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chiriwritesstuff · 7 days

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Hometown Glory; 1. Back to the Old House

Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Summary: Glory and Frankie, two best friends from a small town in Texas, find themselves in different places as adults. They haven't spoken in years, yet find themselves being drawn back home, searching for... something they can't quite explain. Will they be able to find their purpose back to where it all began?

Chapter Warnings and Tags: Strong language, Frankie is going through it, Someone decides it's a good idea to dip in the middle of the night, Sexism in the workplace, Unstable family dynamics.

Word Count: 8k

1998 (16 years old)

It's a school night on a random Monday, and you're perched cross-legged in a boy's room, a bowl of popcorn resting precariously on your lap. With a mischievous grin, you snatch the remote control from said boy, clicking it over to ABC as he groans in annoyance.

"Hey! What the hell!" he grumbles in annoyance, "Don't you know it's rude to just take a man's remote?"

"It's my night, remember?" you remind him playfully. "There's a new episode of Ally McBeal, and I'm dying to find out what happened between Ally and Billy."

"Gross. Not the biggest fan of that girly romance shit-" he drawls from above, his arm snaking around your shoulder as he reaches for a handful of popcorn. "I would rather watch something cool, like that 70s show. At least it's funny."

You roll your eyes at his protest, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. "Come on, Frankie, let's be real here. We both know the only reason you want to watch it is because you have a huge crush on Jackie," you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "But remember, we made a deal, Frankie baby. Mondays are my night!"

Frankie flops back onto his bed, his arms crossed over his chest in a mock pout. "Fine, but I reserve the right to complain the entire time," he declares, a faint smile on his lips. "I mean, at least Ally is kinda hot-"

You playfully toss a piece of popcorn at your best friend. "Anyway, remember when we had to write that paper in Mrs. Miller's class? About what we wanted to be when we grew up?" You lean in closer, your eyes fixed on Calista Flockhart as she flirts with Billy on the screen. "Well, I wrote that I wanted to be just like Ally," you share, taking a sip of Pepsi.

"What, like a lawyer?"

"No, like an actress. Of course like a lawyer!" you exclaim. "I mean, I love to argue-"

"Not correcting you there-"

"... and, it's like, so grown up, right? She looks like someone who has her shit together, her lack of love life notwithstanding, but still. I can see myself doing that!"

Frankie groans as he props himself up on his elbows, his warm breath tickling your ear. "I can totally see you doing that," he says with a chuckle, his voice close to your ear. "But hey, you're good at everything you set your mind to, Glo."

"Aw, Frankie... is that a compliment I hear? maybe I should check outside and see if any pigs are flying-"

"Very funny," he scoffs, joining you on the floor and reaching for the bowl of popcorn. "You know you're smart as hell, so I don't doubt that you can do it."

"What about you?" you ask, nudging his shoulder playfully.

"What about me?" he responds, his shoulder bumping against yours. "What do I want to be when I grow up? That's easy. I want to be a pilot."

"So, like... the military, then? Flying Black Hawks and getting everyone to safety? I always knew you had a hero complex," you tease, nudging him again.

Frankie grins, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Yeah, something like that," he says, his voice full of wonder. "I've always wanted to serve my country, you know? And being a pilot in the military seems like the perfect way to do it. Plus, I get to carry a gun," he adds with a smirk. "Chicks dig that, you know?"

"Chicks? Frankie, I love you, but for the love of everything holy, please don't refer to women as "chicks", it's degrading-"

"Some chicks like to be degraded," he quips, cocking his head. "At least that's what the guys say in the locker room."

"Not me though," you muse, resting your head on his shoulder as he settles himself against you more, placing his arm around your shoulder as Ally and Billy kiss on screen. "I guess that makes me not like other girls, huh?"

You feel the slight rumble of his chest as he chuckles.

You swear you feel the ghost of his lips on your temple.

Frankie leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "No, Glory," he whispers. "You're so much more than most girls."

16 years later.

"Excuse me, I think I heard you wrong."

"No, you didn't," you retort firmly, eyeing the hefty stack of papers across from you, addressing the group of men- the partners and board members of the firm you decided to spend the last ten years of your life at seated before you. Settling back into the plush leather chair, you cross your legs with an air of confidence. "While I appreciate your acknowledgment of my ten years of hard work and the countless cases won," you pause for emphasis, casually inspecting your nails before meeting their gaze head-on, "...if it weren't for a stupid technicality, I'd be hailed as the first female lawyer in the entire state of New York with a flawless record, right?"

"Indeed, we recognize your almost-stellar track record," Nigel, the lead partner of your firm continues, glossing over your achievements like you expected, chuckling as he adjusts his suit collar. "That's precisely why we believe it's the perfect time to bring you on as a junior partner. We think you're ready."

"Junior Partner?" you echo, incredulous, your tone laced with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "After all these years of fighting tooth and nail against men who were promoted with far less experience, after winning case after case and saving these assholes millions of dollars in alimony payments, I'm still only good enough to become a Junior Partner? Please. Please tell me you're joking." You lean forward, fixing them with a pointed stare, the intensity of your gaze daring them to justify their belated recognition.

The ten men in question, a mix of balding, beady-eyed partners and sharply dressed greying board members shift uncomfortably in their seats. The rustle of their tailored Armani suits rubbing against one another fills the room with a grating sound akin to nails on a chalkboard.

"It took me a decade to even get offered Junior Partner. How many more years until I'm considered for a full Partnership? Another decade?" you ask, your impatience seeping into each word.

"Is there something amiss?" another member of the board interjects, gesturing towards the stack of papers on the table once more. "We don't often extend promotions like this, especially to someone as young as yourself... or any woman, for that matter," he adds with a cough, a smirk playing on his lips as if he's cracked a clever joke. "Most would consider it a gift, wouldn't you agree?"

"I appreciate the offer, truly," you interject, "but I believe my worth exceeds what you're offering." Each word resonates with a sense of determination, a testament to the challenges you've overcome and the achievements you've earned in your career.

With a flick of your wrist, you push the stack of papers back across the conference table, the pages dancing in the air as the men across from you watch in disbelief. The gravity of your decision hangs heavy in the room. "I'm done," you announce firmly, the weight of your words echoing in the silence that follows.

The room fills with gasps as another suit interjects, his face flushed with anger. "I beg your pardon?!" he exclaims. "This isn't a negotiation, and it's a fair offer for someone of your talents," he spits.

You fix him with a steely gaze. "Tell me, Bill-" you retort sharply, "who's the most sought-after associate in this firm? Why do I have gold-digging socialites, cheating tech bros, and trigger-happy celebrities clamoring for a meeting with me at the front desk? Whose face is it on the news when the courts decide to rule in our favor? Certainly, it isn't any of you, that's for damn sure."

Gone is the girl from the small town off the outskirts of Austin, Texas- a former homecoming queen slash magna cum laude loved and cherished by a town that seemed so minuscule compared to the vastness and hunger of your ambition.

You were both a dreamer and a doer, tirelessly working and amassing scholarship after scholarship, grant after grant. Your sights were set on one school only: Yale. You believed that if you couldn't make it there from the start, settling for anything less wasn't an option.

"I'm gonna be like that when I grow up," you declared, flopping onto the lumpy couch as reruns of Law and Order SVU played in the background. Your Nana, her tight, white curls peeking out from the worn brown fabric of her La-Z-Boy, glanced at you with mild curiosity.

"Be like what?" she would reply absentmindedly, her voice raspy from the years of Misty's holding constant residence at the corner of her lips. "Like an actor? Like Mariska? Did you know she's the daughter of Jayne Mansfield?"

"No, like a Lawyer," you would tease, your eyes locked onto Stephanie March as she takes the stand, her sneer as icy as the blonde of her pin-straight hair, her voice strong and confident as she calmly verbally eviscerates yet another rapist, this time one of the shaky-ijustwantedtosmellher-variety, shaking like a leaf as they undergo cross-examination. "She's so fucking cool," you would whisper to yourself, the loud chuckle-cough-chuckle of your Nana as she peers at you from the corner of her eye.

"... but you're such a sweet girl!" she would retort, "how are you gonna win the case when you're so damn nice all the time? those suits would eat you alive, believe you me!"

Your voice rises steadily, like a crescendo building to a climax, until you're finally shouting. All the hurt and embarrassment you've bottled up explodes, coursing through your veins like an unstable chemical reaction. "The reason we're all still in business is because of me!" you declare, your words punctuated by frustration. "Or should I ask Bill in finance for confirmation? Maybe he's mistaken." You unclench your jaw, feeling the tension in your neck as you reach for your phone. "All those high-profile clients? They're loyal to me. If I leave, they'll follow. Think about that."

As the partners exchange bewildered looks, Nigel's discomfort is palpable as he clears his throat. "But... where will you go?" he stammers. "How do you expect to thrive in this industry without the support of a prestigious firm like ours? Besides, no one just turns their nose up at a salary increase of a hundred thousand dollars-"

"Okay, got it. So this isn't a negotiation, and there's no room for reconsideration?" You glance around the room, meeting each of their downturned gazes. Leaning back in your chair, a smirk plays at the corners of your lips as you hold their gaze.

"Oh, don't worry about me," you retort, rolling your eyes slightly. "You don't have to concern yourselves with my well-being. After all, you haven't given a damn about it throughout my entire career here, have you?"

A ripple of anxious laughter echoes through the room, mingled with the partners' disbelief at your audacity. "And just where do you plan to go?" Nigel presses.

With a knowing smile, you rise from your seat, gathering your belongings with a newfound sense of purpose. "Back to where I belong, I suppose," you declare. "Home."

You give the group of men one last nod, your expression firm. "Thank you for the offer, but I don't think this is going to work out," you say, your tone resolute. "And frankly, I've had enough of playing by your rules."

With a final flick of your hair, pin-straight and glossy like Stephanie, you stride out of the conference room, leaving behind the stifling atmosphere of the sleazy-suited assholes, their mouths agape, completely stunned. As the door clicks shut, you feel a sense of liberation wash over you, like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

Good fucking riddance, you think to yourself, walking past your colleagues, their heads bobbing up curiously from their cubicles as they watch you march away. You laugh to yourself at the sight of it, your head held high in defiance. Today marks the beginning of a new journey, one where you refuse to let others dictate your worth or your future.

Back in your corner office, tucked away at the back of the building- a spot they seemed to think was where you belonged, far away from the big boys club, you're surrounded by the familiar trappings of your professional life. The cardboard box on your desk awaits its contents – the remnants of a career spent in a firm that never fully appreciated your efforts, despite your unwavering dedication and the millions of dollars earned in your wake.

Shaking off the sting of humiliation and blinking back the tears of frustration threatening to spill, you begin the task of packing up your belongings. Your framed Juris Doctor is tossed in haphazardly, followed by a flurry of other items scattered across the surface of the box. Three framed photos: two girls, with wide smiles and pigtails, an old woman standing on the porch of a decaying home, and a group of like-looking women, the bright smiles and the promise of the endless possibility of the future in their eyes. Gone is the meticulously styled hair, now hastily tied up in a messy bun as you delve into the depths of your desk drawer. You pull out items in a flurry, tossing them into the box until your fingers come across something unfamiliar, hidden at the very back of the drawer.

Your fingers brush against something soft, and you pull out a faded friendship bracelet. Its beads are strung together to spell out a name you haven't seen in years. The memories flood back, threatening to overwhelm you as you stare at the name engraved on the bracelet.

F-R-A-N-

In an instant, you're transported back to a moment etched deep in the recesses of your mind: small hands trembling as they offer the bracelet to yours, the earnest gaze of a young boy not much taller than you. A tentative smile graces his lips as he extends the friendship offering. "You gave me yours, so I'm giving you mine... that means we're friends, right?"

You accept the bracelet with shaky hands, feeling a warmth spread through you. You smile back at the boy in front of you, his smile widening to match yours. "Right. Best friends!"

A pang of regret washes over you, mingling with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia for the friendship that once meant so much to you. With a heavy heart, you carefully place the bracelet into the box, a silent reminder of the past you've left behind.

Two Weeks later (somewhere in between New York and Texas)

"Okay, let me get this straight. They finally offer you a promotion, and that's when you decide it's the perfect time to quit? Seriously, Glory, please explain that logic to me," your sister's voice crackles through the car speakers as you navigate down the coast, taking another sip of your coffee to steel yourself for the conversation. "I'm begging you, please make it make sense. If management told me I needed to shake my ass to get a wage increase, I would say when and where. Surely, a hundred thousand dollars is a decent offer-"

"Yeah, they dangled a hundred thousand dollar salary bump in front of me, but it's not just about the money," you reply, frustration evident in your voice. "They were going to make me a Junior Partner. Junior. It's like they're saying, 'Hey Glory, you're good, but you're not quite good enough to sit at the big kids' table yet. Maybe in another decade or two, you'll get there.'"

"So what's the plan, then? You're just gonna pack up your office, leave your fancy Upper East Side condo behind, toss your shit in a U-Haul, and hightail it back to Nowheresville, USA? You're seriously going to start your firm in a place you swore up and down and to the heavens above that you'd never return to?" Your sister's incredulous voice echoes through the phone as you navigate the winding roads back to your hometown. "As much as the kids and I would love for you to finally be around, shouldn't you be aiming a bit higher than Fredericksburg? There's nothing here-"

You bite the inside of your cheek, the sharp pain making you wince as the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. Relax, you tell yourself. She's right. You should be aiming higher.

"And don't even get me started on that rundown old house that Nana used to live in. Seriously, Glo, you're going to live in that dump? I wouldn't touch that place with a ten-foot pole, let alone live in it. It's a fucking money pit! You'll lose more money than what it's worth!" she snarks, chuckling to herself. "I know that it was all fun and games, talking about how you were gonna fix up that place, make it your forever home, but that was when we were kids! That place barely has a functioning roof!"

"Well, you must read minds, then." you retort dryly. "Sister, I think that you should think about becoming a psychic, because how did you know?" you sing-song back. "Besides, don't you have a guest room in that place of yours? I remember you asking me very nicely to help you out with the reno you did a few years back as a wedding gift, doesn't that mean that the room is mine if I ever needed it?"

There's a weird, awkward silence that suddenly fills the cab of the U-Haul, and you swear you can hear the gears turning in your sister's brain as she processes the implications of your words, holding your breath as you can feel the wrath that is sure to follow next. You appreciate how predictable your sister always was, knowing damn well that if you had told her that you were actually telling her the truth about your plans on returning home, she would try with every fiber of her being to convince you not to.

"There's nothing here for you, Glory. Nothing but heartbreak and the skeletons that have gathered dust in your bedroom closet. You've always been better than this little old town..." You remember her drunkenly telling you over FaceTime as you down your third glass of Pinot Grigio, your eyes fixed on the blue light radiating from the screen of your MacBook.

Congratulations, the email read. The buyer has accepted your terms, and is expected to move in shortly-

"No, Glo-" she starts.

"The condo sold for over market value-" you offer, a thinly-veiled attempt to try to reason with her.

"Wait. Are you fucking telling me that you're in a U-Haul driving back home? and you're only telling me this now when I haven't even had time to clean out the guest room?! You know how I get when things are left to the last minute-"

"Relax, I'm not going to crash at your house, not when Andrew doesn't know, I've already booked a month at the Hyatt in Austin while I square away the final plans for the house. Think of it this way, if you ever need a place to stay after another one of your husband's benders, you could always sneak away to the hotel room, now that I'll finally be close by. Plus, Hank told me that there's a vacant storefront on Main Street, It's a perfect spot to open the firm-"

"It's just..." Your sister's voice trails off, her chuckle sounding forced. "You always seem to have impeccable timing." There's an odd tension in her tone, a hint of something unsaid lingering between you.

"Impeccable timing, huh?" you prod, sensing there's more to her words than she's letting on.

But before you can dig deeper, she interrupts with a hurried excuse. "Hey, I'd love to chat more, but I've got to run. We'll catch up later, okay? Call me when you get to the hotel, we can grab lunch or something with the kids-"

"Hey, what did you mean about impeccable timing?" you press curiously.

"I gotta go love you byeeee-" she says hurriedly, cutting the phone call.

You're left staring at your phone, a gnawing sense of confusion settling in your gut. Something about her sudden evasiveness doesn't sit right with you, but you push it aside for now, focusing on the road ahead as you continue your journey back home. "Love you too, I guess."

You continue to drive throughout the night, the 26 or so hours that the GPS has estimated your trip to be, refusing to stop for anything other than gas and the occasional bathroom pit stop, grabbing yourself a Buc-ees t-shirt for shits and giggles to commemorate your arrival, breathing a sigh of relief as you eye the “Welcome to Texas!” Sign out in the distance, its surface illuminated by the purple skies of early morning.

"Not much longer," you reassure yourself as you nibble on a sad-looking fruit bowl and sip lukewarm water in the Buc-ee's parking lot. Between bites, you check the time on your phone, swiping away the occasional concerned email from your former associates at the firm.

You raise your phone, capturing the Buc-ee's sign in the distance with your camera app. The empty parking lot reflects the loneliness that has become all too familiar in your adult life.

It's not like I meant for it to be this way, you muse silently, drafting a caption for the photo. "Homeward bound, just a few more hours!" You type out as you hit upload, sharing the moment on your Instagram feed.

As you enter the city limits of the small town you once called home on the way to the Hyatt, you can’t help the wave of nostalgia that suddenly washes over you. You can't help but smile as you pass by familiar landmarks – the public library where you would spend countless hours buried in books, the little Italian place with your favorite lasagna, still in the corner where all of the birthday dinners would be held, the bustling mall, still bursting at the seams with teenagers and young families alike, a place where you and your best friend used to gossip about boys and clothes and how much you hated Mr. Frankel constantly staring at your tits over scoops and cones of ice cream, the shrillness of your combined laughter ringing throughout your ears.

Ex-best friend, you remind yourself bitterly, your knuckles turning white as you clutch the steering wheel. It's a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that the one person you would never think would betray you ending up with the guy you once harbored feelings for. The guy. They probably have a picture-perfect life now, living in some military town with a gaggle of kids, the sound of their laughter echoing in your mind like a haunting melody.

As you drive through the familiar streets of your hometown, memories of you and him start to slowly flood back into your consciousness – lazy afternoons spent together, whispered secrets shared under the shade of a tree. But now, those memories are tainted with a bittersweet ache, a reminder of what once was and what could have been.

You can almost see him now, running around the backyard with their children, his laughter mingling with theirs as they play. The image is both heartwarming and heartbreaking, a painful reminder of the love you lost and the friendship that slipped through your fingers.

With a heavy sigh, you tear your gaze away from the fleeting fantasy, focusing instead on the road ahead. It's time to move forward, to let go of the past, and embrace the uncertainty of the future. But as you drive away, a part of you can't help but wonder – what if things had been different?

As you navigate the winding streets, you can't help but feel a sense of belonging wash over you. This may not have been the life you planned, but somehow, returning to your roots feels like coming home in more ways than one.

After a few more hours of driving, you finally pull up to the Hyatt, grateful for the chance to stretch your legs and unload your belongings. The luxurious lobby offers a stark contrast to the worn-out upholstery of your car seat. With a sigh of relief, you drop off your bags in your room before heading back out onto the road.

As you pull up to your Nana's old place, you can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with apprehension. The once-charming house now stands in complete disrepair, its paint peeling and windows boarded up. Standing outside the weathered front door, you can't help but shake your head.

"Welcome home, Glory," you mutter to yourself, the words carrying both resignation and determination. With a deep breath, you unlock the door and step inside, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead.

Frankie, two weeks before your arrival.

Frankie forgot how fucking hot it was in Texas.

With a heavy sigh, he turns off the ignition of his truck and gazes at the house he hasn't seen in the last few years. The weathered paint job catches his eye, the deep cracks spiderwebbing across the exterior walls. Once-bright white has faded to a tired tan, and a single bright blue shutter still hangs slightly askew from his bedroom window.

"Shit Frankie, do you think your pop is gonna kill me for that?" The voice seeps into his thoughts, unbidden. He shuts his eyes tight, battling against the memories he's long kept buried deep in the recesses of his brain.

His ears catch the familiar sound of tinkering echoing from the depths of the carport beside the house, still cluttered with dismantled shells and rusty car parts. He recognizes the soft grunts of his father as he works on yet another car he decided to fiddle with probably after spotting it abandoned on the roadside.

I've been gone for fifteen years, and yet, it feels like nothing has changed, he muses to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

Frankie lets out a groan as he swings open his car door. His legs feel like lead, knees protesting from the strain of hours spent behind the wheel. He's just made the long haul from his actual home in Florida, leaving behind his daughter and the life he's built there for the last fifteen or so years.

Or tried to, at least.

The notion of divorce loomed over Frankie's thoughts like a persistent shadow, coloring every interaction with his wife. Even in the mundane moments of their daily life, he couldn't shake the feeling of their impending separation. It was as if they were constantly tiptoeing along the edge of a cliff, one wrong step away from falling into the abyss of divorce.

He found himself distancing emotionally, a subconscious defense mechanism against the possibility of heartache. Small disagreements turned into major rifts, each argument fueling the belief that their marriage was irreparable. He couldn't help but imagine a life without Chelsea, even as they sat across from each other at the dinner table or shared a quiet moment on the couch.

The weight of his doubts pressed down on him, clouding his perception of their relationship. Frankie had never truly loved his wife; their relationship was born more out of convenience and familiarity than genuine affection. He often wondered if Chelsea sensed his lack of affection, if she felt the absence of passion and connection that should have been the foundation of their marriage.

Guilt gnawed at him, knowing that he had never given Chelsea the love she deserved. He had entered into their marriage with a sense of obligation rather than devotion, and now he was trapped in a cycle of discontent and disillusionment. Divorce had become more than a possibility; it had become a constant companion, lurking in the shadows of their marriage.

Fuck. She never stood a fucking chance.

So, with a heavy heart and a mind full of fucking turmoil, he'd packed up his car and hit the road, effectively abandoning his wife and kid like a fucking coward, driving with no destination in mind until he found himself back in the town where it all began.

Frankie's chest tightens at the memory of Lily's desperate pleas, her small face etched with fear as she begs him not to leave. He had thought he was being discreet, tiptoeing past her room, his rucksack slung across his back. Pausing in the dim light, he takes a long look at his daughter, knowing he might not see her again for some time. "I love you, baby girl," he whispers, his voice barely audible as he gently closes her door, the click echoing in the quiet hallway.

He pushes open the door leading to the garage, grateful that he had the foresight to leave the garage door open earlier in the evening. It was a calculated move, part of his plan to make a quiet exit from this house that never felt like a home. He had thought about his grand escape throughout dinner that night, opting to remain silent as he tuned Chelsea out, her words of her displeasure falling on deaf ears as he nodded in agreement, cutting into his meatloaf as he slouches himself down his chair.

Lousy, lazy husband. Neglectful and absent father. The biggest disappointment and regret of her fucking life. Coward. Fucking Coward.

Ah, there it was.

I bet you wish that it was her, huh? I bet you wish that it was her pussy that you were fucking instead of mine, right Frankie? Chelsea would accuse, her hand motioning for him to pass over the mashed potatoes in the same breath.

Hell. She isn't wrong.

He thought his plan was about to unfold smoothly, exhaling a sigh of relief as he set his rucksack in the bed of his truck. Then, he heard it—the unmistakable creak of a door opening, followed by the soft padding of feet on concrete, drawing closer from behind. With a heavy heart, he closed his eyes, bracing himself for the pain he knew was coming.

"Daddy?" his daughter's sleepy voice broke the silence of the darkened garage. "Where are you going?"

Frankie's heart sank at the sound of Lily's voice, her innocent question piercing through his resolve like a knife. He turned around slowly, his eyes meeting hers in the dim light filtering through the garage.

"Lil, sweetheart," he began, his voice catching in his throat as he struggled to find the right words. "I... I have to go away for a little while." His chest tightened with every word, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders.

"Why?" Lily's voice trembled with confusion and fear, her small frame shivering in the cool air of the garage. She took a hesitant step closer, her eyes searching his face for answers.

Frankie knelt down in front of her, his heart breaking at the sight of her tear-filled eyes. "It's... it's complicated, baby," he said softly, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from her face. "But I promise, I'll come back for you. I love you so much, Lily. You're my everything."

Lily threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder as she sobbed. "Please don't go, Daddy," she pleaded, her words muffled against his shirt. "I need you."

Tears pricked at Frankie's eyes as he held his daughter close, his own heart breaking with every second that passed. But he knew he had to go, for both of their sakes. With a heavy heart, he gently pulled away from Lily's embrace, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll always be with you, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I promise. I'll come back for you, but you have to stay with Mommy for now, okay? I swear I'll come back for you."

As he stood up and turned away, leaving Lily behind in the garage, Frankie couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that weighed on him like a lead weight. But deep down, he knew that he had to do this—to find a way to be the father Lily deserved, even if it meant breaking both of their hearts in the process.

His throat tightens as he relives that moment, the memory etched vividly in his mind like a relentless nightmare. He can still see Lily's tear-stained face, her eyes pleading with him not to leave, her small hands reaching out for him as he walked away, the way her small form looks back at him as he looks at his rearview mirror, getting smaller and smaller as he drives out of the cul-de-sac like a fucking coward. The weight of her despair presses down on him like a vice, suffocating him with guilt and remorse.

Frankie silently makes his way over to the carport, his father's familiar silhouette outlined against the fading sunlight. He watches as his dad tinkers away, lost in his own world of gears and grease. With a smirk playing on his lips, Frankie leans against the doorframe, soaking in the scene before him.

"When I left, I was saying goodbye to a pair of feet under a fender, and I come home years later and it's like you haven't moved an inch," Frankie quips, his tone laced with affection and a hint of disbelief. "Are you sure you ain't dead under there, old man?"

His dad chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that fills the air. "Nah, still kicking, just like always," he replies, not bothering to look up from his work. "You, on the other hand, look like you could use a good night's sleep."

Frankie rolls his eyes, but there's a warmth in his chest at the familiar banter. Despite everything that's changed, some things remain constant – like the easy camaraderie between a father and son, even after years apart.

Frankie's dad finally emerges from under the car, wiping his hands on a greasy rag as he beams at his son. "Well, well, look who's finally back home, a child of mine finally appears!" he says with a grin, opening his arms for a hug.

Frankie steps forward, enveloped in his dad's embrace, the familiar scent of motor oil and sawdust washing over him. "I'm your only child, Dad, or did you forget?" he teases, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

His dad chuckles, patting Frankie on the back. "No, son, I didn't forget," he replies with a twinkle in his eye. "But you always knew who my favorite was."

Frankie nods solemnly, his eyes squinting in the distance, not wanting his mind to go there. He clicks his tongue. "So-"

"I assume that your sudden appearance has something to do with that wife of yours screaming into my voicemail about you abandoning your family in the middle of the night?" his dad asks, a hint of concern lacing his words as he studies Frankie's expression.

Frankie lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he meets his father's gaze. "Yeah, Pop," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "Things with Chelsea... they haven't been working for a while now. I couldn't stay there anymore. I had to get out."

His father's expression softens, concern etched into his features. "And what about Lily? How's she taking it?" he inquires, his voice laced with worry as he thinks of his granddaughter.

"Yeah, she was torn up about it," he admits, his voice heavy with sorrow. "But I couldn't just take her. Chels would accuse me of kidnapping, and you know how the courts always side with the mother. I can't risk getting arrested again. Not after what happened last time."

"Well, that seems about something she would do, I guess," his father surmises, "... but what the hell are you doin' back here? I swore the last time I saw you, you told me you would never step your foot back here, especially with what happened with Glory-"

Frankie cuts him off, his jaw tensing as he steels himself against the memories threatening to resurface. "Look, Dad, let's not go there, okay? It's been years, and I've moved on, she's moved on," he says, his tone firm. "I'm just here to figure things out, clear my head. I don't need to worry bout no skeletons in my fucking closet, especially when I know for a fact that she ain't here no more to spook me."

Frankie's dad pauses, his gaze distant for a moment before he speaks again. "You know, son, I always loved her like my own," he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. "She was like family to us, and seeing her leave was one of the hardest things I've had to witness. It broke my heart, and I know for a fact that it broke yours, too. Maybe if she had stayed... you wouldn't be here standing on my front lawn, hiding from your wife."

Frankie's chest tightens at his father's admission, a pang of guilt gnawing at him for the pain he caused. "I know, Pop," he replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wish things had turned out differently."

"Yeah, well... shit happens, I guess." His father slaps his hand on his shoulder once more, motioning towards the house. "Come on, I got a pot of Chili that’s been simmering for the last few hours, I reckon it should be ready right about now. Go grab your shit and come help me set the table after you get settled, alright?"

Frankie nods, giving his father one last smile as he makes his way back to his pickup truck, slinging his military-grade duffle over his shoulder. Groaning, he makes his way up to the old house, the floorboards of the patio creaking as he opens the front door, the smell of his father's chili wafting in the air. He takes in the familiar sight of his living room, still the same as he left it all the years ago.

The same lumpy couch, the imprint of his father forever immortalized in his spot where he watches reruns of Pawn Stars and Columbo, greeted Frankie as he stepped into the living room. The faded fabric sagged under his weight as he lowered himself onto it, memories flooding back with each creak of the worn-out springs.

As Frankie's gaze shifted to the mantle, he couldn't help but notice the familiar photos arranged there. His eyes lingered on the one of him and his mother, her radiant smile captured forever in the frame. Beside it was a picture of you and Frankie as kids, arms wrapped around each other in a tight embrace, the innocence of youth reflected in your beaming faces.

Frankie's breath caught in his throat as he noticed a new addition to the mantle – a photo of you and his father in front of the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center. His father's arms were proudly slung around your shoulders, and both of you wore wide smiles that reached your eyes. It was a moment frozen in time, capturing a bond that had evidently formed in his absence.

"Well, what are you doing just sittin' there? Table ain't gonna set itself."

Frankie rolls his eyes at that. Yep, shit hasn't changed a bit. "Placemats still in the same drawer?"

"Unless someone moved them, which I highly doubt, being that it's just been me in this house for the last fifteen years," his father replies with a weary sigh, retrieving a steaming casserole dish from the oven and setting it on the stove. "Made some of that cornbread you like so much too," he adds with a wink. "Your Mama's recipe, not that boxed shit."

As they arrange the table settings, Frankie's father casts a cautious glance at him, a hint of concern in his eyes. "So, besides your marriage, How's everything going, son?"

Frankie lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as he carefully places the silverware beside each plate. "Could be better, Dad. Could be a lot better."

His father's expression softens with understanding. "I heard about what happened. You doing okay?"

Frankie nods, though the weight of his recent troubles still hangs heavily on him. "Yeah, I'm managing. Just trying to figure things out."

His father places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You know, son, we all make mistakes. What's important is how we learn from them and move forward."

Frankie meets his father's gaze. "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it."

His father's fork hovers awkwardly over his plate, his gaze fixed on the food as if it holds the answers to questions he dare not ask. "Dig in, for fucks sake. Don't let it get cold."

Frankie senses an opportunity to steer the conversation elsewhere, away from the awkwardness. "Hey, Pop," he begins, trying to sound nonchalant, "I couldn't help but notice that photo on the mantle. Is it new?"

His father pauses, then looks at him, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he answers, "The one from New York? Yeah, it's recent."

"How recent?" Frankie probes further, his curiosity piqued.

His dad casually tears off a piece of cornbread and dips it into his chili, shrugging. "About three months ago," he replies, his tone casual. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just surprised, that's all," Frankie says with what he hopes is casual, stabbing his spoon into his bowl, pushing the pieces of beans and corn around, refusing to make eye contact with his father who is surely gazing back at him with the quirk of his brow. "Wasn't aware that the both of you were still close," he mumbles, the sight of your bright wide smile feeling like death by a thousand cuts straight into his jugular. “Never thought that you would actually leave this fucking place, let alone go to New fucking York.”

"Well, we haven't stopped being close, son. Did you know that she sends me a bottle of tequila every year on my birthday? Noticed the difference in quality as the years gone by, she's doing quite alright up there in the big 'ol apple." Frankie hears his father make a noncommital snort as he continues to eat. “Besides, she asked me to visit her the last time she was in town, and I ain’t getting any younger, have to enjoy life somehow, right?”

You still remembered his father's birthday. Do you still remember his? he wonders silently.

He strains his eye at the label of said tequila bottle, near the center of the dinner table. José Cuervo 250 Aniversario. Twenty-one hundred off the shelf, easy. A soft snort escapes his lips, shaking his head. Well, at least you still remembered your shit.

"You know, she's one of those lawyers that deal with family stuff," his father muses, chuckling to himself as he gets that gleam in his eye when he realizes he has a (stupid, but convenient idea). "Maybe you should-"

“No.”

“I could even be the one to call her, I know she won’t say no to me-“

“Pop-“

“She’s still single, you know.”

“I don’t know what her being single has to do anything with my divorce-“

“She never really got into anything serious, at least she never told me… but I knew. She was too busy for it, you know? Too distracted. Told her she should stop playing ball with the boys and start her own firm back here."

Frankie's father continued, a wistful tone creeping into his voice as he reminisced. "She always had that fire in her, just like her grandma. I remember when she was just a kid, always standing up for what she believed in, never backing down from a challenge. That girl could argue her way out of anything."

Frankie listened quietly, his mind racing with memories of Glory's fierce determination. Despite their differences, he couldn't deny the admiration he held for her unwavering spirit.

"Yeah, well, she's probably forgotten all about this place," Frankie muttered dismissively, though a small part of him hoped it wasn't true.

His father's gaze softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes.

"Maybe. But some things, some people, they never really leave you, no matter how far you go."

"Why settle for Fredericksburg when she's killing it up there?" Frankie says bitterly, his frustration palpable. "She's made it clear that there is nothing for her here beside her sister, and her Nana has been gone for the last ten years. This place is a shithole, honestly."

"If it's such a shithole, then why the fuck are you here then?" his father challenges, his irritation evident as he stabs his salad with more force than necessary. "It might not be fancy like New York or as interesting as Tampa, but it's your home, son. It's her home, too."

"Well, I'm glad to know that you still gave a damn about somebody after all these years," Frankie retorts quietly. "... and here I thought I was your actual child-"

"What do you want me to say, huh? I feel like you're trying to insinuate something here, son, so just be a fucking man for once and spit it out!"

"Why didn't you visit me, huh? If you had so much time on your hands, why her and not me?"

"What, so I could bear witness to the shitshow that's your marriage? Do you think I like watching you suffer?" his father shouts, slamming his fork on the table. "Your wife can barely stand being in the same room as me! I ain't gonna waste my time spending it with people who clearly don't want me there."

"Well maybe if you didn't find the need to compare her to Glory all the damn like you did, maybe she would have made my life a fuck of a lot easier, don't you think?"

His father's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and guilt flickering across his features before settling into a resigned acceptance. "Son, I never meant to make things harder for you," he starts, his voice softer now, devoid of the earlier hostility. "But you gotta understand, Glory was special. She was... different. And I know I shouldn't have let that affect how I saw your wife, but I guess old habits die hard."

Frankie's shoulders tense as he absorbs his father's words, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth. "Well, you certainly made it clear where her place was in your eyes," he mutters.

His father sighs heavily, his gaze dropping to his plate. "I know, son. And I'm sorry for that," he says, his tone laced with regret.

Frankie's jaw clenches as he struggles to contain his frustration. "Yeah, well, easier said than done," he grumbles, his gaze flickering to the tequila bottle on the table, a stark reminder of the divide between them.

His father rises from the table, his movements slow and deliberate, as if weighed down by the gravity of their conversation. "I'm heading to the bar," he announces quietly, his voice tinged with resignation. "Don't wait up for me."

Frankie scoffs under his breath, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "Typical," he mutters, bitterness seeping into his words. "Always running away when shit gets dicey. Coward."

As his father reaches the door, he pauses, casting a sorrowful glance back at Frankie. "Takes a coward to know one, son," he says softly, the words heavy with unspoken regret. Then, without another word, he slips out into the night, leaving Frankie alone with his thoughts.

With a frustrated grunt, Frankie snatches the tequila bottle from the table, his movements rough and unceremonious. He doesn't bother with a shot glass, instead opting to take several swigs straight from the bottle. The fiery liquid burns as it travels down his throat, but he hardly notices it amidst the tumult of emotions swirling inside him.

"Fuck," he curses. "Welcome home, I guess."

Clutching the bottle tightly, he trudges up the stairs to his bedroom, the weight of the day settling heavily on his shoulders. As he disappears into the darkness of his room, the only sound that fills the empty house is the quiet echo of his footsteps on the creaking floorboards.

Series Taglist:

@ashleyfilm @danaispunk @imdrinkingpedro @yxtkiwiyxt @lilyevanstan1325

@kungfucapslock @critfailroll

#fic: hometown glory #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales #hometown glory #frankie 'catfish' morales #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

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How special is reader actually in Just Friends? im dying i’m so jealous 😭

Welll my dear!

König in this fic is a bit of a nympho. There's just no denying it. This man gets high on killing and he gets high on sex...

...which is why he hasn't been exactly what one would call a chaste, proper gentleman, and why he has some experience. Because even with that crazy pervy attitude there's always people who want to bang this giant (not side-eyeing anyone here in this room or myself in the mirror or anything like that).

So yes, this man has tried to get pussy since day one, and because he is what he is, hasn't gotten but a crumb or two (just imagine the growing fury and bitterness of this man, who looks like a god but is a demon inside, when he doesn't get what he needs 🙄). This poor lunatic has done his all to get anything he can ‐ which is close to nothing but just enough to bless him with the knowledge of the location of clitoris. Now this sounds pretty desperate, right? It is. I mean, this guy probably has a sex toy or two in his room (probably takes a portable fleshlight on longer missions too, JFC) because he's just never satisfied and women generally avoid him like the plague.

But when it comes to reader... Let's start by saying that König has never stalked anyone like that (lmao what a compliment!). Also he is true to his word in that he has never stolen another lady's underwear before. He's just that crazy about the reader. He tries his all to be more civil so he doesn't blow it with her, while at the same time, he's losing his fucking mind (so innocent and sweet and looking at him and his pretty knives like that?? He simply can't handle that shit).

Also the inherent and learned sexism in this man makes him think women shouldn't go to war because it's not *proper* and he would never even think of gifting a weapon to a lady, let alone one of his precious knives. Even showing his collection is too much – it's equal to baring his soul to someone.

But reader? She gets multiple invites to his crazy man cave full of weapons. Also, taking her to the range, letting her play with his big guns is not only a super special treat but also a sign of König being head.over.heels. for her.

Without knowing it, König has always searched for that special someone to be crazy with. And reader is the first to elicit any real feelings in him, tbh. That's a huge deal. Like he said in the end, he would do anything for her. Also instead of a fleshlight he now carries reader's panties in his pocket on missions. Calls them his lucky charm, too.

And sex with reader gains almost a spiritual level as we see at the end of chapter 4. It's not just sex anymore. Aftercare and cuddles are something this man has pretty much avoided, has been a bit 'meh' about, but with reader it all comes naturally because he wants to take care of her. He can't keep his paws off because she's so adorable and squishable.

And the reason why he tried to leave reader alone after days of trying to woo her back? Not because he dropped her like a toy that's not working anymore, but because he actually respected and loved her so much he didn't want to hurt her. (Also I'm staying with my hc that König is someone who tells a person he loves them after they've known each other for like two weeks. Cringe, but cute.)

I don't know if this cured any jealousy or made it worse 🥲 but trust me when I say reader is incredibly special 💘

#answered #Oh honey ❤️#könig headcanons #yandere könig

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omegansamurai · 1 month

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I hate that these YouTube videos complain and moan about how the Netflix live-action Avatar: The Last Airbender was a 'failure'...I mean, if that was the case, then why had it been renewed for not one, but TWO seasons, huh?

And like...I doubt the Avatar Studios stuff is gonna be anything groundbreaking. I don't even think Avatar Studios' content will be any good. Really, it's like, why is this even a thing? Just leave the franchise alone, Bryke, and just let people who can write and make your story a lot more enjoyable (Netflix's Avatar).

It just reeks of desperation and Bryke trying to be relevant. Avatar is not the next Star Wars, I'm sorry. It's a Nick cartoon that should've been an epic four-season (maybe five seasons, who knows?) show, but it shrunk to three, to make a failed shitty trilogy movie that the first movie bombed at the box office, thanks to the creators 'SUPER WISE' decision of canceling the fourth season because they want that trilogy movie series, and honestly? That itself was a bad idea. Bryke tries too hard to make their product the next Star Wars(which I think they're fans of, which says a lot), and it painfully shows. They try too hard. REALLY hard.

Like with Legend of Korra, they try to be super edgy with their 'story' and 'characters', but they just miss the mark on what made ATLA great. I mean, they don't even care about how the bending looks anymore in Korra. Really, there's a reason why they put the final season online, and it was just a bad show. Don't deny it, everyone. I'm certain it would've been good...but it was executed poorly and made not only a mockery of the characters in that show but the OG characters of ATLA(especially Katara). Well, maybe Zuko is the only one who's doing alright...but that just reeks of sexism doesn't it? Toph is all alone in the Swamp, and Katara is...not who she is...always sad about Aang's death...like get it together girl, you're mother-effin KATARA. Get with it!

And another thing, what more is there to tell? What is the next series even going to be? The Avatars are cut off after Korra, right? So...what now? And if you put the setting in some lame-ass futuristic steampunk or cyberpunk world and have bending in it, then...well, that's not really Avatar, is it? It's just its own thing at this point. And really, I don't want any new characters...I never wanted Korra's characters either if the writing they have for them was that bad.

I just think this whole Avatar Studios is just...again, desperation. Like why not reboot it or just...tell the same story, but with a different setting?

Sorry, lost track.

What I'm trying to say is, is that people act like the Netflix live-action of Avatar: The Last Airbender supposedly 'failed', which isn't the case. Y'all are just butthurt about how your 'perfect show' got 'tainted' by big corporations, and honestly, that's far from it. The people behind this live-action were very committed, and the actors were very respectful of their roles. The BTS looked like everyone was having a good time. And here you have idiots going on about how the live-action sucks because...what, Aang talks too much? No sexism from Sokka? Katara didn't act all rage-filled or whatever? I can get the criticisms, but still, I enjoyed it. I liked it. I want to see more.

It's just that this stupid fandom likes to put down the live-action because the cartoon is supposed to be this or that and it doesn't have this...when honestly, it's its own thing, but it's still Avatar! Let it be its own thing! You got the cartoon, now look at this NEW Avatar: The Last Airbender by Netflix! Look at the way they portray the characters, look at the direction they're going, look how they world-build, just look at it! It's almost like fanfiction, and really, isn't that what Avatar is? Fanfiction? It may be a cartoon show, but it's still fiction. They're not real people. We can do whatever we want with them. We're just borrowing their characters, story, and world.

This whole thing is an adaptation. So it's not your cartoon...but it's still Avatar.

I know I'm just rambling at this point, but I'm just kind of tired of seeing thumbnails on YouTube of people bringing down the live-action Avatar. I genuinely enjoyed it, and yes, while it may have some things to work on, the people behind the show will listen to their criticisms and work on that. But again, I still liked it.

Just know one thing...Bryke would've made the live-action of Avatar a whole lot worse if they were in control. I really do believe that. And as for Avatar Studios...I give it a year before it goes bankrupt. I know that's a little harsh, but I just know that the animated Avatar movie is going to be disappointing. ^^;

#avatar: the last airbender #netflix avatar the last airbender #atla #atla netflix #anti bryke #anti avatar studios #rambles #idk #whatever

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skygemspeaks · 8 months

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okay so after seeing all of the first three episodes again last night with friends and falling even more in love with the cast than before, i finally got around to episode 4 today. some thoughts:

i can't gush enough about the set design, it's all absolutely gorgeous. i was completely in love with the little clearing where young zoro and kuina have their match, just seeing the sunlight filtering through the trees...it really gives off that kind of nostalgic, romantic feeling that you get when you think back to a simpler time in your life. and of course, kaya's mansion is gorgeous! it doesn't look like yet another generic rich person mansion. it has character! i loved all the wall art in their dining room, i like the orderly yet cozy cluttered feeling of the kitchen, i love how it all feels lived in, like it has a history

talking more about the technical aspects, i love the costume design too! i like the slightly too clean look of the marine uniforms - it brings notice to the fact that these are new cadets who don't have much fighting history. i like that both nami and sham get to wear practical clothes! no stupid high heels for nami! no short shorts!

i didn't mention this last time, but i LOVE jacob's version of usopp. it's crazy that they managed to find a guy who can do usopp's over the top facial expressions in real life. they really lucked out with this entire main cast, i can't imagine literally anyone else playing our beloved straw hats. i hope we can see at least one more season, and i hope i adore robin and chopper just as much as i love these the east blue crew

as sad as it is, i'm glad that it seems like merry really is dead. i like this more brutal direction for the live action, because it feels like there are actual consequences for them, and i like that you can't take for granted that just because someone survived in the manga/anime, it means they'll survive in the live action too

the child actors are a little stiff, but i think they're really doing a good job given how young they are! young zoro's actor was definitely doing a better job that kojiro's. he sold his grief over kuina's death very well

speaking of koshiro, i still fuckin hate that dude. he did kuina so dirty with his sexism, convincing her she had no future as a swordswoman, making her believe that she could never stand up to men.

i think having koby and helmeppo show up at kaya's mansion and inevitably get duped by kuro was a good choice. it lets koby get a little more experience in a leadership position, and more than that, it helps establish usopp's distrust of the marines. from the beginning he was always interested in the romantic view he had of pirates because of his dad, but seeing that the marines failed him, even after they said they would help him, and that they didn't believe him no matter how much he begged them to, it helps establish a reason for him to go along with the pirates when they invite him to. the marines didn't do shit to protect kaya, but luffy and his friends did everything they could. they loved kaya, maybe not as much as usopp, but they wanted her to be safe.

side note, it's kind of hilarious to think about helmeppo trying to kill luffy, and then going back to the ship and finding out that he's garp's grandson 💀💀

when we are! started playing in the background as the going merry set sail for the first time with her crew...i cried, i'm not ashamed to admit it. gosh, i missed her, and i miss the first opening. it's so nice to see her get to go on more adventures with her crew in this new medium! i know some people were unhappy with her figurehead, but i just adore it, it suits her crew well

luffy's little shit-eating grin when kaya just gives them merry for free, and nami being just SO exasperated because he's gonna be so insufferable now, it made me laugh so hard! i love these idiots

when usopp and luffy were arguing about which one of them was captain, and nami just burst out laughing? and then zoro started chuckling too? that was so healing! they've already had good chemistry so far, and they've shown loyalty, but it's so nice to finally see zoro and nami kind of starting to admit that they do like these people they've become friends with, and it's nice to see that they're coming around to how much they care about luffy

i was a little iffy about them doing the garp reveal at the end. my first instinct was to be really annoyed by it, but after thinking on it for a moment, it honestly does make sense. in the first place there wasn't really a plot reason to put off the reveal until post enies lobby anyways. and then you also have to take into account that it would be a huge success if we ever even get a second season, let alone reaching post enies lobby. so it's not ideal, but i'm not too upset at them about it. ALSO, seeing zoro, nami, and usopp's reaction to the news was fucking hilarious. i hope we get some good dynamics in the next episode! i want to see garp call luffy his idiot grandson. i want that funny family dysfunction.

#opla spoilers #opla liveblog #opla #spoilers #one piece #op spoilers #monkey d luffy #monkey d garp #roronoa zoro #nami #kaya op #kuro op #koby op #helmeppo

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aloneatpeace · 11 months

Text

Fall Of Empire

Girl in the Woods ' 1 '

Summary :𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓪 𝓯𝓾𝓷𝓷𝔂 𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓹𝓮𝓸𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱 𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 . 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝔂 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓷 . 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓭𝓮𝓷𝔂 𝓸𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 ��𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓼.

Disclaimer - this is pure fan fiction it's not real. I mean no disrespect to any of the members.The stroy is fictional it's doesn't have anything to do with the real life members of bts.

Warning - this chapter doesn't have anything but later we will reach the depth of story and there will. Abuse , degradation of women, sexism, men doing awful things, assault maybe more. (Not by the boys)

A/n : the fic take place as you can tell during mediaeval era or sort of it how would be a life of a girl that time from my perspective. Im not really good at and i don't wanna spoil it so that's it .

WC: 2132

“You are charming, you are everything any women would love to have. You are going to walk up to her and tell her that you like her that’s it.” Hoseok gives himself speech feeling proud of himself, he picks up his bag flung it over his shoulder and march towards where his horse was standing patiently for him.

Upon seeing his companion, the horse let out a happy noise greeting him. Hoseok smile brightly, a contagious smile that made the sun himself feel a little insecure. He pets the horse affectionately.

The sound of footsteps reaches his ear.

hoseok take breath preparing to hear what he heard a thousand times “son, be careful when go there and if the crazy girl tries anything use the weapon”

He turns to his mother “why is it so hard to believe that she is simply just like living in the woods?”

“You are too young and innocent my son” his mother cup his cheeks squishing them making him whines at display of affection “I don’t know who is your companion but everything he sell you make us good living so I will let you go”

Hoseok pauses for a minute “yeah …. he is private man?” he said with hesitation

“Come before celebration start, will you?”

Hoseok node at his mother and start navigate his hose with a soft grip on its neck.

Unlike everyone hoseok didn’t fear the woods, he often find himself yarning to take a walk round the forest. The trees standing tall and proud, sun light gilding through the branches of the trees. The sound of birds and squirrels is something that made hoseok smile something that lots of his villagers find uninteresting. The lake was always crystal clear, remanding him of the tears of mermaid tales that he heard growing up. The silence of woods never frightened him either because he knows there is nothing out there that could harm him.

He always coming up with reasons to go there, maybe the reason behind that is he simply love the forest or maybe because your home is in the forest and it’s the only way, he can see you. He used to think that it was the first one but as the time goes, he realized it might be not.

How the two of meet was fresh in his memory. Teen hoseok was rebellious and reckless, as teenager always curious to find out new things and his curious nature resulted in him find the hunter that lives in the woods. His grandmother would gather him and his siblings to tell the story of wild hunter that lives in the wood. He was most dangerous man the town, no one would dare to walk or look his way. He was taller and stronger than an average man. He would come town at beginning of the month and middle of it each year to collect things and then he would go back to the woods. His grandma would say that the woods is his home and no one was allowed to go there. He partially believed that his grandmother was lying so they don’t wonder off into the woods.

To test his theory, he went to woods he was happy to find no man was there but what stunned him was you kneeling on the ground plucking wild flowers beside a basket that was too big for your little arms. He felt like creep for watching you do your thing, the way your hair was kept showed someone did a poor job the cream color ribbon tied just keep the hair falling on your face, dress that fit perfectly but mud stain at the bottom, boots that too big for you, but his insides were glowing warm making him tingle all over his body. You were in your own world and when he walked towards you startling you at unexpected visitor. When hoseok smile pushed his hands towards to greet you all you did was start to cry and throw the basket at him hastily before running away.

He was only seconds away running after you to explain he didn’t mean to make you cry but the sound of his parents’ voice calling his name made him change his path of running. Yeah, it wasn’t a good first impression.

He parents were so furious at him and banned him for going to the woods again, everyone kept an eye on him and he wasn’t allowed to go alone for couple of years he was always accompanied with cousins or siblings. Sometimes he thought that you were just his imagination that proved wrong when he saw you again.

He was helping his father at the market when the hunter came to the usual routine, he no longer intimidated them but he surprised when a little girl trailed behind him her little hand securely kept in the mans calloused one.

You were clearly amazed by the market eagerly looking around the innocence and pure happiness radiated from you. Your clothes were neat but it’s worn out, someone really tried to make your hair more presentable as if you spent hours on it.

When his eyes meet yours this time toy didn’t show any fear just curiosity unknowingly a smile made its way to his lips and that made you smile as well. He remembers the hunter taking to buy clothes that’s fits you. The people casted him suspicious glances thinking what a young girl doing with a hunter. Clearly, he wasn’t the father judging by the appearance but he didn’t question it. As he tries to follow you his father pulled by his shirt denying his wish to meet up close. He watched from afar as you and the man collect thing from various shops before starting to leave.

From there on you and the man would come and collect things and leave. Hoseok would try to walk up to you but always there will be someone preventing him from doing so and you never spent time longer than needed but you always looked at him some times even smiled at him.

But after one day you didn’t come at all he waited for but you never came later the hunter also stopped coming, it worried him. Are you ill? Why did you stop coming? Did something happen to you? There aren’t wild animals that could hurt you, he concluded that you were just ill and prayed the gods that you will be better. It annoyed him to no end for feeling that way, you’re just a stranger that he doesn’t know anything about, but something in him hurts thinking about you in pain, maybe its in his nature, he one of most empathic one in the village.

His worries only increased when you nor the hunter never came, the people didn’t indulge in what happened to you. As he grows his responsibility grow to slowly, he starts to forget about you. Hoseok grown into fine young man everyone loved him young men envied him, but he was humble and kind to everyone.

Surprised would be understatement when he saw you again years later, just like the first time you were in your own world as you washed fresh fruits in near lake. He was starstruck when he saw you but this time you didn’t run away. With a titled head a small smile graced you face.

“You are not going to throw me in the water this time, are you?” he asked with a teasing smile on his lips

“Perhaps I will” there is no menace in the words its was light and playful, that’s made him laugh

From that a beautiful friendship was born and along the way he fallen for the girl in the woods. When everyone thought that she is witch that killed the hunter now living the woods controlling the woods.

His eagerness made him reach his destination faster, he smiles unknowingly when he sees your home, it radiates a sense of calm and warmth. A deer walks around the front of your home with no fear of his presence along with couple of rabbits and swans. Wild birds preached on window a total sense of safety indicated.

He calls out your name.

“In here” you yell from behind the house where you arrange different kind of fruits and wild flowers for him to sell at his shop. After the two of you become friends, you have been helping him find new flowers and fruits and vegetable that grow in the woods. The partnership had helped him and his family in more than one way.

But to him you were just simple girl that live in woods, there is no evil magic in you even if there is he would gladly let you use him. He learned that the hunter was like father to you and like him you also content with living in the woods.

Washing the fresh fruits that you find couple of days ago, you answer him. Hoseok didn’t tie his horse as the it knows the routine, simply walks towards where you kept water and fresh leaves for him to each along with some fruits.

“Did you go deep in without me?” he asks after seeing buddle of flower that was, he never seen. He frowns at the thought of you running around the woods without him even if you lived your entire life in the woods he woods

“Yeah, I felt like walking after couple of hours I came across these beautiful flowers” you said with smile on your face not knowing his inner thoughts.

“Well wait for me next time”

It was time for him to go home you send Hoseok a smile “have lovely day Hoseok”.

You nodded your head before continuing Hoseok starts to tell you about how things back in his home, how you occasionally node and listen silently without making any attempt to talk. He never took that personally because he knew that you are used stay in silence and rather listen to him and you love that about him for not judging you or pressuring you to talk to him.

He node at you, glancing at you he inhales slowly, oh heavens you are just captivating just by standing there in without realizing how mesmerizing your presence is, in worn out clothes here there is dirt and stains visible but that somehow made you more alluring he don’t know. Maybe someone else don’t agree with his statement but to him you’re the prettiest and most beautiful girl he know.

The soft whisper of his name falls from your lips bring him back from his blissful thoughts, sees you stand a little closer to him with a confused look on his, everything in his body scream to embrace you, take away the wariness of your bones, give his warmth to you, to love you. Without even knowing he caught up in his thoughts again. Making you worried even more at the lack of his response

A soft touch on his arm made him come back and he wish your touch stay like that feeling like it’s the only thing that connect him to reality.

“Are you feeling unwell? You look flustered and red like berries” you touch his forehead to feel his temperature making him go redder if that’s possible

He removes himself from you before he melts into a puddle of honey “I’m fine” his voice come out too rushed and out of breath he walks towards his horse, he stops for moment before fully turning to you, you tilt your head at confused when you start to walk towards you.

“I know it’s been a while but I was meaning to ask you……….” He pauses you silently encourage him to continue “wouldyoulikebeminefortherestofmylife” he blurred out so quickly.

That was bad how can she be yours she is her own person

“Hoseok, I did not understand any of that” you said with a playful annoyed jest.

Good

“I was asking if you would like……to come with tonight’s celebration I was looking forward to have you there with me”

“I do not think that would be a good idea…” you trail off but seeing his defeated look on you face you falter a little and he never asked you to do something for him, if the celebration means that’s much to him, you’re willing to indulge in it “but I think we can give it a try” that made him light up like a sun in the early morning.

“Good…. Great even… then I will come to get you be prepared by dust”

With a bright smile on his face, he walks backward still smiling like teenage boy towards his horse.

Maybe he can tell you tonight how he feels.

Note : that's type of dress what I have on mind if you want you can change it I'm only showing the typical one. There won't any other description of what you'll wear.

Thank you for reading, comment, likes and reblogs it's help to write 💓🙏

Tag

Masterpost here

@thebisexualonesworld

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lazuliquetzal · 10 months

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i want to hear the sports anime manifesto

Okay short version:

My life was a sports anime for a bit, and watching sports anime makes me nostalgic for those days.

Medium version:

The typical shonen sports anime deals with themes of camaraderie, ambition, and the intersections of camaraderie and ambition, which ALWAYS hits me right in the chest.

I'm not an ambitious person by nature, but--you know that one poem floating around on here, the one about the moth that wants nothing more than to fly into the flame, and how it would be nice to feel that kind of all consuming passion? Yeah, that's the feeling I get from sports anime.

And often, for the Team Sports anime, you'll get characters who have nothing in common except that they Love the Same Thing--a friendship/rivalry/(romance) formed on the basis of a shared interest. That's sweet as hell!

And they're super predictable and low stress for me. Very easy to watch! Total popcorn shows. Also I like listening to people infodump about their passions. Someone loved their Sport so much they wrote a whole-ass story about it, so yeah, eat that shit up.

Long version:

The Socioeconomic Inequalities of High School Sports

In high school, I was on a crappy underfunded soccer team (with a healthy dose of sexism) and due to [sports league division reasons] the schools we played against were almost exclusively private schools.

I cannot describe how existential it is to be wearing a hand-me-down formerly white-turned-disgusting-gray uniform that's at least five years old when playing against a team that gets brand new windbreakers every season.

(If you've read AAB, YES this is where my obsession with the windbreakers comes from.)

(Hilariously, the guys team got windbreakers but we didn't.)

(I am not over the fucking windbreakers.)

But anyway, when you're constantly losing to private schools you get this fucking complex about it.

This should come as no surprise but like. People with the time and resources to practice their Thing get good at their Thing.

Playing pick up soccer at the park is practice. Playing rec league soccer is organized, repeated practice.

Playing competitive club soccer is all of that, plus a coach who knows How To Coach and What The Sport Is, plus you get morale-boosting uniforms and the chance to play with and against other skilled players. So you're exposed to a lot more, and thus, you learn a lot more.

Competitive club soccer is also Expensive. Rich kids get good.

There's a reason why the "Powerhouse School" is a thing in sports anime, because it's a thing in real life. People with leisure time and money get to invest in their sports development, and everyone else gets left behind in the dust. It's basically a microcosm of capitalism.

The underdog sports story is (quite tragically) bootstraps propaganda. All you have to do is be really good and work really hard and have A LOT OF PASSION to get good at your sport! The cream rises to the top! This is a meritocracy! Let's ignore all the other factors that go into an individual's development as an athlete!

(My brother got scouted for club soccer as a kid. He actually went to tryouts and got offered a spot and a scholarship and everything, but there's SO many hidden fees after the initial registration. Uniforms, equipment, travel and accommodation, tournaments, plus like, the time sink, so we never signed him up. And equipment-wise, soccer is one of the cheapest sports you can play--just imagine the price for something like baseball or hockey.)

In sports anime, there is no reform. There is no revolution.

But sports anime isn't really about that. It's about the narratives we create when we convince ourselves that we deserve to win.

(You know what I mean. Every billionaire is convinced they're some sort of heroic underdog. The same exact kind of 'working your way up' narrative.)

Sports anime is like, the uncomplicated power fantasy of playing the game. It's a world where you are rewarded for your hard work, because it's narratively satisfying. It's a world where it's safe to want things, because you have the exact same chances as the private school kids.

I used to be an obnoxiously competitive child. Then I got all my competition beaten out of me by 3 straight years of constant losing in my clownagerie of a high school soccer team (affectionate). I am going to admit that experience made me a better person and I would not trade it for anything, but I also had to like, relearn how to want things. And maybe real life is not as equal opportunity as the world of sports anime, but I think it's good to want things.

Of course, the winner-loser dichotomy makes sense in sports because of the inherent nature of competition, but it doesn't make sense in stuff like society and economics because that's like, competing over the right to live. That's where the capitalism metaphor ends,

Does sports anime actually go into the socioeconomic inequalities of sports? No. Of course not. Giant Killing never got a season 2.

But it is something I think about when I write sports anime fic. Even if it's not the point, it influences my characterization. The ego of a prodigy character in a shitty sports program is different from the ego of a prodigy character in a rich kid sports program. I am obligated to my amateur attempts to capture the complexities of the high school sports environment in my fanfiction because I am fucking insane I had a specific high school sports experience and they do say to write what you know.

#MEG I SWEAR TO YOU I WILL READ TANGERINE AT SOME POINT #I have so many thoughts about sports anime which is tragic because sports anime is not that deep #it is never that deep #part of the reason why I got so sucked into Daiya is because of the powerhouse school setting #and the fact that Eijun was so obviously lost because he never had that kind of organized system before #people give Seidou a lot of shit for 'not helping Eijun' enough but genuinely it's because he has NO CLUE how to reach out #I poured so much brainpower into Eijun's backstory in my brain it's embarrassing as hell #*shaking fanfic authors by the shoulders* YEAH THE CUTTHROAT COMPETION SUCKS BUT YOU DONT FIX IT BY SENDING HIM TO A DIFFERENT SCHOOL #I also am the only person who understands Miyuki Kazuya (exaggeration)#everyone gives him shit for the Nabe thing and look. yes he was wrong.#but I was once in that same exact situation and responded exactly the same way #Daiya no Ace is not about friendship #it's about Ambition #and people tend to make Eijun the sweet sentimental sunshine friendship guy #but he has JUST as much cutthroat ambition as Miyuki #that's why they work. that's why they understand each other #there's a whole essay I could write about Misawa but it's basically just chapter 18 of AAB #anyway if you want to watch a sports anime that does the Healthy Ambition and the Friendship Thing in the most wholesome way possible #watch Haikyuu. it really is the perfect sports anime.#shame the fanfic is 99% ship because the sports aspect of it is SUPER sweet #asks #jumpstrike #I'm answering jumpstrike but Tav I hope you see this too #lazuli talks #sports anime

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bulbabutt · 1 year

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say what you will about bay april (and trust me, megan fox deserves so much better) at least she's proactive about looking into things and does things without the boys-hell she's the reason they're even alive in the first place, she saved splinter and the turts as a kid

doesn't erase vernon and mikey being constantly horny on main for her or that weird technique they force her to do to get info out of stockman in oots's opening segments but still, give her credit, she's strong-willed and has a sense of justice and tries to do what's right

hmmmmmmm ok. theres a lot to say about bayverse april. and i specifically avoided talking about movie aprils cuz it was going to get repetitive and long (like 1990 april is very similar to 87 and 07 april is basically 03 april)

but with bayverse, you're right, she is the central character in that movie who drives the plot. but thats because of the megan fox of it all, being that shes the biggest star there and also because bay had an obsession with her (to her detriment bad vibes all over the fucking place holy shit leave this woman alone) we're still framing aprils ass in the shot, still being creepy about her, despite the fact this movie is trying to be from her perspective (for more info on that aspect i think you just gotta watch lindsay ellis' "the framing of megan fox" video about transformers, because its the same shit here)

and just because its like 87 april (because this movie is pandering to 87 fans) doesnt mean theyre really add anything or even understand the concept of what makes 87 april good in the first place. like i said in my post about 87 april, what makes her great is that the turtles fall into her story, and that we are centred on the news room politics of it all. the human world the turtles interact with is her life.

(this got kinda long so its under a cut)

in this movie, we change the misogynistic boss burne thompson into: whoopi goldburgs burnadette thompson. which. hm, color and gender blind casting for burne thompson is. a way to do it i guess. (i do know whoopi is in this movie because she wanted to be in a turtles movie, no disrespect there) but it removes that core element of reporter april fighting her shitty boss. in this she's now just a regular reporter working at a normal news station, but also we're still giving her the girly aerobics story. so, who's decided that if her boss is a black woman? thats kind of fundamentally changing the implications of why shes stuck doing that job, its no longer because shes the woman reporter, and is now just because thats what shes been assigned. now its not her fighting sexism, its her just not wanting to do her job. a shitty one, but its no longer because of a sexist work place.

and then her story of being a reporter is she gets FIRED for being a BAD reporter, because shes crazily rambling about turtles to her boss with no real sources. which...87 april didnt do that, her point wasnt to find the turtles, it was to use her job to help them. the turtles are the secret, not the story. for a movie that likes pandering to 87 and nothing else, they missed this concept entirely

(side note that isnt important, when shes rambling to the roommate about them.... this movie panders enough to 87, why is the roommate not just named irma. shes only in that scene. seriously, it should have just been irma.)

and then. the vernon fenwick of it all........ why the fuck. did you do this. why make him the only character who believes her? oh sorry, not even believes her, simply THINKS SHES HOT. SO GOES ALONG WITH IT. i know they wanted to put casey jones in this movie, but then went NOOO that would be SILLY if the guy hanging out with her is casey (we want to save him for the seqeul) so lets make it another reporter. uh vernon. hes from the original! and thus we change vernon from being the rival reporter who hates her because shes a woman whos better at his job than him, into just: her creepy co reporter who has a crush on her. and since he's the co star here, she has to not tell him off for his bad behaviour. maybe he'll even get a date out of it!

(again, if she needed a sidekick, irma is right there, you put the other two here, why not irma)

and the choice to make her a part of the turtles origin story is, in my perspective, very much like my issue with 12 april's destined to be part of the story thing. shes part of this story because her dad created the turtles. yes, she saved the turtles and splinter, but its less of her own choice in the matter, its because she was the daughter of the man who made them. its the opposite of what i think makes her a good character in the franchise, someone who is hunting for a story and gets in too deep, and happens to be near enough by the turtles that they get her out.

like lets compare her to the april closest to her, 1990 april. thats an april who gets into the plot via going hunting for a story on her own. there's some kind of gang up to no good and she wants to get to the bottom of it. she does get to the bottom of it all on her own, she learns via interviewing immigrants that the foot is the organization behind it. shes doing something no one wants her to do, shes going against what her boss, and what cops think she should be doing, and the foot literally try to kill her because SHE is hunting for THEM. she ends up in turtle plot because raphael HAPPENS to be around when the foot find her. its HER story. the foot is after HER. the turtles in that movie end up losing splinter and then fighting the foot BECAUSE april was looking for them. THATS what makes her have agency in the story.

i do think a lot of you guys are missing my point here though (no offence!) so let me try to explain it better.

its not just about if we see april be a self sufficient character who's central to the plot, or even what her personality is like, its whether she exists in a real way outside of the men around her. its if her choices are important to the story. she doesnt need to have saved the turtles, know how to fight, kicked the shredder, or have been right about whatever story is going on. the question is: is she in the story because she did something on her own to get to it? is she a character who matters without the men in her life? can she stand on her own? do you care about her life? what are her aspirations, how is she trying to achieve them?

based on all that, i think 2014 april is in fact the weakest april. they're only making her seem like 1987 april because, and i dont know if ive said this anywhere yet, men who watched 87 when they were kids think shes hot. that is the only value a lot of people have placed on her. thats her legacy to a lot of people. its fucked up, and this movie doesnt do anything to dissuade you from thinking that.

sorry to go off on your ask, but bayverse (specifically the first one) really got no aspect of any tmnt thing correct. not april, not shredder, not splinter, not casey, and not the aspect of how these turtles are even ninja (i think everyone involved shouldn't be allowed to make another piece of media for putting that fucking ninjitsu book in the fucking sewer)

#tmnt #april oneil #april o'neil #tmnt april #i know people like this movie #but i cant stand it #and i hope ive given enough reasons why #thoughts

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faelapis · 1 year

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Is there any story trope you personally dislike aside from redeemed by death/ the ultimate evil?

oh sure, plenty. everything is context sensitive, there's very few i'm gonna straight up say is bad in every iteration, but here's a few that stand out to me as "usually a bad sign":

brainwashing. if the central conflict between the characters is just due to your friend being brainwashed rather than having real disagreements with you, thats typically weak.

hate sink-characters. the more "emotional" a trope is, the more difficult it is to define... but sometimes you can just. tell. that the author despises a character and wants the audience to feel nothing but hate towards them. this can be so pushy and exaggerated in the narrative that i defiantly find myself doing the opposite - removing all emotion, analyzing them from a purely meta perspective of what, exactly, makes them "hated" by the narrative.

torture porn. what it sounds like - excessive, gory violence which is so uncomfortable to look at it distracts from the story. this is, of course, appealing to some, its just VERY not for me. and if it focuses on the bodies of female characters, it oft becomes the more general societal ill of sexualized violence, which is its own can of worms.

can be deconstructed or reframed to call attention to sexism and the violence against women, such as in works like the handmaids tale. however, these tend not to be sexualized violence in the same way, because they're not framed to be tittilating.

strong woman = femme fatale. aka "badass woman as written by horny man." i tried to not pick too many tropes that are just "sexism", but i had to say something about this. and yes, i know there's plenty LGBT+ fans of this trope. i know that its not always bad to see sexualized characters. even if those characters are mainly women.

but there's just... something very annoying, when a male author is trying to do female empowerment, but it HAS to be in relation to her sexuality or attractiveness. its just such a "tell" that that's your main lens of looking at women. like ok. good to know "using your sexuality to lure men" is the only way you can conceptualize women as active characters. definitely doesn't just mean you need every female character to be hot.

characters being too smart / self-aware. by that i don't mean being "mary sues" or whatever. i mean when theyre so self-aware of their own flaws and issues that you don't really buy them as characters. this can work in a comedy, but it can be frustrating when employed in drama and works against the conflict.

a reason i can only "like" but not "love" atla is that i feel the characters would do this a bit too much. like when zuko explains directly to the camera how even at the age of 12 he totally knew the fire nation was evil and bad, despite all his cultural socialization and education pointing to them as rightful rulers and liberators.

think also when characters speak like their own therapists - totally aware of their own flaws and insecurities, like they were objective outsiders with writer clairvoyance rather than someone actually living through those problems. this CAN be earned, but often, its not.

endless escalation of villains. especially in relation to redemption.

i wrote this one last because i have a lot to say here. what i mean by "in relation to redemption", is this: lets say you want to redeem an antagonist. but you also want that former antagonist and the good guys to go on adventures together.

what do you do? you write in a BIGGER, BADDER antagonist, who is higher up / more powerful than the last one.

and if you defeat or redeem that one, you write in an EVEN BIGGER, SCARIER villain to be the True Evil, who is not afforded any of the humanity of the "lesser" villains and exists to be hated. usually someone who abused the previous antagonists.

i was actually a bit worried steven universe was gonna do this for a while. namely, when peridot had her confrontation with yellow diamond, and when it was revealed pink diamond was abused by the other diamonds. but thankfully, the show was consistent enough to humanize even its "worst" antagonists. it understands that the point of a "cycle of abuse" story isnt to destroy the source, but to see how everyone are products of their environments and capable of change.

unlike horde prime in spop / the fire lord in atla / the storm king in mlp / the core in amphibia / bill cipher in gravity falls / the beast in over the garden wall, etc etc etc.

its not that this trope can never be done well. its just that its an overdone cliche, and when continued in perpetuity, gives the impression that the only way redemption is possible is if there's someone "even worse" out there you can blame everything on. it reinforces black/white morality "but with rare exceptions" if you were a sad abused woobie rather than a true villain.

#not su /#(well not mainly)#tropes #writing

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iamafanofcartoons · 1 year

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Ah, c'mon. Female characters are only ever hated when they're poorly written. If they were male, they'd be just as hated. Calling anybody sexist is such a reach.

I mean, you really think that the likes of Team RWBY would be more liked if they were guys? Qrow? Ironwood? Got any solid examples? All I see from you lot is a bunch of accusations and hypotheticals.

C'mon. The FNDM's maddening but real bigots are few and far between.

Let me give you three examples of sexism from the RWBY Critics. And let me remind you that both men and women can be misogynists. The Republican Party of the USA is sure proof of that.

Now that we have the proof of RWBY Critics being nasty sexists out of the way. Let me go over Yang Xiao Long, since most straightshippers and rwby bashers love to hate on Yang.

Critics gnoring the fact that she losed a arm, got PTSD for like 3 volumes, saving the world from a immortal being. Edit: She's just not 24 hours all happy girl anymore like in the volumes 1-3….nobody is anymore after everything that happened. Because taking world ending stakes seriously, and not constantly being quippy doesn’t mean that someone is no longer fun. No, no, don't look at Yang pranking Nora during their arm wrestling match, making jokes about getting reward money for Weiss, or doing stunts on a hover bike. Giggling about Adrian? Pranking Penny with her arm? Joking about crashing the Schnee Party? RWBY Critics: Yang is no longer fun, she’s a Karen! Basically, critics have to ignore/forget/deny ANYTHING that disagrees with their negative views of women. If these people can't even understand a character after showing all his background, trauma and way of thinking, imagining understanding a real person you know nothing about. But seriously, things are less fun in general. Like, yeah V1-3 were school fun-times where the characters weren't even aware of the world ending threat working behind the scenes. Now they are, and they're trying to stop it, things are going to be less fun. Want an example of how Critics pretend to be blind and deaf? Adam Taurus: Introduced trying to blow up a train of passengers. Blake Belladonna: Introduced trying to stop him, and then joins Beacon, hoping to change the system from within. Volume 2: Adam literally tells Cinder that he finds his followers expendable. Blake is opening up to Yang and becomes more and more happy. RWBY Critics: Blake manipulated Adam, Blake is the reason Adam is evil, Blake should have saved Adam, Adam should have killed Blake. Yeah, I’d call that sexism. Let’s cover Robyn Hill

I’ve got some memes just for this But somehow Robyn is an evil terrorist? And Ironwood is somehow the savior? Ironwood, who constantly demands trust and talks about making difficult decisions while : A) repeatedly forbidding penny to have any friends and having her as a project done behind everyone’s back? B) Holding more government power than any other Council Member, and forbidding anyone not part of his military from being allowed to defend themselves or carry weapons (volume 7 chapter 2, clover ignoring Qrow’s license) C) Going behind Ozpin’s back to get the council to fire him for not giving James what he wants? D) Threatening Jacques and telling him to get on James’ good side while declaring closed borders WITHOUT the council’s permission? Threatening a civilian while declaring HIMSELF the council? E) That mech was put in Argus WITHOUT the people’s awareness or permission. Ironwood then installed a racist megalomaniac because she was fanatically loyal to him. But any woman standing against is immediately considered a war criminal? So yeah, the hatedom? Is misogynistic. I keep seeing men and women talking about how they want the female characters in RWBY to suffer. I keep seeing them throw slurs at fictional characters and towards the writers. If you don’t have anything respectful to say about the show unless it involves pushing cis white male OC/MC fanfics and talking about how your ideas are superior? Or you wanna talk about porn? Then you have nothing to contribute but Hatred, and you shouldn’t contribute at all.

#media criticism is dead #media literacy is dead #rwby is a good show #rwby is enjoyable #rwby #rwby fndm #rwby htdm #iamafanofcartoons #bad faith criticism #critical of critical #questions to ask yourself before criticizing

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a-christmas-carol-from-hr · 11 months

Text

The Marrying Kind

tw: period typical sexism

a/n: “writing the actual story” i sleep

“writing weird aus” real shit???

the shitty straights...but they’re victorian. im obsessed with my version of these guys so uh. content.

It was rare that Jorkins would invite his staff into his office for anything but work. Jacob Marley could only recall one other time in the period he had worked for him, and it was to make inquiries about a dockworker’s pretty sister. Marley, who had no pretty sister to his name, therefore could conceive of no reason as to why he was asked to come into Jorkins’ office one late November evening.

Jorkins sat behind his desk, as plump as a partridge and as smug as a lord. He gestured to the seat in front of him. A glass of port was already waiting.

“Mr. Marley! Please, sit.”

Marley did so, already calculating what this could possibly mean. If he was to be let go from the firm, surely Jorkins would not bother with the port. But why be so welcoming to a mere clerk? Was he being bribed? Had he seen something he shouldn’t? Jorkins’s embezzling was no worse than usual. What ever could be the issue?

“Thank you, sir.” Marley took the glass and sipped at it politely. Too rich for his blood. When he drank, it was cheaply. Easier to get to oblivion that way.

Jorkins made small talk on the business for a number of minutes, chatting on topics of the business and mutual contacts. Marley replied in the most proper of ways, always deferential, always polite.

It wasn’t until Jorkins had gotten warmed up from the port that he finally cut to the heart of the matter.

“Jacob, my boy, have you ever thought of marrying?”

Of all the things he expected his employer to say, he certainly hadn’t expected that.

“What?” Marley said.

Jorkins leaned back in his chair. “I have the fragment of an idea for you, my boy. A lucrative idea. There’s a girl who needs marrying, and a fortune to be gained. I simply need a free hand, and unfortunately my dear wife is disinclined to drop dead just for my sake.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You know Old Fezziwig, don’t you?”

Of course he did. Everyone did. He was the jolliest of bankers this side of the Thames. Everyone liked him, which was no small feat in the world of London finance. “Yes, sir.”

“The Old Man’s clever. I cannot say the same about his boy. Bellamy. You know him?” Yes, Marley knew of him as well. A handsome, strapping lad. He lived in his wealth like a contented lapdog, having never known the pain of hunger or want. He often stood at the exchange, laughing over a jest with his other rich friends. More than one of his lot had eyed Marley’s thin frame with a smirk.

“In passing.”

“He was engaged to be married. But he’s gone and broken it off with the girl.” Jorkins pulled out a ledger from under the desk. He flipped it to an open page. “Look here.”

It was a ledger from Fezziwig’s. Marley didn’t want to know how Jorkins had gotten this. He lowered his glasses from his forehead to take a look.

“If you’ll look, my boy, you’ll see Master Fezziwig has been employees as a bookkeeper for his father. No doubt to prime him for the business.”

Marley glanced over the page. And he couldn’t help but wince.

“Pardon me speaking so candidly sir. But this is awful.”

“Hah! It’s no insult to me! The boy can’t figure! He’s made as many errors here as he’s gotten things right! And this is the nicest of pages. But look here.” Jorkins flipped ahead. “There’s a new hand starting here.”

There was indeed. Bellamy was still signing to verify the work, but the actual mathematics were being done in a new hand. The handwriting was solid, with little flourishes or fuss. The mathematics were impeccable.

“A new clerk?” Marley asked.

“No, my boy,” Jorkins explained. “It was his fiancé. She was keeping the books for him.”

Marley’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Don’t look so shocked! A woman’s brain can be just as useful as a man’s. I don’t judge on sex of money can be made from it. And money can be made from her brain. She’s a regular Ada Lovelace. I met her in passing at Fezziwig’s and she’s by far the smartest person in that firm.”

“I am sure, sir.”

“The damn fool of a boy has broken off the engagement. Something happened between the pair. Whatever it was, it was enough to leave rumors. I suspect that she’s rather in a difficult situation regarding her prospects. Currently she is living off an entailment from a dead sister, but her situation is growing dire. I made an overture to her of my thoughts, and I suspect she’d be willing. Especially since it’d give her something like employment. Lord, if she isn’t ambitious! A regular Lady MacBeth.”

“And this woman, your Lady MacBeth, you want me to marry her?”

“I’ll level with you, my boy. She’s no beauty. She’s sharp and as hard as a flint, and she hasn’t a dowry to her name. But the girl is a genius, my boy. And I want that genius. I can’t employ a girl as a clerk, but I can make use of the wife of my clerk. Besides! She is your age. I wonder if you can’t make use of her in your own way!” He chortled. Marley smiled thinly.

“Of course I’d double your pay for support of your wife, of course. A man cannot keep such a creature on a clerk’s salary alone. So what do you think, hm? Shall I ring the wedding bells?”

Marley slid his glasses up his forehead. He thought for a moment.

“I want partnership in the firm.”

Jorkins laughed. “Clever boy! A partner for a partner. Very well.”

And then he was engaged. Jorkins returned the next day saying the girl had agreed, and that they’d be wed as soon as the month of waiting was up.

It didn’t change much. He went to work, he went home, he found some way to amuse himself, and he went back to work. The addition of a betrothed really didn’t alter much in his day to day life. Especially because he’d not even seen the woman he was to have for better or worse. Jorkins had described her as a shrew, but Jorkins’s taste in women tended to the buxom and brainless. Marley wasn’t sure he was a reliable narrator.

He didn’t see this Ellen Scrooge until a week before he was to marry her. He’d been engaged at his desk, trying to figure out a way to manage the gaping hole in the coffers his employer had left, when the door opened. A rustle of skirts passed by his desk.

“I want to see Mr. Jorkins.” A low voice said.

“Occupied.” Marley said, thinking of the dockworker’s sister who had just gone in. “You’d best return in an…” he thought about her again. “Hour.” He estimated.

“I will not.” The voice said firmly. “Kindly give him this. I won’t be kept.”

Marley sighed and looked up.

Standing before him was a stern looking woman of about 27. Her face was young, but her hair was already tarnished a rich silver. The pallor of her hair was only set off by the dark of her dress. She was in mourning clothes, outdated mourning clothes at that. Her mouth twisted into a frown as she glared at him.

For a moment he could not breathe. And it had nothing to do with his lungs.

He took the document without speaking. She nodded sharply and then left. The scent of ink and chrysanthemum lingered behind her.

Marley blinked once. And then again. He looked down at the letter. There, in the same handwriting as had been in the ledger, was the address of one ‘E. Scrooge’.

His evening rambles took him not to Convent Garden for once. He found himself in the nicer end of the financial district, being glared at by rich toffs who had never worked a day in their life. Jorkins’s increase in pay had gone into effect the day he’d agreed to the match. Most of it had been spent on payment towards a new set of rooms, as his previous domain was hardly a place of respectability. But enough remained of the newly minted junior partner’s pay for amusement. He’d spent much of it on wine and women, but tonight he simply didn’t feel interested.

He found himself looking into a jeweler’s store with an idle eye. Perhaps he’d merely stopped to catch his breath. The jeweler looked at him questioningly, a smile on his face.

“Can I help you sir?”

It was a waste of money. He knew that. But he supposed he really shouldn’t show up to his own wedding without a ring.

“How much for that one?”

He had it sent to the address that narrow hand had scrawled on the envelope. Let her do as she will with it, he soothed himself. It really is the most practical of solutions.

When the day he was to be made a married man dawned, Marley noted with some surprise that it was Christmas Eve. When he mentioned it to Jorkins, the financier replied only with a laugh. It had been cheaper that day, he explained. Nobody wanted it.

A normal day of work was only shortened by an hour so that Marley could go home to his new lodgings and refresh himself. His best suit of clothes would suffice enough for this affair, even if the browns and reds of his clothes hardly seemed the most cheerful. It was going on six when he departed for Jorkins’s house. The minister would meet them there. No need for the cost of a church wedding.

He was greeted with an enthusiastic (and somewhat drunk) Jorkins at the door. “I’m glad you did not elope to the colonies!” He said with a laugh. “Come. Come. Earn your promotion.”

The blushing bride to be was hardly blushing. She stood by the window, back to the door as she looked out on the streets. It appeared that she too was reusing an existing dress, a practicality Marley appreciated. Her dress was a dark purple, barely a shade away from being black. Was that a bad omen? Marley had no idea.

She turned her silver head when Jorkins called her name. “Well, let’s not beat around the bush! There will be plenty of time for that later!” He said with a smile.

The bride kept her composure even as a flush settled in her cheeks. She didn’t like Jorkins, Marley realized with an amused smirk that he quickly hid. She was clever.

The minister was altogether too sincere for such an occasion. He waxed philosophical about the nature of the holiday and the loving vows they were about to take, evidently unaware of the nature of the deal both bride and groom were making. Their silence shook his nerves after ten minutes of sermon, and he quickly moved onto the vows.

“I will.” Said Marley.

“I will.” Said Ellen.

And that was that.

Jorkins put on a bit of a supper for the occasion. His wife, a winsome woman entirely undeserving of such a philanderer of a husband, attempted to engage the new bride in conversation. But talking to Ellen of wifely affairs was like trying to talk to stone. She gave one word replies, looking down at her hands as she spoke. Only when Jorkins engaged her in talks of business did she show some semblance of life. She was indeed as clever as he’d been told.

The end of the dinner came, and the two departed in a cab to Marley’s lodgings. What few possessions Ellen had had been sent over the night before. For all intents and purposes, they were one. At least in the eyes of the law. There was the matter of…consummation.

Jorkins had leered at him as he left, his smile becoming ever more wicked by the moment. “Do enjoy yourself, my boy. Make sure the quill gets plenty of ink.”

Ellen’s hands only grew more interlocked as they arrived. Mrs. Dilber, the new housekeeper, had prepared both bedrooms to taste. Ellen departed to her room without a word, closing the door heavily behind her.

Exactly what was supposed to happen next was no mystery to Marley. He’d done it just the night before, in the arms of Convent Garden’s finest harlot one could get for five pounds. A marriage required certain sacrifices, after all. It wasn’t legitimate until made so.

He took the ribbon from his hair as he undressed, all the while thinking of something Jorkins had said. Something happened between the pair. Whatever it was, it was enough to leave rumors. I suspect that she’s rather in a difficult situation regarding her prospects.

He thought of the clench of her hands. He thought of the way she had eyed him, like she was waiting for something.

…Legalities be damned. He’d not bother her if she didn’t bother him.

Jacob Marley spent his wedding night reading over the ledgers he’d have to fix on Boxing Day. Whatever it was his new wife was doing, he had no idea. But when he encountered her in the morning, there was something akin to relief in her face.

“You’ve made a mistake in that ledger.” She said, pointing to it with a slender finger. A ring adorned her hand. “I’ll show you.”

“By all means.” He said.

And so it began.

#a christmas carol #ebenezer scrooge #Jacob Marley #scrooge x marley #the christmas carol retelling thing

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