In his time there, the nonprofit group dedicated to remembrance and reconciliation has GPS-mapped 20,000 mass graves, interviewed 10,000 victims and perpetrators, and collected more than a million documents about the genocide. DC-Cam’s work provided evidence for Khmer Rouge war crimes tribunals and helped Cambodia acknowledge the trauma it suffered through.

DC-Cam also created plans for a genocide center, dubbed the Sleuk Rith Institute, that would combine a museum, policy center, and school. The effort is as much about the future as the past. “It should be a place to heal, a place to commemorate. A beautiful place to look forward. We will turn a horrible past into a better future,” Chhang says. He wanted to break from the usual pattern of big genocide memorials around the world: depressing, heavy, and overwhelmingly male, both in terms of their sensibilities and who conceived them.

Chhang long dreamed of approaching Hadid to design Sleuk Rith, which means “the power of leaves,” referring to religious texts written on palm leaves, many of which were destroyed by the Khmer Rouge. Hadid had a record of making celebrated modern buildings with inventive, dramatic curves, and Chhang saw that as a way to break away from the sharp, masculine angles and doleful sensibility of many museums related to acts of genocide around the world. (When told that someone liked the U.S. Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C., its designer, James Ingo Freed, was quoted in The New York Times saying, “You’re not supposed to like things like that. So I say: ‘Oh, yes, you did see it? Too bad for you, it was such an awful experience.’”) Hadid was born and raised in Iraq, and Chhang thought might help her understand Cambodia's situation, he says.

She also happened, by then, to be one of the most famous architects alive.

So Chhang, like a starry-eyed fan, began writing letters to the London office of Zaha Hadid Architects (ZHA), asking if she would consider designing the institute. The firm saw requests from people around the world and could only accept a tiny number of them, so Chhang turned up the charm. “I made her a birthday card with a picture of Angkor Wat. I sent her folktales from Cambodia and a story I heard from a woman in a small village,” he says. He implored her secretary to make sure his letters found their way to Hadid personally.

Eventually the architect invited Chhang to the firm’s London studio. He flew there by himself, stayed with a friend to save money, and met with Hadid and about 15 other architects. Impressed at the pitch, the firm accepted the project and sent a team to Cambodia to learn about the country to inform their work.

In 2014, after two years of work, the firm unveiled a design based on five intersecting “volumes,” or sections, each dedicated to one main function: a library holding DC-Cam’s documents, a graduate school on genocide and human rights, a research center to influence policy and discourse, a media center, and an auditorium. The primary building material is wood, which helps distinguish it from similar sites, usually made from stone, metal, and glass. “There was a deliberate intention not to follow a typical path of memorial architecture as it’s normally or historically expressed—the heavy austere monumentality that’s in some ways depressing,” says Craig Kiner, a senior associate at ZHA who helped lead the design process. “It’s much more light and uplifting and delicate, which is something we talked about at great length with Youk and the team. It represents tranquility and hope and healing—for everyone in Cambodia but also for everyone who visits the building,” he says.

Unfortunately, Hadid herself will never get to see the building realized. She died of a heart attack in 2016, leaving a grand legacy and a number of designs that, like the Sleuk Rith Institute, are yet to be completed.

DC-Cam is now trying to turn the striking plans into a real place. Raising money for construction is a central need, but it is one that Chhang reframes. “It’s not a question of cost. It’s a question of the principle of engagement. We want it to be for victims and survivors. They [developers] want it to be a business.” Chhang says that the developers he’s negotiating with want to put Sleuk Rith on a small property, but Chhang insists that it needs about 15 acres, so it has a peaceful environment. “I think it needs a landscape. For them a landscape is a waste of villas.”

It would be easy enough to find space for the institute in the countryside, but Chhang insists on it being in Phnom Penh, close to the country’s political center, accessible to everyone from Khmer Rouge victims to Cambodian officials to international leaders and tourists. Finding a big-enough plot within the city limits is an as-yet-unmet challenge. As for whether the institute will look suitably dignified in a bustling city going through an often chaotic development boom, Chhang is unworried. “When you are beautiful, it doesn’t matter what you wear,” he says. “I like competition. I’d like to see a nearby casino compete with Zaha’s design. Let’s see who’s the winner. I have complete trust over Zaha’s design.”

Chhang says he’s confident DC-Cam will reach an agreement with developers and funders and get the center built, possibly one “volume” at a time. “People have talked about Sleuk Rith costing $55 million or $65 million. But there were two million lives lost. The cost is almost nothing,” he says. Projects like this often take a decade or so, he says, and DC-Cam has put six years into realizing Sleuk Rith, though he declines to adopt a specific timeline. “We work on this every day. I work on the costs every day,” he says.

Kiner says ZHA is working with DC-Cam to smooth the building process. “It’s something that we’re very committed to delivering,” he says.

Though Hadid’s name and reputation attract a lot of interest from developers and the public, not everyone appreciates the center’s approach. “Like almost every project in Phnom Penh, these images simulate that the building rises majestically from the lower structures around, embedded in a lot of greenery,” says Moritz Henning, a Berlin-based architect who studies Cambodian postcolonial architecture and published a guide to Phnom Penh architecture last year. “Why does every project have to be unique, stand out from its surroundings, or better: rise above its surroundings?” he wrote in an email.

“For me, the architecture refers much more to religious buildings, to Gothic cathedrals (and in this respect it fits, people there also wanted to make people small) than to Cambodian architecture,” he says. “Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m not against the Sleuk Rith Institute. I think it would be great to have a place like this in Phnom Penh. But I’m very skeptical if this is the right way to go.”

Chhang sees the design-forward but still monumental approach as a way to draw the world’s attention to Cambodia and, likewise, connect the country with humanity as a whole. “The genocide center isn’t just about Cambodia. It’s about Armenia, Bosnia, Burma. That’s why I chose contemporary design, why I chose Zaha—to bring Cambodia out into the globe,” he says. “In Cambodia, there were lots of young girls like Anne Frank. There’s a lot of ways you can see the similarity. Why? Because we are all human beings.”

#Southeast Asia #Cambodia #Architecture

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evax3 · 3 years

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what’s your opinion on parallels ppl like to draw?

sansa & lysa vs Sansa & Cat

Jon & rhaehar vs jon & lyanna

Aegon & Rhaehar vs Aegon & Elia

Dany & Aegon I vs Dany & Aerys

Arya & Lyanna vs Arya & Brandon

Sansa & Lyanna vs Sansa & Cersei

Arya & Cat vs Arya & Ned

Thanks so much for stopping by anon and for leaving this really cool question! I’m such a sucker for parallels and symbolism, so I do have a few opinions about these characters (Sansa, Dany and Jon under the cut – no opinions about Aegon) and had a lot of fun writing them down!! ❤️

Arya

What I really liked, and what stood out for me the most (in the show), is that after Arya accepted that she wasn't No One but indeed Arya Stark of Winterfell and came back to Westeros, she very much took on Ned's appearance. She gets dressed and wears her hair the same way Ned does, and shows confidentially that she takes right after her father, where her being the only one in the pack (beside Jon) who inherited the Stark-look (long face, brown hair, and grey eyes) wasn’t something she was actually proud of as a child.

There are many more parallels between these two (the Baratheon friendship, the dislike of the southern culture and the people at court, their sense of loyalty, …) but what I like most is her understanding of the death sentence and how Arya has internalized Ned's teachings. The one who speaks the sentence must also carry out the killing. It is the opposite of what she is taught by the faceless men and in the end it is also one of the reasons why she realizes that she can never be truly No One. Which, I guess, is why she showed her face to every one of her kills that was on her list of names (at least in the show, but I'm sure it will be similar in the books).

I never thought much about the parallels to Lyanna, except that she also had the typical look from the north and was also much wilder than is expected for a noble-born woman. Probably it is one of the reasons why Ned encourages Arya’s nature instead of scolding her for it. But I think it says more about the relationship Ned had with either his sister and his daughter.

As for Cate I think the most striking parallel is probably their cunning. Which Sansa also inherited from her mother, and Ned unfortunately never managed to master, because he is too driven by honor. As women, all three are underestimated in this world, and yet (and perhaps because of this) manage to outsmart the men around them. For example, when Arya names Jaqen H'ghar as her third name in order to escape from Harrenhal, that was pretty damn clever and something that her mother would have done as well.

Also, and sadly, their desire for vengeance is something that shapes and drives both characters (referring to Lady Stoneheart in the books) too. Because of that, I'm really curious if they will ever meet (if the next book ever gets published) and if there will be any revenge for Arya against the Frey's at all.

Sansa

Just as Arya takes on Ned's appearance, Sansa does it with Catelyn's in the later seasons. I think this is particularly interesting because in the beginning, during her time in KL, she copied Cersei's hair and clothes, and later she copied Margaery’s. It shows her role models at each stage and it's particularly striking that at the end she takes on her mother's look, just as Cersei adapts that of her father Tywin.

Even if the comparison between Arya and Lyanna is drawn much more often, I always found that Sansa and her aunt have much more parallels. The beauty of the two is something that is often highlighted in the story, emphasized, for example, as Rhaegar names Lyanna the queen of love and beauty at the tourney at Harrenhal, similar to Loras giving Sansa a rose at the Hand's tourney. I suspect that for both women this circumstance has led to their intelligence and other abilities being greatly underestimated, if not overlooked, in their very male-dominated world.

Fortunately, Sansa has the chance to evolve into self-empowerment, which I think is the main focus of her journey, whereas Lyanna died way too early to achieve that. She was forced to marry a man she didn't want (Robert), (as was Sansa btw), so Lyanna saw the only way to prevent that in running away with Rhaegar. And I can imagine that early Sansa, the little romantic that she is, would have made a similar decision.

I don't like that many say Sansa acts like Cersei in the later seasons because she admires her. I don't think that's the case at all. Cersei only acts out of self-interest (and sometimes, especially in the books, quite stupidly). Sansa, on the other hand, does what is right for her people. She combines her mother's strength with her father's understanding of the Northerners.

She is cunning as Cate, which is not a bad quality per se, and develops an understanding when someone tries to manipulate her. At the same time, she always has the well-being of her people in focus, which Cersei definitely doesn’t. Which is why I think Sansa is a good queen and is just right to take Robb's place (the obvious choice if she were a man) and Cersei is absolutely terrible at her job.

Jon

I have to say, for Jon it’s almost the hardest to give an accurate answer, because the character (especially in the later seasons) differs a lot between book and show. Regarding the show, I would say that Jon doesn’t have much in common with his birth parents, because he really is the reincarnation of Ned, the honorable fool, as he calls himself. Always trying to do the right thing, even if it goes against his heart’s desire.

Rhaegar, on the other hand, does exactly the opposite in the plot for which we know him best. And even if his relationship with Lyanna is often categorized as incredibly romantic, it is one thing above all: selfish. Show!Jon couldn't be more the opposite.

Jon is a good leader, as Rhaegar was, or at least is praised to be. Both have melancholic tendencies, and at least book!Jon, has a tendency to sarcasm (at least in his thoughts) where it is said about Rhaegar , he often had an ironic undertone in his voice (according to Jaime)

Rhaegar is musical, interested in the fine arts, Jon doesn't really show interest in that. What they do have in common is a belief in something that is more than what the eye perceives. For Rhaegar this means believing in prophecies and such things, and Jon is not atheistic either, even if he lives out his beliefs in the Old Gods less than some other characters. Both of them are highly valued by their followers and I think also for both of them this is a quality that shapes their character a lot.

Still, I have to say that for me the background of Rhaegar and Lyanna's relationship, the consequences especially for Elia and her children, but also for the whole country will always be in the spotlight.

I've already read several metas that say book!Jon takes more after his birth father because his motives and actions are also less moral (e.g. only giving food to the people of the Free Folk who are willing to fight for the Night's Watch – a huge difference to the show version). Still, I would say Jon is more pragmatic than selfish, another area where Rhaegar would have needed to catch up if he’d been given the chance.

Daenerys

Whereas it was more difficult for me to think about Rhaegar's positive qualities in relation to Jon, I have to say that it was easier for me in relation to Dany. This might be because Daenerys is so frequently compared to Rhaegar as a compliment. Not only in her looks, but also with her intelligence, her determination and in the love that her people have for her. Ser Barristan calls him determined, deliberate, dutiful, and single-minded, all positive qualities that also apply to Dany.

As for Aerys, it's also hard to draw parallels. As I said in another post, I think the Targaryen madness is not really madness (being crazy) but more an obsession, whether it's about religion, dragons, or with Dany, her desire to liberate her people. What we know about Aerys, however, shows that he was indeed sick, paranoid, after his captivity. That is something different and not something I see or suspect with Dany.

What I have found, though, are explanations about the young Aerys, which at some points apply to her:

In his youth, while not being the most intelligent, nor the most diligent of princes, he was described as having an undeniable charm. He was generous, handsome and resolute, although somewhat quick to anger.

In the same paragraph, however, it is said that he was vain, proud, and fickle, qualities that made him easy prey for sycophants and sycophants. While Dany is proud, she quickly develops over the course of the story into a person who sees through the manipulation attempts of those around her and is clever enough to avoid them.

There might be a possibility that through a traumatic experience (like for Viserys selling his mother's crown) her obsession finally drives her to take more drastic measures to achieve her goal. However, I think it's unlikely that Dany actually drifts into absolute madness like her father and burns down an entire city without thinking. She is much too reflective for that. Should she actually go completely ‘Fire and Blood’, then I think it will be a very conscious decision, rather than an impulsive one.

#Arya Stark #Sansa Stark #Jon Snow #daenerys targaryen #parallels #parents and role models #ASoIaF #got meta #asks and answers

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musedblues · 4 years

Text

We’ll Be Alright

Summary: The heart wants what the heart wants. Roger seems to live by that motto. You're certain he has more than enough. But he's determined to prove you wrong.

w/c: 12k (oops?)

a/n: Here it is! My LOC Event Fic for the wonderful darling @brianandthemays 🌈 This is my first time publishing something for Roger, so I'm a bit anxious, but mostly excited! I sincerely hope you enjoy this lovie 💖 Thanks to @dtfrogertaylor for hosting another fun event! Without further ado...

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Freddie escorted you through the doors of his favorite overpriced coffee shop, a Thursday afternoon tradition. Like always, you followed behind your friend and complained about the things that had gone wrong all week since the last Thursday like this one.

"...And not only did my internship get canceled, but they dropped the whole production. Now it's too late for me to sign up to any other until the fall." You fretted all the way to the back of the place, plopping down in a booth across from Freddie. He was entirely overdressed for the casual occasion, but you'd be worried if he wasn't.

"Well, you think you've got it bad, dear, we're on an actual fucking deadline for once. We have to record in two months and we have no songs, and no place to stay and rehearse for a month. All our neighbors have had enough." Freddie waved his hand and widened his eyes, only trying to relate to you by airing out his own misfortunes.

"You're kidding, right?" You narrowed your eyes as Freddie waited for you to make clear what you thought was already obvious. That's when a barista brought out your usual drinks. The staff had come to expect you and Freddie to twirl in like clockwork and order the same drinks at the same time each week. So eventually, someone started making your orders ahead of time.

"Decaf tea and a piping hot black coffee." A familiar girl placed mismatched cups between yourself and Freddie. Your feather haired friend bowed to the barista who laughed on her spin the other direction.

"Fred!" You snapped his attention back on you, wrapping your fingers around the steaming mug.

"My dad owns that countryside villa in Surrey." You reminded. "Well, it's more of a done up farmhouse. But, still." The countryside getaway was more quaint than Romanesque, but it was big enough for a band. Freddie's obsidian eyes sparkled, maybe with remembrance, but you couldn't tell past the obvious hope that flooded his gaze.

"Oh, darling. Do you think we could come and stay for a while? We just need a place to write and rehearse before we record. Could you help?"

"I'll see what I can do. We have a big empty barn where you could set up your instruments to practice." You shrugged, taking a sip of your tea.

"You'd save my life darling, you'd absolutely be my queen." Freddie fawned.

"Yeah yeah, some friends we are. I've talked about spending summers in Surrey more than anything. Do you even know me?" You dramatically provoked, sticking your lip out for show.

"I know that you always order decaf tea. And that your dad owns a place in Surrey. And that I'd do anything for you if we got to stay."

"You're in luck... I haven't got anything better to do this year!" You laughed, albeit a little somberly. You had always loved wasting away summers in the countryside. But, until recently, you'd finally been an arm's length away from dipping your toes into the metaphorical waters of your dream job. You'd finally felt like the future was at your doorstep, and it was all canceled in the blink of an eye.

///

You followed Freddie home from the coffee shop, at his behest. When the sunset, he and his three best friends were scheduled to put on a show. And according to Freddie, you needed something new and fun to wear. At the foot of his bed, he tossed dresses and tops and scarves over his shoulder, digging in an old chest for something your style. You leaned against his pillows, laughing as your friend argued with himself while matching patterns.

From behind Freddies halfway shut bedroom door, you heard the front lock turn and a bright giggle you didn't recognize echo into the flat.

"Roger's home." Freddie looked up to you, holding out a dress and jacket to imagine how it might fit your form.

"That doesn't sound much like Roger." You laughed, posing in place as Freddie held up another outfit. With a look, he moved to click his bedroom door shut.

"You're right. It sounds like Ivy. Who I'm sure is a fine girl, but is entirely wrong for Roger." Freddie tossed a floral number your way as he shut the lid of the chest decidedly. You let out an "Ah," of understanding moving to change your outfit.

"Is anybody right for Roger?" You chuckled, thinking to the few long evenings you'd spent getting to know Queen's drummer. He was deadly funny, and jarringly good looking. With an overload of talent and style, you recognized Mr. Taylor as one of the most sought after bachelors in the region- using the word bachelor loosely. He always seemed to have a lady on his arm. At least one girl was hot on Rogers trail each time you'd been near him.

"Well, yes." Freddie sang, leafing through his own closet. "He needs someone driven in their own right. Someone willing to deal with all the pressures of Roger being a superstar, because you know darling, we're going to be famous one day. Someone who will be happy for him. Someone he can be just as proud of."

You halfway listened as you shimmied into the outfit your dear friend picked just for you. It fit quite nicely, even with the back still unzipped. Freddie had thrown on a yellow and black striped jacket before he sauntered over your way.

"Someone quite like you, if I'm honest." Freddie seemed to confess as he zipped you into style. He barely got the chance before you spun to face him, holding back a barking laugh.

"You can't be serious." You began, watching Freddie feign innocence. "Freddie. No. You're scheming I can tell!" You pointed as your friend spun out of your way. Where was all this coming from?

"I don't know what you're on about, love." Freddie sighed, grabbing a pair of sunglasses. "I'll leave things between you and Rog to figure out yourselves." He reached for the door with a shrug.

"There isn't anything between us to discuss!" You laughed, in a bit of shock at the prospect of this conversation you hadn't seen coming at all. You'd never had more than a few casual conversations with Roger. Freddie seemed to drop it, spinning into the main room to get the show on the road.

Roger was there, lounging with a pretty little hippie lady decked out in lace. Freddie called for the pair to get up and get going- it was time to head toward soundcheck.

"Rog, before we leave, pay some respect to the lovely y/n. She's going to save our lives this summer!" Freddie fawned, ignoring your previous discussion, trying to start a fire that you never realized had the potential to burn.

As Roger led his date out the door, he stalled to greet you for the night.

"Nice dress, love." Roger's familiar rasp was gentle past his grossly over-rehearsed line. His saucer eyes raked up your figure in a way you'd seen him do to others, but never to you, until now.

"Thank Freddie." You spoke through your teeth, turning away from Roger to hide your blush and shoot your glare to the frontman who was already biting back an "I told you so."

///

You could count the evenings you'd spent with Queen on a couple of hands. But the days you spent with Freddie were in the hundreds by now. He was your closest friend, someone you meditated with, cried with. Someone who might have known you better than you knew yourself. And on occasion, some of Fred's bandmates would join in on the fun.

John had become accustomed to accompanying you and Fred on Thursdays for coffee and tea. You liked John's ideas and the way was keen to listen to you and Freddie banter more than he joined in to do the same. When John spoke, it was decidedly. A wit filled joke, or a valuable point, John hardly uttered any passing thought; unless, of course, he was absolutely hammered.

Brian would sometimes join you and Freddie before shows for dinner, or on rainy Sunday afternoons to play Scrabble and dream of the future. You admired the things that mattered to Brian and how fiercely he protected the value of the things he spoke of, big and small.

Then there was Roger. He was always around, in the other room, at the back of the stage, at the end of the night. But he usually kept company of his own. And the times he joined in for Scrabble or lunch, he was usually too preoccupied with whoever he brought along. But there were odd exceptions- when Freddie had fallen asleep and Rogers dates would leave for the evening- when you'd share a drink in the kitchen and traded updates on your week.

Times like then, you noticed Roger's gaze was hypnotic. You didn't think it was a power he used manically. You figured it was a trait that came naturally, the inherent draw of his piercing blue eyes. It must have been what made all the girls line up like ducklings and follow Roger around for their turn at wooing him. He was always kind to them, and a few times you wondered if he might have fallen in love. But then another would follow the last and you decided that Roger must have been happiest dating around, meeting all kinds of people with all kinds of stories to share. Such was the way of a man who dreamed of touring the world, singing about it, and the lot.

///

"Do you own any wellies?" You asked, twirling your mustard yellow phone cord around your index, studying your grossly overpacked suitcase.

Freddie's response of laughter was rich and crackly through the other line.

"I'm just saying... that you're bound to muck up those ballet flats of yours when you and the boys come to stay in Surrey in a week."

"You serious? We can come and stay? Oh, how shall I ever repay you?" Freddie shrieked into your ear. You held the receiver back with a grin as you tossed a couple of sweaters on the floor in hopes your suitcase would better zip closed. Freddie promised you he was on his knees, shouting thanks into the phone. You promised you'd see him soon, gave him the last of the info he needed, and managed to seal your bag shut.

///

You swore you could smell the freshness in the air, see the vibrant hue of the trees through clearer eyes. The house in Surrey your father called a villa, was the place you spent most summers.

Until the last few summers in a row, the summer palace was a place your extended family came to stay for a month or two. You'd all get together and kick around the countryside for a while, forgetting petty worries and putting off all the responsibilities you could manage. You hadn't missed a summer yet, but each one became quieter, less action-packed. Last year it was only yourself and your parents who spent a while enjoying the quiet getaway.

But you always had Mona. The old, cheery, pale-haired woman hired to come around on the weekends to help keep order about the place. You always insisted she stay and enjoy a day or two of peace when her work was done. Mona always accepted the offer, much to your delight. When there was nothing left for her to do, she gave in to your pleas to help bake ridiculously complicated recipes or to simply keep you company in the quiet for a while. You and Mona would lose yourselves in conversation while cooking meals and enjoying days where you did nothing but track the rise and fall of the sun in the sky.

Then there was Otto. He was your only neighbor for miles, right across the road, behind his own mess of trees. Otto was only a few years older than you, and when his parents left the property, he gladly took it over with big plans of his own. After Otto had landscaped his home to his heart's content, your father hired him to come and spruce up your family's property. Even if that hadn't ever happened, you'd already made a habit of inviting Otto over for dinners and game nights. You imaged going it alone in the depths of the country had to be lonely so many months in a row.

Last summer, Otto made miraculous headway on your property's garden. He planted new trees, fixed up your old windows, and even built a chicken coop, something that provided a bit of entertainment for you, but became your neighbor's pride and joy.

He'd stop over every day, even if it was just to check on the chickens. And following close in Otto's stride from across the road, was his pet retriever, Pepper. Otto never minded when you stole his pet for walks through the trails you'd worn between trees in the distant forest, over the years.

In fact, the golden pup was always the first one to greet you every summer. The tradition held fast even now, as you pulled into the gravel drive. You spotted her yellow form zooming from out of nowhere at all, barking to greet you.

"Hi Pepper!" You chimed after collecting your luggage. You dropped to your knees at the edge of the drive as the dog bound your way. She was nearly eight years old, or was it nine, now? Pepper pranced in time with you as you made your way to the countryside home for another year in a row.

"Your dog missed you especially, this year." Otto's familiar accent drifted from the porch, where he appeared to stand painting the entry doorway. He dropped his brush and turned to watch you ease up the steps, with a smile.

"I missed her too." You smiled, rolling your eyes at the decade-old joke. The pup belonged to Otto but she was always hot on your heels, usually leaving her owner far behind whenever you were near.

"Ah yes, she has been sneaking in and sleeping on your bed. Hope you don't mind the extra layer of fur tonight." Your mother popped her head in the doorway, careful not to touch the fresh paint. She waved you inside, insisting Otto follow along. Apparently dinner was ready.

The home was as cozy as ever, long wooden halls and big comfy furniture. Your father was sat at the kitchen table, sorting through a stack of mail. Behind him your old, dear friend. Mona abandoned her mission to reorganize the silverware drawer to wrap you in a big warm hug. The kind woman had always been like a grandmother to you. Between the company of her and Otto, your summers here were even more special and sought after.

"Alright, sit." Your father turned his eyes toward yours, gesturing for you to rest in the empty seat at his side.

"Nice to see you too, dad." You laughed, gazing to the mail set out before him.

"I've socked up on food and essentials for all your mates coming in a week. And since they are your friends, ya think you can handle staying here while mum and I go on our own summer holiday?"

Your father figured you could handle keeping order, and he made plans with your mother seem like a long time coming.

"I can phone your uncle to come help if you don't think you can manage it."

"How hard can serving tea and keeping the place clean be? I'll have Mona's help like always. And Otto's a great human security system. remember a few years back when he wrestled a man double his size, to the ground? Made him cry."

"Oh yeah, that guy! Pretended his car broke down and tried to break in." Your mother pointed with a shiver. Otto had spotted the stranger stalking toward your home in the middle of the night, and you all woke up to the sound of the two wrestling in the gravel driveway.

"I'm just a poor gardener, but I'll do what I have to." Otto declared as you all chuckled at the distant memory. Otto took a handful of dinner plates from your mother's grasp and offered to help set the table as you moved next to Mona to help finish make the first evening meal of the summer.

///

It was early enough for you to double-check everything three times. Living room tidy? Check. Snacks on the counter? Check. Extra blankets, pillows, and beer enough for a band full of divas? Check. All that was left to do was sit on the porch with Pepper at your feet, and wait.

You'd spend endless days doing just that, but you had never had something quite like this to look forward too. You'd brought some pals to stay, growing up, but this was different. You could almost sense that Queen's stay in your family's cherished getaway would be the marking of a time you'd remember more fondly than most.

Eventually, the sound of crunching gravel disrupted your daydreams of the future. You were quicker than Pepper at your feet, who followed behind on your bolt down the porch steps with a delighted squeal.

John was the first one to step out of the van when it pulled to a stop. You raced up to greet him with a hug, one he returned with a bit of shy reluctance, but genuine mirth all the same.

"You're here! You're here!" You cheered, noticing Brian as you broke your hug with the feather haired bass player. You couldn't be stopped from greeting the lanky guitar player with the same excitement, your hug ended when Freddie's voice called out;

"I'm here! Hug me!"

Freddie planted a kiss to your cheek as you flung yourself toward him with a smile. The band stretched their legs out onto the grass, remarking about the beauty of the countryside.

"Welcome, you." You looked to Freddie, whose brows rose high over his dark sunglasses, his smile glowing as he peered past your shoulder to take it all in.

"Don't I get a warm welcome?"

Roger's familiar rasp whined from a few paces behind. He was dressed in denim head to toe, and was wearing the most ridiculous hat you'd ever seen. It made your heart buzz with some odd adoration you hadn't expected to feel at the sight of him. Your strange sudden feelings made approaching the blonde seem newly nerve-wracking, but you were glad to see him. So you opened your arms and invited Roger into a hug, same as everybody else. But Roger wasn't everybody else, was he?

Ever expressive, Roger scooped you up and lifted your feet from the ground in gratitude as he said,

"We owe you our lives for making this happen!"

You laughed in surprise, letting out a little squeal as Roger stumbled in an attempt to spin you around.

"Rog, put her down! She's got to give us a tour of this place or we're bound to get lost. It's massive." Freddie barked.

Roger did as he was told, setting you on your feet with care. You pulled down the bill of Rogers silly hat and spun around to lead everyone inside.

As the boys entered your favorite place, you introduced them two at a time to your family and friends who hurried to greet them all the same. It was a mess of hello's and warm welcomes as you shut the door and stepped further inside.

Your father held an arm out to show the boys to their rooms, chatting away on his tour down the halls. Your mother lifted a brow and shoulder when her gaze met yours after lingering on the band as they walked away.

"You've got a fun summer ahead." She grinned as if she knew something was coming, something you couldn't see yet.

The next thing you knew, you were helping Mona finish making dinner. You were sent to find Otto in the forest of flowerbeds outside of the barn. The two of you walked up the hill after you invited him in for dinner, listening to Otto ramble about the plans your father talked him into, of starting a vegetable garden.

Your mother had already rounded up everyone else in the dining room, going on about how excited she was to get to know your friends. And to your surprise, she'd even broken out the fancy fine china.

Between Otto and Freddie, the usual security you felt in their company had only been on separate respective accounts. Your worlds colliding was something you hadn't expected to be so warmed by. As you ate, you realized all your favorite people were here in one lucky place.

Queen were ever themselves, interrupting one another to share stories with your parents and Mona who asked questions at breakneck speeds. And while the jokes and banter flew from one topic to another, you held your breath each time Roger spoke up. Because every time before now, Roger only spoke in playful tones, and daring one-liners. You expected him to say something that might have embarrassed you, even if that wasn't his goal, if he even had one. But Roger surprised you in a different way, one you hadn't expected.

He utterly charmed your mother with the way he spoke about his education and aspirations. He gained your father's respect sometime after you poured everyone a new drink. During dinner, Roger was... shy. No, not shy, respectable. Boyish. No, not boyish... forbearing in a way you'd never seen from him before. Maybe you didn't have Roger figured out after all...

///

Your room was full of things you loved, in the back of the house. You enjoyed the privacy, but seeking through the halls at odd hours was always a challenge you held your breath during. The wood creaked underfoot as you followed the beams of the rising sun through the halls, daring not to wake anyone.

You snuck toward the front door without a hitch, clicking it shut with care. When on the steps of the porch, you were surprised to find two of the boys had already risen and were sharing a smoke.

John and Roger turned their heads from the steps, smiles stretching when they saw you.

"The only time I've seen you two up this early was if you were still awake from the night before." You laughed, stretching into the new day.

"Never realized you were such an early riser, either." John spoke up, stamping out his cigarette.

"Things are different here." You shrugged, making your way down the steps between the two musicians.

"Where are you going?" Roger wondered. His hair was tangled from sleep, but the dark spots near his eyes suggested he'd only tossed and turned all night.

You found yourself searching his features for a beat too long, and only played it off by raising a brow and nodding for the boys to follow you, if they so desired.

And they did. As you rounded the back of your home, you stalled near the shed and grabbed a bucket from it's tried and true stop- then you headed for the chicken coop.

This was something you did every morning, you'd never missed one. Otto handled everything else, but he always let you help out if you pestered him enough.

"This is Otto's coop." You introduced the paint chipped structure as John and Roger chuckled in awe, the band had yet to have a proper tour of the grounds.

"He built it, and everything. But I come out here every morning, just gives me something to do." You waved for the boys to walk ahead of you, before you made it to the spot you stopped in every morning.

Chickens emerged like clockwork, and the boys went about chasing a couple around like little kids. One took a particular liking to John, flowing at the man's side, stopping when he stopped. And try as he might to bend down and reach out to a group of the birds, Roger had yet to score any over.

"Why don't they like me?" He whined while John laughed in response. And just like that one bird turned from the group and started flapping and clucking toward Roger, sick of being pestered. The blonde bolted to his feet with a yelp, skipping away until the chicken stopped chasing after him in a flurry.

"I'm scared, hold me." Roger reached out to you, wrapping his arms around your side. It was comforting, it felt like less of a joke than Roger made it seem. But when you turned your head to look at him, you wondered if Roger might have actually been a little distressed.

But he'd constricted your arms, and you couldn't hug him back. So you glanced back to the house and said,

"Come on, ya big baby."

Roger's grasp slowly loosened as you lead the way, but you could feel his eyes remain fixed on you.

"I'll keep you safe, big baby." John threw an arm around his friend's shoulders as the three of you started your trek back up the hill and around to the front porch. Roger let out a comical fake cry just before you made it inside to find Freddie and Brian reluctantly awake in the kitchen.

The boys gathered around the table while you scurried to make tea, and insisted they help themselves to anything in the cabinets. And it wasn't long before the rest of your parents emerged out into the new day, Mona popping out into the kitchen soon after.

Your father showed the band to the barn, and offered to help them unload their instruments in the big empty space. Your mother took the tea you poured for her and settled into the sunroom with Mona, where you joined the ladies to gossip about everything that happened since last summer.

Day's like today, there isn't much for Mona to do, but she still got paid for sitting around chatting with you. Though she'd likely turn down the extra cash at the end of the weekend, your dad would always sneak a few bills into her purse when she wasn't looking. You'd have to remember to do the same when you were left alone.

///

Your parents and Mona all left the next morning, and the week that followed was some kind of adventure- even with the little routine you'd found yourself in.

Brian ended up being the early bird, while the others milked every last bit of sleep they could get. When you awoke and found Brian reading in the small nook of the living room, you got to talking about something so in-depth that he followed up out to feed the chickens. And that's how most mornings all week had gone, chatting away in the early morning, meandering down the hill to the birdhouse with Bri at your side, prattling all the way back to where you came from.

One by one the boys would collect at the table to pick at the breakfast you'd gotten in the habit of making, before they drifted off to the barn.

You'd stay in to clean up, stalling near the open windows where you could hear your friends music drifting up the hill. They'd clatter through newborn songs and riffs that came together each time you stood to listen.

All week, you shared lunch with Freddie. In the sunroom, on the porch, wherever as long as you were together to chat like you usually would once a week at the coffee shop. And throughout your newly established daily lunch meetups, Freddie began making liberal use of his drummer's name. "Roger this," "Roger that," The blonde started taking up more space in your conversations than most other topics.

"What's with all this talk about your friend, huh?" You challenged Freddie, reaching for some fruit on a plate you shared between the two of you.

"Surely you've caught on by now, love. He's quite taken with you?" Freddie nonchalantly responded, reaching for an apple slice of his own.

"And surely if that was the case, Roger would have made that clear by now. He flirts in place of breathing." You chuckled.

"Then he must really like you. I've never known him to get so tongue-tied. Even when he's talking about you, which he never stops doing." Freddie shrugged, looking off in the direction of the warm breeze. You both stayed silent for a beat, your excuse- searching for what to say next. But Freddie found more words before you could.

"I think he would be happy with you. And I think you'd be happy with him. I just want you both to be happy."

"Well, so long as we've all got you Fred, I'm sure we will be." You grinned, truly meaning it. You and Freddie clinked your apple slices together in a toast, more like a truce to drop the subject, for now anyway.

Then as the sun burned, you meandered poolside, making Otto cease digging in the dirt long enough to ask how his day was going and distract him from work just long enough to share a few laughs.

You'd always ask him to take Pepper out, and he always insisted you didn't need to ask. You'd wander toward the forest with your furry friend, enjoying a bit of quiet. You used to bring books and pencils along when you had nothing better to do than sit against a tree and dream of the future. But this year, you keep calling Pepper back the way you came at the end of the trail, in a hurry back to check in with your friends.

When night fell after long dinners full of more chatter than food, everyone decided they'd seen enough of each other. That's when you and John would steal away the sunroom, and play cards moonlight. Sometimes you wouldn't speak much at all. And sometimes you'd share secrets, wishes you thought anyone else might make fun of you for dreaming of.

And all week, when you least expected it, you kept ending up next to Roger.

The blonde would ask to sit out on the porch with you, where you curled up in a rocking chair to read. He would ease onto the wooden steps and scribble away in his notebook, crossing out lyrics and penning new ones. He'd never tell you what he was writing, and you never asked. But you heard him humming under his breath, and you missed the gentle sound when you were called back in by Freddie for one reason or another.

Roger would find you again eventually, though. He'd leaf through the books in your living room, asking about every author. He'd appear at your side at the table during every meal, even the ones everyone ate in a hurry before scurrying off to rehearse.

One afternoon he surprised you by the side of the pool, when no one else was around. Though you had started to prepare to see Roger around when you least expected it, it was always a pleasant surprise.

"How's rehearsal today?" You asked, looking up from where you sat with your feet dangling in the water. Roger squinted your way, the shadows on his face illuminated by the hot summer sun. It wasn't until you patted the space beside you that Roger spoke up, and slowly moved to join where you sat.

"Freddie called for a break. Writer's block, or something."

You hummed in understanding, watching Roger relax at your side. And after another look your way, maybe to check if you were actually keen on listening, he went on...

"I think we've all got a hit up our sleeves. Now if we could just all agree on one thing for one minute." Roger laughed, crossing his legs, reaching in the pool to grab the stem of a leaf that floated by.

Right then, Freddie stormed around the corner. He called off practice for the rest of the afternoon and declared he planned to lock himself in his room to finish writing.

When the door shut decidedly behind Freddie, you and Roger burst into shared laughter. And for another hour at least, you stayed right where you were. Roger told you about the songs he was writing. And the songs the others were writing. He asked what you would rather be doing, because surely, staying in the middle of no place with the lads of Queen around every corner, couldn't have been at the top of your list. You assured that it was, in fact. But you still somehow started to talk about how disappointed you had been to lose out on the opportunity to live your dreams, this summer. You talked about what you wanted and why you wanted it. Roger listened and asked questions he seemed truly interested in hearing the answers too. What was the harm in sharing a few more laughs?

///

The next day at breakfast, everyone was called to order by Freddie, who relaxed at the head of the table with some announcement to make. He sat in uncharacteristic patience as his friends filled up on orange juice and yammered about what they planned to accomplish that afternoon. When Brian went off on some sorry muttering over whose songs were better or worse, you and Roger locked eyes, and dulled the same sort of snicker. You were both thinking the same thing- thinking back to the conversation you had most of yesterday.

"Alright! Listen!" Freddie demanded. "We're taking a break today. We're going to lounge poolside, and gossip about trivial things. And if anyone starts to argue about recording or writing or what you bloody want to wear on stage, you'll be swiftly excommunicated to the chicken coop. Got it?"

There was little push back and soon the lot of you abandoned your breakfast to head outback.

The boys zoomed ahead of you, tossing their things into the places they claimed as their own. John sat at the small iron table under the cool shade of the umbrella and cracked open a magazine. Brian set up his things on a beach chair and was the first to creep toward the pool. Freddie checked his hair in a small compact mirror as he kicked off his sandals. And Roger raced straight for the deep end, splashing you with water on his dive in the water.

You yelped in surprise, shocked by the cold.

"Come in!" Roger chirped after emerging to the surface.

"It's a bit cold isn't it?" You laughed, setting your things on a chair nearby.

"There," Roger intentionally splashed water at your feet. "Now you ought to be used to it. Come in!"

You reluctantly sat on the edge to dip your feet in as Roger waded toward where you settled. You turned your eyes to the water to avoid ogling the drummer, your throat going dry at the sight of his mostly bare frame so close to yours.

"I supposed it's not as cold as I thought." You cleared your throat, more so trying to keep your own cool. He hummed, still inching his way closer, making your cheeks burn.

And then, he was pulling you in. Roger yanked you from the edge, keeping a sturdy hold around you to ensure you didn't go under. You felt strangely comfortable and secure in his arms, in all the commotion. But you were still surprised enough to splash water in Roger's direction, a pitiful attempt to get back at him.

"We're meant to be relaxing!" Brian reprimanded, dodging the water you were splattering his way on accident.

"Exactly, Bri, do calm down." Freddie teased as he walked down the steps to join the rest of you.

"Deacy! Darling! You can read later, come enjoy the sun while it's here!"

And just like that, Freddie's wishes came true. The people he loved circled around your favorite old pool, gossiping about trivial things and hardly mentioned making music at all. It was the perfect summer day.

Eventually, you decided to get out to fix lunch for everyone. On your walk toward the house, you found Otto hunched over a broken wagon wheel, skin tanned from years under the same summer sky. You demanded he took a break and joined the lot of you for a much needed day of nothing but fun. He agreed, but only if you'd let him help throw food together.

When the pair of you toted trays of bite-sized lunch foods out to the nearest shade, the band of boys casually flocked to join you, scattering about the shade and fueling up to float around some more. Otto gave everyone a lesson on the kind of trees you sat under. Brian took a beer back to the deep end, Freddie following close behind, muttering something about catching the last of the day's sun. John offered to carry the empty trays back in, where he planned to head for a much-needed nap, swearing he planned to beat you at cards later.

Then there was Roger, who sulked between you and the rest of his friends. He sat near you, keeping his mouth full of beer as you chatted with Otto about all the times you'd enjoyed the pool most, before. And when Roger eventually joined Freddie and Brian in the pool, the blonde kept casting looks your way, gazes no one missed.

"He's a bit mad about you isn't he?" Otto pointed out in a hush, sipping his own beer while you scoffed a laugh.

"That's just how Roger is. He can't help himself. There's usually a line of girls waiting around for him. I must be his last resort, out here in the middle of nowhere." You explained, shifting your weight in your seat and pretending you didn't notice the drummers glances your way.

"Oh please, if that was true he'd be trying to to make you blush, right now. He's resorted to lovestruck gazes, and the occasional glare my way. That man likes you." Otto chuckled, pointing his beer can toward the boys in the pool. "Trust me I'm a guy, I know what's happening."

"That's dumb." You shot Otto a look over the top of your sunglasses. "Roger is my friend." At least you were pretty sure he was. "And I know that's just how he is." You knew that for a fact.

///

The next morning you'd woken to a silent house, and found the halls were still even upon your return from feeding the chickens. You shrugged into the kitchen, realized it was a little earlier than usual, and fixed yourself some decaf tea. When the kettle rang, the hallway creaked, and you cringed on your hurry to quiet things down again.

Roger appeared in the doorway, looking as if he was still trying to wake from a dream.

"Sorry if I woke you I-"

"It's okay, you're fine." Roger murmured, easing into the room, buttoning up his undone nightshirt.

"Fancy a cup? Mona should be here any minute, we usually start the day with tea." You explained, pouring your own drink and biting your lip.

"You wouldn't mind if I joined?" Roger asked, like you'd just invited him on some grand adventure.

"Course not." You chuckled, reaching for two more cups.

You and Roger were halfway through your tea before Mona showed up. You sat together in the sunroom, where you and your much older friend usually settled at the start of every weekend. Roger asked you'd had any dreams while you slept, and you prompted him to tell of any he might have conjured.

When Mona showed up, she eased across the small table from you like always, but in place of gossip, she spoke mostly to Roger. She asked about his hobbies and he asked about her life. Roger loved getting to know people, you knew. He was always so genuinely interested in hearing what made everyone tick. When he asked Mona about her loves and losses, she'd spoke in a vulnerable way you'd never seen from her prior. Ah, of course. Roger had that way with people, like the second anyone locked eyes with his sea-blue pair, they were in trance.

And while Mona looked after Roger as he spoke, the blonde kept turning to you, asking for details of the week he couldn't quite recall, and begging you to tell a certain story he swore you had a better perspective of.

When the rest of the band showed up, they traded sweet good mornings with your guest just before pulling Roger out into the barn to pick up where they left off the day before last.

"Now what's all that about?" Mona wondered, pouring the two of you more tea, initiating a more personal one on one chat. You cast her a perplexed gaze as she settled across from you, uttering Roger's name like you should have already been thinking of it.

You knew then that Mona was curious about all the too long gazes and nervous chuckles Roger was reduced to during the quiet morning visit at your side.

"That's just how Roger is." You shrugged. "A bit of a flirt."

"Well, that's not how you are." Mona shot back with an arch of her brow. "I know you. And if you really believed he was just having a little fun you wouldn't let yourself look at him the way you've been looking at him all morning. He has the same look, too. You match."

Mona's point toward the obvious hit you like a ton of bricks. Though she was swift to move on to your usual gossip, you felt yourself floating around the same thoughts of Roger.

For the rest of the day, in fact, you struggled to accept the fact that you'd been falling for Roger. Of course, you had, everyone seemed to expect it, root for it. And Roger had the perfect pair of eyes that refused to look away from yours until you were a puddle under his gaze; ready and willing to be pieced back together by his questions about how, exactly you were made.

You took Pepper down the walking paths between ever-growing trees, and wandered between them, the long way back home. The whole time you figured there was no harm in giving in to the little advances Roger couldn't seem to stop giving. You didn't want to fall so deep your heart would shatter when you finally collided with something cold and unmoving. But you were stuck out here for another two weeks, and Roger's persistent presence was warmer than the sun.

///

The next couple of days, when you looked to Roger, your heart started up like an engine. You didn't like it one bit. You only planned to let his flirting entertain you. You couldn't become invested in it. You'd lodged yourself between wanting to spend every odd hour listening to him talk, and knowing you were better off to go about your day like usual, to save yourself the trouble.

So when Roger invited you to come and sit while the band showed off their mostly put together list of songs, you did. And when Roger sat next to you during every meal, you offered him a smile before tucking in. And when Roger woke up to share a cup of tea with you every other morning, you let him. And you liked it.

But when Roger leaned in too close, you turned your eyes to your lap, focusing on your nails digging into your palms so you couldn't feel his breath ghosting across your ear as he told a joke no one else could hear. And when Roger asked to join your walks with Pepper, you told him no, because you'd never been so alone with him before, and you couldn't let that happen now.

The week was full of conflicts between the imaginary angel and devil on either of your shoulders. You waded further from the waters of self-control, but dashed back with the tide when Rogers moonstruck gaze grew too pretty to handle.

By the end of the second week, you'd continued your normal lunches with Freddie, the occasional morning debate with Brian, and the promised game of cards with John, when everyone else went to bed.

You poured some drinks for the two of you and sat in silence while the game started up. But before too long, John eased into a conversation about how much he enjoyed your countryside getaway.

"We're all so glad you've let us come round, it's so nice to be here. Feels like home. Fred might be going a bit stir crazy but he loves it, don't let him fool you." John laughed, laying down a card. You chuckled too.

"And Bri is content out here, with all the stars." You pointed out. Every night, Brian made a show of pointing out all the things the naked eye could see when the sky started turning black.

"And somehow, Rog is happiest. Can you believe that?" John's smile remained lithe but you realized John had subtly achieved changing the subject entirely.

"No, not really." You offered an honest simper.

"He really does like you, y/n."

"Hm..."

You laid a final card down, lost the round, and stretched upright, grabbing both empty glasses to rest in the sink.

"Just because I'm the only girl around for him to attach himself to, doesn't mean he likes me." You shrugged from across the room. John stood to join you, curiously meeting your gaze, waiting to hear more of what you had to say.

"Roger just can't be alone. I'm not interested in being a placeholder." You reasoned.

"Then why haven't you told him so? You've let him follow you around like a puppy all since he got here." John pointed out unabashedly. But he wasn't wrong to wonder why you'd started giving into the small advances.

"Because I like him." You admitted with a frustrated sigh. "And all I have is the rest of this summer to pretend that I'm not just his only option. But I can't... I just can't let him break my heart. It already hurts bad enough knowing this'll all end in a week."

"I get where you're coming from..." John sighed, disgruntled. A silence weighed between the two of you, while you stood in place, mind racing too fast to focus on a single thought through the white noise.

"But, you know," John went on, raising his chin as if that would help make a clearer point. "Rog may be reckless. And he may get caught up in getting the things he wants, so much so that he'll make a bit of a mess on his mission. But when he really genuinely wants something, he gets it. And when he has it, he doesn't let it go."

"I'm a person, Deacy. Not a fucking stamp. I refuse to be collected with all the other pretty souvenirs to be left on a shelf." You spoke in a harsh, exhausted hiss. John hung his head, pursing his lips as if he'd been personally defeated. You spun to leave the room, but someone was blocking the doorway.

Roger was clutching the door frame, fingertips going white, eyes and mouth drooping pitifully. You barely looked his way as you brushed past, scurrying down the hall to take cover. And the whole time, Roger hurried after you, asking your name like a big scary question.

You managed to shut yourself in your room before the blonde rounded the corner and caught up with you. And when you heard his voice muffle past the closed door, a silly little sadness bubbled up in your throat.

You didn't want to shut him out, but you really believed you had to. A couple of frustrated tears escaped as you went on getting ready for bed, and as you tried to talk yourself down from all the mess of thoughts threatening to make you cry harder, everything turned to white noise as your eyes grew heavy.

///

When you awoke, it was as if everything that happened before you fell asleep was a fever dream. You crossed your fingers for that to have been the case and went to start your morning like every one before it.

But when you opened your door, all the dreaded feelings you'd gone to sleep with flooded back tenfold. You found Roger asleep, slumped against the wall outside your door. At his side, Pepper, comfily curled against the man with her head in his lap, asleep too. You huffed, creeping past him to do your job.

And as you hurry your practiced creep through the house and out of the door, you thought you'd made it to the porch steps without any trouble. But of course, when you reached the shed, you heard the door swing open and heavy footsteps bounding down the porch. Roger hurried toward you with wild red eyes.

"Roger I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression. I guess I just got used to being around you." You let out a breath that sounded like a laugh as you grabbed your bucket of feed, and kept walking.

"Do you really feel that way?" Roger asked, voice rattling in a pitch you'd never heard him use.

"Does it matter?" You shrugged, approaching the coop.

"Do you really think I'm not mad about you? Do you really think I'm just going to go back to the city and shag the first lass I see? I want you, y/n. Isn't it dead obvious?"

"Roger!" You spun to face him, your tone starling a couple of chickens, and the blonde, who flinched away from a bird who flapped too close. "Don't do this to me!" You threatened.

If you could see up the hill you would know your voices traveled far enough to alarm John, Brian, and Freddie who were sharing tea next to the open kitchen windows. They couldn't make out what you were saying, but they could tell this wasn't going to be a morning like any other. They'd been watching things between you and Roger morph past friendly acquaintance, and they realized this must have been the breaking point. Things were boiling over, but where would they fall?

"It's worse to think you might actually be a little interested in me."

"I want to be with you y/n! Why is that bad?" Roger pointed desperately trying to make himself clear.

"For now, you might!" You shouted back. That stopped him in his tracks.

"But I want a forever, Roger. And you can't even get through breakfast without changing your plans. You can't even sign an autograph for one groupie without letting your eyes linger to meet someone else's! They might be okay with it. And if you are too, fine! But it would just break my heart."

You slammed the bucket of feed on the ground, birds hurrying toward the meal. Roger looked as though the wind had been knocked out of him. You hated it. But you had to stand your ground. It was going to hurt eventually anyway.

"Then what does it say about me that I still want you? Even if you think I'm so horrid?" Roger winced.

"I don't think you're horrid, I think you're amazing!" You shouted back with a wild gesture.

"That's the whole bloody problem!" Wasn't it obvious? "I'll want you forever, even when you don't want me anymore!" You admitted, only realizing the weight of your statement after your words hung in the air, your heart cracking in its mold.

"What do I need to do?" Roger asked in a panic, stepping closer to you. "How can I prove that you're the only one for me? For now, and for always. Tell me what you want and I'll do anything I fucking swear." Roger's voice was thick and frantic, but you'd heard him sing and forget what he'd been wailing about the morning after.

"You don't mean that!" You cried, moving away. You heard all the times he planned one date with someone else while he toted a different girl on his arm. You didn't think it was a problem, not if that's what everyone was looking for. But you weren't that girl. You couldn't wait on the sidelines and be glad you got a kiss at the end of the day. And you couldn't expect Roger to play the part you wanted if that wasn't really him. You just didn't fit together. No matter how badly you wished you did.

So you picked up your bucket and turned to stomp up the hill.

"Y/n!" Roger plead, watching your storm away. He stood debating on letting you have a bit of space. But, he'd done enough of that. He needed to prove himself now.

You stormed inside, casually so. You'd planned to ignore the rest of the boys who still stood about the kitchen, and head straight for your room. But you hadn't out run Rogers hurry to stop you. He bolted through the entry just as you reached the doorway to the hall.

"Y/n wait," Roger begged, instead of demanded. His dejected tone was what forced your feet to stall before they reached the corner. The boys fell silent from across the room while you fixated your stare at the wall, afraid if you met anyone eye, you'd burst into tears.

"Please." Roger croaked. The room was silent. And when you slowly turned to face him, Roger was struggling to hold back tears, pools brimming in his impossibly big eyes. Everyone around seemed to hold their breath, waiting for you to say something.

After what felt like forever, Freddie ushered his two remaining bandmates out the back door while you and Roger stood, deadlocked.

You sighed, shook your head, grabbed Roger by the wrist, and pulled him toward the living room. You released him from your grasp near the sofa, where Roger slowly sat, gapping your way.

"I don't want to fight with you, Roger." You sighed after a while of staring out the window, searching for just what to say.

"I'm fighting for you, y/n. I've never wanted anything more."

"But Rog..." You implored softly. But when you turned and looked at his watery eyes, you'd forgotten what point you were busy making.

He sucked in a breath bracing for you to keep at it, but you slumped, sitting next to him sorrily. You moved both of your hands to Roger's face, and brushed your thumbs under each of his eyes, wiping away the traces of tears that happened to overflow.

"Everything is different with you. I understand just saying so isn't good enough. Give me a chance to prove it?" Roger asked in a hush, looking in your eyes his fingers slowly wrapped around your wrists. The drummer slid off the side of the couch, tangled his fingers with yours, and looked up to you from his knees, one final silent plea.

Your heart was too conflicted, too quick to cower behind the wall you'd build up. So you just gave Roger a pathetic nod, because you knew you couldn't say no.

"I'm sorry I upset you." You spoke, glancing at the way Roger's hands clutched yours, still. With that, the blonde let out a sigh and rested his head in your lap, accepting the conclusion.

You lost your fingers in his strands of hair, accepting his display of affection, or whatever it might have been. All you knew was that you'd never felt more content and confused at the same time.

The pair of you stayed like that for a while, in shared silence. It was broken when Freddie's voice echoed through the back door. He called both of your names, and then Rogers once more. The band didn't have much more time to waste.

When Roger lifted his head from your lap, you stopped him from standing to brush his hair back into place. The two of you shared the smallest laugh, the tiniest expressions that made you believe you were on the same page. Then you walked toward the sound of Freddie's timbre, side by side.

The singer was wringing his hands in the garden doorway, casting Roger a concerned expression as the two of you approached. The blonde nodded toward Freddie as he walked outdoors and sauntered toward the barn, stretching his arms. But Freddie stalled in the doorway, turning to you once Roger was a few paces off.

"We'll figure it out, I promise." You told Freddie, before he could even ask. You knew he only stopped you to wonder what just happened. The only thing was that you weren't entirely too sure. "We'll be alright. And you can finish your record. I'm sorry-"

Freddie raised his hand ceasing your statement. Then he looped an arm through yours and insisted you come and listen to Queen's newly perfected masterpiece that still didn't have a name.

///

The last week you continued to share most mornings with Brian, and every lunch with Freddie. You still beat John at the same old card game. But each day you spent near Roger, was different.

The silence you shared held a new weight, a ticking time bomb. The conversations you traded were gentler, but shifted around familiar topics. There was nothing you and Roger were afraid to discuss, well, everything except one thing. And when the subject of your feelings for each other threatened to come up, you and Roger shared a glance in place of any discussion.

He followed you out to the forest with Pepper, throwing sticks she'd chase after but fail to bring back. Roger sat by you at every meal, looking to you first for every open-ended question that popped up through your friend's chatter.

And during the last night of the band's stay, after they spent the morning loading up their instruments into their van, you planned a big evening in. Setting out movies and snacks and all the proper essentials for any good party.

Otto came over, with a plate of desserts and some seeds for Brian to plant. Mona stayed an extra night, exchanging recipes with John, and sharing a long chat with Freddie and Roger in the sun room. When everyone gathered to watch a film or two, most of the boys fell asleep before the second film started. Besides you and Mona, Otto was the last man standing as the credits rolled.

When Mona lifted her frame for a big comfy claw-footed chair, she brushed past you with a wink on her way to bed. Roger had fallen asleep at your side long ago. with his head on your shoulder. You gave your old friend a pursed grin, before closing your eyes and leaning into the drummer's warmth. If whatever happened between you and Roger was only meant to last for a month, this was your last chance to enjoy it. You'd already fallen. Why not give in for a second or two?

The next morning, you awoke to find you'd switched places. Your head was comfortably perched on Roger's shoulder, his body turned toward yours as if he was inviting in the comfort. You blinked to the band still passed out around the living room. But Roger was awake, and already waiting to meet your gaze.

You could tell when your eyes met then, that it was one of those moments with a dozen outcomes. Whatever either of you said or did next felt detrimental. So you stuck to what you knew, and asked Roger if he'd like one last cup of tea. He said yes.

Eventually, the boys started dragging their suitcases to the front porch, blabbering about the sunshine and the city they were headed back to. You passed around hugs, sending each boy to their ride one by one. They all thanked you in their own silly little way, all of them groggy and reluctant to leave the quiet.

When the van pulled out of the driveway, you couldn't tell if Roger was looking back or not. You bit back tears as your friends drove off, and for the first summer ever, you feel stuck in Surrey.

///

The next time you saw Queen was on stage.

You'd made it back home to the city just in time to change and race to see your friends play. Because even though you'd had the pleasure of hearing the echoes of their endless rehearsal for weeks on end, you still weren't sick of the sound. They were set up in a small club, getting back into the swing of putting on a show for more than a wandering chicken and or two.

A usual cast of friends, groupies, and followers were scattered about the crowd. You knew some of them, and a few introduced you to faces you'd never seen before then. But when Queen took the stage, the audience ceased their chatter to join in giving the band a warm welcome.

They needed no introduction. Their instruments caught fire and melded together in perfect timing, in alarming harmony. You watched on in wonder, each member using their talent to the band's advantage, showing off in each other's favor. You'd never tire of marveling over their music.

After a setlist full of head-spinning tunes, the crowd thinned out respectively. Fans meandered out front, planning to linger near the band's parked van. Friends drifted toward the stage while the boys tore down their set, shooting winks and nods toward the groupies who slipped backstage. That left you eyeing a side exit, planning your route home, wondering if you had time to stop for a bite to eat on the way home.

But your mission toward the exit was hindered when someone yanked you backward by your shirt sleeve.

"You're not leaving." Brian declared, pulling you along, past the stage, where Freddie spun, blowing you a kiss. Brian pulled you backstage, down a couple of dank halls lined with girls and guys waiting to get their hands on one of Queen.

Brian dumped you off in the doorway of the green room, you supposed. The space offered a sofa, a mirror, and a table full of half-consumed liquor bottles. And all alone stood Roger Taylor. He appeared to have changed shirts, and was screwing the lid back on to a bottle of water when he looked up and noticed you.

If you thought Rogers eyes were bright, his smile upon seeing you was blinding.

"You came! I thought you'd be sick of us by now." Roger chuckled, opening his arms as he approached to wrap you in a hug.

"I swear you get better every time." You laughed, hugging him back, surprisingly relieved and relaxed in his arms. When Roger let go of you, he searched your face as you stood, failing to hide your blush.

"You came." He smiled again, as if he was just now really realizing you were here.

"Of course I did, Rog."

With that, he grabbed your hand like he'd done it more than once. Roger pulled you alongside him, greeting every odd familiar face in the halls. Some knew your name, others learned it when Roger introduced you in passing. He led you right to the stage, where he went to take his drums apart. Freddie cornered you to spill what seemed like every thought he had since last you'd seen each other. John even circled back around to offer you a goodbye on his hurry home for the evening.

Then, the rest of the weekend went almost just like that. You stood and watched your friends warm-up the same stage in preparation to tour later on. And when the shows ended, you waited around to make sure you told each boy hello, or goodbye.

Roger seemed to wait up for you. He never sought you out, never hurried off stage to cling to your side. He simply waited near the bar or in the green room, where you found him kicking his feet until he saw you. Then, he'd dare to cling to you. To grab your hand, or lean his shoulder against yours while you both listened to some stranger tell a long boring story.

Rogered waited up for you, and that's how you knew. At the end of the weekend, you went home feeling utterly incomplete. Thoughts of Roger used to hurt your head and heart, but the ache you felt at the thought of the blonde was much different now. You were only torturing yourself, really. It was time to give in.

You told yourself that whatever happened next, was exactly what was meant to happen. On your drive to Rogers flat, you made yourself accept your fate in advance, no matter what it might have been.

On your march up the complex stairs, you figured you didn't have much to lose.

You knocked, bolts of nerves surging through each time your knuckles met the door. When it opened, Roger seemed genuinely surprised to see you.

"Oh hey," He uttered, moving back to let you in. You glanced past Roger's shoulders as you stepped inside the space he shared with Brian, though the guitarist was usually staying with his soon to be wife in the little apartment they'd started slowly moving into.

"I thought Bri left for the evening. But I suppose if you're expecting him he'll be back any minute..." Roger reasoned, shutting the door and shuffling a safe distance away from where you'd planted your feet in the kitchen.

"I'm here to see you, Roger." You bit back a grin.

"Me? I-" His saucer eyes were innocently confused. He was clad in an old sweatshirt and his hair was still a little damp from a shower at the end of a long night. Before he had time to finish asking what you were doing here, you closed the space between the two of you.

You placed a hand on Roger's jaw and kissed him in the blink of an eye. His lips were warm and soft, and even more perfect than you imagined them to be. He stalled for a moment, but when you showed no signs of pulling away, Roger gave in. He snaked an arm around your middle and kissed you back in the manor a soldier coming home from war might have. Your lips moved together for what seemed like forever, you hoped it was.

"I'm sorry I never did that sooner." You breathed after your kisses died down. Roger kept his arm around you, holding you close against his form.

"Better late than never, right?" Roger mused, curling his lip into a grin as his eyes searched yours. This was what you wanted, no questions asked. It was time to give in.

"If you want forever, I'd love to share that with you." You nodded in a whisper, holding your breath during the nanosecond it took Roger to agree.

"I want everything with you." Roger laughed a little like he shouldn't have had to state the obvious, but was glad to all the same. You let out a small laugh too, more like a sigh of relief, though. You hadn't expected to end up in the situation, but as the summer crept into autumn, you couldn't imagine your world with Roger.

///

Thursdays were still reserved for you and Freddie to share your usual order at the coffee shop. And John still sometimes joined in to share a joke or a wise old sentiment in between your gossip. You still saw Brian at every odd dinner, game night, and gig; where you rambled and argued about the workings of the universe. And in between it all, Roger was always at the back of the stage and at the end of every day, always looking to you. You rocketed into sharing beds, and breakfasts and shopping trips together. You and Roger were never too far apart.

As autumn turned to winter, you went on the hunt for another internship and found something better; a job. It was only then you realized how glad you were to have missed out on that very first opportunity. How lucky you got when everything was canceled and you were propelled into the forest with your favorite band. That must have been how things were always meant to happen. Because the production you signed on to now caused stars to form in your eyes. It was a position even dreamier than you ever hoped to score, but something that wasn't meant to start until the beginning of the next year.

So when Queen released their record and started morphing from hometown heroes to actual superstars, they each begged you to join the tour meant to promote their new music. And you didn't have a single reason to decline.

You tagged along for a couple of weeks, snapping photos of the boys on the plane, in front of shop windows, and on each new stage they took by storm.

And as the days you'd booked to ride along dwindled away, as fate threatened to keep you apart longer than you'd like to have ever been, you just kept planning for your future.

"Let's get a dog." Roger piped up one night, as he slipped into a cozy hotel bed beside you.

"What if he gets lonely? If we get one we'd have to get another." You countered, snuggling close. Roger hummed in agreeance, while you settled against him for the last night you'd get the chance to for months in a row.

"One day we'll have all the dogs we want." Roger sighed, the softness of his tone and the rattle of his chest under your ear was just as good as any of the other music he made. "A whole farm."

"Even a chicken coop?" You teased in a falsely hopeful manner, assuming he'd shiver at the thought.

"Whatever you want." You felt Roger shrug. You lifted your head to meet his eyes, waiting for the catch, because you knew he couldn't possibly care for you so much to bend at the will of all of your silly little suggestions.

"I love you. I want everything with you. Even chicken coop." Roger spoke in a hush, reaching his long fingers to brush your cheek. You stared at him in awe, completely submerged in appreciation for Roger, and this moment you shared.

"You'll have to feed them though," Roger spoke as you searched his features. With that, you both laughed until you fell asleep, together.

When morning came, you hoped packing your bags at a slow pace would stall time, in a magic moment. But in the blink of an eye, you were rushing to catch a cab, glancing over your shoulder to find Roger watching you go.

It was hard to settle back home in the quiet rainy city without the boys to keep you company, to keep you on your toes. But you settled into your dream job, finally fulfilled with all the hard work you spent getting to the place you landed in. You worked, and dreamed of Roger, and pinched yourself every time you realized just how lucky you were.

You and Roger were further apart than ever before, even when you hadn't attached at the hip. But he called, and sent letters, and promised he'd see you soon. And you answered and wrote back and promised you were counting down the days.

When he finally came home to you after months away he bound your way with arms outstretched. Roger lifted you from the ground, spinning around with ease, pleading for you to come on the next tour, and the one after that if there was one. And you knew Roger was yours, that your days were better spent dreaming together. You knew you'd be alright.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor imagine #loc event

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ryuichirou · 4 years

Note

Sorry if this is personal but is it tough to be LGBT in Russia/ produce LGBT content in Russia (I mean it’s the internet but still)

Oh, this is an interesting topic… I’ll answer both of these questions and start with the content.

While being LGBT isn’t illegal per-se, there are a lot of limitations that LGBT people meet here. When it comes to creating content, for example, there is the Gay propaganda law. You might’ve heard about this one, it basically means “you can’t produce any content that portrays LGBT in any way, because it’ll make our children turn gay and we don’t want that”. But the thing is, the wording in this law is so… convenient for the State, they can basically call anything an illegal propaganda if they want to. Technically what we’re doing over here is illegal too. If they’d want to call it illegal, that is.

This is the reason people who publish works that have LGBT-related content in them may have issues in the process. There are ways to avoid them, but it is still very hard to officially publish something that has any “iffy” content. Sometimes putting a “18+” label on the book/movie/tv-series/etc helps, sometimes selling said piece of media only on the internet helps, but still: there is always a possibility that a publisher might not be able to produce the product they want. Censorship is a thing, bans are a thing, all of this exists, but you never know whether you’ll be hit by it or not. Please keep in mind that Russia is also an extremely corrupted country.

If you’re just a content creator and post your stuff on the internet only, it’s usually ok. Homophobes exist, but they tend to exist somewhere else, not near fandom places. There are tons of artists from Russia who draw explicit stuff (and a lot of these people are LGBT), a lot of them print their merch and sell it on the geek art markets, and even though there were cases where a printing house refused to print someone’s slash illustration, it’s usually ok. But.

But but but. You still can be targeted and sued for the most ridiculous stuff. For example, you can read about Yulia Tsvetkova’s case, who was arrested for her body positive series of drawings + a drawing in support of LGBT-families under the “distribution of pornography” and “gay-propaganda” laws respectively. There are tons of drawings like these on the internet, but Yulia was specifically targeted because she is an activist who wasn’t quiet about her support of women and LGBT. As you can see, the “gay propaganda” law is a very convenient way to shut people up.

Another example that comes to mind is two gay guys who got married in a country that allows you to get married when you’re not a citizen (I think they did it in Denmark), and they tried making their marriage legal in Russia too because it doesn’t really contradict any law. They fled the country because they started getting threats and their passports (along with their marriage) were deemed invalid. They were also charged with a fee for “damaging their passports”.

Now our wonderful government, which loves cheating during its elections to the point where you get 146% total when the max is 100%, made this wonderful terrible election for changing the constitution. Their changes are a joke (not really funny tho) and its own topic, but one of the changes was that marriage is “a union between a man and a woman”. Now it says that in the constitution.

TL;DR: If they want to get you, they’ll find a way to get you. But if you’re just a rando who posts slashy smut on your twitter, they don’t care, at least not yet. They will use it against you if you start annoying the police. There are a lot of homophobes but the fandom spaces are usually relatively peaceful.

Personally, we’re lucky enough not to face any severe problems yet. We’re careful irl (people usually think we’re related lol) and only some of our friends know about us. We don’t show any affection to each other publicly. On the internet we’re surrounded by people who are friendly, and once again, people from the fandom spaces are usually more progressive than a regular Russian Pyotr or Oleg.

I, being an idiot that I am, used to draw tons of slash (nsfw too!) at classes right in front of my teachers while I was at the uni. And even though it definitely wasn’t very wise of me, no one ever approached me with “umm are those gays, are you gay too” question. The only ones that were interested by my drawings were two straight girls who read slash fanfiction. Maybe the rest of those who noticed were too shy :(

Katsu: I was always an idiot who likes to flex things as a teenager, so when Ryu and I started dating, I mentioned it in my school to some of my classmates. I’m pretty sure it started some nasty rumors, one guy was openly disgusted, but other than that, I haven’t heard anything from them and they never told teachers or parents, which could be consequences that I never considered. The only thing he said was “Are you a lesbian?” which wasn’t really offensive even though I’m not really a lesbian, but I was like... was that supposed to be an offensive word? Because it wasn’t. Right now I realise that I was lucky not to get beaten up lol I’m from a small city (not a town) and not the best district, but I guess nobody cared that much about this info even if they heard about it, plus people were/are usually afraid of me, so not even the worst boys who were obviously stronger (like that disgusted guy) touched me. I only mention it because I know for a fact that some of the people (like 2-3) were usually openly aggressive, it’s not like the worst class you can get in Russia where the only solution is to fucking suffer.

At the uni, I heard our group discussing lesbians, since students there were mostly girls by another disgusted individual, and I actually wanted to say to her something with a “Come at me bro” attitude (I tend to do that when I’m pissed off), but I just decided not to intervene, probably because these were the first couple of days in my first year. I still told one guy like a month later, he was rather cool with it. Anyway, as Ryu mentioned, there are places and people where you can mention it and get away with it, and where you better keep your mouth shut. Most of the country is the second option, but there’re for a fact a lot of nice and accepting people even out of the fandom. We don’t talk about our relationship for the most part because we don’t really need to, so here’s that. Sorry for being so talkative lol

#replies

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shima-draws · 5 years

Photo

OKAY OKAY SO I had this idea that’s similar to Reverse Falls—except everyone’s personalities/roles are swapped, so for example Stan takes the place of Ford and ends up in the portal, and Ford takes the place of Stan and is stuck trying to get him back for thirty years. Mabel and Dipper swap, as do Soos and Wendy, and Gideon and Pacifica, Candy and Grenda, etc.

They’re the same people with the same likes/dislikes and talents, but their personalities are all switched around!! So while Dipper is still mega fascinated by science and mysteries and stuff, he’s very outgoing and energetic and silly, while Mabel is more reserved and very shy about her creative passions—which leads to her being the one to find the journals, and take interest in them because they’re quirky and entertaining—and written by Stan :’) Dipper has a million different sweater vests, and Mabel has buttons and pins all over her clothes!

I see Ford and Stan’s story playing out as like, Ford was the one born with six fingers but it never bothered him much, and he was a very energetic personality as a kid, leading him and Stan into tons of trouble. Meanwhile Stan has always had self confidence issues, and he always took people calling him the “lesser twin” to heart, despite Ford encouraging him not to. Stan always had an interest in the mysterious, as well as Ford, but Stan’s fascination of it stemmed from his own anxiety issues, and found that he could relate a lot to the weird and unusual (because really, a lot of them were like him, labeled as weird and dumb because of his “mental” issues)

Rest is under the cut because it got LONG lol

This all came to a head during high school when Stan started writing fiction;; and really GOOD fiction at that. He couldn’t outwardly express himself and his interest in the supernatural, but he could do that through fiction, which made everything so much easier for him since he has social anxiety! And he found he was really talented at it. Which leads to a great big story writing contest, and the principal telling Stan that if he wins he can get a scholarship and go to college for writing. (The principal also says Ford is going places, too, but the things Stan can do will get him far, while Ford will always be stuck with the more…disapproving of careers. Assuming writers are a big hit, and scientists are just seen as frauds and losers.) Stan gets REALLY excited about this, which bums Ford out a lot because he wanted to do the treasure hunting thing and search for anomalies together, but Stan protests saying this is his passion and he’s finally being given an opportunity to do something good and worthwhile with his life.

The night before the contest, Ford sneaks in to the library where all the entries are set up, and accidentally mixes Stan’s story up with someone else’s—the pages get all intermixed and weird, and he quickly leaves before he can fix it because he’s about to get caught by night security (but he THINKS he got the pages in order when he in fact did not). The next day the judges read Stan’s story and say it makes no sense, it’s all out of context and the writing is all over the place and sloppy—so Stan loses. Of course he realizes that something must have happened, and after seeing a pen that belongs to Ford on the floor, he realizes what Ford has done. Which results in their enormous fight, and Ford is the one to be thrown out of the house.

Ford still manages to make it into college anyway, despite being homeless for a time, and starts studying hard. It’s not…a good college, at all, and he gets roughed up a lot and teased by frat boys, and struggles endlessly to make ends meet financially, and battles with intense depression. But he manages, somehow :’)

Stan, on the other hand, is so torn up about Ford leaving that he is essentially writers blocked—and he can’t write anything of any worth for a LONG time. Eventually he’s forced to get a low paying job in Glass Shard, wondering where it all went wrong, and missing Ford fiercely but still too upset to reach out. (He’s sure Ford is doing fine on his own, anyway.)

Eventually Stan manages to catch the attention of a publishing company along the way, and gets enough money to finally move out and continue his work! Which leads him to Gravity Falls, a place rumored for being weird, so Stan goes there to get inspiration for his writing, and starts a new life.

Ford, meanwhile, has graduated from college, but with a degree from such a shitty place he’s turned down for many job offers. He essentially starts traveling around the country, trying and failing to get noticed, and things start getting really tight for him moneywise, and people start chasing him down to repay his college debt. Yeah. It’s bad lol

Stan decides to call up an old friend of his that he encountered working part of the industry, Susan!! Susan happily comes up to Gravity Falls to act as an “editor” of some sorts for Stan’s latest in-progress novel. Stan also starts keeping a record of all the weird things he sees in Gravity Falls in a journal—and as time passes, the more he gets involved, and the more crazy he gets about discovering the source of all the weirdness there…which leads to him discovering a cave full of symbols and eventually ends up summoning Time Baby (yes, he and Bill are swapped in this!). Time Baby tells Stan that he’s brilliant, that he can bring all of his stories to life and live out his wildest fantasies if they work together. And so, Time Baby helps Stan in order to build a portal—but not a DIMENSIONAL portal, no. A TIME portal. Because I see Time Baby wanting to extend his rule to every time period possible in this AU, but being limited by time laws and possibly a revolutionized force trying to stop him. If he gets access to a time portal he can spread his influence farther, and attempt to take over all timelines, the past, the present, and the future. And Stan, who in this AU hadn’t grown up knowing when someone was trying to con him, falls for Time Baby’s flattery EASILY, and starts building the portal with his instructions. Susan also helps, being a mechanic alongside an editor. But unfortunately, an accident during testing gave Susan a glimpse into the future, where she witnessed the horrifying truth of Time Baby’s rule. She quit the project and decided to leave Stan on his own, who realizes Time Baby’s lies and started to lose his mind as he attempted to protect himself against the overlord’s influence. Which leads to him calling up Ford!!

Ford, who is currently barely scraping by, drops everything to go see Stan in Gravity Falls, in an excited attempt to reconcile. Of course Stan is driven by paranoia and anxiety at this point, so he snaps at Ford, demands him to hide his journals, and this results in their enormous brawl. Ford gets burned, they accidentally activate the portal, and Stan falls in—to be sent to an apocalyptic future.

Unfortunately without Stan’s other journals Ford has no IDEA how the portal works. And seeing as Stan worked with a being from a future with extreme technological advancements, even with his genius he can’t figure it out right away, and especially without the other journals to help. So, as Ford struggles to bring the portal back online, he decides to take over the Shack and transform it into a science museum of some sorts. Being as outgoing as he is, Ford’s able to draw people in with his friendly personality and contagious energy, which earns him enough money to keep the Shack running. He fakes his own death (mostly to escape the mountain of debt he’s in—I know, Ford isn’t the type, but he really didn’t want people sniffing around after all he’d been through, and paying back loans is the last thing on his mind, especially since he’s avoided it already and is labeled as a criminal anyway), opens the Mystery Shack, which is home to tons of crazy inventions and neat science factoids and tours, and thirty long years pass as he struggles to work the portal again. (He tries tons of different complicated things, but nothing works. He gets very frustrated with it sometimes.)

Eventually, the summer of 2012 arrives and with it comes Dipper and Mabel! And you know, things play out pretty similarly to how the original GF universe did. Bill is an interdimensional demon who keeps track of people dimension hopping (which Mabel and Dipper inevitably end up doing once they get their hands on a space tape), Gideon is filthy rich, Pacifica is a fake psychic who has an interest in Dipper, Wendy is the girl who fixes up the Shack, Soos is the guy always slacking off and being cool (and the thought of Mabel having a crush on him is. WEIRD but consider it being like, teen Soos or smth. Soos but COOL. He could pull it off), Fiddleford is a cheeky waiter at the diner—you get the point lol.

Anyway I am dubbing this AU as UPSIDE-DOWN FALLS! (I apologize if anyone else has ever had a similar idea, but it just popped into my head and I couldn’t disregard it man;;)

Also I feel that Ford and Stan might eventually go traveling the dimensions, or a mishap occurs and they get separated or something—and Ford runs into the regular GF verse Stan, and he has a great fondness for him because they’re practically the same. (Stan won’t admit it but he really likes Upside-Down Ford too.)

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cannibalisticapple · 4 years

Text

Okay, so I have some thoughts on Kurikuri’s decision to delete a large number of her fan fics, and on fan fiction as a whole.

For those who don’t know, Kurikuri (@letaizawarest) is a popular fan fiction author with numerous popular Erasermic fics, along with other fandoms. Around the end of May/start of June she deleted a large number of her stories, specifically those that featured either police, or those set in the My Hero Academia universe where they work as Pro Heroes.

To quote her post:

as you may have noticed, roughly half of the fics on my ao3 have been deleted.

i’ve deleted all my fics about police officers. also, after some thought, i also deleted my non-AU bnha fics, because although they might not be “cops” in name, they are law enforcement. i do not want to be a part of the system that glorifies the police.  

at the moment i haven’t deleted other profession AUs and high school era fics, but i will continue to reflect on their relation to the source material. even if you enjoyed the deleted fics, please do not circulate them in other formats (PDFs, EPUBs, etc).  

i also encourage other writers to think about cop fic they’ve written. while it may be fun and escapist for you, it still encourages the idea that antiblack and killer cops are just “bad apples” and that good cops exist. let’s dismantle that system of thought.

I have some very, very mixed feelings on this.

To start: I respect her reasoning, but I don’t agree with it. I fully agree that it’s not just a bunch of “bad apples”, there’s a serious issue with the system and how the police operate in the United States. I’ve always been bothered by how the police let other officers get away with horrible BS, even as a kid, and that rage has only grown as I’ve grown older and found out more about how screwed up it is on every single level.

But the way that last paragraph is written rubs me the wrong way because you can’t paint every single person in an entire career field as unequivocally corrupt, bigoted and all around callous murderers. Good cops DO exist. Plenty of people go into the career hoping to fix things, or just genuinely want to help their community in whatever way they can. But the thing is, they’re fighting a losing battle because the system is working against them. When they DO speak up against the corruption, bigotry, violence and other issues, they tend to get fired and blacklisted from the field. Or sometimes, they get outright murdered and it’s treated as a “suicide.”

A shitty fact of life: sometimes, the people who are more willing to resort to underhanded tactics and willing to turn a blind eye to corruption are the ones who climb up the career ladder furthest. And in the case of the police, it’s deep-rooted enough that it can’t be fixed internally anymore. But that doesn’t make literally every police officer corrupt.

I’m not posting this to make some political point or argument though. I obviously disagree with Kurikuri’s opinion, but I respect it. I can even respect her decision to remove the stories featuring the police, or even the ones heavily focusing on the characters’ jobs as pro heroes. I can see how heroes are just another version of law enforcement, because honestly, they are.

As a writer and a reader, I fully respect that it’s ultimately her choice to delete her stories. It’s not my place to make demands. She’s the one who created it, and as a writer I know the hard work and time that goes into crafting stories, so I believe she has a right in how it’s used and shared. The fact she shared it in the first place was something she didn’t have to do.

But the thing is, she DID share it, which is why I have this conflict.

As a writer, I’ve always believed that fiction can be more powerful than fact.

Fiction can give readers a window into mindsets you’d never imagine before, because you can connect more easily with fictional characters than real people on the news. That’s why Uncle Tom’s Cabin was so critical in the battle against slavery: it didn’t just gave a face to slavery, it let readers experience the characters’ lives directly. People got to see the struggles and suffering firsthand, feel the rising crescendo of hope each time freedom is in reach, and the soul-crushing despair every time that hope gets dashed by outside forces.

Fiction may not always be “true” or even “accurate,” but it can help us understand other people, see them as fellow humans, in ways that nonfiction just can’t. It can evoke emotions, empathy and familiarity in a reader that a news story or biography can’t capture because it draws you directly into their world.

And it’s that part—the part where readers enter this fictional world to connect to characters they’ll never meet—that leads to the other power of fiction that many people overlook:

Fiction has the ability to help readers persevere.

How many people reading this have used books to get away from trouble in their lives? To take a breather from all their anxieties and stress, and dive head-first into this other world for just a moment, where nothing else matters? How many people reading this had their whole lives changed by reading a story where a character’s words resonated with them? Where it helped them come to an epiphany about how to do better, how to be better.

Sometimes, the world is too overwhelming and we need to escape it. That’s the beauty of fiction. It lets us go to a world where our problems just don’t matter. Even if the world in question is worse than our own, it can still be a relief and give us hope because hey, at least we’re not living in 1984 or the Hunger Games, right? Stories are what keeps many people going through the hardest time, what gives them hope that life isn’t utterly hopeless.

And even after a story is finished, whether it’s fan fiction, a book, a show, or any other medium, that story will have a special place in people’s hearts. Many people will go back to those stories years later when they’re faced with immense stress and need a break from the real world, so that they can dive into the world that helped them persevere the last time they felt so bad. Just having a copy of it on hand can be a source of comfort even if you never read it again.

I want to highlight one phrase Kurikuri used in her post to describe how people feel writing stories about police and heroes: "fun and escapist”. That’s honestly so accurate, those stories are escapist, and that is why I’m so conflicted.

Stories about superheroes, while technically revolving around themes of law enforcement, are a form of escapism FROM police corruption.

There’s a reason that superhero comics are so popular in America. Superheroes appeal to a natural desire for justice because as so aptly pointed out, the real world doesn’t always HAVE that justice. It gives an ideal for people to aspire to, a glimpse of what could be, what should be. (Come to think of it, that’s probably why I hate the DC cinematic universe so much, it’s skewed way too much to favor the villains/antagonists and maximize suffering for the good guys.)

Right now, the world is full of more injustice than ever before. I can’t turn on the news without feeling my rage and stress boil over. Every day it gets worse and worse somehow, and I (and many others) genuinely fear that the United States may be heading towards a civil war this November. Donald Trump’s voice alone is enough to make my blood boil at this point.

I, and many others, turn to fan fiction so I can break away from reality because that amount of rage and fear just isn’t healthy.

I don’t have depression, or anxiety, or an abusive family, or a chronic illness. I’m not at risk of being made homeless anytime soon, nor do I need to worry about bills right now or going hungry. I’m a privileged white girl who has barely anything to worry about. What I’m saying is I’m fucking lucky and I know it, but I STILL can’t stand thinking about the state of the world and need to get the fuck away from it to take a breather for my own mental health.

And I also know that many people don’t have that option because their situation is so bad, they NEED to be aware of it at all times.

In the past when writing for other fandoms, I’ve had people tell me my fan fiction was the reason they did not commit suicide.

In my early college years I fell into the creepypasta community and was pretty active in it, especially on deviantArt. I don’t know if that particular fandom’s subject and focus makes it more appealing to teenagers going through rough times or what, but I swear, more than half the people I spoke to suffered from some form of mental illness, abusive or broken family and home situations, bullying, and every other way the world can screw someone over through means beyond their control.

During that time, a few readers left comments that waiting for my stories to update were what kept them going. They didn’t explicitly say that it was the only reason they didn’t kill themselves. It was more just remarks like, “Your writing is the only thing keeping me going.”

I’m not vain enough to believe my stories are so good, it made people decide to continue living JUST to see what happens next. Suicidal thoughts and urges are much more complex than that. But it’s still not something you expect to hear on something you write for fun.

I’ve thought about it a lot over the years, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it probably wasn’t because my stories were "just that good.” I think it was because they needed something to cling to in bleak times. That sometimes at the lowest point where all seems lost, people need just one little thought, just the smallest thing to push away those dark urges before they could fully overwhelm them. Something like, “If I die now, I won’t get to see how that story ends.” It’s such a small thing, but having something to look forward to can be so powerful in fighting off impulsive decisions.

It’s made me hyper-aware of just how powerful writing is.

To me, I see writing as a way of helping others. I give people that option for escape. It’s a large part of why I update on a regular, weekly schedule, and why I published extra chapters when the pandemic got announced and when the riots started. People need that comfort, that little break from reality to just sit and breathe so they can get through the rest of the day. I can’t do much to fix the world, but I can at least give people that.

Right now, people need that escape more than ever.

And deleting the stories is taking that escape away and causing MORE stress.

In times like this, people often turn to the stories they know will help most, and plenty of people in fandoms will first search up their favorite ships. They look for fluff, smut, angst... It helps people feel better to focus on these two people who are obviously in love as they work through their troubles.

Many times, readers will be more drawn to stories in the canon universe than radical AUs set in other universes. That’s how they were introduced to those characters. I myself can enjoy no-power and fantasy AUs sometimes, but what I really crave are how they interact in the canon world because that’s the world and versions of them I want to see the most. By deleting EVERY SINGLE STORY IN THE CANON UNIVERSE, that option was removed.

In many of the stories that were deleted, the characters’ careers were honestly a minor facet of the story. Some used it to establish the setting, such as treating injuries after a patrol. Some just simply used it to explain they work at UA, a school for teaching kids with superpowers. Some just had them work as heroes because it’s set in the canon universe, and never directly show ANTTHING about the work.

I’m not always looking for a story about how being a hero shapes and impacts their lives, and most of those stories that got deleted AREN’T about being a hero. That’s just one piece of their character, it’s far from the focal point. It could honestly be removed from several of them without changing the rest of the story.

I can get wanting to make a political point and I respect that, but by deleting those stories, you’ve taken away a key source of comfort from hundreds, thousands of people. By deleting the stories, you’re making the stress worse.

On Saturday night, I realized several of my favorite stories are suddenly gone. I knew Kurikuri had deleted a bunch of her stories, but I hadn’t realized just how many of them I liked. Some of them I’ve specifically sought out to reread multiple times in the past, never really paying attention to the author. Realizing they’re just gone caused me heavy stress because it made me paranoid about all these other stories I like to reread. I don’t expect those stories to be around forever, but I still didn’t expect them to vanish so suddenly. I never thought I’d need to download them to make sure I’d still be able to read them while the site is still up.

I spent hours searching out specific stories to see if they were written by her, and make sure they’re not gone forever. I have no way of knowing which ones she’d written and deleted because there’s not exactly a list out there anymore. My desperate search for those stories and one in particular (which I still haven’t found) contributed to the lack of sleep I got that night.

And I need to reiterate: I am mentally healthy and have no major stresses in my immediate life. And that’s why I’m hyper-aware of how this stress will affect people who AREN’T as lucky as I am.

If an author decides to delete their stories because they feel the stories themselves push harmful values or themes, fine. If they’re getting harassed, or it reminds them of a bad time in the lives, or they just don’t like that story anymore, okay. I can respect that and accept it.

But these stories were deleted for the EXACT reasons that people will be looking for them now more than ever, and that’s where I draw the line.

This applies to ALL fandoms.

If you as a fan fiction writer have more than, say, 100 kudos on a completed story or one-shot, there’s a good chance people will read and reread your story in stressful times. If you have a reasonably popular story that updates on a regular or even semi-regular basis, there is a chance that someone is using it as a lifeline to have something to look forward to while the rest of their lives go to hell. Maybe not because they specifically love it, but because it gives them something routine.

I want to make it clear that it’s not our job to care for other people’s mental health. Fan fiction writers don’t have an obligation to people, we’re doing it for fun first and foremost. We’re not some sort of saviors, and we shouldn’t think of ourselves that way or we can honestly screw people up worse. We’re not obligated to write these stories JUST for our fans.

At most, our stories are sources of support and comfort for readers. A little break from reality. If writing a story is causing you more stress than enjoyment, stop. Fan fiction, and all other fan media and stories in general, is ultimately created for the creator’s enjoyment more than anything.

Your own mental health comes first. Don’t set yourself on fire to keep other people warm.

But with how utterly fucked and unfair the world is right now, people need those stories now more than ever. So if you’ve got a story out there that’s fairly popular, please, please, PLEASE be mindful of your readers before deciding to delete it. Now is the absolute last time people need more stress trying to find a single story. And if you’re going to delete it, maybe give readers a heads up so that those who need it or have some powerful attachment to it for all the reasons I’ve discussed here can download a copy for their own personal use.

Don’t hurt your readers to make a point.

#fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #fandom #my hero academia fanfiction #boku no hero academia fanfic #kurikuri #letaizawarest #erasermic #maizawa #writing #stories #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #tw suicide #superhero #superheroes

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violettelueur · 4 years

Text

RYŌMEN SUKUNA || LITTLE CAGED ARTIST

| featuring : ryomen sukuna ft. itadori yuji

| warnings : mention of emotional abuse and murder as well as grammar errors

| form : imagine

| word count : 1691

| published : 22 december

| request : Hello, idk if your request are open but feel free to ignore, but just, imagine another reencarnation au (those imaginw of yours are my favourite) where the reader was a painter and Sukuna's personal favourite so he took her and kinda abused her psycologicaly to the point where she would just draw him and only him and he loved that, and in the future she's still an artist that draws Yuuji bc theyre friends but when she sees the tatoos she again draws Sukuna and he feels guilty for the way he treated her and her art in the pastIf It's angst i would apreciate but it's not really necesary

| barista’s notes : hi there~ i apologies for the extremely long wait for your coffee order but now it is there ╲ʕ·ᴥ·　╲ʔ right now it is nearly 5am in the morning and i have no idea why the hell i am awake, but oh well ʕ ᵒ ᴥ ᵒʔ DONT WORRY THOUGH! after this, i am going to sleep and rest up since today it is Fushiguro Megumi’s and Kageyama Tobio’s birthday today ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ but other than that, i hope you enjoy your order of a cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and i hope you come back soon! ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆

“Sukuna….please leave me alone...leave the village alone, I beg of you please,” you whimpered to the man that was standing tall and proud with a sadistic smirk painted on his face, while you were on your knees tightly holding onto his large wrist - somewhat slightly covering the black ring marking - as if your weak physical strength could do anything to stop his raising them up and giving a rain upon hell to the people that was residing in the small town you lived in.

You have no idea how you had managed to catch the attention of the most feared curse to both humans and jujutsu sorcerers nor did you know how you managed to become acquainted with the man in front of you. All you knew right now was that the situation you were in at this current moment and time, was not ideal to anyone at all.

You were just a simple artist. A simple village girl artist that was blessed to be hired by the nobility and aristocracy to paint their family portraits with the finest colours that they would offer you, for you to be then paid so you could provide for your village. However, as luxurious as it sounded, you were in love with the idea of just placing a sharped piece of charcoal on a piece of paper or cloth you could find anywhere and sketch your heart designed.

“Leave you alone?” Sukuna questioned you in his deep voice, before slowly crouching down to become face to face with you. “I could never leave you alone, not when you have caught my attention with your craft little one,” Sukuna then stated, as he gently placed a hand on your cheek before using his thumb to caress the soft skin he was touching.

Ever since Sukuna had caught sight of you delicately painting a portrait of a noblewoman with such care and gentleness, he couldn’t help but wonder how your hands were so carefully and how patient you were to make sure every stroke was perfect to your desire. Slowly, he began to wonder what it was like to be the subject of one's view. A subject that someone desired to recreate on a simple piece of paper. However, compared to his past sightings, you were the most talented as well as the most beautiful he had ever seen and once he was able to gain a clear view of the noble woman that you were illustration, he was surprised at how much detail you were able to encapture in your work and just like the noble woman’s reaction, they both were extremely happy with the result of the final product.

“How about this?” Sukuna suddenly asked, causing your head to suddenly shot up leading you to meet eye to eye with the King of Curses, “if you come with me and draw me and me only for the rest of time, I would leave this little village alone as well as the people residing in it. How does that sound, little one?”

‘Come with him? Where? Why? What’s going to happen to me?’

“If you don’t accept this deal, every single person here will die. Burned, stabbed, slashed, any way possible I can. Men, women and even little children’s lives will be gone, and it would be all your fault.”

‘My….fault? But-’

“You know I’m not a patient person little one, I might as well start my massacre while you take your time to think, it will be-”

“NO PLEASE! DON’T, YOU CAN TAKE ME, JUST LEAVE THE VILLAGE ALONE, PLEASE!” you screamed in desperation, as you tighten the grip of his wrist that was within your grasp to keep him down, as you didn’t want to risk him getting away from your sights for the safety and protection of the people within the little town you had lived in since the day your life had started.

With a large cruel grin, Sukuna had somehow managed to pry his wrists free from your tense grip before sliding an arm under your knees as well as an arm around your body lifting you up in a bridal position, while you were just expressing a face of shock and fear, confused and fearful on what you had just accepted in exchange for your life. Where were you going? Was this the end? Were you going to die? How much longer have you had left?

“Don’t worry, I won’t kill you, you’re too precious to be slaughtered little one,” Sukuna answered - as if he knew what you were thinking - before placing a ghostly kiss upon your temple leading you to freeze still, petrified on what he would do with you had moved a single inch.

This was your life now.

A caged artist.

ꕥ

Here you were, sitting on a wooden platform outside with a sharpened piece of charcoal that Sukuna had kindly given you, in order for you to sketch a portrait of him. The second you placed the charcoal upon the paper, Sukuna couldn’t help but stare at the light movements of your hand as you lightly stroke a few lines to create an outline before watching your hand suddenly pause, causing the King of Curses to switch his view from the sheet to you, only to find your look at him with such a frightened look.

“I’m sorry…..I shouldn’t look at you, should I? I apologise deeply,” you softly muttered before quickly turning back to the portrait that was right in front of you - you didn’t want to do anything wrong in his eyes, you knew he could go back on his words and harm the people that you cared about. However, it seemed like Sukuna didn’t care at all, he had managed to trap you into his life and had the power to demand you to draw him every time he would mention he could go back to your little village and burn it to the ground. He relished in the idea of being the subject of your attention.

This is what he wanted.

His little caged artist.

ꕥ

1000 years later and here you were.

Here you were sketching a picture of your best-friend Itadori with a picture of him that you had managed to capture on your phone. Itadori first came into your life shortly after you had enrolled into Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Techincal College around the same time as your other classmate Kugisaki did.

You have no idea what drew you into the boy with the pink hair, but something within you pulled you towards him causing the blooming and somewhat hilarious friendship to start, even causing Fushiguro and Kugisaki to wonder what was going on in your mind to somehow relate to the boy - yet, they didn’t mention their questions since they didn’t really think you knew the answer yourself, and they were correct.

However, as you continued to smoothly glide your pencil across the page, applying different pressures to construct some definitions as well as shadows within the photo you were copying from, you began to suddenly realise that you were starting to draw marking upon his portrait. Markings that were so familiar to the ones the person within him had.

Ever since that day at the Eishu Detention Centre, the sight of Sukuna standing in front of you with his shirt ripped off showcasing his black marking caused a trigger of unknown memories to suddenly flood into your mind, causing excruciating pain that was so unbearable, you thought you were going to pass out from the intense pressure, maybe as even close to dying from the immense pain.

From what you could even recall from the sudden flood of blurry images that appeared in your mind, there was a picture of you drawing with a piece of charcoal with the infamous King of Curses seating right beside you, watching you draw will whispering in your ear the threats that he would bombard you in order for you to make sure that you were only drawing him and him only.

Slowly but in a shaking manner, your drawing hand continued to sketch in Sukuna’s markings that would appear on Itadori’s body as you were somewhat extremely afraid of what the King of Curses could do to you if you didn’t - just how you left 1000 years ago.

Although unknown to you, your best-friend Itadori was standing right behind you, having a clear view of what was happening to you as well as the drawing right in front of him. Seeing your shaking figure with slow but clear teardrops landing on the sketch book as well as the drawing evolving from him to the curse residing inside of him, made him realise how damaging Sukuna was to not only him but also to the people around him. Carefully, Itadori placed a hand over your hand that held the pencil, causing you to flinch before finally noticing that it was your friend that was holding it and not the special grade curse.

Within his Innate Domain, Sukuna also had a clear view on what was happening to you and slowly but strangely began to feel something drop to his stomach with the feeling of his throat closing up at the sight of you slowly breaking down into a small state of insanity. This isn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want his beautiful little one to become lifeless and paranoid like you were now.

Even after 1000 years after your death, your incarnation was carrying the feeling of fear, despair and numbness that you were weighed upon the second you had given your life away to the King of Curses for the sake of your village. Even though you had more freedom then you did then, you still left trapped and lost within the metal cage that Sukuna had enclosed you in. Even with the small hint of guilt that was manifested within the cruel curse’s heart.

You were trapped with no escape out.

You were trapped forever with no key to open the door that was clearly right in front of you.

Forever his little caged artist.

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purplepalmdelight · 4 years

Text

why life is still okay (rambling fic rec pt. 1)

firstly: shout out to @trulyalpha for apparently owning my entire bookmarks page on ao3 (bc i only realised all my favourite fics were written by the same person,,, yesterday. bc im really smart like that) anyway breakdown of why she’s a stoncy saving grace thanks!!!

you ease my mind, you make everything feel fine.

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/13842039)

yes this fic is from 2018. yes i read it every other week. it’s good for the SOUL. jonathan getting taken care of is always just such a good and sweet concept (maybe it’s my intense, undying love of him, but he deserves to be taken care okay) and. okay i’ll admit, sometimes i forget how fucking FUNNY this fic is, but it’s genuinely hilarious, okay? you gotta trust me on this. it makes me cackle at inappropriate times absurdly often. ("Hi." "Hi." "I want you, you fuck." is a top line. i laugh so hard every TIME.) all three of them are so incredibly in character, and somehow this NAILS the fact that they’re all massive disasters pretending to be confident. and i’m not someone that reads ~smut~ often (though it’s more mentioned than described, very non-explicit) but this didn’t make me even the least bit uncomfortable. it felt very natural and in character and made me laugh as much as the rest of the story. all in all, i always come away a little more in love with the characters, and that’s a really precious feeling.

you could be the one to make me feel something

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/14269476/chapters/32912745)

i take back everything i’ve ever claimed. this IS the funniest piece of writing i’ve ever read, and it WILL remain so, probably until the day i die. i honestly... barely have words. my expectations were high when i started it, but in retrospect, they were LEAGUES below what i got. the characterisation, the progression, the dialogue, the story; from the overarching aspects to the tiny details, it’s impeccable. i genuinely read this twice in one day, and then again the next. every single part of it is so good, but in terms of FAVOURITES... the christmas section. hilarious. down to its bones, well crafted and heart felt. it hits me right in the chest every time. the story, from the beginning, has me just as in love with nancy and steve as jonathan is, and as everything grows more intense, so does my investment. it pulls me in and doesn’t let me go until it’s good and ready to see me leave. again, the sexy aspects are so in character and natural that it’s uncomfortable or weird to read and instead just leave me grinning like an idiot. also ( “It did frustrate me, in more ways than one. It’s also a weird plan, like … did you expect me to be so overwhelmed by the power of a boner that I’d just admit my feelings?” is SUCH a funny line, i think about it literally every day. literally. every. day.) the characters are afraid to be messy, to make mistakes, and they all feel so ALIVE that when i leave the story, i feel like i’m leaving a friend. it’s honestly beautiful and honestly breathtaking. this story is better than a lot of published books, honestly, and i’m so grateful for it. so thank you.

i crash my car ‘cause i wanna get carried away!

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131202)

...you really wanted to make me cry, huh? i cried out of grief, yeah, out of the depth of nancy’s guilt and the pure rawness of her mourning, but i also cried out of catharsis as she came to terms, and out of laughter a few times. the bit about total eclipse of the heart as a motif was... that was so well done. i hate drawing comparisons, so please understand that this is criticism of a concept and not a particular story, but in so many stories then nancy’s grief feels... trivialised? that’s not quite the right word. romanticised, maybe. as someone who has lost a friend in the past, it’s just... it doesn’t feel realistic? and that’s okay, because it’s hard to nail something you haven’t experienced, and i wouldn’t wish the experience on anyone. it’s just that stories like this, where i can really resonate with nancy and follow the journey of her recovery WITH her are so rare. this story is a gem, it really is. i don’t love it for all the same reasons as the others, but i love it fiercely all the same.

there’s nothing magic going on, and then along came you

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/14994137)

sure, you could be the one is the funniest fic i’ll probably ever read, but nothing magic is such a close second. it’s laugh-out-loud, get-tears-in-your-eyes, fall-out-of-your-chair, and it’s also so goddamn SWEET i can hardly stand it. of the several fics i generally group together in my head (nothing magic, you could be the one + its sequels (might have to make an individual post about this series), laugh until we think we’ll die, and got nothing for you; all very similar, yet incredibly unique) nothing magic is the shortest, but that doesn’t mean it compromises on quality, oh no. it just means i can read it quicker, and therefore more often! when it’s late and i’m tired and i need a laugh to calm down before i sleep, i generally go search this fic up. remember when i mentioned the whole “being just as in love with nancy and steve as jonathan is” thing? it’s like that except... almost funnier. in you could be the one, it’s just that the story naturally tugs you into adoring these two messy, silly, sweet, amazing young adults, because how could you not? how else could you possibly feel? but here, they are genuinely just... that funny. they are actually just so funny that you as a reader click with them and find yourself grinning like an IDIOT because oh my god you’re disasters. maybe it’s the inherent relatability of a tired highschooler trying to make it through the summer and hating his job along the way, but this fic hits right in the heart every damn time.

got nothing for you other than love

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596658)

"You trust me," she says.

They both know it's a fact, not question, but he still says, "Of course."

and

By then, his shell wasn't something he could step out of. It was part of him. But that was okay. He didn't need more. What he had was enough.

He always did have trouble with wanting more.

and

"Hey, babe?" Nancy turns her head to look at Steve, touching his shoulder. "Can you buy me a drink?"

"Sure thing. What d'ya want?"

"Surprise me. Not like that time we were here and you snuck out the store, went to a smoothie stand, and came back with a mango smoothie."

Steve grins. "But I did surprise you."

and

"Do you have food in the backseat?"

"The sandwich has only been there for like, two weeks—"

and

"Ugh. Too much cheese. I'm lactose-intolerant, remember?"

"False, you're not intolerant of anyone except people over the age of fifteen with bowl cuts and guys who wear shorts in the winter."

and

"Where are you off to? I'm your only friend," Kali says, frowning.

and

"You good, man?"

"Yeah," he says, his throat dry, "I'm great."

"Yeah, you are," Nancy says, and he is. He is.

and i can’t continue because that’s, like, barely halfway into the fic and i’ve already skipped so many of my favourite lines and i would have to skip so many more. you see what i mean about sathana being funny as hell? and like all the others, it’s not just the humour here. i mean... it is, because it’s SO FUCKING FUNNY I LITERALLY CANNOT SAY THAT ENOUGH but the reason it’s so funny is because it’s so candid. it’s so smooth. the whole thing flows. you’re not left feeling that you’ve missed a piece or that anything was sacrificed; you just feel like you’ve read something incredible. this fic is an experience of its own that i honestly have never experienced before. it’s sweet, and it’s gentle, and it’s just so overwhelmingly good that i don’t think i’ll ever quite get over it. in short? it’s a blessing. my expectations were high, but holy fuck did you blow them to bits.

one more favourite line:

Things are ending, things are starting, and everything looks bright. It won't always be that way. The sun's got to set at some point. But, gazing up at the sky, at the pink bleeding into orange, Jonathan figures it'll have to rise again. No matter what happens, these two things are constant.

"Hey, you look awfully lonely," Nancy calls out, walking towards him, reaching out to him with the hand not in Steve's.

Well. Maybe not just those two things.

that scene, in general, is beautiful, and it wraps the story up on such a genuine note. it feels like a film with how clearly i can picture it. it feels like no fic i’ve ever really read before. it feels... good. i guess i don’t really have the words. it just feels so good.

as an overall statement on why i call her my favourite author... it’s the realism. maybe that’s surprising, considering how many times i said “funny” or “hilarious” in here, but in the end, i wouldn’t be so attached to her work if it didn’t feel so real. i can open a tab and instantly get transported to a home i’ve never lived in. it’s comfortable. it’s sweet. and the dialogue/banter is always perfectly crafted. there’s just never really a downside to her fics, honestly. even if i wanted to search, i don’t think i’d find one. not even one of those “their only problem is that there’s not more to enjoy” kind of comments, because every single one feels perfectly crafted in its own right. it doesn’t need more or less. it stands for itself and it’s goddamn good at it.

i didn’t anticipate having to do multiple parts on this post, but- surprise surprise- i haven’t even gotten to my favourite one yet! so yeah, pt. 2 will be written after i finish the history essay trying to murder me, god knows when that is. in the meantime, please go give her some love and adoration. she deserves it.

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stoncy rights pls #stoncy #steve harrington #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #fic rec #like HARD rec pls read #and if anyone who has read these fics wants to geek out w me....... come one and do it #sathana stans unite amirite

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kuroopaisen · 4 years

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Hello, hello!! I just wanted to ask for some teensy weensy advice on how to start writing fics??? I think you're such a good writer that's why I thought to ask 👉👈 any advice is warranted. Thank you!!

aaaaa i’m so flattered dlkjdslkj

okay so, this is all advice that’s very specific to me and how i write, so it might not be the most useful for everyone? that being said, here’s some meagre pointers & tips for you!

i’ve stuck it under a cut because i got carried away, but enjoy!

focus on what inspires you. this seems silly, but it’s true! it’s sort of linked to a point below, but don’t feel pressured to write fic for something you’re not interested in? writing (and especially writing for fandom) is supposed to be an enjoyable experience, so please prioritise the things that make you happy.

a little anecdote to emphasise the point: i really fell in love with writing again recently because of my friends-to-lovers series. just sitting down and playing with a trope i really enjoyed, with characters i found interesting, reminded me why i enjoy doing this so much in the first place.

read! this is a great way to improve your own writing skills, because it’ll give you a good sense of vocabulary and grammar! and it’s great to read outside your genre, too; that’ll help you identify a wider range of techniques and tropes and such that you enjoy! it’s great to read critically, too, so you can analyse elements of those texts to try and work out why you enjoy them so much.

avoid comparison. i say this as someone who’s prone to extreme bouts of insecurity, so it’s more pointed advice for those moments of doubt, i guess? if you’re in a bit of a slump, i definitely recommend reading stuff outside the fandom you’re writing for? that can be writers of other fandoms, short stories, published books, etc,,, hopefully that’ll help get you back on your feet and remind you of what kind of writer you want to be. just avoiding anything that might make you feel like you’re subpar, you know? this made NO sense ahaha

the compost heap. i first heard this concept from neil gaiman but you might’ve heard it around before? but basically, just put down anything that inspires you into a word document or a notebook; and i mean anything. concepts, tropes, folktales, songs, images,,, anything that inspires you, throw it in. then, you can draw inspiration from it at any point, and there’ll always be something there for you to write!

for characterisation, refer back to the source material often. this is fanfiction specific, but it’s how i do characterisation! if i’m writing for a character, especially one i don’t have a great grasp on, i go back to the episodes or chapters they appear in and i analyse the shit out of them. it’s important to draw the line between canon and fanon; while fanon is plenty of fun, it’s not the best place to turn to for characterisation. pay particular attention to how they speak! someone like atsumu, for example, has specific vocal tics, while someone like kenma tends to phrase things in a particular way. those go a long way for characterisation!

work out your voice. easier said than done, i know. but what i mean by this is,,, work out what’s comfortable for you? some people find it quite natural to be very descriptive and poetic with their prose, while other people might find it best to use effective, but more basic language. don’t try and force yourself to be write in a way that’s unnatural for you! writing’s supposed to be fun, and you’re supposed to be expressing yourself. your voice, your tone will come out naturally the more you practice.

side note: your writing can be whatever you want it to be! this probably isn’t going to make much sense, but what i’m getting at is,,, if you want to write something profound, do that. if you want to write something simple and wholesome, do that. don’t feel pressured to do something “more” or different with what you’re writing. tell the stories that you want to tell. write what makes you happy; even if that’s merciless angst dslfdkj

write your plan out in dot points. this is something i do to ensure i’m happy with the flow of the story, and i think it’s pretty common practice. some people are capable of having a loose concept and letting that lead them, but i like to have most of the key beats laid down (sometimes i don’t, and it really shows dslkjfad). it’s also a great way to feel like you’ve been creative & productive without having to worry about it being perfect ahaha

write dialogue first! this is the best way to make sure your dialogue is natural, because otherwise you’re switching between your “speaking” brain and your “narration” brain, if that makes sense. also, having a natural dialogue chain helps build a better paced scene. if you don’t feel too embarrassed by it, read out your dialogue to yourself, to see if it sounds like something someone would actually say fdfd

if you’re planning on starting up a blog: work out whether or not you actually want to take requests. opening requests is usually a good way to get some exposure, but they’re not something you should force yourself to do, you know? requests can be great for stoking some people’s creativity, while other people might just get overwhelmed by them. it’s important to work out where you sit on that spectrum!

side note: if you are planning on starting a blog, it’s a good idea to have some fics ready to go! sometimes it can be hard to get requests when you’ve just started a blog (if you want them), so having work people can look at already’s a great place to start.

another blog-related side note: don’t be afraid of tropes or aus! it may feel unoriginal, but 1) i’m a big believer in execution is very important and where the originality tends to come out, and 2) there’s so much you can do with tropes and aus! there’s so much space to play, and it’s fun to think of all the different directions you can go with them!

research, if it requires it. very important slsdldkj you don’t necessarily have to get every little detail right (unless you’re planning on writing historical novels explicitly aimed at history buffs), but if you’re doing a historical fic or a retelling of some myth, it’s good to have a robust understanding of the key details.

just write! i know that sounds,,, dumb as a piece of advice, but i mean it! the best thing you can do to practice is write. you don’t have to share it anywhere, either. just write what you want to write, and use that to polish up your skills! practice is the most important thing you can do

okay i’m gonna stop myself now i have NO idea if this is useful please let me know if i need to clarify anything i’m so fdkli

#i really am the queen of incoherent rambling huh #i hope this is helpful in any way!#if you have questions lmk #rowan rambles #writing advice

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alo-piss-trancy · 4 years

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Ok hi, I didn't wanna say anything, but please don't write knifeplay/bloodplay for Yuri. I def don't wanna spoil anything, but it's learned on a certain route that Yuri has a s*lf h*rm problem (I'll leave it at that).

You honestly seem like you're not trying to be a jerk with this ask, so I'm going to do my best to answer this as politely as possible without compromising my personal beliefs on the matter. This is going to be long and a little serious, but please note I'm not attacking you or trying to start a debate. I'm just laying all my thoughts on this down at once so I make myself clear, because a short answer would leave a lot of nuance out.

I understand what you're trying to do here. For the record though, I also considered that a pretty massive spoiler and I did not appreciate that at all. Even if you all think you're 'helping', don't do that again. Y/uri was pretty much the only character I'd managed to avoid most spoilers on and you killed the surprise for me. This game is already so full of fluffy 'filler' in the beginning that I don't have a ton of big plot points to look forward to in each route.

Now, I realise this is a very delicate topic and incredibly triggering to some people, especially with those two things combined. I am 100% willing to tag it with just about any variation needed to ensure you or others affected can blacklist/block it and never have to see a word of it in the future. I'd also be happy to go back and tag that original text post I made if needed. I mean that. You all are welcome to ask me to tag things anytime, and so long as you're polite about it I'm perfectly willing to oblige to the best of my ability in future posts! If I occasionally forget, just toss me a light reminder and I'll jump into editing and add it in.

That said, I want to make it clear that I am very firmly against censorship. I'm willing to take all necessary precautions to ensure people can curate their experiences on this blog and AO3, but at the end of the day I can still post whatever fictional stuff I choose to. As can anyone else. Same goes for more formally published media.

Now, it's entirely possible I would have gotten to that part of the game and decided 'oh dang, I'm not so enthused about that fic idea anymore...'. My whims and ideas change frequently, and what you mentioned is a heavy topic with a lot to unpack and process. It's also entirely possible that future plot would only provide more fuel.

Fyi, when I originally mentioned the knifeplay I was actually thinking a lot more along the lines of her doing it to the protagonist, not the reverse. But for the record, if I did choose to write it with focus on Y/uri, I would still be well within my rights to.

This next part of my answer is going to address some heavy topics, this is your warning!!!

Sometimes people's kinks are a way to take a thing that is personally scary or upsetting to them and find a way to reverse it. To find pleasure or power or get used to the idea of the awful thing in a safe, controlled fashion. I'm not going to go into the full details on this because there's plenty of explanation and research elsewhere already written up, as well as an excellent book on the subject, and I'm not turning this blog into a discourse debate. But I needed to mention it for my point.

There are plenty of stories that could be explored with Y/uri in this context. Did she have this kink before the self harm events started and it was completely unrelated, or did she develop it afterwards? How did she discover it beforehand? If developed afterwards, did it start out as another way of harming mixed with pleasure in a self-destructive way, often done sloppily and without proper technique? Or was it strictly used as almost exposure therapy to deal with those urges and thoughts in a safer, more contained scenario, maybe even allowing the partner she trusted to wield the knife to prove their bond/reinforce that she can be loved without being hurt deeply, that she is worthy of affection and trust and loyalty. Maybe this finally helps give Y/uri a tool to embrace her 'weirdness' without harming herself and others. Or, what if she thinks it can be a useful tool and is sure she's ready, but partway through the scene she gets triggered or has flashbacks... how does she deal with it? How does her partner? Can it be overcome with effort, research, and taking things slowly, or does she realize this kink is actually completely off the table for her?

What if she has this kink and is excited to try it, but her partner isn't? How does she take that rejection? Or do her poor social skills mean she skipped negotiation to begin with and attempted it in the middle of a vanilla session? Would her partner freak out or even get mad, or try to swallow their fear and let her do it so they don't hurt/offend her, even at the cost of their own comfort?

This topic also opens a ton of potential plots for darkfic, but I'll refrain from discussing that out of respect for you and others.

So as you can see, there's much more to explore than 'Knife=Hot'. I believe those discussions and ideas are necessary and provide important fuel for thought when explored fictionally, especially since mainstream media doesn't cover a lot of them.

~~~

I feel I should take a second to clarify knifeplay for those who may be unaware. It doesn't always equate to actual cutting/drawing blood. That can be an aspect, but usually only by those far more experienced and, you know, actually into that. A lot of participants don't actually go that far. Mostly, it's either about the physical sensation of the knife touching you at all, or the adrenaline/controlled fear and intimate trust of a partner bringing an object like that so close/teasing you with it.

In fact, it's frequently advised in those circles (especially to newcomers) to use a dull butterknife instead, because it simulates the same feelings of metal on skin/can dig in a little without any real risk of cutting/drawing blood. Even if one chooses to use a different knife, it's still pretty common to dull the blade, or some people even substitute with a closed pair of scissors (combined with the partner blindfolded, you can't really tell it apart from the real thing).

These versions of knifeplay are well controlled and ultimately pretty harmless, so long as both parties know what they're doing and stay alert. And more experienced players with sharper knives are even more cautious/have studied extensively to know where/how deep to go without risking scarring/serious injury.

Remember the golden rules of kink: Safe. Sane. Consensual.

With those in place, it is not nearly the same as self harm. Just as controlled, consensual, well-negotiated BDSM with safewords, respected boundaries and a trusted partner is never in the same league as abuse.

~~~

Now that that's out of the way, back to my point:

There's no perfect representation or narrative for everyone, in any group (be that gender/sexuality/triggered by certain things, etc). Every human being is different, everyone interprets media differently, and everyone takes away different elements from stories.

What one person in a particular group may find cathartic, relateable, or painful but necessary food for thought, another may find completely repulsive, personally hurtful, offensive, something they can't stand to hear. And guess what? Both of those can be true at the same time. One side is not immediately right over the other.

There are queer characters or interpretations of them in fics that I vehemently despise, might even find hurtful or sickening and think 'how can anyone create this, it's insufferable! People in 'my group' aren't like that, it's a horrible representation. I can't relate to it at all!' But you know what? Other people can and do, may find comfort in those exact narratives and experiences, may heal their pain instead of inflicting more. And that's great. It's what they needed or wanted and if I don't like it, I click away and do my best to avoid it.

There are specific tropes and narrative themes I personally cannot get through without being triggered into anxiety attacks or dragged back to bad times and places in my life. Sometimes I see them tackled in ways that are hurtful or seem insensitive to me. But I recognise that for someone else, it's exactly what they needed to see to get through that or come to terms with it, or see a way they wish that thing could play out. I would never dream of telling those people they aren't allowed to enjoy it, OR telling the creator of that piece of media or a tv show 'Hey ummm please don't use this plot because it turns me into a human wreck for a week'. Because it's not remotely my place to do so. They can create whatever they want, they have no responsibility towards me or my well being. A few might be kind enough to include a warning at the beginning of that episode or in the description, but they are in no way required to. It's up to me to curate my experience and try to keep my guard up/research what might have those tropes, and in the rare occasions I get blindsided, yeah, it hurts like hell. I struggle, I might even backslide a bit. But I just have to try my best to deal with it and make a note to be more careful next time. Because you can't control the world around you, not even the online world, and you have absolutely no right to. The only right you have is to protect yourself without infringing on other people's boundaries/rights.

And there's also another important point. There doesn't have to be a big important point or explanation for why a creator creates something, or why consumers can enjoy that creation! If someone wants to create a plotline with all of my triggers used in the most 'insensitive', 'wrong', pointless ways possible, strictly for Entertainment or pure kink material instead of some deep dissection of the issues involved? They can go hog wild!!! They are 100% allowed to do so on this earth, and I can't (and wouldn't want to) do a thing to stop them.

One person can read a kink fic and it hits a very emotional theme for them/they think it explores a deep topic well. Another person can read that same fic and get nothing out of it except their rocks off. Both of those readers are completely equal and 'allowed' to enjoy that fic. Both reasons are completely valid reasons for why the creator was 'allowed' to post/create that fic in the first place. Nobody needs permission, nobody has to answer to anybody except themselves. Period. This extends to any topic, any type of fic.

Yes, even for things I find absolutely abhorrent and insensitive and don't understand/want to read ever. I may resent everything about its existence, but I will defend to death the creator's right to make it exist in the first place.

It only affects me if I let it affect me. If someone's making content I despise or am upset by and can't handle, I can choose to ignore or avoid them, blacklist those tags, I can block them and move on with my day. I can do anything within my own bubble, but the second I consider going into their bubble and saying they can't make that thing, I am in the wrong. Because I'm not respecting their space and rights.

If someone makes cookies with ingredients I'm highly allergic to, pastes the ingredient warnings all over the box where I read them, and I still eat one, would anyone cheer me on for blaming them when I have a reaction? Would anyone think it was remotely okay of me to start calling up every bakery in town and saying they weren't allowed to bake those cookies EVER, because some people somewhere might be allergic?

No. They'd tell me I was crossing the line, because I'm infringing on other people's boundaries and lives. I'm expecting everybody else to take responsibility for something that, while horrible and painful, was my fault for touching.

Now, if someone sets out unlabelled cookies not realizing I'm allergic to something in them, and I eat it and have a reaction, that sucks. It's an awful experience. But is it the baker's fault? As long as they didn't do it maliciously, not really. They can be advised politely to label it in the future, and I can do my best to remember to ask/be more cautious next time I come across something I'm unsure of, but they're still allowed to bake those cookies for themselves and others.

Now, if I deliberately baked cookies with an ingredient that people are very frequently allergic to (ex. peanuts) and set it out in a crowded buffet without a warning label, that's a jerk move. That's intentionally trying to cause harm to others. But simply baking that flavour of cookies still isn't a crime or harmful by itself.

~~~

I'll be honest, I'm running out of steam and I think I've said most of what I have to say, so I'll wrap it up. I want to reiterate that I'm not ripping into you with this long answer, anon! I understand why you sent me what you did and I'm trying not to come off as harsh. I'm happy to go back and tag things and will tag anything else similar in the future!!! But at the end of the day, regardless of whether I personally end up writing that fic or not, or even want to after I get to that plot, I don't agree with telling anyone they can't/shouldn't write it at all. I wanted to try and explain my viewpoint thoroughly, and I hope you can respect that, just as I'll respect and try to accommodate you and other followers. This is the only time I'll really get up on a soapbox like this, and I have no interest in debating these things on my blog further, but it is a topic I've been passionate about all my life so I'm afraid I'm not budging on it.

#bear gets a letter #not omo #tw knives #tw knifeplay #tw cutting #tw self harm #d/dlc spoilers

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