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ginkgomoon · 3 years

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Gavin's New Rain Date- Analysis

Finally was able to watch this new Gavin date, and of course, the gears in my brain started to turn and analyse then type out each individual sentence. I love how I will never look at MLQC content the same way ever again ever since I started Tumblr.

This analysis will heavily be referencing Gavin and MC’s high school history which I made a detailed timeline that you can read before moving onto this analysis.

Following the sound, I discovered a cardboard box in a corner of a wall along the street, with one white and one black kitten crammed within, looking up at me and meowing incessantly.

MC: “Are you guys hungry?”

I squatted down and took out a little packet of sealed cat food.

“You two share now, okay?”

Seeing the two cats tussling over what was apparently their first meal in a while, I couldn’t help but chuckle. I placed the umbrella on top of the cardboard box and prepared to get up and run to the metro station but the rain pattering down suddenly halted.

A shadow blocked out the sky over me. I looked up in surprise to see Gavin holding an umbrella.

Gavin: “So there you are.”

He started walking, and we proceeded shoulder to shoulder toward the metro station under the broad umbrella. The rain dripped and splashed everywhere. Suddenly, a scene from the past flashed in my mind, giving me a feeling of déjà vu.

MC: “This seems to have happened before.”

He turned to look at me, a flash of nostalgia in his eyes.

Gavin: “It has, actually.”

He looked at the falling rain and the shining street lights, and thought back to a long time ago when they first met. That was also a rainy day, lit up with the dim lamplight. The drizzle on the girl’s bangs blossomed into a neon glow the boy had never seen before. -New Rain Date

As he passed down by the alley, he saw a girl squatting at the corner like a mushroom. She didn’t have an umbrella, relying on a thin, rundown roof for shelter.

Gavin could hear sounds coming from the paper box. Confused, he paused in his steps. It turned out to be a little kitten.

The girl’s clothes and hair were already drenched from the rain and running down along the side of her face, but she didn’t seem bothered by it. The kitten, with a handkerchief covering it, would meow occasionally .

The girl chuckled softly and said, “are you hungry?”

At that moment, Gavin had thought the girl was asking that question to herself. She retrieved snacks from her bag and opened it, feeding it to the kitten.

The drizzle that accompanied the dim street lamps along the roadside, fell on the tips of the girl’s hair. A rainbow he had never seen before then appears. For an inexplicable reason, for a long time Gavin had stood there until the girl had turned back.

She looked at Gavin in astonishment, not knowing how he had been standing at the opening of the alley.

Water droplets dropped continuously onto Gavin drenching his light-coloured fringe on in front of his forehead. A few seconds passed, and the girl’s astonishment changed into a clear smile, warming into Gavin’s heart without permission.

Gavin frustrated kicked away a can near his feet. He then hurriedly removed his jacket, covering it over the girl’s head. He heard a faint “thank you!” from behind when he had gone.

Gavin ran in the rain, his white shirt fully drenched. In the eyes of that girl, Gavin had a different colour when compared to the tales told about him. -CN Tilted Time Rumours and Secrets

Just from a couple of sentences, we can make out a lot of parallels. I love how in MLQC, the writers make the effort for the storyline and events to juxtapose certain parts, as well. From here, we can also highlight new concepts, too.

On the first rainy day of high school, MC encounters a hungry kitten in a box and feeds it. At the exact moment, Gavin sees her for the first time. After a while, MC turns and smiles at him. In response to this, he takes off his own school jacket and drapes it over her head to shelter her from the rain. He runs off.

Similarly, in the New Rain Date, on a rainy day after work, MC sees two cats in a box and feeds them. Once Gavin sees her, he approaches her to shelter her with his umbrella, and she turns to smile at him. He smiles back. They both leave together.

In addition to the parallels, we can denote specific uses of symbolism that has been established.

The most first and most obvious one- rain. Rain is the symbol of renewal and rebirth. It’s the “washing away of the old” and “regrowing something better”. Without rain, you can’t grow flowers, right? In this context, rain represents the growing pain but also the beauty of life.

Gavin with the umbrella reinforces the physical idea sheltering her from the rain, but he also wants to protect her literally and metaphorically from any danger or any hardship. Like before back then in high school, he gives her his jacket to protect her from the rain- from being drowned like him. But this time, they are under shelter of the umbrella, together. As well of course, not to mention that he gave her his jacket this time around and found her in it, too.

Even within the date title, “New Rain”, we can also apply the contrast between back when they were in high school and where they are currently. The “old rain” would showcase the ideas of being with someone after waiting for them. This concept is what Gavin and MC both discuss, symbolic to their relationship because it unknowingly reminds them of how they were before. This develops into a higher understanding from reflecting, therefore catalyses the “new rain”.

I flipped through pages and stopped at one-

“All this time, I’ve been waiting for you to knock at this door and join me out of the rain.”

The delicate handwriting in blue ink was now a bit blurred. I couldn’t resist wondering what the story was behind the entry.

Gavin: “What are you reading?”

MC: “It seems to be a tale of unrequited love.”

I showed Gavin the entry in the guest book, and after reading it, a confused look came over him.

Gavin: “What makes you think that?”

MC: “Love is just like a sudden storm. One of them was out in the rain, wanting to knock on the door but hesitating. The other was waiting inside for a knock that never came.”

Gavin: “What do you think became of them?”

MC: “Perhaps the more you like someone, the more hesitant you are?”

Gavin: “But maybe at the end of the story, they were together.”

MC states that love comes expectantly, with the knock of intrusion to bring a house of cards down. You never know until it happens on hindsight- that the person is exactly what you want and need.

“It’s she who told me I could live a stronger life. And it’s she who told me I could live a more tender life.” -Spring Festival Date

Gavin had a tough upbringing contrasted to MC, with Gavin noting that she had a very pure look in her eyes when he first met her.

It is certain that MC (thankfully) hadn’t experienced when Gavin had back in his age, and although Gavin who had thought to be “damaged goods” to others, was willing to put that past him and take a chance with MC. Therefore, wanting to experience life- everything that it has to offer- together.

Upon flipping to a certain page, a familiar handwriting once again appeared before me. A simple sentence was written in the white space on the page. “It’s sunshine after rain. We’re together.”

MC: “Gavin, after you left, I read through the guest book some more and found the ending. They were together after all!”

Gavin: “Then one of them must have opened that door first.”

MC: Right. But if they had poured their hearts to each other from the beginning, then they wouldn’t have had to wait so long, would they?”

Gavin: “Maybe that person wasn’t afraid of knocking on the door. Maybe there was some other reason.”

His words made me think of that blood-stained letter, and the leaving without saying goodbye- or so I’d thought. The figure of someone waiting in a library seemed to form in front of me.

Again, MC had wondered “why couldn’t they confess?” almost like how people may have thought Gavin had every opportunity to confess to MC in high school.

But, the fact is, he really didn’t. Extrinsic forces, such as his father, his Evol and keeping MC safe from a distance had stopped him, or rather what MC further states, “perhaps the more you like someone, the more hesitant you are,” hesitated instead, because Gavin cannot fathom risking MC for absolutely anything at all. That is, until when he ran out of time and wrote the letter to her.

MC: “But if the rain had stopped, they would have missed it. If it was you, what would you do?”

Gavin paused. His hand holding the jacket stopped on my shoulder, while the other wipe away a bead of water from my face.

Gavin: “I would wait in the rain forever.”

He stared deeply into my eyes, and for moment I got the feeling that he wasn’t just speaking from hypotheticals. The feeling gave me an unexplainable hurtful sensation, and the rain continued to fall.

MC: “But the rain would stop in the end.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” This time he spoke without hesitation.

Gavin: “And if it did, I would wait for it to start raining all over again.”

The thing is, he really would wait for however long for her. He would persevere through life’s pains for her. He would be there time and time again to shelter her. He would go through all of it again just to meet her once more. SOBS SOBS SOBS

His calloused fingertip slipped from my cheek to my lip, bringing my breath to a halt for a second.

“Because there will never be another person like her.”

He caressed my bottom lip, and I could feel his warm breath clearly across my cheek. At seem point, my hand worked its way up to the side of his neck, an uncontrollable urge to get closer.

“Only you can find the real Gavin. Before meeting you, no one has ever entered his heart, because no one had ever reached it before. Only one person has ever broken though.”

Finally, his kiss fell upon my lips, along with a sightly chill wetness and that scent that only Gavin, had, taking my senses by storm. There was an emotion in his smouldering eyes that made my heart skip a heart, but it only scratched the surface, not going further.

The kiss was over in a moment, and only his scorching body heat still lingered distinctively on my lips.

“Now, I’ve knocked on the door.”

Without saying a word, I slipped my arm around Gavin’s neck and pulled him close, then closed my eyes and pressed my lips to his. Gavin froze, and his breath was immediately thrown off rhythm. But the next second, his hand was pressing the back of my hand, not giving me the chance to back out.

Perhaps… before you knocked on the door, I had already walked into the storm, to stand by your side.

The rain seemed without end. And we waited in the rain, for when the sun would shine again.

They’re willing to go through life’s pains in order to be with each other and live through the happiness they created together. MC fully accepts him the way he is, and instead of being under his protection, she’s willing to fight for him, beside him.

#mlqc #love and producer #恋与制作人 #mr love queens choice #mlqc translation #mlqc analysis #mlqc cn #mlqc en #mlqc gavin #gavin

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ombreblossom · 3 years

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speaking words unspoken

This is my gift for @bluejayblueskies for the 2021 @tma-valentines-exchange! I hope you like it!

AO3 link is located in the source :)

Summary: They're a week and some change into their stay at Daisy's safe house, and Martin is still having some trouble with the Lonely. Jon picks up on this and tries to make things better. And he does! In his way, but not before some miscommunication and exhaustion waylay his efforts (about 6.5K words)

The grocery store is awfully busy for a small town nestled in the heart of the Scottish Highlands. Residents of the village wander among a haphazard collection of shelves ranging from middling height to impossibly tall. There seems to be little rhyme or reason for where items are placed from aisle to aisle, forcing Martin to have to search around in order to find anything, increasing the number of people he inadvertently bumps into.

If Martin gave it any more than a cursory thought, he'd come to the conclusion that it's not entirely unexpected, the nearest Tesco many tens of kilometers away and only a smattering of towns in between.

Martin isn’t really in a position to have that cursory thought, though, as freshly escaped from the Lonely as he was. Nervous energy thrums along his skin, speeding his movements and making him quick to avert his eyes in the infrequent event someone meets them. Most people still easily pass their gaze over him, as if he were merely a wisp of tepid air lazily making its way across the store room—a left-over effect of his association with the One Alone. Martin doesn't mind so much the lack of attention paid to him, but he can't help but feel an uncomfortable pressure against his skin when other people are near.

He can't even be near Jon sometimes, not without the pressure overwhelming him, and doesn’t that just smart.

Martin resolved to brave the thick, after-work crowd for this, though, “this” being gathering the supplies needed for a relaxing night in Daisy’s safehouse following a rushed and terrified flight from London and everything that had happened with Peter and Eli-Jonah, Not!Sasha, and the hunters. They weren’t on holiday, Martin had to keep reminding himself. They weren’t on holiday, but he was probably the happiest he’s been in years, and he wants to celebrate that. With Jon.

With Jon. What a concept. He was elsewhere in the store, continuing an extended effort of picking up things they'd conceivably need for the long term. Just in case. Martin’s trying to not examine his shaky optimism too closely, but he is in love, and it's impossible to not consider his current position beside Jon as anything but a miracle.

Ah, there’s finally some room in the sweets aisle. Flanked on either side by various baking paraphernalia, Martin enters the aisle and heads straight for a small section of colorfully-wrapped bar chocolate. Not that Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London likes sweet chocolate—goodness, no. Or sweets at all for that matter. At least not things he classified as “obnoxiously sweet,” an ambiguous term if Martin had ever heard one. Over time, Martin has come to understand it to mean barely sweet, like an echo of sweetness that had once been present and is no longer. He's never said as much, but Jon likes his sweets like he likes his tea: oversteeped to the point of bitterness with the barest hint of sugar and the slightest bit of added color from milk.

And Jon does this unbearably adorable thing where he breaks the bar up into smaller pieces, not even according to the pre-set perforations, mind you, and nibbles on the thing for hours at a time, either to savor the flavor (which Martin cannot possibly fathom) or because Jon is a lying liar who lies about liking bitterness to that degree, and this is the one thing he has managed to successfully lie to anybody about.

It’s probably the former, but Martin would be delighted to find out it’s the latter.

So, he gladly picks up a couple of ninety-percent dark chocolate bars for Jon and turns them over in his hand, feeling the rough texture of the plain, if colorful, wrapping paper surrounding them. Martin does his best to dodge around other shoppers who've entered the aisle, picking up some granulated sugar, flour, baking soda and powder, and cinnamon for banana bread (his personal favorite). It stirs feelings in his chest that Jon had bought bananas several days ago with the (if not explicit, then quite obvious in hindsight) intent to let them over-ripen. Martin starts to head toward the cashier with the rest of his items when he feels a cool hand slip into his, interlacing their fingers together.

“Hey,” Jon begins, a soft warmth in his voice, “Did you get everything we needed?” Jon rubs his thumb in light, rhythmic circles onto his own, and it takes everything Martin has in him to not instinctively pull his hand out of Jon’s gentle hold. It feels nice—Jon feels nice—but it's very nearly too much right now. He hates this, hates constantly putting Jon in a position where he has to somehow intuit Martin’s feelings because not even Martin himself quite understands what exactly sets off the chain reaction of fear and pressure and too many people and the roaring—

There’s suddenly nothing but air around his hand, and Martin misses Jon’s solid presence acutely as much as he found it altogether too much. He doesn’t want to look over at Jon to see his placating smile, the one Martin imagined Jon wore as he all but dragged the both of them through King’s Cross station to barely make it on time for the soonest train to Inverness. That same smile that Martin watched Jon affect as he took on the bulk of the dusting and washing that needed to be done upon arrival at Daisy’s safe house. The same smile that Martin woke up to every morning, knowing that Jon had very likely spent several hours just sitting in their bed waiting for Martin to wake up to make sure he didn’t do so alone.

Martin looks anyway and isn’t surprised to see the smile in question.

If Martin had to describe it, he’d say it conveyed a sense of loss, of mourning, of wanting to protect what remained of a previous whole. It’s an implicit acknowledgement of the pieces of Martin that have been irreparably warped by the Lonely and an acknowledgement that Martin had already lost much to mundane loneliness long before Peter took advantage of his grief and recruited him in waylaying the Extinction.

He never wants to see that smile again, and so he looks away.

“Is there anything else we still need to get, Martin?” Jon rephrases and, after a long beat, continues, “Why don’t I finish up here and we can meet up in a few moments at the bookshop?” The bookshop that Martin knows that Jon knows is likely deserted at this time in the late afternoon, not too long before the elderly shopkeep, Fiona, closes her doors in anticipation of beginning her own nightly rituals. “I’m almost finished with the books we brought from London, and last time we were there—”

“Jon—” Martin sighs while Jon continues.

“—you mentioned Discworld, and it occurred to me that I have somehow managed to avoid reading any Pratchett, despite reading what I can only imagine was nearly every book left at all the second-hand bookshops in and around Bournemouth. Did you know—”

Jon keeps going with tidbits of what he knows of Terry Pratchett, which is an awful lot considering he just admitted to having not read anything by the man. Martin missed this, listening to Jon talk about anything and everything. He dare not interrupt him, even with everyone walking around them. He also refuses to throw Jon’s gift of distraction back at his face.

Color rises in Jon’s cheeks and his brows furrow when he presumably realizes he’s been talking for a while. “My point is I don’t mind finishing up here. Really, I don’t.” Jon’s trying to help. He’s trying to help, damn it, he repeats to himself. Lord knows that all Jon has ever done is try to help, in his way. Martin’s the one who can’t go five seconds without his fear around other people flaring out of control. Jon shouldn’t have to go it alone to preserve his comfort.

Martin takes some deep, steadying breaths. Jon waits patiently for him, his free hand fidgeting unobtrusively.

“No, I'm good," he asserts, threading his words with as much certainty he can manage, and decides then and there that it is so. "I have everything we need for dinner tonight here and a couple extra things, too." He waggles his eyebrows a little at this. "I assume that you're over here because you've finished getting the essentials."

Every time Jon laughs is an exercise in appreciating opposing extremes. His eyes close as if he can’t bear to look at the object of his amusement any longer, and the corners of those eyes crinkle in the prettiest way, taking the breath right out of Martin’s body when it happens. And he holds his hand in front of his mouth like his laughter is something to be smothered, never to see the light of day, the reasons for which Martin can't be certain, but he suspects he wouldn't like them. "Indeed. And a few extra indulgences," Jon teases, winking. Winking! Does Jon wink? Clearly he does, but this is new information, a treasure trove hidden among stormy seas. “I picked up some sausage; sausage always adds an extra depth of flavor to this sort of thing.”

Laughing lightly, Martin says, "Let's get going, then. We have an extremely full evening of relaxation ahead of us."

"Since when do you find cooking relaxing, Mr. Microwave Meals?"

"Since it's a safe activity that we can do together now that we're away from the Institute of Terror, Mr. Will Subsist on Granola Bars and Spite For Days at a Time If Left to His Own Devices."

Jon looks thoughtful suddenly. "Safe. Now there’s a concept," Jon says with no small amount of incredulity.

Martin pauses. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Jon?” Martin goes cold at the thought that Jon might have seen something and not told him.

“What? Oh, no. It’s just…” He trails off, his gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling. “This, being here—with you—is probably the safest I’ve felt in a long time. It-it almost doesn’t feel real. Like any little thing I do or neglect to do could potentially burst this bubble of happiness I’ve all of the sudden found myself in.”

It’s moments like these that Martin might actually be willing to believe that Jon is in his early 40s, the age he’d be now if the ridiculous lie he told about his age when they all started in the archives had been true. The pressing weights of repeated trauma, responsibility, and regret age his features considerably, and it hurts to look at. Martin wants so badly to smooth away the lines that seem to have taken up permanent residence between Jon’s brows however he can.

Martin ventures that he’s calm enough now to at least comfort Jon, if not enough to accept any for himself. He grabs the same hand that grasped his own minutes before and just. Holds it. Jon goes taught, like a newly-strung bow, words of reassurance waiting on Jon’s lips, that no, it’s okay, Martin, you don’t have to do this.

Well, too bad. Martin wants to do this, the Lonely’s lingering influence on him be damned. Martin draws Jon’s hand up to his lips and presses a kiss onto his knuckles. Jon gasps quietly, eyes wide. His grey-streaked dark hair is slipping out of its loose braid, whether from Jon playing with it in idle moments or from the wind that is altogether too often present in the Highlands, Martin couldn’t say, but the image endears him to Martin all the same.

“Well, take it from someone who’s spent a lot of the last year feeling not-quite-real: this is real, Jon. We’re here and safe, at least for now,” Martin assures him, grinning. “Let’s go pay for this stuff, yeah? And let’s go home.” Jon, momentarily speechless, simply nods his assent.

They’re able to leave the store with their purchases eventually and decide to make their way to Fiona’s bookshop anyway, picking up a few volumes while they’re there: a collection of Robin Robertson’s poetry for Martin and a geographical history of the Scottish Highlands and Terry Pratchett’s Guards, Guards for Jon to chew through. And neither of them would dare leave without giving Maggie, the resident feline guardian, some well-earned scritches. “It takes an awful lot of energy to mind an entire bookshop, after all,” Jon says every time they visit, all the while accumulating what could only amount to an unhealthy amount of cat hair—so much so that Martin’s started to find it laying about in the safe house. Jon doesn’t seem to mind it and says it reminds him of living with The Admiral.

It’s a decent walk back to the safe house. They started late enough in the day that the sun is already beginning to sink below the horizon, so they end up leaving after giving Maggie far fewer scritches than any of them would have preferred. Jon rebuffs Martin’s offer to carry all of their purchases, stubbornly hanging onto their books and his share of the groceries. This is becoming a familiar game to them, one that tends to escalate to silly, frantic grabbing for the others’ bags and eventually devolves into giggles and light shoulder bumping. Today, Martin manages to relieve Jon of his groceries, opening up one of Jon’s hands for holding, which Martin promptly attempts to take.

Jon turns his head to him and gives him a look that practically asks in his stead, “Are you sure this is okay?” The likewise unsaid “I don’t want to hurt you” bounces back and forth between them, and Martin answers by interlacing their hands and giving Jon’s a squeeze in hopes that it will quell the worry that’s carved into the lines of Jon’s face.

It does, and the contented sigh Jon makes is one of the loveliest sounds he’s heard. They continue their trek home, the route long and winding.

Not too much later, though, Martin notices something...off about Jon. He notices in increments almost minute winces when Jon steps on the leg Prentiss' worms ravaged, more frequent bumps into him that had nothing to do with showing affection but allowing Martin to take some of his weight for a moment, and some far-away looks.

Martin doesn’t quite have the shape of it until they’re talking about something or other, something simple, easy, meaningless in the grand, cosmic scheme of things, and Jon stumbles. He tries to laugh it off, but there's something not quite right about Jon's laughter this time. The way he bounces his shoulders in suppressed mirth is subdued—sluggish, even. An increasingly concerning picture paints itself in Martin’s mind.

A long, hard look at Jon forces him to confront the deep, dark circles under his eyes set against skin uncomfortably grey, nearly all traces of flush gone from his face, a stark contrast to earlier in the day.

How had he missed this? Maybe he’s been more absent than he thought. He’ll have to keep a close eye on Jon throughout the evening, maybe shepard him to bed if he seems to get any worse.

Only a sliver of the sun remains visible above the horizon when they arrive at the safe house, casting a soft orange glow over the vast grassy spread of the Highlands. Martin pays the sight little mind, though, all of his focus intent on the man in front of him currently unlocking their front door, and he can’t not notice how long it takes for Jon to insert the key into the locking mechanism.

As they’re putting away their groceries, visions of Jon doing the very same thing by himself play in his mind’s eye. He’s only able to summon disconnected images of the first several days of their....could he call it an elopement? Their not-so-great escape from the Archives? He recalls Jon preparing meals for them, bundling up to leave the safe house for groceries, washing their clothes in a small, foot-powered washing machine and later hanging them up on a clothesline outside to dry. Martin also recalls Jon bringing him overly-steeped tea and an old crocheted blanket when all he could do was sit on Daisy’s ancient green corduroy sofa and stare into the void in front of him, the sounds of lapping waves Coming ever closer.

All the while wearing that damnable smile. Shame pools within Martin, shame that Jon had had to take up so much responsibility recently and that Martin can’t say how well Jon’s been sleeping or taking care of his own needs in the meantime. If today is anything to go on, Martin supposes the answer to both of those questions is likely “no.”

“Martin, could you turn on the lights? We’re losing daylight fast.” Jon has a balancing hand on the countertop and is putting their dry and canned food items. Martin does as he’s asked, bathing the entire kitchen and living area in warm light. Martin walks back toward the kitchen area and is greeted with a “thank you�� and a kiss. He could get used to this, used to feeling loved and appreciated.

“Is something bothering you, Martin?”

He looks at Jon, concern writ large on his still ashen face and eyes boring into him. Concern has no place being there right now. If anyone has any right to be concerned at the moment, it’s Martin.

“What? No. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve just been awfully quiet since we got home, and after what happened at the store, it’s not surprising that you might still be feeling...off.”

Projection, much? Martin wants to say but has the wherewithal to hold it back. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. Jon. I’m all right.”

Jon eyes him up and down, and after seemingly not finding what he’s looking for, nods once and smiles (again with the smile...) once more. “All right. You’ll tell me if something’s bothering you, though, won’t you?”

“Yeah, Jon, of course I will.” And he intends to mean it.

“Good,” Jon says and walks over to where Daisy keeps her cooking vessels, grabs her Dutch oven, and places it on the stovetop.

“Why don’t I be your line chef today, Jon, and you work the stovetop? You’re much better at the actual cooking part than I am.”

“Mmm. There’s a lot of prep work that goes into this and not a whole lot of actual cooking, so let me help you,” he says, shakily opening a couple drawers in search of a suitable chef’s knife.

“You sure? You’re looking a little peaky over there,” he replies without meaning to and curses his loose tongue.

Jon pauses midway through grabbing one of Daisy’s old wooden cutting boards and blinks slowly. “Oh…. Yes, I’m sure. What do you mean, looking ‘peaky’?”

“It’s just,” Martin starts, collecting the fennel seed, basil, rosemary, and the rest of the spices they needed for their meat sauce and a bowl to mix them in. Too late to not approach the subject now. “You’re exhausted, Jon. You spent most of our walk home either tripping over air or leaning on me for support.” He had wanted to be subtle, but subtlety is no longer on the cards.

Considering this for a moment, Jon’s eyebrows scrunch up in a way that Martin finds so endearing and opens a nearby cupboard to take out a couple onions and a bulb of garlic. “Sure, I’m a little tired,” he concedes, “but we have all evening to relax. I’d like nothing more than to cook with you, Martin.”

He should’ve known Jon was a sap. The signs were all there. “Well, how could I say ‘no’ to that?” He says and means it, though worry continues to percolate in the back of his mind.

“You can’t, and you know it.” Jon teases.

They go about preparing their meat sauce, Martin double- and triple-checking each measurement before pouring the appropriate amount of each spice into the mixing bowl and Jon dicing onions.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Chop onions without tearing up and cursing your hubris that ‘this time will be different’?”

Chuckling softly, Jon apparently thinks better of sliding his hand down his face before answering, pivoting to the most level deadpan Martin thinks he’s ever heard from him, “It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that I spent years perfecting my abilities. Training with the best of the best to strengthen my tears ducts to such a degree that they are, quite literally, incapable of passing tears from my lacrimal glands to my eyes.”

Martin raises a dark eyebrow, amusement in his voice as he replies, “You should probably see a doctor about that, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he draws out. “The real answer, of course, is my grandmother devoted a lot of her time to making sure I could at least cook according to a recipe along with providing some general rules of thumb. I chopped many an onion in search of culinary adequacy. Never progressed much past following recipes, though. Ask me to create something from scratch, and you’ll witness a horror the likes of which has never been seen before.”

“Just out of curiosity, which fear do you think takes credit for culinary disasters?”

“Probably depends on the nature of the disaster, honestly, but…. Hmm. Maybe Corruption? Or Flesh, maybe? Either way, it doesn’t bear thinking about, especially not while we’re preparing to eat ourselves.”

While Martin is rummaging through the fridge in search of where Jon put the ground beef and sausage, he hears a hiss coming from Jon's direction.

Martin whips his head over to where Jon's been dicing onions and his heart clenches at the sight of deep red blossoming over the wooden cutting board.

"Jon! What happened? You're bleeding," He says, stating the obvious, feeling like his throat is closing up behind his words. "Where are you bleeding from?" Martin crosses the room in record time, places a hand in Jon's shoulder and surveys the area in front of him.

Blood leaks sluggishly from a cut on Jon's middle finger. A splatter of crimson on the knife Jon has been using clues Martin in to what happened. "Jon, just stay right there, okay? I'll go grab the first-aid kit. I’m sure there’s some kind of antiseptic or disinfectant in there. I’ll be right back!”

Jon opens his mouth to say something, but Martin’s already gone, heading for the cabinet under the bathroom sink, head abuzz with worry and heart hammering in his chest.

When Martin returns, Jon’s running his hand beneath the running tap and blood trails down into the sink in pink rivulets. Jon glances at him, the same exhaustion that stared back at him when Jon and the rest left for Great Yarmouth on his face, a combination of physical exhaustion and the culmination of several months of emotional upheaval, of bitterly contemplating his own humanity and his role in Elias’ inscrutable plans.

“There’s no need to worry about the first-aid kit, Martin. Didn’t you hear? I heal, ah, preternaturally fast these days. See?” Jon holds up his hand to Martin, and, much to Martin’s surprise, the seeping cut on Jon’s finger is completely gone, no trace even of a faint scar.

“I...I didn’t know, Jon,” he almost whispers. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since I—since I woke up. From the coma.”

Martin mouths an “oh” and considers what this means in the context of what knows about Jon’s actions while he’d been working for Peter. It’s almost sadder that Jon ventured into Ny Alesund knowing that he couldn’t be permanently harmed—or into the coffin, for that matter. Walking into extreme danger knowing that he’d likely bring pain on himself but he’d almost certainly live despite it—”self-destructive” was even more accurate than Martin had imagined at the time Daisy said it.

Martin heaves a tension-relieving breath and hopes it doesn’t sound like a sigh. Making Jon feel guilty about something he can’t exactly help isn’t something he wants to do tonight. Or ever. “Why don’t I go put this back, then, and let’s pick up where we left off. I’ll take over the solemn duty of chopping onions if you start preparing the beef and sausage.”

“Yeah, that might be for the best,” Jon concedes too easily.

The room is quiet after that. Not much sound ever permeates the safe house’s walls, trees and hills absorbing much of the ambient noises of the surrounding area before they even get to their cottage. And they’ve both gone silent, the only sounds filling the room the sharp thuds of a knife hitting wood and the squelching of ground meat.

By time Martin’s done dicing one onion to replace the one Jon bled on and an extra onion that the recipe didn’t call for because “onions are flavor vehicles, Martin,” or so Jon claims, Jon’s still mixing the beef and sausage together.

“H-hey, Jon, I think you’ve mixed those pretty thoroughly, don’t you?”

“Mmm.” He stills, hands still submerged in the mixture.

“Jon?”

Jon blinks slowly, head and gaze drawing downward, like he no longer has the will or strength to work against gravity.

Martin reaches out a hand to shake him out of his stupor but thinks better of it. Has he somehow lost more color in his cheeks? “Jon, I think you should maybe go lay down or at least sit down.” Nothing. “I’d love to hear you talk about Discworld if you’re not ready to lay down yet.”

This seems to break him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. “Oh. Ah, yes. Right. I understand. I’ll, um, just go.”

What is there to understand, Martin wonders as Jon turns back to the sink and runs water and soap along his hands, movements almost comically slow if not for how worrying they are and the frenetic energy that usually accompanies Jon completely missing.

Martin reaches out a supporting hand, intending to grasp Jon’s upper arm. “The bedroom’s awfully far away; let’s get you to the sofa, and I’ll bring over some tea and blankets, yeah?”

With energy summoned from the aether, Jon leaps out of the way of his hand, throwing himself boldly against the lip of the countertop with a cry. “No. No. That’s all-that’s all right. I can get there by myself,” he says, chest heaving and the trembling Martin noticed more pronounced than even a moment ago.

“Jon, love, you’re not in any condition to be doing anything by yourself. In the most affectionate way possible, you look like you feel awful right now. Please let me help.” Martin’s unable to keep the pleading out of his voice.

Jon looks—Looks?—looks at him, eyes wide, almost bulging, fear and a host of other emotions dancing wildly in them. “No, n-no. You don’t have to…. Please, don’t. I didn’t want this.”

“Don’t what, Jon? What didn’t you want?”

“This. I didn’t want this.”

“Um. I don’t really understand, Jon, but let’s talk about it over on the sofa. We’ll be more comfortable there.” Martin takes a small step forward, palms of his hands facing forward in a gesture of openness and safety. This time when Jon leaps backward, he slips. Martin’s not close enough to grab onto him, and a split second later, the deafening crack of Jon’s head hitting the wood floor fills the room and clamps a vice around Martin’s heart.

Too shaken to yell his name, he bounds over to where Jon lies still and slides into a sitting position beside him. All Martin can see for a terrifying, desolate moment is Jon in that familiar adjustable hospital bed, crisp, undisturbed white sheets carefully arranged over top of him, attached to various monitors that have been silenced to not alert staff of his absent heartbeat and non-existent oxygenation levels.

“Jon. Jon. Come on. Don’t do this to me. Jon, do something—say something if you can. Please, don’t….” Should he move Jon at this point? Martin remembers from a rudimentary first-aid class he took when his mother’s worsening condition started to accelerate that you shouldn’t move people with suspected head or neck injuries without first stabilizing them, but they had nothing like that here. And there was still some question as to how far his healing ability really extended.

He has to be okay. Without giving the action any thought, Martin gently places a hand atop Jon’s chest to check for breathing. They’re shallow breaths, but his chest does rise and sink in a slow rhythm, and Martin lets out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding.

“Love?” He near whispers, as if Jon were merely asleep. “Come back to me.” He brushes away some of the fly-away hairs that have fallen onto his face. That is when Jon begins to stir.

“Jon? Jon!” Martin exclaims. For whatever mysterious reason, Jon is trying to wriggle away from him. “Don’t try to move yet. You hit your head pretty hard, and your healing isn’t immediate, Jon. Just stay put!” Jon wasn’t listening to him, still scrambling to move out of Martin’s reach.

That’s enough of that. Martin lays himself over Jon’s chest and holds him while he waits for him to calm down.

It takes some seconds, maybe a minute or two, but Jon does calm down eventually, becoming boneless in Martin’s arms.

“Hey,” Martin starts, “you with me, Jon?”

Jon lifts a hand slowly, making a so-so gesture.

“Okay. How’s your head?”

He winces. “Hurts.”

Martin hmms. “Do you feel dizzy?”

Jon gives a minute shake of his head.

“Okay. I’m moving us to the sofa, then. And don’t try to protest,” Martin warns.

Martin gets half-way to his feet, slips his arms until Jon’s legs and back, and proceeds to pick them both up off the floor. In the short time it takes to cross the room, Jon nuzzles his head into Martin’s chest. The frustration and concern and worry Martin’s feeling subsides somewhat in the face of overwhelming affection for this man, and he hugs him just a little bit closer.

“Stay here; I’ll be right back,” Martin says as he lays Jon down gingerly onto the sofa. He puts their dinner ingredients back into the fridge for the time being and puts some water on for chamomile tea. His thoughts drift as he waits for the water to come to a boil and some more as he waits for the tea to steep. He glances at Jon every so often, who has rolled over onto his side while Martin’s been gone.

“Hey, you,” Martin says as he sits in front of Jon at the edge of the sofa, the mug of chamomile making a soft thunk on the table.

“Why are you doing all this, Martin?” Jon murmurs into the worn fabric underneath him, and Martin can’t tell if he was supposed to hear it or not.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Jon.”

“Why are you staying so close to me, touching me? Taking care of me?”

“I would have thought the answers to those questions were pretty obvious,” Martin says mildly, carding his fingers through Jon’s hair.

Jon’s silence says everything.

Martin exhales and then steels himself for a delicate conversation. “I love you, Jon. Have done for quite a while now. If there’s anything I can do to lessen your pain and discomfort, I want to do it.”

Jon clenches a fist and refuses to look at him. “I know that, Martin, in every way possible. But...” he stops, apparently to think. He sounds wrecked. Tabling this conversation for when Jon is feeling better might be a better idea, but it’s rare that Jon gets the gumption to speak openly about the things really bothering him, so Martin’s remains quiet. “Things haven’t been easy for you since…. Christ, for a long time, I think. Since Prentiss, at least. But since leaving the Lonely, you’ve been…. You go away for long periods of time, and it seems like you can’t handle people being around you, too.”

It occurs to Martin that they’ve never actually addressed any of this together, not their individual traumas, not their shared traumas, not this thing, these feelings, between them. They’ve been testing the waters, so to speak, bit by bit. Touches and soft barbs and sweet words pass between them unacknowledged but nevertheless heartfelt. But so much else has also remained unsaid in the interim, he now realizes.

“And I get it. No one escapes one of the fears without being marked, and you’ve been marked thoroughly by the Lonely, Martin. It’s...it makes perfect sense that these things are happening, that you feel overwhelmed when people are near.”

He stops again, and Martin gives him ample time to gather his thoughts. Martin is still running his hand through silky salt and pepper strands when Jon lifts his head and looks up at him. His complexion still carries that worrying gray tint and his eyes are and cheeks shine with moisture.

It’s the darker green spot on the sofa where Jon had had his face pressed that really does Martin in, that causes him to throw caution to the wind

“Move back a little, Jon. Just a little, okay?” He says, low and soft. Jon mutters a “yeah” and does as he’s told. “Thanks, love. Now, hold still.”

Daisy’s sofa is by no means a large sofa, and Martin is by no means a small man, but he’ll make this work. He lays himself down beside Jon and works his arms around him, tucking himself into any space he can against him, the lines of their bodies almost completely flush with one another. His back is close enough to the edge that Martin constantly feels like he’s about to fall, but it’s worth it to have Jon in his arms like this. “I’m listening, whenever you’re ready to continue.”

Jon buries himself in Martin’s chest before picking up where he left off, prompting Martin to cup the back of his head and pull him in closer.

“You’ve borne the brunt of maintaining our relationship for so long, Martin, and now it’s my turn. I can take care of you when you’re far away, when you can’t be around people. I can do the shopping, I can cook. I can do all these things.

“And I can stay away when it’s too much for you to be around me.” He clenches the fist caught between them even harder. “I don’t want to be the cause of your pain, Martin. That’s the last thing I want.”

Martin considers all this for...several moments, really, and comes to an ugly conclusion.

“Jon...is this why you didn’t let me touch you earlier?”

A muffled “yes” reaches Martin’s ears, and his heart just breaks.

“We really should have a long conversation about this in the near future—preferably when you’re feeling better—but I want to say a couple things right now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course, Martin. I want to hear everything you have to say.”

Martin gives a little squeeze of gratitude and then continues, “For one, you’re right. There’s leftover stuff from the Lonely I’m dealing with right now, and sometimes it’s hard to be around anyone. And I hate it so much that ‘anyone’ sometimes includes you. From here on out, I’m going to try to tell you when I’m feeling this way, so you don’t have to try to guess. And if I’m reaching out to you, please trust me that I’m okay in that moment.”

“I do trust you, Martin. I trusted you to handle Peter. I trusted you to handle the Extinction. I’ll...do my best to trust you in this, too. I...I’m just deeply afraid of ruining this, ruining us.”

“Thank you. And I understand. I worry about that, too, but please also trust me when I say there’s not much that you could do that would ruin this.”

Nodding into Martin’s chest, Jon whispers, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask. And second, I want you to know that, as far as I’m concerned, you don’t need to feel like you need to make up for anything.” Jon is tensing up, preparing to protest—he can feel it. “No, I mean it. Our relationship isn’t transactional. You don’t have to meet every comfort I offer you with one of your own just for the sake of reciprocation. That’s not how it works. You’ve done so much for me Jon, just by being you. That’s not even including the Lonely and everything that’s happened after, though I’m grateful for all that, too. You’re already here for me in every way that matters. You don’t need to do anything more.”

Martin places a kiss on the crown of Jon’s head, and they just lie there, soaking in each other’s presence, previous evening plans all but forgotten. Martin thinks Jon dozes a little bit, the stress of the evening finally taking consciousness away from him, but he’s proven wrong when Jon speaks up once more, muffled slightly by Martin’s jumper.

“For the record, I love you, too. In case that needed to be said.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘need,’ necessarily, but I won’t lie and say I don’t like hearing it!”

“I see,” Jon croaks. The man needs to rest. “Well, I guess if you don’t need it, then I won’t bother saying it.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” He laughs and feels the smile on his face widen.

“I have an idea, yes.”

“Good. Now, drink your tea.”

Martin pushes himself away from Jon to give him some room to sit up and to get a good look at this face. His face isn’t covered in tears anymore (now probably absorbed by the fibers in his knitted jumper), but he looks positively exhausted, eyes lidded and face otherwise lax in an easy smile, not at all like the one he wears with the intent to soothe. Martin places the still warm cup of chamomile in Jon’s hand.

“Still feeling up for a little dinner?” He asks.

Jon hmms and replies, “Yeah, I could eat a little. Just give me a few minutes to—”

“Absolutely not, Jon. I’m going to make dinner while you take a nap here. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. A nap sounds wonderful.”

“Good. I’ll wake you up when everything’s finished.”

Martin starts to dislodge himself from Jon when Jon reaches up to kiss his cheek.

“Love you. And good luck.” Jon gives him possibly the most self-satisfied wink he’s seen before taking a sip of his tea.

It’s not terribly cold in the safe house with a fire going, but Martin lays Daisy’s crocheted blanket over Jon anyway, and starts taking everything back out for dinner.

It’s meat sauce—how hard could it be?

#tma valentines exchange #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #tma #scottish honeymoon #set between mag 159 and mag 160 #idk if there's a unifying scottish honeymoon tag on here #miscommunication #panic #hurt/comfort #sickfic (arguably)#ombre writes #ombre writes fic

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whatwouldmindykdo · 3 years

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I wrote a little something about coming to terms with my sexuality and thought I’d share it here...

For as long as I can remember I’ve dreamt of my wedding day. As soon as I was able to comprehend the concept of wedding and marriage it became my only goal, my ultimate achievement: I wanted, I needed to get married. This would make me successful and prove my worthiness. I would be happy forever. And so, for years, I’d spend hours imagining the magical day: the dress, of course, and its designer, the venue, the guests, the music, the menu, the bridal party, the decor. And of course, the groom. Because it was always a groom. However, I would find it extremely difficult to imagine him. I could think of qualities I would look for in a partner, but that was it. Looking back now, I think that, more than any of these things, what I dreamt of was being loved and being in love. I was just hoping to find the kind of unconditional love I grew up surrounded by. Not a person but a feeling. An ideal.

I grew up in what you would probably call a liberal family. My parents are very open-minded, left-wing voters and I grew up having political debates at the dinner table. But it was always about tolerance. Every love is love, they would say. Everyone deserves to be happy, they would say.

This, however, was not true for them growing up. Both my parents grew up in working class families and worked their way into the middle class. As liberal as my parents are, their own parents were rather conservative in thought.

My father’s parents had grown up on farms. Their own parents, my great-grandparents, lived a life I cannot even begin to comprehend. After the Second World War, as life was changing everywhere, and especially in the countryside, my grandparents left for the city (well, a city, not THE city) to work in factories. They were deeply religious and my father was raised a Catholic. However, he also enjoyed great freedom. He was free to come and go, almost as he wished, to play with his brother and friends. He was free not to work in school, drop out after middle school and go on to work with his father. Which he did, for a while, until he realized he didn’t want to do that his entire life. In other words, he was free to fail, and try again. Would it had been the same thing had he been a girl? We will never know, as he was one of two boys.

My mother, on the other hand, was not. Her grandparents had been mining workers, as almost everyone in the area. Her own parents had been saved from this life, and pushed to look for work in other industries. They had married young and my mother was the eldest of two. Her parents were heavily involved in political and union movements, pushing for workers’ rights. This gave her an awareness of the political situation and an ideal of what is achievable when you work for it. My mother, however, is also a woman. And as such, her parents expected her to behave a certain way.

She was expected to be the perfect little girl. Calm, pretty, smiling. Not to take too much space. Do well in school. Be polite. And so my mother tried her best to be this ideal girl. She excelled in school, practiced many sports, and took it upon herself to keep the family together and happy. She eventually went on to work and had to move out to another city, but always close to family as she was sharing an apartment with her aunt. When she found another job closer to her parents, she moved back home. Eventually, she met my father. They dated for a couple of years, but moving in together was unfathomable. Not before marriage. And that’s how my parents ended up married without having ever lived together, something I honestly find quite hard to imagine. Her brother, on the other hand, lived a life closer to my dad’s. He could not roam the streets or drop out of school but he did leave high school without graduating, moving out to work away and never looked back. He introduced many girlfriends to his parents before eventually having a child and getting married, in that order.

My parents would probably tell you that they raised me and my brother the same way. That not more was expected of me. That I could do the exact same thing he did. And to some extent that is true. We were both expected to excel in school. To be polite and respectful. We were both told we could dream of being whoever we wanted to be. But what had been instilled to my mother was also, somehow, perhaps more sneakily, taught to me. I also had to be the perfect little girl, no excuses. The one that doesn’t move. The one that doesn’t scream or make a scene. The one that helps at home. As Michelle Cliff says in Notes on Speechlessness, ‘I am reminded that a great compliment of my childhood was: ‘she’s such a quiet girl’’.

Instead of rebelling against this system I made it mine: it was my way of taking up space. My way of being remarkable. I was expected to excel at school: I was top of the class. I was expected to be calm and discreet: I would literally never speak. Even today it takes a lot for me to be able to do things I know my parents disapprove. Because I have built myself through others’ approval, and then who am I once they don’t approve?

What does that have to do with being a lesbian, you may wonder. See, I knew about lesbians. I knew about gays. It was not entirely unknown to me. I saw them on the news, we talked about them at home. But no one in my family was gay, lesbian or part of the LGBTQI+ community, at least not openly. That was not what we did. As much as my family rebelled against capitalistic society, we were expected to conform in certain areas, and this was one. We, as a family, are heterosexuals. And so I unconsciously associated being a good girl to being heterosexual.

I don’t remember the first time I heard of the LGBTQI+ community, nor do I remember the first time I had a crush on a girl. I am quite sure she was my primary school best friend. I very clearly remember wondering whether I was in love with her or whether that was just how you felt for your best friend (hint: I kinda knew the answer). And so, little me moved on with life. Eventually the feeling wore out, and there was a very intense and dramatic fall out. But that was it, no more questions about my sexuality. Not until I was well into my teenage years, at least. When I made it to university I had began what I would call my transformative journey, learning extensively about feminism, inclusivity and human rights. I was passionate about these subjects and wanted to learn more, and more. I surrounded myself with people who were open-minded, teaching me about these very topics, and, for some of them, part of the LGBTQI+ community. At about this time I began identifying as pansexual or bisexual. I have never been really sure about this. There was no major coming out though. I just stated here and there that I thought love was about a person and their soul, not their gender. Even though I was identifying as pansexual / bisexual, the doubt never really left. I felt ill-at-ease with the identification. Maybe I’m not into labels, I’d think. Maybe.

Deep down, I knew. I think I’d always known. I would get major crushes on women in films and TV shows. Maybe that’s just identification. I could hardly imagine being in a relationship with a man. Maybe I just haven’t met THE one. I would feel uncomfortable whenever a man flirted with me. Maybe I’m just not into him.

I just couldn’t imagine being a lesbian. And that’s not to say that I could fathom the very existence of lesbians. I knew they existed, I had a friend as they say. I truly believed that all love is love. What I couldn’t accept was that I was a lesbian. How could I not like men? Good girls like men. Good girls are straight. Good girls get married TO A MAN, and have children WITH A MAN. No way. I must be pansexual. Or bisexual. Not lesbian.

Funnily enough, the pandemic was a big transitional time for me. I was able to truly connect with myself. Away from the world and the mundanities of everyday life, focusing on what really matters for the first time, I came to a realization. I do not like men. I do not find pleasure in imagining a relationship with a man. This realization was validated by experience. I signed up on a dating app (what??? I know, don’t judge). My immediate reaction was to set up my preferences to women only (that should have been another hint right?!). However, almost immediately I changed those preferences to everyone (men and women). Why? Because, I thought, by excluding men I might miss out on the one (he’s always somewhere). What if I miss on the opportunity of happily ever after because I renounce to dating half of humanity? And oh boy did I regret that. I was instantly contacted by half the male population of my surroundings (the joys of being on a dating app) and it really felt like it was not for me. I was feeling miserable rather than happy, anxious rather than excited. I switched back to women only and I have felt safer and more myself ever since.

I guess you could say that I have been feeling rather at peace with who I am. I have come out to a few (selected) friends, in the least dramatic way possible (well, they also are the least dramatic women I know). There remains the question, however, of coming out to family. Because although I have come to term with being a lesbian, I am still scared AF when it comes to coming out to my family and the main reason is: what if I am not lesbian after all (eye roll emoji)? The real reason, though, is that I know that as open-minded as my parents are, a coming out also means a period of adaptation, of understanding what it means exactly. And for someone like me who hates both confrontation and disappointing this feels like a big deal. Selfishly, I wish someone had been there before in my family. That I would not be the first. The trailblazer. The odd one out. The lesbian aunt. But then, I think of my little cousins. And how I could be that person for them. If I allow myself past the fear.

Thing is, I also truly believe that I will not be able to be fully happy until I come out. I will not be truly happy until I can be who I am fully, knowing that the people who accept it are the ones who love me, for real. But what if that means losing my grandfather? What if it means that people will literally never stop talking about it?

As much as I have talked about the hardships of coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality, I will also mention that coming to terms with this reality has been a huge relief. It has opened me to a world where love and inclusion are legion. A world where you are accepted for who you truly are. It has given me role models, values and a political awareness that I probably would not have had otherwise. In other words, being lesbian is a blessing because it is who I am, fully. And when I get to be this person, I can finally start to breathe. I can finally start to live.

My problem lies with mainstream culture and the way it portrays lesbian relationships. I have grown up with the ability of seeing gay couples loving each other, hating each other, flirting, breaking up. Mainstream media and popular culture have very much romanticized gay relationships. What of lesbian relationships then? The reality is completely different. And how could it not be when Instagram still censored the ‘lesbians’ hashtag two weeks ago? When we only have The L Word as a reference? Where on TV and in films have lesbians been given the space and time to actually develop a relationship except in that show? And I’m not even talking about the perfect, happy relationship. Just any relationship. More than 3 minutes of screen time. You’ll have to agree that this is rather recent.

How different would my life have been if I had seen lesbian couples on TV? How different would my life have been if people had not shied away from lesbian relationships? It is time for pop culture to be inclusive of our people. Little girls need this representation. They need to know that this kind of love exists, is normal, and brings fulfillment. I wish this had been my reality so that I wouldn’t have been mad when Casey from Atypical dumps her boyfriend to explore her relationship with Izzie. Because then perhaps I wouldn’t have been mad at her for doing that. I wouldn’t have been mad at Izzie for being honest. Because that is how deeply rooted my fear of being a lesbian was: I was mad at these two women for having the courage to explore their feelings and be true to themselves, when Casey could have had the perfect ending with Evan. And that is not ok. I need to let go of the idea that the perfect life means being in a heterosexual relationship. Because I know that this is not for me. This will not bring me fulfillment.

#lesbian #lgbtqplus #about me #sexuality #coming out?#gays of tumblr

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gaywitchtwins · 3 years

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I think the point that some of the people who are skeptical of passion about a het ship is not so much that it's a het shipper issue as that they are suspicious it isn't -- that the loudest Saileen voices are people who find it convenient for Destiel reasons, rather than people who are really invested for its own sake. How far that's the case, I don't know, and it is (I say as a Sam/Amelia shipper) extremely annoying when any side concludes that you can't possibly ship THAT unless you are doing it for some other reason than, you know, actually shipping that.

@denugis

That’s what it always comes down to, in the end - people absolutely cannot fathom the idea one would ship Sam with a woman for any other reason than to pair him off with someone so D*stiel can happen, just like people cannot fanthom the concept that not shipping D*stiel must automatically mean you ship The Other Ship.

It’s especially odd to me now, though, because, well, the show is over? I did understand the argument when the show was airing, and I’ve seen a good amount of fanwork that had Saileen as a side-ship with a main D*stiel pairing, but now that we’re over and done, Sam being with Eileen after Dean’s death changes nothing about what happens between Dean and Castiel in any way.

I just want people to stop assuming that I care about anything in this show only in regards to whether or not I think Dean should fuck a particular character, really.

I also think that it says a lot about people on both sides that they all assume shipping Sam with a woman means I care about D*stiel, when the same assumption rarely happens when I ship Sam with a male character - maybe a debate for another time, but it’s interesting, imo.

(As an observational sidenote, I’ve mostly enjoyed Saileen and Sam/Rowena (for different reasons, but not limited to how Sam was allowed his own individual relationship with both of them, rather than being filtered through Dean - at least not entirely, Dean-approving-of-Eileen aside), but the latter never caused the amount of vicious debate in fandom than the former did. I don’t quite know why?)

#denugis #.I see the 'people only ship Saileen because they want D*stiel' argument a LOT #.ironically I don't see these D*stiel shipping Saileen shippers around all that much in comparison

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loquaciousquark · 4 years

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Cut for talk of COVID and irresponsible failure to social distance (my own). Also, some updates on what’s been going on here for the last month or so.

part one:

Very very long story that I am truncating as much as possible. As you all know, I am an optometrist and professor. When we shut down in March, our university made a huge, painful shift to remote learning and our student clinic ceased operations altogether. Neither students nor faculty saw patients from March 15 - the the middle of May. At the end of May, faculty began seeing patients directly in an extremely reduced schedule, and at the beginning of June, we began adding in very limited numbers of students in a rolling schedule that minimized exposure to all involved.

Three weeks ago, my dear friend Jasper contacted me and said that an old friend of hers, whom I will call Carol, was in dire straits after losing her job overseas. Carol has an extremely rocky history: a terrible car accident that left her legs and feet permanently damaged which directly led to a very bad divorce, significant student loan debt (just shy of six digits I think, compounded from the accident, since she used her student loans to pay her medical bills--for anyone reading this, do not EVER EVER EVER DO THIS--student loans are never touched by bankruptcy declarations and you will owe them until you die), and something of an inability to put down roots. She is an English teacher who has taught and traveled all over the world: Prague, Bahrain, Czech Republic, Los Angeles, Rio, etc.

When I first met her about ten years ago, she had come back to Alabama from Prague because a job had fallen through. She was completely broke and living out of two suitcases and a carry-on. She lived with us for three months for free, sleeping in Jasper’s bed because we had no other room for her, and eventually got a job in Boston and moved on. She lasted--I think--about two months in Boston before quitting and taking a job in the Middle East.

On top of her student loan debt, Carol also has significant IRS debt and is in debt to several of her friends. Over the last few years, she took several ill-advised positions overseas back to back without ever consulting a lawyer on her contracts, and did not realize until recently that one of her positions classified her as an independent contractor instead of an employee, so she owed US taxes on all her income for that period of time. Her most recent job in Prague she lost in February because she filed her visa (again, without a lawyer) incorrectly, and what should have been a brief three-week stay outside of the country became a six week stay on the couch of strangers in the Czech Republic while she waited for her visa reapplication to process. However, it was denied, and then COVID hit, and she returned to Alabama with only a portion of her possessions and tons of important paperwork left behind in her Prague apartment. She then unfortunately had two emergency surgeries on her stomach for an acute, unpredictable medical issue, and while she is well healing now, it also added on another forty thousand dollars of medical debt to what she already owed.

She stayed with her mother and sister while she was recovering from the emergency surgeries, but her family is emotionally abusive and very unkind to her, and after a few weeks she left their home and went to stay with Jasper. However, Jasper is also 8 months pregnant with her fourth child, and they both knew it was a temporary thing. Jasper knows that I have a large home with several spare bedrooms, and asked if I would be willing to host Carol for a period of time while she got back on her feet. I knew what I was agreeing to when I said yes, and Carol and I settled on a period of two months. She has now been here almost three weeks.

Frankly, I do not like Carol very much. We are unbelievably different people in every way--personality, temperament, proclivity to crying in front of other people, hobbies, interests, religion, all of it. She is a very nice person, and I think she truly does mean well. But she is the most emotionally needy and energy-sapping person I have ever met, and I cannot tolerate her company in more than small chunks. It is not possible to hold a conversation with her about any subject tangentially related to her difficulties; if I try to sympathize with her loans by mentioning my own, she shuts me down by saying at least I will have the chance to ever pay them back. If I just try to listen without commentary, she’ll wrap herself up in her own stories and talk for hours without ever needing more than “mm”s and “hm”s and my undivided attention the entire time.

She will often work herself up into sobbing tears over her situation(s), and she always informs me immediately of any new development in any of her numerous trials: which are usually negative, considering the situation, and usually resulting in more tears. She has cried on me probably more than a dozen times since she moved in, and she wields “I love you” like a weapon, more to hear the validation of the response than to truly express the sentiment. She constantly asks for advice on her situation but does not listen to any of it--seems more to just want to relive each tragic detail of her life over and over again with an audience, wondering why she’s continually “screwed over in her life.” (Really, really poor financial decisions and constantly trusting her own “intuition” over getting competent legal advice before signing contracts, are I think the biggest contributors.) She has told me so many private details about her personal views, relationships with her ex-husband and mother and sister, her financial choices, and her extensive travel and job history over the last few years that I probably know her history better than my own at this point.

I think she thinks by sharing so much that she is justifying to me her need to stay with me. What is actually happening is that I am forced to help shoulder this enormous emotional load that compounds my own mental health problems I’ve been having since all this started. I have told her more than once that she does not need to justify herself to me and that my home is open to her for two months, no strings attached. I believe she is making all the steps she needs to and do not need reports on her daily activities to “pay” for her lodging or electricity or internet or whatever. This has changed the behavior a little for the better but not stopped it.

There are moments that are not bad. As I have mentioned, she does mean well and want well for most people. She likes Hamlet and loves Jasper, who is extremely important to me. But she is extremely difficult to be around in so many other ways, and the way she constantly exclaims over how we basically think alike on all things (absolutely untrue) makes me think she either will not or cannot read my reluctance to engage on any of these topics.

(An example: I was watching footage of the SpaceX launch and despite my feelings on Elon Musk, really excited about the implications for space travel. She came in, and after misunderstanding for some time that I was not watching Space Force with Steve Carell, decided that the SpaceX program was morally bankrupt, obviously borne of shady backroom government deals, and everyone involved should have used the money to solve world hunger instead. For the record, she had not heard of the shuttle launch, SpaceX, or Elon Musk at all before the seeing the footage.)

(She also until last week had not heard of Playstation, Xbox, streaming as a concept, or any game more modern than the original Mario. Trying to order a grocery delivery online was an excruciating torment for her [took her over four days to get through selecting the items, selecting allowable replacements, and actually paying] and I will not ask her to do it again. She frequently makes comments about video games being a waste of time, and when she sees children playing outside, comments on how glad she is they are not inside playing video games. She doesn’t seem to realize her comments are a direct commentary on me; I think she genuinely does not understand that those games are what I am playing most of my free time.)

Right now, everything seems to hinge on her passing some teacher recertification tests next week and the week after. She spent $150 to give herself less than a week to study from scratch for a test she described as the hardest she’d ever taken. There were several other dates later in the summer she could have chosen, and her deadline is December, but she picked the soonest option for reasons I can’t fathom. She is also in the process of trying to get a car--right now I’m driving her everywhere--and she was ready to hand over $3800 yesterday for a ten-year-old Hyundai with a check-engine light on without even thinking of getting any kind of inspection. She is far more concerned with the color and “energy” of the car than its function, and would not have even checked the headlights and blinkers if I hadn’t prompted it.

She will be here another five weeks or so. We move around each other now better than we did before, and I hope it will continue to improve. But it’s a lot like a rock grinding a groove in the streambed from the repetitive friction, and it’s not the struggle I wanted to be having right now.

part two:

As I mentioned above, Jasper is having her fourth child in a month or so. One of her friends, someone I don’t know, contacted me and said she wanted to do a drive-by “baby sprinkle,” where no one gets out of their cars. You drop off the gifts, talk to the recipient a few minutes from the car window, and move on. I told her that I work in health care and am exposed to patients, so that sounded good to me.

The shower was this morning. Carol and I got up and drove the thirty minutes to Jasper’s house. There were four other families in cars right around the corner, and the “hostess” gave us all balloons to tie on our side mirrors. She told us we would drive around the corner, drop off the gifts, and loop around. Jasper’s husband would arrange for her to be in the front yard at the right time.

Cute enough. We go around the corner with little honks and Jasper sees us and starts crying, and it’s all wonderful and emotional and a fabulous surprise and I’m genuinely excited about it. And then people start parking and getting out of their cars, and Carol and I start looking at each other. They’re full families, too--three of the other moms brought all their kids, and soon enough they’re playing with Jasper’s three boys in the front yard and coming up asking to pet Hamlet through the car window. No one was wearing masks.

And what’s worse, when they all started looking at us expectantly through the car window, we didn’t know what to do. They were handing Jasper her gifts and obviously settling in for a good long chat; the women were hugging, talking about how they are “so over this COVID stuff, please come visit soon,” and Hamlet of course recognizes his original owners in Jasper and her husband so he’s freaking out, and after a few moments, we decided to just get out of the car.

It was the first time I really felt the social pressure to participate in an event I wasn’t comfortable with. I have no issue maintaining my social distance and my mask and my handwashing at work because that is where I have the position of authority, and I have the responsibility to model it for the students and patients--but here, I was a guest at someone else’s house at someone else’s event, and I really, really felt how they might perceive me as rude. While I didn’t know the other women, my relationship with Jasper is extremely important to me, and I didn’t want to make this special event for her difficult in any way.

So we got out of the car and joined the group. I tried to keep my distance as much as possible, especially since I had Hamlet on the leash and there were a half-dozen small children around, but at least twice I looked up and there was someone right at my elbow, and we made small talk for five minutes or so before either she drifted back to the group or I moved Hamlet into the shade away from the rest.

Cars drove by and slowed down more than once to look at us. Jasper’s husband made a comment about rolling his eyes if he saw their family on Facebook that evening. The women planned play dates, all standing very close together, and Jasper opened her gifts (that part was excellent). All in all we were probably there about twenty minutes.

I should mention that on the drive there, we passed a public park that has a very pretty waterfall right next to the road, and there were probably a dozen families out playing. There was a festival/outdoor market right outside the the park that had a sign up about social distancing, but the fifty or so people we saw shopping there were not adhering in any meaningful way. No one wore a mask.

And what annoys the bejeezus out of me is that I didn’t either. I didn’t even think about it until after we finally got back in the car to drive away. This is the first social event I’ve gone to since the first week of March, and while I wear masks for eight+ hours every day I go in to work, it didn’t occur to me even a single time to put on even my little cloth one that I keep in the car until we were driving away afterwards. I was so flummoxed by every little thing happening differently than I expected--people getting out of cars, how surprised I was by my own susceptibility to not rocking the boat, how normal everyone else made it to stand so close they could bump elbows so that Carol and I became almost excluded from the circle--that it never once crossed my mind. I know masks are more for the protection of those around you, not to keep you from catching what other people are carrying, but I could have set an example. I could have been the health professional I should have been in the moment.

I’m just so disappointed in myself. Disappointed in my own carelessness, irritated that I didn’t say anything, continually frustrated in a deep, gut-wrenching way by the whole situation that requires this in the first place. Bewildered that so many people are “back to normal” while this thing is still spreading, and in brutal honesty wishing I could be like them and just give up the fight myself. I’m not even mad at them. I WANT TO BE THEM. Why am I continually bothering to care and sanitize and mask and stay at home when no one else is? Literally no one would judge me in this state for it more than I’m already being judged (in most cases impersonally, though I felt the potential for it today in specific) for still watching the recommended guidelines.

I am really, really sick of this. I am so sick of feeling alone in this (of being alone in this, and Carol doesn’t count). Hearing other people saying “there there, you’re doing the right thing” honestly makes it even worse. I want people to stop patronizingly telling me to do things I already know are the right thing to do. I want other people as mad as I am that I can’t do the things I want to and need to do instead of being endlessly patient and noble about all the lives they’re saving by staying home. I’m top-of-my-head-blowing-off furious that so many people are shrugging and saying “well this is just the way it will be forever and alas, so it goes” and acting like those of us who did the right thing and cancelled our plans and our trips and our visits to dear friends but who are mad about having to do it are overreacting. I’m so fucking mad about it. I’ve stayed home for two months and I’ve isolated and I’ve quarantined and my hands are cracking from the constant sanitizer/washing at work and except for today I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do for this, and I don’t want to do it. And seeing people be so heroically virtuous and longsuffering on Facebook feels as alien and upsetting to me as the people who go to the beaches with a hundred of their closest friends.

That’s probably unfair in myriad ways. I’m really too angry, including at myelf, to soften it right now.

I want a vaccine and I want to be back in my classroom teaching to fifty faces instead of a screen in my living room, and I’m honestly freaking sick of waiting at home for them to figure this out. And watching everyone else move on with their lives back to the normal I would kill to have is just one more crack in the dike.

#quark rambles #this got really personal and mad #so sorry about that #coronavirus for ts #covid-19 for ts #quarantine for ts #carol #jasper #long post for ts

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rockytop-liberty · 3 years

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So, babies born of incest should just be allowed to live and suffer as the result of the most heinous crime imaginable? If a male relation forced himself upon me and impregnated me I am sorry but no. I would not be able to deal with bringing a monster's child into the world and having it suffer physical or mental disabilities all because someone couldn't control themselves. I don't care if it was "god's will" that my father or whoever would rape me in the first place. I'm sorry, but I cannot.

“So, babies born of incest should just be allowed to live?“

uh... yes? Should we go around murdering children in orphanages or with downs syndrome or any other mental disability because they might be suffering? I believe the chances of birth defects for people born out of first generation incest is quite small anyway. But you don’t get to determine that anyone else’s life is not valuable enough to live, yikes anon.

As a man I can’t fathom the emotional hardship that would result in carrying an unborn child conceived from a rapist. But its a scientific fact that human life starts at conception, and the human life that is created is unique; it contains its own DNA different from the mother and the father. It is also completely innocent; it didn’t ask to be put there, and it doesn’t deserve a violent death any more than children in other hardships discussed above.

It’s difficult for me to talk about this without sounding insensitive to rape victims. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I want to help rape victims any way I can. Throw rapists in prison for life. Provide whatever health services rape victims need, physically or mentally. Give them up for adoption if you don’t want to raise them. Just don’t kill unborn children, please. They don’t get any help once they’re gone.

#Anonymous #ask me anything

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olivieblake · 4 years

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Hello Ma'am. I am from Bangladesh. It's a deeply religious and conservative country. Recently a Horrifying Rape Case took place here. The video of it went viral on Facebook 4 weeks later. Only then the criminal were arrested, nothing happened before it. The entire country and I am enraged because of it. Protests are happening. Since it's a religious country people always somehow bring religion into everything. They think islam has the solution to every problem. 😑 Even some of my classmates.

Who are educated and come from good families (some female but mostly male) are saying that, if everyone wears a borkha( u basically look like a black ghost) rape would not happen. Its frustrating to hear that. I have been getting into a lot of arguments about this with them. People here have no concept of consent or sex positivity here. Sex education is nonexistent. I feel very unsafe everywhere. I am 20 years old but my parents still never let me leave the house alone because of such incidents. I can't join the protests because of that. My girl friends are in the same situation. I don't know why I am telling you this. Just wanted to share it with someone who is liberal and I always really respected you and your work. You are like a big sister on the internet. Sorry for dumping all of this on you. English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes. Take care.

this is horrible, I’m so sorry. here is an article for anyone else who would like to inform themselves about what’s going on, although TW, it is horrific. the most important thing to note for the audience who may be less informed about bangladeshi politics (including me) is this is not an isolated incident, but a symptom of increasing violence against women—which unfortunately seems to be universal. the lack of sex education, lack of information about consent... our biggest failure on the whole has never been allowing our daughters too much freedom, but endangering them by failing to educate our sons.

I have a real struggle with conservative religious cultures; I want very badly not to say anything to disrespect your/your family’s beliefs, especially because I don’t claim to know anything about what is beyond this world. the whole thing about being human is how little we will ever know, and to claim I know better than anything divine is clearly idiotic. I will never be capable of understanding how the universe works. but in my interpretation, most religions are institutionally and dangerously hegemonic due to those who enact their theology: men. HUMAN men! and because humans are flawed and self-interested and not remotely divine, so is religion. inherently so. it is a product of silly, helpless creatures (us) who cannot actually fathom any god’s will. this is not fully relevant, but I am obviously treading carefully with this topic and I wanted you to understand my train of thought

it is frustrating and angering that anyone should ever believe it is a woman’s job to be undesirable when it should be obvious that men are the ones making the conscious choice whether or not to rape. how can this even be a question? I understand a woman choosing to wear a burka if modesty is empowering to her sense of self; having now worn a mask at all times for half a year, I understand and honor that choice in a way I didn’t before. choosing which parts of yourself to show to the world and when to reveal it to others is powerful, and when modesty is chosen for the sake of autonomy, I support it completely. but the worst misconception is clearly about what causes rape; it’s not temptation! it’s not beauty! it’s nothing at all about the woman who suffers the violence! it’s about power, a need to dominate someone weak in order to feel strong, and there is no religious theology to my knowledge that would call that anything but a sin. a predominantly male sin.

I know I don’t need to tell you that, and I know you know there’s nothing I can tell you, but I am so frustrated for you. I am frustrated with you, next to you!! there’s nothing more discouraging or disillusioning than to feel powerless, and I can see that you do. I do, too! my country’s religion is really no different in terms of callousness and abject hypocrisy. imagine thinking that any god who forgives and loves his creations would believe the solution was to give one group power to hurt the others. the religious belief that people are inherently sinful only serves to reinforce power and authority, and just that concept alone is in defiance of an omnipotent god, don’t you think? I always think about this. religion was born from a time when humanity was predominantly uneducated, when morals had to be imposed because little else was codified, but at this point how can any of us fail to see that religious beliefs that bolster the supremacy of one group (the group that cOnVeNiEntLy happens to be the one doing the interpreting) over others is not about righteousness, but power and control?

I hope that informing people about what’s going on will be helpful. I’m sorry that US politics dominate the news so much; we are a disaster that forces other people to look. but I hope that sharing this will help you feel you’re not alone, because we’re with you.

#tw: rape #religion #politics #big sistering #obsidianeyeblog

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crystalelemental · 4 years

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heavenlyfury replied to your post “Another merge project complete, and this time, we have the illustrious...”

An impressive unit, and what a character! My issue with Edelgard is, as much as her goals are noble and understable, her actions are just... Very unreasonable? Like she could have done things very differently in order to get what she wanted, and I simply cannot fathom why she thought Those who slithered in the dark were better allies than the church. Like, you don't trust Rhea, I get it.

But did she expect to wage war on the entire continent, basically alone (without diplomatically support), before taking on an enemy that has NUKES? Like those priorities are all kinds of wrong! But I still kinda love her intensity and the ambition, the idea of making her a different kind of protagonist. Anyways, congrats again!

Thank you. Edelgard is indeed pretty huge as a unit. Anyway, the short version of this is “no one’s wrong for having issues with Edelgard and her approach,” but I do have a lot to add in here.

I’m going to try going through this in order, but I’m building this as I go so bear with me.

What was her alternative? On the one hand, we know from experience that Rhea doesn’t want to lead, and passes the torch off to Byleth immediately. That could’ve happened in the near future for the CF route as well, even without Edelgard instigating war. But how would she know that? Edelgard has no way of knowing, or believing, that Rhea would cede power. She’s also got her own experience seeing her family’s power usurped by the nobility, who then immediately abused that power, and resulted in her and countless others being tortured for crest research. From her own experiences, it makes sense that she’s not willing to wait, and believes no one would accept her proposal if she were peaceful. And in that last part, she’s...kinda right. Rhea would cede her power to Byleth, sure, but she wouldn’t be willing to undermine the system she established to maintain peace and safety for herself.

Diplomacy sounds good, and is always the preference, but from Edelgard’s experience and point of view, she’s seen how awful the nobility is, how awful the system Rhea created is, and has seen how hard she cracks down on anyone who goes against that. Lonato’s little rebellion is immediately and violently suppressed, getting the innocents under him caught up in it as well. Hell, his son. Allegedly, he was executed for participating in a conspiracy to assassinate Rhea. Which directly mirrors something that happens after we beat Lonato: we find that document about a plan to assassinate her. But that turned out to be nothing, everyone saw right through it and identified that there was an alternate goal. Everyone...except Rhea and those working in the church. So how likely was it that Lonato’s son was actually going to do anything of the sort? Was his execution just? Was the execution of those in the Western Church just, considering they didn’t do anything particularly violent, they just used an opportunity to break into the vault and attempt stealing a hidden relic. Rhea may not be directly violent and out burning villages and slaughtering innocents for funsies. But she’s not exactly merciful, and will go hard against anyone who opposes what she upholds as necessity. Why would Edelgard assume diplomacy would work? Wouldn’t trying to be diplomatic by undermining the teachings of Seiros to suggest an alternative get her branded a heretic, and have the entire might of the church against her? At best, she’d lose her chance at returning power to the throne, and the corrupt nobles who allowed her family to be tortured and decimated maintain their status. At worst, she could be executed for the crime of going against the church on top of that. We don’t know for sure, we don’t see any of that play out, but from Edelgard’s perspective, they’re not likely to respond, and giving them that advance warning lets them prepare, and the Church is still the seat of power in Fodlan.

Which brings us to the Agarthans. Yes, Edelgard siding with them seems incredibly stupid. And it is infuriating, knowing that what happened to her was directly their fault. Which is something she’s aware of, mind. The Crimson Flower route makes clear that they don’t trust the Agarthans at all, it’s a temporary alliance to face off against a more threatening foe. Which...honestly, is fair. Aside from the fact that the Church has the strongest standing army, there’s Rhea to deal with. In Verdant Wind and Silver Snow, we see Rhea, in dragon form, caught in the blast range of TWO of those nukes, and she doesn’t die. That should express the level of discrepancy between the power of a dragon, and the power the Agarthans have. It took two nukes to injure her. What are general human tactics supposed to do against that? Against not just the human forces among her ranks, but also the golems she has under her command? Their power is, in fact, a necessity to face off against this combined power. Though I will fully admit that they could’ve done a better job of having the Agarthans directly involved in the fights.

As for why is she still willing to accept that help, despite them being the most directly responsible...ultimately it comes down to seeing beyond herself. Yes, the Agarthans are a problem. They are the most directly responsible for her suffering, Lysithea’s suffering, and are the most direct cause of bloodshed in the narrative. But consider. The Agarthans’ crest research is something that’s accepted by the nobles in the empire. It’s not like they didn’t know what was up. And society at large values crests so significantly, that the idea of being able to imbue others with that power, and creating people with two crests as weapons, is enticing. The Agarthans are directly responsible, but the nobility is indirectly complicit in atrocities for their own gain, while the church created the system that places value on the kind of work and ambitions they have. Crests are important, controlling crests and their power is the basis of society. You have to beat that system, which Rhea is the head of. And consider that when Arianrhod was nuked in CF, Edelgard is legitimately surprised. She likely didn’t know the Agarthans had that kind of firepower, which contextualizes a lot. Rhea’s a huge dragon, who even the Agarthans are scared of despite their advanced technology. But their advanced technology is mostly duplications of the divine weapons, which means their power is roughly equivalent to yours. One is a massive threat well above your level of power, and the other is roughly equivalent. You want both dead, but the equivalent foe is willing to back you to take on the much stronger one. You gonna say no?

Anyway, let’s say Edelgard did address the Agarthans first. Just broke in and cracked Thales’ skull open with Aymr and took a shit right on his floor. What then? You took out those responsible for the direct application of atrocities, but the system that permitted it is still in play, run by a super powerful being you can’t defeat. Consider what happened with Miklan; effectively disowned solely for not having a crest, and driven to what he wound up doing. He was a bastard because of the environment he grew up in. The system as a whole breeds the kind of resentment and power-seeking ambition that Miklan displays. So if she does kill off the Agarthans right away, but then can’t take out Rhea...what did that accomplish? Temporary reprieve? Because the system still permits for people to perform blood treatments, and implants the desire to do so, because it values crests and their power above human life. You’re not getting to the source of the issue any other way.

Not to get too political on main, but it’s kinda like what we’ve got going on in the US right now. People are recognizing that it’s the entire system that’s the problem. The system is corrupt to the point it produces these problems by design. Simply firing a few officers won’t fix police brutality, racial sensitivity trainings won’t fix inherent discrimination in the system, etc. The system has to go. And trying to address it around the direct issue with these calls of “just go out and vote in people who will fix it!” isn’t sufficient. A changing of the guard in the same system will yield the same results. The system of nobility and how it’s determined is the problem in this scenario. Changing out who the nobles are isn’t going to fix it, you have to dismantle the concept of nobility and create a new system in its place to avoid this just happening again. That’s the crux of Edelgard’s motivation.

I think people get annoyed with the Agarthans because they consider her motivation a personal one. And to a degree, it is. She was directly harmed by their actions, and by the system that permitted their actions, and of course must have personal feelings regarding that matter. But Edelgard is someone who looks beyond herself and her immediate pain to look at what is necessary to accomplish a broader goal. It goes so far that she’s willing to work with the people who caused her harm, if it means preventing harm to others by dismantling the system.

The real question is whether the outcome she hopes for is realistic. She’s essentially creating a single locus of power, just like Rhea did, and hinging all of the future on that locus of power doing the right thing and continuing her work. Because she doesn’t stay in power either, she steps down. All it would take is one person gaining that same level of power, but having completely different views, to undermine everything she’s done. Not to mention her goal seems to be creation of a meritocracy, which sounds great, but plenty of places in the world right now say they have that and how well is that going? Merit is often determined by experiences, which in turn is directly influenced by wealth. While the concept of “nobility” may be erased, unless that includes redistribution of wealth and resources for the common good, people who were once nobility still have an advantage and will remain on top. I mean, god, look at Ferdinand’s suggestion of free public schooling as a means of determining merit for those who should lead society in political life. How’s that working out now? The US education system’s sure doing great with making sure things are equitable because it’s free. There are a lot of factors to consider, and Edelgard’s current assessment of where to go once she wins isn’t fully formed, which means whatever system she creates is likely to be imperfect as well. Not to mention a system built on a mountain of corpses might have some moral quandaries to wrestle with. But if the alternative is keeping the current system because “She doesn’t have a better idea,” then I’d say she was right to act. You can’t let something awful continue just because you can’t fix every problem at once. Something needed to be done, and someone needed to take that first step toward true change. Edelgard was willing to be the one to take that step. So while there may be problems to her approach, problems which she openly acknowledges and identifies, I think it’s better that she’s willing to go forward with a plan to enact change and try something, instead of just sitting still, letting things continue, and doing nothing but “sending thoughts and prayers.” Sometimes there is no good solution, and you can’t just sit around theory crafting until you’re certain it’s going to work. Sometimes you just have to act and do your best to get the best outcome. And that’s what Edelgard does. And I love it.

#heavenlyfury #fire emblem three houses #edelgard #edelgard von hresvelg

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toloveawarlord · 4 years

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A Rambling about Obey Me and some of the discourse going around:

I’ve finally had a chance to sit down and think hard on the whole Lucifer didn’t listen to the MC say no in the newest event.

First of all, this post likely won’t be spoiler free so read at your own risk. I’m not going to censor myself for those who haven’t played up through Lesson 20 but most of the things I hit on is common knowledge anyways.

Secondly, I do not condone what they implied that Lucifer did. Consent is important, that’s not the point of this post. I’m not saying it’s okay to do so. This is simply the context of the game and my own viewing of it from a writer’s standpoint.

I put it under a cut because this is a long post.

Okay, now that we have all the disclaimers and stuff out of the way, let’s move into my own thoughts.

Firstly, this was meant to be dream sequence. I know a lot of people gripe about it doesn’t matter that it was dream, but if it’s supposed to be mc’s dream, then likely this particular mc was probably meant to be paired with Lucifer, they just gave options for those who aren’t Luci stans to get more people to play. But was a dream, and likely meant to represent an mc that wants Lucifer.

Was it a good writing choice to add in a choice to say and then do it anyways? Probably not, because this kind of thing always gets backlash from the community (i.e. Arthur in Ikevamp). But they did it, and it wasn’t explicit, nor did it actually say that Lucifer actually went through with it, again, because it was a dream and it ended at that particular point. You can argue that it shouldn’t have been implied, but you can also argue that it didn’t happen because it was simply an implication. The point that is made though, is that Lucifer didn’t respond in a “Okay, I’ll stop” manner. As far as him being a character and a demon, that response would be really strange, to me. Is it right? No, no one should force themselves on anyone. Is it a normal response for a demon who is the avatar of pride and thinks humans are lowly creatures? Yeah, kind of.

Secondly, this game is dark as hell. A lot of people don’t want to see it that way, because it’s an otome game and otome’s are typically solely focused on the romance aspect. Obey Me is riddled with violence, sexual tones (i.e. Asmo outright tells MC that the bar they are at is has sex rooms and can even be bought out for an orgy, and he has participated in those), and the main boys are even avatars of sin. It’s not an otome with a sprinkle of angst and sadness for backstory and character development. It’s a dark and twisted world where you can romance demons.

Speaking of demons, that’s my next point. The boys are demons. They have been around for millenniums, and demons are not known to have morals and live by our human standards of what is right and wrong. (again, see above, I don’t believe what Luci was implied to do was right.) But honestly, you cannot expect demons to have the same moral code that us humans do. It wouldn’t make sense and to be honest, it’s part of the appeal of the game.

Part of the underlying themes and tones of this game is that romancing a demon is taboo. It’s not going to entail the same trials and character problems that other otome suitors deal with. These aren’t boys. These are demons, powerful demons with their owns sins and they also believe that they are above humans. So, being above humans, of course Lucifer doesn’t really care if you say or not. He’s a demon and he is used to getting his way. He’s also the avatar of pride so he can’t fathom why you wouldn’t choose to be with him. (Again. I do not think it’s right for Lucifer to force himself on anyone.) From a writing standpoint, that was a perfectly acceptable thing for Lucifer to say, because of who he is as a character and a species. (But that doesn’t make it okay. I never said it was okay. I said it was normal for him as a character. I do not condone forcing anyone.)

Was it necessary for the story? That’s a little more difficult to define. I understand that this can be triggering material for some, and you are perfectly valid to say you didn’t like it and it was wrong. I don’t personally think that they made a huge mistake and should be reprimanded for it. It’s a story with dark themes and violence so it’s reasonable to assume that things like this are going to occur. They are demons with a very skewed sense of morals. But I totally get that there are people out there who don’t like reading that kind of triggering content.

I think a good middle ground would be to add some kind of warning to events or chapters. I don’t know how they would implement something like that, but it might be a more peaceful solution instead of going to the creators and telling them that they are wrong to add that content. Because, let’s be honest, not everyone is bothered by that kind of thing and creators can’t always cater to everything that might be a trigger to someone. For some, that kind of content is wanted and there aren’t any otomes that I’m aware of that has the option to explore those darker kinks. (Please don’t bring up Princess of the Moon Ultimate. That game is not what I mean.)

Obey Me really teeters on the edge of being too adult for minors, but there is plenty of content in the games that are okay for a younger audience. No matter what anyone says, the younger kids are not going to stop playing just because a stranger on the internet told them to. It’s not going to happen, so really, it’s only stirring up drama. I will say that minors should stay away from explicitly adult content created by us adults, mostly because of legal reasons, but again, I don’t think it’s going to stop anyone from doing it if they want to. Just know, that as adults, it’s really uncomfortable to think of minors engaging in explicit content. You are still children, whether you think so or not, but you’re going to play the game regardless (I know because back in my day, I did too). I think the middle ground for this is for minors not to engage with adults in any explicit or sexual themed content or talk. That’s about the most we can ask. Telling them not to play the game isn’t solving anything. (Please don’t come at me with this drama. I don’t want to hear about why they shouldn’t play or why they should be allowed, I don’t care about it.)

This kind of rounds me up to a big final point. I got off track with the content thing but back to the demons and their morals.

This why Obey Me is such an interesting story to me. The point of the whole game (so far) is that YOU are the one controlling the demons with the pacts. It takes a while for Lucifer and Belphie, but in the end, you get a pact with all of them. This really eliminates a lot of the dangers with the brothers. They obey you now. So, in the main story game (after lesson 20), if that Lucifer scene had happened (remember, it’s a dream), if you had chosen the NO option, then he would have no choice but to listen to you. Because the pact allows you to control them (we see this time and time again with MC telling Mammon to do things or stop doing things).

Which opens up the opportunity for you as the mc to teach them. I know this isn’t a prominent part of the game (it’s still real early to tell what’s going to happen) but now that you have them under a pact, you have the opportunity to reign in their sins and teach them to be decent demons. And honestly, it’s really one of the only ways that they could have handled the demons and a human in a romantic relationship. There is no such thing as a morally righteous demon. That would be angels (hello simeon). It’s going to be very interesting to see how having a specific suitor under a pact will effectively even the playing fields in a romantic relationship.

Take Asmo for example, as the Avatar of Lust. Before the pact, the scales of power were completely in Asmo’s hands. As a human, you literally couldn’t do anything to stop him from doing anything (hence the fact that Belphie literally kills mc, and there has been very dangerous situations). He’s a demon with enormous powers and the mc is a lowly human. And honestly, with Asmo being a narcissist, he probably wouldn’t understand why you wouldn’t want him. He’s Asmodeus. He’s wanted by everyone.

BUT

With the power of the pact, the scales of power in the relationship tip into the MC’s favor. Will this stop them from trying? Not at all, but now MC has the power to make them stop. And that’s really the only way that a relationship could happen. The power difference is simply too great for a human to date a demon without that added layer of control in MC’s hands.

I know that this is an otome game, and it’s supposed to be about romancing them and all that, but the story is riddled with dark tones and themes and it will most likely have more triggering material. I think that’s something that everyone is going to have to accept in this game. It’s not a lighthearted romance with angst and sex. It’s definitely not as dark as like Diabolik Lovers, but like vampires, demons have a whole added layer of twisted and taboo subjects that are going to play a large role in the game.

And I think that’s part of the point. This game is not going to be like Cybird’s games. It’s not going to be like MLQC. Personally, I like the idea of a darker game with wiggle for more adult oriented themes and content that we miss out on in the other games (i.e. I would have loved to seen a part of Edgar’s route where Claudius orders him to kill MC and he struggles with doing it or not and maybe even harming her in the process of figuring it out. Because, Edgar is kind of brainwashed by Claudius and it tracks for his character. But its romance otome, so of course, they weren’t going to take it that far.). Exploring the darker sides of romance, allowing for more raw and twisted concepts.

All in all, if you want a happy go lucky, suitors with cute romance and just a bit of angst and sex, this is not the game for you.

I also don’t think that going after the creators and saying that they shouldn’t put out darker content and having Lucifer do what he did in that event was right. This game is going to have uncomfortable topics and ugly moments. They are demons and this is devildom (see also: hell). Warnings would be great, I think finding a balance is good, but the creators are making this content for a broad audience. Not everyone is going to be happy. You can either take it with a grain of salt, and continue playing. Or you can not play it because you don’t like some of the content. The content creators don’t owe us anything. The whole “well this is for a western audience” is mute. There is likely going to be other triggering content because of the nature of the game. You can’t expect a dark otome to not have that, just because it triggers you. Warnings, yes, I think that that would help, let people know what they might be getting into in an event or chapter, but catering to the needs to every single player of a game is not going to happen, and it could cause the game to be shut down. This game is more adult oriented so it’s going to have more adult content that might not sit right with you.

I’m gonna end this by saying: Obey Me is an amazing game, and it has quite dark content in places. That’s the whole point of the game. It’s not a standard romance otome and trying to change it to be one is not okay. That doesn’t mean that your feelings toward it aren’t valid. It simply means that we cannot expect the same content as other otome games when it involves darker content. I don’t really want a watered down version of this game where they ignore the dangers of demons for the sake of romance.

I am gonna repeat a few things: I do not condone Lucifer’s actions, that’s not what I’m about. No one should force themselves on you. And this is filled with my opinions, yours can differ, but I’m not looking for anyone to come tell me why I’m wrong. This is just a few points of why I personally think that the game is doing just fine and doesn’t need to change.

#obey me #shall we date obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me thoughts

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indiavolowetrust · 4 years

Text

Carajillo

SUMMARY: Some things are truly set in stone. After the tension arises in the Devildom and Celestial Realm, the human is called back to attend a summit.

TW: Mention of Rape

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

BARBATOS: september 21st, 5:21 a.m.

It is a rather simple process. The coffee beans only take thirty-two seconds to grind, the water requires five to ten minutes to boil, and the coffee requires four minutes and eleven seconds to steep. It is seven seconds to fetch a glass, twelve seconds to place the cubes of ice from the ice box into the glass, and one minute to pour the liqueur into the glass. Once the coffee has finished steeping in the french press, it takes twenty-two seconds to finish the process of pouring the coffee into the glass.

I know this. I know each and every ingredient to make carajillo, as she had called it. I have memorized every possible method of brewing and melding the properties of the cocktail together, and I have recorded every possible outcome from each process. I know the exact measurements of each ingredient, the most viable temperature for the cocktail, and the notes present in the drink.

I know these things, and yet I still manage to make too much each time.

It is a side effect of her death, I would imagine. Six hundred and sixteen days have passed since the time of her expiration. Fourteen thousand and seven hundred eighty-four hours. Eight hundred eighty-seven thousand forty minutes. It is also known as a total of fifty-three million, two hundred twenty-two thousand, and four hundred seconds -- most of which I have used to silently mourn. Half of which I have used to berate myself, the incessant questions plaguing me in all hours of the night.

How long had she known of her fate? How long had she suffered? I ask myself. Had I tried one more time -- effectively placing us in the eighty-seventh cycle of the events -- would she have lived?

Worse, I wonder if she detests me for committing such acts on her. With her.

The outcomes had carried the same characteristics throughout the course of the cycles, albeit with small variations. A strangling by the stairs, the marks around her neck black and blue from the force of the assault. A stabbing outside of her own room, her hands still pressed to the wound as she had tried to get help. A deadly fall from the top of the stairs, her body crumpled in a broken pile at the bottom. The forced ingestion of poison, the evidence of a struggle seen in the aftermath. Then I had found her body stuffed into a chest in a storage closet, a trail of blood leading to the gruesome scene, and something inside me had snapped.

But there is no benefit to contemplating the consequences of my actions now. All the anguish and sorrow in the world would not bring her back. The regret would leave my heart heavy for the next millenia, and then I would have to forget. I would force myself to forget, regardless of circumstances. I had been lucky to avoid a revelation on Lord Diavolo’s part, to avoid the punishment that would surely come with using my abilities in such a manner. A millennia would be enough to mourn the loss.

I take the glass with me to a seating area by the window. While the diminutive nature of the kitchen forces a rather unconventional use of the space, I find the set up to be rather charming. Cozy, as one would call it. The seating area has been nearly built into the window, allowing its user to overlook a portion of the labyrinthine garden, and the table has been graciously donated to the space as an afterthought. I begin to raise the glass to my lips.

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking something like that?” asks a voice.

Her voice.

But it can’t be her, I realize with a start. She’s --

Maria slips into the space across from me, playfully drumming her fingers against the table. “It’s a shame you didn’t wait for me,” she teases, a smile pulling at her lips. Her eyes flicker briefly to the cocktail in front of me. “I would have loved to have tried it together for the first time.”

What are you doing here? I want to ask, staring unabashedly at what must be a figment of my own imagination. Why are you here? How did you get here? Is this some cruel part of my mind playing tricks on me?

“You’re dead,” I manage.

“I am.”

I lower the glass back onto the table, not quite trusting myself not to drop it. “Are you --”

“Real?” she finishes for me. Maria reaches over and traces her small fingers against the back of my hands, pressing lightly, and the contact is as solid as it had been when she was alive. Albeit much colder. “Of course I am. Does that answer your question?”

“Not quite,” I respond, struggling to control the tone of my voice. “I would like -- no, I need more answers.”

Maria is quiet for a moment, regarding me -- and then she sighs, sinking into herself. “I was lost for a long time. A really, really long time. I don’t know if it was because I died down here or because I wasn’t allowed up there for -- for doing that, but I couldn’t remember who I was. I didn’t know where I was.” She presses a hand to her face, as if she were trying to subconsciously suppress a painful memory. “But then someone called me by my name, and I remembered. Ended up here. I think it was you, now that I think about it.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Well, time doesn’t really work that way when you’re dead,” she says, reading my meaning. Her finger idles with the edge of the glass. “It’s -- it’s harder to think when you’re dead. To keep time stick-straight and linear.”

Silence settles between us. The light of the false moon almost filters through her form, the composition shifting between that of a translucent nature and one that appears more solid. Dark, unruly curls frame the soft angles of her face, making her appear almost pitiful, and her frail shoulders are visible at times through the phantom blouse. Revealing the olive tone of her skin beneath. My eyes begin to trail her form, and I study the shape, looking for any indication that this apparition before me is not the human I had foolishly come to cherish. That this is only part of some horrible, conjured image. I find no such sign. Her dark gaze meets mine briefly, holding it for a moment -- but she looks away quickly, biting her lip.

Despite everything that I have seen of her, I feel inclined to be ashamed.

“Where will you go?” I say, attempting to distract both her and myself from the blunder. “It isn’t uncommon for spirits to wander to such a deep level of the Devildom, but you can’t stay here.”

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“They’ll eat you alive here. Devour you. Tear you apart. In limbo, where you were before, nothing lives or dies -- but such rules do not apply here.” I level my gaze with hers, trying to suppress the emotion in my voice. “If you perish a second time, there will be nothing of you left.”

“And if I don’t want to leave?” she ventures.

I pause, wordless. Unsure of how to answer. She should hate me. She should detest me with every fiber of her being, given the things that I have done to her. I had taken her innocence in every way possible. I had forced her through the ordeal again and again, unable to fathom the consequences such traumatic experiences could have on her psyche. I had used her for my own selfish means, simply believing that keeping her alive would make the both of us happy. I could not accept the reality of her death, rejecting the very idea -- and in turn I had brought unimaginable suffering onto one I had come to cherish. One I had truly, hopelessly come to love, twisting the concept just as a demon would.

“I’m sorry.” I cannot bring myself to look at her, the guilt swallowing my conscience. “I --”

“The Celestial Realm is on the brink of war,” she says, her voice suddenly on the other side of the room. I lift my head to see that she is making carajillo with the leftover coffee and the liqueur I have left on the counter. Her rough measurements are evident in the color and aroma of the cocktail. “While I may have avoided becoming a martyr, it appears that a coup d’etat has already been staged. If little action is taken, Lord Diavolo will have a much more significant disaster on his hands. That’s why I came here.”

To be corrupted, I realize, gazing upon her ethereal form. She came to me to be corrupted into a demon.

Her eyes are sharp. Determined. “Will you?”

Even death has not changed her. She is still that bullheaded, stubborn mule of a human. Difficult, as always. Hopelessly infuriating. Willing to use the sheer force of her will to deny death its cold clutches. I find myself almost smiling at the fact, a mixture of both trapped grief and inexorable joy coming to the surface. The silent forgiveness is nothing short of jarring, the unspoken words speaking at a greater volume. Maria smiles back, lifting her glass in a strange sort of truce. I move to stand by her side, meeting the edge of her glass with mine, and take the first sip of the drink together with her.

It will take a millennia to truly beg for her forgiveness. A millennia to atone for the acts I had committed, the suffering I had inflicted upon her. And then it will take a millennia more to earn all that I had needlessly thrown to the fire. War or not, conflict or ceasefire, I find that I am completely willing to do so. I would prostrate myself before her for the end of time, if she so desired.

I find that the taste is truly all that she had said. Deeper than the blackest night. Warmer than a summer’s day. Sweeter than the parting kiss of a lover. Unforgettable in every manner possible.

END

#obey me #obey me barbatos #obey me oc #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #fanfic #writing #obey me oc x barbatos #tw rape #tw rape mention

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planet-crait · 4 years

Text

A Saltier analysis of the Art of Star Wars Rebels (Part 2)

So…..after my initial post you can find here more issues with the book where pointed out to me/I just sat looking through it noticing even more issues so….consider this a part two to my original post going over even more issues I have with the Art of Star Wars Rebels. Obviously there will be salt so if you enjoyed the book a lot and don’t want that view tainted please don’t click on below the cut. Also beware major spoilers for Rebels.

So first off we’re going to kick off with talking about some items that were very strangely missing from the book. Now full disclosure @findswoman really was the one who noticed this issue but it seriously deserves mention and I am stunned I missed it but, why are Loth cats and Loth Bats not ever mentioned in the book?

Loth Cats are a near constant presence within the series, they play some minor roles even in destroying a droid and helping distract guards. Loth bats similarly inspire the gliders that the kids use to rescue Hera! Said gliders make it into the book

Why aren’t the loth bats, the inspiration for said gliders, even in the book as well?

Another potentially controversial criticism I have is for the cover for the deluxe edition itself.

Some people may love it which is fair but personally I am not as fond of it as I am of the original cover. I get that they were trying to get a feel of the holocron in the cover but it just doesn’t vibe with me at all and I feel like they could have done something more special for the deluxe cover.

Speaking of holocrons, they do not get a proper showcase within the art book. Here is the page where it is mentioned and notice how it talks about the map, not the holocron itself.

Hell, you barely see it in the image in the book! Why? The holocrons are a big deal in the show, why are they not getting showcased when items that only make an appearance in one episode do? Even if other media showed off the holocrons, this is the art of Star Wars Rebels, if it was important to the show, it deserved a place in the book. Instead they waste space on things that were not important or even really shown in the show. Like Tatooine gets two full pages in the book:

Some of those images almost look like shots from Episode 4 which brings back the question of what the heck is this doing here? (Which I found myself asking way too much when looking through this book). Again this book should be a celebration of Rebels, not all of Star Wars. Those pages could have been used to show off key elements from the show that for unknown reasons got cut from the book.

There is just a lot of what feels like filler or wasted space in the book, for example Rex, Obi-wan, Vader, Yoda, Bo-Katan and Palpatine get two pages devoted to their characters while other main characters from the show get only one page or only half a page like in Choppers case. Zeb, Kallus, and Hera also all do not get their alternate season designs shown off in the book while Kanan, Sabine and Ezra do. Hell Rex even got an extra half a page to show off designs that never made it into the show and seemingly only exists to push Filoni’s headcanon that Rex was there with Han Solo.

Why are the main characters not allowed to be the unashamed stars of this book? Why did the editors feel the need to waste space with characters who are not the stars and have their spot to shine in other media? Original characters for this show should get full and multiple pages for their characters, not characters who have appeared in other media and probably appear in other art books.

If other side characters like Tristen and Usra Wren or Ketsun where getting these full or two pages I wouldn’t be quiet as annoyed because they are all original characters for the show, but those characters only got half a page while again, characters from other media like Saw and Mon Motha got a full page. I will say this until I am blue in the face but the original characters created specifically for Rebels should have been the true stars of this book, instead they are getting gypped and the short end of the stick while other characters the team thinks is more popular are given the spotlight. (I am not showing the pictures because, as is, this post is getting ridiculously long but I will happily share them in a reblog if anyone wants to see this).

They even included characters who never appeared in the show in the book

This is the very definition of wasted space. This page could have been used for undercover Chopper designs or season 3 or 4 of Hera and Zeb designs or one of the many many things that never made an appearance in the book that by all accounts should have been like Kanan’s lightsaber or Zeb’s bo-rifle. Instead we get stuff of Director Krennic.

Even things that had their fair share of content, still managed to miss the mark in some cases.

The Ghost in total has about six pages devoted to it which even includes concept art for it that was never used which is not a problem at all. In fact I love that! This is what I bought the book for, to see concepts and art for things that were at some point going to be in the show but were cut for one reason or another. The book would have benefited if it contained way more concept art for things like this like for example what Filoni imagined Lasan to look like or other concept designs for Zeb or hell talk about Kallus’s early days when he was originally a Chiss. Interesting stuff like that which wasn’t explored in the show but still exciting and interesting.

My big issue with the Ghost sections (yes sections) is that instead of putting everything related to the Ghost together for some reason the pages are split into two different sections within the book.

(Don’t ask my why they decided to throw concept art of the millennium falcon to go with that little tidbit instead of more concept art for the Ghost, just know this is on my shitlist too)

These are pages 48 through 51 of the book. The next time the Ghost appears is way later near the end of the book

Pages 150 and 151! Some of the split concepts for things can be explained by the fact that the book is split into several sections: Beginning, middle, and end of the show. However this does not give a satisfactory explanation as to why the Ghost’s concept art is split across two sections and not even evenly! Why not put all of the information for the Ghost all together in one section so if someone was looking for something specifically for reference or something they don’t have to look through the whole book to find it because the info is all over the place? Directly following the later pages is the Phantom II so maybe the logic was they didn’t want to just toss the Phantom in without any other context? Which….doesn’t work cuz the Ghost honestly feels thrown in for no real reason. The Phantom II being separated from the Ghost and The Phantom would have been fine because the Phantom does come in later so it being in the section devoted to later parts of the series would have been fine.

Of course, I can’t really say there is a section for the Phantom, that one image you saw back on page 50? That is the only reference the original Phantom ,something that was in the show for two seasons, get’s. One image and maybe a second but it feels more like an image of the back of the Ghost and not one of the Phantom. Meanwhile the Phantom II get’s two pages entirely to itself. Why the difference? Both ships were in the series for two seasons, why not some images of the inside of the Phantom or more shots from different angles? Why does only the Phantom II get these?

I really cannot fathom why they skimped out on one ship and gave two pages to another when both had equal importance.

Now I mentioned before that the layout of the book may have influenced the decision to split the pages talking about the Ghost, but personally I am not a fan of the layout of the book. It makes things confusing and doesn’t flow well. Here is the table of contents:

At a glance this seems fine and a nice nod to the series having four seasons, but notice there are no sub categories like textbooks that have key concepts in the chapter and what page they start on. So if you wanted to focus on character models? You would still have to spend a lot of time flipping through the sections to find what you were looking for. Personally I would have rather the book be divided by content: Characters, props, and environments. That way all things that are alike would all be group together instead of broken up into four sections across the book. Of course other art books could be laid out like this and people may like this method. This particular point is a bit more nitpicky and me being a person who was far more interested in character concept art then anything else.

I briefly touched upon this in my part one analysis of the book, but this issue rears its ugly head again in the issue of things not getting good labeling leaving the reader having to read the mini paragraphs or searching the book to figure out what it is or what is going on.

Want to know where this is?

Or this?

Or even this?

Me too, too bad the book can’t be bothered to tell you anything about these. When I was searching for anything to tell me what these images among many others in the book where, I noticed this

Which for a bit I couldn’t figure out what it was, notes accidentally left in? Some obscure reference to what it was supposed to be? Looking at other pages I noticed repeat notes that looked the same so I was starting to get even more confused until when looking through the cover pages, I finally spotted this:

Which okay fine they shorthanded the artists names in the credits right be the art….but then I noticed that not every piece of art in this book has any sort of credit along with the fact that quite a few have no label for what it's supposed to be. And while one could argue that those places are iconic enough to be recognized I have to disagree. Not everyone knows or follows all Star Wars Media that is a fan of the show. Not everyone has a great memory of the episodes within rebels or places that most would think are familiar. There is no reason to not put in a small label next to the artist credit so fans know what it is supposed to be. I could guess or try to look it up but I shouldn’t have to, the book should tell me what it is!

Even worse is the inconsistency on if an artist gets credit for the art they made. Like this one here:

No credit or anything, we have no clue who created this piece or why there is nothing here to indicate who did, and that is not fair to the person who created this piece. (I checked the next page as well even and there was nothing)

Also yes that image above the artist’s credit is another concept art from episode 4 which was slapped on there for who knows why. Again this should have been more art from Rebels. This is not, nor should it be, the art of Star Wars. It is the art of Star Wars Rebels. No concept art from other media has any business being in this book.

So many aspects of this book feel rushed or slapped together with no real rhyme or reason even though it was delayed in its release and then released early! Why? It just doesn’t make any sense and isn’t fair to the fans of this show who adored it and wanted to get this book to learn more about the show that for many fans, including myself, got me into Star Wars. We deserve more respect than this.

This book truly feels like a quick cash grab, not the thank you to the fans of the show it should have been.

Again I cannot stress this enough, if you like the book that is fine. But you cannot blow off and ignore the voices of people who are not satisfied with this book and expected so much more from it then it gave us.

#SWR #the art of star Wars Rebels #Star Wars Rebels #Salt #part two #SWR salt #let's see if the pictures get all screwed up again

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