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#fiction is bigger and sometimes kinder than us

mallowstep · 2 years

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Okay I deleted the ask this is responding to bc I initially didn’t want to talk about it, but I do have one thing I want to say on the matter. So hopefully the anon who sent it knows I’m talking to them, and this isn’t terribly confusing to everyone else:

The way I see it, I love writing scenes of Tigerstar being killed. Absolutely fucking adore it. It’s so much fun, and I just like. God I love killing him. I genuinely enjoy writing his death.

However. I am vehemently against the death penalty. I do not believe there is ever a point where killing someone is an appropriate response.

But like. Tigerstar is a fictitious cat, who’s done terrible things, and yeah, that makes killing him pretty damn satisfying and enjoyable. I don’t expect readers to read that and decide killing people IS sometimes warranted. I don’t think I need to say that, either. I trust readers to understand that I’m writing a story, and that story might promote killing people to solve problems, but that doesn’t mean people should do that IRL. I trust readers to not take that away from what I write.

And more to the point, I think it also is something to chew on. Does it make you uncomfortable that they “need” to kill Tigerstar? Or do you agree? Is this consistent with what you feel in about the death penalty IRL? I don’t think it has to be, but I think it’s a good thing to think about.

For an example involving published media, when I first played undertale, I failed to do a pacifist run because I couldn’t see another way out of beating Toriel. It was the first time I ever felt guilty about killing a video game character. And that’s interesting I think. I think it’s interesting that I went and asked my friend how was I to avoid that?

The real world presents problems that are not cut and dry. Abuse victims defend their abusers because they don’t think they’re being abused. People do horrific things to one another, and it feels like maybe death is justified.

I think it’s actually good if fiction can serve as a training ground for those ideas, and for it to do that, it has to be allowed to not tell you the “right answer,” so to speak. There have to be stories about bad things, stories that don’t tell us they’re bad, so that we have to think about it.

Consider Aesop’s fables, and “my rotten red headed older brother.” (Read the text of the story of you haven’t, it’s a great book.)

Obviously, children’s books are going to be a lot more direct about themes, but…one of the things I like about the story I linked is that we have to think about things like: does one big moment make up for the other things? and Was she any kinder than he was? and How much responsibility for he have to be the bigger person?

As someone with a brother several years younger than me, I really did think about that book every time my brother was being annoying.

So I guess what I’m saying is — y’know, I get where you’re coming from. It is uncomfortable to read stories that don’t condemn bad things, and I don’t blame anyone for not wanting to engage with that. But if for nothing else, I think they still serve a valuable purpose for people, and so I’m okay with that.

#mine #anon #anon Ik this ignores parts of your ask #there are some topics I (as a general rule) do not discuss #for my own safety I don’t make those topics public #thus I don’t mind when people DO ask about them #but I do ask that you respect that boundary

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nakey-cats-take-bathsss · 4 years

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Happy BFSN and Finale Night My Loves <3

I don’t tend to post pictures of myself so I’ve never done this before. But a little something about me, every day I take a few minutes first thing in the morning to write down five things that I’m grateful for.

This little note is from 7-28-2019, which was the day I posted the first chapter of “Life as We Know It”. Back then, I don’t think I ever imagined that I would’ve found a place in this fandom and met so many people who have genuinely changed me for the better. This little corner of the fandom, the one we’ve carved out together has become such a bright spot in what has been a weird and hard year. I cannot begin to tell you all how grateful I am for you all. I’ve learned from you, grown from you and consider you all to be my friends. I’m honestly not really going to talk much about the show because this feels so much bigger than that. I’m sad it’s ending and it feels weird but no matter how bad it is, I’m grateful that it brought me to all of you. Reading your thoughts, your spec, your writing and getting to know each of you has been a blessing in itself. Thank you for the encouragement, the kind comments, the shoulders to cry on, the lessons you’ve all taught me and the conversations we’ve had in the middle. I am better for know you all and will always be grateful for this season in life.

A separate thank you to @t100fic-for-blm for allowing me the gift of being part of something bigger, and giving me the opportunity to give back to such an important cause through doing something that I love. It has been such a meaningful thing to see this fandom come together for something good.

And thank you to everyone who has nominated me for @bellarkeficawards the idea that people like my writing is hard for me to wrap my head around sometimes. It’s genuinely emotional and so so touching, thank you for taking the time to read my words and to vote. There’s so much incredible talent in this fandom, and I have grown so much through reading the works of others and from the kindness of having people beta for me and leave comments that on more than one occasion have made me cry happy tears.

This show has had its highs and lows, but isn’t it crazy to think that we’re all here because of two characters and a spark we all saw and felt? Screw Jason, I don’t care what he says. That’s so beautiful. The love of two fictional characters has the power to bring people together. It’s our story now y’all.

I’m sticking around, I’ll still write. But may we all meet again, for a show that will be kinder to us.

Tagged by: @burninghoneyatdusk @natassakar @geekyogicheese @vulcanblake @tooimportanttome @icantloseyou-too @carrieeve @bloodysteel @infp-with-all-the-feelings @poppykru @queenemori @wonderingwhyy @bookwormforalways @bellamyblakru @goddess-clarke @carrieeve LOVE YOU ALL I LOVE YOU ALL I LOVE YOU! I could sing “For good” from the rooftops to each and everyone of you over and over. I appreciate you and so so lucky to know you.

Tagging some other peeps to show my love and appreciation because y’all truly mean so much to me!! Biggest hug in the world to this entire corner of the fandom.

@changingthefairy-tale @elora-lane @kattitudereads @ninappon @fan4life @obviesbellarke @mobi-on-a-mission @animmortalist @the-most-beautiful-broom @jellamyjake @allysketches @bellarke-griffinblake @not-blonde-barbie @itsmevickyb @eliizabethyork @dayo488 @thefangirlingbarista @elora-lane @princesspistoffitus @star-sky-earth @ruggedmurphy @bellarkeisinthegoodplace @angelicnatblida @queen-of-the-wallflowers15 and all the other lovely people if you follow me or have ever even seen my username consider yourself tagged because you are amazing and you are loved. Sorry guys I’m so sappy tonight.

#bfsn #happy bfsn #nakeycatstakebathsss #leah rambles #the 100 #bellarke

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noonachronicles · 4 years

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The Malebranche Pt. 1

Im Changkyun/I.M. X Reader & Lee Jooheon X Reader

Word count: 9.4k

Warnings: There is cursing. It’s a story about demons so...probably a little dark in theme. This is demon smut. I’m not being flippant or dramatic. It’s literally smut with demons. This is 18+. I’m not your mom and I’m not the fan fiction police. So just don’t have unprotected sex and don’t fuck demons. There’s also some edging.

Genre: Demon AU. Modern Fantasy. Sorta Soulmate AU

A/N: This is for @nemesyis. You probably just wanted some porn without plot but if you haven’t noticed... I’m incapable. Here is some porn with a light sprinkling of plot for flavor instead.

‘The Path to Paradise Begins in Hell’ - Dante Alighieri

The Eighth Circle was a beautiful burlesque club. It was expected by many to be a front for a brothel or a drug ring but there had never been any proof of it even after several raids and countless undercover investigations. Everyone just assumed that something illegal was happening there, and no one could blame them. It was a cesspool of sin and debauchery.

The club was located just outside of the city in a three story Victorian style mansion. The inside had been completely gutted and renovated by the owners but the outside stayed essentially the same. Only a new layer of paint had been applied. Wine red paneling, black trim, and gold accents. Gothic Barbies dream house.

Inside there was a large foyer with blood red carpets and gold walls. The ceiling was covered in a renaissance style painting. Though the art was not light and angelic like one might have expected. It was dark. It demons and sin. It was the inferno. Beautifully done, but terrifying if you looked too long or too closely. The foyer broke away into three different theatre style rooms. The Red Room, The Purple Room, and The White Room.

The Red Room was the most popular room, it was the most sinful of the three. Named appropriately for it’s color scheme. Red furniture, red floor, red walls, red velvet panels draped overhead. The only things that weren’t red were the crystal chandeliers. Those were consistent through every room in the house. The Red Room experience stood in the center of the four corners. Night club, burlesque club, strip club, and sex club. Consent was the only rule in The Red Room.

The Purple Room offered a slightly more cabaret atmosphere. Mostly purple everything with silver accents here and there. The performances were rambunctious and inclusive. Despite the dark aesthetic it was a classic good time. Usually The Purple Room housed bachelorette parties and birthdays. Large groups of women just looking for a memorable night out.

The White Room, the third of the triplets, was mostly white with accents of gold. It was the most elegant room The Eighth Circle had to offer. Sheer white fabrics hung from the ceiling along with gold and crystal chandeliers. The floor was a bright white marble laced with rivers of gold striping. The couches and chairs were white velvet cushions on gold framing. Women, scantily clad in white lingerie, carried gold trays filled with champagne in crystal stemware. The White Room was mostly for politicians and businessmen that would bring in out-of-towners to impress and seduce them into working with them. Occasionally vanilla couples would partake in The White Room as well if they were trying to spice up a fading love life. Typically if it worked the couples could be found in The Red Room within a week.

The owners of The Eighth Circle were the Malebranche Brothers. Sometimes they were referred to as the Malebranche Twins. Though you’d seen them before in town and couldn’t imagine they were at all related. Most people, however, just called them the Demon Twins.

You would have normally suspected that particular nickname had to do with all of the references to Dante's Inferno that surrounded them whether intentionally or unintentionally. You found it much more likely that the people thought the brothers had a hint of evil in them and less likely that they would have picked up on the literary references. It wasn’t that you thought everyone in town was an illiterate moron. You’d lived in this town your whole life. You knew that everyone in town was an illiterate moron.

The brothers, if that’s even what they were, were young. In appearance they seemed about your age but there was something about their mannerisms that made them seem much older. It’s part of what attracted you to them. They were unlike every other bachelor in this town. It was like they were from somewhere else entirely. A bigger city was your only guess. They had a sense of class and elegance that made them entirely desirable. Unfortunately they weren’t only desirable to you. Every woman and several of the men in town flung themselves desperately at the pair every chance they got. So while you continued to fantasize about them, you knew that’s what they would remain, a fantasy.

From what you knew of them Jooheon was the older of the two brothers but not by much. He was known for his unbelievably plush lips and unmistakable dimples. His hair color usually changed with the seasons but you always thought he looked best with a darker tone. He was also said to be the kinder of the two. He had a pleasantness that his brother seemed to lack, which was probably why he was the one known to take care of the business side of The Eighth Circle.

His brother was Changkyun. He’d been nicknamed the Evil Twin by the people in town. Mostly due to the stern, unimpressed look of his lips when his face was resting. On occasion you’d seen him out to lunch or in a shop with his brother and thought he’d seemed quite playful and even childish. He didn’t scare you too much.

Though you knew Jooheon was meant to be the kinder of the two brothers you would never forget the first time you’d seen them. You were shopping in the city. Jooheon had just stepped out of the car and was headed into a restaurant when he’d turned in your direction, looking just over his shoulder, and his eyes met yours. It was terrifying, just the way it felt, like in that instant he was inside of you.

It was as if he knew every one of your thoughts, every desire. There was just something about him. Lust incarnate with the way your attraction to him tugged at you like there was rope around your waist whenever he was nearby and he held the opposite end firmly in his grasp.

In that sense you felt lucky that they were a deviant desire and nothing more. Certainly you wouldn’t be able to handle either one of them.

Changkyun stood on the third floor balcony that overlooked The Red Room. He was leaning over the banister, soaking in the immoral energies of the night's patrons. A wicked grin grew across his lips as he watched hands grasping flesh. Lips on lips. Very little attention made to who was partaking in who. He loved his work.

“Honey.” he said as his brother moved behind him, not bothering to turn his attention from the activities below.

“Kyun.” Jooheon said leaning against the bannister beside him.

“How are things running?”

“Smooth as ever. Smoother even. Busy for a Wednesday.” Jooheon shrugged, sipping from his glass of bourbon.

“Lucky for us, brother, sin never takes a day off.” Changkyun laughed and snatched the liquor from his brother's hand to take a drink.

Jooheon grew silent, closing his eyes. Changkyun looked over just as they snapped back open to show pitch black orbs. He inhaled deeply, his hand gripping the wooden banister so tightly his knuckles grew white with strain. When he exhaled his eyes lightened to their normal brown.

“She’s here.” he gulped.

Changkyun’s eyebrow perked with mild interest, “Your little townie girlfriend?”

“Don’t be an asshole.” Jooheon glared.

“Where is she? No! Wait!” he chuckled enthusiastically, “Let’s play a game.”

Jooheon shook his head, “I don’t want to play with you. You cheat and you’re mean.”

“Don’t be such a fucking infant.” Changkyun snapped, but his smile had returned in the same blink, “Pleeease, Honey. You never play with me. I’m bored.”

He sighed in quick defeat, prefering to avoid another of his brother's temper tantrums, knowing that Changkyun could always make things worse if he was denied what he wanted. “What’s the game?”

“If I can figure out who she is on my own, without any hints from you, I get to fuck her.” Jooheon’s jaw clenched, but his brother wasn’t done yet. “I get to fuck her...first.”

“Changkyun.” he growled between tight lips.

His brother only laughed, “Oh please! Please, brother! Who knows if I’ll even be able to figure it out?”

“No.”

“What if I make it a little harder for myself?” he asked, “I only get three guesses.”

Jooheon rolled his eyes knowing full well Changkyun was not going to let it go until he agreed to play. “Fine. Three guesses. No hints.”

“Deal.” Changkyun grinned and held out his hand.

Jooheon grabbed his brother's hand and in an instant they were wrapped in a bind of fire to seal the deal. Jooheon could see the flames dancing in his brothers glistening black eyes, he already felt defeated. His brother always got everything he wanted. Why should she be any different?

After the deal was sealed Changkyun clapped his palms together. “Let’s begin! ONWARD! To the foyer!”

You stood at the bar in the foyer suppressing a yawn. Requesting a date on a Wednesday night meant this guy had already been docked points in your book. Being late meant he’d lost even more. Mostly you just hoped he wasn’t going to stand you up. You chewed on the stem that had been attached to the cherry that came with your drink and eyed yourself through the mirror behind the bar.

You looked so good tonight considering the speed with which you had to get ready between getting home from work and the original meet up time. Your dress was stark white and tight against your curves. The hem sat against the tops of your thighs, not even thinking about nearing your knees. The neck was a deeper v than you normally wore but the white lace sleeves made it seem more classy than slutty, so you thought anyway.

Your blind date was forty minutes late and you had to decide between getting another drink or calling it a night. You lifted your hand to grab the attention of the bartender, ready to close your tab and giving this date a time of death but then you felt it. A tightening in your stomach, you crossed one red stiletto covered foot over the other, squeezing your thighs together and tried to keep breathing. You didn’t know how you knew it was him, you just knew he was somewhere nearby. This wasn’t the first time you’d felt it.

“Did you need something?” the bartender asked. “Refill?”

You shook your head and after a slightly put out look she turned and went to the next guest. Turning around you leaned your back against the bar and searched the room. It didn’t take long before you saw him. Not your date. Jooheon. Standing at the top of the stairs with his brother at his side.

Changkyun was saying something energetically as he looked over the crowd of club attendees. With a gulp you looked Jooheon over. His hair was bright red tonight, the last time you saw him it was blonde, and pushed back off of his forehead. You could see the dip in his cheek from his dimple from where you were, that's how deep it was, and the double slit in his eyebrow.

You bit your bottom lip as they made their way down the stairs, your heart was racing. He’d missed a few buttons on the black silk shirt he was wearing, intentionally you assumed, and you were mesmerized by the thin silver chain around his neck with its pendant that bounced against his bare chest. Your gaze had just made it to the holy grail, a golden snake belt buckle and a pair of tight black, leather pants that had your mouth a confused mixture of desert dry and waterfall of drool.

That was when you heard, “Did it hurt?”

Moving your focus you met your date, Kihyun, with the single red rose he said he was bringing. “Huh?”

“When you fell from heaven?” he grinned.

Oh. No. You faked your very best chuckle. “That’s cute.”

“I’m Kihyun.”

You lifted the rose he’d handed you, “I’d gathered.”

“I reserved a table in The White Room. People say it’s hard to get a reservation here but honestly I found it easy. I always get into wherever I want probably because-” he continued to brag, not even humbly, but you had stopped listening anyway.

With every step The Twins moved closer. They walked right past you as if in slow motion, the sleeve of Jooheon’s black blazer brushed the back of your hand and you nearly lost your breath completely. Wishful thinking had you believing he’d even looked at you, however briefly. He hadn’t even gotten two steps away and you’d already imagined about four different ways he could take you right then and there. You could probably kill someone if it meant running your hands through his hair, kissing that dimple, knowing that man. Honestly you couldn’t help but to think to yourself that you might have to just sleep with Kihyun tonight even if things didn’t go well because you were pretty sure you were in heat. And why should you have to suffer through the night just because this guy hadn’t yet had the decency to apologize for being an hour late.

“Y/n?” he said, placing his hand gently on your forearm.

You jumped slightly, you were so incredibly wound up. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted to go to our seats now.”

“Yeah, let’s go...” You said with one last longing look over at The Twins.

While you were getting comfortable with Kihyun in The White Room, Jooheon was following Changkyun around on his mission through The Eighth Circle. First the foyer, where he would look at every guest and then back at Jooheon to search his face for some sort of slip up. Then The Red Room where he moved around the room in his charismatic way, gently touching guests on their hips or arms, asking them if they were having a good time and trying to read their energy. By the time they stepped out of The Purple Room he’d wasted two of his guesses. Changkyun was furious and Jooheon was feeling hopeful. Only one more wrong guess from his counterpart and he was free to pursue you.

“Give me a fourth guess.” Changkyun huffed, “One for each room and the foyer. It’s only fair.”

“What’s fair is you playing by the rules we’ve already set.” Jooheon declined the request, “One more guess.”

He hoped that in his frustration Changkyun would get reckless with his last guess. Guess on a whim, be wrong, game over. When they stepped into The White Room it was hard for Jooheon to not look directly at you. He also didn’t want to completely avoid you either, as Changkyun would be looking for that as well. His hands were shaking as he made it to the bar and requested a drink to steady his nerves.

Changkyun sighed deeply looking over the room. “Well, she’s definitely in here.”

“What makes you think that?” Jooheon asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“If you were vibrating any harder, every woman in this room would cum in an instant.” He grinned.

Jooheon shrugged, trying to remain casual. ��Well, I mean, if you’re sure. You have one guess left.”

“Tiny or tall. Big or small.” Changkyun hummed to himself, “Blonde or Brunette. Virgin or...slut.”

“Are you and your horrid rhyming skills done yet?” Jooheon asked, “Shows about to start. Maybe you’d like to take a break from your boring little game.”

Ignoring Jooheon, Changkyun had a thought. “Maybe she’s neither virgin nor whore. Maybe, maybe she’s part innocence and part evil. You wouldn’t be attracted to anyone too good, that’s bland. But she couldn’t be too evil either or it would annoy you. You need someone just right. A Goldilocks.”

“What are you talking about?” Jooheon sighed. “How could you know what any of these women are like? I’ve never even met her. I don’t know her personality. There’s no way you could.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, dear brother.” Changkyun grinned and placed two fingers against his lips as he scanned the room. “Eenie meenie...miny moe.”

Slowly he pointed his two fingers out like a gun and took aim with you in his crosshairs. His eyes lit up and his thumb dropped as he released a pop from his lips.

“Found her.” He blew a gust of breath on the barrel of his finger gun and looked over at Jooheon with a wink. “Dressed like an absolute angel but there is... nothing very nice inside of her.”

Jooheon swallowed the lump in his throat. “Fine. Congratulations, you won your dumb little game. Please, don’t do this.”

“What’s the point of winning if you don’t get your reward?” He asked and sneered over at Jooheon who was pouting, “Oh good God. Stop acting like you’re in love with her or something, you don’t even know her. It’s pathetic.”

“If she says no to your advances…”

“Then of course nothing will happen,” Changkyun scoffed, “I’m not a fucking monster.”

“Guess that depends on who you ask.” Jooheon muttered.

“Well, this was fun but I think it’s time to collect my winnings.” Changkyun looked over at Jooheon curiously, “Are you going to watch?”

Jooheon rolled his eyes and finished off his drunk, “Go fuck yourself, brother.”

“Oh but I won’t have to!” Changkyun laughed to himself as he watched Jooheon storm out of the room.

Kihyun had gotten you a new drink before the two of you took your seats in the front row booth he’d reserved for your date. However he’d also talked so much, about himself, that your drink was already down to the ice cubes. You half listened to him as he described in detail what his average work day looked like and half watched the runoff of your melting ice. Taking a sip every time there was enough collected at the bottom of the cup to warrant taking a sip. What felt like three hours, but was only about twenty minutes passed before he finally looked at his watch.

“Wow, I can’t believe how fast time is flying.” He said with a smile.

“Who knew investment banking was so fascinating.” you offered with mediocre enthusiasm.

“I think they’re really about to get started soon. Would you like me to refill your drink again beforehand?” he asked.

You nodded gratefully, “That would be amazing, thank you.”

“Okay, but last one.” He laughed sliding out of the booth. “No one likes a girl that can’t keep her wits about her.”

Suppressing an eyeroll that hard nearly gave you an instant migraine. The second his back was turned you pulled out your phone and sent a text to the friend that had set you up on this blind date to let her know she was now your ex-friend. You cleared out a few of your awaiting notifications and then before you could even stop yourself your jaw dropped in the biggest yawn you’d ever experienced in your life.

“A yawn that big does not bode well for my business.”

If Changkyun was any other man in the world you assumed you would probably despise him based on his tacky fashion sense alone. Tonight he was wearing a silk, snake print shirt under a purple, velvet blazer. That alone would have been enough to turn you away from any other man, then on top of that his belt buckle was a massive, eye catching, howling wolf's head. Infact, rather than being repulsed by the outfit you found yourself staring quite unabashed as he stood in front of you. His pierced eyebrow was raised as he looked you over, and you noticed the flash of silver on his tongue as it moved across his bottom lip.

In your head you thought of at least ten clever, sexy comebacks to give him. Ultimately, after too long, all you gave him in reply was, “Huh?”

He snickered to himself, knowing full well he’d already ruffled your feathers and he was only just warming up. “If you’re not having a good time, I want you to know I will make it my personal mission to make sure that you do.”

Shaking your head you blushed, “It’s not...The club is great. Beautiful. Entertaining beyond comparison.”

His eyes darted over to the bar, lingered on Kihyun’s back for a moment, and then went back to you, “Oh no, it’s not...your date? Please tell me you’re not here, in that dress, with someone who is yawn worthy boring.”

Your mouth opened and then you closed it slowly into a smile as Kihyun came back to the table. He handed you your refreshed drink and took his seat in the booth before realizing Changkyun was standing beside your table.

“Hi...can we help you?” he asked, clearly confused.

“How rude of me…” Changkyun held out his hand and Kihyun accepted it. “I’m Changkyun. This is my club. Well, half of it anyway.”

“Do you often walk around to make sure people are having a good time?” Kihyun asked.

“Ahh.” Changkyun smirked, “Only when I see a truly beautiful woman in one of my seats.”

“Yes, well, y/n is a stunning specimen.” Kihyun smiled tightly, “I’d thank you for the wonderful time we’ve been having, but the conversation has been all us. The chemistry...spectacular.”

You could see the look in Changkyun’s eye, the one that said he had something witty waiting on that sharp tongue, but the lights began to dim. “Can I sit with you? Just for the first performance? I’d hate to be in anyone’s way.”

“I don’t think-”

“Of course.”

You and Kihyun spoke together, but ultimately you scooted into the booth further and allowed Changkyun to slip in beside you as the music began and that was the end of the discussion. The room went dark and a bright white spotlight hit the stage where the white velvet curtains parted to show the stage. An old, big jazz band song started to play and you watched wide eyed as a huge silver ring descended from the ceiling and sitting on the bottom arc of the circle was a scantily clad woman. You watched fascinated as she began moving around the ring. Hanging, dangling, contorting her body all around the thin bar.

Taking just a moment to break your gaze away from the stage, you grabbed your drink to take a sip. Your eyes caught Changkyun’s hand, resting on the top of the table, his fingers thrumming against the white table cloth. Silver bands on two of his fingers and black nail polish on three. Placing your glass down on the table, it took maximum efforts not to reach for his hand.

They looked so long and soft. You wanted to feel them and feel them on you. You realized that this might be the closest you ever got to one of the brothers, so you let your eyes wander. Over his hands, over his wrist with the thin silver bracelet that dangled from it, over his body. The rise and fall of his smooth chest, that you could see clearly from the way his shirt rested open loosely. He was leaning back against the booth and his neck looked so long you gulped. His profile was flawless, jaw sharp, chin perfectly curved, nose...god, his nose. There was a smirk across his lips when he turned his face. His eyes locked with yours, refusing to let you go, not that you’d have looked away anyway.

Changkyun lifted his hand to your face, dragging his fingers down your jaw before holding your chin between his fingers. You felt dazed in a way you had never felt before. You leaned towards him, you were nearly there, lips ready to press against the ones that waited there for you. Then you blinked. Just a blink and you were sitting back in the booth, the lights coming up from the end of the performance. Kihyun was applauding enthusiastically and Changkyun was slipping out of the booth.

“Wait!” you said suddenly. Changkyun turned to look back at you. “Do you...have to leave so soon?”

“Y/n,” Kihyun reached out and placed his hand on your knee, “I’m sure he’s a busy man with a lot to do. Let’s not bother him further. We can go get dinner.”

“Didn’t you say it was your personal mission to make sure I had a good time?”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” he grinned, “I suppose I could spend a while longer with you.”

“...that’s really not necessary.” Kihyun said quietly, but it was pretty clear he was quickly becoming the third wheel on this date.

You bit your lip as Changkyun sat back down next to you. Kihyun watched flabbergasted for several minutes as the two of you flirted right in front of him before he got up with a huff and took off. You felt a little bad but not enough that you would have gone back in time to change anything.

Changkyun, one of the widely sought after demon twins, had his arm over your shoulder and all of his attention focused on you. You pinched yourself several times until you flinched because it just didn’t seem real.

After a few more performances you mentioned needing to think about calling a cab to go home. Changkyun offered sweetly to take you home and you jumped at the chance. This night started out as such a flop and had turned into a fantasy.

“Stay here.” Changkyun said, letting his hand drag over your hip. He’d walked you out of The White Room following the last performance, and into the busy foyer. “I’ll call for the car.”

You inhaled deeply and let out a relaxing sigh. Being around Changkyun had you so tense, so unbelievably aroused. The knot in your gut was screaming for release, and though you didn’t want to be presumptuous you thought you might actually have a chance with him tonight. A big part of you wished you’d caught Jooheon’s eye, but getting to be with either of the twins was more than you could have hoped for yourself.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

Your blood prickled as Jooheon stepped next to you, his hands in his pockets.

“I..heh...um.” you shook with nerves.

Jooheon just smiled, his dimple digging deeper into his cheek. You wanted to swim in it.

Looking over at you completely he smiled kindly, “Be careful on your way home tonight. We’d like to have you back here again soon.”

“Wow.” You gasped.

You’d never seen him up close before, and honestly you weren’t ready for it. Changkyun was something. Jooheon was something else completely. His eyes were dark but glistened like galaxies. His lips were so...wet. Soft, plush clouds. Your heart was pounding so hard against your chest you were certain it was about to crash all the way through.

“What?” He asked quietly, like a whisper, just for you.

“It’s just..you’re breathtaking.” You’d be embarrassed about saying it later on when you remembered but for now it just had to be said.

He blushed at the compliment. “I could say the same for you.”

There was just something about him. Something inside you was so drawn to something in him. You thought about what it would feel like to just be held by him. He looked like the definition of comfort.

“Y/n.” Both of you turned to see Changkyun, standing in the doorway looking, in contrast, like the definition of devious. “We’re all set, are you ready?”

“Have fun.” Jooheon bowed out and you watched as he turned and left.

“Yeah, ready.” You smiled at Changkyun and he led you to the car waiting outside.

You slid over the black leather of the backseat and Changkyun slid in after. After you gave the driver your address the two of you sat quietly together. Several blocks passed by the window before Changkyun turned to you.

“You prefer my brother.”

“What?” You asked as if you hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes thinking endlessly about Jooheon and his impossible dimple and his unstoppable lips.

“It’s okay. It won’t hurt my feelings.” He assured you.

You sighed, “I don’t have a preference, it’s only that I’d noticed him first.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Why?” Your whole mood dropped.

“It’s just Jooheon is deeply interested in someone right now.”

“Oh…” you didn’t know why it stung so badly, you should have already known someone like him would have someone.

“She was there tonight at the club. Absolutely stunning young woman.”

“That’s so nice...for them.” You wished he’d stop talking about it already.

“It is, isn't it? Then there’s two poor, lonely idiots like us. Right?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

You scoffed lightly, “Poor, lonely idiot...that’s definitely me.”

Changkyun looked down at his lap and sighed, “Well, unfortunately I can’t get you what you want, but I can give you second best if you’re willing to settle.”

“What?” You asked in genuine disbelief. “You...would be interested in someone like me?”

“Not someone like you.” He corrected. “I’m interested in you.”

“Really?” You asked, “I don’t mean to sound...so surprised. It’s just, I find it so very hard to believe someone as handsome as you would be interested in me.”

“Why do you think I spent my whole night with you?” He chuckled.

“Honestly? Pity.”

“Not at all. Not even a little bit.” He looked over at you and smirked, “I spent my night with you in hopes of getting a kiss.”

You practically snorted in shock. “What?”

“Something small. Just to taste you.”

“Are you serious?”

He shrugged, “Only if you wanted it too. ...but since I’m not Jooheon.”

It would have been stupid to waste even another second so you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. You could taste how smug he was. The tip of his tongue swiped at your lips and you opened your mouth to him without hesitation. His tongue was soft and slick with the exception of the little metal ball that massaged your tongue.

You moaned into his mouth while his hands roamed over your body. He’d turned his body to yours, his fingers slipping up the thin fabric of your dress until his hand was your hip and the skirt was pulled all the way up to your stomach. You were a panting, breathless mess and his hands were only urging you further.

You pressed your palm against his chest, “Changkyun…while this is nice and I desperately want more...your driver is like right there.”

“Who?” He said looking towards the front seat and then back to you, “Minhyuk?”

“Yeah…” you nodded, “He’s probably already heard everything I doubt he wants to see it too.”

“Don’t worry. He’s deaf, and blind...and mute.”

“Your driver is deaf and blind?” You smirked.

“Sure he is.” He leaned in and sucked the skin of your neck until you whimpered . “Isn’t that right, Minhyuk?”

When you looked over you saw Minhyuk's eyes flicker to the rear view mirror and then back to the road.

“See, and mute. Like I said.” he slipped his hand between your thighs, fingers grazing your wrecked panties. “Now tell the truth, since your soaked pussy already has. You kind of want him to watch.”

You shook your head, “I don’t care about that. I just...It’s you. I really want you.”

A fire flickered in his eyes and his chest puffed up enthusiastically, “You do?”

“Well...yeah.” you laughed, brushing his cheek with your hand.

“Then you should have me.” His hand pulled gently on your hip.

The pull wasn’t aggressive, only suggestive, until you were throwing your leg over his lap, and sitting on top of him. As the car moved through the streets the backseat filled with the sounds smacking lips and desperate, lustful moans. His hands spread out over your ass and he brought your hips into his. The size of the bulge you felt between your thighs was more than you could have expected. Your eyes rolled back while your hips rolled forward in a needy attempt at getting the friction you hadn’t realized you were missing out on.

Changkyun sat smug beneath you, enjoying the frenzied way that you thrusted against him. Your teeth dug into his lips. It was as if you’d lost all control. Your animalistic need for him was outweighing any desire you had to preserve an image of a respectable woman. Then you were close, you could taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue. All you needed was maybe ten more seconds with his bulge. And then it was gone. With a surprising amount of strength he plucked you from his lap and you were back on the seat, stunned into silence.

“It seems we’re here.” Changkyun said calmly as he straightened out his shirt and jacket. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

“I..umm.” you straightened your skirt down your trembling legs. “Well… thank you for the ride. I appreciate it.”

“I should thank you for the ride.” He laughed and then he asked in a slightly condescending tone, “You didn’t expect me to go in with you did you?”

Too embarrassed to even look at him, you shook your head and opened the door, “Of course not. Uhm, bye.”

You slipped out of the car and began the shameful walk inside. You heard the door shut and were waiting for the car to drive off when you heard Changkyun call out to you.

“Why would I be expected to come inside when you didn’t even ask nicely?”

Turning around you smiled at the sight of him standing beside the waiting car, looking proud of himself for fooling you.

“Changkyun… would you like to join me inside?”

With his hands in his pockets he walked over slowly. Casually, taking in the outside view of your apartment building, until you were standing chest to chest. Leaning down he whispered against your ear, “I would love to come inside of you. Oop, I meant with you.”

Without even asking your brain permission, your hips pushed forward until they were pressed against his. “I-uh…”

“Go on…” he prompted. “Tell the truth. Tell me again what you want.”

He was so close you couldn’t miss the opportunity to taste him again. Kissing softly along his jaw until you met his ear you whispered, “I want you.”

“Want me to what?”

You blushed and shook your head, “Just you.”

“Come on, y/n.” He grinned, “I know how filthy you can get. I just watched you hump me relentlessly in the backseat of my car. Stop playing coy and tell me what it is that you want.”

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t feel my legs.”

He inhaled sharply and stepped back with a pleased smile, “Wonderful. Lead the way.”

Somewhere between your initial excitement outside of the apartment building and the ride up the elevator you remembered that your apartment was a mess. Usually your home had that typical ‘lived in’ feel to it, but it wasn’t a pigsty. However after the hurricane you had become in your attempt to get ready for your date it was a sloppy disaster. You tried to talk Changkyun into waiting out in the hall while you cleaned up but, too amused by your panic, he refused.

“May I have a look around?” Changkyun asked politely as you hurriedly picked up loose clothes from the floor.

“Sure...it’s messy. Obviously.” You warned, “I hadn’t planned on having anyone up.”

“Not even your date?” He called curiously from the living room as he surveyed your belongings.

You let out a quiet sigh as you considered how to answer him. Shaking your own head in disbelief you said, “I don’t typically do this kind of thing. You know, just… invite people home on the first date.”

Changkyun laughed heartily from the doorway of your bedroom and it made you jump. You hadn’t realized he was right there. “You don’t have to lie for my benefit. In fact I prefer your filthy, slutty honesty.”

Between the suggestive tone of his words and the dark look in his eyes, goosebumps popped up all over your body. He swiped his long, wet tongue over his lips and then casually turned his back on you to continue perusing your belongings.

“Can I get you anything? Water...wine…” you asked, lighting a scented candle and then leaning against the dresser once you’d finished your quick clean.

“Do you have any banana milk?” He asked and looked over his shoulder at your surprised face before he laughed, “I’m fucking with you. I don’t want anything.”

Your thighs rubbed anxiously together as you watched him look over your bookshelf. He opened a few boxes to find letters and photographs before moving on.

“You look like you’re looking for something.” You said with a tiny gulp.

“I am.” He said honestly before tugging open one of your bedside drawers.

“How do you know I even have what you’re looking for?”

He smirked as he made his way around the bed to the second drawer. Placing his hand on the handle he watched your cheeks flush and he said, “You absolutely have what I’m looking for...angel.”

You were practically shaking as he pulled the drawer open. He laughed again before reaching into the drawer and pulling out your favorite teal colored vibrator. Turning towards you he spun it around in his hand.

“Not even in the cute, silk drawstring bag for added privacy. Just sitting right on top where anyone can find it. What a bad girl...” He stepped over to you and dragged the toy against your thigh. “This guy must see a lot of action.”

“Maybe.” You said as he moved the vibrator up under your dress. “Why were you looking for it?”

“I wanted to see what you’re used to.” He leaned in until you felt his breath on your neck. “I wanted to see if you could take me.”

Your eyes closed gently, “And?”

“Inconclusive.” He said inhaling you deep into his chest. “I’ll have to conduct further tests. So if you’d be so kind as to go lay down for me.”

“Okay…”

“So agreeable.” He watched you slip past him and move toward the bed. “Take the dress off first.”

You stopped just at the edge of the mattress and unzipped the side of your dress. His eyes stayed on you as you tugged the dress off your shoulders and slipped it down your hips and thighs until it fell to the floor at your feet. Turning around you looked at him, his head was tilted and there was something evil in his smile as he took you in. Noticing that you hadn’t moved he looked up and caught your eyes and with a small shiver you climbed onto the mattress.

“No bra.” He noted.

“Doesn’t go with the cut of the dress.”

“Interesting that you didn’t plan on having any visitors tonight, and yet you’re wearing such mouthwatering panties. Maybe you’re just the type that owns only fancy matching sets.” He said, pushing himself off of your dresser and moving towards the bed, “If I check your panty drawer what will I find, y/n? A dozen matching lace, satin sets or a mismatched mess of cute cotton panties with pineapples and puppy dogs on them.”

“What do you think?” You asked softly as he sat down on the mattress next to you and crossed one leg over the other.

“I think I’d prefer you in neither.” He grinned, his pierced eyebrow raised and you realized his comment had been a subtle command.

Biting your lip, you squirmed as you pulled your panties off your hips and down your thighs. Changkyun cleared his throat and held out his hand once they’d unhooked from your ankles. You handed him the laced satin fabric. Fisting them in his hand he brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply with a satisfied groan.

“Mmm. That’s a five star cunt if I’ve ever smelled one.” He smiled, and placed the bundle of fabric in his pocket. His fingers danced across the skin of your stomach, over your hip, and down your thigh. “I’ve already done such a nice job on you. And we’ve only just begun.”

You watched quietly as he pushed your legs open and teased your soaked sex with this fingertips. They slipped over your slick folds, circled your sensitive clit, and dipped briefly into the velvety depth of you. He kept his eyes on your face the whole time, taking in every reaction, no matter how small. No matter how hard you tried to hide it from him, he was learning you too quickly. He lifted his glistening fingers to his mouth and hummed pleasantly as his tongue ran over them.

He dropped his hand down to your mouth and said, “Open.”

You twisted your tongue around his fingers before sucking them into your mouth. When he groaned and his eyes fell closed you wanted to cheer in celebration that you’d finally gotten him. Even if it was small, and even if he was definitely going to own you much harder, you internally celebrated your little victory. After a long minute passed with his fingers in your mouth he removed them from your lips and cupped your face in his hand.

“I...like you.” he said softly, rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

Dropping his hand beside him he picked up the vibrator that had been laying on the comforter. A shiver went through you when he clicked the toy on and brought it between your legs. Your toes were already starting to curl into the blanket beneath you and all he’d done was drag the vibrator over your pussy. He circled the toy around your clit several times before dragging it down and back up. You didn’t know exactly what his plan was but you loved how it felt. Once he’d gotten the vibrator as dripping wet as you were, he pressed it inside of you slowly. Your mouth fell open at the sudden filling sensation of it.

“Touch yourself.” he requested.

As your hand reached down to play with your hardened clit, Changkyun leaned forward and took one of your nipples in his mouth. There was something so...detached and demeaning in the way you were completely naked and exposed while he remained fully dressed. Despite how small he had you feeling, you still felt incredibly powerful with all of the focus being on you. It was surprisingly sexy. You moaned as you felt your oncoming orgasm for a second time that night, while he fucked you with your own vibrator. Your free hand slid up into Changkyun’s hair and massaged the back of his head as he continued to suck and tease your breasts with his teeth.

“Fuck!” You shouted, back arching off the mattress, “Don’t stop, I’m so close. I’m gonna cum.”

You were right there that moment of agony before the ecstasy. Except ecstasy didn’t come and neither did you. Changkyun had pulled the vibrator from between your legs and turned it off and with the loss of the fill your hand had dropped subconsciously.

“Why?” You whimpered.

This was the second time he’d done that tonight and you were annoyed and furious and so aroused you wanted to scream. He looked down at you, his fingers brushing a few stray strands of hair from your sweat beaded forehead.

He shrugged, “It’s funny. You’re very cute when you squirm.”

He stood up from the mattress and pulled his jacket from his body before folding it and hanging it over the plush reading chair in the corner. He hummed a cheerful song as he walked back to the bed, rolling his sleeves up his forearms. Standing at the end of the mattress, he looked over you. Grabbing your ankles and he dragged you down the bed slightly until he had you where he wanted you and then he climbed onto the bed between your legs. Spreading your legs wide open he admired what he’d done so far. You laughed to yourself as he inspected your swollen, sticky cunt.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, spreading your lips open.

“Nothing.” you answered quickly.

You gasped as he smacked your sensitive sex, “Don’t lie. Tell me what you think is so funny. I love a good joke just like anyone else.”

“It’s just…” you sighed, “If you’re going to try and eat me out...it’s not going to work. Not after you’ve already gone so hard with the vibrator. It just won’t be enough to get me off.”

He laughed lightly, “Do you mind if I try it? If you think it won’t work, it probably won’t work but, I’d still like to try.”

“I’ve never said no to head before.”

You’d had one boyfriend in the past who always asked you to sit on his face. It was some of the best head you’d ever gotten. The way his tongue got deeper than any other before him, you were sure it was the only way you could come from oral alone. That was until now, until Changkyun.

He started out so timid. Tiny kitten licks, a long slow swipe of his tongue from bottom to top. It was nice but as you’d suspected it wasn’t about to bring you to orgasm. Then he changed tempo and once he had you suspected that his original apprehension was a red herring.

He pushed your legs open and put the weight of his arms down on them to keep from moving, which was smart because in seconds your body was attempting to snap them shut on his face. He sucked your clit between his lips and beat it senselessly with the tiny metal piercing on his tongue. You’d been wrong, and if he’d asked you would have admitted it readily. However he didn’t ask, he just kept going. You fisted his hair in between your shaking fingers.

“What...the...fuck.” you gasped as he snaked his tongue inside of you.

Not just inside of you, but deep. Deeper than should have been physically possible. There was half a sense of concern, what had he actually shoved inside of you, but the rest of you just didn’t care. The part that didn’t care won over as your hips started to push up into his face, needing more.

“Oh my god!”

Your gasps turned to shouts of pleasure as he brought out his secret weapon. With his tongue impossibly deep inside of you, the piercing massaging your slick sensitive walls you thought you could come like that. Then his nose brushed against your clit. You couldn’t breath. Your eyes blew wide and it felt like everything you thought you’d known about your own body was a mistake.

“Yes!” You screamed out as your hips tried to buck further into his face, “Fuck! YES! Oh god! Oh- shit!”

He kept on and you kept screaming until there was aggressive pounding on your bedroom wall from your neighbor. You knew you should stop screaming, that you should pull yourself together, but Changkyun and his devilish relentlessness wouldn’t let you.

“Fuck! I'm gonna cum! I’m! Gonna-”

Changkyun pulled away from your pussy with a pop. He licked his lips as he pushed himself up off the mattress.

You deflated against the pillows like a sad balloon. “I don’t like you.”

He shrugged, “For a minute there it sounded like you were incredibly fond of me.”

“Why? Why do you hate me?”

“You said I wouldn’t be able to make you cum.” he said innocently, “It would have been so embarrassing for me if I failed, so I thought it would be better to just quit while I was ahead.”

Grabbing the pillow from beneath your head you swung it into his face. He grabbed the pillow with a genuine laugh and tossed it back on the bed.

“You know I was right there. You know you were going to get me off.” you glared. “Asshole.”

Walking around to the side of the bed he grabbed your hips and tugged you ruffly until your legs were hanging off of the edge where he stepped between them. He leaned forward and sucked the skin of your chest between his lips, moving up until he was latched onto your neck. Your arms slid up his back until your hands were hooked over his shoulders, holding him close.

Finally he pulled back slightly and whispered, “Maybe I just wanted to feel you cum on my dick. Would that be so bad?”

“No.” you said breathlessly as the dark look in his eyes washed over your body like a wildfire.

A gulp traveled down your throat as he stood fully and removed his belt and unzipped his pants. “Flip over for me.”

“I want to see it.” you said curiously.

“Fine.” he smirked and placed his hands on his hips. “Go ahead.”

Without a second thought you sat up on the bed and reached to unbutton his pants. You dragged them down his hips just slightly, along with the black boxer briefs beneath. Then, teeth digging anxiously into your bottom lip you freed the massive bulge you’d enjoyed so much earlier in the car.

“Oh.”

It was what you could only describe as the holy grail of dicks. Smooth and long, with perfect and even coloration. It was pretty. The thickness of it made you both nervous and excited. It sat heavy in your palm and the tip glistened with precum. Leaning forward you pressed a sweet kiss against the head and then sat back to lick the taste of him from your lips.

“Will it do?” he asked

“Only one way to find out.” you turned around, and dug your knees into the mattress.

You could feel his hand move between your legs once more. He pressed three fingers inside of you, just to be sure you wouldn’t be stretched too uncomfortably. When he finally sunk into you, you lurched forward onto the bed.

“Is that okay?” It shocked you how thoughtful and caring he sounded.

You nodded and pressed back into him for assurance. “Don’t stop this time.”

“I won’t.” he promised, his hands wrapping around your hips as he continued on.

It was so slow and easy at first, you thought it would be nice if he could just keep doing it forever. A long satisfied moan escaped your lips. Once he knew you’d taken to his size he went harder, faster. Reaching forward he grabbed your hair tightly in his fist and pulled you back against his chest. It surprised you how sensitive your skin was against the silk of his shirt. Almost as sensitive as your pussy had gotten to his silk cock. The arm that wasn’t hanging onto your hair slipped around your body, his hand cupping your bouncing breast.

“Oh! Fuck me! Harder!” you begged as he slammed into you.

Your orgasm was close, coming faster than any of the ones before and only building bigger with every hard thrust.

“Oh, baby…” he panted against the top of your head, feeling you start to contract around him.

Then your eyes went wide, “NO! What are you doing? Don’t you dare.”

He’d pulled out and hadn’t pushed back in with the swiftness as he had before.

Changkyun only laughed. “Calm down. I just want to see that pretty little face you’re about to make when you cum all over my fat cock .”

You flipped over one more time and looked up at him skeptically. “I swear to God...”

He chuckled as he lifted your leg up around his waist and sunk back into you. “God doesn’t give a fuck if you cum. I do.”

There was something about being face to face. Having your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his forehead pressed against yours, your tongue being gently sucked in between his lips. You were glad he’d made the switch. This was nice. And though he was still fully dressed it felt intimate.

“Oh..Changkyun...yes.” you cried out as your orgasm tore through you threefold. You’d never come so hard, you weren’t sure you could stop. The tightening of your walls milked out his own orgasm soon after. Your body shook almost violently as you came but so sweetly your voice flowed against his ear when you breathed out a simple, “Kyunnie…”

It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted anyone to know. If people found out it would make him appear soft and weak. However, as intentionally uncaring and cruel as he often came off, all he’d ever wanted was to be wanted. Really, truly wanted. Not wanted because he was attractive or rich or had a big dick. And it was impossible for him to know what you’d really wanted him for but it just felt different with you. It felt like more when you said his name like that, like you still wanted him even though he was done with you.

He knew when you said his name like that he’d fucked up. All he was trying to do was piss off Jooheon. It had been a joke. He didn’t plan to actually like you, he didn’t want to. He wanted to discard you like trash. Give you away to his brother as sloppy seconds and see how much he wanted you then.

“Stay here.” he said hurriedly. He pulled out of you and tucked himself into his pants before disappearing into your attached bathroom.

“Where would I go?” you muttered, before dropping back onto the mattress exhausted.

You closed your eyes and listened as he moved around your bathroom, trying to figure out what he was doing in there. You had figured he was just washing up but it was taking longer than you expected. When he finally returned you were nearly asleep.

“Not yet…” he said waking you up and then helping you off the bed. “Can’t let you go to bed looking like some teenage boys used sock.”

You snorted out a laugh and leaned your head against his shoulder. “You’re just so romantic I don’t know how to handle myself.”

In the bathroom you were genuinely stunned to see that he’d run a bath for you, complete with overflowing bubbles. He helped you step into the tub and eased you down into the warm water.

“Kyunnie…” he looked away from you and then gulped before looking back, “This is actually really sweet.”

“Well,” he grabbed a washcloth, dunking it into the water to use on your skin, “it can’t take all night. Minhyuk is still downstairs waiting for me.”

Lifting your hand you moved it over his neck and pulled him down for a kiss before muttering against his lips, “You can tell him to leave...stay the night with me.”

“I can’t.” he stood up from the tub and dropped the towel in the water. “I’m going to clean up out here. I’ll be back to get you out in a minute.”

He was panicking and he needed to get his composure back. It might be nice to stay the night with you. It might be what he wanted to do, but he wouldn’t. Not only was Minhyuk waiting to take him home, but Jooheon was waiting there for him. Jooheon. His brother. His only friend on earth. The only person who ever would and ever could understand him completely. The only person that would ever put up with his bullshit no matter what.

Jooheon. The one that he was certain was bound to you. At least if the mark on your forearm had anything to say about it.

So he took a deep breath, cleaned up the mess he’d made of your bed and went back to help you out of the tub like he said he would. He even dressed you and tucked you into the bed before getting his jacket off the chair. When he turned to say goodbye you were looking at him with big needy eyes and your lip between your teeth and he hated it.

“Will I see you again?” you asked.

He looked at you with one of his classically smug smirks that you’d seen over and over again all night and said, “I’m sure you will.”

#im changkyun scenario #lee jooheon scenario #im changkyun smut #monsta x scenarios #monsta x smut #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #I.M. scenario #I.M. smut

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weepretzels · 4 years

Text

why aren’t we careful readers? why aren’t we careful writers?

everyone has opinions about stories, everyone is clamoring about what a story should or should not contain, and I see quite often a confusion between what is produced singularly and what is produced for the thrill of the average reader; in their assessments other readers are looking for keywords to check off on their rubrics, their pre-assembled requirements which, like a glass box, expect every story that meets the definition of “good” to fit perfectly inside; people are looking for “tension,” people are looking for conflict and resolution, people are looking for action, for excitement, people are looking for something that makes sense to them, something tied up neatly, something explicitly resolved. I’m seeing a decrease in the number of readers who are willing to engage with what’s on the page more than they are willing to interact with who they are as a reader; is workshop pedagogy to blame for this “story by committee” attitude of the contemporary reader, who demands a story be what they want it to be, and if it fails to, deem this some failure; why can’t we look at what is on the page, why can’t we take it for what it is, why do stories need to hit these keywords like tension or resolution, and what’s more, why isn’t anybody able to slow down, why can’t anyone stay with a slow story, a story that builds through dialogue or exposition, a story that meanders, a story that pulls strings together lithely to come to an emotionally smart ending? a lot of these stories I’m reading are far from perfect, but I’m disturbed by other readers being unable to grasp things that aren’t explicitly enumerated on the page, I’m disturbed by this desire for a story to be loud, I’m disturbed by these other readers’ lack of criticism of characters, especially women, that fall into well-worn roles, into women that are pitted against each other for their beauty or their “lack” of it, I’m disturbed by the number of pieces coming in written by men about some ethnic woman who induces a sexual and spiritual awakening in the male narrator and I’m disturbed that these narrators think this is love, I’m disturbed that other people working in the publishing industry aren’t able to read all these different kinds of stories equally, that there’s an explicit bias in all their decisions, that they’ll pass along a story up the chain because it ticks all the genre convention’s boxes, I’m disturbed that they send stories up the chain that completely strip women characters bare of any personality or characterization other than their relationships to men. I’m disturbed that everyone has opinions about what a story should be but so few have the patience to actually read what is on the page in front of them, especially, and really only, when that story is quiet, when that story is operating on nuance, when that story is about women and their emotional connections, when that story makes you patient. like Willa Cather said, we have to first distinguish between what’s produced for the masses and what is produced as art. the masses want change, they want to be shocked and they always want something new. i think literature as art is all of these things, but in a timeless way, in a purposefully crafted way, in a patient way. and i think literature as art shows up on the page. everyone who thinks Hemingway’s philosophy of the iceberg in fiction is the way to go has probably only ever read hills like white elephants. they’ve never read big two-hearted river. this man waxes on. people think they get to have an idea for a story, write that idea down on the paper, and then submit it to a literary magazine and it’s going to get published. where’s the part where you waxed on? where’s the part where you crafted this story with your own two hands? where’s the part where you made this something? i always write in my comments for stories that aren’t cutting it, “the writing isn’t doing that much work.” what i mean is that the writer had the idea but didn’t put it on the page. we sometimes have to be explicit, we sometimes can’t rely on implying everything, we can’t sprinkle clues through the pages like breadcrumbs and expect the readers to do all the work. why write the story if you’re not even going to say what it is you have to say? why dance around the themes and the impact? PUT IT ON THE PAGE. and make it interesting, give it texture, give it energy. do everything on purpose. and EDIT. go back and read it and if it’s not doing anything, take it out. if it’s not doing enough, write more. don’t rely on a surprise ending; a thoughtful and perceptive reader has seen it coming. and just because you’ve written it doesn’t mean it’s ready to be published. there are some things you have to finish a draft of and then put it in the bottom drawer for a while, to draw back out again when they’re ready. you know how your first love is something you want to keep more than you can express but you don’t have the skills yet to keep it? you don’t have the relationship experience or the maturity to make it last? i think as writers we have to let ourselves mature enough to be ready for certain stories. you need to write. get it on the paper. but have enough discernment to know when something is bigger than you, to know when something is more powerful than you can handle right now. and then go back to it later. we can blame my mars in taurus for this, maybe, or my cancer sun, but you have to be patient. if you’ve finished a piece, you’ve edited it and worked on it, share it with someone you trust, and then wait a couple weeks before you decide what to do with it. and you have to keep reading. as someone working in the publishing industry i can’t tell you how many submissions i read where i can spot the TV tropes from the first paragraph. the media you consume will inevitably show up on the page. if you want to write literary fiction, you can’t spend all your time watching TV. read a goddamn book. read the book that your writing professor wrote. read first novels and most recent novels. read short stories, contemporary ones and not that raymond carver shit. read what is new and contemporary. and journal. write your own life and your own lived experience. don’t try to copy what someone else has already done. i can tell you the industry is looking for the fresh, fresh takes on old stories and characters is fine, but something i’ve completely never seen before, that is more stunning, that is a piece i’m going to pass on right away and even email the editors about. you have a story in you that nobody else can write. why would you write an imitation when you can write something new? it might not be in the form you always thought of yourself writing in. i thought i’d publish short fiction for the longest time, and i’m just now figuring out that auto-fiction works a lot better for me. go to therapy. i mean it. learn about yourself, put time towards yourself, find out what drives you and what matters to you. your writing will only gain from any effort you put into your own self-care. be patient and know that when you start a story, you’re going into it for the long haul. you’re going into it for the first draft, that pulse of adrenaline and pride as you hold the first printed copy hot off your home printer in your hands, you’re going into it for the several revisions after that ,you’re going into it for the inevitable overhaul at some point down the line, and you’re going into it for the waiting, for the time it’ll spend in the bottom drawer as you mature and become ready for it. you’re going into it for that moment, months or years from now, when you’re holding the latest copy in your hands, hot off your home printer, and you just know that it’s ready, and complete, and even perhaps the very thing you were born to write. what makes you a great writer is what makes you you. if you can learn to accept this, then i believe you’ll become a better reader, too. what if we looked at every story that came across our workshop table with the same respect we paid every idea we took the time to write down ourselves? we’d have a lot fewer rubrics, a lot more patience, a lot more curiosity, a lot more willingness to set aside our own desires and expectations for others’ work, a less entitled eye, a kinder and gentler perspective, and perhaps a return to the essentials: good writing takes numberless forms and tells numberless stories. if we had the patience and discipline, we might even be good enough readers to recognize whatever kernels of skill and goodness are in the manuscripts we come across and to build up from those, whatever they might be. if we were patient and disciplined enough, we’d stop producing imitations, we’d stop writing “stock” or cliche or stereotype. we’d get out of this mindset of “everything has to be what i want it to be” and “what can i learn from the best possible version of this story?” being a discerning and patient reader will also teach us when to abandon certain ideas and when to go for others. i see so many stories that lack focus and in the end, end up saying nothing at all, or end up saying something that other authors have said many times before. read outside of your comfort zone, push yourself to be patient, dedicated, and open. and slow down and actually read the manuscript in front of you. sit on your hands if you’re tempted to go after it in red pen—markups are a second-read privilege. SLOW DOWN AND READ THE STORY. SLOW DOWN AND WRITE THE STORY, PUT THE STORY ON THE PAGE, DON’T TAKE SHORTCUTS, DO THE HARD WORK, FOLLOW THROUGH.

#i literally HATE the other reader assigned to the same submissions as me #he misreads stories all the time and has absolutely no patience for stories that don't have the traditional story arc in them #he also throws around keywords like tension and resolution etc #he will straight up just MISS THE POINT or actually get details wrong #i read his comments like what the fuck are we reading the same manuscript #the only stories i have seen him upvote are ones in which the women characters are depicted as having no other characterization than their #relationship to the men in their lives and the men are fucking other women and there's jealousy and anger between the WOMEN and #i read a story i liked earlier today and i couldn't upvote it because it was a bit incoherent but i was like i bet russell would have hated #this story because it's about four women and sure enough he called their discussion aimless banter they were LITERALLY TALKING ABOUT THEIR #FRIEND WHO HAD DIED? AND SUMMONED HER SPIRIT TO APOLOGIZE TO HER AND MOURN HER DEATH TOGETHER??????#YEAH YOU ARE A GREAT FUCKING READER #i hate him i hate him i hate him i don't trust him how did he get the same job as me #he also has published a book lol i am really curious maybe he's a way better writer than reader #cause he SUCKS AT READING!!#anyway this rant has been building up in me since i was born in 1992 #here u go #if u read it i love you

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tiaragqueen · 5 years

Text

At The End Of Her Tether

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Wu Yifan x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,6k

✂ Trigger Warning: Isolation, possessive behavior, jealousy, slight angst, demeaning nicknames, yandere theme.

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day! [Edited]

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

"You're reaching out, and no one hears your cry. You're freaking out again, cause all your fears remind you. And all the dream has come undone." - Desperate [David Archuleta]

Two years.

It’s been two fucking years since you left him. Him, the only one who loved you. Him, the only one who cared for you. Him, the only one who knew everything about you.

And him, who sacrificed everything just to be with you. For you.

Kris was a man of few words. That, and his inability to fully express his feelings made him unreadable to others. For these very reasons, many people dubbed him as ‘boring’, ‘too quiet’, and to some extent ‘robot’. It hurt to hear those demeaning nicknames just because he possessed high self-control, especially the latter.

Just because he rarely showed emotions didn’t mean he was a robot. He, like any other humans in the world, had feelings. He did feel angry, sad, content, excited, and sometimes a mixture of all those things. He did feel the emotional rollercoaster sometimes, and he did cry once in a while. It was a shame that very few people realized that, and went on with their shallow judgments. They spread lies to the others to make them believe he was a pathetic loser with no friends. That pathetic loner who had trust issues because he was too cynical.

That pathetic loner with nobody to love, and to be loved.

Kris used to pray for a miracle; for someone to notice how lonely and hurt he was. He’d prayed for someone to befriend him, to go through thick and thin with him, to be loyal to him despite his distant attitude. He didn’t really think about a lover that time, as he considered dating someone to be too much of a stretch.

And God eventually granted his heartfelt wishes.

It was one overcast day – snowdrops falling from the cloudy sky and the atmosphere was bleak overall – during his first encounter with you. You were working as a cashier in some convenience store when a tall man approached the counter. He was buying toiletries and groceries, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the bags under his eyes; definitely bigger and darker than yours. From his appearance, you deduced that he couldn’t definitely be older than twenty. However, his exhausted face made him look like a thirty-or-something.

“Hey, you’re okay?”

Kris glanced up from the iron countertop, finding you staring at him with a concerned mien. Not wanting to waste his time chatting around with some random stranger – and a staff nonetheless – he silently nodded.

“Oh, well,” you coughed into your palm, suddenly became conscious that you might have been a bit rude towards him. “It's just... you look very tired.”

“I didn’t have much sleep last night.” he murmured, voice so soft you almost misheard it.

You frowned. “Well, that’s not good at all. You look younger than me, and yet your face seems like an old man. A jaded old man.”

Curiosity peaked, Kris asked. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.” You bit your bottom lip at the sudden realization. “Oh, man. I just realized how old I am. This is why I avoid talking about age.”

Kris smiled. It was small – you weren’t sure if you saw it had his eyes didn’t soften a little – but it made your heart flutter nonetheless. You always loved bringing a smile on to other people’s faces, no matter how minuscule it might be.

“You know, your smile is very beautiful.”

Caught off guard, Kris snapped his head towards you at a surprising speed. You smiled and maintained steady eye contact, showing him your sincerity. Blood slowly rushed into his cheeks as he bowed in bashfulness.

“Thank you...”

Ever since that day, Kris made an effort to shop in that store more often and talked with you. You also began to exchange your number, leading to deep conversations in the middle of the night. The night where his depression hit him. The night where he couldn’t sleep because he was too busy thinking about you.

What were you doing?

Have you eaten yet?

Did you get enough sleep?

Whenever you were absent or on a vacation, he felt a slight pang in his chest. Kris used to think that it was odd to get attached to a new friend, but after meeting you, he started to consider that maybe – just maybe – you weren’t so bad at all. You were easy-going, understanding, and sympathetic. You never seemed irritated whenever he texted you on ungodly hours or calling you because he was struck with a longing to hear your voice.

That soothing voice that always eased his tensed nerves. That giddy voice when you told him something interesting that happened today. That melodic laugh that echoed in his mind when he made a joke.

Kris never perceived himself as funny, but after listening to you laughed to a corny pun that he made on the spot, he endeavored to be as funny as possible. He wanted to be the reason for your smile, of your laughter, the same way you made him smile that time.

That wish to bring happiness to you eventually blossomed into romantic feelings. He couldn’t help it; you were too precious for him. You had proven yourself as a worthy and loyal friend, and Kris desired a deeper relationship with you. He didn’t want to lose you to anyone else.

Which led him to confess to you.

It took a long time for you to accept his confession. Not because you didn’t like him – you did, yet the sentiment was nothing compared to his – but because you wanted to make sure he wouldn’t cheat on you. That this relationship wouldn’t be a waste of time. You were aware that it was impossible to control people’s feelings, because who knows what would happen a month or a year later? Then again, the chance of him being disloyal to you was slim. But you wanted to ensure things wouldn’t change in the near future.

And Kris held on to his vow. The vow to be a good boyfriend and a best friend, because being in a relationship with you didn’t mean he would stop befriending you. He knew that those two could be very different things depending on the problems that arise.

It was truly a delight to date him. He was a hundred times more caring, kinder, and attentive than he already was. It was like he had developed a sixth sense to detect your wants and negativity that came from day-to-day troubles. You appreciated his efforts to always put your needs above his, even though you had repeatedly told him to think about himself too.

Everything was sunshine and rainbow. You grew to love him even more; his little quirks, attitude, looks, and everything he had offered. However, you had underestimated how jealous he could be given the circumstances. It didn’t matter if you were merely glancing at a random person, he would still take it to the heart.

“Kris, let me out, please! I’ll do anything just please... please don’t lock me in here. Please!”

Your scream and sobs echoed in the otherwise quiet house. Kris leaned against the wall beside the door that led to a room; devoid of any furniture except a single tray that contained your dinner. He didn’t know if you had eaten it yet, seeing as you had passed out from fatigue during the daytime earlier. It was a waste of food, but he was fully aware that all you needed was freedom. A breath of fresh air. Not a small room with the dizzying smell of paint wafting around.

“I'm begging you, Kris, let me out! I’ll promise I won’t talk to him again! I’ll do anything, just please let me out!”

Kris squeezed his eyes shut to prevent the tears from leaking as he listened to you coughing and whimpering inside. He didn’t want to do this – heck, he was willing to gloss over it – had you didn’t choose to escape.

Then again, if anyone – any sane person – were to look at it through another point of view, it would be understandable if you made such a rash decision. Kris could be cruel if he wanted to, and although his punishment was normally sexual, you refused to lay on the bed crying your heart out. It was enough that you had more than enough time stewing over what had been, over what you had missed.

Just for once, you wanted to be able to independent. You wanted to be free from his suffocating clutch. You wanted a taste of freedom; something that you used to take for granted.

But that choice only turned to bite you back in the end.

The door creaked after you had collapsed from hours of wailing and sobbing. Even though you saw Kris slinking inside, even though you were begging for him less than five minutes ago, you had never been happier at the sight of the light that poured inside the room. It gave you hope that you were still alive – that you didn’t need to be trapped in this hellhole again.

And perhaps, you could regain that freedom you had so carelessly let go in a moment of complacency. No matter how farfetched it might sound. No matter how laughable the mere notion of you escaping his tight hug.

“You promise to be a good girl, right?” he whispered in your ear as he caressed the hair that clung on to your sweaty forehead. “You promise to never leave me again, right? I’d hate to do this for the second time if I see you repeat your mistake.”

Or maybe not.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and buried your tear-stained face against his chest. You were tired. So, so tired it felt like your soul had left your body.

It would be good if that was true. If that could be reality. At least, you never had to deal with him again.

“Yes...”

#yandere kris #yandere kris wu #yandere exo #yandere kpop #yandere kpop au #kpop yandere #yandere exo au #yandere kris x reader #yandere kris wu x reader #yandere exo x reader #yandere wu yifan #yandere wu yifan x reader

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bohemian-napsodyy · 5 years

Text

Angels

As an era comes to an end, you can’t help but reflect upon that shy boy who captured your heart all those years ago.

Word Count: just a warning, this is really long. I wanted to split it up into parts, but it would take away from the story. It’s 8.1k, and I am honestly so sorry.

Warnings: idk if this is considered a warning but the reader’s family isn’t exactly welcoming to Freddie’s family. please note that for this imagine, this is a fictional family, and not they are not an insert like Y/N. Y/N’s family are characters I made up, and are meant to represent the mindset that many families in England in the 50s and 60s had towards immigrants.

A/N: i did more research for this one fic than i have ever done for any school project jesus christ

This is definitely one giant-ass monstrosity of a fic, but I was so happy with how it turned out that I actually cried when I finished it. I never wanted it to end. Sorry, I’m trying not to be too too mushy, but...

This fic is definitely very close to my heart. I hope it’s able to touch your heart, too.

Something was wrong. You felt it in your gut.

The moment you saw Roger, standing beside his parked car with his cell phone hanging limply in his hand, your mind automatically started jumping to conclusions.

Fuck off, you told yourself as soon as the worst scenario imaginable popped into your mind. Roger’s probably just tired and stressed out or something. We all are.

You parked your car behind Roger’s, grabbing the roses you had laid carefully in the passenger seat. They were Freddie’s favourite. Jim had said the other day to not bring anything, only yourself, but you figured the small bundle of flowers could brighten Freddie’s day.

Roger glanced at you as you got out of the car, flowers in hand. He seemed stunned, almost as if he had been electrocuted. You could see the way his hands trembled as he took in breath after shaky breath. His eyes were glassy.

“Rog, hey,” you raced over to him, reaching to place a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. He shook you off as soon as you touched his jacket. “Roger, what’s wrong?”

He motioned to your flowers with a nod of his head. You noted how his lower lip trembled when he saw them. It was such a small reaction, but it terrified you nonetheless.

“You... you won’t be needing those, Y/N. I think we should both just go home.”

Your eyes widened at Roger’s ominous reply. Your insides felt far too heavy for your own body.

“Did he- did Freddie...?”

Your breath left you with a whoosh as Roger nodded.

“Phoebe just called.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and two tears spilled slowly down his cheeks. “Fred’s gone. Just now.”

You weren’t sure if the flowers were still clutched in your hand. Everything felt cold and numb. Your tears felt like ice as they slid down your face.

A sob escaped, as hard as you tried to keep it in, and Roger stepped forward and threw his arms tightly around you. You could feel his shoulders trembling.

You closed your eyes as you tried to dull the sharp pain stabbing your heart.

All you wanted right now was to go back in time twenty-seven years ago, to when you first saw that shy boy across the street.

All you wanted was to relive every moment with Freddie, all over again.

August, 1964

“Where are you going, Y/N?”

You froze at the front door, one hand in the middle of reaching for the doorknob. Your grip tightened on the bunch of flowers you had gathered from your backyard.

“To visit the new neighbours,” you explained slowly. “The ones across the street, they just moved in last week. I figured they could use a friend, Dad. I haven’t seen anyone else do anything nice for them yet.”

Your dad looked up from his newspaper, and your heart sank as he raised an eyebrow at you ever so slightly.

“The Pakis? Bloody hell, Y/N, I know we’ve told you to make friends but you should honestly avoid people like them-”

“Dad, stop. They seem really nice, and I’m sure they could use a warm welcome-”

Your dad cut you off with a hmph, and with a flick of his newspaper, he went back to reading. When you knew he wasn’t looking at you anymore, you couldn’t hold back from rolling your eyes and shaking your head in disbelief. If anything, the family across the street could probably use a friend more than anyone. They were moving into a new country, a new culture, and all you wanted was to make them feel a little more welcome here in Feltham.

As you shut the door behind you, you saw the family get out of their car and head quickly into the house. You had to hurry -- the last person, a boy not much older than you it seemed, was just about to close the door.

“Hey!” You called out, breaking into a sprint as you raced towards their house. “Hey, wait!”

You were running so fast, you didn’t even register the curb. A dull pain ran through your foot as you caught your toe on the edge and went flying forward onto the pavement.

You could hear footsteps approaching quickly, and you looked up to see the boy peering at you, his features etched with concern.

“Are you alright?”

His voice was soft, you noted. Gentle and quiet. It was something you weren’t used to since it seemed everyone in your family liked speaking with raised voices all the time.

“Uh, yeah I think so... I just tripped, really-”

A hand was thrust into your face as the boy awkwardly offered to help you to your feet. You took his hand with a grateful nod as he pulled you up.

“I was going to give you these, as a welcome gift...” you began, staring bitterly at the now-smushed flowers in your hand. You didn’t let go of them when you tried to break your fall, and they had gotten crushed from the impact.

“Sorry,” you continued. “They looked better five minutes ago.”

The boy smiled, and you noticed he had quite an adorable overbite. He took the flowers gently from you anyways.

“Thank you,” he replied softly. “I still think they’re quite nice.”

You smiled at his remark, as you brushed the dirt off your shirt and shorts.

“Freddie.”

You looked up, a faint frown on your features. “Hm?”

“Um... that’s me. I’m Freddie.”

You smiled, and extended your hand for a handshake.

“I’m Y/N. And that’s my house, actually, right over there.”

You gestured to the brown house across the street with a nod, and Freddie returned your small smile as he shook your hand.

“I guess we’re neighbours then.”

The two of you stood there, both silent. Your mind raced as you tried to think of ways to keep up the conversation. Freddie was just so... quiet.

“Do you like The Beatles?”

Freddie’s sudden question surprised you, but in a good way. Your heart swelled as you thought back to one of your favourite bands.

“I do,” You answered with a grin. “There’s no one quite like them actually.”

“Have you listened to A Hard Day’s Night yet?” Freddie asked you. His eyes began to sparkle as he spoke. “It just came out last month, actually.”

“I haven’t!” You replied, shaking your head. “I really want to though, but I’m trying to save up for school next month.”

“You should come over sometime, then.” Freddie encouraged, nudging your shoulder gently. “I just bought it, you can come and listen if you’d like?”

You couldn’t fight the smile that seemed to bloom bigger and bigger on your face.

“I’d love that, Freddie.” Your voice came out soft, like his. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

July, 1966

“...and since you told me I could bring a friend along to Camber Sands,” you continued. “I was thinking we could take Freddie along? His parents never go anywhere on vacation, and I’m sure he’d love to come-”

“If Y/N brings him along,” your brother protested, slamming down his fork onto the table with a clang. “I’m not going. End of story.”

“Sam, don’t be so fucking dramatic.” You rolled your eyes at him. “I’ve known Freddie for two years and he hasn’t done anything wrong, so shut up.”

“But people like them are stealing our jobs!” Sam exclaimed, gesturing madly towards Freddie’s house across the street. “We’re going to end up even lower than working class, there’s going to be no work left for us! And you support people like them, Y/N!”

“First of all,” you yelled, feeling adrenaline rush through your veins as you fought to defend one of your closest friends. “Until you get your ass out of the house for once and find work of your own, you have no right to say they’re stealing our jobs! And secondly, they’re no different from us! We’re people all the same.”

“Y/N,” Your mum warned, raising her eyebrows at you as she glanced at your from across the table. “That’s enough, sit back down.”

You clenched your jaw as you sunk back down into your seat. You made sure to shoot a glare at your brother sitting across from you.

“Sam is right,” Your father piped up before he ate another piece of broccoli from his plate. “I don’t like the Bulsara family one bit.”

“Dad, they’ve never even been rude to us!” You protested. “Freddie’s mum even brought us some of her baking as a gift over the holidays, even though they don’t celebrate Christmas. They’re definitely kinder than our next door neighbours.”

You heard your mum let out a sigh as she glanced thoughtfully out the window, towards Freddie’s house.

“Fine,” she concluded, her voice tight. “You can bring Freddie along.”

You sighed in relief, a smile blooming on your face just as Sam started grumbling under his breath.

“But,” she said, holding a finger up to silence Sam, as well as indicate she had exceptions. “He’s to sleep on the sofa in the living room, not in your room.”

Your eyes widened at your mum’s order. Just a few days ago she had said there were two twin beds in the room you’d be staying in. If you did decide to bring a friend, she had said, you could both stay in one room together.

“But mum, you said-”

You broke off when your mum shot you a warning glance. You knew better than to argue with her.

“Okay.” You surrendered with a sigh. “Freddie sleeps on the couch, got it.”

The drive to Camber Sands was awkward to say the very least. Your brother stayed true to his word, and he didn’t come along. You had tried insisting to your mum that since Sam was now out of the picture, Freddie could sleep in what would’ve been Sam’s room. All you managed to get out of that argument was a shake of the head and another warning glance.

Other than the first few polite and constricted ‘hello’s that occurred when Freddie first joined your family in the car, the drive was practically silent. Freddie busied himself by gazing out the window, and somewhere along the way you ended up fast asleep on Freddie’s shoulder.

You jolted awake to the sound of a car door slamming. As you took in your surroundings, Freddie gazed down at you with a smile.

“Good morning,” he said softly with a smirk. “You’ll be happy to know you slept through the entire trip, and we’re back home -- surprise!”

You giggled at his greeting and whacked his arm playfully. He stuck his tongue out at you in response.

“Race you to the door!” Freddie exclaimed, bolting out of the car and up the driveway towards the little house your parents had rented for the weekend. You were about to sprint behind Freddie, yelling in protest how he had an unfair head-start when the glare from your dad stopped you in your tracks.

“Please, before you do anything else Y/N, help us unpack.”

You sighed and grabbed Freddie’s bag as well as your own. You couldn’t help but glance wistfully at Freddie who had already made it to the front door in a matter of seconds. His triumphant smile faltered as he saw the stern look on your dad’s face, and before you knew it Freddie came running right back over to your side.

“Sorry,” he whispered under his breath, gently grabbing his bag out of your hands. “I got too carried away there, I’m so sorry.”

It’s not your fault, you wanted to argue. It never was, Freddie. You did nothing wrong. My dad is just a bit of an uptight jerk sometimes.

“It’s fine,” You replied stiffly, casting a nervous glance at your parents who seemed to still stare at Freddie as if they’d never seen him before in their lives. “Let’s just unpack quickly, so we won’t have to worry about this anymore.”

“Hey Freddie?”

“Hm?”

You glanced at Freddie, whose gaze was still glued to the horizon. After unpacking your belongings, the two of you had raced down to the beach, where you found the perfect spot to relax at the top of a hill. From here, all you could see was ocean and sky. The hues of tangerine and rose and violet from the sunset were currently being reflected on Freddie’s face. He could’ve passed for someone in a Monet painting, he was practically glowing.

“Should we be heading back? It’s going to get dark soon, and it’s quite a long walk back to the house-”

Freddie silenced you by snatching your wrist suddenly, before lacing his fingers gently through your own.

“Let’s just wait a while longer,” you heard him whisper as he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You weren’t sure if Freddie was even blinking, he had been staring at the sunset for so long. “We’re on vacation darling, it’s alright.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Darling. He had never called you that before.

Lost for words, you turned your gaze back to the sunset, resting your head gently on Freddie’s shoulder.

“Okay.”

The moon had taken the sun’s place in the sky by the time you finally returned back to the vacation home. You tentatively opened the door a crack and motioned for Freddie to remain quiet. You were already running through excuse after excuse, trying to find the right one to justify why you and Freddie had been gone for so long.

To your relief, your parents had already gone to bed, and their door was shut. You’d worry about explanations tomorrow.

You began to make your way up the stairs to your room, when Freddie tapped your shoulder gently.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You turned around, frowning for a moment as you were just about to ask Freddie why he wasn’t following you upstairs.

Oh.

The couch.

You felt horrible that he had to sleep on the couch, especially knowing there was another twin bed in your room that was probably, no -- definitely, more comfortable.

Your parents wouldn’t notice... would they?

All you had to do was make sure Freddie was awake before them to be able to tiptoe back downstairs and make it appear as if he had slept on the overstuffed monstrosity all night.

“Why don’t you sleep upstairs with me?” You suggested quietly, your voice wavering nervously in fear of your parents hearing you. “There’s an extra bed in my room, and this couch looks horrible.”

Freddie let out a little laugh as he frowned at the couch.

“Are you sure? I’m quite fine here, really -- I am.”

You shook your head as you marched over to Freddie and grabbed his hand. He could be so stubborn sometimes.

“You’re too young to have the back issues of a seventy-year-old woman just because of some musty old couch,” you giggled as you and Freddie tiptoed upstairs.

“Aw, you young’uns are so responsible -- taking care of your elders.” Freddie did his best impression of an old lady, and you had to cover your mouth with your hand to hold back your giggles. The last thing you wanted was to wake up your parents.

“Shut up!” You hissed, grinning from ear to ear. “Now come on, grandma. Let’s get to sleep.”

April, 1969

“Turn around for me, one more time darling.”

You extended your arms outwards and twirled in a small circle for what felt like the fifteenth time in the last five minutes. You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped as you felt your stomach grumble.

“Freddie, I’ve told you, these coats are beautiful. There’s nothing more that needs to be done.”

“But something doesn’t look right on this one,” Freddie mumbled. He got up from the chair he was sitting in and approached you quickly, one hand reaching to brush over the collar of the jacket he had gotten you to try on. His fingers accidentally ghosted over your neck, and you felt you heart quicken its pace. You inhaled sharply, and tried to cover it up with a cough.

“It’s missing something,” Freddie mumbled. He gazed at you, his eyes searching your own as if you held the answer to his dilemma. “It needs a final touch...”

You sighed as you watched your best friend glare at the coat you were wearing. Freddie was staring so intently at it, you wouldn’t be surprised if it would catch on fire any moment now.

“Freddie I think it looks just fine, your profs will love it.”

“No they won’t.” Freddie dismissed you with a wave of his hand as he crinkled his nose and plunked back down in his chair. “No, not this. Y/N, help me darling. Please. Something’s missing, what is it?”

You sighed as your stomach grumbled once more. You had been at Freddie’s place for the entire day helping him with his final projects for school, and you hadn’t eaten anything more than a piece of plain toast and half a cup of tea. You were starving.

You tilted your head in thought as you gazed at your reflection in the mirror.

“Well...” You mused, lifting your arms ever-so-slightly to get a better look at the coat Freddie made. “I mean... this looks more like a winter jacket than the red one. The accent on the red one was the buttons, and if you decide to add more to this one then-”

“Y/N, you’re fucking brilliant!” Freddie suddenly yelled, leaping up from his chair and kissing you on the cheek. He made a dramatic mwah! sound, before touching the collar of the jacket once more.

“Of course it looks more like a winter jacket, the colour gave it all away, why didn’t I see it before?” Freddie mumbled, grabbing your shoulders gently and turning you so that you both were looking at each other in the mirror. “It needs a fur collar of some sort. That’s the final touch.”

You beamed, thankful you were able to help Freddie through his dilemma. Not only that, but it also meant you could finally take a break and eat a snack, thank goodness.

“Your profs will be blown away by these.” you said proudly as you carefully handed the jacket back to Freddie.

“Oh, I know they will, darling,” Freddie replied with a wink. “I won’t settle for anything less.”

November, 1974

“Y/N, there you are!”

You spun around as you heard your name being called to see Roger rushing over to you with an urgent look in his eye.

“Jesus Christ, we’ve been looking all over for you, where’ve you been?”

You gaped at him as he pulled you down the hall towards their dressing room.

“I just-” You spluttered, stumbling over your feet as you tried to keep up with Roger. “Rog, I was just getting a drink, calm down! What happened?”

“Nothing... yet.” He replied, slightly out of breath from running with you down the hall all the way back to the boys’ dressing room. “Freddie was about to flip his shit though, he’s been asking all over for you.”

“There you are darling, took you long enough! Come on, quickly.”

Before you could ask Roger what he meant, Freddie had popped his head around the doorframe and motioned for you to come inside.

Freddie had invited you to come see them perform tonight. He had practically been jumping off the walls, he was so excited when you finally agreed. You had never gotten the opportunity to watch Queen perform live, and to be honest you were quite excited as well.

“Can I help with anything?” You offered as you stepped inside. You gave a small wave to John and Brian, who were busy rehearsing on the couch at the other end of the dressing room. They both looked up from their guitars and waved back, John adding in a friendly ‘hello, Y/N!’.

“Yes, I want you to do my makeup.”

You froze.

“Freddie, don’t you have a makeup assistant for that?”

“Indeed I do,” Freddie sat back down with a flourish. “A lovely makeup artist named Y/N. Now come on, hurry up. We’ll have to go on soon and I can’t go out looking like this.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Freddie gestured to his face in the mirror.

“I think you could,” you replied quietly, gently running a hand through his hair before grabbing a few items from the makeup tray in front of you. “You have a lovely face Freddie, you don’t need anything more to add to it. You’re beautiful as it is.”

Your heart jolted as Freddie tilted his head at your words, gazing at you inquisitively.

“You really mean it?” He asked you doubtfully, astonishment lacing his tone. You nodded, biting back the blush that was fighting its way up your face. At the same time, your heart sank at the thought that your best friend didn’t see himself in the same light you did.

“Of course I do, Fred. I’d never lie about something like that, you know me.” you whispered, glancing nervously at Roger who was complaining about how he couldn’t find his ‘good pair’ of pants. If he ever heard you subtly trying to hint at your crush on Freddie, he’d never let you hear the end of it.

You couldn’t decide between gold or black eyeliner, and so you held both of them up in front of Freddie for him to choose.

“Which one would you like?”

“Both,” Freddie nodded. “The more glamorous the better, dear. If there’s glitter in there, I’ll take that too.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh as you uncapped the black eyeliner.

“Alright, now you’d better hold still or else we’ll both have a disaster on our hands...”

You placed one hand gently on the side of Freddie’s face for stability, but just before you could begin with the eyeliner, he caught your wrist.

“Hm? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just...” Freddie opened his eyes, and for a moment you felt like you were sinking fast into his gaze.

Mary sure is one lucky lady, you thought sadly. As quick as the thought popped into your mind, you swatted it away. You weren’t going to let something as trivial as Mary ruin a wonderful night. Besides, Freddie had been with her for almost five years, it was nothing new-

“Thank you. For... you know. What you said.”

Your heart softened at Freddie’s words, and before the rational side of you had the ability to think twice, you leaned forward and kissed Freddie gently on the cheek.

“I’m always here for you,” you whispered. “I’ll always be here, Freddie. No matter what.”

You pulled away, studying Freddie’s features as you held the eyeliner pencil in your hand. His eyes were still locked on yours, and it made your heart do somersaults in your chest.

“Now,” You declared, pushing away with a wave of your hand all the emotions that were building up inside you far too quickly for your own liking. “Let’s make you look like an absolute angel, shall we?”

February, 1977

“Y/N, I think you just need to tell him,” you heard Roger sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re starting to drive me insane, I can’t imagine how the fuck you’ve managed to keep this in for so long.”

You exhaled a long puff of air as you tried to calm your racing heart. You began to twirl the cord of the phone nervously around your finger.

The thought had occurred to you this morning. Freddie had invited you over for tea. You had been wanting to admit your feelings to him for so long, but you held yourself back. The time you had to spare before needing to be at Freddie’s place was a curse -- you kept wondering if it really was a good idea to tell Freddie about your feelings. So out of desperate need for a second opinion, you called Roger.

“I haven’t told him yet because of Mary,” You blurted out, twirling the phone cord so tightly around your finger you could feel it start to go numb. “And now that she’s out of the picture...”

“Mary’s not out of the picture,” Roger corrected you, but you could hear the sympathy and understanding in his voice. “They still talk from time to time.”

“But they’re not... together?”

Freddie hadn’t really spoken about Mary with you ever since the argument they had just before Christmas, which ultimately caused them to split up. You weren’t too clear on the details -- Brian, Roger, and John didn’t seem to know all too much either. Freddie had been a muttering, bitter, angry mess at first, and then he just dropped the subject altogether.

“No,” Roger answered slowly. “I don’t think they are.”

You glanced at the clock, and your heart lurched.

“Fuck,” you couldn’t help but blurt out. “Fred wanted me to come over at two -- I’ve got fifteen minutes.”

“Just relax, Y/N.” Roger reassured you. “You’ve known Freddie for what, ten years?”

“Thirteen.” You mumbled. Your hands were starting to tremble, oh god.

“Thirteen,” Roger repeated. “That’s a long time. I’m sure Fred will understand, don’t worry.”

“And what if he doesn’t feel the same way?” The question you blurted came out so quickly, you didn’t even have a moment to stop yourself.

“You’ll just have to be prepared for this to go either way.” Roger answered calmly, after pausing for a moment to think.

“Okay,” You sighed, finally tugging your finger out of the telephone cord. There was still a loop-shaped imprint on your finger. “Thank you Roger, you’ve really helped me out.”

“No problem. But Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“After all this, you’d better not phone me later saying you got scared and backed out. I think I’m going to go nuts if I keep hearing you debate about whether or not to tell Fred how you feel.”

You laughed at Roger’s comment. You could almost hear his smile through the phone. He always seemed to know how to make you feel less nervous.

“Will do, Rog,” You laughed shakily. “I won’t let you down, I promise.”

What you had hoped would be a confident knock on Freddie’s front door ended up sounding like a muffled series of quick taps, thanks to your hands that still hadn’t stopped trembling.

I just have to tell him, you thought to yourself. Then I won’t have to worry about keeping this a secret anymore. And if he feels the same way, that’s even better-

“Hello, darling!” Freddie exclaimed, beaming. He rushed forward, enveloping you in a tight hug, and you wondered if he could feel how hard your heart was beating. “Come on in, I just put the kettle on.”

You were hoping to seem as natural as possible, and you thought you had managed to convince Freddie everything was fine, until a silence settled between the two of you. Quick little clack clack clack noises could be heard, as your trembling hands caused your cup of tea to shake faintly on its saucer.

Freddie frowned at you worriedly, taking a quick sip of his tea before setting it down on the coffee table. He shuffled closer to you on the couch, concern filling his eyes as he placed a hand comfortingly on your back. You flinched uncontrollably, but only because it made your heart pick up its pace again.

It’s just Freddie, you tried to convince yourself. It’s just Freddie.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Freddie asked urgently, his eyes filling with worry. “You’ve looked pale since you got here, are you sick?”

You shook your head silently, and as your tea spilled out the rim of your cup and down onto its saucer, you figured it would be best to set it down on the table. The last thing you wanted was to accidentally spill it all over Freddie’s couch.

“...Y/N?”

You took a deep breath, running both of your shaking hands through your hair. Freddie looked so worried, and you realized it was now or never. If you just dismissed your current state as nothing, Freddie would only continue to press on until he finally figured out what was really going on. You knew from experience that Freddie never stopped until he finally got you to confide whatever was bothering you to him. He wanted you to know he was there for you, and he made sure to show it.

You had to tell him. Now was the time.

“IreallylikeyouFreddie.” You blurted out much too fast. Freddie blinked, taken aback by your mishmash of words.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that dear. One more time?”

It felt like there was an earthquake inside you, you were trembling so hard. The longer this stretched out, the more nervous you became.

“I... uh, I really... I really like you Freddie.”

Freddie blinked, clearly surprised by your sudden statement before a small smile graced his features.

“I really like you too, Y/N, you’re my best friend. I don’t understand-”

“No,” you cut him off, unable to stop yourself from burying your face in your hands because of Freddie’s confusion. “Freddie, I mean... I really like you. As in... more than friends.”

You watched as the realization hit Freddie suddenly, and hard. The confusion was wiped off his face as his mouth formed a little ‘o’.

“I think I love you, Freddie.”

There. You said it. The burden was finally off your shoulders.

So why hadn’t your hands stopped shaking?

As soon as you looked up and saw Freddie’s expression, you had your answer clear as day in front of you. You laughed bitterly, unconsciously raking a hand through your hair as you shook your head.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “That was dumb, I don’t know why I said that. Um, I won’t bring it up again I promise-”

“How long?”

You didn’t want to meet Freddie’s gaze.

“Hm?”

“How long have you...” Freddie paused as he searched for the right words. “How long have you had feelings for... me?”

You closed your eyes as all the emotions you tried so hard to bury deep down and ignore came bubbling up inside you. If only you could just burn it all away, like old diary pages in a fire.

“Since, um, o-our trip to Camber S-Sands.” You stuttered. All you wanted was for this situation to end, it had been stretching out for far too long already. “I-I think it was when we watched the sunset together.”

The silence that followed was almost physically painful. You could feel it stabbing into your skin, like little tiny needles.

“Y/N.”

No, don’t. You thought to yourself. Just keep looking down, it’s fine.

“Y/N, dear. Please. Look at me.”

You didn’t want to, but after feeling Freddie’s gaze practically burning a hole right through you, you finally turned to look at him.

It was exactly what you were dreading. Pity.

“Y/N, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t.” You whispered. The word caught in your throat as you felt it tighten. Tears sprang into your eyes, and you tried to blink them away rapidly. They only pooled even more, and one spilled down your cheek slowly. “Don’t, Freddie. Please.”

Freddie hugged you right then, hard. It knocked the breath out of you, and you couldn’t help the sob that escaped when Freddie began to stroke your hair comfortingly.

“I’m sorry,” You cried, leaning your head on Freddie’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry-”

Freddie shushed you gently, and planted a kiss softly on your head.

“We can’t help who we fall in love with,” he replied gently. For a moment, you could see some sort of melancholy sadness fill his eyes. “It’s not our fault. Our hearts just... think for themselves, really.”

You nodded, sniffling as another set of tears made their way down your cheeks. Freddie brushed them away with a faint smile.

“Love is love,” Freddie continued. He wrapped an arm around your back, his hand resting on your waist. He pulled you close, and you rested your head on his shoulder.

“We simply... can’t control who we fall in love with. And that’s okay, darling. It’s just part of life. It’s alright.”

October 1987

You hadn’t heard from Freddie in what seemed like forever. One moment he was gushing to you all about the newest addition to his cats, Delilah, and the next... nothing. Silence.

You had tried calling time after time again. You were lucky if you ever got Freddie on the phone. Most of the time it either went to voicemail, or Jim picked up the call. The two of you would often have a polite little chat for a while, but as soon as you asked to speak to Freddie, he’d tell you Freddie was busy at the moment.

So when your phone rang this morning, and Freddie was on the other line, asking if you’d like to come over for a visit to finally meet Delilah, your heart soared.

You had just reached up to knock on the door when it opened suddenly. You took a step back in surprise, just as Jim smiled at you.

“Y/N,” He beamed, inviting you in but not before embracing you in a brief hug. “It’s lovely to see you, come in.”

“Hi,” You answered, grinning from ear to ear. Your heart was beating loudly in your chest, it had been six months since you had last seen Freddie. You couldn’t keep your excitement to a minimum as you looked forward eagerly to seeing him again.

“These are for you,” You handed the small bunch of flowers to Jim, whose face lit up like a little kid’s on Christmas morning. “I haven’t seen you two in so long... they’re just a little housewarming gift, I guess you could say.”

“Oh, Y/N, these are lovely!” Jim exclaimed, hugging you once more. “Thank you. I’m sure Freddie will love them, too.”

Jim beckoned you into the living room, where he set the flowers gently on the table for the time being.

“Freddie will be down in a moment,” Jim said slowly. “Come on, you can meet Delilah while we wait -- this way.”

You followed Jim outside into the garden, where Delilah was perched majestically at the top of the fence.

“Delilah, come on!” Jim exclaimed, beckoning for the tortoiseshell cat to come down. “A friend wants to say hello!”

You giggled as Delilah remained where she was, and simply tilted her head at you inquisitively.

“Hey, Jim?”

“I’m sure she’ll come down soon... yes, Y/N?”

You paused for a moment, tightening your jacket around your body as a rush of cold wind was carried through the garden.

“Is everything going okay? I haven’t heard from Freddie in... well, half a year really. I’ve been getting worried.”

Jim fell silent. You noticed he kept his gaze on Delilah, who in turn was still watching you, trying to figure out who this new visitor to Garden Lodge was.

“That’s partially why you’re here today, Y/N.” Jim’s voice fell to a quieter tone than it was moments ago. “Freddie wanted me to tell you, he couldn’t bring himself to do it...”

“What, what is it?” You asked. Your blood ran cold as all the worst scenarios ran through your mind.

“Freddie’s got AIDS.”

You wrapped your arms around Jim immediately in a hug as Freddie’s silence was finally explained. You couldn’t imagine how Jim must’ve felt. With a sigh, Jim returned your hug, patting you gratefully on the back.

“Is it okay if I, um, go inside to talk with him?” You asked quietly, even though you knew Freddie couldn’t hear you from where you were. Jim nodded.

“Yes, go ahead. But Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You asked.

“Freddie was quite afraid about how you’d react.”

“It’s okay,” you answered quietly. “I’ll stay strong. For him. I won’t make a big deal out of it.”

Jim nodded in appreciation, and as you made your way back inside, you heard a little mew. You giggled as you opened the sliding door, Delilah had jumped off the fence to follow you back inside.

“Hello, Delilah,” you whispered. “Come on, let’s go find Freddie.”

You found him sitting at the dining table, admiring the flowers that you had brought with you.

“Did you bring these?” Freddie asked. You could hear a slight tremble in his usually-bright voice. You nodded as you pulled out a chair and sat down beside him.

“They’re nice.” Freddie added, a small smile on his face. “They remind me of the ones you brought over when we first met.”

“Wow,” you laughed. “I’m surprised you remember those.”

“I remember a lot of things, darling, I’m not that old yet.”

A silence fell between the two of you as Freddie set the flowers back down on the table and gazed at you.

“Jim told you, then? About what I’ve got?”

You could only nod.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, lowering his gaze to the table. “I’m a horrible friend.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief at Freddie’s words, and you reached forward to take his hand in your own.

“Now why would you say something like that?”

Freddie’s eyes were glassy when he finally looked up from the table once more.

“I handled the entire situation like a child,” Freddie spat, angry at himself more than anything. “You had no idea about any of this but off I went, just cutting off all contact with you.”

You sighed as you remembered how worried you had felt these last few months. You had always wondered if you had said or done something wrong to make Freddie upset.

“If you don’t want to speak to me anymore, Y/N, I’ll understand.”

You got up from the table immediately, and walked over to stand in front of Freddie. Shaking your head, you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug.

“Don’t be silly,” You mumbled as you heard a sniffle come from Freddie. “We’ve known each other for twenty-three fucking years, Fred. It’s going to take a lot more than that to get rid of me.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you heard Freddie giggle at your words.

“I meant what I said all those years ago,” you continued. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d always be here for you.”

Freddie pulled back to gaze at you in disbelief, a smile blooming on his face despite the tears that made his eyes sparkle more than normal.

“Y/N, you’re an absolute angel,” Freddie exclaimed, kissing your cheek gently. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“It takes an angel to know one,” You replied with a smile. “I could say the same for you. You’re my best friend, Freddie. Nothing will ever change that.”

Present day

At first, you thought it was just your imagination.

But as you sat up in bed, straining your ears to see if the noise would occur again, you heard it once more.

Three knocks.

Who was at your door at this hour of the morning?

You sighed raggedly as you pushed yourself out of bed and towards the door. It had been a very rough night, especially after all that had happened earlier today.

Freddie was gone.

And you and Roger had just missed your chance to say goodbye.

You had never cried harder in your life. As soon as you got in the door of your flat, you broke down in tears. It seemed everything in your flat reminded you of Freddie in some way. From the roses that were still clutched in your hand, to the makeup you had strewn carelessly across your table earlier that morning, to even the little statue of a cat Freddie had given you for your birthday. He said it reminded him of you, if you had been a cat. Which ultimately made you giggle.

Knock, knock, knock.

There it was again. You froze. It wasn’t coming from your door, but instead from inside your living room.

What the hell?

Knock, knock, knock.

You followed the source of the sound, all the way to the wall that you had dedicated for photos of your dearest friends, Freddie included. You thought it was the neighbours, but then you realized with a sickening thought that this wall wasn’t connected to anything.

What was causing the knocking?

It occurred again, and maybe it was because you were still more than half asleep, you decided to impulsively knock back.

As you tapped one final time in response, the knocking stopped completely. You frowned and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as you turned to begin to make your way back to bed.

“Took you long enough to figure out how to invite me in, darling.”

You shrieked, whipping around so fast you almost fell backwards.

In front of you, in an almost pearlescent hue of some sort, stood none other than Freddie himself.

“What the fuck...” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes one more time. It was probably the grief, you told yourself. Playing tricks on your eyes or something like that. It didn’t help that it was currently four in the morning and you were awake either. “Freddie?”

You watched through squinted eyes as Freddie extended his arms in a flourish.

“The one and only, darling.”

“This has got to be a dream, Christ, I’m losing my mind-”

“Even if it was only a dream,” Freddie interrupted, stepping closer to you. The air seemed to shift as he got closer, everything felt warmer -- peaceful even. “Would you still talk to me?”

Hesitantly, you nodded.

“Good,” Freddie answered, a smile blooming on his face. His entire being seemed to light up even more as he did so. “Y/N, sweetheart, I’ve come to say goodbye... well, sort of.”

Freddie stepped forward, and took both of your hands in his. An indescribable warmth filled you up from your toes to the top of your head, as if you had just stepped into a warm shower. You gasped as tears immediately began to spill out of your eyes.

Freddie was here.

He was real.

“Freddie...” You gasped, a sob wracking your body. “Oh my god, Freddie!”

You surged forward, wrapping your arms around him tightly as you cried. Whether they were tears of sadness, happiness, or relief, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that your best friend was here. Your Freddie.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay long enough to see you one last time,” Freddie apologized quietly. You noticed the sparkle in his eyes, and your heart swelled. It had been so long, far too long in fact, since you had seen Freddie this happy. This healthy.

“I figured visiting you this way might make things a bit easier.”

You nodded, wiping your tears away with the heel of your hand as you broke into a smile. “Thank you, oh my god... I still can’t believe it’s you. You’re here.”

“I can’t stay like this for long,” Freddie added, gazing at you intently to ensure you understood. “But I had to see you again dear, one more time.”

You were lost for words. All you could do was take in Freddie’s appearance.

He looked strong again. Full of energy, unlike the last time you had visited him. There was no sign of any sort of physical impact from his illness. He was fully healed, somehow. It reminded you of that day you first met him, so many years ago.

“Freddie?” You asked quietly, glancing at the various photos you had taken together that hung on your wall.

“Yes, darling?”

“…do you remember when we first met?”

Freddie chuckled as he stood beside you, his fingers lacing gently with your own as he admired the photos you had hung on display.

“You mean when you tripped and almost fell on your face as you were running across the street to my house?”

“I didn’t know how else to get you to notice me!” You protested, laughing with teary eyes. “You were always so shy. I saw you just as you were about to go inside and it was a now-or-never thing.”

You watched as Freddie smiled at the memory, before gazing at you with such affection in his eyes you weren’t even sure it was possible to feel so much love for another human being.

“…Yes, I remember that. Why?”

“I miss those days.”

“I miss them too, Y/N. I miss them so much.”

Freddie looped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. It was a gesture he often made when you both sought each other’s comfort. It all feels so familiar, you thought to yourself as you rested your head on Freddie’s shoulder like old times. It was a feeling you never wanted to end.

“But you know what, Y/N?”

“What?”

“I’m never going to be far away. In fact, if anything, I’ll be closer than ever!”

Tears filled your eyes once more as Freddie pulled you in for a reassuring squeeze.

“How will I find you? Talk to you?” You asked, desperation filling your voice. “It’s not going to be the same.”

“Will it not?” Freddie asked, a curious smile on his face as he winked at you. Reaching forward, he placed a hand over your heart. You gasped as the sensation of being wrapped in a thousand warm blankets filled you up inside. You just couldn’t stop smiling, no matter how hard you tried. You felt so... light.

“Do you feel that?” Freddie asked. You nodded in astonishment, earning a smile from your best friend.

“Good. That feeling is always inside you now. It’s from me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Any time you feel lonely, or sad, or even just want to share a funny story with me,” Freddie kept his hand over your heart as he spoke, the smile never leaving his face. “Go inside for a moment. Close your eyes. Remember this feeling I’m leaving with you. That’s me. I’ll always be here with you, Y/N. No matter what.”

You smiled as he echoed the words you would often say to him.

“Besides,” Freddie added. “I’m your real angel now. You won’t be able to get rid of me that easily.”

You giggled, tears filling your eyes. Except this time, they were happy ones.

“I can’t stay here for much longer,” Freddie warned you gently. “It takes a lot of energy to come back as a person again. But I want you to know I’m safe. I’m alright.”

“Alright,” You echoed back, absentmindedly touching the place over your heart where Freddie had rested his hand moments ago.

“I love you, Y/N.” Freddie said softly, taking your face gently between his hands and kissing your forehead. His touch was lighter than a feather.

“I love you too, Freddie.” You replied with a faint smile. “Thank you... for everything.”

“Oh, don’t think I’m going somewhere never to be seen again, darling!” He dismissed you with a wave of his hand, crinkling his nose with a smile. “I told you... I’ll always be here with you. I’ll be your angel, although to be honest I’ll probably be a rather devilish angel if you ask me.”

You grinned, a laugh escaping you. “I know.”

“Get some sleep now darling,” Freddie encouraged, leading you to your couch gently and placing a blanket over top of you. “It’s late. I’ve got to get going now. Sleep well.”

The last thing you registered before falling into a deep sleep was a bright light, that seemed to fill your entire flat up and leave a trail of glitter in the air.

You woke the next morning to sunshine through your window, a gentle contrast from the rain you’d been having the last few weeks.

What had happened last night?

That was indeed one of the craziest dreams you had ever had, but as you recalled what Freddie had said to you, a feeling of peace settled over you.

That feeling he described in your heart... as you sat on your couch, one hand over your heart, you could still feel it clear as day.

For a dream... it definitely seemed real.

As you got up to make yourself a cup of tea, you froze, you gaze landing on the flowers on your table.

The roses you had carelessly thrown on the table the night before were gone. In their place was a bouquet of tulips, sunflowers, and daisies perched nicely in a little vase.

The exact same flowers you had given Freddie the first time you met him.

As your gaze landed upon the glitter that flecked the table, as well as the flowers themselves, you started to laugh as tears filled your eyes.

That had really been him last night visiting you in your living room. Your angel.

Your one and only Freddie.

#freddie mercury #freddie mercury imagine #freddie mercury oneshot #freddie mercury x reader #bohemian rhapsody #queen #bohemian rhapsody x reader #rami malek #rami malek x reader #rami malek imagine #rami malek oneshot #mr robot #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #queen x reader

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letteredlettered · 5 years

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anon ask: you know those scenes - in films or books or television - that stick in your mind? Like, for example, I think about a scene in Jane Eyre (when she sneaks in to see her friend Helen) all the time. Do you have a scene like that? More than one? I'd love to hear you describe them and tell us your thoughts about them.

I gotta say concepts from books/movies/shows stay in my head more than scenes. Like. In Jane Eyre, there are a lot of great scenes, but what sticks in my head is the radical idea that pursuit of love and your own happiness can be a greater good than pursuit of conventional ideals of good. But omg yeah when she sneaks in to be with Helen and there’s like, all this Christian imagery but Jane just wants her friend--I mean. That’s the crux of the book right there! Other people go off to God and Jane puts her foot down and says, “No! I want love right here on Earth! I want happiness right here on Earth! And I deserve it, dammit, and so do you!” Goddamn. I still love that book after all this time.

Okay but here are a few:

Set up for the scene: In Les Miserables, there’s this nun who never lies. Pages and pages are spent talking about not only about how this nun never lies but how lies are truly sins and evil, and in a lovely Hugo fashion these thoughts seem to belong to Hugo/the narrator but also to the nun, because lying is so goddamn bad, and about how this nun is truly capital G good because she would never ever lie; she is so GOOD; she is so JUST so PURE so RIGHT, a true CHILD OF GOD. Then Fantine is dead and Valjean has to go get Cosette and Valjean is just about to go do that.

Scene: Javert walks into the room where Valjean and the nun are. I thought Valjean hid in like a cabinet but I just checked on the book and it appears he just stood behind the door that Javert just opened in a dark corner of the room. And Javert goes to the nun, “So, are you alone in here?”

And nun goes, “Yup.”

END FUCKING SCENE (that is not the actual end I don’t care)

My thoughts about this: Hugo is a GODDAMN TROLL who did all that just to get you to think about the goodness and important and like, virtuous NEED for truth, and to show us as important as all that is, it is never ever as important as simple human decency. Still one of my favorite moments in fiction ever. (But like. Most of Les Miserables is like that for me.)

Set up for the scene: In A Little Princess, Sara Crewe used to be rich and used to pretend she was a princess. She then falls upon hard times and people treat her badly, but in her head she still pretends she’s a princess. She is walking through the street one day, cold and wet and starving. Sara finds some money on the ground and realizes she can buy some hot buns with it. Lemme tell you these hot buns are the most goddamn exciting part of that book because by now you are FEELING how cold and hungry she is and it is EXCRUCIATING. So she buys four whole buns and you are like YES! SARA! BUNS!

Scene: Sara, exiting the bun shop, sees another little beggar girl, colder and wetter than she is. Sara, thinking about what a princess would do, reaches in her bag and takes out a bun, and lays it in the girl’s lap. Then thinks again about what a princess would do, and takes out another bun, and lays that in the girl’s lap too. Then looks in her bag and thinks about how cold and wet and hungry she is. Then reaches in, takes out a third bun, and lays it on the girl’s lap. SHE ONLY SAVES ONE BUN FOR HERSELF

END FUCKING SCENE

My thoughts about this: Sara feels sorry for herself a lot and sometimes vindictive and petty but is always, always trying to be someone bigger and better and because she is trying so hard, usually succeeds at being good and kind in her outward actions. There’s this line in that book that goes, “There’s nothing so strong as rage except that which makes you hold it in.” I think it’s okay to let out your rage sometimes, and you should, but for me, knowing I could be stronger because I tried to be kinder changed my whole life forever and continues to change me.

Set up for the scene: In It’s A Wonderful Life, George Bailey has always wanted to leave his little town and travel, see far off places, and do something big and great and creative that has a serious impact on the world. Instead, various things happen that mean he gets roped into his father’s little Savings and Loan company over and over, which builds housing for low income immigrants. George keeps trying to leave but his heart won’t let him walk away from those people, and then there’s Mary, whom he loves, but she wants other things, so if he commits to her he’d also have to compromise on his dreams. But he loves her so dang much and she loves him so dang much that they get married, and they got a lot of $$$ as wedding gifts, so at least they get to travel for their honeymoon, and they’re both so excited because George has dreamed of traveling so desperately. So on the way to the train station to their honeymoon from their wedding, George sees people rushing into the Savings and Loan, and stops to see what’s happening. Once inside, George finds out there’s a run on the banks--everyone wants to get out the money they’ve invested because of the big financial scare, but the company literally can’t give them all of their cash at once because it’s invested in different housing projects. The money is safe, just not accessible all at once all at the same time. The big banker in town is saying he’ll give everyone their money, but for half of what it’s worth, and this would take all the money out of the housing projects. So George tries to convince everyone to only take out what they need for just right now, instead of everything. But it’s still too much.

Scene: Fucking Mary shows up from out of fucking nowhere and holds up all of their honeymoon money and says, “How much do you need?” END OF SCENE I’m fucking crying as I write this

My thoughts about this:Like one, someone made a fucking movie that’s about things like housing projects and bank loans and the small monotonies of bureaucracy that actually make a huge fucking difference in people’s lives into a feel-good love story with a sci-fi ending what the fuck. Second. Just. George is so good; he immediately stops thinking about himself and all his dreams the second he finds out what is happening. And all we know about Mary up to this point is she’s super in love with George. But idk what means so much to me about this scene is I think we finally see why she’s in love with George: she’s in love with George because she cares about all these people too; she wants to help them too; doing this thing together with him is more important to her than a honeymoon. I just, idk, find you a someone who loves the thing you would die for more than they love their love for you. Or something.

one more let’s see.

Set up for the scene: In Star Trek, the original series, in “Devil In The Dark,” the crew goes down to help a mining colony. There’s this creature killing the miners, and the head of the mining colony is all, “Kill the beast!” and Kirk is like, “Idk we might have to.” And Spock is all, “No, we can’t; it’s the last of its kind and it’s important to SCIENCE!!!”

Scene: Kirk comes face to face with the creature, and Spock, sensing Kirk is in danger, is immediately, “Kill it kill it die die die!” and Kirk is like, “It’s not attacking me. Let’s wait and try to communicate, have a discussion, see what it wants, and see if we can compromise.”

END SCENE. I weep

My thoughts about this: This is just the most solid and beautiful juxtaposition of theoretical principle against practical compassion I’ve ever seen, paired with extreme Kirk/Spock feels. TOS is about the tension between the rigidity o fpure science/logic and the flexibility of feelings. Spock is one, but it is Bones who is the other, and Kirk is the compromise between them--someone who always uses Spock’s logic and intelligence to inform a situation but then makes decisions based on an intuition for compassion and a greater good. I feel like this scene epitomizes how logic is never pure, because it’s must always be rooted in a thinking feeling person--in this case Spock, who lets his feelings and instinct to protect his captain override his principles in the heat of the moment. Meanwhile, Kirk, who follows his feelings not into rage but into justice and patience, is--when confronted with another being face to face--able to believe that compromise and mutual understanding can result. It’s so beautiful I like, can’t even deal with that whole show.

#star trek #it's a wonderful life #les miserables #a little princess #jane eyre #tos #Anonymous

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Are You Afraid of the Darkness?: A Hopepunk Explainer

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A brief guide to the hopepunk movement—its origins, and its possibilities.

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This feature originally appeared in Den of Geek's NYCC 2019 print magazine.

When author Alexandra Rowland (A Choir of Lies) first posted to Tumblr in 2017, "The opposite of grimdark is hopepunk. Pass it on," she had no idea how intensely that sentiment would resonate with the platform’s community and beyond.

"Initially, I was just vaguely bemused that anyone was listening to me," Rowland says, "but at the same time, I understood intellectually why hopepunk was resonating with people. Simply put: they were hurting, and hopepunk was a thing that helped comfort the hurt."

What is hopepunk? It depends on who you ask...

Rowland, quoting her essay “One Atom of Justice, One Molecule of Mercy, and the Empire of Unsheathed Knives,” says: “Hopepunk is a subgenre and a philosophy that ‘says kindness and softness don’t equal weakness, and that, in this world of brutal cynicism and nihilism, being kind is a political act. An act of rebellion.’”

To understand hopepunk as a concept it helps to understand what it stands in contrast to. Grimdark is a fantasy subgenre characterized by bleak settings in which humanity is fundamentally cutthroat, and where no individual or community can stop the world’s inevitable decline. Hopepunk, in contrast, believes that the very act of trying has meaning, that fighting for positive change in and of itself has worth—especially if we do it together.

read more: Autuonomous — Robots, Love, and Identity Under Capitalism

“I think it's a reaction against the overwhelmingly nihilistic, dystopian slant to a lot of stories in the world right now,” says author Annalee Newitz (The Future of Another Timeline). For Newitz, hopepunk isn’t a subgenre but rather “a reason to tell stories, a motivation, or maybe a narrative tone.”

“The idea is to tell a story where there are hopeful elements or maybe a hopeful resolution to the characters' struggles,” Newitz says. “I don't mean to suggest it’s all about having a happy ending, because you can have a pretty ambivalent, broody ending that still conveys hope. Hopepunk is really about showing readers that we can make it through even the most difficult situations. Even if your hero dies, hopepunk suggests that someone else will be there to take up her torch and carry on.”

Hopepunk is Curtis blowing up the train at the end of Snowpiercer, or Max and Furiosa deciding to risk everything and go back to the Citadel at the end of Mad Max: Fury Road. It’s Naomi choosing to open the Roci’s door to let in as many desperate Ganymede refugees as possible in The Expanse. It’s believing that humanity may not be inherently good, but we’re not inherently bad either, and that giving people the chance to prove themselves compassionate is a worthwhile choice.

“At Uncanny, we tend to think of this as ‘radical empathy’ or ‘radical kindness’—choosing to do the good, kind thing, even when the system doesn’t encourage that, as an act of courage,” say Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damien Thomas, the editors of Uncanny Magazine.

read more: City in the Middle of the Night Review

The Thomases contextualize “hopepunk” as a marketing term, one that has gained prominence in the last few years but that has been around much longer: “There have been veins of hope (as opposed to grimdark hopelessness) across literature for hundreds of years, and for decades within the SFF genre.”

If hopepunk, by some definitions, is nothing new, it is a cultural lens seemingly on the rise after a pop culture period ruled by cynical stories, like Breaking Bad and The Dark Knight, and in a real-world environment that has become increasingly distressing.

“We can retreat into paralysis, and pretend that's somehow pragmatic or realistic,” says Newitz. “Or we can say, fine, this is a horrible problem, let's get together with other people and try to solve any small part of it that we can. Those are the two pathways we can take through a narrative, too. We can tell stories about people who try to fix things, rather than rejoicing in their splendid destruction. It’s a way of showing other people that just because things aren’t perfect, doesn’t mean they can’t be better.”

Has the definition of hopepunk changed since Rowland first coined the term?

“The heart of [my original definition] hasn't changed at all, but my efforts to remind people of the angry part of hopepunk definitely have grown,” she says. “The instinct is to make it only about softness and kindness, because those are what we’re most hungry for. We all want to be treated gently. But sometimes the kindest thing you can do for someone is to stand up to a bully on their behalf, and that takes guts and rage.”

read more: How Red, White, and Royal Blue Hopes For a Kinder America

In 2019, hope can feel impossible. If the past few years have taught us anything, it’s that the struggle to create a kinder and more just world is one that will never be linear and will never be over. It is bigger than any one of us, and longer than any lifetime. If hopepunk is the stories that keep us trying in the long shadow of that reality, then it is a vital ingredient to the recipe for change.

So what is hopepunk storytelling? It’s whatever you need it to be... as long as what you need it to be is a way forward in the darkness.

“In hindsight,” Rowland says, “I'm just very happy–when so many people find a philosophy like hopepunk meaningful and compelling... it sorta restores a bit of your faith in humanity, doesn’t it? Maybe all is not yet lost if there are enough people around to say, ‘Oh. Yes, this.’”

Hopepunk Reading Guide

Novels

The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison Saga by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples Uprooted by Naomi Novik Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler The Future of Another Timeline by Annalee Newitz The Calculating Stars by Mary Robinette Kowal A Choir of Lies by Alexandra Rowland The City in the Middle of the Night by Charlie Jane Anders Trail of Lightning by Rebecca Roanhorse The Expanse by James S.A. Corey Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell The Sol Majestic by Ferrett Steinmetz The Book of the Unnamed Midwife by Meg Elison

Other

Our Opinions Are Correct Podcast, Episode 22 hosted by Annalee Newitz and Charlie Jane Anders

Uncanny Magazine edited by Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damien Thomas (recommendations: "Contingency Plans for the Apocalypse" by S.B. Divya, "Sun, Moon, Dust," by Ursula Vernon, and "Packing" by T. Kingfisher)

Hopepunk Author Interviews

Due to the nature of print media, I was unable to include as many of my interviewees' insightful thoughts on hopepunk as I would have liked to. Here is a guide to the full interviews from various speculative fiction authors and editors. I highly recommend clicking through to read them in their entirety.

An Interview with Alexandra Rowland, Author of A Choir of Lies

Excerpt: "By telling hopepunk stories, we necessarily have to be asking questions like, 'How do we care about each other in a world which so aggressively doesn't care about so many of the people in our communities? Who do we consider community, and is that definition too narrow? How do we fight back against the people who want to make us sit down and shut up?'"

An Interview with Annalee Newitz, Author of The Future of Another Timeline

Excerpt: "I think hopepunk is the opposite of apathy. In so many stories these days, characters are (literally or metaphorically) lighting cigarettes and enjoying the end of the world. They may look cool doing it, but it's profoundly anti-social and toxic. As soon as your characters don't give a shit about anything, you're leaving hopepunk behind."

An Interview with Lynne M. Thomas & Michael Damien Thomas, Editors of Uncanny Magazine

Excerpt: "We think that the world can always use more radical empathy and radical kindness. Culture is, fundamentally, a mix of people giving in to their most kind and least kind impulses, and much of our storytelling comes from that inherent conflict. We'd rather encourage the former, personally."

An Interview with Ferrett Steinmetz, Author of The Sol Majestic

Excerpt: "I loved it the moment I heard it. I'm an old punk who knocked around some of the Nazis that the Dead Kennedys decried in 'Nazi Punks F**k Off,' so the idea of punk utilized for something other than some Hot Topic-style cynicism flooded me with joy."

Note: The title of this article comes from hopepunk musician Frank Turner's "Blackout."

Kayti Burt is a staff editor covering books, TV, movies, and fan culture at Den of Geek. Read more of her work here or follow her on Twitter @kaytiburt.

Read and download the Den of Geek NYCC 2019 Special Edition Magazine right here!

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Feature

Culture

Kayti Burt

Nov 7, 2019

Hopepunk

NYCC

NYCC 2019

from Books https://ift.tt/32pEbOv

#aion-rsa #Books

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roxannepolice · 5 years

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You know, talking in general and not just SW, I think that sometimes the audience surrogate can be a double bladed sword done the wrong way. But there is also this percent of the fandom that thinks that if you don't love the audience surrogate or the other Relatable Character™ you are X thing. (1/2)

It has happened to me with the DW fandom and some people asking me why I like the Eleventh Doctor more than the Acceptable™ Twelfth Doctor. Because you you, the former is a more darker, possessive and selfish character and the later is kinder and all. And I am like... Not my fault if I found one more fascinating than the other because he is a bastard (2/2)

You know, this really carries me back in time to when Philosopher’s Stone was first released on dvd and among extras there was a sorting hat test/minigame and I went positively hysterical when upon first time spontaneous answers I got sorted into Slytherin. It took quite a long time for me to embrace my Slytherclaw self and if the hat had a problem between these two houses I would totally ask for classy underwater mess of a common room now. And I mention that as an introduction to how today grown up, intelligent people are worriedly sideyeing me when I say I'd fancy a Slytherin scarf.

It appears to me that the not-exactly-ostracism-at-least-outside-tumblr towards identifying with villains or even simply not completely cinnamon rolly characters has a couple of deeper rationales. One is that overtly morally unclear characters that are also intentionally identifiable with are a relatively new phenomenon in popculture. Villains could have been sympathetic but not really anything else until quite recently. They could have a point but wallow in how evilly they act on this point. They could even be likeable or awe-inspiring. But there always had to be a clear wall between them and audience, as well as the hero. RotJ Vader is in fact a great example of a villain who is sympathetic but not identifiable with, he exists in a simple paradigm of well he's Luke's dad and he believes there's good in him and he sounds miserable sometimes but otherwise yeah he offers to rule the galaxy because that's what villains do. He's also coded as the parent generation rather than the one the target audience would identify with. And of course, full body armour and mask complete the picture of unapproachability. OT Vader doesn't have motivation, past, psyche or really anything else other than he's Luke's dad, it took 20 years to change that. And now? Now we get good organisations being controlled by baddies, heroes having different opinions on their own ethical status, villains mirroring their motivations... On the one hand it's an interesting breath of fresh air in texts which were slowly becoming their own parodies, on the other there needs to be a balance between these problematic(TM) notions and unproblematic(TM) resolutions and frankly not all creators find this balance as I sometimes worry will be the case with the sequels. And mass audience straight doesn't know how to handle this in discourse, not because they're too dumb only because a tacit understanding even only theoretically present in discussions of more high-brow culture simply hasn't formed there yet. It's a widely accepted fact that some of the most discussed, desirable and given to best actors Shakespeare roles are the likes of Richard III, Lady Macbeth or Iago and there's no need explaining that fascination with them doesn't stem from condoning murder only confronting us with the darker but oh so human aspects of our nature. MCU, SW and BBC discussions have yet to get this memo.

And then there’s the matter of lifestyle commodification, which I think finds its echo even in something as trivial as popularity of online which character are you tests. There is something of a phenomenon of subjecting many elements of our lives to some one hobby or life choice, which sounds obvious until we look at shops trying to sell special coffee only for physically active people - because it’s speculated that it really all boils down to profit being bigger from selling a full lifestyle set (clothes, food, furniture) of some archetypal physically active person (or bookworm, fan or even activist) than y’know, just good shoes and some gear. So the point is that we are tought to think in full lifestyle sort of way rather than dissecting things and taking out only what we want. Ergo, you can’t like, let alone identify with, some aspects of a character and not everything about them - so if the character is morally gray/villainous you need to make it clear you don’t condone murder.

Then there is an old matter which gained new power lately - the moral panic over the influence of media. There’s no denying there exists a relationship between the culture we take in and our psyche, but pratically no serious researcher still believes in the “sponge” model where audience just sucks in whatever the text pours at them (fanfiction is in fact frequently pointed at as an example of actively recreative audience). Can exposition to lots of trivialized violence in tv make us numb to real world violence? Yes, research shows it can. But there’s a difference between sitting all day in front of tv mindlessly watching hours of sex, drugs and violence and engaging in problematic(TM) characters. As it’s frequently repeated, if you go on a killing spree inspired by a video game, there’s probably something wrong with you and not the game played by thousands of other people. Then again, we musn’t forget that part of history when committing a suicide while cosplaying Werther was all the rage among young european men.

And I think this also ties with how everything in contemporary popculture needs to mean something, or even in fact be some aspect of social reality. This is hardly the freshest phenomenon (Roland Barthes claimed already back in the 60s that popularity of aliens, martians more specifically, was due to mental association of red planet with Soviet Union during the cold war), but now it’s become a popular knowledge and, as abstract ideas tend to in mass interpretation, it got simplified to the level where FO aren’t simply visually inspired by pretty much every totalitatian system ever only are neo-nazis. As such it becomes one’s moral duty to waste emotional energy on righteously hating fictional characters in a kids’ movie or else you support nazism. Hence also all the school shooter, creepy stalker, spoiled brat etc. readings of Kylo Ben and all the mess going on around 11 (which really makes me think that new Who audience badly needs to learn what sh*t classic Doctors would pull).

In general I’d say there’s a slightly disturbing blurring of lines between reality and fiction going on before our eyes. It’s almost as if we couldn’t just chill out and let ourselves be transported to Oz without questioning the influence of ruby slippers on munchkin economy anymore. Or return to Kansas without demanding a yellow brick road.

#asks #star wars #dr who #villain discourse #not 100% cinnamon roll discourse #culture ramblings #slytherclaw 4 life

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c-is-for-circinate · 7 years

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Ok yeah we’re gonna record thoughts and feelings about P5 as we go, because I know me, and when I’m all done I’m going to want to go back to my recorded opinions about the early stages of the game and roll around in my own ignorance.

Spoilers for the first couple of hours of gameplay (up to the establishment of the Magician social link). Do not spoil me beyond that in replies/reblogs so help me god.

This is Persona does Leverage and I am so excited.

Once upon a time, there was a meek and unremarkable boy living a meek life in an unremarkable town. He never knew, because nobody had ever told him, that there was a badass living deep in his own heart. It never came up. He didn’t get into trouble, not once, not ever. He believed in justice and the system that looks out for the weak and the meek and frightened women being forced into cars by drunk, powerful men.

(once upon a time, there was a boy, and he was a fool)

Nothing in Tokyo feels real. The alleys are crowded, narrow, full of people. The subway is a labyrinth. This rented room, this garret apartment, full of rust and accumulated junk, this forgotten storage room, isn’t part of any world where people live. You walk through school and everybody whispers--did you hear about the new boy. He’s a violent criminal. He’s a gang kingpin. He carries a knife everywhere he goes, and he’ll kill you as soon as look at you if you piss him off. That can’t be you. That has nothing to do with your real life (your town, your parents, your school--none of that is yours any more. Now you get this.) The castle of magic and shadows is no more impossible and unreal a dream than this new school and this new life that’s supposed to be yours now anyway.

The protag is, at heart, deep in his core, a believer in those with power using it to protect those in need. Not necessarily a believer that they do, now, any more--but they should. That’s how the world is supposed to work. You can’t just do nothing. He’s got power of his own, now.

It turns out that the protag does carry a knife everywhere he goes, in the metaverse. Apparently he’s a thief now. Apparently the part all the way down in his core that’s been shouting so loud since he first heard the muffled sounds of a woman calling for help in the distance on a dark night is raging full of strength and magic. Apparently he can do things, can fight, can rage, and nothing is stopping him, and look, nothing about this world where he lives in now matches anything he’s ever lived in the past sixteen and a half years of his life. So now he’s a phantom thief and a rebel, and he has power the likes of which shocks even the talking cat, and everybody at school says they hear he carries a knife everywhere, and if one materializes in his hand when he finds himself in a cape and a mask in the world of the mind--he’s doing this now. Apparently this is the person he’s going to be in this strange new impossible dream-world. Okay. Guess we’re doing this. Sure.

This is a story about bonds and rebellion. This is a story about being trapped. It’s about justice and what’s fair, yes, but more than anything this is going to be a story about structures of power--not just about the individuals who hold it, but about the castles and palaces and empires they build around them, about silence and complacency, hierarchies and systems and all of the layers that smother and trap people in place.

The protagonist is here to break those chains, don’t you know, to tear down the castle walls and break the palaces, to fell the kings and punish the emperors. The protagonist is here to learn to rebel and break through those empires, one by one, but he’s still in chains to his own fate. He’s doomed by the blade of his own revolution.

You don’t have social links. Your relationships are not forging bonds. Your relationships are the wings and the tools you’re meant to use to break free and break yourself out. Your friends and acquaintances are collaborators. They steps and allies and tools to use. (We will love them, because this is a Persona game and that’s how it works, but--will we love them more than we use them?)

(“You were sold out by one of your own,” they said, remember?)

(Captain William Kidd was imprisoned and questioned and probably tortured and never gave up any of his backers, his allies, the various rich men in England who financed his piracy and who kept their heads down and their hands hidden, right up through Kidd’s execution. Carmen loved her man and then left him from another, and he cried fury and betrayal and cut her down then and there on the opera stage. These children are so fucked.)

It’s not ‘Persona goes darker and edgier’, because it’s not actually darker than the epic isolation depression despair of Persona 3. It’s maybe a little grittier.

Persona 3 was a wash of murky green and blue and darkness, existence and fear and loneliness and despair. Persona 3 was the kind of depression that’s all emotion and numb emptiness, and everything is either as vast as the entirety of human existence, or tiny and personal and super-individual, with all the scope jumbled and knocked askew and nothing in between. It was not brighter and it was not kinder, but the light was very different.

This is grittier in the way of a high contrast photograph in hyper-sharp focus, black and white edges on every individual blade of grass. This is not the endless sea of despair. This is every goddamn day that you wake up and figure out how to grind your way through to tomorrow. This is a world where people connect all the time, for all the good it does them. This is a world where rape is real, and abuse is named, and the suicide attempts are not metaphors. The enemy is not the abstract wash of numb depression and existential despair--it’s real, and it’s concrete, and it’s so very, very complex that dismantling it feels next to impossible. And we’re taking it on anyway.

(Your personas are human, every one of them so far, not counting the shades of stories and human unconscious the protag’s started picking up from the wayside. Characters from novels and plays and actual humans who actually lived, not even 400 years ago, not in myth or legend but actual recorded history. There’s a little myth and a little magic about them all, but they’re human human human at the core, and they didn’t fight gods or take their blessing, they fought other men, and sometimes won.)

And look, high-contrast ultra-sharpness doesn’t necessarily mean more realistic. You were rescued from the magical castle by a talking cat. Nobody has blue hair unless they dyed it that way, but you slip through shadows with the billow of your coat behind you like a cape, and all the visuals are sharp and stylized with shadows and angles and black and white and red all over. This is half Victorian romantic crime fiction, with your tiny garret above the cafe in the city where you were sent for disgracing the family in public, and half pulpy graphic novel, the pre-superhero kind. This is still very much genre.

This is Persona-does-Leverage. There are genre conventions and I expect them to be followed--and look, I have seen all of Leverage and I have seen it all three to five times through. If the story begins with your hero shoved none-too-gently into a cell by a couple of officers who don’t mind putting a knee in his gut, a fist to his jaw, his ribs, a few new bruises and a little blood for their troubles. If the questioning starts with, “you were sold out by one of your own.” If that’s how the story begins, and then we slide back through the days(weeks months year) to the very beginning of this disaster--

then that cell is exactly where our protagonist wants to be, and we are teetering on the edge of the grand reveal as every last thing falls into place.

I want it to get to that point very badly. That’s the happy ending this genre tells me we ought to get, for all we’ll probably need to battle some dire deity of corruption and despair even after that point anyway. I like that story.

And here’s what else I like: it means that somewhere over the course of the year, the Phantom Thieves become a group that can plan intricately together, that can grift a con where they turn on each other and trust each other to play their own sides. It means that they can send their leader deliberately into the jaws of something dangerous and painful all alone. They know he can take it. They respect him for that.

Of course he can take it. Look, this is a story with characters who wear their bruises and their knee braces and their scars every goddamn day. Injuries from metaverse battles are probably going to magically heal themselves overnight, but this is a story where all of the characters are going to have scars before they even start.

Honestly I am so excited to see this group take shape. I am so excited for these furious, broken rebel children and their revolution.

They don’t use their own names, their own clothes, their own faces when they fight. They are not SEES, who never had time to be anyone but themselves, and to hell with anyone who cares, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. (SEES could barely tolerate each other sometimes, tried to kill each other, but found a way to grab on as tight and iron as they possibly could, bonds so hard to make and the only thing that could save their lives.) They are so incredibly far from the IT, who fought and set themselves to always always being exactly themselves, one way or another. (The Investigation Team loved each other chaotically and brightly and openly, tripping over each other like puppies and fighting for each other like wolves.) I cannot wait to see them.

Did you notice, did you notice, the first persona summoning--it’s not just a discovery, it’s a contract. These kids are making a contract with their own inner heart of rebellion. They’re making deals with themselves in exchange for power. They have lost everything they loved, one by one--their goals, their place in the world, the people they care about, even control over their own bodies. They have lost the things that they once thought made them who they were, and they make this deal, and they become somebody else. Skull. Panther. Mona. The Joker. They remake themselves anew.

And that is going to mean so much for their relationships with each other! I can only guess how that’s going to play out and I can’t wait.

I continue to have more and more thoughts, but it’s very late and I need to go to bed very, very badly. More of this tomorrow after the Epic Grind. We’ll see if I change my mind about any of it just yet.

#C plays persona 5 #I don't even know how much of that made sense by this point I am so dead tired right now #it's been a weird week #tomorrow will be better

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yogaadvise · 5 years

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Journal Meditation - Listening to your life through the practice of writing

Listen, listen...

A couple of years ago I discovered a quote by the American author and theologian, Frederick Buechner. His words had to do with paying attention. In a couple of as well as magnificently expressed lines, he summed up the very factor I have actually maintained a journal for practically thirty years (as well as even longer if I count the numerous scrapbooks filled out as a young adult.) It likewise provided me an understanding of a fairly new love in my life, particularly that of yoga.

"Listen," Buechner says, "Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and discomfort of it, no less than in the exhilaration as well as gladness: touch, preference, smell your way to the holy as well as covert heart of it, since in the last analysis all moments are key minutes, as well as life itself is grace."

Listen. It is such an extensive word. Listen, Buechner claims, as well as urges me to be still as well as count on whatever comes. Lean into the below and also the currently, he claims, for life offers itself in so several means, and each one is valuable. Listen, with all that you are, your body, your mind, your heart. Listen, for also one of the most excruciating minute consists of grace itself.

And also without a straightforward understanding of all these moments that my life is composed of, with Buechner's words by my side, I have the nerve to persevere in my own life, to take it seriously, nonetheless untidy and also messy it can appear from the outside.

What creating and yoga have in common

Through this quote, after that, I concerned realize what yoga as well as writing share. It has to do with paying attention. It has to do with involving with all that I am, body, mind as well as heart. Creating is conversation. I am on both sides of a relationship where I am sharing words along with obtaining them. Yoga exercise is likewise discussion. It has to do with discovering my life, not with words this time, however via breath, movement, tranquility and existing to whatever the body wants to inform me below and also now.

I came to understand what yoga exercise and creating have in usual. It has to do with listening. It has to do with engaging with all that I am, body, mind as well as heart, discovering my life, not through words this time, however with breath, motion and stillness.

How well do I know myself?

Each as well as every day regarding 70,000 ideas go through our minds. The thoughts exist, whether we like them or otherwise. Attempting to drain our heads, to make ourselves vacant, is generally difficult. It can be something like attempting to remove the garden of weeds. You start at one end, but as soon as the driveway is finished, up comes a small environment-friendly shoot where you once pulled the initial dandelion. The air teems with seeds, with small sails and also parachutes, each living their own lives. Similarly our minds teem with thoughts and also associations, memories, plans, bias, ideas as well as insights, every one of them sailing along according to their very own energy.

Thoughts are fleeting in their nature - one minute something crucial comes up, the next minute all is forgotten. Thoughts are arbitrary as they are consistent, they include realities and lies, mundane web content as well as extensive. They are brought by energies we recognize or not knowledgeable about, they drive us in all kind of instructions, with or without our conscious will.

Because of this inherent passing nature, exactly how after that, can we really understand what's taking place? Do I really recognize what I'm thinking? Do I really know what drives me? What are my patterns, my propensities, my beliefs, my prejudices, my viewpoints?

Expressing whatever comes

This is my experience when placing a pen in my hand: words show up on paper, the same method ideas appear in my mind. If I offer my hand the permission to follow its very own route, it can move in mystical methods, without minimal interference. Much like my thinking. Unlike with my mind, I can literally trace my reasoning while enjoying my hand step from one end of the paper to the various other. Sometimes I ask yourself where all words come from. Who are they for? Why are they asking to be revealed? As well as what do they truly desire from me?

Sometimes inquiries appear more vital than solutions, I am satisfied with the asking yourself. At other times the concerns trigger a complete mental chaos. I get impatient, and toss them onto that heap of life's unsettled secrets. At other times, everything seems clear and noticeable. Obviously, I claim to myself, of course! I watch my hand as it relocates silently across the paper expressing whatever comes. A deep sense of calmness comes over me, I really feel pleased to my bones. As well as because moment writing is the greatest point, I read my words as I write them as well as feel a feeling of admiration, as if something bigger than me has actually been at overcome my hand. As if I have actually been called by a pressure much older, wiser and kinder than myself.

The gift as well as the despair of writing

But after that, from a location of clarity, in comes the haze. I discover there is no assurance of anything, nothing is resolved when as well as for all. This is the present and the sorrow of composing, awareness of what is taking place inside. I am in tune with revelations along with sadness, with the interesting, along with the mundane.

But, strangely sufficient, whatever the mood, I can pick up a mysterious wish to compose. It appears as if composing belongs to the group of basic requirements, in the very same organization as moving my body, talking to a buddy, alcohol consumption water, or cleaning my teeth in the evening. If food craving wasn't such an impure word, I would certainly call composing a craving.

Writing as a practice

Natalie Goldberg, one of the significant American writing teachers and best recognized for her publication Writing Down the Bones, has released the term 'writing technique'. Along with being a fundamental device for all various other composing tasks (journal, essay, lecture, speech, fiction), writing, she says, is an experience by itself. Her method is to take the pen in one hand, paper in the other - and after that simply compose whatever comes. For her, the essence is to capture 'the first idea', the one that drifts to the surface without disturbance. For this to occur the pen requires to relocate constantly without editing and enhancing or vital judgement.

Julia Cameron, who wrote The Artist's Way regarding uncloging your creativity, uses the exercise of 'early morning pages'. Her approach is to create 3 pages, daily and as close to your rest and also your unjudged mind as feasible. After a while, something happens. You will certainly see patterns in your writing, and slowly come back in touch with your deeper self.

Try for yourself!

Why not give writing a shot! Begin by finding any type of scrap of paper (or a lovely brand-new journal, your option!), a pen, and some undisturbed time. Set your timer for 10 minutes. Begin with a couple of deep, soothing breaths, after that position the pen theoretically as well as create words 'I see' (or one more prompt like 'I listen to ...' or 'I keep in mind ...' or 'now ...') Wonder as to what the words will certainly ignite in you and where they wish to go. What do you see today? Right here? Be as particular as feasible. Include details, associations, memories, insights. Just bear in mind to maintain the hand relocating without judgment. Let yourself be stunned! If stuck, simply duplicate the words 'I see' (or your various other chosen punctual). Check out the space and also take down what you see, and also allow the pen do the remainder for you. As well as bear in mind the golden policy of journaling - there are no regulations. None whatsoever:-)

Did you enjoy it? Did it unsettle you? Did you locate it hard? Remarkable? Soothing? Why not provide on your own the time, the paper and also the approval to remain to discover this interested experience ...

Unblocking creative thinking - 5 minutes talk from Jeff Foster

How can we discover creativity when we really feel obstructed? Just how can we discover solutions when we feel so much far from them? Jeff describes how doubt, feeling numb, stuckness, and also even anguish, could well be the tricks to unlocking deep creative thinking in ourselves, and also an opening for something brand-new to emerge.

#hatha #Hatha Yoga #meditation #yoga

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