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thedavinoparadox · 10 months

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"The Robbers" by Friedrich Schiller

Selenio

"It is not flesh and blood, but the heart which makes us fathers and sons."

(⚜️ 9.2 / 10)

I have decided to pick something rather pivotal for my very first book review. (And also to preface this: have no fear, not all of them will be as verbose as this one…)

However, I think that one of Schiller’s most famous works, “The Robbers” might not be as well-known and established in the non-german-speaking world as it is here. In Austrian, Swiss, or German schools this short drama has been a staple of German class for a couple of centuries now and has been read - or at least been heard of - by thousands, if not millions of people.

Let’s start with something every German student seems to loathe: “Epochenzuteilung”, or epoch allocation. (Doesn’t make it sound an ounce more pleasant when you say it in English…)

The “Sturm and Drang” (or “storm and stress”, as a verbatim translation) period in German literature lasted from circa 1765 until 1785 and was heavily characterized by its radically opposing reaction to the ideals of the simultaneously ongoing enlightenment movement, led by philosophers such as Kant or Descartes. Writers like Goethe, Schiller, Lenz, and Klinger stood for a youthful, talented, rebellious, and - most of all - fresh ideology. Rather than focusing on society as a whole, they looked inside the soul, regarding the individual, his feelings, and his soul with a new kind of wonder and excitement.

They identified as “geniuses” - young, independent, untouchable, creative, unattached to whatever superiors there might have been, and most importantly: free. Free in their expression of art, love, and life. Together, they discussed literature, poetry, and philosophy, becoming one of the most enviable historical groups to be a part of from today’s perspective.

I mean… who wouldn't have loved to frolic in the fields with wine-drunk Goethe?

Schiller’s “The Robbers”, originally published anonymously in 1781, portrayed this longing for moral and existential freedom in the confines of a legacy drama. The play premiered one year after its initial publication in Mannheim and already then drew in huge success.

The two brothers, Karl and Franz Moor could not be any more different. Whereas the older - Karl - is noble and popular with the people (yet a tad reckless), the younger - Franz - feels ugly and unloved, and even curses nature for its unfair bias towards the firstborn.

To “make things right”, envious Franz concocts a scheme full of malevolent intrigue to gain access to the legacy of their aristocratic father and to conquer the heart of his brother’s bride-to-be: the beautiful and strong-willed Amalia, exiling his older brother in the process.

Karl, hurt and ashamed by the apparent rupture of the relationship with his father, becomes the leader of a group of robbers, who further lead him into a life of crime and morally questionable decisions. Thus, an adventure develops where nothing is truly how it seems.

⚜️ Characters (1.5/2)

I have always been drawn to this particular work of Schiller’s, simply because its vivid and strong characters differentiate it from other classics I have read. The two brothers correspond to their respective struggles in realistic and comprehensible, yet not always intelligent ways. Especially Amalia is different from many other female literary characters prior to “The Robbers” as she has her own voice and a preliminary stage of something one could call boundaries, which she isn’t afraid to voice. She is no true “damsel in distress”. In fact, she actively takes part in the story, rejecting Franz’s advances more than once, even though she is aware that this could endanger her. She is upright and respectable, however towards the end of the book… no, let’s disregard that tragedy for the moment.

The king on the other hand is one of the most frustrating characters I have ever encountered in literature. Not only is he unbelievably passive he also - although painfully aware of his youngest son’s scheming nature - never questions anything Franz tells him. This adds to the feeling of urgency with which the reader is overcome and appends the tension and suspense while also portraying a father who is unable to cope with his son’s psychopathy.

Lastly, the eponymous “Robbers” themselves, which loyally follow Karl as their leader. One cannot simply assign them one singular character trait or label them good or evil: all of the named criminals feel like their own, fleshed-out individuals with their respective flaws and strengths, constantly struggling between cruelty and mercy, loyalty and fanatism. Just watch out for the "nun scene" (as I have dubbed it) as it can be a bit overwhelming when not prepared for it.

⚜️ Plot (1.8/2)

The plot of this short drama is appealing even from the modern reader’s perspective. The scene changes are splendid and the whole setting being almost medieval-ish (but timeless at the same time) adds a lot to the overall tone and feel of the novel. Even though the progression of the storyline can be - as mentioned above - a bit frustrating at some points, as a whole it is captivating and suspenseful until the very end. Even in the 1780s, Schiller didn’t shy away from a good ol’ plot twist.

��️ Writing Style (2/2)

Contrary to popular belief, Schiller's novels are not as “inaccessible” or “unapproachable” for first-time-classics-readers as one might suspect (or is told by pompous ignorants). Of course, the language - when never having been in contact with it - does seem a tad archaic at times but in my humble opinion, it adds to the enjoyment rather than taking away from it. Schiller differentiates authentically between the different voices and tones of his characters, without making them feel like caricatures. It is also a very quotable book as I have discovered throughout my latest reread.

⚜️ Aesthetic (2/2)

Aesthetically, I think the book captivates this wild spirit of a dark and at first glance very lonely, almost sickly forest that turns out to be heavily populated by sprites and animals. It’s the incarnation of the feeling you get when walking alone through a forest at the dusk of a cold February evening. When all the sounds seem thunderous in comparison to the soft thumping of the heart and the soles of shoes rustling in the icy snow. The moment when one wrong step could lead into an inescapable labyrinth but freedom at the same time.

This image fits very well into the view of nature at the time of the “Sturm and Drang” era. Nature provided the “geniuses” with energy and inspiration. Pantheism was the word of the time: nature, man, and space, fused into a divine whole.

⚜️ Personal Amusement (1.9/2)

I thoroughly enjoyed this read as much as I was hoping (and probably expecting) to and was more than glad to not have been assigned this book for a school class - as is so very popular around here. This piece of literature very much lends itself to over-analyzation (although I must admit to being guilty of the same crime almost anytime I pick up a book…) and by dutifully sticking to a strict curriculum, a lot of conversations that should be held surrounding this book simply get lost in the current. Books are best discovered alone or with partners of your choosing. Also… no one ever really enjoys a thing he has to do.

I would unreservedly recommend “Die Räuber” to anyone looking to get into touch with older german literature (especially when delving into the “Sturm and Drang” period) but who maybe has a little too much respect for it at the moment. It’s a delilghtful entryway into the wonders of what is Schiller’s work.

I decided on this decorative little red edition for two main reasons:

I think with ist simplicity and vintage-flair it just beautifully fits the aesthetical theme and time of the book and

Isn't it just delightful? In my opinion, everybody needs a little pocket-size play to keep him company and help him look just the right amount of pretentious during long train rides.

Ich bin mein Himmel und meine Hölle.

I'm my heaven and my hell.

ISBN: 978-3-596-50911-9

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remarkablybuttery · 3 years

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Sometimes you're fortunate to find a fic that has perfect pacing, characters so well-drawn (better than canon), plot that seems simple but keeps you riveted, scenes not overly verbose but written with just the right words so that you're there and you're feeling what they're feeling- so vividly that a particular scene stays with you, and when you remember it months later and feel the all-consuming need to relive it, you're able to recall it perfectly and type in that specific line verbatim to search the relevant chapter, but can't stop there and end up rereading the whole thing (and its prequel and sequels), rendering yourself pretty useless for the next few hours.

WTLO is that for me, blessed be @aravenlikeawritingdesk

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #fanfic #au fanfiction

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rorodawnchorus · 3 years

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The Devil Judge, Ep.1 Meta

(On the re-imagined justice process, imageries, parallels in South Korea and our world today)

As with all dystopian fiction, it is not exactly a far-fetched imagining of our world. Instead, it is a critique of our society which seeks to amplify the inequalities and suffering of society through some exaggeration.

The Devil Judge is that: it "re-imagines" South Korea today with a sprinkle of cyberpunk aesthetics (a little too much bluish green tint) and dystopian imagery (of homeless people, a very dirty subway and dingy backalleys on a rainy night).

I kept thinking it was a dystopian "future" but was wondering why they were using only Samsung Note 20 instead of some Samsung futuristic prototype phone. So, those phones do keep audiences grounded in the reality it is portraying -- this is the alternative South Korea of today.

We are barely halfway into the first episode and we've got this extremely charismatic, anti-hero male lead strutting red carpets and making verbose declarations like "I am the power. By the judicial authority delegated to me by the people of Korea, I will run this court. And it is the people who hold this power." (Not verbatim but that's the gist).

Then, meet associate judge Kim Ga-On who seems to be against how the system is running. He seems to be the outlier who rose to his ranks from the bottom class of society (which his colleague Oh Jin-joo says, he looks like he's from the shanty town of Seoul). We start off, barely into the drama at this point, with a dramatic scene of a kindergarten bus ramming down barricades and charging towards the Court building. A group of kindergarten children crossing the road there (I've just no clue what businses kids would have near the court building tbh). A little girl tripping as they were rushed across the road, Ga-On jumping to the rescue, and unable to pick her up in time, shields her with his own body. Kang Yo Han is just there, taking a heavy gun from the guard and unhesitantly opened fire at the bus driver who was flooring the pedal. He misses the driver's head and hits the headrest before firing again. The bus swerves and flips. The driver loses consciousness and Ga On (again!) jumps to the rescue. So, here the tone is set. We've got this "devil judge" who seems to be the ultimate modern day anti-hero who's given immense amount of power.

Much more interesting is that in this dystopian South Korea, we've got what seems like a publicly elected judiciary (or Kang Yo Han is perhaps the first?) and that has always been something that has been discussed in legal academic. Not the idea of electing the judiciary but that the argument of the judiciary not being publicly elected can be seen as slightly out of tune with democracy. (In legal academic, however, this is theoretically seen as being balanced by the separation of powers; ie. the executive branch (=government) and elected members of Parliament/Congress are supposed to be fully separated from the judiciary and should therefore never interfere with the judiciary. But, of course, these are all theoretical stuff. They look good on paper and when discussed in legal essays but in reality, it can often be different (if not, the exact opposite). This series takes things to yet another level by imagining the inception of a publicly televised and publicly voted trial.

This goes against the nature of trials in general because in our world today, the judiciary (wherever it may be) typically have mechanisms (ie. laws and codes) to prevent manipulation by media. The principle of fair trial requires that no external influence affects the process of adjudication (ie. the judgement by judges). There also tends to be avoidance of trial by public opinion because the way the law is interpreted and applied can be rather technical and different from what people may say or think about a certain trials, the decision delivered and also sentencing. Trial by jury is the nearest it gets but that too can be a fairly technical process which do also include considerations like avoiding a two-day trial to prevent influence by the media or other agents on a jury member's decision. (A recent drama mentioning this is Law School). The thing about this idea of trial by the public is that standards of morality can be very subjective and varies from person to person. Judgement by judges are not entirely free from the influence of morality, but the process is a litle more stable through the processes of interpretative practices, case precedents and legal theories. Previously in another Kdrama, Miss Hammurabi (2018), Judge Lim Ba-reun became slightly frustrated by his friend's comment that having a jury trial is like "true democracy" because the "people gets to decide" and he even thinks the judiciary should be elected too. Lim Ba-reun sarcastically said he must have loved every elected politican since they were elected by the public. He tells him grimly that no jury has ever found a policeman who had beaten up a Black man to be guilty. He also pointed out that Nazi, the Holocaust and Hitler were all supported by the public.

In this series, the premise allows all of these imaginings to be realised and played out. It is peak criticism, I think, when they portray the scenes of the TV producer being excited about the real-time ratings and viewer ratings. And also the scene of the broadcasting channel's chairman dancing in joy when he received realtime report of the ratings (vowing to treat his equally wealthy friends to a meal). Even when his other friend seemed appalled by the decision delivered by Judge Kang, the Chairman could not hide his joy in the skyrocketing viewership ratings. This really reminded me of the entire Produce 101 franchise which also heralded the shows for putting the decision in "The Nation's Producers" (ie. voters) and emphasised how it is the Nation Producers who put together ("produce") the National Kpop group that is bound for success and set to receive national love. All of this illusion collapsed (and the Korean franchise died along with it) when the court finds its producers guilty of voting manipulation. The Devil Judge seemed to have a similarly dramatic flair in its emphasis of TV production gimmicks, camera angles, cuts of a person's reaction, etc. The President of South Korea (who has a very light voice, a penchant for orotund speeches and a lack of concern for national policies) and all these top 1% of people tuned in were on the edge of their seats watching Judge Kang orchestrate this theatre of public trial. Kim Ga-On watched him closely and was sure that Judge Kang had something up his sleeves and was definitely up to no good, yet he couldn't tell. When he finally delivers a verdict (that yes, this was a case of professional negligence and not negligent homicide), Ga-On was crestfallen and frustrated because it carries a mere 5 year imprisonment maximum. But Kang turns the table and brings up the newly passed legislation which allows accumulative sentence which then resulted in 235 years of imprisonment.

This sounded very much like how some Korean netizens had previously wondered (online) why Korea couldn't have a sentencing system like the US where the years of imprisonment can go up to 100 years or 500 years. Again, this was like realising an alternative South Korea that many have perhaps tried imagining. Episode 1 ends with Judge Kang stepping down from his high seat when a victim's family member bowed deeply with her hands clasped, as though in prayer, and even kneeled to him. This corresponded well and tied perfectly into the religious/godlike imagery represented in the justice's robes which is reminiscent of the pope's robes and resembles a priest's robe, and the app they named DIKE or Diety of Justice (正義의 神). When Judge Kang hugs the old woman with a compassionate smile, teary eyed and full of empathy, he ends up yawning barely a minute into consoling the weeping woman. Ga-On witnesses this and realises, all of this must have been a gimmick after all. He had his hopes up when Judge Kang serves the sentence of 235 years. The episode ends.

I think this series is set to be a great one. (Just as Law School was amazing too!) It has tons of stuff to unpack, lots that goes into the cinematography and camerawork. While characters do seem a little more like caricatures rather than realistic people that are properly fleshed out in the narrative, there is still promise to push beyond these caricatures. I think there is also a lot in the imagery of dystopia and the constant bombardment of messages from the government (which is often the mainstay of dystopian fiction) which emphasises a certain narrative which they want the people to believe. For example, Kim Ga-On is travelling up the escalator when there were ads of the DIKE app, ads on electronic billboards on the justice system, paper posters plastered in the dark backalley where a high school girl is being dragged away by two men saying "The government will now create a safe South Korea". That last one is perhaps the most glaring one to me because when I was in Korea, it was repeated to me by different Korean individuals: "Your things are safe. No Korean will steal it. (Not sure about foreigners though!) You are safe. Crimes don't happen. I checked and there are no sexual offenders living in this neighbourhood." But... spycams can be anywhere. Men secretly follow women to their homes and try to break into them. Sexual harassment can happen anywhere. Robbery and theft can happen.

Personally, my paranoia and anxiety won't ever let me believe such words. No narrative, self-made or otherwise, can convince me enough to think that I am in a safe place. I would always have a nagging thought at the back of my mind telling me danger can be lurking just about anywhere. I think Koreans today do have high levels of confidence in their country. Most people do think it is safe to be walking around in the dead of night without any worry. (Again, I do not quite share the sentiment.) But this is a kind of self-made narrative because I also know my countrymen who travel to other countries like the UK and say "I feel absolutely safe walking the streets in the dead of night while I won't feel the same in my own country" when those are simply ideas they've planted into themselves through the mindset that [This country is better than my country and therefore safer.] There is absolutely no correlation between a "better" country and crime rates (or potential of becoming a victim of crime). Not to mention, being an Asian in a Western country sets you up as a likelier victim of hate crime...

So, I was saying.... This narrative of "safe Korea" is already existing in South Korea today. The need for mass surveillance or a spycam detecting task force in public toilets don't add up with a "safe country" image but the sentiment planted into the people seems to be strong despite all of this. However, Koreans do call South Korea "Hell Joseon". Youth unemployment can be a concern is a country like South Korea and a graying population, increasinly empty gray towns like the one mentioned in the series are all concerns which are ever-present in the public conscious. The mention of plauge and unemployment too must be a major concern now. In a rather similar vein, this narrative of DIKE or trial by the public through app voting creates a sentiment that people can take into their own hands and deliver justice. But what about the people at the margins of society who are homeless and do not own smartphones? What is this concept of democracy that places power in the hands of people? Is it a mere illusion or is power really in the hands of people?

..................................................................................................

(A side note on how the indicted chairman of the company responsible for mass poisoning of an entire town had brushed off concerns about a failing filtration system and the move of industrial plants to Southeast Asia. As a Southeast Asian, it is also something on my mind how South Korea has moved out of China and moved most of its plants to Southeast Asia for cheap labour. But what about the pollution here, the appallingly low wages they pay Southeast Asians (both white and blue collars!) in comparison to the few Korean expat managerial staff or engineers they station out here? I remember how I was at the hospital at 2 am and a small group of blue collar workers in their work uniform came in with their injured colleague; this can only mean they were at work past midnight due to some accident and we are still in the midst of the pandemic. What kinds of welfare and benefits are these blue collars provided with?)

#The Devil Judge #Park Jinyoung #Jisung #악마판사

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mightbewriting · 4 years

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Your writing is superb! Wait and Hope is now an all-time favorite fic of mine! I especially admire your ability to write dialogue. Do you have any tips on how to write distinct character voices?

Oh wow, thank you so much! I’m so happy you enjoyed W&H! Dialogue is actually one of my favorite things about writing so the fact that you liked it makes my heart pitter-patter!

I apologize for sitting on this ask for a couple of days, but I wanted to actually think about some tips for character voice as it relates to dialogue! I do enjoy occasionally nerding out about writing… so without further ado, I’m about to nerd out A LOT (seriously, A LOT). I got a little carried away, but this was so much fun to think about! So, here are some of my thoughts on writing dialogue and using it to support distinct character voices.

The biggest tip I have on how to improve writing the way people talk is to listen to how people talk. Seems obvious, I know. But I mean how real people talk, not scripted movie and TV…which I think is often what comes to mind. I learned more about how people talk in the couple of months I did freelance transcription work than I did in the entirety of the first twenty-something years of my life. You don’t have to actually do transcription work to practice this, just find unscripted video or audio of people talking (interviews, vlogs, streamers, podcasts, whatever!) and type out it out.

The first thing I noticed when I actually had to transcribe real life conversations is that people often make NO SENSE when they talk. They have false starts, verbal pauses, non verbal pauses, they repeat words, they stop mid sentence to start another thought, they fumble with word choice, and so on. This is why professional transcription services offer VERBATIM transcription and NON VERBATIM transcription (I have a point to this, I swear!). Verbatim transcription is how it sounds, you have to type exactly what you hear:

Speaker A: “As I was— I was saying, ah, um, I think we should do— Mary, did you have thoughts on that? No, um, okay [cough], does anyone have any other thou— opinions before we move on?”

Like, what does that even mean?

Non verbatim transcription teaches you to edit out the stuff that makes real life speech mostly unintelligible (I’m eternally amazed that we’re able to make sense of stuff like that on the fly! Brains are amazing!) and it turns the sentence above into something more like:

Speaker A: “Mary, did you have thoughts on that? No, okay. Does anyone have any other opinions before we move on?”

This is a pretty heavy handed edit, but I’d argue that the first 13 words of the verbatim sentence is nothing but a false start. I also removed the verbal pauses, the coughing notation, and the switch between words mid-speech. What I’m left with is something that looks and sounds more like what you might see in scripted dialogue.

All of this is to say; when writing, for coherency’s sake, it’s helpful to write in a non verbatim style so you can be understood. BUT, I love throwing in the occasional false start or thought change mid-sentence, or even a rare verbal pause because I enjoy the bit of realism it adds. I know not everyone will agree with that, but that’s just how I enjoy dialogue.

Character voice comes into play with dialogue in a lot of ways. If I could boil it down to two things; it’s about WHAT they say and HOW they say it. The WHAT involves things vocabulary: words one character might use that another wouldn’t, or a word they might know that another doesn’t. The HOW involves things like your dialogue tags and the associated actions and narrative surrounding the actual speech.

Rapid fire tips for the WHATs: people speak almost exclusively in contractions, they typically only saying things like “can not” and “do not” etc., for emphasis. Read dialogue out loud; if it sounds weird to hear then it’s probably not right. Character motivation is key; what someone says should make sense for their personality, traits, and history. People don’t always answer questions directly, or say what they mean. Less is usually more, unless someone is especially verbose or engaged in a debate, people don’t tend to wax poetic in long monologues all that often.

My tips for the HOWs are less rapid fire because I want to talk about dialogue tags and that’s, idk…divisive? Here’s the thing; ‘said’ and ‘asked’ (or their other tense counterparts) are pretty much invisible and are used mostly to indicate who is speaking so a reader doesn’t get lost. Less is more with dialogue tags, too.

Alternative dialogue tags aren’t inherently evil (things like: whispered, shouted, grunted, grumbled, mumbled, growled, exclaimed, ordered, etc. have a place when used judiciously) but they are almost always a stand in for what could be a more interesting use of character voice. It usually ends up being a situation where a writer is telling the reader how to interpret dialogue instead of letting the dialogue speak for itself. So I try to use alternative tags very sparingly; you can actually see my evolution in this throughout W&H and then in S&S and my newer stuff, because I went from being subconsciously aware of it to more consciously practicing.

Consider this real life example of something I wrote from Ron’s POV:

Malfoy forced them out of his office.

“Now you two figure out the details amongst yourselves; I have work to do,” Malfoy ordered.

I used ‘ordered’ knowing I was using an alternative tag and thinking to myself ‘it’s not so bad here, Ron would think Malfoy is ordering him around.’ Which isn’t necessarily wrong…but it’s not all that interesting. My rewrite, after being rightfully called on my bullshit for being lazy about it, looked like this:

Malfoy forced them out of his office.

“Now you two figure out the details amongst yourselves; I have work to do.” Malfoy waved his hands to dismiss them like they were elves he’d had more than enough of.

This version has a stronger character voice; we get Ron’s interpretation that Malfoy is treating him like an elf and we can imagine a physical movement from Malfoy showing how he’s speaking. I think that’s both more interesting to read and has a stronger sense of voice. When and where possible, I would say that substituting some kind of physical action or observation associated with dialogue usually results in a stronger sense of voice, either from the narrator or the speaker, or both!

This response has gotten…lengthy. I’m sorry for that (but also, not sorry because writing is so interesting xD). In conclusion, writing is subjective and everyone has their own style. I don’t mean for this to be prescriptive advice, these are simply things that are on my mind when I’m writing dialogue and that I think lead to a stronger result. If nothing else: experiment. Write something exclusively in a verbatim style, write something exclusively with alternative tags, write something with no dialogue tags at all, write an enormous monologue and then figure out how to break it up. Try all sorts of different things to see what doesn’t sound right and what does. Learn the rules and then make your own.

Mostly, have fun. <3

#i did not mean for this to get so long #i got really into it #writing is wild and fun and interesting #writing #writing advice

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the-hydroxian-artblog · 1 year

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Verbatim’s just here to help

#Verbatim #Verbatim the Verbose #Character Design #furry #anthro #kemono #Anti-Virus #robot #totally not a #net navi

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winterscaptain · 4 years

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also how do you come up with such fluffy ideas like. everything you write makes me think love is real

oh my goodness this is the sweetest thing. idk if this was a rhetorical question, but i actually have an answer for you :) i got verbose and i’m only a little sorry

i have been lucky enough to be very loved by many people and to have wonderful examples.

my best friend phil WORSHIPS his wife. it’s simply the sweetest thing, and I take inspiration from much of their banter - sometimes repeating it verbatim. they were married later in life, and the deep appreciation and affection they have for each other is so intentional. i hope to bring that into my marriage if/when i find my person.

my parents are approaching 30 years of marriage, and they are still very sweet with each other. they’re really different, but they have figured how to show love in a way the other will understand. they taught me how to fight nice, and more importantly, how to fight nice even when you’re really pissed. i never take them, or the lessons i learn just being around them, for granted.

the rest is just projecting my own ideal kind of love - the simple, easy kind. grand gestures don’t really appeal to me. goofing off and just enjoying the ever-loving crap out of each other whenever you can is the best thing I can think of for falling and staying in love with someone. I know the things I remember most from my past relationships are the quiet days and the inside jokes that become kind of like your own language.

i’m asexual as hell, so sex and physical affection are an extension of emotional intimacy for me - a different way to share each other and spend time together rather than a separate attraction or drive. i try to channel that into the intimate scenes i write as often as possible, while also attempting to guess at what overwhelming desire feels like 😂

this really got me thinkin, anon. i appreciate you!

#tali answers stuff #anon reply #this literally so sweet and im so sorry if you didnt want an answer but BOY did my brain actually go 'hey why can i do that????'#so here we are

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ohtheladyboner · 5 years

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Imagine: A Love Letter

Word Count: 1,598

Author Note: Hello! I hope you enjoy reading this. At the outset, I have to tell you that I am trusting heavily in your suspension of disbelief. I don’t think there are any hard facts here, but if you think somethings don’t fit, I hope it’s not too jarring and you’ll allow it.

Background: You are a scientist working in the field of quantum mechanics, which is still in its infancy. A chance encounter with your favourite thespian (insert celebrity name/persona—I’ve just mentioned some in the tags, feel free to insert whoever you want) changes your life. Over the course of the next few meetings you fall for him. You write him this impassioned love letter in a now-or-never sort of moment.

Dear friend,

I begin by apologizing for the sheer heft of this letter. I can almost hear you shuffling these sheets, slightly puzzled.

On then to the next bit posthaste—the niceties. Are you well? I hope you are very well. And the show? I hear ‘To the Victor, the Spoils’ is doing splendidly, particularly in the cities. During our last conversation, I recall you had been worried that the story might not resonate with the urbanite. But I saw the papers lauding the play as modifying the very landscape of theatre. I am not quoting verbatim; rather, this is an amalgamation of the reviews I read. I admit I have followed any news on the play closely. The performance by the leads is also unparalleled, so I am informed. My heartiest congratulations to you and Eileen.

Are you amused? A creative arts neophyte such as myself taking such keen, expansive interest in theatre? Because of late I have been reading and learning. Not only about your play but theatre in general. And art. And music. And dance. I find myself a voracious consumer of all the arts. And I admit, this surprises me. I surprise myself. For the longest time, I did eschew the creative arts for the more ‘logical’ and ‘predictable’ field of the physical sciences.

This tectonic shift I must attribute largely, if not wholly, to you. I am fair that way. Your admonition—‘but what stops both from coexisting in a person?’—brought this shift. I find myself more interested in, for want of a better word, the imaginative.

However, my more particular, almost rabid, interest in this particular play is simple because (here I must admit to my drawing on every last bit of my reserve of courage, simultaneously bolstered by additional liquid courage in the form of that excellent wine you gifted me along with the plant) it has you.

(I have just re-read what I’ve written. Do you ever recall me being so … verbose? There was a time my being so taciturn had amused you. Well, I am trying to unlearn that. This letter, consider it a step in the remedial way.)

To the crux of the matter then: unbeknownst to me, unintentionally, though not at all regrettably, I have simply, undeniably, uninhibitedly fallen in love with you.

In all honesty, once written down I thought those words would have more gravitas. But they seem flippant. How am I to convey what I can only vaguely describe best as an enormous feeling?

Now, I am not in the habit of falling in love. I am not sure how you are placed on the matter. So I find myself seeking solace in literature and poetry. It is comforting to know that I am not the first person experiencing this sickness.

Paradoxically, I find myself weighed down by the tremendous sorrow of not being the first human to experience this. Like Prometheus, that I could introduce humankind to such burning love! That I would be the bearer of this elation, that I could have experienced it first!

But I digress. The long of the matter is I love you. The short of the matter is I love you. The depth, breadth, height and time of the matter is I love you. I do.

Coyness as a course of action is suggested to me. I don’t wear coyness well. No success in my life can I attribute to coyness. So see me here at my most brazen.

Do you remember the first time we met? The Maharani of Chittorgarh did me a kindness inviting me to her gathering of such illustrious people. Her persistence at having me at the gathering if only as an ambassador of female intellectual might in a predominantly masculine field finally tipped the scales and so I went.

You were late, joining us during the last leg of the party. A successful opening night followed by celebratory drinks, you entered jubilant and cut quite a figure.

How you regaled the company with your theatre-related anecdotes! There was no one who wasn’t at least a little in love with you that night. Having spent the last year or so in rigorous research (and, as mentioned, not being too familiar with the field in general), I had not read about your return to and subsequent prodigious success in theatre. Therefore, imagine my surprise when you tell me that you have not only heard of me but also know of my work in quantum mechanics. You clarified that you were something of a dilettante and enjoyed keeping abreast of the happenings in different fields. I thought that was a difficult ask of a person to be expected to know something of everything. But you, very rightly I might add, told me that life amounts to very little without the continuous pursuit of knowledge and expansion of the mind.

You wondered if it would be too much of an imposition to clarify some questions you had. I am an exceedingly poor teacher. It is a grave failing of mine. But seeing you look at me so open and earnest and willing to learn, there was no other answer but yes, yes, and yes! Very prettily did the corners of your mouth uplift and your eyes did crinkle. I admit I could not remember the last time I was so enchanted by someone.

Was not fate whispering good tidings when you were there at the only other social engagement I had that season? Happily you declared that under my tutelage you had not only impressed those in the know with your understanding of the subject but that you were now taking an active interest. You had begun exploring my subject in more detail. You confessed to even having tried to understand two of my more recently published papers.

How did you find them?

‘Beastly enough to seek you out and demand an explanation’, you had grinned.

And I had laughed. And I was touched.

I recall then admitting to my paucity of knowledge regarding the fine arts. You were not unkind, only surprised. Taking my hands in yours, you had earnestly asked me to do you a kindness and pick up whichever playwright suited my fancy.

‘Read someone, anyone, who catches your fancy. I’d like to welcome you to my world as you have eased me into yours. It is a conversation I very much look forward to’.

I had. You opened up a new world. Had I thanked you for that?

Thank you, my dear friend.

Then of course the most beautiful congratulatory Serissa bonsai that you sent along with a bottle of wine after the publication of that breakthrough article. It occupies pride of place in my library where I am wont to spend most of my time. I have found myself talking to it several times when I am perplexed by something or need to ponder over something at length. While not the best substitute for you, I’d say most days we try and make do.

I went to watch you twice. I never told you that, did I? I was happy to find that the critics had not been superfluous with their praise at all.

While watching you the second time, during your soliloquy in the third act an incredibly profound feeling and certitude came over me. Your tormented lover’s words and the feelings you portrayed—elation, depression, rage, calm—it was make-believe for you. I in the audience lived those words. I sat there, the vastitude of the feelings washing over me. I was pinned to my seat long after the play was over. The certitude settled in my heart like a symbiont. And with love’s certitude came its faithful lapdog: hope.

Tell me, friend, how do I becalm that little one?

I know I am not a young woman, well, not young by societal standards. I pride myself on being rational. You, being you, and even independent of your profession, I am positive you have a bevy of admirers. In an attempt to exorcise these feelings, short of leaving the city permanently (which, considering the stage my research is at, it is almost impossible), this is the best option for me.

So I ask you to consider me. Consider me, my dear sweet man; see if you could consider me an equal and devoted companion. Let me recommend myself on the basis of the sheer magnitude of my love, which could not be greater if I tried. I have little experience in matters of the heart. There was a romantic blip in my life when I was around nineteen. Of course, in light of present evidence, I really doubt the validity of those feelings.

I take this opportunity then to subvert societal norms and myself offer companionship through the hallowed institution of marriage. I admit it is sudden and we have met but a few times. As a practical course of action, I welcome the opportunity to get to know each better over the course of a long engagement.

I am perfectly serious in my offer. Life affords us few ready-made miracles and fewer chances still to orchestrate these miracles. I am fully aware of the ramifications of this letter. But if I am to lose you let it be through bravery and not pusillanimity when it comes to love.

I leave the city this weekend and am away a fortnight. Could I count on some clarity by the time I return? And would it be wrong to hope that the answer is yes?

Till then I remain,

Yours and in love

#imagine #reader #fanfiction #fan fiction #tom hiddleston #benedict cumberbatch #ezra miller #timothee chalamet #love #love letter #james mcavoy #richard madden #fiction #riz ahmed

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spectraspecs-writes · 5 years

Text

“Be Right Back” and the Internet

Ive been watching Black Mirror recently, since I’m a sci-fi writer and having that new source of “ooh neat” is important in my line of work hobby. And a couple nights ago I saw the episode “Be Right Back.”

For those of you who don’t watch Black Mirror, “Be Right Back” centers around Hayley Atwell and her partner, whose name I forget but he’s from somewhere in the Northern UK. They are very close and he is very active on social media. The day after we meet him, he dies in a traffic accident. Hayley Atwell is understandably very upset, so her friend signs her up for this program. The program uses an AI to scan the deceased’s social media, get a feel for how he talks, and provide a way for people to talk with their dead loved ones. Which Hayley Atwell does.

The place where the episode descends into the Twilight Zone isn’t what I’ve been thinking about. I’ve been thinking about the internet, and internet speech.

With the exception of longer posts like these, which have perfect grammar and spelling, and tend to be as verbose as I am in real life, in addition to messages, I do not communicate on tumblr the way I communicate in real life. My most recent post about the bag of apples on my table and the apple woman they put on the bag - I would not, in real life, say that I very much do not like something. That’s not how you construct sentences. I would say “I don’t like this” or “I really don’t like this”, or even “I don’t like this very much”, which itself has a different connotation than “I very much do not like this.” Tumblr has also failed to capture the fact that I sometimes switch accents while talking, just for the hell of it. I may switch into my Scottish accent, or a British accent, Welsh, US Southern, New Bost-tralian (which tumblr certainly couldn’t capture because I made it up.)

Could this AI in the episode capture my niche interests? Certainly. The episode descends into the Twilight Zone because Hayley Atwell’s partner didn’t talk about his niche interests or inside jokes so much on his social media. But that’s what tumblr is for. But I’m a lot gayer on tumblr than in real life, simply because it’s easier through text. I’m a lot more obsessed with things on tumblr. I’m a lot more autistic on tumblr - most people in real life can’t tell I’m autistic, because they see me and interact when my medication is working, and because I put forth an effort. People who see me later at night, after 5, can tell I’m not the average bear. My medication has worn off and putting forth an effort takes more energy.

On the converse side, I burst into song a lot more in real life. I do a lot more improvised comedic things in real life. Lord knows I quote John Mulaney more in real life - if I see an opportunity I am quoting whole John Mulaney sketches verbatim. Not that I do these things more in real life because I feel more myself in real life, that’s not the case. It’s just a lot easier in real life. Responding to sounds is something I do well.

What my point was going to be, and I’ve gotten away from it, is that an AI like the one in “Be Right Back” could certainly capture the truest expression of my personality. But it would fail spectacularly in trying to grasp my real life speech patterns. I’m a very verbal person. I talk a lot. The sounds I make are critical to knowing me. I’m a hell of a lot funnier out loud than I am through text, because I have spent most of my life cultivating my humor and my personality through sound. The episode discussed how the AI failed to grasp Hayley Atwell’s partner’s personality (his name was Ash, I remember now, but the actor’s name - Tim Lake? I think? - largely escapes me still.) And since it seems like his major platform was Twitter or something like it, that makes sense. That’s very much a public facing platform. But all this AI would have to go on for me would be tumblr, and as such it would capture my personality fully. What Ash’s twitter captured well, though, was his real life speech patterns, and there this tumblr fails spectacularly. Anyone who talked to me through this AI would get a very different version of me than the real one. And y’all would have no trouble with that. And neither would my real life best friend. But my mom would be thoroughly shaken up by the Specs AI, and would wonder why this program that promised to bring me back, left the me she knew somewhere behind.

#black mirror #specs writes stuff #be right back #ai #science fiction #sci fi #thoughts #commentary

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theghostofashton · 6 years

Text

“shouldn’t you be with her?”

this was supposed to be a quick oneshot but somehow 3.1k later i ended up with this pain

i don't have anything to say for myself except i'm sorry lmao

trigger warnings - anxiety, depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts, and self-harm

15. "shouldn't you be with him/her?"

"Hey, I know it's my turn to do laundry, but Ci got off early and asked if we could go get food..."

He bites into his lip as Awsten says the words, doesn't move his gaze from the TV and keeps pressing buttons on the controller in his hands. He tilts it to the side to make the little Mario on the screen veer left to avoid a falling boulder. "Can't you put the clothes in now? I'll get them later."

"I said I'd leave right now." He doesn't have to look up to know the smile on Awsten's face. The sheepish, half guilty but not really, 'I wanna hang out with my girlfriend and don't give a shit anything else' smile. "Sorry, Gee. I promise I'll do it the next two times to make up for it!"

There's a lot of rustling and he hears Awsten swear as something crashes to the floor. A door opens and shuts, and then the front door creaks open. Awsten leaves with a hurried 'love you!'. The door swings shut loudly behind him.

Geoff blinks up at the screen, feels liquid drip off his lashes and settle on his cheeks. He forces down a swallow and looks at the little map off to the right, his blinking icon with all the other characters eons ahead. As if that weren't enough, the little 12 in the corner says it all. He takes a heavy breath in, squeezes his eyes shut and keeps them closed for a few seconds, focuses on just inhaling and exhaling.

This isn't a new development. This has been happening for days, weeks, even. Awsten cancels plans or slacks on his chores or even forgets to pick him up from work because he's off spending more and more time with her.

He remembers that day.

His car was in the shop because it'd broken down the day before. He asked Awsten to be there at 5:30, texted him twice during the day to remind him about it. And Awsten texted back with eye-roll emojis, wondering why he had so much little faith in him.

And then the clock on his phone flipped to 6:00 and he was still standing outside the building, rain pouring down on his shoulders and his fringe plastered to his face, listening to Awsten's answering machine for probably the tenth time in twenty minutes.

This isn't a new development.

This isn't new.

The ache has been splattered behind his eyes since he woke up this morning. It's felt heavy, all day. There's this sort of weightedness that's pressing down on his shoulders, pressing the sky further into them. No matter how much he protests and cries and screams at the pain receptors in his nerves going haywire, it only gets worse.

This day is always hard. It hasn't gotten easier. It feels like he's moving through the process in molasses, like he's fighting and pushing and struggling against the thick wave of mush that just keeps trying to swallow him. It's trying to engulf him whole. It's molasses and it's quicksand. It's lethal and he's defenseless.

It's too powerful and he is tired of fighting.

He goes through this every year, has this fight with himself almost exactly, remembers the conversation in his head almost verbatim. One side is ready to move on but the other doesn't want to forget. One side is bounding toward the future but the other keeps getting pulled down by the past. One side is trying to wade through the molasses but the other keeps getting sucked back into the quicksand.

This year has been particularly difficult.

He doesn't know why.

He doesn't know why getting out of bed every morning has felt Herculean, why he's been living in a haze that's surpassed enveloping his body and has absorbed itself into his skin, wrapped around his bones and squeezed, left him awaking the next morning sore and somber and sapped of everything.

It feels like he has nothing left, like the mist has gone from simple smoke to a heavy fog that squeezes his bones and fills his head and sinks its talons into his shoulders. He wakes up to the ache, feels the throb in his muscles, pushes up to rest on his elbows and lets his head fall back and waits there, feels the new layers of pain hit the wall of his skull, wonders, whether it's even worth moving anymore.

It used to be.

Days like this used to be few and far between. He used to know what to do, how to handle it, used to know that waking up on this kind of morning meant forcing himself out of his bed only to crawl into another, wrap his arms around a waist and press nose to shoulder, exhale a heavy breath that almost always contained tears, feel the life move underneath him and come up to curl around his body in an abyss of warmth.

They stayed like that.

With hugs and cuddles and forehead kisses, he stayed there, breathing out into heated skin and resting his face against a tank-top clad chest, letting tears fall as quickly as thumbs pressed into his cheeks to wipe them away.

And days that started like this almost never ended like this.

He knows exactly when it all changed.

He knows when reality started setting in, when these days – the heavy, days, as they nicknamed them – started increasing and pronouncing in their ardor. He knows when her presence became a fixture and his didn't last. He knows day after day, night after night, the bugs crawling behind his skull and sinking their stingers into the bone, the pieces falling down into his chest cavity, the pain manifesting itself into streaks down his cheeks-

But there was no one to wipe them away.

He knows waking up in tears most nights, shifting to his elbows as they poured down his cheeks and clung to his neck, gasping for breaths in a room waning air, stumbling out of his bed and running to the other, scrabbling at the door with panic bubbling up his lips and nausea stirring in his stomach's dips, only to eventually resign himself to the fact that the other bed was perfumed and laden with high pitched giggles, a swell of laughter that traveled across the apartment, poking at him on nights the mist had finally settled, inadvertently stirring it back up again and leaving him helpless.

He knows the gaping hole in his chest and felt it getting bigger ever time, felt the uncaring child grasp the paper tendrils holding him together and rip, tear, until the pieces were falling to the ground and the rest of him was collapsing on himself and everything felt like it was fallingfallingfalling, into a hole he didn't know existed, down a path he'd never traveled, without the one person who shined a light into every one of these dark holes.

He knows when he lost Awsten to Ciara.

...

"So then I was like, 'are you kidding me?' Like, did she really think she could just-"

"Shit babe, one sec." He holds up a hand and pulls his phone out of his pocket. "I gotta take this, I'll be right back." He catches a glimpse of the look on her face as he slides out of the booth and makes his way toward the exit of the restaurant, sliding to accept the call as he does so. "Hey man, what's up?"

"Just checkin' ta see how Geoff's doing." Otto's voice crackles through the speakers at first and grows increasingly stronger. He can hear a door open and shut on the other end. "I wanted to come over but I wasn't sure if it'd be too much for him."

"What?" He pushes off the side of the building. His heart is starting to pick up. What was today what did you miss what are you forgetting about what's going on shitshitshit- "What the hell are you talking about?"

Otto's tone shifts. His voice is lower and considerably firmer when he speaks next, "Awsten, where are you right now?"

"At Chipotle with Ciara?" He phrases it as a question. What did you forget fuckfuckfuck what are you missing what did you forget what are you missing what did you forget what are you missing- "Why?"

"Oh my god." Otto blows out a heavy breath. "Are you fuckin' kidding me right now? Do you seriously not know what today is?"

"No? What the fuck is going on?" What did you forget what did you forget what did you forget what did you forget what did you forget-

"It's the anniversary of Geoff's mom's death, dipshit!" Otto snaps. "He's been-"

He hits 'end call' before Otto can say any more. He turns in the direction of his car and then back to the restaurant car restaurant car restaurant car restaurant GeoffGeoffGeoff-

How did he not know how did this happen how did he forget about this how did he not know how did he not know how did he not know-

Geoff's been quiet all week. He's never been the most verbose person in the world, but now, thinking back on it...dinners have been silent and conversation at the breakfast table is nonexistent. Somewhere along the lines they've morphed into two roommates splitting rent as an efficient financial decision rather than two friends who live together because they enjoy each other's company.

He doesn't know when it happened he doesn't know why it did he doesn't know anything anymore- GeoffGeoffGeoff-

The next few moments feel like a blur. He doesn't register them. He goes from the front door of Chipotle to his car and is almost completely backed out of the parking space before he remembers why he was at the restaurant in the first place, the girlfriend he has that is sitting inside, waiting for him, the girlfriend who, after all of this, is going to kill him.

And then he speeds out of the parking lot.

GeoffGeoffGeoff-

...

He breaks every traffic law on the way home.

Someone rolls down their window and starts swearing as he cuts them off, and some other lady barely misses him with her car. He speeds across the intersection just as she's preparing to turn.

People are mad at him and maybe one of them was a cop maybe there was a camera in one of the traffic lights he ran through maybe someone saw him and reported his license plate he's probably gonna get in so much trouble for this.

None of it matters.

GeoffGeoffGeoff-

How did he forget how did he forget how the fuck did he forget-

Geoff's mom's death is something he's still struggling so much with, years later. She's been gone for a long time. He remembers being at her funeral, pressing himself against Geoff's side and holding him, once the casket had been lowered into the ground and people started throwing handfuls of dirt on top.

He remembers never knowing what it was like to watch a human being literally fall apart, until then.

The tires screech as he comes to a stop in the parking deck. He jumps out of the car, barely remembers to lock the doors before he's off, running to the elevator and fumbling for his keys.

His heart is racing the world is spinning so fast his lungs are in his throat he's going to die he's going to puke he's going to puke or die whichever comes first hurry up hurry up hurry up GeoffGeoffGeoff-

"Geoff?"

The TV is off. The room is quiet. Geoff's car is in his own parking space. He has to be here. Awsten's heart is pounding so fast. He's definitely going to puke once all this is over. He swallows thickly and jogs through the living room and down the hall. "Geoff, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to forget, I swear!"

He's not in the kitchen. He's not in the living room. He's not in his room. He's not in Awsten's room. He's not- fuck.

"Geoff!" He cries. He reaches the bathroom door and pounds on it with his fists. "Geoff, please! Let me in! I'm sorry!"

He tries the doorknob.

It gives.

"Geoff..." He lowers himself to the floor and kneewalks over to where Geoff is sitting. "Give it to me."

Geoff doesn't look at him. His gaze is trained on his arm, sleeve pushed up, dots of blood welling from two open cuts. A slow stream of it is trickling down toward his elbow. There are a couple bloody tissues on the floor next to him, and he's gripping a piece of metal tightly. The broken razor is lying a few feet away. "Go away, Awsten." His voice is low.

"I'm not going anywhere," he replies. His heart is racing. His hands are shaking. "And I'm not gonna sit here and watch you hurt yourself."

He finally gets Geoff's eyes. They're red, bloodshot, but dry. There are no tears on his cheeks. He's not crying. This isn't foreign to him. He doesn't look like he's in any pain. "Shouldn't you be with her?"

He swallows. "No. I should be here. I should've been here all day. I'm so sorry I wasn't."

His heart is constricting. Every second shoots another arrow into the muscle, pierces it in a different place, allows more blood to spill and collect at the base of his chest, a pool of reminder for him to drown in.

He's the worst person alive.

"It's okay," Geoff says. His voice is different. It sounds like he's bordering on nonchalant but the tears are oozing out from the sides. It's too thick to be casual. "You had plans."

"Yeah," Awsten says. His heart feels like it's collapsing. His entire body is giving way into itself. "But none of them are more important than you."

"Bullshit."

"Geoff," he begs. He reaches for Geoff's hand, bites into his lip and presses down. "Geoff, please. Tell me why you're doing this. I wanna help you. Let me help you."

"You left me!" Geoff exclaims. His eyes are wild. At the outburst, the blood leaking from his cuts starts to pour faster. "You got a girlfriend and I didn't matter anymore! And now, 'cause today's the anniversary of my mom's death, you wanna come in here and act like you're shit? You're not! You left! You told me you'd always be there and you left!"

The tears start. They pour down his cheeks and drip onto his lap. Some of them mix with the blood and dilute it. He winces and reaches for some toilet paper, grabs Geoff's fingers and pulls his arm forward. Geoff fights and resists and tries to pull out of his grip, swears at him through gritted teeth as he clamps the tissues on his wounds. "Get the fuck away from me, Awsten. I don't need your help."

He holds firm, keeps the pressure on his arm. "I'm sorry." He forces his voice down, tries to mold it into something resembling calm. They'll get nothing accomplished if he's yelling back at Geoff. "I'm so, so sorry, okay? I know I've been a shitty friend. You needed someone and I wasn't there and that's all on me. It's my fault. You didn't do anything wrong. I was a shitty friend."

He can feel Geoff's breathing starting to slow down a bit. He keeps talking, "truth is, I've been spending a lotta time with Ci 'cause it's been weird with us lately and I guess I just- I don't want her ta break up with me, ya know?" His own throat is starting to close. He can feel the tears, the lump getting bigger and bigger, about to pop. "And I guess I just lost what was really important to me."

"You don't havta lie ta make me feel better," Geoff mumbles. He's crying. He's not fighting anymore. He's still crying, but he's not fighting anymore.

"Hey. Look at me." He uses his free hand to lift Geoff's chin and meets his eyes. "I'm not lying to you. I wouldn't. Ciara, she's...she's my girlfriend. I love her, 'course I do. She makes me happy." She's probably gonna break up with him after today- "But you, Geoff...you're my best friend. You've been my best friend since we were six. Remember that day? I asked to borrow your pencil and you-"

"I gave it to you," Geoff murmurs.

"Right," he says. He slides closer, moves his hand from Geoff's chin to his shoulder. "And then started crying 'cause we had a spelling test and you didn't have a pencil and you didn't wanna fail."

"I was so dumb."

"No," he replies. "You were so selfless. You put everyone before you our entire lives. Like when you gave your lunch to that girl whose mom never packed her anything in fifth grade? Or when you asked the "ugly" He pauses to make air quotes with his hands because she wasn't even ugly; thirteen-year-old boys were just stupid. "Girl in our class to the winter formal in eighth? Or when, senior year, you took me-"

"I took you to prom," Geoff finishes. "'Cause your date bailed."

"Yeah." He leans forward and presses his nose against Geoff's forehead. Tears are still streaming down his cheeks. "You put everyone before yourself. You help anyone who needs it. You give everything, Geoff, and you deserve someone that's gonna give it back to you. I'm sorry I've been sucking at it so much lately."

"Aws, it's-"

"Don't you dare say it's okay," he warns. "It's not. Your feelings are valid and you're not gonna shove 'em away into a little box to hurt yourself with later."

Geoff gives a sigh against him. He swallows. "You help everyone else feel less alone. You try your hardest. Now it's time for someone to do that for you. You don't deserve to hurt like this, Geoff. You don't deserve to hurt yourself, like this. I really want you to remember that. You deserve all the love and happiness in the world and I wish I could give it to you and I'm sorry I've sucked so much-" He pauses and takes a heavy breath. "But I'm gonna be better. You deserve me being better."

"I miss her," Geoff says heavily. "I don't know when I'm gonna get over it..."

"You won't," he promises. "It'll get easier, but you'll never get over it. Over her. She's your mom, Geoff. You'll miss her for the rest of your life."

"That's fine," Geoff mumbles. "I just don't wanna feel like dying anymore. I'm really sick of wakin' up every morning and wishing I hadn't."

He inhales. "That's- that's still happening? Geoff, why didn't you tell me?"

He remembers the days. If he was woken up to Geoff crawling in bed with him, he knew it was gonna be a bad day. He knew he only woke him up on days that scared him, days when breathing inconvenienced him and he knew he wouldn't get through it without someone else there.

"You were busy."

Fuck.

"I love you," he chokes out. "I love you I love you I love you. I'm so sorry. I'm never too busy for you, okay? From now on, no matter what, never."

"I just wanna stop feeling like this," Geoff sighs. "I wanna feel better."

"You will," he promises. He presses his lips against the side of Geoff's head. "I promise you will. I'll make sure you will. It's gonna be okay, Geoff. You're gonna be okay."

...

He finishes cleaning Geoff's cuts, helps him up off the floor and to change into some more comfortable clothes, and follows him into bed. They tangle their legs together like before, like they have been since they were fourteen and trying to figure out their bodies and their hormones, when they didn't give a shit who called them gay because they were best friends and they were happy. Geoff buries his face in his chest and Awsten wraps his arms around him, holds him as tight to his body as is physically possible, presses his nose into Geoff's hair and breathes out.

His chest hurts and his body still feels like it's collapsing on himself. Geoff falls asleep quickly. He knows he's going to lay awake tonight, contemplating exactly how the last few months have gone down and at what point his girlfriend started mattering more than the only person who's ever been a constant in his life.

And in the end he knows, with a weight dragging his heart down to his shoes and an ache behind his eyes as bad as the pierce of a bullet, that this is where he's meant to be.

This is always where he was meant to be.

#i have no idea how this happened #but i love it #a lot #waterparks #waterparks fanfiction #awsten knight #geoff wigington #gawsten #gawsten fanfiction #neha writes #anxiety tw #depression tw #suicidal thoughts tw #self harm tw #blood tw

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flowerfloods · 6 years

Text

verbatim

do tired eyes ever brighten anymore? we are the knockout kids, wasting away until we waste ourselves. wondering if our bones will ever find reason to move or if we will grind to a halt.

i am more stagnant than i would have thought possible, living sleep to sleep, constantly forgetting. always erasing. never better. dreaming through life, until i can’t remember what is real and what is in my head, which nightmares exist and which are figments of my masochistic mind.

i’ve been pulled to my limits, made to laugh until i cried and cried until i died. you care but you’re careless. you are the stuff of poems, the reason why the poet sobs herself to sleep and wakes up number than ever, unfeeling and unloved. barely living through the days, a dreadful sense of emptiness inside.

i’ve forgotten how to communicate my true feelings without a poem to assist me in begging for people to love me in technicolor metaphors and verbose paragraphs.

one day, i hope i will wake up and discover this is a nightmare, and my real life glistens in front of me and i’m not alone anymore. but for now, until the end, i will never be anything more than empty.

-living to die, dying to live

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hyperfashionist · 6 years

Photo

Hannifashion January Challenge: 30 more days of Alana Bloom

Day 26: Ko No Mono - “I’ve had enough of the rot, noble or otherwise”

@fannibalgrowingcircle

I’ve picked one of the cut lines because I think it’s key to understanding Alana’s motivations here. Meta under the cut. In the meantime:

$$$ Alana’s blouse: “This Jose blouse (Size XS) features dark and light blue blotches with white highlights and is made of 100% silk.” As @fancybedelia has figured out, it’s actually by Joie.

The blouse is another blue leopard (predatory animal) print, which Alana wears in three out of five outfits in Ko No Mono. The predatory animal print signifies ferocity (obviously) and the blue signifies illusion (being fiercely protective of Hannibal). And the blurriness is picked up in the line “everything’s blurry and subjective”.

$$ My blouse: exact match via eBay.

$$$ Alana’s skirt: “Alana’s blue Diane von Furstenberg skirt (Size 0) features zipper at the hip.” @fancybedelia has identified the make and model as the Koto skirt.

$$ My skirt: blue pencil skirt, Thierry Mugler via eBay.

Alana’s earrings: “The gold colored earrings are studded.”

$ My earrings: goldtone hoop earrings with topaz-coloured/pastel rhinestones, unbranded via eBay.

Alana’s necklace: It’s when you get to the necklace that things get really interesting. This is definitely NOT the starfish, so what is it?

I asked loads of people, including the @fannibalgrowingcircle and the best guesses (IMO) came from @petri-dish-petrichor who said it looked like a twisted sugar bun. I asked @fancybedelia who thought it was abstract, in the same way as the Creole hoop earrings simple at first glance but convoluted when you get a closer look :-D

My intuition told me it was a chess knight, but it doesn’t look like one in the cropped photo. I’ve come back around to the opinion that it is a chess knight, which is what I wore.

However, we don’t actually get a good look at the necklace. There’s no way that they switched the necklace unintentionally, but in the end I think we’re not meant to see it. Maybe it’s some kind of symbol that they changed their mind about, or maybe it’s something prosaic like they lost the starfish and hoped we wouldn’t notice. IS MYSTERY.

Alana’s makeup: Alana’s eyeshadow is a chalky, pale, almost blue-grey. Over these last few episodes - since Hannibloom basically - they’ve been making her look increasingly puffy and bloated. In the interview with Clark Ingram they do things like film her from under her chin so that the lower part of her face looks heavy. They make her eyes look smaller in that scene, as well as in the scene where she interrogates Chilton; previously they were going out of their way to make her eyes look doll-like and limpid (false lashes etc.)

This puffiness disappears in Mizumono (so not due to crying) and I think it’s because Alana is the ortolan - blinded to make it believe it’s always night and always time to gorge itself.

S2 running total Alana outfits: 27

of which unique outfits: 26

garments worn more than once: 6

of which, worn more than twice: 1

Running total wrap bodices: 9

of which dresses: 6

Wrap bodice percentage so far: 33%

of which dresses: 67%

wrap dresses as percentage of total: 22%

Running total trousers: 4

of which jeans: 1

trousers as percentage of total: 15%

Running total coats: 6

Running total footwear: 11

Running total bags: 2

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That wasn’t meta. This is meta - extra long, very extremely lengthy and verbose meta under the cut (LOTS)

The Noble Rot, or, Hannibal as nobleman

In the Magna Carta the legal principle was established that the King, himself, is not above the law. This legal principle is the foundation of human rights.

The definitive explanation of why Hannibal has so much influence is in a 2014 comment, from user rue72, from a MetaFilter discussion. I’m going to quote it verbatim here, and it is long, but it is also spot on:

He seems very intimidating to me, and purposefully so. He looks like he's got about thirty pounds of muscle on anyone else in the show, and he's taller and more broad-shouldered than any of the others save (soft, out of shape, older) Jack. (As soon as I saw Will's new guy had that limp, I thought "uh-oh.") Hannibal could throw any one of them across the room as easily as spit, and you can tell just from looking at him. He looks like he's made of concrete, even his face is white and chiseled (which I assume is also an aesthetic/makeup/hair choice), he doesn't laugh or smile much, his posture and how he moves is so unyielding. To me, he looks like he could just smash a person to bits if he felt like it, and nothing about how he moves or relates physically to other people reassures that he won't feel like it. It just makes the feeling of "Hannibal's got all the power!" stronger to me that, on top of being physically intimidating, he chooses to surround himself with only the most expensive, most formal, most "elite" stuff -- fancy suits, fancy music, fancy house. I interpret that as his way of communicating that he's got all of "civilization" on his side, too. As though, not only can he smash a person to bits, but he's *meant* to -- he's the king, he's the one who is inheriting the rights to (the best of) everything, and that includes rights to do what he wants to you, because you're just another thing that he owns. He doesn't just have the physical power, he's got to cultural/social/historical* power, too. And then on *top* of that, he's also got the (legal! socially approved!) power to control other people's bodies. He's got a literal (medical) license for it. In that same vein, I think, is how he nearly always controls the food, which at least some of the characters noticed (the vegetarians and Abigail, anyway, maybe Bedelia and Will). It makes sense that nobody would be onto Hannibal in the sense of realizing that he's secretly a serial killer who eats people, because *nobody* is secretly a serial killer who eats people, it would be nuts for anyone to even have that as a possibility in his head. At the same time, though, I don't think Hannibal is aiming for "mild mannered" in terms of his image, I think he's aiming to seem powerful and in control, and he's surrounded by The Best because that's where he (thinks he) *belongs,* because he's also The Best. And to me, he pulls that image off in spades, and it's pretty intimidating.

To me, this explains why Alana is so drawn to Hannibal - because Alana believes in the social order, and Hannibal is the literal embodiment of the social order. It isn’t simple attachment to one individual, but her entire belief system that’s in question here.

It’s worse for Alana because she believes herself and her worldview completely normative, and is not at all used to questioning the normative view. This is what is meant by the “blurry and subjective” line here.

But my point is. Alana is starting to consciously question her implicit doctrine here. Alana isn’t feeling “pressure to believe” that Hannibal is influencing Will to murder - she has believed that, and said so, ever since the theremin scene!

But wait a minute. If Chilton is so despicable for influencing his patients to murder, why is Hannibal getting off so lightly here? All she’s done is murmur at him a couple of times, and make some pointed remarks over dinner WHILE tipping him off to make sure Freddie doesn’t blow his cover.

So when Will dropped all those HINTS about how he’s at Freddie’s funeral because his THERAPIST thought it would be THERAPEUTIC to engage in common post-murder behaviour, well... Alana is starting to actually really wonder...

I mean... Just because he’s Count Lecter VIII with a psychiatric practice and surgical skills and a taste for The Finer Things and so on, is it possible that that... DOESN’T make it OK for him to influence his patients to murder? This is where the “noble rot” remark comes in: she’s saying that even though Hannibal is at the top of the social hierarchy (as Alana sees it), that doesn’t give him the right to do what he’s been doing, and crucially up until now Alana has been acting as if it does.

And she’s also questioning that whole Is It Possible Hannibal’s A Murderer Himself thingy. I said yesterday that she’s scolding Will for being a murderer but not acting proportionately wary, given that she’s alone and unarmed with him in the middle of nowhere while she’s telling him off. She goes for Will (and she’s not the only one to do this) partly because he looks like the easier target. And he’s made it apparent by now that he’s not the pushover everyone perceived him to be. But confronting Will is still easier than confronting Hannibal, so that’s what Alana does.

In contrast, her manner with Hannibal is circumlocutory, conciliatory, and in the end submissive. She looks right at him and tells him she’s got a gun and is going to use it (on him, is the implication) but trusts him to be alone with her purse that has the gun and ammo inside. (As an aside, note that Hannibal does the Grabby Hands test on her.) She leaves the conversation having tried hard to convince herself that Hannibal is not the threat here. This is exactly what Miriam Lass had to convince herself of, knowing that the guy behind the glass would walk no matter what she said.

And this is another thing that Alana is having to face up to right now, expressed in the rest of that comment:

I think that a lot of the characters (definitely Jack and Alana, but I don't think Will) who are drawn to Hannibal recognize that he only likes The Best Things near him or on him or in him, and that's why they're flattered by his attention, it makes them feel like one of Hannibal's chosen Best Things. To me, that just ends up being dangerous complacency, though -- and not even "dangerous" just/primarily/even because Hannibal is a killer, but because they've got to realize that regardless, one day Hannibal won't think they're Best Things anymore, just things (that have gotten broken or boring), and how can even the best case scenario not end up with them hurt and Hannibal gone? You don't have to jump to the conclusion that a person will literally consume you to be wary of someone like that.

Alana redeemed her Hannibal gift card, and now she’s used up her options. Even under normal circumstances, this would be incredibly distressing. Add up Alana’s newfound questioning of her safety, and of reality itself, she is absolutely in crisis here.

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mdesafey · 4 years

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