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duskyskz · 3 years

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Blueberry Claws - H.H.J

Warnings - Halloween Au, mentioned assault, choking, Hyunjin!Dom mild tones, slight violence

Word Count - 4.7K

A/N - ahaha this .. turned out way longer than I meant to ohno I'm sorry Hyunjin had my heart in a vice grip lately

Part of @nightshade-minho and @mini-meanhoe 's Halloween collab!

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Elbow deep in ruddy earth, you kneel among the undergrowth of your garden, plucking away stray roots and weeds. It’s not your favourite part of the day, but you pride yourself in the exquisite berries your growth produces, and adequate sunlight is a must in bringing the sweetest fruits. Autumnal chills creep down your spine, warning you of setting sun and cooler nights looming over the forest horizon. It is a quaint little house, settled carefully between the curve of the river and the forest border, a hat’s toss away from the village settlement, and you enjoy it that way - far away enough for privacy and undisturbed peace, yet not isolated enough to be unreachable and dreary.

People weren't the only viable company, anyway. Your neighbors came in the form of passing badgers rummaging through your compost, squirrels and mice poking their noses through cracks in your windowsill while you bake, the sweet smell of sugar and jams luring in a furry audience you felt obliged to entertain, tossing crumbs and peels into the open yard.

“Croak!”

You raise your head away from the mud at the screech, glancing upward.

“Hello.” You greet your most recent visitor. The magpie quickly climbed upon your friendlist, introducing itself with a persistent knock of its beak against your poor kitchen windowpane. It came back the next evening, and the one after that, never missing more than a day in it’s routine to rob you of your pie crusts.

“Are you hungry?”

“Croak!” You suppose that’s a yes, considering the intensity with which the bird stares down at your precious blueberries.

“Come on, then. Lunch wouldn’t hurt me, either.”

***

“Can you believe that - that witch!” You stomp along the pavement to your front door, slamming it open. “The audacity to even imply my pies are anything but organic!”

Positively fuming, you don't entertain the absurdity of venting your frustrations to a corvid. At times, you think to yourself the little blackbird almost understands you - head tilting in accordance with your words, nodding when appropriate and watching your dutifully as if awaiting continuation.

Then it’s attention switches from your wild gesticulations to the fresh batch of muffins cooling on your counter, and your suspicions of a higher intelligence disappears, leaving you to sweep cake crumbs off it’s feathers. No, plunging neck-deep into hot cake is not wise, you’d point out later.

***

Maybe the loneliness does get to you after all. It’s a little embarrassing to admit how reliant you become on the magpie’s company. Its’ shrill croaks and glassy eyes became a comfort to you, a presence your day no longer felt complete without. Brushing your fingertips over the delicate feathers on its back, you rest your chin on your other palm.

“It’s a dreary winter coming, birdie.” You muse, humming at the overcast sky. Masses of grey and washed out blues tumblr over the hills, warning you of approaching snows and rains. “I should fix the roof hatching tomorrow morning - be a shame to freeze my toes off before the solstice, wouldn’t it?”

The magpie doesn’t reply, and you don’t expect it to, but the slow blinks as you speak convince you your words don’t fall on deaf ears.

“As long as I don’t have someone warming my bed, I better do all the warming myself.” Springin to your feet, you set to work on tidying the front yard.

“Would you care to join me to fetch new hay for the roof tomorrow?”

Your unconventional companion opens his beak, groaning. Then it snaps down into the ground, impaling one of your finest strawberries.

Ah, well.

You can only guess what a magpie must tend to in a day - you weren’t about to keep it from important bird tasks.

***

Your window panes quiver with the force of the hurricane, creaking sadly in their wooden frames. You have no idea what time it could possibly be, but judging by the time already passed since sundown, it’s way into the late night. Dismorphed figures haunt the outside, shadows passing over your bedroom like a predator, and you burrow deeper under your covers. Of course, approaching winter was harsh. In the hillside, mountain winds rolled down rocky foundations to crash into your humble home with rapid force. Turning onto your side, you press your head against the pillow to mute the whistle of the wind through your thin walls. You’d patched the roof last week - but you had yet to insulate the walls fresh, and chills made themselves known through cracks and gaps in last year’s worn overlay.

With a soul-crushing snap, your window is thrown open as the lock gives way to hurricane, two fragile glass planes whipping open into the dead of night as you curse your luck and scramble out of bed to grasp the handles before they’re torn off entirely.

Yet something past the glass grabs your gaze before you can pull them shut, petrifying you in place. You don’t know if it’s the rain freezing your feet to the ground, or the unfiltered terror, but you can’t even scream as your eyes meet the vividly yellow ones across your garden.

Hunched above your blueberry bush, in a cloak of pitch black, stands a creature you’ve only seen in manic sketches in the village hall prior to tonight. Its’ spine seems bent, somehow, too long and too skewerd to fit precisely in its body, leaving two lumps protruding from its back. In a pale face, boxed in by wisps of black, you can only focus on two luminous eyes, zeroing in on your figure with far too much attention for your liking.

In its knifed claws it grips a branch of your favourite plant, mangled and weeping blueberry juice onto the dirt. Maroon splatters blot the beast’s face, but you don’t gaze long enough to separate fruit from the blood of some poor soul.

Maybe your blood will be next on its beak.

Yanking the window shut, you tumble into your bed, curling as tight as you can into the duvet, shielding your head. Maybe it’ll go away if you don’t make noise, holding your hands to your ears.

Maybe it’ll just go away.

***

It’s been three days since the storm, and coincidentally, three day since you’ve last seen your closest friend. Really, mayhaps this was a sign your friendship should extend elsewhere, and not the local corvid populace. Shovelling pastries into your hamper, you venture out into the open air for the first time since that night.

You’re still unable to clean the wreckage in your front yard. Somehow, the thought of laying your hands on the same branches that unknown horror touched fills you with dread, and you can’t bring yourself to rid the leftover mess. You had enough jams and preserves stockpiled to last you the whole winter if need be - if you weren’t financially obliged to sell most of them, anyway.

Fitting yourself with a scarf to guard from temperamental weather, you wrap the wool tightly up to your nose as the first leaves fall from the oaks beside you.

You love your town, you really do.

The whimsy of nearby streams rolling over lustrous green fields is a wonder to wake up to every morning, and the walk into town is always a pleasant meander under centuries-old oaks and pine trees, spying on the conversations of woodpeckers and crows.

Yet, among all the commotion, you find yourself missing one particular croak. Never quite the same elegant cry as the other birds, but particular and endearing in its own right.

And entirely missing from your life for half a week.

Passing the stone gates, you keep to the right of the road to make space for idle carts and horses wandering the streets. Carefully, you unload all your stock onto the market table - this stand has your name carved into the wooden leg, and you pride yourself on being a regular enough attendant to warrant a reserved place.

The day flurries by you in a mess of clinking jam jars and passing coins. Afternoon had already set in a while ago, traversing into the evening by the time you begin wrapping up your last sale. Bidding goodbye to the market staff, you hoist your (significantly lighter) basket over your forearm, leaving the town square. It’s not dark yet, bare wisps of the night inking over your head as the sun lowers over the woods, letting you lose your train of thought in the scenery.

You feel the last pricks of stress leave you as your thoughts drift to the hallowing creature from nights ago. Perhaps your mind, in its hazy and exhausted stade, played up the vivid shadows and reflections in the moonlight? Yes, surely. There’s no way an animal this size and fright roamed your woods unacknowledged - The only terror you knew was the fabled warlock, but nobody has seen his face in decades. You weren’t even sure what he looked like. All tales of warlocks the library gave you marked them as haunted men, selling their soul for mastery of dark arts, giving up their limbs for a hint of inhuman power. Some had horns, you’d read. Some, a devilish tail winding between their legs, while some gave up their own eyes and replaced them with animal counterparts for better senses.

It scared you more than you’d like to admit, the more you entertained the possibility of a being so twisted hiding in the depths of your woods - but was Hwang Hyunjin even real, or a figment of townsfolk imagination?

Entangled in your own head, you fail to notice the arm lashing out to grab your elbow and yank you violently sideways, slamming your back into the brick wall between two buildings.

“Ouch!” You rasp out, catching your breath, but your scream is broken by the hand quickly winding around your throat.

Great, after a shitty week you were going to get robbed, too!

“Don't you try open your mouth again, you little bitch.” A coarse voice hissed against your cheek. You tried to reel away from the terrible stench of his breath, but with your back against the wallside, it was impossible to weasel out. “Made quite a pretty penny at the market today, didn’t ya?”

A large, cold hand snuck down your waist, over the ribbons tying your corset shut, and you were sure you’d retch when clammy fingers started tugging at the knot.

“Where are you hiding it, then? Down your vest?” One sharp pull leaves your corset flying open, exposing your skin to freezing night air, shielded only by a thin undershirt. You try to shake your head, but the hold on your neck makes it impossible to even curse. “That’s a bit thin, isn’t it? Not much to hide under such flimsy fabric -”

“Shit!”

You heave in a breath as the tightness around your throat suddenly wanes, disappearing, and all weight lifts from you. Eyes watering from the lack of oxygen, you blink rapidly to clear your vision, stumbling back as you find focus.

Shrill cries tear from your assailant, angry red oozing from the gash above his left eye, arms flailing maniacally to chase away the blur of feathers thrashing around his head. Slinking down to catch your breath, you pull your knees to your chest to steady your breathing, though the scene before you grows more gruesome every time you blink.

You can’t tear your eyes away, even as the bird dives down again, embedding its razor claws in the man’s eye socket. The screams are terrifying, but you don’t have the thought to wonder how no one else came to check the commotion.

Maybe nobody wanted to.

In muted horror, you watch as the man finally lands a hit, thrashing the tiny bird into the wall opposite with a numbing crack, spinning on his heel to face you once more, though his one eye struggles to find your face. He stumbles forward, lurching in your direction, drops of fresh blood flying at your feet.

“What are you, a witch? I should burn you alive -”

Smack!

You’re sure you’re hallucinating as he topples to the pavement, struck by a surprise force. Hunched over him, in a flurry of black feather, sits a mass you know you’ve seen before. For a moment you think, another bird? A whole flock? But then the feathered cape shifts, raises, and you realise it’s one pair of heavy-set wings protruding from a broad back, arms poised to strike over and over at a target long void of defense. You feel sick - everything that unravelled in the last few moments makes your stomach churn, and you vomit onto the floor between your feet. You can’t watch the blood any longer, listen to the crunching sound of tendons snapping and bone breaking, rolling over as you feel your legs give way to jelly.

***

You can feel yourself swaying, gently. You don’t feel the ground, but you know you’re moving, head balanced on something pillowy and warm, but still solid - what a weird combination.

There’s something holding you up by your legs, and another clutching onto your back. You have half the mind to open your eyes when you’re coherent enough to, knowing you should be alarmed given the situation you just vaguely avoided. But this is nice. Your lift your eyelids barely enough to take in your position, head propped carefully on a shoulder. You can’t see much beyond the collarbone your nose is tucked into without outing yourself as awake, so you settle for breathing in deep, lulling your nerves with the scent of ash and fern. It's safe, comforting somehow, in a way you’ve never felt comforted in. Your forehead grazes his cheek, tips of his dark hair tickling your skin as you heave out a sigh and press your face deeper against the warmth.

“I’m sorry I left you, Birdie.”

His voice is gentle, too. You let it ring in your head, soft whispers and words you can't quite decipher but appreciate nonetheless lulling you back into shallow sleep. You recognise your surroundings by the shift of light, stepping out from the tree canopy into wide hillside, catching last rays of sunlight.

You think he’s going to wake you and ask for a key, but your front door grants him access with just a single flick of his wrist under your knee. You’ll have to ask him about that later.

Nudging his way inside, ducking to fit past the low doorframe, your saviour swiftly marches to your bedroom, confirming your suspicions. The layout of your house was entirely too familiar to him for it to be the first time he’s visited the premises. Or the second, if you count the night visit three days back. When he lowers you onto the mattress, it's with such care your heart skips in your chest, and you pray he doesn’t hear it stop entirely when you feel his fingertips brush over your shoulder to pull the blankets over you, strong arms straining under his shirt as he moves your head from his shoulder and you immediately miss the heat. There’s a cup of water by your bedside that wasn’t there before, and when satisfied with your placement, he steps away. Your eyes blink open fully when you feel his presence leave your side.

“Are you leaving?” Your voice sounds small even to you.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me around.” He answers after a hesitant pause, kneeling by your bed. “You - You looked really scared that night. I never want you to be scared of me.”

You sit up, reaching for the glass of water which he swiftly passes to you to soothe your throat and wash out remaining bile. Your skin still burns in the places that asshole touched you, and you hiss when your fingers rub the sore spots on your neck, before a larger hand wraps around your palm, bringing it down to glare at the bruise.

“I won’t apologize for what happened to him, though.” The venom in his voice makes you still. “That filth got what he deserved - I should have taken his other eye, too.”

“...Is he dead?” You’re not sure you should ask.

“No. I left him breathing, but I can’t guarantee someone will find him in time.”

“You left him blind, that’s enough Hyunjin.” His head snaps up at the name, as if he didn’t expect the confrontation. “You’re the magpie that’s been visiting my garden this summer, aren’t you? You’re the fabled terror in our woods.”

You say the last part with a smile, but the warlock lowers his head still, glancing down at the blanket curving over your hips.

“....Yeah.” He mumbles, observing the many silver rings at his knuckles. “Is that too much for you?”

“What do you mean?” You scrunch your nose, confused, when he doesn’t elaborate.

“At first I just came to visit because of the garden, but every time you saw me you’d talk to me like I was a person - Like I could understand. And I know you talk to the others too, like that ugly goose -” You want to scold him for calling Truffles ugly, but he carries on without pause. “But in my head it was just, nice. Even if I couldn’t reply, whenever you speak, there’s no darkness in me. Nothing but you.”

Hyunjin frowns, not wanting to meet your eyes yet. His hand grips the edge of your duvet, straining the fabric as his wings twitch.

“I was so fucking mad at myself when you saw me. You looked so small, so petrified - and of me. And as much as I wanted to take you into my arms and reassure you I couldn’t.”

You can’t deny it, you were scared then. But knowing the man before you now, the events of today and the large part thunder and your own exhaustion played into your fear that night, you felt none of the apprehension now, resting your hand atop his shaking ones.

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to see me again, if you’d guessed what I was after that. So I let you be, watching from a distance, because I couldn’t bring myself to let go completely. And today, fuck -” He runs a clawed hand through his locks, pushing hair out of his face to finally look at you, golden eyes rooting you to your spot. “I should have snapped both his legs for even thinking to touch you.”

“But maybe that’s my own vice.” You watch soft pink lips form words you’re not sure are real. They could have been your own imagination, for how quietly he speaks. “Maybe my love would be too much for you.”

The silence that follows his confession is crushing to both of you, for entirely different reasons.

You barely wrap your head around the idea of being loved by him before he pulls his hand away from yours, accepting rejection he knew was coming. It’s not until he stands that you breathe in, catching the edge of his jacket before he can leave you again.

“It’s not.” You state. “It’s not too much.”

You hope he doesn’t mistake the quiver in your voice for doubt, because you’ve never been so sure of something in your life.

“Do you mean that?” The hopeful lilt to his voice sparks your heart alight, he’s at your side in seconds, long feathers sweeping the floor below his feet as he moves. “Are you sure you want me the same way I want you?”

“I do.”

You nod to reassure him, sliding further down the bed to make space for his larger frame. Hyunjin slinks in next to you, crawling over to hover above you, taking in the way you look finally beneath him. His feathers block out most light, sun long set. You can barely see, but before you can complain about missing his ethereal beauty, a candle flickers alight by your window, and another on your bedside table. Another, and yet one more afterward, until your bedroom filters in a warming glow from a dozen shy fires.

Ah, warlock things.

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin hesitates still, lips stopping millimeters away from yours as the last strings of hesitation cling to his thoughts until you urge him to move. “You can touch me.”

His lips are warmer than anything you’ve ever felt, moving over your mouth like fine malt wine. There’s a quiver in his hands when he brings a palm down to cradle your cheek, running his thumb over the smooth skin as his tongue runs over your teeth.

You don’t notice your legs spreading open to allow him between your thighs until his knee bumps against your core, bundling your skirts in his fist to pull them down and off.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to have you under me like that, birdie.” Hyunjin whispers. “All for me, at my mercy - you look so good like that.”

The irony of him using your own nickname for him on you is lost in the moment you arch your back into his touch, pressing your still corseted chest against his palm. Every place he touches has you needing more of him, every part you can reach.

“Undress me, please.”

“Gladly.” Nimble fingers pluck the bow of your shirt open, lifting it over your head. In the cocoon of his wings and candle light, you feel a love you’ve never known before. Discarding his own shirt next, you hardly have a moment to take in the exquisite expanse of his chest before your field of vision is taken up with glimmering navy feathers, Hyunjin’s head dipping to swirl his tongue over your nipple. Your grip in his hair makes him keen against your chest, groaning over the sensitive flesh between his teeth.

“Are you - You’re a virgin?” The idea of him being the first to make you feel so open, the only person to see you react to such intimate touch gets him harder than Hyunjin thought possible.

“Ah, yeah…” You nod. Were your reactions so telling? You suddenly felt even smaller, caged between his arms and the pillows, watching his tamarind eyes flicker.

“I’ll love you well, birdie. Don’t worry.” He blows cool air onto your damp bud and you feel like crying. One hand leaves the space by your head, pinching your other peak. At first gently, testing how far he could push your limits to get you melting at his touch, then harder when you moan at the slight burn.

Your hips rise to rub against his thigh, unknowingly seeking out friction to aid the dampness gathering in your underwear. His hand meets you there, slipping a finger under the band of your panties to snap it against your skin for your impatience, and you still immediately, recognising his dominance even without prior warning.

“Be good and wait. If I own you, I’m taking my time with you.” There’s a hard edge in his voice, something about the empty threat makes you want to push his buttons until he snaps.

You don’t need to wait much longer.

Ridding you of the last scrap of clothing you had left, Hyunjin has you bare and displayed, every part on show and within his reach. Slower than you can take, he drags his thumb on the inside of your thigh, kissing and nibbling the delicate skin just inches away from your dripping cunt. When his thumb finally, finally rubs a circle against your clit you whine his name so loud he nearly bites down hard. Still, he holds his pace, pressing his thumb in patient patterns against your nub as his teeth mark up your thighs.

“Jinnie, go harder, please.”

You know you fucked up when he glances up at you, brows quirking in amusement.

“I said I’ll take care of you, y/n. If you want to cum, lay there and take it.”

You’re thankful he has a shred of mercy for your sanity, because your pleas seem to have a marginal effect on his movement.

You eat your words when Hyunjin forces two fingers inside your already wet slit, scissoring you open with harsh flicks of his wrist. His lips remain stuck to your clit, and the sudden assault on your senses has tears rushing down your cheeks.

“W-Wait! Hyun, wait, I don’t want to cum yet!” You don’t really believe he’ll listen.

“Don’t you? But I thought you wanted me to hurry, birdie?” The mockery in his voice makes you clench, and you’d flush if you weren’t so close to orgasm. “For someone not ruined before, you beg for a dick so well.”

“No...Not yet, I wanna cum on you, please.”

Hyunjin can resist many things - spells, curses. Killing a man on multiple occasions.

Your whimpering voice as you beg for him to take your virginity in your own bed, wrapped around his fingers and blushing from his tongue is not one of those things.

“Fuck, okay.”

Pulling his fingers out, your lips part at the emptiness, but your nerves prickle with knowledge of what awaits you next. Hyunjin is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, sweat dampening his forehead and eyes peering right into your heart whenever your gazes meet. You’re hypnotised by the way muscles in his back tense when he kneels between your thighs, urging you to open up for his fit. You only catch the briefest sight of his length, but it’s enough to make you gasp in anticipation at the size and thickness of his base.

“You’re sure you want me?” Your legs wrap around his waist as he asks, not yet penetrating you, only resting his length on your slick core.

“I want you more than anything I’ve ever dreamed of, Hyunjin.” You channel all your love and trust into your words, daring yourself to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

Feeling the stretch of him is euphoric, inch by inch, more than any discomfort could hope to reach. Your focus on the flex of his forearm propping him up beside your head, the tantalizing way his mouth curls in a moan of your name when he bottoms out, placing his seal on you completely.

“Tell me when I can move, alright?”

“N-Now, you can move. Please move.” You’re gonna go insane if he doesn’t ravage you right now, digging your nails into his bicep. Hyunjin starts off slowly, gentle languid strokes brushing over your walls. With every move, he feels you relax, the tension in your legs loosening into desperate longing as you pull him deeper into you, trapping him against your body.

You open your eyes only to grab his hand, wrapping it around your throat. His hips stutter, before he grips you fully, squeezing the sides of your neck until your moans turn to broken cries of his name.

“You’re such a cute little whore, love. What a dirty pussy you’ve been holding out on me.”

The smirk he looks down on you with is downright filthy, degrading every shred of dignity you had left, but you don’t take in anything but him, his hips slamming you into the mattress and the hot breath against your ear. “Are you gonna cum from that? My good girl, just like that...Let go and cum under me.”

He pulls his hand away from your neck, allowing you to heave in a breath and scream his name. Hyunjin holds you down by your wrists above your head, thrusting relentlessly as you cum around him, shaking and sobbing from the overstimulation at your centre. He allows himself to release then, as your whimpers quieten and he rides out your highs with you, filling you to the brim.

You stay entwined for a moment as you catch your shaky breath, coming out of the headspace Hyunjin fucked you into. When he pulls out, you fight the urge to clamp your legs shut as he holds your thighs apart, admiring the way his cum spills out of your rawed hole.

“Let me clean you first, birdie.”

You nearly drift off in the blissed-out feeling that envelops you as he wipes your legs clean with a warm, damp cloth, stroking over tingling bruises with adoration.

When he’s finally satisfied with your state, Jinnie allows you to tug him back into bed with you, arms immediately coiling around your middle to press you into his chest, nose nuzzling against the crown of your head to breathe in your scent.

“I meant every word I said.” He mentions, speaking against your forehead. His lips tickle you with every word and you’re so tempted to kiss him again just because you can. “ I really do love you.”

“I know, Jinnie. I love you too.”

****

Tag list - @defsbxessi @godlyaj @palet-innie

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin #lee minho #stray kids imagines #hyunjin #Halloween au #Hyunjin au

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1800-love-me · 3 years

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athena's K-pop rants- continued

⚠️⚠️ WARNING: Long ass rants ⚠️⚠️⚠️

Its Sunday and Athena sees no point in not taking the time out of their day to address shit that either concerns or pisses her off 🙏

domestic fans: have you not had enough?

its hilarious, to a degree, how easy it is to piss off even a portion of Korean fans. obviously this has nothing to do with GENUINE cultural difference (between Korea and the rest of the world ofc) or idols (any celeb included) fucking up massively. drugs and bullying are two issues that are taken very seriously in Korea as compared to the west.

now, putting aside genuine shit that idols need to stop doing knowing their target audience, comes the silly bs.

dating??? since the beginning of K-pop these idols are viewed as pieces of meat and that they always have to be single, for their fans. honestly thinking (as an i-fan) i do find it a bit hard to get accustomed to a very famous idol dating. its not that i want to date an idol or find it easier to support someone who is publicly single, but K-pop has definitely changed the way I see very public figures dating. its not something that is anywhere near normalized or even considered decent by some companies, let alone fans. the way some fans treat idols that date or even so much so as go drinking with their female friends somewhere really makes me question how people still even want to become idols.

dating allegations? honestly as long as these two people are in a healthy, legal, and happy relationship, should we care? especially when it comes to senior idols, i can’t help but not give a flying fuck. i can’t even pin it on fans of a certain age range because there are older people who should know better and do better in terms of how they associate themselves with their idols. 75% of international fans really don’t care (maybe it is because we are truly international and they feel unreachable LMFAO), but I’m not very sure that even a quarter of that amount of k-fans feel the same. maybe these genuine fans are just off the grid and aren’t as loud as these toxic ones. its truly disheartening that AYNONE feels they need to give an apology or break up because they’re in love????

especially lately i see so many k-nctzens hating on nct in any way they can. suddenly y’all wanna exist and make your presence known?? is it not enough that you hate on the foreign neos and leave wayv out of the equation. (honestly I’m starting to think leaving them out must be better than dealing with the bs the others have to deal with). hating on hyuck because of a “dating allegation”??? do we really trust all kpop out of anyone?? LIKE PLS OVER FOLLOWING THEIR VLIVE, SUPPOSEDLY HAVING MATCHING ITEMS....are we fr? dragging in most of dream, must be fun too, right? its unlikely that he would date rn, but if he is are you going to avoid him and stop supporting him? was he only your idol because he was single and it made it easier to stan him?

disclaimer of whatever: obv not every k-fan is like this. a shit load of i-fans do similar shit and aren’t innocent. but i can still speak on what i choose to, so lol fuck these mfs who do this shit regardless of where they live or are from.

Itzy’s (Mafia) In the Morning controversy??

this is much lighter than the last section LMFAO, but still I went /?&&7t5^*? when some people found a problem with the song or the MV. I’m not Italian or from wherever mafias exist, so I’m not familiar with these criminals aside from stereotypes/media/history. In the Morning, if you are unaware, is JYPE’s female rookie group Itzy’s latest comeback. Some people saw the mention of mafia and immediately found a problem with it. Mafias are very strangely romanticized which is just very 🤨.

The funniest thing is that this comeback is based on the popular Korean game, Mafia. You sit/stand in a group, some are selected to be citizens/mafia/doctor/cop, you get the gist. Mafia chooses who to k word, doctors are supposed to heal who is k worded, cops are supposed to catch the mafias, and citizens are innocent.

The twist in their song is that instead of k wording people violently they k word people when they fall in love w them?? (it feels insane explaining this PLS)

Anyways, mafias are not a new theme in entertainment. Like, at all. Some people really hated on them for this which made me feel like I was in a fever (by Enhypen) dream.

☆- Anyways on to the most important bullet point: some people really disliked this song which is so weird. To each their own, but if you dress them up so beautifully and give Yuna and Lia such bomb ass lines HOW CAN I HATE IT?? Plus, they NEVER disappoint with choreo and stage presence.

#kpop rant #kpopidol #nct haechan #itzy ryujin #in the morning #idol #nctzens

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nsheetee · 5 years

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My Only Star

Pairing: Doyoung x Reader Genre: Soulmate AU || Fluff, a dash of Angst Length: 2k Summary: You and Doyoung are linked by Fate’s red string in the most unique way: you can communicate through music before you meet each other for the first time. When you decide to date Kun, a long time friend who helps you get experience in the dating world, Doyoung becomes jealous decides it’s time to finally meet you in person.

a/n: the italicized quotes are from @doietonic ‘s poem “The Only Star.” Credit for the poem goes to them (thank you for letting me use it :’) )

☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

“At first, I wasn’t so sure whether you’re a sickness or a cure but as time passes by, you were neither- but a star in the sky.”

When you first heard music in your head, you were absolutely frightened. You poked your head up and searched for the source, but when no source could be found you quickly ran to your mother in the next room, straight into her open arms and nuzzled into her warmth, screaming to make the invisible music stop. After you were calmed down and explained the new phenomenon, you could have sworn you were cursed.

It took you months to get used to the new voice in your head, one that you could not control. It felt like a part of your brain was not your own, an unsettling feeling to have to get used to, but something that was forced upon you without choice. You certainly cursed at Fate for the years to come, before you understood how much of a blessing your soulmate tell really was.

Music became more than background noise for you, or something used to calm you down when things got rough; it was now a tool to communicate with your soulmate. If you directly sang, your voices could be heard as clear as day in each other’s head; or if there was enough music playing in the background, you could pick up conversations the other person was having with others around them.

Once you and your soulmate learned the ins and outs of your tell, you started to talk to each other through simple and quiet melodies. You had nightly singing sessions with your soulmate; you sung out of your window and to the moon in hopes of not waking up the rest of the people who were sleeping in your home. The conversations were not deep or lengthy, awkwardness keeping certain details from being shared, but the connection between the two of you could be felt deep in both of your hearts.

Your soulmate’s name is Doyoung; his voice reminded you of spun silk and steamed milk and everything that is nice to the senses. Even at a young age, Doyoung had an amazing talent of singing and it only improved as he grew up, you had the pleasure of experiencing this talent bloom first hand. His voice became your new music: it calms you down on the nights that you could not sleep due to anxiety, stress, or just a bad case of the toss-and-turns. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only person who would listen to you and your troubles.

You got to know him through his absentminded singing while he was working or doing homework, while he was cleaning his house to the point of it being spotless, and while he was relaxing with a cup of tea on his balcony. It felt backwards to you: knowing someone through their personality first rather than through the basic facts like what they did for a living, what their favorite color was, and what they looked like.

Doyoung got to know your persistence and hard-working nature when he would hear you practice the piano almost every single night. Some practice sessions ended in success, but some ended in distress; Doyoung admired how you would always get back behind the piano the next day and work out the problems. Sometimes, when you added your voice to your playing, Doyoung would stop whatever he was doing and just listen. He wondered how you looked when you played the piano and sang. Did you close your eyes? Did you tilt your head in an attempt to get some tricky notes out? He so badly wanted to know- to see with his own eyes.

If only Doyoung had spoken out about wanting to see you in person, maybe things could have been different. You and Doyoung never actually knew how physically close you were to each other; how many times you had walked passed each other on the streets, or stood in line behind each other at the bookstore, or rode the same bus at the same time. Since the location of your residence was not something either of you brought up (either being too shy to bring it up first, or maybe scared of what reality this new information could bring,) the fake distance you created between each other made you become each other's star in the sky: unreachable, but not a feature to be overlooked.

“I didn’t realize that you were there, I’ve always thought that some stars were rare. So, I loved the moon even if it was hard to reach.”

When you got a boyfriend, Doyoung became confused. Here was his literal soulmate, the person made for him, being intimate with someone else. It made him want to rip out the part of his head that was made specially for you, maybe then he could stop hearing your cheerful laughter towards someone who wasn’t him. Doyoung knew in the end it would be him that you would end up with, but he couldn’t help getting a bit insecure.

Kun was an amazing person, of course you would date him. He was funny, caring, and a long time friend. Although he has his own soulmate and you have yours, you both decided to create this arrangement for the purpose of getting experience in the dating world before meeting your soulmates in person. It was honestly relaxing to be able to go through things like your first date with Kun- he made it light-hearted and you felt more experienced coming out of it.

When you discussed this arrangement with Doyoung, he was now not only confused but slightly territorial, especially when you started talking about Kun during your nightly chats with the moon. You would sing about how you did this and that with Kun, how Kun made this amazing pasta a few days ago, how Kun got your favorite flowers for you, Kun this, Kun that, Kun. Doyoung was sure you didn’t mean to rub the relationship in his nose; he couldn’t help but feel isolated and forgotten. He is your soulmate, you are his. He didn’t care how experienced or inexperienced you were when you met him, he just wanted you in his life and he wanted Kun out of it.

“Then a star like you came and fell and as if you had this spell- a spell which made me realize things- things that I did not know only you could bring.”

The warm grass tickled your toes as you sat bare-foot on a blanket in the park; like a sunflower, your head tilted up to the sun and caught it’s rays as they shone down. The band currently on the make-shift stage in front of you was sending beautiful music towards your direction, you couldn’t help but close your eyes and absolutely fall in love with the moment. It took you awhile to realize that the same music in front of you was repeating in your head, but your eyes popped open in shock when you did. You turned your head around, looking at the other concert-goers for anyone who looked like your soulmate, which you thought would be impossible since you’ve never seen him before.

And yet, when your eyes met with a pair of dark, raven-like ones for the first time, you knew. This is Doyoung. You had no idea what to expect, but he exceeded anything you could ever think of. Your feet picked you off of the grass and you made your way to where he was standing on the concrete behind the rest of the audience. When you reached him, your throat felt narrow from the nerves in your stomach.

“D-Doyoung?” You asked timidly, sending a small, empty prayer that this was him.

“Y/N.” He answered, and you sighed at how much his live voice sounded like the one that you are so used to hearing in your head.

“You opened my heart to something new, and that was about loving you. You are the star that can connect with me just like the constellations being looked at by the sea. You’ll always be my only star.”

Getting to know Doyoung in real life was different than getting to know him through your soulmate tell. Maybe it was something about the added senses of touch and sight that made him feel more real. Being with Doyoung was different than being with Kun; with Kun you had to try and find the things you liked about him, but with Doyoung, the things you fell in love with came to you.

Like when you shared your first kiss on the doorstep of your home one night, and Doyoung couldn’t look at you before he did it. You gently took hold of his jaw, turned him to you, and then leaned forward. You didn’t feel like each other’s star in the sky, you felt like you were finally connected, finally together. Lips meshing together and warmth seeping between both of you. You shamelessly wondered if Fate took her time in making sure you and Doyoung were absolutely perfect for each other.

Or once you and Doyoung moved in together, you found out how he had to drink coffee in the morning to function and it doesn’t matter who you are, you don’t talk to him until he’s had his coffee. The first morning spent with Doyoung felt more like a nightmare, you couldn’t figure out what you did wrong to make him glare at you the way he did. When you learned about his addiction to the heavenly bitter caffeine, you wanted to show a small act of compromise. You started bringing Doyoung his coffee in bed with a kiss on his messy bed hair and a delicate “good morning” to stir him out of his sleep. The mornings he wakes up to the smell of coffee just the way he likes it and your body next to his were some of the greatest mornings of his life.

Or how he would sing in the shower, his voice echoing off the tile walls to reach your ears in the bedroom. His singing skills seemed to only improve as time went on, and the acoustics in the bathroom made you lean your ear against the door, trying to block out the echo of his song in your head. You liked hearing Doyoung’s authentic voice nowadays rather than the copy that was in your head. One day, when you convince Doyoung to let you join him in the shower, he coyly sings melodies into your wet, bare shoulder and laughs through the lyrics as you massaged the shampoo through his hair. Yes, hearing Doyoung’s voice live was one of your new favorite simplicities in life.

Or when you try to fall asleep but something in your head just isn’t letting you, Doyoung wraps you tightly in his hold and hums you into a blissful sleep. Although it’s an amazing feeling to fall asleep to, it’s even better when you wake up to him still beside you, tracing patterns on the skin of your waist and pushing the hair out of your eyes. No words shared, barely-awake glaces at one another that Doyoung forgets as he falls back asleep, but you wouldn’t give up these moments for the whole world.

It was ridiculously easy to forget about everyone and everything with Doyoung around, he lifted you up and secured you down. He was a trusted ally and a place you could go when you felt like everyone else was against you. He is your soulmate, and loving him is as easy as loving the stars if they were all in the palm of your hand. As for Doyoung- he got what he wanted: to be the only one that mattered to you, and to have the simplicity of hearing you in real life, next to him, was enough. For once being each other’s unreachable star, it was pleasantly sweet to now be each other’s only star.

#doyoung #nct fluff #doyoung fluff #doyoung drabbles #nct x reader #nct soft hours #nct doyoung #nct drabbles #nct au #doyoung scenarios #doyoung au #doyoung x reader #doyoung soft hours #soulmate au #nct angst

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fheythfully · 4 years

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an idea is like a virus [SHB AU]

What is the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm? An idea. Resilient... highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain, it's almost impossible to eradicate.

[My Inception inspired AU is here! First thing I’ve written in a year so I am a little rusty. Click the read more or read on AO3.]

She does not mean to sulk, of course, but--she thought they’d miss her more. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, realizing that the time she spent worried about their sudden collapses and departure of souls had not been met by equal concern on their end. When the Crystal Exarch led her to the audience chambers of this world’s Crystal Tower and let her know of this world’s perils, she had been ready to bear the burden. She had set out for the sands of Ahm Araeng in search of Alisaie only to be met by ungodly heat, more unbearable even than the deserts of Thanalan on summer’s midday, and a quick greeting by the girl before her figure disappeared into the wilds and an assurance that she had it under control. At first it had been pleasant, although surprising, to suddenly find herself with an excess of time on her hands before the next amaro transport would be by to take her away in search of Alphinaud. She wandered the stalls of Mord Souq, tasting the strange delicacies of the local tribe and taking in the sights of the crystallized emptiness to the south. She did not get a chance to bid farewell to Alisaie before her departure, though the girl’s friend, a kindly hyur woman, let her know she’d pass on the message. Alisaie has been busy, she told herself as the rolling sea of browns and golds blurred below her in the ascent of the amaro bearing her away. It only makes sense that she would have duties she cannot be pulled away from, especially in a hard place like this.

Kholusia looks enough like Vylbrand that it makes her queasy to see the state it’s in, especially once she spots windmills in the distance looking so much like her parents’ farm. The relief she feels upon seeing Alphinaud is nearly physical in its intensity, her soft spot for the boy she’s watched grow into a confident young man leading her to embrace him in sisterly affection. His body tenses under her touch and he pats her on the back, a touch awkwardly, before drawing away and laying out his master plan on how to infiltrate Eulmore. He talks with his hands, eyes on the glittering city in the distance, and soon enough the realization dawns upon her: he’s grown without her presence even further into his own. There is an assertiveness in him that had not been there before and a near dismissiveness she’s sure he does not mean, but it burrows under her skin anyway, leaving her feeling out of place at his side in a way that she has not in years.

Encountering Thancred and his young charge, the quiet girl named Minfilia, is uncomfortable to say the least. She knows he’s been here the longest of all the Scions, five years spent on his own adjusting to a new world and new dangers and politics that seems even harder to navigate than Ishgard’s had been. But the man has seemed to grow colder in his age, more abrupt rather than cunning and frustrated with everything--Minfilia defying him to find her, especially, and everything to do with the girl in general. She tells him he is being too harsh one night after he spends a good half a bell berating his silent charge over a misstep in battle she’d done, and Thancred levels her with a look she had not expected to see since Lahabrea’s possession.

“Don’t presume to know what it’s like for us, when you’ve only arrived now that our battles are nearly done.”

She does not speak to him much after that, for what could she say to dispute the truth of his words? The First seems to indeed be on its way to recovery due to no small part of what the Scions have been working towards all this time in her absence. She fights their battles, assures their victories; it is a relationship similar to the one she’d had with the group at the time of Ifrit, Titan and Garuda: she is their sword, and they wield her thus.

Staring up at the ever blinding skies, she misses Tataru. She misses Aymeric who had a cup of tea and a chat ready for her even amidst his busy work rebuilding Ishgard. She misses Lyse and the spars they’d have, the blonde boldly stating she needed time off to stretch her limbs. She had forgotten what it felt like to be an accessory and not part of the team.

The whimsical, near frightening colours and inhabitants of Il Mheg are not enough to thaw her relations with Urianger, who remains as unreachable as ever. Under the towering ancient boughs of Rak’tika she watches Y’Shtola hesitate to bid farewell to the family even she has now found for herself, lingering with one last gaze over Slitherbough as they depart. The other woman is politely friendly but the chasm suddenly between them yawns wide, and she watches Y’Shtola get smaller and smaller on the other side. She watches all the Scions disappear into the horizon away from her and feels small herself, an outsider to this group of people who’d found themselves perilously lost in a world not their own and built themselves a new life to survive.

Beside her, the Ascian wearing the body of the late Garlean emperor tsks . “So much for friendship, hero .” The two of them sit apart from the rest of their group, a fire burning low between them, and she tells herself the suspicious glances cast their way are for his sudden appearance at her side. “So what happens when you kill all the Wardens, then? Will you be set aside like a rusty blade?”

She ignores him and pokes a stick into the dying embers of the pit. Emet-Selch laughs at her silence, gaze so heavy on her she can feel it burning a brand into her skin.

They return to Ahm Araeng and she speaks to the last remnants of her Minfilia. The sullen, quiet girl bearing her name and visage does not reappear at her side when she emerges. Urianger, when she finds the rest of the Scions, shakes his head when she asks about Thancred.

The less that is said about Ahm Araeng and the Warden there, the better.

She listens silently when Y’Shtola and Urianger pull her aside and tell her what she already feels within: the light is consuming her alive. She has become the Warden of the First Reflection.

There is nothing to be done to save her. Nothing in the books of the Crystarium, in the abyss of Allagan research spanning the depths of the Tower, and even the Exarch shakes his head, lips downturned, when he is consulted.

At last, she is a dead woman walking.

She thinks that, all things considered, it has been a long time coming.

The Light within her blurs together all senses and experiences, even memories; she remembers walking for what she knows is the last time through the Crystarium, entirely alone as she makes ready to depart. Bereft of weapons and gear she has the sensation of having flown somewhere, or perhaps she walked, but somehow she has found herself underwater in a city the likes of which she has never seen before. Or maybe it’s not entirely true; she thinks she’s dreamt of it before, or perhaps is dreaming now, walking streets as silent as a graveyard as she seeks out Emet-Selch and his offer of a dignified death.

Is she still breathing? Is she still living? She is not worthy of it. She feels the Light within her churning and hungry, straining against the threads of her soul and mortal shell holding it back. It’s only a matter of time before they snap and in a moment of sudden clarity she is overwhelmingly glad that the Scions are not present to see their vaunted Warrior of Light turn into a monster.

Blearily, she spots a figure before her. Unlike the others it does not move out of her way, but instead stands tall and stubborn in her path until she has no choice but to force her limbs around it. She hears a sigh, and then harsh fingers grip at her shoulder.

It is so unexpected and sudden that it grounds her. The corona of light that has been dimming her vision flares and she blinks, having no choice but to face the figure insisting on her attention.

“Really?” It speaks, a woman’s voice, drawling and mocking and in Common and not the strange language she’s been unable to make out from the other inhabitants. “This is how you’re going to die? Walking to certain death like a martyr, happy to let a villain take your life into his hands? You disappoint me, hero.”

She’s lost for words, no small part due to being directly addressed in such a manner in what feels like a very, very long time--since she had come to the First, perhaps. It clears the fog up in her brain somewhat, some flickering semblance of self sluggishly batting away at the Light cocooning her thoughts.

The tongue in her mouth feels heavy, marble-like. “I have no other choice.”

The figure’s hand, still gripping her skin as if she is not burning its flesh on contact, tightens. “No choice? Don’t make yourself even more pathetic than you already are.”

On habit alone she tilts her chin and purses her lips. Stubborn to the end, apparently. “So what, you have some better ideas on how to not die and consume all of the First? I’m all ears.”

The mouth under the hood smiles in a way she knows it does not mean it. “You really think he won’t destroy this Shard after your timely death? Is this all it took for you to lose your brain?” A laugh, somehow familiar, and she bristles further. The city around her sharpens in its clarity and her chest expands in a deep, angry breath ready to let the stranger have it--and then another hand comes down upon the stranger’s, prying it away.

Emet-Selch stands before them, grasping the stranger’s arm. “That’s enough out of you,” he directs at her hooded companion. There is a certain flatness to his tone, a bite in his words she has not heard even directed at her. In response the figure shakes her arm free and moves to entwine her fingers with his, smiling mockingly, until the man slaps her fingers away in disgust. “Leave us be. You have no place here.”

The woman lets out a dismissive laugh. “I have no place to be here? Steps away from where you murdered me, and where you are about to do so again? Your humour has me turning in my grave, Hades.”

She’s submerged in the heavy silence that descends. Enough time for a single breath, and then the woman turns towards her again. Pale hands reach up to draw back her hood--and something within her screams that the action is wrong, she should not be witness to any of this--and then to remove the delicate white mask that sits perched across her nose and cheeks. She throws it aside on the ground and stomps it for good measure, until motes of aether rise up as the mask simply dissolves on the paved street.

“Astra,” Emet-Selch says, barely constrained fury shaking his voice. “Get out.”

The woman’s lips turn into a pretty pout. “You can make me leave any time you want, Hades. You’re just not wanting it hard enough.” To her she sends a conspiratorial smile, as if they are old friends sharing a secret. “That’s always been the case with dear Hades, you know. Forever wanting things but never knowing how to go about getting them the right way.”

A streetlight down the road goes out. She suddenly realizes she does not even know the name of this place, hidden deep on the ocean floor. She wets her lips. The sense of wrongness inside of her grows. “Who are you?”

Astra raises an eyebrow at her, eyes wide. “We look so much alike, and still that is the question you ask? You just keep finding new ways to disappoint me.” To Emet-Selch, she shakes her head. “You broke her so thoroughly, dear. I’m very hurt.”

Somehow, she is still breathing. Still living. The Light within her writhes, but she wants to know more: the city standing tall and desolate around her, this man named Emet-Selch-and-also-Hades, and the woman Astra before her, with such pale hair and eyes yet still undoubtedly her .

“Why do you look like me?” The hints of a demand enter her tone. “What is this place?”

“You finally start asking the right questions!” The lights around them all begin flickering, but Astra’s excitement is palpable as she claps her hands together and grins at her, all teeth. “I’ll help you out with another one: how did you get here?” At her confused silence, her grin stretches until she can see the canines peeking out, like a mummer’s mask at a horror show. “Try to remember, now. How did you get here, to the bottom of the ocean, to this gloriously dead city of Amaurot?”

She opens her mouth to answer, to say she flew to the coast of--somewhere, or took a boat, or-- “I don’t know,” she says instead. “I don’t--I don’t remember.” She frowns. “How can I not remember? Is it the Light?”

A cold hand settles on her cheek, curiously soft and at odds with everything the woman has been so far. Pale eyes swim with pity as they stare into hers. “Sweetling, the only Light within you is the blessing you’ve been carrying all this time.”

With a furious sound the ground beneath them cracks. A cacophony of noise follows as around them the buildings begin to cave into themselves; trees erupt with their roots torn wild from their carefully curated placements and somewhere beyond her sight, she hears the unmistakable sound of rushing water flooding the bubble of air surrounding the city.

She’d nearly forgotten Emet-Selch’s presence. With a hiss he tears the woman away from her, clutching her wrist in his hand with strength that will leave her with far more than bruises. “You damned woman,” he seethes and his form begins to shift, as if he’s been hiding a monster of his own beneath his human shell this entire time. “If only you would stay out of my way--”

Her wrist must be broken, but Astra only laughs. The city around them continues its rapid collapse. “As if it’s my fault you can't bring yourself to kill me,” she says, and with barely a flicker of her other hand, drives a knife of aether straight into his heart. “Fascinating, considering you had no such qualms the first time.”

Ella watches the life leave the Ascian’s eyes, and has a moment to wander if it had been the way Lahabrea had fallen, too; did you not need to sunder the soul, to ensure an Ascian did not merely jump into another inhabitable body? But no--Emet-Selch sags to the ground and Astra uses a toe to poke his body with a sigh.

She turns her eyes towards Ella, the knife of concentrated aether still sparking with magic in the palm of one hand. “He remembered me very horribly, I’ll have you know. I didn’t have one unkind bone in my body. Not to mention this manner of speech. How self-obsessed can one man get, to make his once-lover sound so much like him?” She tuts and shakes her head. “Guilt does such funny things to memories we hold dear.”

She approaches closer. The strange city of Amaurot around them has fallen, a tremendous wave of water coalescing behind the woman’s form.

It will be upon them in seconds.

“It’s time to wake up,” Astra says. She’s close enough that the Warrior can count the very faint freckles upon her nose, as if this strange duplicate of hers had even that tiny detail down. “You’ll be very confused, and very alone, and the void between worlds will be a frightening place indeed. But rest assured that your friends are waiting for you on the other side, and that this has been nothing more than a very real, and very bad nightmare.”

The touch of aether is hot and electric against her neck. Astra’s smile is trembling. “Make sure you kill him for good for me, will you?”

There is no chance to reply. The knife cuts her open.

#i need to stop taking such long breaks between writing because i feel tired and rusty af #maybe i should go find a prompt challenge #but i am happy to have finally written something aaaah #my writing #ffxiv #ffxiv shb #final fantasy xiv #emet-selch

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richincolor · 4 years

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New Releases

A ton of new books come out tomorrow (3/3), and at least a few have probably made it onto your TBR pile already. What’s your latest must-read?

Distant Stars: Book 3 by MariNaomi In the final volume of the Life on Earth trilogy, celebrated cartoonist MariNaomi concludes her tale of growing up, falling in and out of love, and possible alien interventions. Shy, self-deprecating Paula Navarro is coming into her own–and it’s making her new girlfriend, Johanna, a little nervous. Paula’s former friend Emily Baker is learning to look inward. Brett Hathaway, Emily and Paula’s mutual ex-hook-up, is torn about reconnecting with his estranged dad. And Nigel Jones is smitten with his tutor, Claudia–whose disappearance and reappearance remains a mystery to everyone around her. As Claudia and her guardians put the final plan in motion, they’ll reveal the truth that links everyone’s fate. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Wicked As You Wish (A Hundred Names for Magic #1) by Rin Chupeco Tala Warnock has little use for magic – as a descendant of Maria Makiling, the legendary Filipina heroine, she negates spells, often by accident. But her family’s old ties to the country of Avalon (frozen, bespelled, and unreachable for almost 12 years) soon finds them guarding its last prince from those who would use his kingdom’s magic for insidious ends.

And with the rise of dangerous spelltech in the Royal States of America; the appearance of the firebird, Avalon’s deadliest weapon, at her doorstep; and the re-emergence of the Snow Queen, powerful but long thought dead, who wants nothing more than to take the firebird’s magic for her own – Tala’s life is about to get even more complicated…. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Every Reason We Shouldn’t by Sara Fujimura Warning: Contains family expectations, delightful banter, great romantic tension, skating (all kinds!), Korean pastries, and all the feels.

Fifteen-year-old, biracial figure skater Olivia Kennedy’s Olympic dreams have ended. She’s bitter, but enjoying life as a regular teenager instead of an athlete… until Jonah Choi starts training at her family’s struggling rink. Jonah’s driven, talented, going for the Olympics in speed skating, completely annoying… and totally gorgeous. Between teasing Jonah, helping her best friend try out for roller derby, figuring out life as a normal teen and keeping the family business running, Olivia’s got her hands full. But will rivalry bring her closer to Jonah, or drive them apart? — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Anna K. by Jenny Lee Every happy teenage girl is the same, while every unhappy teenage girl is miserable in her own special way.

Meet Anna K. At seventeen, she is at the top of Manhattan and Greenwich society (even if she prefers the company of her horses and Newfoundland dogs); she has the perfect (if perfectly boring) boyfriend, Alexander W.; and she has always made her Korean-American father proud (even if he can be a little controlling). Meanwhile, Anna’s brother, Steven, and his girlfriend, Lolly, are trying to weather an sexting scandal; Lolly’s little sister, Kimmie, is struggling to recalibrate to normal life after an injury derails her ice dancing career; and Steven’s best friend, Dustin, is madly (and one-sidedly) in love with Kimmie.

As her friends struggle with the pitfalls of ordinary teenage life, Anna always seems to be able to sail gracefully above it all. That is…until the night she meets Alexia “Count” Vronsky at Grand Central. A notorious playboy who has bounced around boarding schools and who lives for his own pleasure, Alexia is everything Anna is not. But he has never been in love until he meets Anna, and maybe she hasn’t, either. As Alexia and Anna are pulled irresistibly together, she has to decide how much of her life she is willing to let go for the chance to be with him. And when a shocking revelation threatens to shatter their relationship, she is forced to question if she has ever known herself at all.

Dazzlingly opulent and emotionally riveting, Anna K.: A Love Story is a brilliant reimagining of Leo Tolstoy’s timeless love story, Anna Karenina―but above all, it is a novel about the dizzying, glorious, heart-stopping experience of first love and first heartbreak. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Salty, Bitter, Sweet by Mayra Cuevas Seventeen-year-old aspiring chef Isabella Fields’ family life has fallen apart after the death of her Cuban abuela and the divorce of her parents. She moves in with her dad and his new wife in France, where Isabella feels like an outsider in her father’s new life, studiously avoiding the awkward, “Why did you cheat on Mom?” conversation.

The upside of Isabella’s world being turned upside down? Her father’s house is located only 30 minutes away from the restaurant of world-famous Chef Pascal Grattard, who runs a prestigious and competitive international kitchen apprenticeship. The prize job at Chef Grattard’s renowned restaurant also represents a transformative opportunity for Isabella, who is desperate to get her life back in order.

But how can Isabella expect to hold it together when she’s at the bottom of her class at the apprenticeship, her new stepmom is pregnant, she misses her abuela dearly, and a mysterious new guy and his albino dog fall into her life? — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

The Kingdom of Back by Marie Lu Two siblings. Two brilliant talents. But only one Mozart. Born with a gift for music, Nannerl Mozart has just one wish—to be remembered forever. But even as she delights audiences with her masterful playing, she has little hope she’ll ever become the acclaimed composer she longs to be. She is a young woman in 18th century Europe, and that means composing is forbidden to her. She will perform only until she reaches a marriageable age—her tyrannical father has made that much clear.

And as Nannerl’s hope grows dimmer with each passing year, the talents of her beloved younger brother, Wolfgang, only seem to shine brighter. His brilliance begins to eclipse her own, until one day a mysterious stranger from a magical land appears with an irresistible offer. He has the power to make her wish come true—but his help may cost her everything.

In her first work of historical fiction, #1 New York Times bestselling author Marie Lu spins a lush, lyrically-told story of music, magic, and the unbreakable bond between a brother and sister. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Find Your Voice: A Guided Journal for Writing Your Truth by Angie Thomas In this guided journal, #1 New York Times bestselling author Angie Thomas shares advice and best practices for developing a true-to-you writing project. Includes step-by-step craft tips, writing prompts, and exercises for:

Discovering story ideas Creating memorable characters Realizing your setting Shaping your story Writing your “zero draft” And more! With 24 illustrated inspirational quotes from Angie’s acclaimed novels The Hate U Give and On the Come Up, and plenty of blank pages for your own words, Find Your Voice will ignite your creativity and help you bring your own unique stories to life. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

#anna k.#the kingdom of back #wicked as you wish #every reason we shouldn't #ya lit

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jgroffdaily · 5 years

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[This article appears in the September 16, 2019, issue of New York Magazine.]

Within minutes of my meeting Jonathan Groff, he asks if I would like a slice of cherry pie, and then, only a short time later, if I would like to be eaten by a giant plant. The first I readily accept because Groff and the rest of the cast of Little Shop of Horrors have thoroughly analyzed the desserts they picked up for a bus ride down from New York to the suburban Philadelphia puppet studio where they’re rehearsing for the day, and they’ve all concluded it’s the best option. The idea of being eaten by a plant seems a little less palatable, considering the contortions involved in entering the hippopotamus-esque maw of the man-eating Audrey II, which is operated by several puppeteers, and because I’m not sure if Groff is making a serious offer. I learn quickly that he is always offering you things, and those offers are always serious.

The puppet in question represents the largest form of Audrey II, a sassy carnivorous horticultural oddity that convinces Seymour, an awkward flower-shop assistant, to commit murder in the pursuit of fame, fortune, and a suburban life with the original Audrey, a human who works with him. The day I visit, Groff, playing the misfit Seymour (despite good looks that actor Christian Borle, who plays the maniacal dentist, Orin, describes as “scrumptious”), and his castmates are climbing inside Audrey II one by one, figuring out how each of them will die. Wearing a hat from Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s “On the Run II” tour, Groff jumps inside wielding a floppy machete, which is so un-aerodynamic it keeps getting stuck in Audrey II’s lips. Groff suggests a real machete prop would be sturdier, and they try substituting an umbrella, which flies out more cleanly. Michael Mayer, the director, says with satisfaction, “It’s a belch!”

Staging this revival of Little Shop is “illegal fun,” as Groff puts it. The original ran from 1982 to 1987 but never transferred to Broadway, at the insistence of writer-lyricist Howard Ashman, who wanted to preserve the show’s off-kilter spirit in a smaller space. Ashman and composer Alan Menken would go on to fill the Disney Renaissance — which consisted of films like The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast — with the Marie’s Crisis–ready melodies and queer subversions you can already hear in Little Shop (Ashman died of aids-related complications in 1991). Despite a Broadway staging that kicked off in 2003, this version is staying put at the Westside Theatre Off Broadway in hopes of preserving the quirky spirit of the original. There’s a lot of laughter in rehearsal as well as dress codes like a “kimono Wednesday,” which Mayer enforces by handing me a spare kimono when I drop in that day.

I can’t imagine anyone who is consistently involved in or adjacent to homicide having a better time. In addition to playing a murderously nice guy in Little Shop, Groff stars in Netflix’s David Fincher–produced drama Mindhunter, playing an FBI agent who interviews serial killers; the show is based on the real work of John Douglas, who was one of the first criminal profilers. Considering he’s no big fan of true crime, Groff is somewhat confused about how he became a poster boy for gore and mutilation, though he’s enjoying the texts from friends who point out that even when he does musical comedy, there’s a dark edge involved. A few days after we meet in Philadelphia, we’re talking over breakfast at the cozy Grey Dog in Chelsea, where he insists on paying for everything, picking up all the water and utensils, and getting up from the table to refill my coffee cup when it’s empty.

Groff signed up to star in Little Shop this spring after careful consideration, by which I mean he got the offer and then listened to the original cast recording on repeat for a whole weekend. He’d never played Seymour before, unlike the majority of white male theater actors, but he had positive memories of seeing the first performance of the 2003 Broadway version just after high school, when he was rehearsing the role of Rolf in a non-Equity tour of The Sound of Music. “I wanted to make sure that I’m bleeding for it eight times a week,” he says, which is his measure for doing musicals; he wants to make sure he won’t get bored with the material. Even now, when I assume he might want a break from it during rehearsals, Groff still has the album on repeat. “I never went to college, and I’m not educated, really, so I couldn’t say, like, intellectually why that is,” he says. “When I listened to it, it shot through my heart.”

There’s a clue, however, in the way he remembers obsessing over the film version of the show as a seventh-grader, standing in his kitchen with the song “Skid Row” on repeat — specifically when Seymour sings, “Someone show me a way to get outta here.” It was an appealing message to a closeted kid whom Groff describes as just “a sweaty, uncomfortable person with a secret that was so deep-rooted I wasn’t even flirting with the idea of being myself.” With a little distance from that version of himself (the child of a phys-ed teacher and a horse trainer, growing up in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and occasionally having to clean stables on the weekends), Groff recalls the kinds of tells that seem obvious in retrospect, like, say, listening to “Skid Row” on repeat. Or developing an obsession with I Love Lucy, which he still watches before going to bed. Or dancing along to the Donna Reed’s Dinner Party album when his parents weren’t home. There’s a similar longing in Little Shop, which has the queerest kind of perspective on its central couple, as Audrey and Seymour imagine an unreachable, heteronormative life away from skid row and where she looks “like Donna Reed.”

If there’s a murderous kinship between Little Shop and Mindhunter, it extends to the shows’ shared skepticism about that white-picket-fence-style normalcy. Holden, Groff’s profiler character, is a cardboard cutout of a man with a girlfriend who introduces him to 1970s-style sexual liberation, but he is ultimately more fascinated with the deviancy of the killers he’s interviewing. To play him, Groff shuts down his charisma, amassing such emptiness between his angular jaw and his eyebrows that you wonder if he’ll slip into deviancy himself. It’s a performance of square, even sinister straightness that feels close to the best-little-boy performances of closeted queer men, though what seems to thrill Holden most in the show are his interviews with killers. “Sexuality is so complicated, and the people I’ve ended up working with who have cast me in straight parts are interested in looking at things in a complicated way,” Groff says, noting that he feels the argument about whether gay actors can play straight, or vice versa, has gotten “sillier” as time goes on. “Being out and gay and being myself, it allowed me to find people that weren’t closed-minded.”

Groff came out when he was 23, without directly consulting his agent, after he’d become an idol to the nation’s theater teens of Facebook by starring as the sexy, rebellious, tousle-haired Melchior in Spring Awakening. “I was so compartmentalized,” he says, “singing about sex but then not talking about it.” He remains thankful for the way Mayer, who also directed that show, choreographed the explicit sex between himself and Lea Michele’s Wendla clinically, without asking them about their own experiences. He hadn’t spent too much time worrying about the aftereffects of coming out on his career, which were more limiting in 2009 than they are now. “I did think I might not be seen as a romantic lead, but ultimately I was okay with that,” he says, explaining that he was in love at the time and didn’t want to hide it. “At 23, I’d rather just have a real romantic relationship than pretend to have one with a girl.”

Several years after coming out, Groff booked a leading role in HBO’s Looking, a comedy-drama about gay men in San Francisco, which he calls one of the most fulfilling roles he’s had. The series ran for two seasons and got a wrap-up movie but never quite found a viewership, even among queer audiences, instead receiving, as he puts it, “a total mixed bag of very extreme reactions.” Some of that was because people just didn’t like the show — which was often slower, more interior, and whiter and fitter than people may have wanted — and some of it was because it was “carrying a lot of weight; there wasn’t a lot of specifically gay content on a major cable network.” To Groff, making the show opened him up to the possibility of using material from his own experience in his work. Among the cast and crew, “we would talk about stories about PrEP and uncut dicks and monogamy,” he recalls, among “so many stories about anal douching,” and those anecdotes would make their way into the scripts. He was used to a sort of “closeted training of the mind” to abstract himself from his own experience. Looking taught him he could use it.

Recently, Groff has developed an ability to end up near the center of cultural sensations. He stepped in for Brian d’Arcy James as Hamilton’s fey Britpop version of King George III midway through the show’s Off Broadway run. It was a somewhat ideal gig, given that he was onstage for only about nine minutes a night, performed crowd-pleasing kiss-off songs, met Beyoncé, earned a Tony nomination, and got a lot of reading done backstage. This fall, he’s in Disney’s sequel to Frozen, where he returns to play Princess Anna’s rugged (at a Disney-appropriate level) love interest, Kristoff. In the first movie, while Idina Menzel’s Elsa got the vocal-cord shattering “Let It Go,” Groff sang only a few lines of melody between Kristoff and his reindeer, Sven. This time around, he’s putting his Broadway training to use with a full-length solo. It’s the second one he recorded for the movie, since the writers had one idea for a Kristoff piece (“a jam”) but then canned that song while promising Groff they’d write something different, which he didn’t quite believe. “Then they fucking wrote that other song,” he says, characteristically effusive. “I was like, Wow, and the animation of the song is so brilliant.”

As personable as Groff is and as successful as he has become — and as beloved, especially among theater fans and people like my mother — there’s a point at which he maintains a certain distance, in what feels like a way to stem his own impulses. He doesn’t use any social media, though he did consider it when Looking was struggling, before he realized “I’d have to be good at it and want to do it, and I don’t.” He has never thrown himself a birthday party, because the impulse to make sure everyone’s having a good time would stress him out too much. In behavior that reminds me of both a secret agent and Kim Kardashian, he regularly goes through and deletes all his texts after responding to each of them. “I want to make sure I get back to everyone,” he says, holding his iPhone up in front of me to reveal the remarkably few surviving messages.

Before Groff gets up to leave breakfast and travel to rehearsal by way of the single-speed bicycle he rides around Manhattan, we end up talking about the larger trajectory of his career. Considering that he’s scaling down for a revival run of a musical Off Broadway, was he ever the kind of actor who thought of his work as building up to something? A big film? A franchise? “I think I gave that up when I came out of the closet,” he says. “I gave up the idea that there was an end goal or ideal or some kind of dream to work toward.” An image appears in my mind of the life Audrey sings about in Little Shop, a place that’s comfortable, traditional, and expected, somewhere that’s green. “When I moved to New York, what I wanted was to be on Broadway. That happened and then I came out, and it’s sort of been anybody’s guess since then,” Groff says. “I like when something makes me cry or I can’t stop listening to it. Okay, I want to do that.”

Little Shop of Horrors is in previews and opens October 17 at Westside Theatre Upstairs. Buy tickets here.

#jonathan groff #interview

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sometimesrosy · 5 years

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I have a feeling that Jason is going to wait until the very last episode of the series to let bellarke kiss. He’s such a troll lol

I don’t have that feeling. Your feeling comes, I think, from social media and interviews. I have always been more focused on story than on getting clues from the creators. I depend on my own ability to break down a story. I think that a lot of JR’s social media and even interviews are designed to keep the “will they/won’t they” of Bellarke going. He doesn’t want people to be sure. Because the will they/won’t they builds romantic tension. HOWEVER.

That’s not how the story is going. He’s writing an epic romance that has mythic weight behind it, which is the OPPOSITE of a will they/won’t they story. An EPIC story, where they always come together, where they are soulmates, where their love persists past space (literal) time (literal) and death (literal) is ANYTHING but uncertain. Also, JR’s social media presence is not really as anti-bellarke as fandom makes it out to be. He says one questionable thing per season, it seems, and the fandom blows it all out of proportion to erase all the narrative development on screen, and I just don’t have the patience for that. Fandom wants 100% bellarke certainty, and JR does not want to give that. All he has to do is say “misinterpreted” and he doesn’t even have to say WHAT he thinks is misinterpreted or who is doing the misinterpretation, all of a sudden the ENTIRE fandom thinks he’s saying Bellarke isn’t romantic.... which he didn’t. He can just HINT at a thing, and the fandom FLIPS THE FUCK OUT. It’s exhausting, frankly.

And it doesn’t fit the story on screen. I don’t know why fandom thinks one line in an interview takes precedence over one SERIOUSLY bellarke centered season. Do we forget that he designed the season?

He developed a romance story in seasons 5 and 6 that made the ENTIRE show about Bellarke. Not just them getting together to save their people, but season 5 had Bellamy needing to save Clarke, to get her back in order to save HIMSELF. And Clarke needed to save Bellamy, even if it meant “letting him go” to save HERSELF. They were necessary TO EACH OTHER, not just the team, not just the battle. Self.

Now in season 5, this is part of the main plot, but the conflict was still external. Still Diyoza, Octavia, Worms,

In season 6, he got even closer to it. Clarke and Bellamy were back together, as soul mates and partners, alas there was a romance between them, keeping them apart, canon girlfriend and then who is this asshole with Clarke?? Jealousy, ah. And yet, they both let each other go as romantic figures in order to be with each other as partners and soulmates... until... until....until Clarke is killed. Then the rest of the story just fades away. Clarke feels like giving everything up, Bellamy is happy, he has a family and a home now and he’ll take care of Madi. She did her job she can let go until Monty snaps her out of it, and then she reaches out to... BELLAMY! Who until he found out she was alive wa ready to give up, too. They’re safe, he won’t fight anymore. He would keep going for his family. But once he finds out Clarke is alive.

Boom. The story THE STORY the main story is now about Bellamy saving Clarke. The CONFLICT was Josephine wanting Clarke’s body. While the rest of Earthkru struggled with the moral complications of these body snatchers and what it meant to be complicit with that system, Bellamy was focused on one thing. Clarke’s BODY. And putting Clarke’s mind back in it. He left his people behind to save who he could save, who he NEEDED to save.

This is not a misinterpretation, it’s canon. He trusted them to take care of themselves and Echo to protect them, and he would save Clarke. A choice was made. Bellamy chose Clarke.

I get why JR would want to put confusion there. Because Bellamy made the canon choice, and Echo supported it. “Go save Clarke” she said. That also was controversial, because JR said it made Echo a hero. And we were all like, huh? How? Or how more so than anyone else? (and if that choice made her a hero in the narrative, then why were all her heroic plans utter failures. she was supposed to save Murphy from being killed and instead, murphy and raven and abby saved themselves and Echo was captured, and given nightblood and nearly turned into Simone. She escaped that with Gaia and Miller, but even so, was just in hiding until she could get back with the ACTUAL heroes of the show. Clarke (suddenly they could get he barrier down) and Bellamy (suddenly they could defeat the sanctumites.) Saying she’s a hero outside of the story doesn’t change that, while she is a warrior and even sometimes a leader, she doesn’t do a very good job of protecting, saving, or winning.

If you follow only Echo’s narrative arc, she’s a dangerous warrior with a dark past that she struggles with and a yearning to be free, but a desire to belong and be valued. She wants to be independent and strong, but is held back by the kings and queens who have claimed her for their subject. I think it’s a feminist story of identity and empowerment, and she might be the hero in her own story, but she’s not in this one, and if letting Bellamy go save Clarke makes her a hero... then that’s because she’s letting go of the man she loves, the way Clarke let him go in season 5, so that he may be with the one he loves. It would make the heroic arc of her personal story letting go of the belonging that she found with spacekru to face herself, to be independent and to BE herself. BUT that’s not total canon yet, just me defining her personal narrative arc that I see developing, so saying Echo is a hero is EXTREMELY ambiguous.

Does it mean she’s the new romantic lead? No. She’s not that kind of a hero. In fact, her story isnt a romance story at all. It’s an individuation story, a woman finding her identity and breaking free. If she were the hero of a romance story with Bellay then Bellamy should have been more concerned with her while he was off saving Clarke, and their reunion should have been more romantic and less relieved family. Sorry. That’s just how it is, because that’s how romantic stories are told.

In fact, if B/E was the romantic story, when they reunited they should have run into each other’s arms with light flares representing the emotional intensity, and shared their deepest fears and sorrows about what happened while they were separated, and the camera should have focused on their faces so we the audience could see their emotional connection. THAT would be how we would be shown a romantic story between Bellamy and Clarke oops Bellamy and Echo. But we weren’t. Bellamy hugged Echo and then looked at Clarke and the close up reaction we saw was CLARKE’S. Remember, close ups are how the filmmakers tell us to pay attention to a character’s emotions.

B/E was a canon relationship in seasons 5 and 6 but it was NOT a story. It put obstacles in the way of Bellarke and the Blakes in s5 but really, season 5 was about Bellamy getting Clarke (and Octavia back) and about becoming the hero that he is meant to be, the leader. It was about Clarke rejoining Bellamy and her people and still feeling on the outside, which, to be honest, is not just from 6 years alone but ALSO from everything that happened on the ground. Season 2 on had her isolated from her people again and again.

The only person she felt close to was Bellamy, and her 2199 calls proved that. She couldn’t reach him but she kept calling. She didn’t call her mother. Who she also couldn’t reach. She didn’t call all of spacekru. She didn’t call Lxa... who she ALSO couldn’t reach. They were all equally unreachable. But she called Bellamy and kept calling him. Because whether she could reach him or not, he was there with her. His heart was carried with her, inside of her heart.

So season 5 was about the Bellarke reunion and how they were separated by circumstances and the new world, Echo, Madi, Octavia, Eligius, Loyalty. But in the end, they chose each other. The most essential union for them was each other and only when they were together did it make sense, could they reach victory.

So that leaves s6 with Clarke and Bellamy TOGETHER, as soulmates and partners, however the things that got in their way were, 1. B/E 2. Buried feelings of guilt and rejection. 3. Josephine.

1 B/E as obstacle would not be an obstacle if Bellarke were romantic. But Clarke, jealous, has chosen to let Bellamy go to be with Echo because they love each other and if she can’t have Bellamy romantically, then she’ll have him as family. Bellamy is constantly drawn to Clarke, even though he is wit Echo, and this raises the tension between B/E because he is actually comparing the two and Echo comes out on the losing end. But when he sees Clarke moving on (wisely) to someone else, he turns back to Echo. That’s not really as wise, because the problem is he has bigger feelings for Clarke. Even if Clarke didn’t care for him, as he always fears, it’s not so good to be in love with someone else and stay with your girlfriend. There is an ACTUAL romantic tangle happening here, as much a some people want to pretend that the existence of B/E means that Bellarke CAN’T be romantic. I’m actually arguing that with the way the two relationships are framed, one as romantic but minor and troubled, and the other as non-romantic soulmates beyond death and the center of the story, that B/E as an obstacle is proof of romantic endgame Bellarke.

2. Buried feelings has Clarke making choices that keep Bellarke apart. If Clarke were honest about her feelings, Bellamy would be forced to face his own love for Clarke and let go of Echo. But she’s not. She’s being noble and self sacrificing again and probably doesn’t believe he loves her that way. On top of that is the guilt from leaving him to die. She needs him to know she is sorry for that, but she also runs away from the deep meaning of the 2199 calls. That she runs away from those means that Bellamy is STILL resonating with the concept that she doesn’t love him THAT WAY, that risking him is worth it. She’s reiterating the part about him being her “family,” and then flirting with Cillian. So he, being noble and self sacrificing himself (but maybe not as noble as her because he picks a fight with echo over her not benig like Clarke yikes,) and recommits to Echo. UNTIL. Clarke is discovered bodysnatched and thought dead and he’s lost her and he pulls away from everyone and buries all those feelings and hides them from Echo too, despite the commitment to be emotional with each other. WHY? Because buried feelings. So when she’s found alive, those feelings can no longer be buried. Because NOW saving Clarke, getting Clarke back, not letting Clarke die, NEEDING Clarke and, still unspoken, LOVING Clarke are no longer subtextual but textual and THE MAIN PLOT. NOT the obstacle. The motivation. HOW he will save Clarke and how, in fact, he does save her.

3. The MAIN OBSTACLE OF SEASON 6 was HOW WILL BELLAMY SAVE CLARKE. Not how will they save their people. Not how will their people save Clarke. Not the morality of saving Clarke. Not how does Bellamy/Clarke become a hero. Not oh no the hard choices. Just simply. BELLAMY MUST SAVE CLARKE and he must confront his feelings to do so. And face a villain in her body who is trying to manipulate him. Meanwhile the villain’s love story is paralleled to Bellarke’s love story. AND BELLAMY SAVED HER WITH HIS LOVE WHEN ALL HOPE WAS LOST AND GAVE HER MOUTH TO MOUTH/TRUE LOVE’S KISS. And she was brought back to life and to him. The following episodes were them wrapping up the battle against these villains, whose worst crime was murdering Clarke. And whose biggest mistake was giving Bellamy hope that he could get his love back. CLARKE.

Troll.

There’s no troll here.

This is a fucking brilliant, heart stoppingly romantic story.

We’ve got a whole season where the truths of season 6, that Bellamy loves Clarke and that love is bigger than anything, and Clarke loves Bellamy so much that she can reach out past death to him, and that Echo is made of Ash and does not want to be a slave anymore, are going to resonate with Monty’s desire that they all live a good life where they can find happiness and love. Clarke won’t lose the people she loves anymore. Bellamy has faced that he needs Clarke and can’t lose her and she is central to his needs. And Echo has confessed her identity and begun to break free of being the good spy to her master (the master is Bellamy.) All this is part of canon. And it came out in season 6.

To be honest, I don’t know when he’ll make them kiss.

It doesn’t matter. I doubt he’ll leave it to the end, because he is BUILDING to a conclusion where their union is an emotional payoff. This show DOES emotional payoffs. AND it does sex. In order to work that emotional payoff and give us the punch of Bellarke getting together means they have to do it before the very last episode, i think. I mean, maybe episode 13, like Bellamy saved Clarke three eps before the end. IDK.

But.

That’s not trolling. That’s a bonafide epic love story. No trolling included. That’s GIVING. That’s being so committed to the story you’re telling that you ignore all the bad fandom takes from people who think they can do better. And from the bitter people who didn’t get what they want. Sour grapes we call that.

And as long as we’re sitting here, going, “Oh that JR he’s a villain he’s trolling us he hates us he’s never gong to give us what we want,” then we’re going to miss the fantastic story he IS giving us.

And I’m not going to ruin Bellarke or The 100 because I’m narrow minded, spoiled and stubborn. You want to ruin your enjoyment because you think some man you’ve never met is a troll out to get you? When he’s the one who invented this story and committed 7+ years of his life to bringing it to life? That’s on you.

I’m in it for the epic love story. Not a kiss. A kiss is a kiss. Not love. A sex scene might be hot, but it doesn’t make true love.

Bellarke is told over the course of 7 YEARS. I’m not actually interested in reducing it to them hooking up.

People who treat us like we’re stupid for being satisfied with this story we’re getting while THEY get kiss/confess/sex with no endgame, or kiss/sex with no story? Like, yeah, I will actually take my scene where Bellamy brings Clarke back from death over your half-a-sex scene and then no interaction, or your post goodbye-sex “let’s not talk” cuddle-scene. YEAH MAN. I NEED YOU MY LIPS TOUCH YOURS AND MY LOVE ALONE DRAWS YOU BACK FROM DEATH. There is actually no interpretation in that. They said she was dead. He said no my heart will save her head, told her her loved her, and gave her the kiss of life and she heard him and came back, fighting. When Josephine had already killed her. She woke up in his arms and had eyes only for him. And the next episode was full of them caring for each other and touching. TOUCHING. Intimate.

Troll? what troll?

Maybe people consider me delusional because I ignore bad fandom interpretations and JR’s not so great social media presence. It’s because I’m paying attention to the show, pretty much only the show, and I LIKE IT.

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kitsoa · 5 years

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Can you expand on the KHUX/Wreck-it-Ralph/5th realm of thought line of analysis? I'm sure your head is spinning too because this is veering into seriously supernatural territory but I'm struggling to wrap my head around it o.o

Hiya! I’ll see what I can manage. I assume you are referring to my post about the WiR/”Metacatastrophe” jazz I posted right when that stuff was going down. I’ll say for the record that we haven’t gotten much corroboration on this fact since this was revealed, but I still think this realm of speculation holds up. Of course it runs on this underlying plot twist that the KH world exists as a video game and is become keen to that fact, be it through the characters or the audience. But honestly, this doesn’t even have to be the big endgame twist for this to work (though it is evidence to support the twist).

I’m gonna walk through the post in a little more detail.

So essentially, the question posed is Why is Daybreak Town glitching?

The recent updates just before the Game Central Station reveal started with visual glitches, bug-block heartless, and shoddy quality replays of certain events in DT history. Elements that made certain to the entire cast that they were in digital territory. So the first assumption that comes up is-- hey, are we in digital-DT? Because assuming that they somehow, without knowledge jumped to the data-version of Daybreak is probably the most possible and logical answer. It is worth mentioning that this is actually a common theory about the Daybreak Town KHUX situation in general. As the glitching evidence came into light, it was interpreted that this was going to get confirmed, until Brain started contradicting us. In a way, we are finally addressing a common misconception/theory that everything in KHUX is happening in a simulation (as opposed to only a fraction of the events).

But Brain does not accept that easy conclusion. He insists that just because things are digital, does not mean that they are in data-DT. And we viewers have to stay keen to the fact that this was brought up at all. Because this stipulation from a writing perspective is only useful to either 1.) characterize Brain in some form for ill or good or 2.) state a truth under the guise of a theory (or 3. both).It is safe to say that Brain has a level of honesty and curiosity in terms of the scientific efforts. It comes from a genuine place no matter his intention, and if Brain is to be trusted on matters of scientific befuddlement then we can trust his refusal of the easy ‘They are in Data-Daybreak Town’ assumption. He’s not just stirring the pot.

As a writer, we do not shoot down the easiest assumption just to complicate things. We do it to change the question.

So let’s believe Brain’s theory. The Daybreak Town they are in is real. And it is glitching.

New question: Why is Real Daybreak Town Glitching?

Well that comes down to some deduction and analyzing Brain’s theory-- which is more likely completely right than anything.

Brain blames the connection to the new world.

He proceeds to explain how the Disney Worlds are connected to Daybreak Town in the first place. A factoid that could have been clarified much earlier without this context, but came about naturally in the conversation. Both from the organic conversation and narrative standpoint, It’s important to know how the worlds connect to Daybreak Town in order to understand that the connect being formed here is deviating from that process. We as the audience need to accept that this world is foreign.

Usually, the Disney Worlds are connected in their past incarnations to Daybreak Town in a manner that appears to be almost physically. Traversal between worlds is possible but practically unattainable. After the war, the connection was completely shattered and they are definitively unreachable and isolated. Point being established: Game Central Station is not a world typically connected to the Real Daybreak Town. It does not exist in this ancient sphere and nor is it in the Book of Prophecies which depicts the futures of worlds connected to DT.

So then we ask: And what about Game Central Station would make it digitize and glitch out an entire world?

And the answer is kind of obvious. Game Central Station is a digital world. It, like Space Paranoids, or Data-Twilight Town, is explicitly a data fabrication. So how could a Data World interact with a Real World? Within Kingdom Hearts universe logic... it can’t interact. Things can traverse between the two but, the world completely assimilating another is unheard of. Data Worlds have servers and terminals that are subservient to the real world (because they exist in the real world as a portal). The connection form is one that is not... passively produced. So we stop running on KH universe logic and go on Wreck-it-Ralph universe logic.

And that logic is pretty simple too. Video Games... hook up to an outlet. Cross-over happens. They talk, and interact. That’s how WiR works. So from... Ralph’s perspective... Ephemera and the gang are just a bunch of JRPG video game protagonists who got connected to the GCS. And... we just have to accept the fact that somehow... Ralph is right.

And that’s a little more than wild. Because he is right. They are.

How did a Data World connect to a Real World? -- it connected on their end?

Why is Daybreak Town glitching? --because it’s being interpreted as a data world via a data world. It’s either being digitized or it was in the most macro sense... (and meta sense) never real in the first place.

It could explain why important scenes are being flickered on the screen. They are actual cutscenes being layered onto the world. The heartless spawns are data versions because the universe is having a literal existential crisis.

---

If we want to have some real fun, we have to... get into the WiR side of thing. Where KHUX exists as a game in their world. And that it somehow connects plug-in, internet, you name it to a subworld-- that is not alternate to prime KH reality but in fact synonymous. That would bring about this extra... dimension of thought, where KHUX is shared by a mutual universe in it’s form, and there’s interchange of understanding... and dude it gets wild.

The most tame interpretation has to do with the metaphysics of a digital reality simply forcibly interacting a real reality by nature of it’s laws. But that doesn’t really explain the catalyst for the connection. They didn’t just bump into each other and figure out which crossover rules to obey... at least we can’t assume that happened yet.

As you can see, that does go down a rabbit hole. But man am I adamant. This is probably the biggest break in my (and many other’s) meta-catastrophe theory to date and we have to wonder if it’s gonna get a tame, but vague explanation to save the reveal for a mainline game or if it’s gonna boldly make it the worst kept secret.

#kingdom hearts #dude thank you for the question #this is still the wildest thing #khux theory #khux spoilers #Game Central Station #kh theory #kh meta #annis-k

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littleidazle · 6 years

Text

An Expectant Whirlwind Chapter Eleven

Chapter 10

Chapter 12 (to be posted)

Marinette was all smiles. She threw up first thing in the morning, nearly tripped over own feet as she made her way down to breakfast, couldn't take a single bite of her food, and Alya texted her saying she wouldn't be able to walk with her to school, but nothing could wipe the grin off her face. Her parents didn't say anything about it, they just smiled back and kissed her cheeks as usual, wishing her a good day. She and Tikki only shared a happy, knowing look. It had started out rough, but things were looking up.

She had a bounce in her step the whole way to school and gave her friends a chipper greeting when they came into sight. An enthusiastic smile to Alya and Nino and a meaningful look towards Adrien. When she set her gaze on him, it was like looking into a mirror. He shared the very same expression, the giant grin and the carefree eyes. Though it seemed strange that two teenagers would be overjoyed to have a child together when they were still practically children themselves, but it wasn't that the situation was an extremely happy one. The smile wasn't just the glee and the freedom of their relationship. It was relief.

He knew. He knew she was pregnant and he knew she was keeping it, and he was with her every step of the way. He didn't groan or lament, rant his regrets of ever taking her to bed. He accepted it as it was and didn't back away. He was taking her hand and responsibility without complaint. He also knew she was Ladybug, and if the way he stepped forward and greeted her said anything, if the softening of his expression as he said the ordinary words told her anything at all, he wasn't disappointed.

Her heart fluttered and his cheeks darkened. She felt ridiculous, like when she first looked at Adrien with that rainy backdrop and the first time she kissed him on her balcony. She felt crazy. Wild and energetic, like she could run a marathon, but she wanted to use all of that energy to continue being with him.

So they looked at each other. They didn't kiss, didn't graze each others fingers, didn't touch. Just looked, because they couldn't get enough of it. Of each other. He was Adrien. She was Marinette. Ladybug and Chat Noir. Partners, best friends, lovers, and they were finally seeing clearly. Or perhaps her sight was clouded with adoration, but she was fine with that.

Nino cleared his throat. “You guys doing okay over there?”

“Just fine,” Adrien replied. “Perfectly fine.”

Turning away from her as Nino and Alya exchanged confused glances, Adrien walked slowly towards the building, inviting Marinette to walk beside him. She quickly took her place next to him and she let him put his arm around her as they made their way up the steps. She didn't think it was necessary, but she let him do his thing and protect their little one however he felt he needed to. It warmed her heart.

They got to the classroom and went gingerly to their seats, reluctant to let go. She realized they were being silly and over the top. They had been together for over a year and they were acting like they had just started dating, but in a way, she guessed they had. They were with the same person they had been with for a long time, but everything was new and exciting. It was a another step in their relationship. They had new things to experience together now that they knew their identities and a future together they were determined to make a reality.

Just as they were about to take their respective seats and Marinette prepared for the questions Alya would likely ask, a distinctive voice turned their heads.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Chloe didn't shriek, didn't yell, didn't throw another one of her tantrums. She only stared at the two as shock decorated her face. “Really, Adrien? Her?”

The thing about Chloe was that even though she was disliked and known for making a scene, once she was involved with something, everyone was looking. Everyone paid attention. Maybe it was to see what poor soul invoked her rage or get their show of the day, but she had a way of drawing people in and creating an audience.

Their relationship was no longer a secret, but they hadn't made the time to make up a story of how they got together or even pretend to slowly grow closer over time, and though they loved being out in the open, they still wanted some privacy. They at least wanted to give some sort of explanation to their friends before everything blew up. Chloe barging in and throwing their plans out the window was not what they wanted.

Marinette heard Adrien gulp. “What do you mean, Chlo?” he asked.

“I mean this!” she gestured to their close proximity, his arm around her waist.

They pulled apart and shifted their weight, and Marinette hated it. They weren't doing anything wrong and yet Chloe always managed to make her feel like she was. She made her feel guilty even though there was nothing to feel guilty about.

“What do you want, Chloe?” Marinette grumbled.

“I want to know how you manipulated him!” she raised her voice. “How you managed to get him to ruin his life.”

Adrien frowned and instead of distancing himself more, he pulled her back and wrapped a protective around her. “Look,” he growled, “I know you can get jealous, but-”

Chloe barked out a laugh. “Jealous? Of her?” she looked her up and down and shook her head in disbelief. “I am not jealous of her in the slightest. I pity her. I pity what you two have gotten yourselves into.”

That caused Adrien to falter.

“What?” Marinette barely choked out, and she could suddenly feel eyes on her. They were looking, wondering what Chloe knew that they didn't. What Chloe knew. . . did Chloe know? And if she did, what was she going to do?

“You're not as great at keeping a secret as you think you are, Dupain-Cheng. And I'll be honest and say I expected a lot more out of you, but you just couldn't hold yourself back from that blond piece of meat, could you? You got yourself in this mess and you're dragging Adrien down with you.”

The audience, both the ones looking for a show and the ones who happened to witness it, were filled with questions. Curious looks she wanted nothing more than to evade, but it was either that, Adrien's nervous fidgeting, Alya's wide eyes, or Chloe's disgust to face. She chose the floor.

Nothing more was said and a moment later, heels clicked away and she huffed, plopping down into her seat. The teacher came in not long after and they were forced to take their seats, too, dread dropping into the pits of their stomach.

It was bound to happen, she told herself. It wasn't something she could hide forever anyway. She would get bigger. Her pregnancy would become obvious. A baby wasn't exactly discreet, after all. It was all bound to happen anyway, but not like this. Not thrown in her face, not made out to be an ugly thing. On her own terms with her own rules. With happy months and anticipation, but what did she expect? She wasn't an adult, she wasn't married, she didn't have a stable income to support the baby. She was a kid with a plan she could only hope would work out; a pipe dream. That's what it was. A fantasy. An unreachable wish, because it wasn't going to be that easy.

Her classmates didn't even know anything for sure and she was already embarrassed. Ashamed. The woman from the store popped into her head again.

“Are you sure you can handle this?”

She wasn't sure. She couldn't even handle ridicule from Chloe, how on earth could she handle parenthood at such a young age?

She chastised herself for getting so happy and excited when it was only the beginning. Only a few people knew, she wasn't even showing yet, she hadn't had a single doctor's appointment aside from getting tested. She was getting far too ahead of herself. It made sense though. A couple hopeful words from her friends and family was all it took to make her so full of joy, so of course a few discouraging words was all it took to tear it down.

“So that's her?” Hawkmoth mused.

Grinning, biting her lip at what was to come as she looked into the window that showed a distressed girl, Mona nodded. “That's her. And it's happening. Everything is falling into place.”

He scoffed. “I would certainly hope so. If you're as skilled in your abilities as you keep telling me, it should definitely be working. Or I'm not helping you.”

She giggled, a sweet sound, and twirled around to face him. “Oh, hawky, of course I am! Are you getting nervous? Cause I understand, this is big stuff. And this isn't just you helping me. Did you forget our deal?”

“Don't be ridiculous, woman. I know what I agreed to, I'm just making sure you do.”

She sighed with a smile still adorning her face. She pranced up next to him and smooth out the wrinkles between his eyebrows. “As much as I love the whole angry, 'I have a tragic past' thing you have going on, you're gonna get frown lines if you keep on. You don't want to blemish your handsome face.”

“Don't patronize me.”

“Don't be such a stick in the mud.” She rolled her eyes. “If we're going to work together, we need to not constantly be on each other's case. We're both after the same thing, aren't we? We can get along just for a little while.”

He looked back up at the sight of the classroom and sighed. “I suppose you're right. Arguing will do us no good. We both have similar goals regarding the same person.”

“And I did reveal the identity of your enemy. You owe me something.”

“Half of something.” He glared. “That's only one identity out of two. How did you figure that out to begin with?”

She smiled, tapping the butterfly pin on her chest. “I told you. I see everything that is to come. It's not exactly a vision, but the knowledge of what will happen and who it will happen to. Just one little thing colliding with multitudes of other little things, and it all comes crashing down.”

“So where are we now in this plan of your?”

“The most critical part,” she replied. “Extracting hope.”

Hawkmoth chuckled, the first positive response she had gotten out of him. Since she first approached him and proposed they team up, he had only given her suspicion and skepticism. He doubted her, which she knew he would do, but she also knew he'd agree and they'd slowly warm up to each other. It was the same with everything she did; she just had to do and say the right things. Though she would only know what her actions would cause after she made them, she was a master at it at that point. She wouldn't fail, not with so much on the line.

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amandapd2001 · 3 years

Text

The Commodification and Consumption of Violence and how it Alters our Views on Fictional Violence

trigger warning: death, blood, gore, suicide, violence

The presentation of violence in the media has a definitive influence on the opinions that we formulate concerning characters, of which they are either victims or perpetrators, and how people perceive the overall story. The violence displayed is often left to the viewer to interpret and to compartmentalize their emotions in regards to the scene. Furthermore, it is left in the hands of the viewer to discern their reactions based on the actions portrayed.

Framing the Situation

Media frames violence within certain contexts in the narrative and characterization of a story and that provides fans with an avenue to condemn or justify the actions. As well, violence can be produced and have its interpretations be dependent on external factors created by the humans.

For example, the framing of this scene:

Within the context of the story, the violence depicted in this manner is both horrific and terrifying to the reader, especially as the reader grapples with the scenes prior being just as blunt and brutal in its depiction. However, the ways in which people are made to interpret this scene within the story set the tone for the way in which they react towards the violence against the aggressor and against the persecuted.

While the violence is horrifying, the ways in which it is packaged within the story, and thereby made consumable, alters the judgement of readers. It makes them sympathize with those who escaped the violence, but feel that the persecutor was deserving of his “punishment”, despite its horrific means.

Compared to these panels:

The framing of the violence is presented in a way that the viewer no longer feels vengeful or that the aggressor was deserving of his judgement.

This scene is framed in a way that the viewer feels pity and to some extent understanding towards the antagonist. The means of presenting this scene are done so in a way that the reader can understand and relate to the nihilistic view of the character, thereby creating a mode of justification for his legacy, actions, and ultimately the death he receives.

The contrast in depictions of violence within both scenes creates two alternative framings of violence which can redirect the audiences feelings towards the violence being perpetuated.

Our empathy is only extended as far as to one party, which relays that the ways in which violence is portrayed affects the means by which fans react to it when it occurs against certain characters under specific circumstances. In spite of the violence committed by each of the characters, the structure of the story allowed for readers to regard both violent deaths in different views.

The Biased Eye

The formation of a bias within the media creates a barrier and acts as a preventative measure through which criticisms are unreached and the acts of a character are either understandable or reprehensible.

In the clips of the character, the viewer is made to understand that the acts that the character has committed are vile, and that she may even be viewed as evil. However, by creating a character with an aesthetic and “cute” appeal to her, it creates a deterrent for people to properly judge her actions. If anything, it serves as a muddler on people’s moral compass. The aesthetic of the character in contrast to her actions is difficult to take in because she does not fit into the stereotype of an “ugly” and “wretched” looking villain, thereby clouding people’s perception of the character in tune with her acts.

Another form of bias towards the character is visible in this scene. While the viewer understands that the girl has committed murder and that she has hurt the people around her, the way she is depicted as being hurt and thrown out by her "father-figure" create pockets of sympathy and understanding which can eventually evolve into justification. As well, the background of this character makes her almost relatable enough that people can even see themselves within her and relate to the pain that she experiences. With an understanding of the character, their actions thus also become understandable and therefore lead people to legitimize their actions.

The biases that people create around characters despite their violent actions creates a moral ambiguity within the viewer. Therefore, they are able to skew the scene to fit a narrative they have constructed around the violence that takes place.

Primitive Curiosity

Another pushing factor in the formation of opinions on violence against fictional characters is the primal curiosity that inhabits a portion of people’s minds. While people are civilized beyond acting out on primal urges, nonetheless, there is still a part of the mind that finds curiosity within the brutal and grotesque.

In this anime, gore plays a central element to the story that is being depicted. The brutalities of the deaths shown are sickening and remind the viewers that the character causing the destruction is not human. While viewers are naturally unnerved by the violence depicted, there is still a small part of them that is intrigued or even entertained by the violence. People may automatically react with disgust towards the violence enacted, but they may also feel curious enough to dismiss the actions of the character in order to continue viewing the ravaging that is being committed.

youtube

The scene depicted in this anime is vicious and bloodthirsty. The theme of war and its fatalities are graphically depicted as viewers consume scenes with ferocious violence and bloodshed. The initial reaction to the scene depicted is one of shock and horror that evolves into inklings of excitement. As the initial shock of the scene dissolves, the viewer then becomes involved with the extreme nature of the scene and begins to view it with pleasure or amusement. While the acts of war are inadmissible, people may become caught up in the viciousness in the battle that it becomes about the adrenaline of the scene rather than the ruthlessness of violence.

Human morality pushes primal curiosity into furthest recesses of the mind, however that does not permanently banish it from existence. People may find relief from this curiosity through the violent nature of the media. The excitement that this media arouses in people thus clouds their judgement and ability to appropriately address the violence being portrayed. Primal curiosity acts as a buffer to the judgement of violence depicted on screen.

Conclusion

There are many factors that push or pull people from acceptance or denial of violence that is depicted on screen. People consume media at high rates and thereby formulate opinions based on a vapid viewing of the media they watched. There are many reasons that people may agree or disagree with the acts of violence depicted, and the primary influences are the ways in which violence is packaged and consumed. How people view media and how it is presented to them thereby frames the narrative they construct around the violence they consume. Violence becoming an easily accessible commodity has constructed a warped and distorted perspective that allows for the acts of violence perpetrated in fiction to be debated and examined as deserved, justified, and understandable or as unforgivable, menacing, and atrocious. The state in which violence is viewed and interpreted creates amongst people a means to decide how they view the violence portrayed and how they wish to address it.

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mtt-metal-crusher · 7 years

Text

A Silver Lining.

Papyton + King Papyrus. (Takes place in a timeline where both Papyrus and Mettaton are alive but it’s Papyrus who becomes king):

2259 words. Request by @metaltarsus .

(WARNING: suggestive themes. Nothing explicit)

The human had come and gone, leaving nothing in their wake but heart-ache and grief. The monster’s king, queen, and captain had all been turned to dust, as though their lives meant nothing. And the sad truth was, to the human, they probably didn’t. They’d caused so much pain, the monsters couldn’t possibly forgive humanity after this.

For a long time, it was also assumed everyone’s favourite star had also been cut down by the human’s cruel hands. Mettaton was nowhere to be found, his whereabouts a complete mystery. And so, by process of elimination, Papyrus was coronated king.

He was by no means anyone’s first choice. Some loud skeleton from Snowdin surely had no suitable credentials for a position like king, but they didn’t have any other option. Despite his lack of knowledge when it came to running a kingdom, he had a kind heart and would always have his people’s welfare in the fore-front of his mind. Even when people came along to question the way he ran the kingdom, he dismissed them, informing them that he had very little options in this time of great peril and they’d be welcome to give suggestions.

Nobody ever had suggestions. Only complaints.

In reality, regardless of who was upon that throne, it would always be them who got the blame for everything going wrong. Surely the blame lay most on the human that had turned everyone’s lives upside down, though this wasn’t always clear. If something was wrong with the kingdom, it was up to the king to put it right, whether that was within his ability or not.

Once Papyrus had been ruling for a few months, still not used to his new role and missing his friends dearly, Mettaton made an appearance within the kingdom once again. His apparent revival was seen as a miracle. A ray of hope! Their beloved Mettaton had returned to save them all! Perhaps he could even replace Papyrus on the throne and make everything right again.

But he didn’t.

Mettaton decided against it. He’d been too late to claim the throne. He’d spent the time after Asgore’s death searching for Alphys, missing his chance. Sure, Papyrus would have happily given the crown over to him, if he’d asked. But once Mettaton saw how difficult the life of a king was; not just lounging around whilst people showered you in affection, he figured his purpose in this kingdom should remain solely as a TV star. That had always been his plan anyway, no need to go and change it now that the kingdom was in trouble. In fact, it made all the more sense to keep on entertaining people right now. They needed it more than ever.

So that was Mettaton’s new job. The kingdom’s entertainer. And along with this role also blossomed a friendship with the king himself. They often worked together, Mettaton giving him sensible ideas for running the kingdom, Papyrus suggesting different shows Mettaton could put on to keep people happy. Mettaton also served as the voice of royalty. Every new royal decree could be announced on the television directly through him, a face people trusted. Knowing that both Mettaton and Papyrus were running the kingdom helped ease many people’s worries. For the most part, they made a good team.

But there was still one thing upon both of their minds. Something that they’d both put off talking about. But one day, Mettaton made a decision. He was going to make a change.

“Your Majesty,” Mettaton addressed, bowing low. He hid the smirk upon his lips as he lowered his head, trying to stay serious in front of the king

“Was there anything you wanted, Mettaton?” Papyrus asked in return, looking at the robot who had burst suddenly through the doors of the throne room, a sense of purpose in his eyes.

Mettaton straightened up again. “I’d like an... audience with the king,” he requested, his smile evident now, showing off his pearly white teeth.

Papyrus smiled in return. “Would that be a private audience?”

“Preferably, yes.”

Papyrus stood up and lead Mettaton out of the room, his cape swaying behind him majestically. He took him through various corridors in the castle, past all sorts of rooms Papyrus had never even been inside. He went straight for the bedroom, the only place he could really be alone, and even then, people still knocked on his door to inform him of some other problem that needed addressing.

Mettaton had been to Papyrus’ room before. It was where they liked to chat. Sometimes it was nice to just sit and talk about trivial things with someone who was genuinely interested in hearing what they had to say. That’s what it was like for them. After spending a day as “The King” or “The Star” it was relaxing to just be two guys who didn’t quite know how they’d gotten into this situation.

Mettaton immediately directed himself towards the mini fridge Papyrus kept in his room, pulling out the bottle of wine he knew he kept in there.

“Want some?” he offered to Papyrus, as though the wine was his own.

Papyrus shook his head. “No! I must keep a clear head for the interviews later! I’m looking for new Royal Guards.”

“Suit yourself.” Mettaton poured himself a glass casually and sat down upon a plush sofa, gesturing for Papyrus to do the same. “What’s wrong with the current Royal Guards?” he questioned, taking a swig from his glass and placing it down on the table.

“Half of them say they’ll only answer to Undyne and the rest were hardly guard-material to begin with! I’ll never understand how Lesser Dog got the job!” He shook his head. “I just hope the new candidates are good enough.”

Mettaton scooted closer and pouted. “Sounds like such hard-work, darling. I can barely imagine the struggle it must be to keep a kingdom up and running.” He gestured for Papyrus to turn around and, when he did, he started rubbing the stress out of his shoulders thoughtfully.

Papyrus sighed, leaning into his touch. “Well, I can’t let people down! I’m all they have now...” He looked back at Mettaton with kindness. “And they have you, of course!”

“Mm-hmm,” Mettaton agreed, giving him a subtle grin.

It wasn’t unusual for Mettaton to be so touchy-feely, he often hugged, massaged and sometimes even pecked Papyrus on the cheekbone. It was normal. It was how Mettaton acted. But there was something about his demeanour today that felt... different? Papyrus shrugged it off. It was probably nothing.

“A-and! They have Sans! He helps a lot with the paperwork. I’m actually quite... proud? No, that doesn’t sound right...”

Mettaton chuckled, listening to him chatter away happily, not wanting to change the subject, but he did come here for a reason. He let go of Papyrus’ shoulders, letting him turn back around to face him. “You know, I’ve been thinking...”

“Oh?”

“And I can’t help but notice that it gets awfully lonely working around people who see you as an unreachable celebrity. Like, they know you but they don’t know you. I love my fans and the kingdom, but I’ve realised recently that maybe I want a little... more.”

Papyrus was now very aware of Mettaton’s presence next to him, he could feel the warmth of his body, all close and intimate.

“And then I thought, why am I here being so lonely all the time, when I have a devilishly handsome, charming skeleton just within my grasp?” He used his index and middle finger to ‘walk’ up Papyrus’ ribs through his shirt, one by one. “And you know who that skeleton is?”

“I could hazard a guess!”

When Mettaton’s fingers reached the top of his ribs, he took Papyrus’ jaw in his hand. “It’s you, honey.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?!” Papyrus exclaimed, the feeling of Mettaton’s hand on his face making his cheekbones burn.

Mettaton let out a low provocative laugh. “What gave it away?”

“Your seductive words and well, everything else!” Papyrus informed him, trying to still his thumping soul. “But I won’t complain! I-I’ve felt this way about you for a while!”

“Oh really?”

“I think about you most nights!”

Mettaton drew slow circles into Papyrus’ collarbone with his finger. “How naughty!”

Papyrus’ eyes widened. “Not like that!”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Now Papyrus’ cheeks really were beaming. Of all the things he was expecting of this night, Mettaton trying to seduce him wasn’t one of them. In all the hard-work and tragedy that came with being king, it certainly seemed like he was finally being given something in return. Now he was going to grab onto this opportunity with both hands. Quite literally.

Mettaton had certainly grown very... tactile over the past few seconds. Surely it would be acceptable if he returned the affection, right? Hesitantly, Papyrus placed a hand on the lower half of Mettaton’s thigh, close to the knee, not daring to touch anywhere else.

“Papyrus,” Mettaton breathed as he tipped his face up to look at him. Without having to say anymore, Papyrus’ gaze lowered to Mettaton’s lips, which were parted slightly, as though they were inviting him in. He leant in slowly, gasping when his teeth made contact with Mettaton’s mouth. His lips were so warm, especially when Papyrus felt his balmy breath upon him. It was like a release, finally feeling the tension he’d been bottling up in his soul unwind. It was beyond imagination how good Mettaton felt, just being there to give him physical attention and romantic affection. It was like he said, theirs was a lonely life no matter how many people they saw that day. He couldn’t believe how long it had taken for him to come to this conclusion, glad that Mettaton had finally made his move. If he hadn’t, Papyrus would have kept his emotions to himself, deeming them forever unrequited.

As Mettaton’s kiss grew deeper, and Papyrus began to feel more confident in his tender touches, Mettaton’s hands wondered up and down Papyrus’ ribs, not sure what he was feeling for but knowing Papyrus enjoyed the sensation, judging by the little moans he failed to hide.

“You’re so handsome,” Mettaton whispered in between kisses.

Papyrus groaned in return, all words illuding him.

Mettaton’s hands found Papyrus’ tie, beginning to tug it open. “Do you want me?”

“W-we only just had our first kiss!” Papyrus blurted out, quickly pulling Mettaton’s mouth back upon him once he finished speaking.

“Is that a no?” Mettaton asked, hands hovering over Papyrus’ buttons as he waited for an answer, the tie dropped carelessly to the floor.

“No, I want to! I was just stating a fact!” Papyrus told him, excitement washing over him as he felt his buttons beginning to undo by Mettaton’s quick hands.

It was just then that they got a knock at the door, throwing them both off track.

Mettaton sighed dramatically and leant back, allowing Papyrus to escape his embrace so he could answer the door.

Papyrus really didn’t want to move but he supposed he had to. The kingdom could be in peril, or whatever. It was always in peril! Didn’t mean he couldn’t have sexy alone times with robots every now and then.

“What is it?!” Papyrus questioned when he threw the door open, seeing Sans on the other side.

His brother’s eyes widened upon seeing him, lipstick stains on his teeth and his shirt half unbuttoned and dishevelled. “You got someone in there?” he asked, trying to peer around him.

“What!? No! What did you want Sans?” Papyrus asked impatiently, hoping he could get rid of him as quickly as possible and return to Mettaton’s arms.

“Some guy just turned up and said he has questions about the Royal Guard opening. He wants to know whether they get free food.”

“Why would they get free food?!”

Sans shrugged. “I dunno, sounds pretty good to me.”

“I suppose I could make them all spaghetti to boost morale...”

“You already have enough jobs, darling,” Mettaton said suddenly, appearing behind him and wrapping his arms around his chest, pressing kisses into the side of his skull. “Are you coming back inside yet, sweetie? I couldn’t wait for you any longer.”

“O-oh! Yes, I’ll be there in a moment. Won’t I, Sans?”

However, Sans was unresponsive. His eyes went empty, as though he was trying to take his own sight away. If there was anything Sans didn’t want to see that day, it was Mettaton draping himself all sexily over his brother. In fact, there was never a good day to see that. Ever.

“Yeah I’ll just... tell ‘em you’re busy,” Sans said unemotionally, turning and shuffling off before Papyrus could say anything else.

“At last,” Mettaton revelled as he closed the door, “I have you all to myself once again.”

Without warning, Papyrus pinned him against the door and kissed him, letting his hands travel up his body searchingly.

“Now! Where were we?” Papyrus asked once he broke the kiss.

“I believe we were about to take this to the bed?”

“How lewd!” Papyrus scolded, taking his hand and leading him towards the bed anyway.

All in all, being king was one of the hardest jobs of all, but at least it had its upsides. One of them came in the shape of a sexy robot. That was something Papyrus wasn’t about to complain about. With Mettaton by his side, he’d be able to get through anything! But now, for the matter at hand...

#papyton #papyrus #king papyrus #mettaton #suggestive #thank you for your request!#i hope you liked it #i wanted to keep it light-hearted #it's easy to go straight to angst with king stuff #but i just wanted some smooching this time #and you wanted mtt being seductive so here we are..#not that papyrus needed much seducing haha #angel's requests

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dalilaswork · 7 years

Text

Hidden behind the curtain pt. I

Author: Dalila Ship: Sherlock x Reader Word count: 1.820 Summary: Sherlock Holmes isn’t a person to impress easily. And yet, you managed to impress and surprise the famous London detective and through that – you got a chance to entangle your life path with his. Warnings: some cursing. Author’s note: (IMPORTANT) This is an idea that made me start this blog. I’m very happy to present it to you now. I have ideas as to what could happen in following parts, but it’s up to you if they will be written. Make sure to leave your opinion, I’d highly appreciate it

London is not a welcoming place. It’s a labyrinth of human misdeeds, intrigues and greed. Nobody could enter without being influenced by its toxic atmosphere. Seemingly everyone in their right minds would stay away from that place. Especially young, innocent birds like (Y/N) (L/N)

The problem was – you had no idea what was about to happen.

“The show starts in five minutes, damn it! Move your motherfucking ass to the stage!” you heard someone shout in the back, as you finished placing an old dusty wig on your head which made you look like a man taken straight from 17th century’s drawings. For a moment, you took in your reflection in a broken mirror. It had been broken for a while now but you still could see yourself clearly, so the theatre didn’t bother getting a new one.

Theatre was your passion, your inner voice. Despite being born in a wealthy family of scientists, you couldn’t find yourself matching the scheme. Always searching for something that could be your own, something powerful and beautiful. Art was speaking to you ever since you were a child. But your parents wouldn’t allow you to ‘waste your intelligence and legacy of your family’, in a way of compromise you agreed to become a psychologist. It was the last year of studying psychology when you decided that you’re not going to be defined by someone else and dropped out altogether to chase your dreams.

“Show time…” you sighed, giving one last smirk to your own reflection. Not that chasing your dreams didn’t have it downfalls…

“Are you taking me to the theatre?” John asked, frowning at the sight of tickets Sherlock just bought. The place didn’t seem like a fancy one, actually it was probably one of the smallest and worst looking theatres in the entire London. But Sherlock didn’t seem to be bothered by this.

“I’m not taking you. I think this is the place our murderer chooses for his meetings with his boss. I know that he’s going to be there tonight. And if we’re lucky, we’ll have some track to begin with.” Sherlock lifted his head and breathed in the evening air. The wind blew through his curly hair as he observed the way clouds were gathering over his city.

After having his moment, Sherlock stepped into the building, giving the tickets to an old woman who could as well be the inspiration for the stereotypical image of a witch. Both men walked past her and entered the audience. “But be prepared that our targets will be the only interesting sight tonight. This indeed is the worst theatre I’ve ever seen. As if the idea of theatre wasn’t repulsive enough.

“My guess is you must be (Y/N) (L/N).” you heard a deep, somewhat husky voice behind you as you pulled off the wig from your hair. Once again someone came to congratulate you on your performance. It was usually pleasant, knowing your work is appreciated. But there were cases, when men came to mock you or try to lurk into your bed. Downfalls of being the leading actress in one of the least known little theatres in London.

And this man sure didn’t sound like someone who just wanted to voice their appreciation.

“Your guess is wrong, mister.” You responded calmly looking in the mirror to get a glimpse of the two men. The deep voice had to belong to the tall man with curly black hair. Very nice cheekbones. And a confused look arising on his face. The shorter man’s features weren’t as sharp. You could only assume that it reflected on their personalities “I might be (Y/N) (L/N). I could as well be Lady Macbeth, Christine Daae, Cleopatra, Anne Boleyn… or Mercutio.”

“Mercutio was a man, right?” said the other. You couldn’t help but giggle a little as your gaze returned to your own reflection.

“Yes, he was. But we don’t have enough talented men to fill all the roles.” You responded, with much more kindness towards the man. He didn’t seem like anything close to a douche, that was all you needed to be polite to him.

What you didn’t know was that those were Sherlock Holmes and John Watson you were talking to. The famous consulting detective who just found your artistic work… impressive. Never before in his life had he witnessed someone take in their character the way you did. It fascinated him how you managed to truly behave like the character you were playing. Not allowing your own body language to ruin the impression, even for someone as observant as Sherlock.

You surprised him, something he couldn’t just walk past by.

But before he had a chance to speak, to voice his thoughts you got up from the chair and looked into his eyes. It was enough for him to lose his track of thought. Normally, that would be the moment he’d discover everything about you. By just looking into your eyes, noticing every small change in your body. But there was nothing. A plain wall, through which he couldn’t get past. You blocked his deducing skills, which left him speechless.

“Thank you for the kind words, Mister. But I’m afraid that would be the end of your visit. I need to prepare for the next play. It was a pleasure to meet you.” You told John with a kind, genuine smile on your face. Only now Sherlock realized that John had said something, probably the basic phrase that you must have heard a thousand times already.

Sherlock would find the right words to describe your performance, but you didn’t give him the chance.

Almost automatically you reached out to unlock the door to the flat you’d been renting for a while now. It wasn’t the best place to live in, but at that point, you appreciated any place that provided you heat and a bed to sleep in. Theatre payment wasn’t enough for you to rent a proper place without dying of starvation.

That was the moment when you realized the door wasn’t locked. And the memory of closing it was still fresh in your head.

Your thoughts started racing, as you wondered what should you do. Surely the only reasonable answer was to run, as fast as you could. Maybe call the police on your way. Never before had you even thought of someone breaking in, especially in a place like this. There wasn’t much to steal. All you had were some personal belongings, nothing valuable.

That was the moment you realized there was something in there you couldn’t leave behind. Something that drew you towards the door, regardless of the danger that could still lurk there.

You stepped into the flat with much more confidence than you actually possessed, only to witness a tall man standing in the shadow. Forcing yourself to resist the temptation to scream or show your fear in any way, you took another step forward. “I suggest you leave now, before I call the police.” It took all your strength to keep your voice from quivering. Not once in your life you heard that if you act like a victim, the other person shall act like the predator. That was the time to use that knowledge.

The dark figure walked towards you, stepping into the light of the hallway. Almost immediately you recognized the man from the theatre.

“What the… were you following me?” you asked, not even trying to hide your frustration. All of sudden the fear disappeared, leaving you simply… confused. For some reason you didn’t feel scared of that man. There was still a possibility he could be someone extremely dangerous but… he didn’t look like it. He looked puzzled…

Lost…

“Of course I weren’t, otherwise I wouldn’t be here first. I was waiting for you. I can see you’re a lonely young woman who just moved in to London. Influential background, but you cut yourself from your family. Or rather they cut you off. Most likely because you’re different than them. Your mind always wandering off to places they’d consider unreachable… am I right?” he seemed rather pleased with himself. And all he’d said was right. Your family cut you off after you dropped out of university, you moved here to finally be able to live your own life. But all that didn’t matter, not at that very moment.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?” you asked, not risking coming closer to him. Instead you moved towards the kitchen cupboard, your eyes not leaving his for even one moment. You needed to check if your treasure was safe, if the bracelet was still safe…

“There’s no need to reach for the knife you want to grab, I’m not here to harm you.” The man said and raised both of his hands in a sign of defeat. For a moment you thought that grabbing the kitchen knife as a defence wasn’t a bad idea, it had to be a logical assumption for him. Little did he know sometimes you valued old sentiments more than your own safety. “My name is Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh… I’ve heard of you actually.” the realization struck you. His face didn’t look familiar, but the name did ring a bell to you. London’s favourite detective, a man granted with intelligence ordinary people couldn’t even imagine. And he was in your flat, for some reason. “But your reputation doesn’t justify you breaking into my flat. What is it that you want?”

Sherlock narrowed his blue eyes at you. For a moment you stood in silence, observing each other carefully. “I was wondering what made you such a convincing actress. Your portrayal of a character is impressively accurate. I’ve never seen someone disguise themselves so perfectly into being someone else.” His words sounded strange to you, but you could understand his point. His unusual form of appreciation even managed to move something in your heart. You wanted to thank him for his opinion, but the words lost their way to your mouth.

“Is that it? Is that the reason you violated my privacy by coming here?” the fact remained, this man was an intruder and no matter his intentions he had no right to enter to your flat uninvited. “If so, then get out and better don’t come back.” You moved, so the way to the door was all clear for him. You were tired after a long day at work and you were in no mood to deal with this detective celebrity. Even though his presence touched something deep down in you, played on a lost string of your heart.

“That isn’t the only reason I came. I see that it’s hard for you to make ends meet. And I do value your skills, so… I might have an interesting proposal for you, (Y/N).” you noticed how sparkles of light danced playfully in his eyes.

That’s how it started…

…to be continued…

#sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock #sherlock oneshot #bbc sherlock imagines #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock x reader oneshot #sherlock x reader #sherlock #sherlock inserts

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sarahjart · 5 years

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PROJECT// BIBLIOGRAPHY- EXAMPLES OF OUTPUTS

Approaching the brief, we were asked to look at possible outputs for our biography final piece. Moving image, graphic novel, interactive experience and physical object making were all possible areas we were offered. I was the most interested in moving image in terms of animation, graphic novels and physical objects as possible output mediums.

As a starting point, I researched some examples of biographies that already exist in all three forms of output.

ANIMATION AS BIOGRAPHY

Disney

Animation is an excellent vehicle for biography. Moving image allows you to capture your subject’s character in way no other medium can replicate. The most well known roughly biographical animations I can think of are Disney’s adaptations of the stories of Mulan and Pocahontas. Disney adapted the story of Mulan from that of Hua Mulan, a a legendary warrior of Chinese history, originally described in the Ballad of Mulan. In the ballad, Hua Mulan, disguised as a man, takes her aged father's place in the army. Mulan fought for twelve years and gained high merit, but she refused any reward and retired to her hometown. - Wikipedia

Mulan is a figure of legend, not history, however the biographical element of her film remains a strong point.

This is the same for Disney’s Pocahontas, based on the major events from the life of the historical Pocahontas, the daughter of Powhatan, the chief of a network of tribes in the Tidewater region of Virginia.

Both of these Disney adaptations are highly romanticised and cleaned up in terms of violence and adult themes. Nonetheless, they are excellent examples of lives adapted into entertaining, cinematic narratives. Disney uses song, angles, colour and environment to emphasise character expression.

Both of these Disney adaptations are adaptations through and through, never quite expressing the truth of the character’s life, probably due to the target audience of young children. As a result the stories are highly romanticised- most of the violence and adult themes cleaned up or omitted completely. Despite this, both final products excel at creating a clarity of understanding for the viewer on complex events in the character life, at the same time as doing so in a way that remains entertaining.

Dramatic sequences accompanied by song are the major vehicle for Disney’s expression of key events in the characters life. These sequences are an inspiration to me in terms of portraying major events in Chet Baker’s life- perhaps not to song, but in way of staging, acting, composition and transitions, both of these films are a goldmine for inspiration.

Jayden Animations.

Jayden Animations is a YouTube channel, and acts as a diary of such for its owner, Jayden. She animates stories from her life, including childhood mishaps, holidays and day to day events. Although technically, autobiography, her style of telling events from a third person perspective for her viewers brings it closer to biography to me. Her animations are basic in design but include smooth, dynamic movements which really bring the events to life. She is clear and methodical in the way she tells her stories, narrating over the images, but for the most part, showing not telling. Jayden’s animations are fluid and a joy to view, but are not completely unreachable from my skill level. This, combined with her story-telling ability are what really inspire me to create something similar.

Animation is the output that I am most interested in for my final piece.

GRAPHIC NOVEL AS BIOGRAPHY

Ellerbisms

Ellerbisms is an autobiographical diary comic written by the cartoonist Marc Ellerby, widely known for his work on Rick and Morty. Ellerbisms was originally a webcomic, coming out weekly/daily in the style of a page-a-day story of the goings on in Marc’s life. I was first drawn to Ellerbisms because Marc Ellerby is from my hometown in Essex, meaning that many of the locations shown in the comic are ones that I know and visit, adding a personal touch to my reading of the published book form of the comic.

Although this project is about biography, I think that reading and viewing this type of autobiography is helpful because it gives an insight into how an individual may use the medium to express their own emotions about true events. Although Marc Ellerby is a cartoonist, Ellerbisms never ventures into the realm of over-exaggeration or out of realistic situations, which allows the storytelling to retain its weight as situations make a turn for the worst. I think there is definitely something to be said in remaining close to reality in this type of real-life storytelling.

Tetris: The Games People Play

Tetris: The Games People Play is a graphic novel by Box Brown, detailing the story around the creation of the classic, enduring, video game Tetris. Behind Tetris is Alexey Pajitnov. In 1984, he created Tetris in his spare time while developing software for the Soviet government. Once Tetris emerged from behind the Iron Curtain, it was an instant hit.- Goodreads

Box Brown’s biography of the period of Alexey Pajitnov’s life as he developed the game, the game becoming a super hit, and him never gaining any money or recognition from it, is lengthy in its detail and accuracy. I found that at some points the narrative grew boring because there was a lot of information such as financial numbers, dates and exacting detail that felt unnecessary for an entertaining version of his life. Despite this, Box Brown's efforts are undoubtedly the absolute truth of the events. I think I can learn from this reading experience to help me to include both accuracy, clarity and entertainment to my own adaptation of Chet’s life.

Another thing about Box Brown’s take on the creating of Tetris is the graphic novels use of a limited colour palette. It really makes the pages stand out from other comics, and allows the reader to easily pin point elements of importance as they are often portrayed in negative space. I am very inspired by this and hope to use a version of this technique in my own work.

OBJECT AS BIOGRAPHY

I found it quite hard to find physical objects representative of a ‘biographic’ idea. My examples are more about the documentation of a life in an object, which in doing so, hold some of the narrative in itself.

Anne Frank’s Diary

The Diary of a Young Girl, also known as The Diary of Anne Frank, is a book of the writings from the Dutch language diary kept by Anne Frank while she was in hiding for two years with her family during the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands. - Wikipedia

Anne Frank’s diary is a physical object which represents a life in both what it contains, as well as what it is as an object. Anne gave the diary a name, Kitty, personifying it as if it were a person she wrote to, removed from her terrible situation and unable to pass judgement. The diary now represents Anne Frank herself, being the only remainder of who she was during her time in hiding. It shows the marks of its use during that time, becoming almost a vehicle for Anne's soul, able to reach further than the annex or later, the concentration camp.

During my trip to Amsterdam in 2017, I visited the Frank House and was lucky enough to view the diary. It definitely has a presence in the room.

Kurt Cobain’s Cassette Tapes

Legendary singer and guitar player, frontman for Nirvana, Kurt Cobain, kept a record of his creative life on an enormous amount of cassette tapes. The tapes act as a sort of diary in a similar way to Anne Frank’ s Diary. They include snippets of musical experimentation as well as monologs and recordings of friends and family. Each tape represents a sort of time machine/portal in the way they transport the listener into Kurt’s shabby, dirty, creative drug addled life. Even in their physical form- decorated and recorded over as to become covered in scribbles of corrections on what the tape holds, they are a biographical medium.

#unitfour

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otabekismybff · 7 years

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[1/3] Thanks, again, for such a wonderfully thought-out response. Yuri and Yuuri actually seeing each other as equals is my favourite thing about their dynamic. Which is also why, even though I love the idea of Yuri admiring/crushing on Yuuri, I don't like comparing it to Yuuri's childhood crush and fascination with Viktor, and why the idea of Yuri running fan accounts/having posters of Yuuri all over his room are things that don't sit right with me (even if I sometimes enjoy all the fanart).

[2/3] The idol worship on YOI is terrifying tbh. And like you said, Yuuri is still enamored by his idol, and a long ways away from seeing himself as Viktor’s equal. It’s fascinating how well I can imagine the example you gave of Yuzuru’s and Javier’s dynamic off/on the ice fitting Yuri and Yuuri, when, on the other hand, I firmly believe that competing against each other will wear and chafe at Viktor and Yuuri’s relationship? The (perceived) imbalance in their relationship, Yuuri’s anxiety, [3/3] along with the ugly emotions that can feed into (and arise from) competition, are things I can see weighing down their relationship. (Which is why I’m a big advocate of Viktor retiring). Basically, Yuri is the only one I can imagine Yuuri having a healthy relationship with, off and on the ice, simultaneously.

Hi! Sorry this reply is super late, but it took me a long time tofigure out how to word this. Hopefully my thoughts will come acrosswell enough.

Disclaimer: I love Yuri on Ice the show and while I do have issueswith the Viktuuri relationship dynamics, I think it isfixable in season 2, so I haven’t given up on this couple (even if Iship Yuriyuu more).

…

I really enjoy the dynamic of Yuri and Yuuri seeing each other asequals too. It’s very subtle in how it’s shown in the show, but youcan definitely see it in how Yuuri acts towards Yuri. Never once ishe treating him like a child who has no chance of winning. He fullysees him as someone who could beat him. Also let’s consider that Yurihas only started to admire Yuuri at age 14. Yuuri has been looking upto Viktor for at least eleven years, and in those years, Viktor hasbeen a faraway, unreachable dream. Whereas, Yuri was able to talk toYuuri right away and even train with him for a week in Japan.

(Only read below the cut if you’re okay with reading about the issues of the Viktuuri relationship.)

Yuuri was never the same faraway, so-high-above-me, unreachable idol.They could interact with each other almost from the beginning andYuri sees many of Yuuri’s flaws right off the bat—his flubbed jumpsduring the Grand Prix Final, Yuuri crying in the bathroom, Yuuriapologizing to his mom. And when he’s in Japan, he also sees howYuuri suffers from a lack of confidence, how he’s still strugglingwith his squad Salchow, and how he also has trouble grasping histheme for their short program. It puts Yuuri on a much closer levelto Yuri—as opposed to young Yuuri dreaming about an unreachableViktor. All this time, Yuuri has been trying to catch up to Viktor,always seeing him as someone above him. But Yuri already feels likehe’s better in some areas (his jumps) and sees areas he shouldimprove compared to Yuuri (his step sequences and emotions during apiece). It’s a very different dynamic. (I also enjoy the fanart, butdefinitely don’t headcanon Yuri as plastering his room with YuuriKatsuki posters.)

I am glad I am not the only one who got a bit uncomfortable with theidol worship in the Viktuuri relationship. It wasn’t as bad in thebeginning because their relationship was gradual, but once theengagement happened, things seemed to be progressing too fast fortheir feelings of equalness to develop. Even in the lastepisode, the creators decided to ignore Yuuri’s anxiety so that hisresponses to Viktor wouldn’t seem so out of place.

Realistically, yes, competing against each other would be a strain onthe Viktuuri relationship. Not only will Yuuri always be thought ofas a product of Viktor’s talents as a coach, but he’ll alsohave to deal with the fact that his competitor is choreographing hisprograms. Yuuri might only blame himself for his failures at first,but eventually, he’ll start to wonder if Viktor picked thechoreography on purpose to sabotage him. Anxiety is a tricky beastand paired with that dynamic, it doesn’t seem like it would gosmoothly.

Also, Viktor learned the whole “don’t say anything, just believe inme” lesson in Episode 7, but he’s been taking that too far in the“don’t say anything” department. In episode 11, he gave Yuuri alot of space and allowed Yuuri’s anxiety about Viktor returning tothe ice to push him towards the “let’s end this” talk. (I’mstill a little confused as to why Yuuri was suddenly excited aboutthis in Episode 12… What happened to all that anxiety?) Andeven when they had the talk, it didn’t really address the issues thatthey were having. Viktor still doesn’t know how to communicate withYuuri and reassure him with words. He’s only learned nonverbalreassurances and he cannot rely on those if he’s to maintain ahealthy relationship. They will not be enough with Yuuri’s anxietyconstantly telling him that he’s not worthy of Viktor, because Viktoris so far above him, still the idol he’s dreamed about all theseyears.

Viktor needs to retire soon—preferably after Yuuri has stolen agold medal from him. Honestly, I think it would have been better ifthe YOI creators had just made Yakov Yuuri’s coach instead. I couldsee Viktuuri still working as competitors and gradually gettingtowards that Yuzuru/Javier rivalry dynamics. The problem is adding inthe coach/student dynamic. It should have been one or the other, notboth. Realistically, I see Yuri and Yuuri as working well with therivalry/relationship dynamics going on simultaneously. (That’s why Ienjoy writing fanfiction of them so much! XD)

…

All that being said, I don’t think the YOI creators will follow therealistic route with Season 2. In fact, I think they’re working veryhard to reverse the flaws they built into Yuuri and Viktor’srelationship in Season 1.

Kubo-senseiand others have been releasing details lately to soften the drama onthe show. Yuri suddenly has a mother? Sure, maybe that was plannedfrom the start. But it’s also possible that the information was justgiven to the audience so they could introduce a mother storyline inseason 2. In other words, they might want to erase his tragicpast—the same tragic past that Kubo-sensei talked about ininterviews a couple months ago. And now we’ve got information thatViktor saw Yuuri skate before they met, and that Viktor and Yuuri aresoulmates?? I feel like using the word ‘soulmates’ was kind of amessage to us that “Don’t worry! Whatever happens, Viktor and Yuuriwill be together in the end!” They know the relationship is flawed,so they’re desperately trying to fix it (without actually fixingit…)

…

Anyways, I am very skeptical for season 2. I feel like the YOIcreators will shy away from giving us the same realistic drama andproblems in season 1, and replace it with a more generic fluffystory. No doubt they will continue to try to surprise the audience,but it won’t get too dramatic. Remember that Kubo-sensei stated inYuri on Ice’s perfect world, there is no homophobia and that shecouldn’t dream of hurting her characters (except Makkachinapparently). As much as I would love to see a world like that, thisshow has become too idealistic. I’ll still watch Yuri on Ice season2, and I’ll probably enjoy it, but it won’t be anything like season1. Still, I hope they’ll surprise me and bring on the realism (with awee bit of fantasy mixed in). And I want plenty of details that leaveroom for analysis (because boy do I like writing meta).

#yuriyuu #viktuuri issues #yoi meta #analysis of relationships #don't read if you're 100% happy with how yuri on ice season 1 ended #anonymous

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biofunmy · 4 years

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Reimagining Old Friends at the National Theater in London

LONDON — Shall we all speed-read together? I mean, as in consume hundreds and hundreds of pages as fast as the human eye permits.

We’ll let our attention alight briefly on names of characters, central plot points and major thematic statements, via a text that has been helpfully illuminated with neon marker. And all those pesky auxiliary words used to summon nuance and detail will runtogetherlikethis into an inky cloud.

Such is the experience of watching “My Brilliant Friend,” the breathlessly paced, two-part stage interpretation of Elena Ferrante’s “Neapolitan Novels” at the National Theater. Adapted by April De Angelis and directed by Melly Still, this production compresses the acclaimed four-volume portrait of two women who come of age in mid-20th-century Naples into less than five hours of galloping onstage synopsis.

Though I haven’t seen any of the Italian television version shown on HBO (eight episodes so far, with a projected 24 more to come), I eagerly devoured each of Ferrante’s books as soon as they were published in English, so I was generally able to follow what was going on in De Angelis’s version.

But heaven help the innocent theatergoer who meets Ferrante’s characters for the first time in this production by the National Theater and the Rose Theater Kingston. After watching both parts of the show in successive performances, I saw fellow audience members stumbling out with glazed eyes and what-was-that-all-about expressions. “Well, it might make a good movie,” I heard one of them say to another.

“My Brilliant Friend” was one of three new theatrical adaptations I recently caught at the National, each of which inevitably inspired reflections on their differences from the works that inspired them and the perils and pleasures of recontextualizing the familiar. Less than 10 hours after arriving in London, I was plunged into the churning, fantastical waters of “The Ocean at the End of the Lane,” based on Neil Gaiman’s popular 2013 novel about a British boy’s encounter with cosmic forces of evil, which I had read on the plane from New York.

Two days later, I spent time with a set of unhappy women I have been enthralled and irritated by since I was 12. They would be the title characters of Chekhov’s “Three Sisters,” who have been reimagined by the playwright Inua Ellams as residents of the civil-war-torn Nigeria of the late 1960s.

Curiously, of these three productions, “My Brilliant Friend” was both the most faithful, in literal terms, to its source material and the furthest from what makes its prototype so seductive. The play manages to cover most of the entire five-decade course of Ferrante’s plot, while dexterously signaling political and social changes in Italy via period pop songs and video projections.

There are more than three dozen individual characters listed in the program, which doesn’t account for the many other figures who show up to flesh out scenes depicting weddings, riots and natural disasters. They are portrayed by a cast of 24 humans and several winsome puppets, who all tirelessly dash up and down the four steep staircases that dominate Soutra Gilmour’s otherwise minimalist set, while the revolving stage of the Olivier Theater turns. And turns. And turns.

So very much happens in the course of human events here that when an earthquake hits Naples, it feels neither more nor less convulsive than the more soap opera-ish plot turns that have been occurring all along. At the center of this off-the-charts Richter scale tumult are two enduring female frenemies, and fortunately they are portrayed here, from childhood into late middle age, by Niamh Cusack and Catherine McCormack.

Cusack is Lenù Greco, the bookish one who studies hard and escapes from their old, squalid Neapolitan neighborhood to become a celebrated novelist. McCormack is the willful and wayward Lila Cerullo, a person of infinite intelligence and perversity to match.

Both actresses are great fun to watch, especially McCormack, who has the showier part. But with reversals of feeling and fortune happening so abruptly, it’s hard to make much sense of this central relationship. Delivered in theatrical shorthand, finer shades of ambivalence in Ferrante’s prose become baldfaced contradictions.

“Three Sisters” is nearly as replete with historical detail and eventfulness as “My Brilliant Friend.” The script by Ellams (who wrote the wonderful “Barber Shop Chronicles”) provides equivalents for each of Chekhov’s original characters, starting with the wistful, provincial siblings of the title.

They are embodied with commanding grace by Sarah Niles, Natalie Simpson and Racheal Ofori. It’s Lagos, instead of Moscow, that’s now the unreachable destination of their dreams.

Ellams’s title characters are hemmed in by newly insurmountable obstacles when war erupts between Nigeria and the breakaway republic of Biafra, where they reside. Chekhov’s discussions about the meaning — and meaninglessness — of life have accordingly been expanded to embrace subjects like the evils of British neocolonialism and the erasure of cultural history.

In this version, the women’s new and unloved sister-in-law (an entertainingly overripe Ronke Adekoluejo) isn’t just a pushy parvenu; she’s Yoruban and may even be an enemy spy. And every so often, a spectral figure in ceremonial garb — a sort of spirit of place incarnate — shows up to roam Katrina Lindsay’s expansive indoor-outdoor set and chant forebodingly in the Nigerian language of Ibo.

It is to the credit of Ellams and the director Nadia Fall that so much historical and atmospheric detail is folded into “Three Sisters” without undue congestion. But the bigger picture provided here tends to make the sisters’ relentless worries — domestic, romantic and existential — feel kind of incidental.

When the threesome started moaning per usual after the local town market had been bombed, with devastating casualties, I found myself thinking of what Humphrey Bogart told Ingrid Bergman at the end of “Casablanca”: “The problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.”

Of course, when you’re still a child — like the reluctant hero of Gaiman’s “Ocean” — nothing seems more important than your own private fears. Gaiman’s book ingeniously gives a cosmic dimension to such solipsism, as a 7-year-old boy in rural England finds his quiet existence rattled by life-consuming, supernal forces of darkness.

Joel Horwood’s stage adaptation of Gaiman’s novel, directed by Katy Rudd, ages up its unnamed central character, who is now 12 and played by the very good Samuel Blenkin (and by Justin Salinger as the man he becomes). The play also diverges from the novel in making its young hero motherless.

Our hero’s allies in his battle against darkness are a mysteriously wise girl named Lettie Hempstock (Marli Siu, charming) and her earthy but otherworldly ma (Carlyss Peer) and grandma (Josie Walker). His mortal enemy is his dad’s perky new lodger (Pippa Nixon, having a great time), who sheds human form to become one really scary evil fairy known as Skarthach. (Despite placing a pubescent lad in mostly female company, sex never rears its inconvenient head here.)

This creature and the ungodly darkness from which she emerges are brought to nastily lyrical life by an expert team that includes Fly Davis (set), Samuel Wyer (costumes and puppets), Paule Constable (lighting) and the genius movement director Steven Hoggett. As such, “Ocean” is a pretty entertaining spook house.

What makes Gaiman’s book so arresting, though, is its summoning of the awful sense we have as young children that our darkest fantasies may be real. In externalizing those internal feelings, and making its hero an adolescent, Horwood’s play feels safer and more predictable, more in the mold of a conventional young adult adventure fantasy.

I completed my marathon of stage adaptations at the National with the impression that in such ventures, something is perhaps always lost in translation. All the productions did, though, make me savor afresh what I had enjoyed and admired about the pieces that inspired them. I am now wondering, by the way, if it’s too soon to start rereading Ferrante’s Naples quartet.

Sahred From Source link Arts

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