#just because not every sentence is perfect or groundbreaking
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Hola a todos!!
I wanted to make my first post on here about the desired reality that I'm currently focused on. This being my Hogwarts dr. Not Harry Potter, Hogwarts. We'll get to that in a minute. Just a note before we go any further as well, I took huge chunks out of my script when re-writing it here because it's quite lengthy, and all you guys need is the gist. Without further ado here is...
Hogwarts
[ a script ]
INTRO
“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all those who live without love,” - Albus Dumbledore. I am a 3rd year at Hogwarts School of Wizardry, and I have plans to become a dragon-keeper/dragonologist.
WHERE I ARRIVE
I am riding the Hogwarts express on my way to the Hogwarts School of Wizardry for my first day of year 3.
Our (Fred and I) train carriage smells distinctly like coffee and vanilla beans.
ABOUT ME
Things
- Name = OR name
- 15 years old
- Birthday = February 27th
- I am a full-blood.
- I am an optimistic extrovert.
Background
- Basically long story short my parents died in a house fire when I was 7 and I've been living with my adopted family ever since I was 9.
Appearance
- I don't have a face claim because I just script that I have my desired appearance and let my subconscious fill in the rest. But I guess some unique things that I've written down are:
Food doesn't affect my health or weight.
This just makes life so much easier. No second guessing that extra cookie or unnecessary guilt/shame for "unhealthy" cravings.
I am immune to any facial blemishes, acne, hyper pigmentation, large pores, blackheads, etc. My skin is flawless in every way and is always completely clear.
I'm a little bit of a perfectionist, guys, if you haven't already figured out, but only where it counts. I don't buy into the whole idea that you have to script in flaws for your dr to be "realistic" and meaningful. My motto is, "Even if the world is burning and crashing down around me, at least I'm hot."
(My nails) are indestructible, so they never break when I don't want them to.
Don't mind me, just taking out any minor inconvenience wherever I can. 🧍🏽♂️
Skills
- I can sing really well.
- I am fluent in 6 languages: English, Spanish, French, Korean, and Russian + ESL. I am immune to losing fluency in any of these languages.
- I can play chess well.
- My reading pace is 20 spp (seconds per page)
I completely just made that up btw, i don't think that spp is an actual thing. 💀
- I am an amazing artist. My style is so fun. I can easily draw anything and turn it into a masterpiece.
- I can play the piano really well. I am skilled at playing by ear.
You know essentially all of your default run of the mill dark academia associations. Piano playing, chess, speaking Russian, etc etc.
SCHOOL
Academia/status
So I'll just show the first few sentences of each bullet I created because the rest is just fluff.
I get 100%'s on all my tests, assignments, assessments, etc, without fail. I literally am incapable of getting less than perfection on everything. I always get homework and tests done fast with A++ accuracy. I am an excellent student. During a test, I could close my eyes and fill in random answers, and still get full marks on every question.
900 IQ groundbreaking big brain energy with this one everyone (being sarcastic obvi). Why should I work harder when I can...well damn not work at all right?
I am so popular. Everyone absolutely loves me. I am the main character. I live the most exciting teen dream filled life. My life is so interesting and fun, it's like a literal movie. My life is like that one part of the song Art Deco. I can live in the present easily and live each day moment to moment. Everything in my life is perfect. Everyday is an adventure.
I swear I have that song on loop in my head. Lana Del Rey is our lord and savior. 🙏 ❤️
As well as having a separate living area for each house, there is also a designated study space that is outside of the school for each house. The study space is open for students 24/7.
It's such bull that in the movies and books, they have a curfew. No one cares that I'm off doing my hot girl shit hitting them books at 12 am.
Schedule
(First class starts at 8:45 and last class ends at 2:30)
◗ 1rst period - Core class: Potions
◗ 2nd period - Core class: Herbology
◗ 3rd period - All school year: Study Hall (45 minutes)
◗ 4th period - Elective: Astronomy (1rst semester)
◗ 4th period - Elective: Transfiguration of charms (2nd semester)
◗ 5th period - All school year: Lunch
◗ 6th period - Elective: Divination (1rst semester)
◗ 6th period - Elective: Care of Magical Creatures (2nd semester)
◗ 7th period - Core class: History of Magic
◗ 8th period - Defense Against the Dark Arts
FRIENDS/FAMILY
Family
- Adam Rabon & Lowell Rabon: Adam and Lowell, 38 and 36, are my dads. My parents have been in a loving relationship since Adam was 22 and Lowell was 20. They are in a happy and healthy relationship with each other and will be with each other until death do them part. They are both full-bloods.
- Tobi Rabon: Tobi is my younger brother by 9 years. We have a really strong sibling bond, and my parents adopted him when he was 5 about a year ago.
- Natalie Rabon: Natalie is my aunt on Adam's side. She is a half-blood.
- Aaliyah Haughton: Aaliyah is my aunt on Lowell's side. She is a full-blood.
- 🧸 Fred Weasley: Me and Fred have been friends for 7 years. My family has been longtime customers to the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley. We live very close to the Weasley house.
Friends/Other People
- *TB* Benjamin Wadsworth
- *TB* Someone from my OR
- (Mar) Marlon Wayans
SAFETY
- I am immune from any diseases, illnesses/sicknesses, or any other health impairments (such as lice, and etc.)
- My safeword to leave and go to my OR is "Jumanji", I can't forget this safeword.
- 1 second in or = 1 year in dr
- I have a high pain tolerance.
- I can only die from old age.
- I have an infinite amount of money to spend.
- Neither do Harry Potter or he who shall not be named exist in this reality.
They can both take their raggedy petty ass drama to another reality + (disclaimer: I am not talking about Daniel Radcliffe), Harry seems like he'd be super annoying irl. Anyways, side tangent over.
- I have all my desired clothes and accessories.
- Everything in my dr tastes, looks, feels, sounds, and smells 10x better than my or.
So that's the end of the blog. If you want me to go more in-depth about different parts of my script that I left out, pm me, and we'll talk! I'm still trying to figure out Tumblr, so I don't even know if pms are a thing on here. Okay okay I'm done for now. Happy shifting everyone! ☆☆☆
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Do you have any reiner headcanons or thoughts? I want him so bad 😭
bold of you to assume that I don’t always have reiner thoughts floating somewhere in the dark abyss of my mind
> geral smut & fluff headcanons for Reiner (nsfw below the cut)
Reiner absolutely lives for the slow, lazy mornings in which he wakes up first, having the chance to feel your body curled up against his. He smells your hair, trying to ground himself, and squeezes you a little tighter, pulls you a little closer (but not enough to wake you). Also, he pretends to be asleep when you finally start to come back to consciousness, and nine out of ten times you don’t buy it;
Has a secret pinterest board for future wedding inspiration (and all the brides remind him of you);
It’s subtle, but Reiner wholeheartedly loves to spoil you — he buys you your favorite sweets, randomly takes you out in romantic dates (or even simpler ones, like watching some dumb remake in the movies), and lives for the sweet, overwhelmed look you give him every time he does. It’s the happiest he ever feels — or, really, any other time he’s with you;
Reiner cried the first time you two watched The Conjuring and you will never let him forget it;
The first time you two met, he got so flustered that he couldn’t even go through more than two sentences without tripping over his words. That night, he got home and drunkenly called his mom saying that he met the most beautiful woman in the world;
Look at me in the eyes and tell me that man isn’t a gym rat. He is. And he’s always posting these thirst traps on Instagram, all sweaty and shirtless while being completely unaware of the effect he has on you;
While we’re taking about social media — Reiner doesn’t like to use it more than the bare minimum. At the same time, there’s five people in his close friends (yourself included) who have the pleasure of seeing his absolutely unhinged side when he decides to become more active. Probably tried to have a finsta for like a week but gave up;
You two only got out on a date in the first place because Annie stole his phone and asked you out, otherwise he would never have the guts to do it himself. Reiner almost fainted when he found out, and then truly passed out when he saw that you said yes;
Will act as if he doesn’t like matching costumes, but 100% does. Makes you take a billion pictures before you even leave the house. Videos too.
nsfw below the cut
Listen. Reiner doesn’t look like the part, but he loves home-made movies. You’re adamant about him not filming your face or anything that would identify you, but he doesn’t mind. Reiner loves to film you from the back, his large hand grabbing onto your ass possessively as the other records his fat cock sinking in and out of you. Spank bank material for months;
#1 fan of tit jobs. Will cum embarrassingly quickly, spilling himself all over your tits and your neck and face. Licks you clean right away;
Reiner having a huge cock & balls is not a groundbreaking headcanon, but he also cums a lot. Like, ridiculous, almost inhuman amounts. He’s really insecure about it when you two first meet, but the way your eyes roll back when he’s filling you up and there’s so much of it that it’s just soaking the bed, he starts to rethink those issues. It’s always fun to see how much you can take before you start whining about being too full, and sometimes it excites him so much that he fills you up even more;
Muscle worship. Will absolutely lose his mind if you’re biting, touching and licking all over him, praising his hard work in the gym and the amazing results he has achieved;
Makes out with you for hours, cannot get enough of your mouth on his or those pretty sounds you let out;
Gets super focused when he’s about to cum, fucking you hard and deep while he runs his mouth about how good you feel, how perfect your pussy is, how much he wants to fill you up. And when Reiner is right there, tipping over the edge, he says that he loves you again and again until his voice gives out and he groans in euphoria;
I have gone into extensive detail about Reiner will a size kink so I will not elaborate any further. But. Reiner with a size kink;
Lastly... even though Reiner gravitates towards a more dominating posture in bed, he’s surprisingly easy to deal with as a submissive. The way you take over him is calm and supporting, makes him melt into the bed as you ride his cock slowly, taking your time as your hands explore his body. He damn near cries when you praise him, when you tell him what a good, obedient boy he’s being. When you tell him that you love him so much that you’ll let him do anything he wants with you. Reiner always cums the hardest like this, gripping your hips as his back arches off the mattress, cock throbbing and releasing thick waves of cum inside your tight pussy. He could die happy like this.
#attack on titan smut#reiner#reiner headcanons#reiner fluff#reiner x you#reiner smut#reiner x reader#snk smut
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Ship game!! What about Nico and Will?? It’s pretty popular, but I don’t think I’ve seen you write much of it…
That's an interesting one in that I have vocalized my reasons for disliking it way back when it first became popular but instead of just linking that, it has been years so I think it's time for an updated version.
Firstly: This post is gonna be properly tagged and not crosstagged so if any shipper comes across it and feels the need to bitch about it, just don't; your lack of curating your own tumblr experience is not my problem! ;D
Now, there are three key factors that play into my dislike of this ship: How it was written, what it represents, how the fandom around it acts.
1. It’s rushed and uncomfortable
In BoO, it was incredibly rushed. They had literally five sentences of interactions before they walked into the literal sunset together. Five. It was just entirely born from Riordan's Noah's Ark Complex, where he just can't let people be single. The series was ending and he needed Nico to have an endgame so he rushed into some random romance with zero build-up.
The way their interactions went down was also severely uncomfortable for me. Will was acting so offended by Nico not wanting to go to camp and be friends in an entitled way that he had no right to be, he downright guilt-tripped Nico about how he had wanted to be friends. Nico has been just so severely traumatized at such a young age and his coping mechanism, as unhealthy as it was, was to run away and hide. Will acted like Nico not wanting to form attachments to people who could potentially leave him again was somehow just an Edgy Emo Decision and not a direct reaction to his trauma. His entire approach to Nico was basically all these hippie posts of "Don't have depression!! Just go out into the sun and stop being depressed!", which is already a bad take with non-medical people but he's supposed to be a doctor (and let's not get into the shadiness of him technically being Nico's doctor).
There is also an inherent "I can fix him" angle to this ship and to me, only few ship dynamics are more uncomfortable than that. If you want to fundamentally change a person's behavior and personality, you... don't actually want to be with this person.
Now, here's where my points overlap, because the following parts of their writing that bothers me also stand for what this ship fundamentally represents.
2. Solangelo is a queer ship written by and for straights
I'm a queer woman and as a queer woman, I want queer wish-fulfillment, not what straights want out of queerness. I'm kind of tired of that, I've been sitting through it for enough decades now. That's, of course, not to say that no straight writer can give proper queer representation, but far too often do straight writers - even the most well-meaning ones - project straight desires of queerness into their queer representation.
Let me explain that closer through this ship.
Nico's been in love with Percy for years and I'm going to do my best to not hijack this post with some Percico agenda; that's not what this his about, this isn't some "my ship is better than your ship" ship-war nonsense. It's simply a canonical fact that Nico has had romantic feelings for another character for years.
A character who, in this medium, is heterosexual. And if you're queer, you've been there. In love with your straight best friend. It's a cliche, but it's a cliche for a reason.
We have also all been well-meaningly rejected by said straight friend.
And here's the straight desires for you: The queer person who was in love with a straight person just immediately stops having those feelings and will then as quickly as possible fall in love with the next queer person they meet to be happy and no longer uncomfortably in love with a straight person, because that thought makes the straights uncomfortable.
Queer wish-fulfillment would be for Percy to return those feelings, for the queer character to get his first love, to not be rejected. That thing queer teens always dreamed about for themselves.
Aside from the wish-fulfillment angle, the pacing is another problem. Let me repeat, Nico was in love for years. But a five sentence conversation with Will once causes a crush on Will and we see him physically turn away from Percy and toward Will just immediately to rebound and actually fall out of love with Percy and in love with Will. Anyone who's ever been unlucky in love will attest to just how unrealistic and ridiculous the pacing here is.
It's also straight queerness in another respect; Nico has been the first ever queer character we meet in that world. He loves a straight guy - and to get over that, we introduce the second queer character. Because heaven forbid there are multiple queers to pick from. No, in straight-written queer romances, there is always that one main queer and then they introduce a second one and the two just immediately hit it off and develop a romance like all a queer person needs to form attraction to someone is the confirmation that the other person shares your sexuality.
Also the notable gay guy on gay guy ship here, whereas the more queer-wish-fulfillment option would have also included more nuance to the queer experience, because Percy doesn't have to be heterosexual just because he has only been with girls so far. It's a very old-fashioned - think 90s and early 2000s - kind of straight-written queerness that there are only exactly two homosexuals and that those two homosexuals then pair up.
And, listen, I'm not immune to these outdated straight-written queers entirely, I have many such ships that I grew up with that I am still fond of because they were groundbreaking at that time and they weren't outdated yet back when they happened in said 90s and early 2000s. I am however a grown woman now and just like I have grown, so has queer rep so I am not as easily baited into falling onto my knees in gratitude for canon rep. You have to go with the times. And this ship, by all that is given to us, is just entirely outdated straight-written rep.
Which, I mention earlier that even straight-written rep can be good. If the author tries. Riordan doesn't really try though; he does the bare minimum when he writes any of his rep - and there have been many, many more qualified voices being very vocal about his depiction of people of color and, as a woman, I've been vocal about his depiction of women. I don't want to derail this post with all of that, but I do think that it bears mentioning that Riordan doing rep but only doing a bare minimum and not putting in the necessary work to deepen the representation he wants to give is a repeating pattern that has been pointed out many times by now.
(I’d also like to point out that no, it is not just the ship and not just the listed instances that make it straight-written rep for straights. It’s Nico’s entire queer arc, starting with his forced coming out. A severely traumatizing event that is completely brushed over because the straight author doesn’t understand the impact this has on queer people. Not to mention the framework; Nico’s coming out isn’t Nico’s story, it happens in Jason’s POV, it is given to us through the POV of the straight bystander who gets to be Best Ally by assuring Nico that being gay is okay. This kind of coming out is not a queer wish-fulfillment, it’s a straight wish-fulfillment of getting to be the straight savior, the ally to show the gay the light of acceptance. And, additional to the ridiculous pacing of how fast Nico gets over his love for Percy, Nico also gets over years of internalized homophobia just because of, I don’t know, Jason’s few encouraging words and the fact that Will paid attention to him? For a gay kid who was in the closet all his life, the nonchalant way in which he publicly confessed his crush to Percy at the end made absolutely no sense and was written as basically a joke, finished off with Nico literally high-fiving Percy’s girlfriend despite those two never having seen eye to eye before but this is straight wish-fulfillment so all straights are Super Allies, because that’s the way straights want to see themselves, even though Annabeth has shown before just how jealous she can be and she most definitely wouldn’t go around high-fiving people who confess to her boyfriend. Nothing about Nico’s queer arc in HoO felt natural or queer or satisfying.)
Sure, Solangelo on a surface level is big because it's a canon queer couple in a YA book-series and kudos for that and yay for the kids who get to grow up seeing queers in YA books, but I actually do think that kids growing up with books written in the 2010s shouldn't grow up with 1990s levels of representation, because the 2010s overall are actually at a far more nuanced and better level of representation when it comes to queerness. And I do reserve the right to quit on too straight-written and too outdated queer rep in a landscape where I can get more satisfying representation elsewhere; we don’t live in times anymore where you necessarily have to love every bit of rep because it’s the only one you get.
Now that we've gone through my first two gripes, let's wrap this up with the final point, because it also directly ties into this.
3. The new wave of antis hiding behind this ship
A huge part of the fandom is so busy kissing Riordan's ass solely for giving them queer rep at all they think that both the author and the ship are beyond flawless and that kind of attitude is not good. Just because an author includes rep doesn't make either perfect. Absolutely no one is beyond critique - especially not when said critique comes from the very people the author is representing. And even beyond any "valid" critique on the ship, quite frankly, someone should also be allowed to just not like it, without any reasons given at all.
But there is a certain... protective obsessiveness about this ship that doesn't allow a not liking. Very similar to how PJO bore this mindset around Perc/abeth already. It's okay to have OTPs, even OTPs that you have a blindspot for and just don't want to see any flaws in. It is however not okay to then go around attacking people who don't like the thing and mind their own business.
Solangelo's bred a new generation of antis in this fandom. And, particularly with the fact that this post too receives an "anti" tag, I feel like there needs to be a clarification (because tumblr likes to forget what actually makes an anti). Not liking something doesn't make you an anti, venting in properly tagged posts doesn't either; it's the people who harass others, who seek out the content they dislike to then complain that it even exists and who actively try to make others stop creating for it - those are antis.
And with Solangelo's popularity, there was a high rise in Percico antis, who sought it out, were unnecessarily nasty about it, harrassed creators and tried to enforce some kind of "Solangelo supremacy" that won't allow other ships for the characters.
I've been in fandom long enough to be perfectly aware that not all Solangelo shippers count into this category and that there are completely normal and nice Solangelo shippers, but this is a Venn diagram where the overlap between Solangelo shippers and antis is too large to not widely associate the nasty people with the ship itself. (I've been there myself, shipping the very ship behind which a fandom's antis all hid. The second-hand embarrassment of having these people give the ship a bad name is horrendous and I do feel bad for all the normal Solangelo shippers.)
The more often I encountered these people, who made Percico bad (sometimes in wildly ridiculous manners that bent and deliberately misinterpreted canon) and who in the same breath praised Solangelo high, the more tired I grew of that ship. It's a simple game of association, really. You see that linked to the gross and nasty behavior and you start associating the ship itself with that gross and nasty behavior - and with all the things I said before that already weighed into my dislike of the ship, this just was the final tipping point, really.
And that's it. That sums up why I dislike Solangelo. It was hastily rushed, uncomfortable in its execution, it is outdated rep that very much feels as straight-written as it factually is and it does not feel aimed at me as a queer person but rather at the straight audience and it has gathered a cult following of quite uncomfortable people who on their own would be reason enough to avoid it so you can avoid them.
Send me a ship and I will explain why I do or don't ship it
#Anti Solangelo#PJOverse#Riordan Critical#Shipping#Ship Ask Game#send me asks#it IS both a positive AND negative game#and I gotta admit#it is nice to put these things#into proper words#every once in a while
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What We Inherit - Ushijima x Reader
Summary: Ushijima’s childhood has a greater effect on him than he lets on and you only just start to realize once you meet his parents. (~2.6k words)
Warnings: divorce discussion, angst with a soft ending, character study of a sort?, sfw
A/N: Ushijima needs more background so here’s me trying to grasp at straws for an understanding of his character.
---
Ushijima favors his mother, you realize suddenly.
Not favor in a preference sort of way - while you can tell he’s an attentive son (to the point that you are worried he is too much so, stiffer than usual and mildly anxious), you realize the reason why your gaze lingers a little too much on the details of her face and the way she walks when she rises out of her seat is because she is so much like him. Or rather, he is like her.
For some reason, this sudden recognition is groundbreaking.
After all, it’s odd to compare this small, unassuming woman to your boyfriend who frankly embodies strength, but the links of blood are there, and obviously so. You can see him in the same hazel eyes that seem to pierce through you, the smile that is soft and polite but restricted, and even the way she walks, back straight and shoulders squared in confidence but touched with a feminine grace.
When your eyes blink and reopen, he looks almost exactly like her.
“You took a long time to visit,” she admonishes him once he returns from storing away the fresh fruit he’d brought as gifts to sit beside you in the living room. Her tone is not exactly harsh but it’s not exactly teasing, and she doesn’t look at him while she speaks - she’s too focused on you. Before you can take the time to further dissect her sentence and decide if the tension you’re feeling in the air is imagined or not, she shifts gears.
“Is he good to you?” She asks you suddenly, her eyes that are his not leaving yours as she brings a cup of perfectly tepid tea to her lips.
It’s such a direct statement that you’re startled by it. It gets to the crux of your meeting without need for pleasantries; in fact, she hasn’t asked you anything past your name, and you wonder if it’s because she doesn’t care, if she plans to ask later or if Wakatoshi has told her all she needed to know about you.
You immediately eke out a “Yes, of course,” however, because it’s true. He is good to you. He’s been nothing but good to you for the past couple of years, and even though you’ve only been dating officially for the past year, he’s promised you he will continue to be this way for as long as he lives. It’s almost irresponsible that he says something so definitively, but you trust him with all your heart.
She seems satisfied with this answer because she smiles and sets her teacup on the table with barely a sound. “I’m glad.”
Her smile is like his too, you take note. When you turn to glance at Wakatoshi, he too is smiling down at you, filled to the brim with pride and affection.
---
The Ushijima family home had started off intimidating but had become warm, much like him, as time passed. That ease began with his mother relaxing out of a kneeling position into a seating position and finally asking you about yourself.
It turns out Wakatoshi had spoken to her about you, although some of her details were incorrect, and for with every clarification you ended up making, you could see his ears grow pinker and pinker by the second.
His mother, of course, didn’t notice, her eyes growing wide and nodding intently as you gave her more and more details about your life as though she were hearing things for the first time.
“I told you all these things, Mother,” he finally intercepted when he’d felt that the constant barrage of questions had started to overwhelm you, although it seemed he was the one being overwhelmed by the exchange between you two.
You gave him a glance in surprise, as did she, and then she nodded, folding her hands together, the stiffness and extreme formality returning slightly to her demeanor. It made you a little upset, the way she seemed to retreat back into her shell, and you pouted ever so slightly at him.
Picking up on your pout, his mother finally teased, “Wakatoshi-kun’s always been serious like that, ever since he was a child.”
It was a bit ironic to see this very poised woman also call her son ‘serious’, but you smiled weakly in response, reaching over to hold his hand.
There you noticed again that he was stiff even if his face was unreadable as always. For a split second, you wondered if there was a flash of resentment you saw in his features, but you decided that that too, you had imagined.
“I suppose I can show you some childhood photos. That’s what’s normally done at meetings like this, is that not so?”
Without waiting for an answer, she rose and whisked out of the room, leaving you and Toshi to each other.
Once she was out of earshot, you squeezed his hand tightly.
“She’s very nice, Toshi, you should have brought me sooner,” you whispered with a soft playful pat on his shoulder. He didn’t offer much but a soft hmph in response, so instead you scanned the room, taking in the sparse decorations in the living room.
Most of the decor was traditional and minimalistic and separating from Wakatoshi, you gravitated towards a display case in the corner. As expected, trophies and ribbons from his matches were proudly shown here along with other trinkets and knick-knacks.
What surprised you was a picture slightly tucked away in the corner of Wakatoshi, much smaller, smiling and clearly as carefree as any well-affirmed child would be, resting comfortably on the shoulders of a then-young man with a matching grin. Next to them was his mother, also younger, her hair loose and flowing, unlike the semi-neat bun she wore today, and just as genuinely happy as they were. Her arms wrapped affectionately around the man you presumed to be Ushijima’s father, and her eyes were almost closed, squinting cheerfully in the bright sun.
They looked so happy, you remarked. Even if it was in the past, it was a nice memory to be brought to the forefront, not something to be stashed away.
Unconsciously you reached for it for a closer look, not realizing your boyfriend was behind you, peering over your shoulder.
“I found the album,” His mother announced, peeling your attention away from the snapshot in time. You still had the picture in your hands when you quickly went back to sit, and jokingly, you pointed out:
“I think I found a good one already!”
His mother took one glance and for a split second, you could see her placid demeanor break, but then she let out a soft chuckle without further comment, instead opening the heavy photo album to gush about her perfect son.
---
The short-lived shaken expression on once-Mrs. Ushijima’s face haunted you longer than you expected, and you found that you were still thinking about it long after you had left the home and were back home with your lover.
“Toshi,” you finally ventured to ask, now under the cover of night as you lay in bed together just moments before sleeping. He moved ever so slightly, his heavy arm shifting from draped over your shoulder to over your midsection to make it easier for you to turn to face him, which you did promptly in the dark. “Did your mother ever consider getting remarried?”
“I don’t think so.”
You paused, carefully choosing your next words. You wanted to ask him if what you’re sensing, he’s sensed, this very small bit of remorse that you picked up. Maybe it was too much to assume, so instead you end up saying nothing.
He picked up on your need to say more and interlaced his fingers with yours, pulling your arm up so that he could press the back of your hand to his lips.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m not upset about them, not at all. Besides, step-siblings might have made things complicated.”
What you wanted to ask was, does your mother regret it?
---
A year and a half later, in sunny California, you’re seated side-by-side with your Toshi and before you is a smiling man who looks every bit as cheerful as the man who carried his son on his shoulders in that single image burned in your memory.
Again, you realize Ushijima favors his father.
Admittedly, not as much as his mother, but you still see him in the broadness of his hands, the animated and focused way in which he talks about work, in the way he listens intently to your every word, although his eyes aren’t as sharp as Ushijima and his mother’s - they’re soft, round and brown and they’re surrounded by the beginnings of crow’s feet.
Ushijima is noticeably more relaxed around his father, you note, but the same bit of tension fills the warm air when Mr. Utsui asks you when the wedding is.
“We haven’t decided yet,” he cuts in, speaking for you now even though you had reached a steady pattern of conversation with his father. You’re a little bit annoyed at the curt way he interjects, but especially at the fact that he does this, when you’ve been not so subtly talking about marriage for a couple months now.
In fact, it’s when you shift from talking about your future together in grand terms (let’s buy a house, let’s have three kids, maybe a dog) and instead specifically bringing up when to be wed that you realize he cares more about his parents’ failed marriage then he lets on.
A ring didn’t stop them from separating, he insists. To you, it sounds initially like I don’t know if I want to marry you, but you know in the depth of your heart that he would choose you over himself any day.
But the concept of marriage itself bothers him and while you sympathize with him, it’s hard for you to let go of the idea of a ring, a pretty white dress, and taking his name.
It’s with that same premise that he’s visibly irritated by his father’s abrupt joke, and you and Mr. Utsui are both taken aback when you see the visibly irritated expression on his face, but his dad laughs loudly to defuse the situation.
“Jumping the gun there, aren’t I?” he says, reaching across the table to affectionately pat his son’s shoulder. “You just look so comfortable together! In fact, it reminds me of your mother and I back in the day.”
The statement meant to palliate him makes the situation all the more precarious.
Really, it’s careless the way his father says it so easily, and you can see the comment has hit something deep inside your Toshi by the very slight tension you see in his jaw and the way his eyes narrow. It’s as though, in a single sentence, his father has both denied his childhood pains and plainly uttered a curse onto your relationship, and Wakatoshi won’t allow it.
“Please refrain from comparing us to the two of you in any way from now on.”
His words are controlled, precise and seething, and you wince reflexively. The sugary sweet, half-eaten stack of pancakes in front of you no longer seems appetizing, but you pick off a blueberry with your fork and eat it to give you something to do while your heart pounds.
What will his father say in his defense?
“You’re right,” Takashi says - he wants you to call him by his first name because you are important to his son - with an understanding nod, his eyes still kind despite the fact that his son’s look is almost menacing, even if he doesn’t intend to be.
“You’re not at all like us.”
---
In the quiet aftermath of the tense brunch date, you finally decided to give up on the idea of a wedding.
You could argue that there was always therapy, but you weren’t sure to what extent the old wounds inflicted so early and so neatly tucked away could be healed with talk and introspection. No longer were they simply wounds but reminders of the following:
Marriages fail. Love doesn’t always last.
You inched a little closer to him as you walked together on the beach through the night, unsure if your increased need for closeness was related to the chill of the small breeze picking up from the waves or because you were starting to wonder if Ushijima’s father was wrong.
What if you were the same? What if you did end up like them? Thousands of miles apart, with uncomfortable painful memories of each other and a son who repressed his resentment… There was no way to know, was there?
You stopped suddenly, your heels digging into the sand as you broke the pregnant silence between you two.
“Toshi,” you murmured softly. Still holding your hand, he turned to face you, his eyebrows just slightly raised as he watched you in the moonlight.
“I won’t talk about marriage anymore. I get it now,” you finally decided, your voice wavering ever so slightly unlike your steadfast resolve.
He looked into your eyes, again trying to parse out what you were feeling from the slight knit in your eyebrows and the very slight tremor in your hands.
“It’s cold,” he replied simply, taking off his hoodie and putting it around you. “Here.”
You frowned as you pushed your arms through the sleeves, your hands curling into tight fists. If you were going to bend like this, he should at least acknowledge you!
“It’s still important to me, and I think we would be different, but I understand your feelings,” you insisted, staying in place.
He had to give you something, anything. It wasn’t selfish to ask for a little bit of credit, was it?
You saw him flash a small smile, then lean over to give you a kiss on the cheek. Before pulling back, he let out a small laugh, the first since hours earlier.
“You don’t want to get married anymore, sweetheart?” He teased, his arms rubbing up and down your shoulders, and your frown grew deeper. This was an odd time for one of his jokes.
“I’m being serious!” Your voice came out whinier than expected, to the point that you were almost embarrassed, but it only made his smile grow wider.
His hands moved from your shoulders to cup your face, making sure that all you could see was him, speaking sincerely to you under the night sky.
“That’s too bad because I bought a ring.”
Your heart stopped.
But then it restarted, and instead of shivers, a new warmth seemed to run throughout your entire body with every new beat in your chest.
“W-what?”
“I want to marry you.”
I want to marry you. The words seemed to bounce around your now empty head, making a ruckus you couldn’t exactly think through.
“But you said…?”
“I don’t need a ring to prove that I’ll love you forever, but if it’s important to you, I’ll work hard and buy you a ring for every single year we are together.”
He must have picked up the habit of saying careless and deliberate statements from his father because you were now choked up with tears that you couldn’t wipe away because your hands were too busy resting on his that held your emotional visage.
“T-Toshi…”
“We’ll be different from my parents, ____, I swear.”
You felt as though your heart would burst, so all you could do was nod. It didn’t help that his eyes seemed to shine far too much tonight as well. Was it just a trick of the moon or was he trying to convince himself too that he wouldn’t do you wrong?
“It’s true that I don’t have the ring on me, but I want to formally ask you today before I dare put a ring on your finger,
Will you marry me?”
Again you nodded, tears finally rolling down your cheeks in relief, because the answer had always been yes.
And you knew for sure, that the two of you would fight like hell to be happily married after.
#ushijima x reader#ushijima wakatoshi x reader#ushijima#ushijima wakatoshi#ushijima imagine#haikyuu imagine#sfw#fic: what we inherit#mae.writing
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Happy New Year
Pairing: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Rating: General Audiences
Words: 2071
Summery: This is a Halloween fic. I promise.
Read it on AO3
- - - - -
The thing about being Rachel Berry’s best friend is, it’s a learned skill.
And Kurt had put in the work. He had looked past the diva-esque antics and the obnoxious Broadway tunnel-vision and the steamrolling, and underneath he had found the Rachel that he loved. The Rachel who would bring him a cup of tea when she knew he was feeling down; the Rachel who pushed Kurt more than he wanted her to but knew he needed it; the Rachel who was kindness and cared – a lot. And it was worth it, for the most part, to have learnt the skill and to have let her into so many parts of himself.
Except for when it wasn’t.
“You’re being pushy,” he warns, and he knows his tone is sharp enough that it would stop most people. Rachel isn’t most people.
“Kurt,” she says just as sternly, swinging around the doorframe of the bathroom so that she can look at him while she continues her delusional lecture, “I just think it’s time that you admitted it.”
He adjusts his cat ears because they’re already giving him a headache. He knows he should have thought of a more original costume idea but time means nothing when he’s juggling NYADA and exams and showcases and auditions and the diner and friends and- god, he’s exhausted just thinking about it all. If all he could pull together for tonight was a pair of black jeans, a tight black long-sleeve, and a pair of cat ears – well, he thinks that’s quite reasonable considering. “There’s nothing to admit.”
Rachel steps out of the bathroom fully now, her makeup finished and her bob wig firmly in place. “How do I look?”
Kurt breathes a small sigh of relief at the change in topic, finally. “You look like the perfect Fanny Brice.” And she does, but the snarky part of him wants to note that she also could have been a bit more original with her outfit. Rachel dressing as Fanny for a costume party? Groundbreaking.
She walks past him, almost dancing, and sings, “That’s because I am the perfect Fanny Brice.”
Kurt sips at the cider that some of Rachel’s older friends from NYADA had left at the loft after their last party and waits for her to come back from her bedroom. By the time she does – a small purse looking like it’s stuffed with emergency night-out supplies slung over her shoulder – he's already feeling a light buzz twirling through his bones. “What time are the others getting here?”
Rachel checks her phone, “Any minute now.” And then, because she’s the worst and unrelenting and incapable of letting anything go, she says, “I think you should tell Blaine that you have feelings for him tonight.”
“Oh my god, Rachel. I do not have feelings for Blaine.”
It’s the easiest lie when he’s saying it to Rachel, because it usually gets her off his back for a little while. There’s something complicated about the lie when he tries to convince himself. And it’s a lie he’d never say in front of Blaine, because saying it in front of Blaine means removing the maybe in their friendship. It would be Kurt clarifying boundaries he doesn’t want and making a possibility disappear that he always wants there.
And so he doesn’t know who he’s pissed off – karma or fate or the stars or whoever it is that controls the strings and the moments and time – because Blaine, Sam and Mercedes have pulled the door open to the loft just in time to catch his last sentence.
His back is to them but he heard the slide, and he glares at a very guilty, meek-looking Rachel. She bites her lips as if that’s an apology and then clears her throat, “Hey, guys!”
“Hey!”
Kurt turns around at Mercedes’ voice, and her eyes are big and wild and trying to communicate things with him that he doesn’t have the ability to decipher right now. She’s dressed as Christina from the Candyman music video, and she’s pulling it off effortlessly. He wants to tell her that but the air feels too weird to speak into. Sam is dressed as some Star Wars character he doesn’t know the name of and Blaine-
“Are you... a pumpkin?”
There’s an odd look on Blaine’s face and Kurt can’t figure it out. He lifts his eyes once he realises that Kurt’s question is obviously directed at him - the only one dressed as a pumpkin - and nods, “Yeah. I am.”
Well, it’s good to know that Blaine can be dressed as a pumpkin and still look adorable. It’s desperately unfair, really. Almost as unfair as the fact that Blaine just heard him rather decisively utter the words, I do not have feelings for Blaine.
Sam clears his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence that’s settled over everyone. “Should we get going? We’re already going to be late getting to Elliott’s.”
It’s enough to remind everyone that they’re close friends and long past the point of standing in awkward silences, so they bundle up in coats and make their way towards the subway station.
Rachel finds a moment to whisper a quiet, “Sorry,” in his ear once they're on the train. He wants to question her about it – if he was telling her the truth, then there would be no need for an apology. Blaine hearing him say those words wouldn’t be an issue. He wishes she’d just believe him, for once, but then he glances over at Blaine laughing at an impression Sam is doing, a smile growing on his face despite himself, and he realises how transparent he is.
Why doesn’t Blaine?
- - - - -
Kurt is definitely avoiding him.
He’s actually a little impressed. Elliott’s place is on the smaller side, so there’s not a lot of places for Kurt to be where Blaine isn’t. Yet he’s somehow managing to pick the perfect moment to slip to the bathroom, or to claim he needs a little air, or to gesture wildly at his empty cup as he starts to weave his way to the drinks.
“What’s up with Hummel?”
It’s Santana. She’s dressed as Xena Warrior Princess and he’d questioned her about it when they’d arrived – it didn’t seem like her kind of thing, or too stereotypical for her to buy into. She’d set him with an unimpressed stare and said, “It’s Lucy Lawless wandering around with her wife and beating up mediocre men. What about that isn’t my thing?” And, well, fair enough.
“I don’t know,” but he does know. “I think I’ll go see if he’s okay.”
Santana just shrugs, as if her initial question was as far as her concern was going to go, and Blaine starts to move through all of the capes and bright colours and masks. There’s a part of him that doesn’t really want to find him. That means saying things like It’s okay that you don’t have feelings for me and Just your friendship is enough and Let’s just forget about it. The reality is that he wants more than a friendship, but he doesn't know how to risk the friendship to get to somewhere else. And this, this is why he thought they had an unspoken agreement to never clarify what was happening. Because at least if they were living in a limbo that felt sort of hopeful and perfect, the door was closed but not locked.
Tonight, Kurt had keys and he used them.
He finds him in the kitchen by himself, nursing a gin and tonic. “Kurt?”
“Oh.” He looks a little scattered and – weary? “Blaine. Hi.”
It sort of hurts, the way he says that, like he wishes Blaine wasn’t there or looking for him or near him. Kurt’s never sounded like that before. “Can we- can we talk about before?”
He sees the panic move through Kurt’s eyes and almost backtracks, but he can’t do this; can’t exist in the world with things being awkward between them. And he can’t even really understand why they’re awkward. There’s so much unpacking to do about that, but for now he just wants to reassure Kurt.
“Okay.”
It’s a small reply but it’s enough for Blaine. “I don’t really know why things have been a little weird, but I just want to- I don’t know, I guess. Figure out if we’re okay.”
“I lied.”
He’s suddenly very aware of his heart and that it’s in his chest, beating, faster than usual. “What do you mean?”
“I lied to Rachel.”
There’s some sort of plea in his rushed words, like he wants Blaine to hurry up and understand and put him out of his misery. So Blaine tries to hurry up and understand and - "Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Kurt deflates a little and looks down into his drink, “I’m sorry I’m being weird and all over the place. I’ve been trying so hard to be careful with our friendship, and now I’ve just ruined it.” And then, because Blaine still hasn’t said anything and the silence is stretching out in a suffocating way, Kurt says, “Gin makes me sad.”
“I’d be lying, too,” because he’s finally remembered how to speak.
Kurt squints at him, “What do you-”
“If I said I didn’t have feelings for you.”
It takes a moment, but the smile spreads onto Kurt’s face and it’s delicious and adorable and they’re both just standing in the kitchen, looking goofy and happy and risking it all.
“That’s a very stupid and roundabout way of saying- well, I really like you, Kurt.”
Kurt puts his glass down but doesn’t make a move towards Blaine just yet. “I really like you, too. Like, a lot.”
Blaine hums and lets that soak past his ridiculous pumpkin costume – he’s still not entirely convinced that orange is his colour despite Sam’s constant reassurances that it is – and into his skin, bones, being. He decides to be the one to close the gap a bit, moving towards Kurt and enjoying how heavy the air is, how he almost has to wade through it.
“Can I kiss you at midnight?” he asks.
Kurt giggles and it’s silly and Blaine wants to hear it again, and again, and again. “It’s Halloween, Blaine.”
“Mm,” he murmurs, not really sure why Kurt’s clarifying that. They’re both in costumes and there are fake cobwebs covering every surface – of course it’s Halloween. He starts to fiddle with Kurt’s cat ears, “It is.”
“Kissing at midnight is a New Year's Eve tradition.”
“Oh?” and he knows that somewhere in his brain, but he feels like he deserves to be forgiven for forgetting the specific details of which tradition belongs to which holiday because Kurt is very, very close to him and his eyes are sparkling and all he wants to do is kiss him. And so he does, or tries to-
“Wait!”
Blaine pauses, confusion riddling his eyes because were they not on the same page? But Kurt doesn’t move away. Instead, he keeps them in their tight spot together and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. Blaine can’t really see it and he tries to ask what Kurt is doing, but he just gets nicely shushed.
And then, triumphantly, Kurt holds his phone up to show Blaine what he was waiting for – the clock in the corner of the screen clicks over to 12:00 and Blaine gets it. Now he kisses him. It starts off sweet and he tastes like Halloween candy. He’s already addicted to the sugar and he starts to lick along his bottom lip. Kurt gasps a little, opening his mouth for Blaine, and that’s when their bodies shift, too. Kurt’s back is pushing into the bench and he’s trying to worry about whether or not he’s hurting him, but Kurt is somehow getting his hands under the pumpkin’s fabric and sliding at the skin on the small of his back. He’s struggling to find that compassion now when all that matters is kissing Kurt, Kurt's back be damned.
And then suddenly he’s not kissing Kurt.
Because Kurt has pulled away to drag in a breath and there’s an impossible grin on his face and a depth in his eyes that wasn’t there before and it means more, more, more. “Happy New Year, Blaine.”
“Happy New Year, Kurt,” he repeats. And then he laughs because he thinks they’ve just made their own holiday tradition, “Happy Halloween.”
#klainetober#klaine fanfiction#klaine#kurt x blaine#glee#i wrote this!#just something short and sweet because i felt like doing a little something-something
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Chain of Iron Book Review
Chain of Iron Book Review by Cassandra Clare
You know, I was actually really irritated when this book came out because once again, the Dark Artifices seems to be shafted for this new series (that nobody asked for) to shine, but fortunately I wasn’t as bothered by it as I predicted I would be.
In case you are in the small minority of people who haven’t heard of Cassandra Clare and her millions of Shadowhunter books, Chain of Iron is the next nephilim installment in Clare’s never-ending series.
Chain of Iron is the sequel to Chain of Gold, and the series as a whole is a sequel to the Infernal Devices series, but a prequel to the original Mortal Instruments as well as the Dark Artifices which is the sequel series to the Mortal Instruments.
I would be surprised if you weren’t baffled right now.
I’ve said this before for other Shadowhunter installments, but these books are not user friendly for new folk. You genuinely need to have read the other series to get full enjoyment and understanding of these books.
If you do read them without having read the others, I'm sure it would still be enjoyable to a certain extent, but a large case of ensemble character and relationships will be lost to you and a big portion of these novels are the relationships within them.
To delve right in, Chain of Iron has our main cast of friendly teenagers nicknamed the Merry Thieves (which I just abhor, sorry, not sorry) return from Chain of Gold after fighting one of the princes of Hell, Belial, and now with Cordelia and James being married as to avoid a scandal of Cordelia’s reputation and James’ criminal record.
In addition, there is a new serial killer on the loose murdering shadowhunters at dawn and stealing their runes. Most of the book is dealt with trying to catch the culprit, the Consul and Inquisitor along with the whole of adult shadowhunter authority being inconsequential and inept as usual (how these people became parents are beyond me as they never have any sort of clue what their children get up to) along with side plots including raising Jesse Blackthorn from the dead and romance galore in typical Clare fashion that makes you want to rip your hair out because if everyone just communicated and was honest there would be no issues.
The beginning of the novel is molasses slow.
I’ve come to expect this with Clare’s books. Actually, I think I’ve figured out the formula entirely. Here is is:
Mostly nothing of consequence happens for nearly 400 pages except for character building and small instances of plot
Intersperse some random demon attacks for flavor
Everyone is beautiful, everyone is in love, and love is the most groundbreaking, earth shattering thing in existence
Get into the last 200ish pages and shit hits the fan with action, misunderstandings, and confessions
Nobody is honest with anybody and lying is commonplace
End the behemoth on a cliffhanger so that the audience is kept in suspenseful anxiety until the next installment
You can’t see me, but I am bowing right now.
Genuinely, that is how 90% of Clare’s novels pan out. Obviously, as she has a very successful and long-running book series, the formula works.
That being said, there are some vices and virtues to it.
For this book, the beginning was slow. Almost nothing of significance happens for most of it and it's a dredge to get through.
However, it’s mundane to get through in the same way that reading fanfiction of your favorite characters is mundane. What Clare does for 400 pieces of paper is build up her characters and their relationships. Normally, you would do this interspersed with plot, but not in this case.
It’s not very conventional, but it kinda works?
I definitely struggled connecting with the characters from this series more than any other of Clare’s novels. The Mortal Instruments, as the original, were beloved if a little cheesy. Then came the Infernal Devices with witty Will, soulful Jem, and intelligent Tessa. Then we got the Dark Artifices, which to me, is still the best as Julian, Emma, Mark, Christina and the others are the most flawed in any of the series and I enjoy that.
I enjoy that they’re not perfect, I enjoy that they’re devious and conniving. It makes them more interesting and more worthwhile to read about.
Instead, the main characters in Chain of Iron and the subsequent series are mainly James, Cordelia, Matthew, and sometimes Lucie. I would argue that no one else matters in the book and are just added in for some sugar, spice, and everything nice.
Some of you might be outraged at this statement. What about Grace? You might say. Or Jesse? Or Thomas, Christopher, Alistair, Ariadne or Anna?
They don’t matter.
They matter in a very small, plot convenience, fluff ensues kind of way, but not really in any way of substance. Or, at the very least, that’s how I feel.
Anna is just there to be cool, Thomas is a gay gentle giant with literally no personality, Christopher is so basic and is essentially the Trader Joe’s version of Henry who was better and more interesting as the first, Alistair is a redeemed bully, and Ariadne is an orphan who loves Anna.
The end.
Once again, sometimes Clare bites off more than she can chew and I wonder if she just throws these characters in there just because it makes her happy.
As for our main protagonists, they’re mediocre. Matthew is definitely the most interesting in the bunch and I was jubilant to see him get more screen time this time around. The increasing realization of his alcohol abuse, his feelings for Cordelia, his nonplussed attitude.
All of it is intriguing. I still don’t like him as much as other protagonists from other installments, but he is by far the winner of this triad.
James is too perfect, too beautiful, and a worse version of his father. If I wanted more Will I would have turned to fanfiction of the Infernal Devices instead of imagining up his son. The only interesting thing about James is his demon connection which is not even something he does, but rather something that is done to him.
Cordelia is banal. Once again, she’s too perfect, too brave, and too kind. Literally nothing is wrong with her. She’s level headed, intelligent, forgiving, and fierce.
Basically, she’s boring to the brim.
I do think Clare did a better job this time around to include more of Cordelia’s Persian heritage, but it still mainly fell to the backburner of her lackluster and blank personality. In fact, I think James made more of an effort for Persian food and culture than Cordelia did, but I digress.
Also, a small note, but still with weight, why does Cordelia have eight names??
It bugs the living daylights out of me that in a single sentence she will be called Cordelia, Layla and Daisy.
Clare. Give the girl one name. My god.
Actually, as a side note to this side note, Clare is talented at many things, but nicknames are not one of them. EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER IN THIS NOVEL has a nickname and all of them are horrible. I have never in my entire life known a Matthew that has gone by the nickname Math.
What. In. The. World.
Anyways, the only other character of note is Lucie. I like and dislike Lucie. Lucie is also boring and her novelist passion is aggravating to me. However, I did like her turn with necromancy and her increasing desperation to save Jesse that drives her to work with Grace and lie to her friends and family was a much-needed note of interest.
Overall, this book did make me like the characters more than I did in Chain of Gold, but it took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears to get there, more than what I think should have been afforded. If you need to kill 400 trees in order to make me like your main characters, that’s a problem.
Whatever the method, I do care about them more than I did previously so I suppose mission accomplished. I do think some of the strongest relationships in the book are the romances, but then also the parabatai bond between Matthew and James.
Matthew and James have one of the best relationships in the book and I’m equally frustrated and intrigued how things will play out with Matthew now having confessed his feelings for Cordelia.
I do feel like female parabatai get shafted in a lot of Clare’s novels compared to the boys. The coed pairs often do well like Clary and Simon or Emma and Julian. Otherwise, the boys far outrank the girls in terms of bond and friendship.
Even in this novel, the “friendship” between Lucie and Cordelia is laughable. They barely talk to each other or spend time together and when they do is shallow. Whereas Matthew and James seem much more involved in each other’s lives.
That being said, if you noticed I didn’t speak much of the plot it’s because for me plot comes very much second in a Shadowhudenter novel. It’s there of course, and it’s entertaining, but I do enjoy the characters and their relationships more than anything else which makes Chain of Iron better than its predecessor but still worse in my view than any other of Clare’s novels.
Plot just doesn’t compare to the soul crushing love and friendships shown between the pages, for better or for worse.
Recommendation: The Dark Artifices > Infernal Devices > The Mortal Instruments ...and The Last Hours fall somewhere after the Mortal Instruments and the trillions of side novels that Clare has co-written with other authors and all seem to be about Magnus Bane.
Score: 7/10
#chain of gold#chain of iron#cassandra clare#shadowhunters#the mortal instruments#the infernal devices#the dark artifices#ya fiction#YA Books#YA literature#book blog#book#book review#YA Book Review#popular fiction#Popular Books#Book Recommendations#book rec#book reccs#LGBTQ fiction#7/10#ya books#ya literature#book recommendations
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He Was A Skater Boy... (Chapter 4) (Hotch/Reid)
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner / Spencer Reid
Summary: Aaron and Spencer's first study session turns into something... cuddlier?
Word Count: 1,638
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8
Chapter 4: Spirits in my room, friend or foe?
Okay. This is fine. This is fine. Spencer is not freaking out. Sitting on Aaron’s bed, staring at the Blink-182 poster stuck to the wall behind a bong and- is that a fucking encyclopedia? - surrounded by the sights and smells of one incredibly intoxicating Aaron Hotchner. Spencer is decidedly not freaking out. No matter what the sweat on his brow may indicate.
The little alarm clock on Aaron’s desk was ticking ticking ticking, counting down from 30 with 5 minutes left. 5 minutes left.
They were studying. Well, Aaron was studying. Spencer was tutoring. Spencer was tutoring Aaron and Aaron was studying at his desk right now filling out a practice test that took Spencer no more than two minutes to write up and now he was waiting in silence for him to finish. Not freaking out.
Nothing had happened when they got to the dorm. Aaron had simply shown him around the small room by pointing at things. “Bed. Desk. Bathroom. Welcome to the lavish lifestyle of a broke college student.”
What had immediately caught Spencer’s eye was the plethora of books strewn about the room. These books weren’t the boring law manuals that you’d expect a law student to have in their dorm (those were just kept on the desk). These were worn out and used classic novels, Dickens and Dickinson… biographies, Dahmer, Bundy… mystery novels, Aaron had the whole David Rossi collection! That alone could have made Spencer swoon.
The next thing he noticed was Aaron pulling his shirt off and replacing it with a comfy Columbia University sweatshirt. It was in times like these that Spencer really was so grateful to have an eidetic memory, because though Aaron’s bare chest was only visible for a second, that was all he needed for the memory to be ingrained in his mind forever. Aaron hadn’t even mentioned it, just threw an Introduction To Criminal Law manual at his chest and said, “This is what we’re doing this week, gonna help me?”, so the younger boy closed his mouth, sat on the unmade bed, and read the manual in just a few minutes.
While he wrote the quiz questions down, Aaron had asked him if he even needed to read words or if his supercomputer brain just processed everything without any effort. Spencer felt the need to point out that one doesn’t really need to read texts word for word, your brain will comprehend the information before you even realize you’re reading, but Aaron had already moved on to another subject, stating that his brain must be like Spongebob’s. When Spencer had furrowed his eyebrows and pouted, Aaron explained that Spongebob’s brain was like an office, full of filing cabinets and little versions of himself running around screaming. Followed by a quieter “How have you never watched Spongebob?”
“Hah, the screaming part is actually quite accurate, it seems my mind is in a constant state of distress,” Spencer retorted.
“Are you distressed right now?”
“That would be what the ‘constant’ part of my statement implied, yes.”
“Smartass.”
“I’m a genius, Aaron”
Aaron only chuckled and rolled his eyes, “Why are you distressed?”
His eyes darted around the room, not daring to look Aaron in the eyes, how was he supposed to tell him he was nervous because everything that’s happened in the past few hours was so far out of his depths? He only shrugged and mumbled, “New environment, I guess.”
“Well, what can I do to make you feel comfortable? How do you usually relax?”
The response was immediate, “I read.”
“Tell you what, after I finish studying we can sit down and read for a bit. Get you used to this ‘new environment’, after all, you’ll be here a lot. I’m a terrible test-taker.”
Spencer smiled, “Sounds good, and you can’t be that bad.”
He got back to writing the questions. The manual covered the basics of what crime is as a concept and the structure of criminal justice. Things that Spencer already knew from reading several manuals and books on his own time. He wasn’t lame, it’s just that technical manuals tend to be more fun and informative than reading Pride and Prejudice for the seventh time, Mom. Nonetheless, he attempted to make the questions easy, just to get a sense of where Aaron was at so that they could focus on his problem areas. Spencer was good at studying.
Aaron sat at his desk to take the test, hunching over and biting at the tip of his pencil. The timer was set to half an hour but during his silent not-freak-out Spencer noticed he only wrote for seven minutes and spent the rest of the time erasing and rewriting. The timer sounded and brought his consciousness back to the forefront. He took the paper Aaron handed him and took a few seconds to look it over.
Fuck. It was bad. So bad. Spencer tried to keep a neutral face on but Aaron had gotten every question wrong and the answers were so underdeveloped it was like grading a kid’s spelling quiz. Distressed, he looked up to Aaron’s pure innocent unsuspecting perfect face.
“Aaron… These are all wrong… For ‘define crime in your own words’ you just put ‘when bad people do bad things’...”
“Oh..shit. God, I am such a doofus. How will I ever pass these midterms?” Aaron’s grin was wicked.
Spencer rolled his eyes and shoved the paper to Aaron’s chest. He had a feeling the skater was smarter than he let on…
“It’s getting late, I should go… We’ll work on your ‘answers’ next time.”
A flash of worry crossed Aaron's face, but Spencer must have imagined it. They’d just spent hours together, surely he was getting sick of him. He started packing his things, but Aaron interrupted him, “Wait…” Aaron’s hand on his wrist stopped him from packing any further, “Stay the night. Besides, I promised you we’d read, right? I am a man of my word, Doctor Reid.”
Spencer couldn’t keep the shy smile off his face, he knew he had to say yes or he’d regret it. Not only that but Penelope would never let him live it down.
“You did promise, and we can’t have you start breaking promises now, it would hurt my feelings.” At Spencer’s fake pout, Aaron grinned, pushed him gently back onto the bed and said, “Show me what you’re reading today.”
--------------------------------
After about 45 minutes of reading side by side on the bed, Spencer reading a technical book on the life cycle of the praying mantis and Aaron mostly watching Spencer while pretending to read a JFK biography, the older man decided he’d had enough of the silence. Don’t get him wrong, he was immensely enjoying staring at Spencer's lips mouthing the words and at his long fingers as he flipped a page every few seconds, but he wasn’t into this silence.
“What is that?” He reached out for a book that was peeking out from Spencer's satchel on the bed. It was rather large in height and had gorgeous red art on the cover. It looked quite old, quite important.
“Oh, that’s 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea by Jules Verne”
Aaron let out a grunt of understanding, urging Spencer to go on, “It’s a classic. It was published in 1870 and was groundbreaking for its time. 20,000 leagues is roughly 50,000 miles and it’s the depths that the Captain of a futuristic submarine captain and three adventurers travel to. They encounter monsters and new landscapes, it’s actually the book that we get a lot of adventure tropes from today. You know Nemo the fish?”
Aaron nodded.
“Well, that name comes from Captain Nemo from the book. Jules Vernes wrote a lot of influential novels, like Around The World In 80 Days which I’m sure you’ve heard of.”
At that he nodded again. The story sounded interesting, and Spencer seemed to have a deep interest in it. Besides, Aaron could listen to this boy talk all day.
Aaron bit his lip timidly, “It sounds really lovely, why don’t you read it to me?”
Spencer was taken aback for a second but quickly erased the shock from his features. That might have been the most seductive sentence he’d ever heard, and it came from Aaron’s mouth. Even better.
Trying not to show his nerves, Spencer smiled and said “Of course.”
He set his and Aaron’s books down, took out the Jules Vernes from his bag, and settled underneath a blanket. Aaron helped himself to a share of the blanket, and usually Spencer would feel uncomfortable being so close to someone, but he noticed he didn’t mind at all. He began to read, ‘The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident…’
As Aaron listened intently to the story, the younger genius couldn’t help but notice that dark-haired man was staring at him. A big part of his insecurity was telling him that it was because he had something on his face, that Aaron was staring at him because he was a joke to be gawked at. But there was another blooming part of his brain that thought maybe, just maybe, Aaron Hotchner was staring at him because he thinks he’s pretty.
At some point between Chapters five and six, Aaron’s head found Spencer’s shoulder, a bit after that Aaron’s eyes closed, but Spencer knew he was still listening because he’d let out a low chuckle once in a while that he could feel through his arm. Then Spencer’s own eyes began to feel heavy and his cheek found the top of Aaron’s soft hair. His words began to drawl and the book in his lap fell closed. Warm under the blanket, pressed close to his new friend, it just felt right to succumb to the black behind his eyelids.
#criminal minds#aaron hotchner#spencer reid#aaron hotchner x spencer reid#hotchreid#hotch x reid#skater boy#my fic#penelope garcia
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No Clear Skies Ahead
Chapter 1 of Ricochet (An Open Heart AU). Read the prologue here.
Chapter Synopsis: An investigation is launched after a threat was sent to the DA's office. In an attempt to protect Heather, Rafael zooms in on the case but stumbles upon an inner struggle which leads to dire consequences.
Pairing: Rafael Aveiro x MC (Dr. Heather Song)
Words: 3k+ | Genre: Crime, Mystery, Thriller, Romance
Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / sex, mental health issues
Author’s Notes: Majority of the characters are owned by Pixelberry, except the main character Heather Song. There are also small references to canon, so spoiler alert for those who haven’t played OH 2 yet. This specific chapter was inspired by Bruno Mars' It Will Rain (Live version - X Factor).
Rafael dropped his bag on the apartment floor, an exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he waded his way to the kitchen.
On a normal day, Rafael wouldn't be this ill-tempered. But today wasn't normal, normalcy went out the window since they received that threat.
Two weeks has passed since, and both of their lives are imploding. He shook his head as he recalled their conversation that night, while trying to have a peaceful dinner for once.
"I need to go, Raf. This is groundbreaking cancer research that may help some of our patients," she explained while she unwrapped her bibimbap.
"How long will you be at Johns Hopkins then?" he asked, while he himself took a bite from his beef patties.
"The initial plan would be at least a week. I'll fly out to Maryland on Monday, so I won't be back until Saturday morning. We want to be able to lend a hand to the planning of the clinical trials. Edenbrook wants to participate," her voice sounded excited.
"I don't think it's a great idea right now, Heather," he shook his head gently, a genuine look of concern in his face.
Heather wasn't entirely enthused by his response.
"What, I can't live my life now because of that stupid note?" she said in a vicious tone. "If I let this thing hang over my head for the rest of my life, there's no use of all of this fuss."
"I'm just trying to look out for you, Heath," he replied, not wanting to spend this rare quality time arguing.
She got awfully quiet, as she averted her gaze. She was stubborn, but her behavior told him she was on edge.
Resigned, he just nodded and expressed his agreement. He reminded her to come back as soon as possible, and made plans to pick her up at the airport.
He spent the rest of the night sucking up his frustration. They individually came up with an excuse and parted early, even the idea of sex was off the table.
He grabbed a beer from his fridge and padded his way to the living room, switching on the TV to watch some late night news.
A special report was playing, covering much of the recent developments in the case. It briefly mentioned Heather, making him frown.
They only knew a few things about the note, including the fact that it was emailed directly to Bryce Lahela, the same prosecutor who executed Travis Perry in court. He suspected that It was meant to hit two birds in one stone - to threaten the DA and the doctor who reported the ruse. The mastermind is informed who was involved.
The IT team were able to trace where the email was sent - it was from a terminal in a nearby public library. This was expected, and Rafael wasn't wrong to ignore his gut that told him this was just the start.
A week after, a second note came. This time, faxed to Senator Ed Farrugia's office. But unlike the first message, it was wordless.
Instead, it contained two images - two shots of the politician meeting with associates at a nearby hotel. The office of the senator confirmed it to be taken the same day the fax was sent.
The whole Boston field office was on full gear, with the Senate presurring the agency to reopen the case. The stakes were slowly becoming higher.
This wasn't a childish prank, he concluded. It's the beginning of a well-planned attack.
He waited for another move from the faceless sender. His training told him that this is going to be a slow burn. If the perpetrator waited months to put this into action, they wouldn't hesitate to wait for the perfect time. Raf's whole team were still clueless to the most important matter at hand - the when and the how.
He wished hard for it to be nothing but empty threats, but he knew better. He struggled to stop himself from taking this too personally, convincing himself that he had a job to do. But he can't help himself. So he spent the past two weeks leaving no stone unturned.
Meanwhile, Heather drowned herself with work.
Rafael knew it was an effort of her taking control. In the few months that they were dating, he learned how she had to hide anything that was wrong. She was a doctor, and she was required to smile at her patients every single day. That's also how she coped - pretending that there's nothing wrong and pushing everyone away.
His own attempts to comfort her proved futile as most of his time was also occupied by the investigation.
It's not over, Dr. Song. Every single word in that short sentence cast a long shadow over his every move, beckoning a hidden resentment he never knew existed.
The rising anxiety within him got amplified as their shifts ended in irregular hours. For two weeks, they barely saw each other. He would call her at the end of his day, but he felt that she involuntarily withdrew from him more over time. He knew it was her defense, Rafael himself a stark reminder of the threat that just overturned her life.
Her shielded independence irked him greatly. He wanted her to rely on him, now, more than ever. He wanted to share this with her, and his concerns only grew every single day.
He never thought that there would ever be a distance between them. He hated the thought of Heather wanting to tend to herself.
Did she not trust him enough? Didn't she want to rely on him? Can't she just lean on him, especially during this time? What else is this relationship for then?
He knew she grew up independently, she was forced to rely on no one but herself for most of her teenage and adult years. She was strong and not fragile.
But he desired so much to protect her, to save her, just like the same way he did the year before. But he knew she wasn't that kind of girl.
And when Heather shut him down another time tonight, he felt cornered.
She'll be out, indefinitely. Will she even miss me? His head hurt just thinking about it. He had a hard time sleeping that night, feeling an emptiness he didn't feel ever since he met her.
It wasn't long when the void that he felt over her abrupt absence got filled by someone else.
The week Heather flew to Johns Hopkins, a childhood friend came back to Boston. An ex, in fact. Sora, his high school sweetheart. It all began with a seemingly innocent chat, an invitation to catch up.
But it soon escalated to him being more involved with her, volunteering his spare time to help her reacquainted to their neighborhood. With Heather dismissing him in every turn, he diverted his energies to spending time with Sora.
For a few days, he didn't know why he kept her company, but as time went on, he understood.
It was Sora's consistent need of him, asking small favors from him every chance she gets. It was the total opposite of what Heather was doing.
She was familiar with Rafael, so she it was easy for her to feed his uncontrollable need to be someone's savior. Superman needed his own fix.
It's partially the reason why he ended up being an FBI agent himself. It was his innate need to save someone from practically anything. He lived and breathed to be someone's hero.
With no desire to spend another night at Donahues, he asked his high school friends to come over to his place on Friday after work for some movies and beer, a mini reunion, for Sora. He persuaded himself that it was nothing else but an effort to help a friend out.
That night became full of nostalgia, as friends who showed up exchanged stories of their adventures from their childhood and teenage years. Over the next few hours, their friends left one by one, eventually leaving him and Sora alone.
They each had a few more beers than they usually drank, and their chat unsurprisingly catapulted towards the end of their high school love affair. They talked about what attracted them to one another, eventually venturing to the regrets Sora had when they broke up.
"I think I never got over you, you know," Sora casually teased him, chugging down another bottle of beer. "Our breakup felt forced, and I hadn't been able to feel the same way with someone else..." her voice trailed off, her hand gently hovering over his thigh.
He didn't push her away. Although he wanted to, but he melted in the attention she was giving him.
He just nodded in reply, drinking from his own bottle, his mind racing, his heart beating uncontrollably in his chest. He knew he had to stop this, but he lacked the willpower to do so.
With Rafael's pent up frustrations and Sora's voluntary prodding, they ended up kissing. Their hands roaming each other as they tried to rediscover their past, their clothes carelessly discarded one after another on his living room.
Rafael's head screamed opposition, but his body cannot resist the contact. Shutting down the shouting disagreement in his mind, he let his hands take over him.
He let his hands roam, feeling electrified by someone familiar, who knew his flaws, his body. He sensed that Sora felt exactly the same.
In the heat of their bodies, they didn't hear the keys jingling and a door creaking open.
A sound of glass breaking made them look up.
"What the hell?"
There, standing in his dim entryway, was a flushed faced Heather. She held a suitcase, staring daggers at him and Sora as they were sprawled half-naked on the living room couch.
Shit.
Sora followed his gaze, and a mortified look of shame filled her eyes.
Heather instantly fled, slamming the door closed behind her.
Rafael rose from the couch, cursing under his breathe as he retrieved his clothes and covered his body.
He shot Sora a look of apology, and she understood. Grabbing his jacket and his keys, he followed Heather, running like he was being chased by death.
A bitter taste formed at the back of his tongue as his mind raced with the number of possibilities how this night would end. He shook himself out of his thoughts, surprised as rain fell over him the moment he stepped out his apartment building. November is Boston's wettest month.
Despite the lack of visibility, his eyes shot in different directions, trying to find a trace of Heather. He saw her black suitcase just as it disappeared in the nearest street corner.
His shoes dug heavily on the wet sidewalk as he followed her sprinting shadow for two full blocks. He called out to her, unfazed by the fact that the pouring rain could mute him.
At last Heather stopped. He saw as the lights of the stream of traffic shining at her small figure.
He called her once more. But panic instantly filled him as he saw her advance the street in front of a fast-approaching car.
He rushed towards her, pulling her back in time.
"What the hell, Heather?" he looked down at her with fury and concern.
He was surprised with her strength as she pushed him back, freeing herself from his grip.
"I asked you first," she gave him an accusing look, poison in her words. He instantly remembered why he chased her.
His stance immediately got defensive. Without thinking, he dragged Heather, ignoring her protests. He found an alley with some sort of roof, saving them from the downpour momentarily.
"Meu amor," his raspy voice breaking as he struggled to make Heather look at him. He reached out to her, touching her shoulders. Her face filled with pain crushed his soul.
"I don't have any words except I'm sorry." His whole body shook, his strong arms wrapping around her as he began to sob. "Heather, I... I made a mistake. I was weak," his hands gently cupped her face, his voice lowering to nothing but a faint whisper. "I just missed you so much, but I swear, I didn't mean for this to happen."
Rafael felt stupid at the lame excuse he could muster, knowing full well how horribly he fucked up.
Being soaked through the bones did not numb the pain he was feeling. Her silence became more unbearable by the minute. He attempted to kiss her, but failed the moment she avoided it.
"If you wanted to give up, you didn't have to pretend." she hissed, with tear-stained cheeks and a gaze haunting back at him, speaking volumes. "If you didn't want me around anymore, you should have just told me." he saw her bite her lip, her voice filled with contempt.
His chest constricted, realizing the damage he had done. "I want you, I still want you. I want no one else but you," he pleaded, wishing that there was a way to reverse what he had done. "Forgive me, meu amor, give me the chance to make this right, please," his voice shook as he begged her, his lungs about to give out, heavy of guilt.
Her silence stung more than any word. Her rigid body, motionless against his shivering chest. When he couldn't take her refusal to speak anymore, he took one last attempt to pound down the walls she was beginning to build. Fueled by nothing but desperation, he took her hands in his and knelt in front of her, waiting eagerly for an answer.
But as he gazed up at her, the small glimmer of hope in him dissipated. The eyes that once shined like the whole universe was in it, turned empty, dark and desolate.
She retrieved her hands from his grip, Rafael's face twisted in horror as he felt her slip away. He knew right then that he just lost her.
"I can't, Rafael. I just can't right now."
In those few words, his world tumbled over. He watched her turn around and walk away, helpless. Once that he can no longer see any trace of her, his knuckles pounded the ground until it bled.
The rain outside crept its way inside him. It will be a long time before it stopped.
#open heart#open heart 2#open heart fanfiction#choices fic writers creations#choices fanfiction#rafael aveiro#rafael aveiro x mc#rafael x mc
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A Writer in Her Early Twenties Writing About Smoking Cigarettes and Feeling Inferior? …Groundbreaking
an essay I wrote in November of 2020 as I was nearing graduation from Columbia College-Chicago
You know when a bug gets stuck on its back and its little legs start flailing and it frantically rocks back and forth trying to flip back over? That’s how I’ve been feeling recently.
I started smoking cigarettes again to calm me down because smoking weed always makes me have an unwanted existential crisis. In high school, I loved smoking cigarettes because it made me feel like an adult. I dreamed of being someone like Carrie Bradshaw; smoking cigarettes at parties and being so terribly interesting that I only had to write one column a week to pay for a lavish lifestyle. That dream was only amplified when an English teacher wrote on one of my assignments in red ink that she wanted to read my memoir one day. After that, I smoked cigarettes my friends would steal from their stepdads, while I waited impatiently to turn 18 so I could be an adult, leave my hometown, and become a real writer.
Now I’m 21 and can legally buy cigarettes in the city of Chicago. I bought a pack of American Spirits two days after the 2020 Presidential Election because my anxiety was getting high and I couldn’t. I tell myself they are better than regular cigarettes— even though it clearly says on the package they aren’t. Just holding a cigarette is sex to me (I never describe things as sex, but my first Creative Writing professor used to, and she sounded so fucking cool when she did). I always feel dizzy after the first couple hits. I can’t imagine that’s normal. I know that weed is probably better for my body, but I like that no one judges me for not inhaling correctly like they do with weed. I can let the smoke barely touch my lungs before I puff it out of my lips, and no one says a goddamn thing. And so maybe it’s just the action of smoking, but I always feel calmer by the time I put out the cigarette, leaving behind that black mark and bits of ash.
On the 13th of November, Phoebe Bridgers and Maggie Rogers released a cover of “Iris” by Goo Goo Dolls because Bridgers tweeted that she would do so if Biden won the election. I didn’t recognize the song based off the title, but after a quick google search, I remembered hearing it on the radio growing up. It’s got one of those choruses that feels like it was written to be screamed at the top of your lungs in the car with the windows rolled down. I paid $1.50 for the song on Bandcamp (the proceeds went to Fair Fight), then I grabbed my pack of cigarettes, and went out to my back porch to listen to it. I’d barely been able to get out of bed all week, but I knew the cover needed my full attention because I recently became a “stan” of Phoebe Bridgers.
For a while I felt as if Phoebe was someone I knew through a friend of a friend; we ran in the same circles, but never really crossed paths. I adore Hayley Williams and Phoebe’s vocals were on my favorite song on her new album, most of the music I listen to is indie and makes you want to cry which is how you could describe her music, and her lowercase tweets always showed up on my timeline. I knew I’d become acquainted with her eventually, I just wanted to be ready; I had a premonition she’d change my life. I wanted us to fall into each other at the perfect moment.
Sometime in late June or early July, I was laying on the futon in my sister’s spare bedroom, staring at my phone in the darkness while everyone was asleep. The quiet nights of West Texas creep me out when I’ve gone months in Chicago without a moment of silence. I don’t remember what I was initially looking for on Spotify when her solo, sophomore album Punisher came up on the “recommended” section. I hit play because it felt like Spotify was a friend trying to set me up with her for the millionth time, telling me to just trust them and to meet her. It felt like the perfect moment, spilling our guts under the covers, “What if I told you I feel like I know you, but we never met?”
By “Moon Song” and “Chinese Satellite” I was silently weeping, trying not to wake up my nephews in the next room. Punisher made me feel introspective and existential, and the record almost gave me the same floating, panic feeling that weed gives me (but it’s cool when she does it). The strings from “Graceland Too” and “Savior Complex” swam inside my bloodstream and lifted me off the futon, off the part of Texas that I suspect she writes about hating. I was 16 when I had my first weed-induced existential crisis. My friends drove me around town in an attempt calm me down and I kept asking them if I was dead; Punisher feels like the soundtrack to that car ride. Receiving an impressive 8.7/10 on Pitchfork, the publication’s Sam Sodomsky describes her songwriting on the album as “candid, multi-dimensional, slyly psychedelic, and full of heart.” There are moments as a writer where a line makes me mad because of how well it described something I have yet to put words to, and Bridgers made me furious when she sang on the final track “I Know the End”:
“When I get back I’ll lay around
Then I’ll get up and lay back down
Romanticize a quiet life
There’s no place like my room.”
It’s so simple, but it perfectly described the way I can get so anxious that I spend most of my days in bed, convincing myself I’ll never not feel this way.
That’s at least how I’d describe my recent state of constant anxiety. I know it started before the election, but constantly checking news sites seemed to amplify everything. I think the thing I have been most anxious about (personally, not politically) is the fact that I’m moving back home to my hometown after I graduate next month. I finally became an adult, but I will be graduating with my Bachelor of Arts degree in Creative Writing, and I have no job prospects and no memoir in the making. I try to remain optimistic, but the catastrophic thinking my brain does is very convincing and tells me that if I can’t find a job in my field that I’m a bad writer, and if I’m a bad writer I’ll never be understood, and if I’ll never be understood I should just quit writing now, and if I quit writing then I should just lay in bed and not go to my zoom classes. It’s a long series of pointless, self-deprecating “and if’s”, but once they start it feels like telling yourself that you’re only going to smoke a couple cigarettes, and then you end up going through a whole pack in a few days and all you’re left with is regret and a headache. So, during that week of bed-ridden anxiety, I was thankful that my new love for Bridgers was stronger than my imposter syndrome. If I was doomed to be misunderstood, I wanted to listen to a writer who I feel like I understand.
When I went outside to listen the song, I quickly remembered that it was November in Chicago and my fingers shoved themselves deeper into my jacket sleeves. I managed to peak them out just enough to light a cigarette and hit play on the song. I was sure I looked very dramatic to the men doing construction on the apartment next door: a girl in her 20’s, smoking with her headphones in, staring off into the distance. The cover initially sounds more stripped and melancholic than the original, just Bridgers light vocals and an acoustic guitar. My legs were already shivering, but all the hairs on my body stood up higher when Rogers came in and their voices molded together. I don’t know her music, but the twang in Maggie’s voice that carries the second verse was comforting to my southern roots. I took a long drag when she sang “When everything feels like the movies, yeah you bleed just to know you're alive.” If I didn’t know better, I would have thought this cover was the original.
“Iris” is a song I’ve always known all the words to, but I had never really listened to the lyrics. The song was written by Goo Goo Doll’s John Rzeznik for the movie City of Angels (1998) staring Nicholas Cage. Rzeznik told Dan MacIntosh of Songfacts that when he wrote the song he was inspired by Cage’s situation in the film and thought “Wow! What an amazing thing it must be like to love someone so much that you give up everything to be with them.” Phoebe Bridgers’ songwriting feels like it comes from the same universe as “Iris”, specifically her song “ICU”. Both songs could technically be described as love songs, but I feel that a disservice to both.
They differ from traditional love songs because write about it in a realistic way, almost as if the thesis of both is “I know everything is awful and we could hate each other one day, but I want to be with you anyways.” A line from the chorus of “Iris” almost says this exactly, but far more eloquently, “When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am,” and then verses repeat this sentiment of knowing the love could end, but wanting the love anyways. Bridgers’ songwriting in “ICU” comes at a relationship with the same approach. The verses describe things she thinks could complicate or end the relationship (the other person’s family, someone falling out of love, self-sabotage). Regardless, the refrain keeps repeating, “But I feel something when I see you”. All this to say that when Bridgers sings Rzeznik’s lyrics, they feel as if they are her own.
The Goo Goo Dolls must have also thought Phoebe would do the song justice as their twitter account replied to Bridger’s original tweet a few days after Biden was announced the projected winner, saying “We’re waiting…” with the gif of Judge Judy motioning “hurry up”.
When I read or hear really good writing, I selfishly question if writing is even actually what I’m meant to be doing… if it was something that should have stayed a hobby, or a poorly constructed daydream of becoming Carrie Bradshaw.
Recently, I wrote a paragraph about one of my favorite albums with the intention of writing a whole essay about it. However, after that I got stuck. Every time I tried starting the next sentence, I hit the backspace button until it was gone. I spent two whole days watching interviews with the artist, reading reviews of the album, listening to the whole record on repeat for hours, and I couldn’t get anything more than that paragraph. The words simply would not come to me. Moments like that, combined with rejection emails from literary magazines or hearing Bridgers sing lines that take my breath away, I wonder if I should keep fueling my love for something that will always love someone else more or if I should quit?
I listened to the cover of “Iris” on repeat until my cigarette was out. The big tree in my backyard is barren because of the new season, and so now more of my neighborhood is visible. It was around 4p.m. and the sun was already starting to set thanks to daylight savings (until I wrote that sentence, I didn’t think to consider my anxiousness and my need to stay in bed all day could also be attributed to seasonal depression). I’ve always been obsessed with sunrises and sunsets. I know I probably write about them too much: how they make the whole world “glow” orange, the transitions of the colors in the sky, how they always represent an end or a beginning. My hometown has the best sunsets and sunrises: the land is so flat you can see all the way to the horizon, there are no clunky buildings blocking your view. I thought maybe this sunset would spark inspiration in me, so turned to go toward the edge of my porch to see more of it, and for a second I looked at the windowsill I rested my lighter and cigarettes on.
Lying there was a fly stuck on its back. Before they fixed the insolation, our apartment was infested with so many flies that all summer the surfaces of my home were perpetually covered in fly guts. The fly’s little body twitched frantically as it tried to push itself over. I felt pity for the fly even though others of its kind spent the warmer months buzzing in my ear and making me want to move. As I watched the insect, I realized that my anxiety doesn’t feel like drowning or spiraling or falling. It feels like flailing— like a bug stuck on its back trying desperately to get right side up again. It’s kind of pathetic how much it feels like the end of the world. I might not be the first person to think of that, but the metaphor came to me so clearly that it took my breath away. Quickly, I used my lighter to flick the fly back onto its legs. We stared at each other for a moment. I know flies don’t have facial expressions, but I swear, it looked confused. I thought maybe it heard horror stories about me from its friends about the sweaty girl who kills them with rolled up newspaper and wondered why I helped it. Finally, it turned from me and crawled away in the opposite direction.
That fly made me like a god, but more importantly, it made me feel like a writer. I found the words again. Relating to an insect isn’t exactly Carrie Bradshaw or Phoebe Bridgers, but I was excited. I immediately ran inside and started this essay. My frozen fingers started to warm up as I typed everything out. It felt like writing and I were a married couple who had sex for the first time in months; we got our spark back. And I know writers aren’t supposed to wait for
inspiration to start writing, and I know this doesn’t make me as good as Phoebe Bridgers, and I know I still don’t have any job offers, and I know I didn’t cure my anxiety but writing this felt really good.
When I wrote this essay, someone I showed it to said they “got my angst”, but not my love for writing. Maybe that’s because I don’t always love writing in the explosive, epic way I sometimes think I should? I love writing with the kind of love that I’m told is in good marriages; the love is a choice. There are days when I can’t stand a word I put on the page, but there are also the days where I find perfect metaphors for sunsets or anxiety or bugs or Phoebe Bridgers. There are days I lay in the warmth of someone else’s words as if they were the sun. There are days where I can’t stand go to class after turning an essay in because I don’t want people to associate the person on the page with the person sitting across the room from of them.
However, even on days when I can’t stand writing or being a writer, I still wake up, put on my fake glasses that make me feel like an intellectual, I grab my New Yorker tote, I write silly lyrics I think of on the train, I read someone else’s work and remind myself they had 20 drafts of this I’ll never see, I reread my own work and see if any lines make me catch my breath, and I write.
I write because I still have the desire to be understood. I write to try and understand why I can’t stop loving it even when I hate it. I write because I fear one day the inferiority will be too much and I won’t wake up and choose to still love writing.
I still listen to Iris on repeat because the lyrics are as painfully relatable as they are catchy. At its core, the song is asking someone to understand. I think that’s what all I want, understanding. I want to know that someone else feels the same way I do about sunsets, or Carrie Bradshaw, or Punisher, or smoking cigarettes to look cool. If I write my truth, maybe someone will understand? Alexander Chee wrote in his How to Write an Autobiographical Novel that “To write is to sell a ticket to escape, not from the truth, but into it.” Maybe that’s why I don’t love being high because I feel like I am trying to escape the truth? Maybe that’s why I love Phoebe Bridgers’ songwriting and writing in general because it makes me feel like I am trying to escape into the truth? Maybe if I can make it to the truth, I’ll be understood?
Maybe I’ll understand?
Sources:
Bridgers, Phoebe. Lyrics to “Punisher.” Genius, 2020, genius.com/albums/Phoebe-bridgers/Punisher.
Sodomsky, Sam. “Phoebe Bridgers: Punisher.” Pitchfork, Pitchfork, 22 June 2020, pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/phoebe-bridgers-punisher/.
Rzeznik, John. “Goo Goo Dolls – Iris.” Genius, 7 Apr. 1998, genius.com/Goo-goo-dolls-iris-lyrics.
MacIntosh, Dan. “John Rzeznik of Goo Goo Dolls.” ShieldSquare Captcha, 12 June 2013, www.songfacts.com/blog/interviews/john-rzeznik-of-goo-goo-dolls.
Chee, Alexander. How to Write an Autobiographical Novel. Bloomsbury, 2019.
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The Besiege of Bruce Wayne McQueen
A NOS4A2 Review
By: Allyssa J. Watkins
I didn't say you could get up
I'll swing the hammer back
Until you've had enough
Your armor cracking, amidst your son's frantic call
Tell me, Victoria
Who's the Strongest Creative of them all?
Bones breaking
You cower before me shaking
As I wield my blunt instrument without relent
You've had your fun, Bad Mother
I hope you've gallivanted to your heart's content
I am the magic your beautiful boy has so long lacked
Bruce Wayne best behave
Or I'll break his mother's back
Lost Boys belong in Neverland
Consider me, his Peter Pan
You don't care for him like I can
Neglect and endangerment is the McQueen way, isn't it?
You selfish fake
C'mon Vic
He's safer with his Uncle Manx
You ungrateful Brat.......
Just say THANKS!!!!
Three words. PULSE. POUNDING. PHENOMENAL!!!!!!! I write this wide-eyed and shell-shocked, a trembling wreck of electric emotion, the prevalent being pure, paralyzing BLISS!!!! DAMN, NOS4A2 you are SPOILING us!!!! Is it Christmas!? Last week I watched the glowing potential of the ascending firework disappear, and just as I lamented its predicted fizzle out, it SHATTERED the skies around me with an explosion of colours brighter and more vivid than anything I've ever seen, in a deafening ROAR!!!! HOLY SMASH!!! I LOVED THIS EPISODE, so much so, that I feel like I lived it, every death defying second, so ALIVE with the rawest emotion, the most terrifyingly beautiful villainy, my every sense heightened, and in this bloody besiege for one, Bruce Wayne McQueen, our spectacular cast shines BLINDING, giving their best, and most authentic performances of the series. Prepare yourselves for a Lake House excursion, you will NEVER forget!!!!
I LOVED how this episode sent us sprawling right into the action, and I was so so so wrong about the fantastic build-up of the suspense from last week going to waste, because it lit the fuse for one HELL of a firework display. Where last week didn't hit me quite hard enough, this episode STRUCK like LIGHTNING, electrifying every vein, and barely taken breath. The fight scene....... yes, you know the one, the all out, claws drawn, hammer wielding, haughty taunting, smoulder and slashing duel to the death was pure, screaming, POETRY!!! It's ART, the most electric, ENTHRALLING, aria of wit and savagery, it's the single most INTOXICATING scene, not just in an episode full of instant iconic images, but of the ENTIRE series.
Vic VS Manx, a faceoff fraught with revenge and raw energy, no special powers, no knives even, just hurling razor-edged words, fighting, grappling, scraping, nothing but an autopsy hammer between the two of them, was MESMERIZING!!! Charlie is a black, roiling wave of breathtaking rage, coming down on his worst enemy like hurricane thunder, with a ruthless, ferocity, such as we have never before seen. I loved every second, even as I fell apart at the seams, hand clasped over my mouth, trying not to scream. While some might say this head on collision lacked his usual finesse and refined showmanship, I must vehemently disagree. How clever of the writers to give us a Charlie driven to the verge, snapping, shaking off his gentleman's cape, to reveal his sharpest edge, and rawest fury, not to mention darkest intent. Charlie's done playing the game....... he's ready to win, to take the queen. Or in this case, the prince.
The juxtaposition of his elegantly brandished wit, and the brutality of his swiftly dealt blows, is pure, and utter genius, not to mention one hundred percent CHARLIE!!! I grinned like a lovesick schoolgirl when he told Vic, "I hope you have galivanted to your heart's content." I'm swooning, even as I write that, his dialogue was on point, as the kids say, as perfectly tailored to his elegant malevolence, his beautiful wickedness, as that magnificent chauffer's coat!!! Also, forgive me my shameless fawning, but can we TALK about his shiny, raven especially gorgeous HAIR during this episode!? Whether it's falling wild in his eyes, as he draws back his blood-thirsty hammer, or hanging in dark, feathery waves, as he smirks, leaning over his seemingly vanquished nemesis, Charlie's iconic silken strands were as deadly as his backswing, drawing my eye, and stoking my passion something fierce!
I loved how he laid it all out for her in his Malicious Manx Rhetoric, and one of the things I desperately love about Charlie, is how he can speak such vulnerable truth, even in the midst, of a rasping seethe. He explains it all, passes his sentence, this is why you don't deserve him, this is what I'm going to do, and why you can't stop me, even as he pounds the hammer against her back, oblivious to the protective armor, cleverly concealed in her biker jacket, due to some quick thinking, and a fun, surprising telepathic assist from the miniature McQueen. "No Mom, just play dead......" I loved all the nerves Charlie touched on, not just physical nerves, but the exposed, emotional ones as well. He knows how insecure Vic has felt, about the kind of mother she's been, her shortcomings, her fear about not being good for him, not able to love him like she should, provide for him, and Charlie exploits that to profound perfection. "You won't be able to ride away from your Beautiful Boy. He'll call you, sometimes, from Christmasland, and you will see...... He's BETTER with me!!!"
But the thing that shook me the most, was the bleeding truth of his words as he told her, "That's what you do, Victoria, you run. Even from the things that you LOVE!" WOW Charlie....... the depth, the piercing insight in that quote still gives me chills like mad, and it's a searing revelation. I also marveled at Charlie's outright admission of having been in love with Vic, which I'd always suspected, especially after Parnassus, but he's never just come out and said it, and definitely not to her face. "It's a dangerous game...... endeavoring to love Vic McQueen, I found that out myself with Craig, after you set us both on FIRE." I love how he snuck that in there, how he makes Craig and himself out to be HER victims, and I think Charlie's relationship status with Vic will always be, "It's Complicated," because while she holds a special fascination for him, most of her allure lies in the challenge. What he loves is the most about Vic is hating her. Hell hath no fury like Charlie Manx scorned.
You know what else, was just....... a THRILLING chill!? After giving her a good and proper thrashing, and tongue-lashing, Charlie's voice is a spiteful growl as he rasps furious, "Just say THANKS!!!" I could NOT breathe!! WOW........ What SPLENDID writing!!! It's not enough for Vic to lie there, and take her punishment, the punishment that in Charlie's eyes she so obviously deserves, but he demands her thanks as well, for taking her only child, reprimanding her wicked, wanton ways, sparing her from having to be a bad mother. "If you had a grateful bone in your body, you'd thank me......" Charlie has always seen himself as the hero of NOS4A2, saving children from their broken homes, and lonely lives, and if you told him point blank he was actually the villain, the antagonist, he'd scoff in your face. This idea that he's being generous, actually helping Vic, even as he enacts his ultimate revenge speaks volumes to that, and I loved it. He even tells her young son, with such soothe, "Don't worry........ She can never hurt you again."
That being said, I also loved how Vic fearlessly turned the tables on our handsome phantom, dropping the pretense of excruciating pain to strike hard, breaking Charlie's leg, and leaving a nasty gash across his lovely cheek, before reigning down hell on the Wraith. This was especially jaw-dropping for me, since I had written a scene eerily similar, over a YEAR ago, in my NOS4A2 Series, and it was such a giddy, breathless joy, to see it all play out, exactly as I had imagined it!!! I loved how Vic gives Charlie his insisted upon thank you, after making her move, even though, yes, I was a little heartsick, seeing that impossibly perfect face so drastically marred. The warm, happy, fuzzy feel of Wayne's childhood memories, interspersed with the impassioned violence was yet another INSPIRED, and poignant stroke of brilliance, and in my opinion made the scene even more powerful and intense. It also inspired a fascinating theory....... That Wayne is a Strong Creative, that can speak through his memories telepathically to his mother. There are several instances in, "Bruce Wayne McQueen," where our adorable title character floods his mother's mind with happier times, and words of wisdom. Yes, Vic is a powerful Creative, and this could very well be her own doing, but as she's never been one for sentiment before, something tells me Wayne is speaking to her, calming her down, keeping her safe.
This episode is a masterwork of action and suspense, a transformative audience EXPERIENCE. You're in the Wraith with Charlie and Wayne, sitting on the edge of the backseat, you're treading water, traumatized with Vic, as the bullets whizz past you under the surface, flinching with every shot Bing fires, and you're pressed up against the window with Wayne, hands on the glass, as his mother sobs her devastated goodbye, promising to find him, her stricken eyes so full of love, knowing she has to leave him, if ever she'll have the chance to fight again. It's so beautifully executed, every shot, drawing us into our creative heroes' journey with immersive cinematography. It's unique to any other episode that has come before, and stands out as a groundbreaking method of emotional storytelling.
I must say this though....... This episode was as close to achingly perfect as you can get, right up there with Sleigh House, a MAGIC that I never EVER thought anything in my natural life could touch, but as much enamour as I feel, there were a few slightly detracting flaws. I absolutely LOVED the shifts between different points of view, it may be an unpopular opinion, but I thought that was another daring risk, that definitely paid off. My issue however, lies in the repeated events from one person's point of view to the next. I felt that the needless repetition slowed down the breakneck action, throwing a kink in the timeline. There were more than a few times where I was like WAIT, did that happen before or after what we've just seen!? I appreciate that they were trying to give us a new vantage point to what we'd just witnessed, maybe even belabor the moment for dramatic effect, but it ate up valuable runtime, and undercut the flow in my opinion, as well as shortchanged the suspense, knowing full well what was going to happen, because we'd already seen it from another character's point of view! How much better to show a scene from one perspective, and then jump right into the consequent action with the change to the next? How much MORE would we have gotten to see!?!? Had they done that, then this episode would have surpassed even Sleigh House, my ultimate ideal.
Don't get me wrong, I did enjoy getting to see what happened in the car with the boys, during Vic's ride through the woods. I LOVED how Charlie, ever the paternal guardian, was so taxed by Wayne's vehement cries, and frantic banging on the windows, that he says, in true exhausted parent fashion, "Please Wayne, just a small nap......" There were times that the rewind worked, but most times, I just wanted to get on with the story. Another grievance....... What the HELL are the Wraith's windows made of!? Yes, I understand that this is a supernatural, sentient car, but SERIOUSLY!!!! No amount of force, be it from a swung wrench, or slammed autopsy hammer, or SPEEDING bullet, could shatter even one of the Wraith's windows. Yes, I know it added to the suspense, watching both parents try desperately, and still fail to free their son, but it detracted from the reality, suspending my suspension of disbelief. They should have been able to at least break ONE!!!
I was also a tad bit disappointed with The Hour Glass Man, how about you guys? The way Abe set him up to be this heavy hitter, this "Fixer," in the Dark Creative World, I was so excited to see his knife and how it worked!!! At the beginning of the episode, our calm, sharply-dressed secondary villain, uses an hour glass, not to stop time, not to rewind time, not to alter time, but....... to hypnotize the two feds long enough to assault the lake house, SHOOTING Chris McQueen in the leg, before turning the gun on themselves. Yes, it was only our first look, and I'm sure our man of unsolved mystery has more than a few tricks up his ironed sleeves, he isn't in high demand for nothing, but....... as he was supposed to be Charlie's ace in the hole, I had prepared myself for something truly mind-boggling, something more than just compulsion, an everyday occurrence on The Vampire Diaries. Even in his second go at Vic, he pulls a Manx, and just hits her with his far less supernatural SUV. I knew something was up, the way Charlie didn't veer, and try to run Vic off the road as she pursued him on her new motorcycle, firing shots into the driver side window. He let her ride alongside him, so calm, and I KNEW he was leading her into a trap, and leading me straight into my second disappointment with The Hour Glass Man. I don't know, even though it got the job done, and landed her in the hospital, him hitting her with the SUV just felt....... underwhelming, which this episode is definitely NOT.
The hidden hero of "Bruce Wayne McQueen," is by far Chris Freaking McQueen, who has redeemed himself in my eyes through his fearless fight, both to stay sober for his daughter, and to keep her from losing her son. Not gonna lie guys, I was HORRIFIED, when I thought the Feds killed him at the beginning of the episode, and for the longest time after he got shot I was like DON'T you dare FREAKING kill Chris, oh god, is Chris dead!? A question to which there is no answer until nearly the end of the episode. Vic, still treading water underneath the dock, shakes violently as she hears the gunshots go off a little too close, and I, myself, was scared as HELL, thinking Bing was firing straight down, having discovered her. A horrible moment, as the blood falls thick from between the wooden slats of the dock, directly onto Vic's forehead. And then....... Chris Freaking McQueen, like a gun wielding white knight charges the sick BASTARD, Bing Partridge, shooting him repeatedly, although, to our collective chagrin, does not kill him!!! Seriously. Somebody gut that Creepster Pervert like a fish!!! Chris even takes on Charlie all by himself, firing at the Wraith, as it speeds off to my complete and utter delight WITHOUT Bing Partridge leaving him behind, FINALLY!!! You GO, Charlie, time to sever ties with that obnoxious deadweight.
Where this episode uncovers Charlie in his most heightened, dangerous state, raw and intense, Bing is portrayed at his detestable WORST, and my hatred for this hulking henchman was infinite. I HATE the way he is with Wayne, it literally made me sick to my stomach. Charlie is so sweet and gentle, paternal, and patient with our dear little Bats, doting upon him, and you can tell how excited he is to be his father, how this particular child, Vic's only son, is the second most important entry into Christmasland, after his own daughter. I'm still dyyyying from the way he said, "You and I have been dreaming about each other, haven't we?" How PRECIOUS!!! In counterpart, Bing is disgustingly abusive, grabbing him up off the ground, dangling him by his arm, threatening to shoot him, bite him, calling Wayne a, "pretty girl," (GOD, YOU SICKO!!!!) and I just couldn't stand it, I was so damn furious, I couldn't see straight, and I'm DONE with Bing, I want to put a hit out on that lewd, child abusing, BASTARD!!! It would seem Charlie is done with him too, leaving him behind to die, and I especially enjoyed that cleverly veiled threat in the car, Bing droning on and on about what he wants to do when he gets to Christmasland, and Charlie smirking with a coy mention of a special feast. Yeah...... I see what you did there, Babe. It's time to hang a Partridge, swinging from a pear tree.
Another thing I particularly loved about this episode, was that it had the unique symmetry of beginning and ending in the hospital, and in both instances, Wayne's birth, and the aftermath of his abduction, Vic loses him. Even as a newborn, after a harrowing C-section, Vic knows something is wrong, crying out to the nurses, as they do CPR on the tender little babe, and after only just bringing him into the world, Vic already has to face the threat of one without him. That was beautifully mirrored in the final, heartbreaking scene, when Vic, seeing her boyfriend, and father in hospital beds from her own, but no Wayne, realizes, with abject terror, her son is gone. Her worst fear, the ONE man she'd fought for eight years to protect him from, has taken him. BEAUTIFUL, heart-wrenching, devastatingly good acting from Ashleigh, the desolate sobs, as her mother holds her in her arms, the hopelessness, and fear in her eyes. It shattered me.
An all time high for NOS4A2, "Bruce Wayne McQueen," holds all the emotional drama, and high risk of a proper Season Finale, and we're only FIVE episodes in!!!! If it's THIS good, this early in the story, I can't even imagine what lays in wait, as the Wraith races away with a very special boy in tow. Hold on, Strong Creatives....... Our WILDEST dreams are about to come true.........
#nos4a2#nos4a2 review#charlie manx#vic mcqueen#bing partridge#chris mcqueen#the wraith#bruce wayne mcqueen
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another esteban fic
You thought I was done.
Night Vale spoilers ahead for the recent episodes as well as for Spy In the Desert!
~~~
The Night Vale adoption agency is the most important place Cecil has been to in a long time. It’s also one singular office, about the size of a hotel bathroom, with a card table and folding chairs under a bright poster that says, “YOU CAN ADOPT! YOU WILL ADOPT! YOU HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO ADOPT!” A very tired-looking case worker in a black dress sits across the table picking at a Nature Valley granola bar with one of her hands. Her other two are typing across a laptop.
“So,” she says, “adoption in Night Vale isn’t like other places.”
“Of course.” Cecil smiles and glances at his husband, who, thankfully, doesn’t look too nervous.
“Naturally, there are no cases of children that need to be adopted within the city.” She gives them a knowing look over her glasses. Carlos frowns in Cecil’s peripheral vision.
“Why is that?”
“Children in need of adoption are adopted by the Hooded Figures,” Cecil explains in unison with the woman.
Carlos shifts in his seat. “Um, is that a good idea? Are the kids safe there?”
“Of course. They have regular health and safety inspections from the Sheriff’s Secret Police, the Night Vale Board of Family Services, and the GrubHub delivery guy.” The case worker raps her nails definitively on the desk. “Plus, the kids have an indoor waterpark to play in once they get home from school. They’re very happy.”
Carlos lifts an eyebrow “But it’s proportionally impossible for a water park to fit in the dog par-”
“NOT ALL THINGS SHALL MAKE SENSE!” booms the case worker, and Carlos stops talking. “Now.” She collects herself and resumes her smile. “We’ll be adding you to a database of parents, since you’ve passed all of your inspections and filled out your paperwork. If there are children entered into the system, case workers will consider you to adopt based on the child’s needs and location. You’ll be getting a call from us soon.”
Cecil beams. He squeezes Carlos’s hand under the folding table. Carlos’s warm, perfectly soft thumb slides over Cecil’s wedding ring, an adorable thing he’s been doing for years now. Little touches like that are why it’s so easy to love Carlos. Carlos is an incredible scientist and husband, and soon, he’s going to be an amazing father. They both will be.
“If you have any questions?” The case worker’s first two arms tap her papers into a stack, while the third throws out her granola bar wrapper.
“How much notice will we get?” asks Carlos, who has a list of important parenting questions written down.
“At least 24 hours, in case you need to fly out of the city. Anything else?”
“Do you think babies prefer ducklings or froggies?” asks Cecil, who has been nesting for the past few days.
“Ducklings,” says the worker. “You two have a lovely day.”
They pull into the parking lot of Buy Buy Baby Not Bye Bye Baby, the best baby supply store in town. Cecil turns off the engine. Neither of them unbuckle. For a while, they sit in the silence of the car, watching a shopping cart roll away across the parking lot and into some ornamental bushes.
“We’re going to be dads,” says Carlos at length, breaking the silence.
Cecil turns to look at him. “How are you feeling?”
Carlos smiles, laughs, ducks his head. He’s so adorable. Even his awed laughter is perfect. “Cecil, I don’t have any scientific words for how I’m feeling - I don’t even think I can quantify it, you know? Cece.” He bites his smile, which has begun quivering. “I’m adopting a baby. With my husband. I just...”
“Never thought it would happen,” Cecil finishes.
Carlos nods. Cecil unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over to kiss the bridge of Carlos’s nose above his glasses.
“It is real,” he promises. “It’s really, really happening! And now we have to go buy some onesies while they’re still on sale!”
“I will not let anyone get to the onesies before me.”
“They’re OUR baby’s onesies!” Cecil proclaims as both of them get out of the car and run to grab a shopping cart.
The store is crowded today, moms and dads and parents jostling each other through the well-stocked aisles of formula and plushies. They are not like the Palmer-Scientist husbands, whose combined years of exceptional journalism and groundbreaking science have made them especially smart. Cecil and Carlos have their strategy planned. Carlos pushes the cart down aisles in the exact order that they need. Cecil stands on the front of the cart, shouting things like, “Hey, new dads coming through! If you don’t get out of our way you’re homophobic!
Back at home, they drag their purchases into a currently-empty room. This room promises to become a nursery, just as soon as one of them works up the courage to build the IKEA crib.
“You shouldn’t be able to buy an IKEA crib at Buy Buy Baby,” Carlos comments, as he begins unpacking a bag of stuffed animals.
“You shouldn’t be able to buy a lot of things at Buy Buy Baby! Oh, did we remember the -”
“-bloodstone mobile? Yup! I have it right here.”
“I love you.”
They turn on music and set up the nursery. Gravity in the town conveniently shuts off for 12 minutes, so they stick glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling. They hang up curtains. When gravity comes back they set up the changing station, with a mat on the top shelf, baby powder and boxes of diapers on the bottom shelf. Cecil is obsessed with the changing station.
“It’s so CUTE!” He gestures to one of the cloth diapers. “Look how TINY this is!”
“Babies are very small! Did you know that a baby’s head makes up more than a quarter of their entire body length?”
“No way!” Cecil thinks about adding that to the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner, but they’ve agreed together not to talk about their adoption on the radio. He places the dresser next to the changing station and places the equally tiny baby clothes into the drawers. Cecil already has matching outfits for all of the baby’s clothes.
When Carlos gets frustrated over wrestling the IKEA crib, they take a snack break. They bring apple slices and peanut butter into the nursery, along with a bottle of wine, and sit on the floor to eat.
“Did the case worker say whether our baby is male or female?” Cecil asks.
Carlos pops an apple slice into Cecil’s mouth. “The concept of marketing color-coding to infants based on a gender they may not actually identify with is a capitalist tool to sell more baby clothes,” he says. “Also, it’s been scientifically proven that blue isn’t a more masculine color. And pink isn’t more feminine, it just isn’t.”
“I know that. But we need to get our baby a Social Night Vale ID.”
“Like a social security number?”
“More like a driver’s license. All kids under 18 have to have one, just in case they get arrested for not eating at Big Rico’s.” Cecil licks a smidge of peanut butter off of Carlos’s thumb. “Since not all kids can afford pizza, and so the law only applies to adults. It’s a get out of jail free card.”
“Huh.” Carlos frowns. “Even babies need one?”
“Yes. That’s the municipal decree.” Cecil stretches and refills his wine glass. “We can just put X on the form for now. City Council has to understand, I mean, we don’t even have the baby yet.”
“The baby,” Carlos repeats, like he’s savoring the word. “Our baby.”
Cecil gives him a quick kiss. Carlos wraps both arms around him and pulls him close, the two of them tangling up on the floor, and they turn it into a long kiss.
“I’m worried I won’t be a good dad, though,” Carlos murmurs as he sits up.
Cecil dusts off his polka dot overalls. “I think being a dad is something no one starts off good at,” he says. “It’s like radio hosting. Or pouring out libations to the elder gods. It just takes a little time to get into practice. C’mon.” He tips his beret-capped head at the IKEA cabinet. “Let’s fight this thing some more.”
A few days pass. Their nursery sits finished, though Cecil goes in every few hours to change the angle of a piece of furniture, or add another stuffed duckling to the pile of stuffed animals on a shelf. Carlos has added baby-proof handles to all of their doors, just in case the child they adopt is able to walk. “Did you know most babies take their first steps between nine and 12 months?” he says. “And then they start talking, like in little sentences, between 18 months and two years! But for some kids that kind of thing takes a little longer - I mean, I didn’t start talking until I was five. Or, some kids never learn to talk. And that’s okay!”
For the most part, they try to go about their normal lives. Guessing at what day they’ll get the call would only create anxiety. Cecil focuses on writing his shows and doing his outfits and makeup. “Babies need a lot of attention,” Carlos tells him. “We won’t have as much time for makeup or science or whatever.”
“You’re learning a lot of scientific facts about babies,” Cecil comments as he laces up his hip-high boots. They’re boots so high that they can be worn as pants, though he’s put a skirt over them anyway, because fashion.
Carlos nods. “Yeah. I’m... I’m worried, actually.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Worried that I’m not going to be as good of a dad as I want to be, you know? I want our baby’s life to be perfect.”
“Nothing is ever perfect,” Cecil assures him. Carlos nods, unconvinced. “I’m worried too, though. I understand. All we can do now is wait.”
In the end, they don’t have to wait long. The Palmer-Scientists are curled up in bed, sound asleep, a week and a half after visiting the adoption agency, when Carlos’s phone starts ringing.”
“Nhhh,” he mumbles. He tries to reach across Cecil to grab it and accidentally smacks his husband in the face. “I’m awake, I’m awake. Thanks, babe,” he adds as Cecil hands him the phone. “Hello?” Carlos sits up abruptly in bed. “Wait,” he says. “Really? Right now?”
“Put it on speaker.”
“Sorry, let me put it on speaker so Cecil can hear.” He fumbles with his phone through shaking hands. “Okay.”
“Hello, Cecil,” says the case worker’s voice. “Can you get a flight tonight?”
Cecil can feel his heart hammering in his stomach, and in his brain, and all throughout his body, like somersaults of nerves racking his entire form. “You mean...?”
“I’ve just received a call from the Children’s Hospital of Arizona,” the case worker continues. “They need an emergency adoption. A woman came in to their labor wing earlier this sick, but after giving birth, she fled. No one has seen her. She only left her baby, and a note saying she doesn’t want him.”
“W-why not?” Carlos asks.
“Because he was premature. Initially, it looked like he wouldn’t survive for very long. Don’t worry,” she says as Cecil makes a cry of worry. “He’s been very sick, but has improved in the past few days. The doctors want him to leave the intensive care wing, but only if a family can take him in immediately and monitor his health. They also want a family that lives near a hospital. Fortunately, you meet all those conditions.”
“He must be so scared,” Cecil whimpers, “All alone there.”
“Which is why you need to get on the soonest flight you can. Tonight, if possible. From there, get a taxi or something to the hospital and check in at the maternal wing. And you’ll need an incubator at home, just as a precaution if he gets sick again. Okay?”
Carlos nods and squeezes Cecil’s hand.
“Okay. I’m looking forward to seeing you two in my office soon.” There’s a smile in the case worker’s voice. “With your son. Please call me if you need anything.”
“We will. Thanks.”
Carlos hangs up. He sets down his phone on the bed and turns to Cecil, and when their eyes meet they both burst into tears. Cecil collapses into Carlos’s arms and buries his face in his shoulder, shaking. “Oh, my god, this is happening,” he whispers. “And-and he’s all alone, in Arizona, and he’s sick -”
“Yeah, and what if we can’t take care of him?” Carlos’s arms tremble. “If, if I’m a really terrible dad, and I make him even more sick? And he gets taken away from us? Or he grows up and he isn’t happy here, isn’t happy because I wasn’t good enough -”
“Carlos.” Cecil sits up and wipes his eyes. He cradles Carlos’s face in his hands. “Carlos, you are the most perfectly imperfect person, and husband, and you will be an amazing father. Okay? Like the case worker said, we’re right near the Night Vale hospital! We can help our son if he gets sick again.” Cecil sighs as Carlos keeps crying. “Sweetie...”
This is new to him. Because when the town is falling apart or the grocery store stops existing or dragons sweep from the sky, Cecil has an answer for what Carlos doesn’t understand. Or when something in the world is confusing, Carlos has a scientific explanation for it. There are no explanations for learning, in the late hours of the night, that their future son is sick in another state, and that in the course of a few short hours, their entire life will change.
Instead, Cecil cuddles Carlos closer and kisses the top of his head. “We will be okay,” he says. “And our son will be okay. I promise.”
Carlos sniffles and dabs at his eyes with the sleeve of his nighttime lab coat. “B-but we don’t have an incubator.”
“Okay... so only one of us will go to Arizona. You go, you know all the scientific facts about babies.” Carlos’s eyes go wide. “You do, Carlos. You know so much! And you’re better at leaving Night Vale, anyway.” The last time they tried to leave the town for a weekend getaway, Cecil kept teleporting back to Night Vale against his will. Aging did that to citizens. “You can do this, bunny. I know you can.”
“I can do this.”
“Yes, babe.”
Carlos nods and takes a deep breath. “I’m going to go get our son,” he says. “And bring him home, safe.”
“And I’m going to get an incubator and have his nursery all ready for him when you get back.” Cecil smiles. “This is exciting! Carlos, we’re finally going to have a baby! We’re going to raise a family together!”
“Yeah.” Carlos smiles and leans in to kiss Cecil. “Yeah, we are!”
They get up. Cecil packs an overnight bag for Carlos while Carlos packed a bag for the baby - diapers, formula, an outfit and a warm blanket for the plane.
“Okay,” he said as he stuffed a blanket into the baby bag. “Do I have everything?”
“You’re forgetting your bag.” Cecil held it out. “This has an extra lab coat and your fidget magnets. Oh, and some snacks. Snacks are very important.”
“You are the best.” Carlos kissed Cecil’s cheek and took the bag. Then he drew a deep breath and looked around. “Well,” he said. “This is the last time we’ll be alone in our house for a while.”
“Our entire life is about to change.” Cecil smoothed the lapel on Carlos’s lab coat. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come to the airport with you?”
“No, I want you to sleep. We won’t be getting a lot of it, because on average, babies will wake up and cry two to three times a night, and they won’t go back to sleep until they’ve been comforted and fed.”
“That’s a good fact to know.” Cecil holds out his arms for one long hug. “I love you so, so much.”
“I love you too.”
They break apart, kiss, hug again, break apart. “Okay,” says Carlos. “Okay.”
“Okay,” says Cecil. “Oh, wait!” He runs to the nursery and brings back one of the stuffed ducklings. “So he’ll have something to play with.”
Carlos nods and tucks it into the baby bag. Cecil reaches up and gives him one last kiss.
“I love you,” he says. “Bring our son home safe.”
And then Carlos leaves, with the sound of a closing door and a revving car engine, and Cecil is alone in the house watching the lights of Carlos’s car fade through the window. He puts on one of Carlos’s lab coats, gets a blanket, and goes to the nursery. He double- and triple- checking that everything is in order. The sun-shaped clock on the wall proclaims that it is 3:12 AM. At eight, he will get up and drive into the shopping district for an incubator.
For now, he curls up in the rocking chair. He watches the bloodstone mobile spin in a breeze that isn’t actually there. And, eventually, under the clock’s steady ticking, Cecil falls asleep in a coat that smells like his husband, in a room that will be his son’s.
#my little brother was adopted when he was 2 months old#he's older now#and he still can't talk#but that doesn't matter because he's found other ways to communicate#all kids deserve love regardless of how they communicate#welcome to night vale#night vale spoilers#cecil palmer#carlos the scientist#cecilos#esteban palmer#my fanfiction#all hail the glow cloud#thank you finknor for my life
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we’re all liars, this is no huge revelation as many authors wish it to be.
we all lie to ourselves, yet another well established truth.
but we cannot trust ourselves. and i don’t mean reassuring yourself in the mirror that giving him another call, another text, another chance won’t hurt. we cannot trust the very essence of what we believe makes us us. how can we? when every word that leaves our blood stained lips is tainted by self importance and hazy memory and daydreams and romanticism and an innate, primal need for perfection. when the mirror in our minds is cracked in some places by nights of hatred and shame and painted over in others by champagne-drunk melancholy mornings of idealism and longing. when our own self image is irrevocably twisted and warped every minute of our lives until we are to ourselves unrecognizable in the crystal clear lake of Truth.
nothing we think. nothing we believe. nothing we do is done for the reasons we attach “oh, i dress solely for myself” “what can i say, it’s just who i am” “i can be hard to deal with sometimes, i’m sorry, it’s because of my past” how do we know we don’t romanticize every aspect of our personality? how do we know whether our experiences affect us or if we allow them to affect us because it makes us feel more special? how do we know that the darkness is really there of its own accord and not because it comforts us that we’re set apart from the next slightly haunted soul standing next to us? how do i know that i write songs purely because it’s the only way to sort out my feelings and not because i seek appreciation and commendment for my talents? hell, how do i know i’m even writing this because it’s really poisoning my brain and not because i want attention? how do i know that my writing style is a result of my stream of consciousness and not out of pretentiousness or to distract from this mediocre and meaningless existentialism with flowery five dollar words? how do i know i dream for more because it truly courses through my veins and not because i would rather try and try and try and fail and fail and fail than accept that i’m just like everybody else, that i was destined to be ordinary, that thinking i was anything more was just the influence of one too many coming of age films and success stories, that there’s nothing exceptional about me, there never was, there never will be, and that’s the way my life is meant to go.
i’m sorry. i don’t mean to be cynical. or do i? i don’t know.
i’m not trying to be dramatic or make a groundbreaking point in a cheesy way with questioning each sentence i write—am i? even if i wasn’t, even if i was, you and i and anyone else bothering to read this would view it in a different light.
all i know is that with this realization that nothing in my head is worth a dime, i find that i’m trapped in this destructive cycle, tormented by self awareness, forever searching for release.
maybe release comes in the form of self acceptance? but who knows if the “self” you’re accepting is your self? maybe it’s your self that you wish was yours. maybe it’s your self that’s been tainted by someone else’s expectations and disappointment.
maybe release is letting go of all stolen rights to your self image that you’ve been desperately holding onto your whole life and entirely, purely, wholly disregarding the opinions and ideas of others impressed upon you, trading that in to live your life without considering how it will change the beads of the kaleidoscope the entire world watches you through, warped and enhanced and dramatized already.
i hope to find that release one day. i hope to break free of constant self doubt. i hope to soon wake up and not question who i’m living for or why i am the way that i am or why i dream the dreams that i dream or why i want the things that i want.
this isn’t meant to be a well organized, perfectly and precisely broken piece of writing. this is real. this is awkward and over the top and clumsy and breathtaking and feels off in your head somehow but also seems to fit perfectly into the locked shelf of thoughts you only share on the fifth date.
this is just me, raw and pure.
i think.
#this is chaotic#im so sorry#this is really what’s been running through my head#dramatic much#extra#poetry#prose#self doubt#insecurity#2 am#2 am thoughts#2 am poetry
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Smut Writing - Tips from an Amateur
Hey kids! This is just a short list of notes I put together for another ask I got awhile back. It’s based on my personal process/thoughts. Hopefully it can help someone. <3
(It’s not particularly NSFW but I’m putting it after the jump anyway. Also, plenty of it applies to writing in general.)
Read. Read, read, read. While you’re reading (or after, if it’s really good), ask yourself what worked? What didn’t? What would you like more of? What was missing? What style or kind of language appeals to you - do you like rough, “coarse” language, or flowery euphemisms? Figure out your own taste. Remember that your first reader is going to be you.
Don’t be afraid to do research. If your characters are doing things you’ve never done, or possess body parts you’re not familiar with, it’s perfectly reasonable to look up the mechanics and see what other people have to say about it. (Google is your friend - don’t be shy.) When I’m writing M/M, I sometimes run scenarios by my gay male friends to see if it’s realistic/plausible.
Once you feel like you have somewhat of a handle on the equipment, I think it’s helpful to start with an outline. Even if it’s just a sentence or two with your goal for the scene (for example: X and Y fight, then start making out, then fuck). If a more detailed outline is more helpful for you, go for it.
Pay attention to mechanics and order of operations. If you describe someone’s naked body, and then later talk about their lingerie, that will be confusing. Pay attention to who’s on top, and the order of what is happening. You don’t have to describe every single moment in detail, but you do need transitions. (Example: if two characters are going from a blow job to fucking doggy style, you probably need at least one sentence in between, even if that’s just a time lapse.)
Zero in on small moments to focus on. What are the most important beats in the scene? Go back to your goals: is this smut purely for porn? Or are you using it to advance the plot? To show an emotional connection? To show LACK of emotional connection? Maybe the first kiss is important. Maybe getting undressed makes one of your characters feel vulnerable. Maybe there’s awkwardness, humor or angst. Maybe something changes about their relationship through sex. Figure out what your needs are as the author.
Focus on foreplay. That’s where all the fun happens, generally. What kinds of things turn you on? Write that.
Practice, practice, practice. Write a lot. Don’t edit as you go, just get it all out. Is your first try shitty? Try again. Keep trying until you write something that you are happy with. My first time writing smut, I think I had 20 drafts before I felt okay about it. And looking back, it wasn’t groundbreaking or perfect by any means. But it’s the best I could do in that moment.
EDIT THOUGHTFULLY. Ask yourself if this is something you would want to read. If not, then why? Add and subtract. Maybe you’re too focused on mechanics and not enough on emotions. Maybe there are phrases that, upon second reading, don’t sound right.
Personally, I like to add little moments of levity/humor because I think that building up tension/breaking tension/building up tension is a great way to keep readers engaged.
It’s totally okay to borrow from people you admire: maybe someone inspired you to explore a certain dynamic. Maybe you really love a term or phrase they used. Maybe it’s just that they have a style you emulate. As long as you don’t actually plagiarize, then getting inspiration from others is great. (Although it is important to credit them.)
Get beta readers who you trust, who are good at constructive criticism. If you can manage to convince someone whose writing you admire to beta for you, then you’ve hit a goldmine.
Don’t be afraid to publish something that’s imperfect. Because all writing is imperfect, and feedback helps us grow.
Apply the feedback you get to the next piece you write. Even comments that are 100% positive can be helpful. If someone loved your dialogue, that can tell you that dialogue is a strength of yours. If someone says “I’m dying to know what happens next or would happen if X,” then maybe you can use it as a prompt for the next chapter or next fic. On the other hand, if people say things that you either disagree with or don’t find helpful, it’s perfectly okay to disregard them.
HAVE FUN! Remember that sex is a human activity. And humans can be silly and playful and flawed and messy. Humans can be contradictory and complicated and have more than one emotion or motivation at once. Humans are kind of (extremely) ridiculous.
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Miraculous, the Monster of the Week Format and the Status Quo, or Why Things Barely Change At All
TLDR; while the monster-of-the-week format doesn’t mean there is no overarching plot in Miraculous, these monsters are variable in terms of quality and the overarching plot itself is not something the show explores.
The fact that you can watch 80% of the show in any order without feeling lost is quite telling: the goal is to have self-contained stories during the space of one episode, not to have things that happened in such and such episode have consequences in the following ones. Which is frustrating in the long run, even more so when the monster-of-the-week format doesn’t mean that episodes are aired weekly.
It isn’t that the people working on Miraculous aren’t talented enough to write something good, simply that the format they have to work with makes the story what it is.
Now, if you want to read something a little more detailed, just click the thingy!
With now 64 episodes aired, it’s safe to say that Miraculous is a show that is meant to stay on our screens for quite some time. For exactly five seasons, so far. Yay! Or perhaps not?
With its reused villains (when you’ve got 2.0 in your title, that screams Electric Boogaloo, I’m sorry), its apparent lack of character development and little focus on the overarching plot (if there is any, at this point), it sounds like this is pretty much stretched out.
The show has two focuses, so to say, our two cinnamon buns and their love story, and superhero stuffs with different villains in each episode (and that guy alone in his lair, and sometimes that woman with the fan but eeeeh, don’t sweat it, besides they’re interchangeable so far)
What do I mean by Monster-of-the-week format?
Exactly what the title says. For each week/episode, one villain. Who is defeated at the end of the week. Yay! The prime example of this is the original Scooby Doo cartoons, Scooby Doo, Where Are You!
Now, what do we think of that show? Other than the laugh tracks, it holds up well enough. More importantly, though, every story is self-contained, and the appeal of the Scooby Doo is its mysteries. We don’t care about Velma’s backstory, or how Fred became the leader, these characters have very little depth and that’s OK, their interactions is not the main point of the story.
Scooby Doo has a very simple formula:
The gang goes somewhere, finds mystery, chase one, traps, chase two with a bubblegum pop soundtrack this time, then the mystery is solved, very basically. And we can move on to the next mystery
You can air any episode in any order, you can get the story without feeling lost.
And for most Miraculous episodes, it is true as well! They follow roughly the same recipe:
Something something civilian life, Hawk Moth akumatises someone, Superhero Time, Lucky Charm, Status Quo again.
The first episodes that aired never explained how Marinette got her Miraculous and… It didn’t seem to matter all that much?
But there’s a problem here. MLB isn’t just about Superhero Thingies™. We’ve got that Love Tesseract™ thing too. And a love story requires a progression and character growth to work.
You can’t have a monster-of-the-week format if you try to explore things that are character-driven, unless there is a clear follow up, an overarching plot.
Like, say…
Revolutionary Girl Utena.
Utena is one of my favourite shows of all time, and I’m talking live action and animated. It is stylish, the writing is great, the direction work is awesome. It’s a masterpiece and for a show aired in 1997, it aged pretty well in the way it handles it themes. (some of the animation is wonky, though, characters are definitely not always on model, it’s not perfect but hey, 1997)
You should watch Utena. It’s available on Nozomi if you’re from Americaland, otherwise I’m sure you’ll find a way to stream it somewhere. Or buy the BluRay.
So, Utena has a “Duel of the Week” format, it follows a clear formula. And just like Miraculous, it recycles animation and some sentences are said at least once or twice per episode. Hell, Miraculous references Utena quite a few times (but I’ll make a post just for that).
Having a repetitive formula does not mean you cannot have a sense of progression. And Utena shines because of that. Things… Things have consequences, a duel leads to another because of reasons that become clear. It’s not a “we need that many episodes” thing, everything is needed, you cannot not watch an episode, even the recap ones, even the Nanami ones, especially the Nanami ones (Nanami who is a much better Chloé than Chloé is).
Unlike Miraculous, Utena has an overarching plot, you can’t play the episodes in any order. Repetitions and variations are meaningful in Utena, it is not simply a matter of style, or rather, style in Utena is meaningful, not only there for “the show”, a spectacle which in itself is meaningful too. Hell, everything in Utena is meaningful. Meaningful. Could you imagine that much meaning in Miraculous? Me neither.
But, you may say, you’re not fair; you’re comparing Miraculous, a show aimed at schoolchildren, with Utena, an anime aimed at an older audience.
And you wouldn’t be entirely wrong if you thought so. Which is why I’ll reiterate my point with a show for which Thomas Astruc himself worked.
Code Lyoko
Code Lyoko is super formulaic, replace Hawk Moth with XANA and superpowers with going inside a computer and that’s about it. It recycles a lot of its animation, the character design is… A bold choice. I barely watched it when I was younger though it was a pretty big thing for us Frenchies (but hey it’s available on YouTube now in French so I binged the entire thing in a few days and while it’s not groundbreaking, it does some things really well)
Code Lyoko is all that, repetitions, terribly formulaic, XANA-tised person/plushie of the week thing with towers to deactivate and whatnot, and a “return to the past” to erase whatever has occurred during the episode. Literally.
But.
Once again, a visible overarching plot, and can you believe it, things have consequences. William is lost on Lyoko, and the kids spend episodes looking for him. There’s romance, and though it is dealt with clumsily, there’s a sense of progression to it. Things… Happen… With… Consequences.
Miraculous is, for the most part, an inconsequential show
Yeah, the problem with Miraculous is that its overarching plot is muddy and flimsy, the status quo is very much that, I’d argue that it’s a show in which nothing truly happens because nothing has consequences. I mean… Nino and Alya are dating, I guess? Adrien… Is still allergic to pigeon feathers? There are sometimes more than just two heroes? But it doesn’t really matter.
And Oblivio is the perfect example of that.
That’s the message of the episode. Even if we forget things, it still works, there is no need for memory, for remembering what has happened in all the previous episodes because we still make it work somehow. What happened before this episode does not matter to the story we are telling now.
The show keeps telling the same things about its characters, over and over, and whenever something new is introduced… Well it’s great but don’t expect to see it in the episodes after that one.
Which is why specials, story arcs which last two episodes, are good. There is room for developed character moments, interesting interactions, plot, sometimes good fights too. Chloé shines in Queen’s Battle, “Origins” is, for me, probably the best bunch of episodes in the entire show so far because things happen and we can see change happening. Like, actual change. Characters who learn how to do stuff, whose interactions with one another changes over the course of these two episodes.
Outside of this however… Here, have that very important book, we’ll see it in one or two episodes because we need a macguffin and voilà. Here, have new heroes, but don’t expect to see them after that episode, unless we need a real showdown.
It’s hard to get hyped by Jeremy Zag’s posts, because no matter how cool Dragon!Kagami looks, because of that format of self-contained stories with the only connection being them being the same static characters. Kagami with a Kwami? Eh. It’ll be a one-off thing, sure it’ll be cool but to make the plot move on… Don’t sweat it.
Speaking of Kagami, she is presented the exact same way in Frozer and Selfinsertepisode Animaestro, nothing has changed about the character, don’t worry, she’s still going to be used the exact same way, perhaps we’ll show once again that she really cares for Adrien but hey, we already knew that, there’s nothing new in Onichan. And that is symptomatic of the entire cast.
Is that format something the creators of the show absolutely wanted? Is near-stagnation what they wished for? Let’s decide it’s not their choice, and that they try their best with the limitations they have.
Would these flaws be this glaring if new episodes were aired weekly? Like, say, air three episodes during three weeks, a break and then some new episodes again? I think not. The wait and the lack of follow-up from one episode to the next makes them really noticeable, and watching them feels unfulfilling.
So that airing schedule I just suggested? That’s not how things work, that’s not how television works apparently and there’s nothing the people who work on Miraculous can ask about it. Thomas Astruc doesn’t know when the episodes will air, blah blah blah. Television networks not really caring about the shows they air? Never heard of that before, huh. SU
So I guess this is it, then. I hope you enjoyed this overlong post!
(shameful self-promotion moment, but about Kagami, I wrote a Kagaminette/Marigami fic, it’s 80,000 words so far and I update it on Mondays so give it a look if you want! It’s here.)
#miraculous#love square#marinette dupain cheng#adrien agreste#ladybug and chat noir#kagami tsurugi#this show#could be so much better#instead it's a frustrating watch#rena rouge#carapace#hawk moth#thomas astruc#oblivio#monster of the week
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My Brilliant Friend. You read the books too? If so, what do you think HBO has done to make it a good adaptation? How have they stayed true to the books and characters within the confines of a TV series? (In other words, what could OL learn from MBF?).
OOOH BOY. Ok. Yes I’ve read all 4 Ferrante books and loved them. Devoured them. I can’t wait to read them all again. I’ve only read 2 and 3/4′s of the Outlander books so a bit of this is biased. this got VERY long. I apparently have a lot of thoughts so read if you dare :)
I find Ferrante to be a far superior writer to Diana. In every single way. She builds incredibly deep, rich, complex characters with very little description. She’s a master of show not tell. She doesn’t need her characters to go through torture and rape to show that they have strength and resilience and courage. They simply are all those things because of where they are living and the circumstances that surround them. She doesn’t use plot devices to further the story. Every part of the story feels natural and right and like it bleeds into the next. Her writing is concise, well edited and she uses beautiful sentence structure. I’m not saying Diana doesn’t but, in my opinion, her writing is inconsistent at best, she’s not the best at character building and plot and she needs a fucking editor.
Now to the show. And I have to give credit to OL - My Brilliant Friend is only in season 1 and OL’s season 1 was, in my eyes, pretty damn perfect so I feel like comparing them is a bit unfair. HBO has plenty of time to fuck up MBF with 3 more books/seasons. But if we look at MBF season 1 vs Outlander season 4 - the Brilliant Friend writers kept the parts of the book that were needed from the story, which meant keeping the entire book pretty much. They’ve changed very little from the plot of the book for the show and what little they did change was necessary for the show. It served the story to tweak things here and there but largely, nothing was changed. I wonder how much of that has to do with the fact that Elena Ferrante is given a writing credit on the show and I know, from press, that she is heavily involved in the creation of the show via email (because nobody knows who she actually is). I wonder what would have happened on OL if Diana was a writer and had been as involved in the writing and creating as Ferrante has been. Plus, Ferrante’s books are overall far less problematic with what happens...ie way less aka almost no rapes, definitely no tortures and no problematic story lines so there’s less to weed through and edit. Like I said though, MBF only just finished it’s first season. OL’s first season was amazing so it feels a little skewed to compare the two. But even in ways that OL maybe missed the mark in the 1st season (esp towards the end), MBF has stayed completely true to the books. They haven’t cut a thing out for time’s sake or story’s sake. Everything is there and everything is done beautifully. They’re truly doing the book a huge justice.
I also need to mention that Starz and HBO, while on many levels seem like similar networks, are not. HBO is known for producing groundbreaking, well produced, well written, well thought out content while Starz, from what I gather and based on OL, has been inconsistent in that respect. HBO’s had years and years of producing experience with long-running shows while I don’t think Starz has had that yet. I think OL is now their longest running show (and correct me if I’m wrong there). I wonder how different a discussion this would be if MBF was produced on Starz (thank god it’s not). Lastly, the fandoms are wildly different. As far as I can see, the MBF fandom is not quite as vocal as the OL fandom is. The books haven’t been around long enough to build up the same kind of massive following the OL books have. And they’re entirely different kinds of books so different kinds of fans. also, side note: everyone who works on MBF is Italian and/or European with the exception of a couple producers, I think. And honestly....European produced stuff is largely better than American. At least in my opinion.
Honestly, I think it’s too late for OL to learn anything from MBF. They’re already so deep into the books and have strayed in ways they can’t recover from. The only fix I can see would be like...switching networks and hiring a whole new writing staff but I doubt any of that will happen so idk. I’m not hopeful for season 5 at all but I’m incredibly excited for s2 of MBF.
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Michael in the Mainstream: Captain Marvel
Captain Marvel is one of the MCU’s most powerful characters right now, one of the few heroes who can even have a hope of defeating Thanos, so of course she needs to have a movie. Throwing in a bunch of heroes into an ensemble film without properly setting them up is what amateurs do, and at this point Marvel is no amateur; they know how to properly set up heroes… kind of. You see, Marvel Studios has a bit of a problem when it comes to origin films: they’re all very, very similar, very formulaic, and sometimes even predictable. That’s not to say they’re bad, far from it! Films like Black Panther, Ant-Man, and Doctor Strange are all rather formulaic but they all have interesting twists to the formula that makes them feel fun and exciting. Marvel is a lot better with quirkier fare, ensemble movies, and sequels than they are with solo origin films, Iron Man notwithstanding, but they usually find a way to make things feel fresh.
Captain Marvel… does and doesn’t achieve this. Captain Marvel is probably the most “Marvel” Marvel movie yet made; it feels like a film they would have released a decade ago, during Phase 1 or Phase 2. And there is actually a good reason for that; this movie has been in the plannig stages for a long, long time, but racist, sexist, cheapskate CEO Ike Perlmutter wouldn’t let this film be made because he didn’t think non-white, non-male leads could sell (a laughable sentiment when looking at superhero films nowadays), only relenting to let the film be made if Kevin Feige made an Inhumans movie, which fell through when Feige managed to get rid of the meddler and get him exiled to the Marvel TV department. This film has been a long time coming, and it feels like it.
But I can’t say the film is bad; it’s most definitely not, and there’s a lot to love in the film. At the same time though, it’s easy to see why someone might not find themselves sucked into this; it’s a film coming out in Phase 3 that feels like it belongs in Phase 1. Where it would have been one of the best Marvel films of the early phases, it struggles a bit to stand out in the current MCU where the past few films have been nothing but home runs, and competing superhero cinematic universes have also been producing quality films, with Spider-Verse and Aquaman in particular bringing a lot of new stuff to the table. It just feels like Captain Marvel is almost irrelevat in the current landscape aside from introducing Carol Danvers to the MCU.
And yet… this is still a good, fun movie, because it delivers exactly what it promises, and it does the one thing I consider the saving grace of any film that would otherwise be average: it is wholly, unabashedly cheesy.
So let’s talk about what I loved first. The Skrulls are easily the very best part of the film, particularly Talos. Talos is one of the most interesting and complex antagonists in the MCU so far, and there’s a lot more to him than it initially seems. Just the fact that in general the Skrulls are now part of the MCU is absolutely delightful, as it seemed for so long they’d be exiled from continnuity due to Fox owning the rights to the most famous Skrull, Super-Skrull, due to his close ties to the Fantastic Four (though this is no longer a problem). To say much more about what makes the Skrulls so great would be to spoil one of the few genuinely good twists the movie has to offer, but it is a pretty neat twist on what you’d expect from Skrulls.
Carol herself, as played by Brie Larson, is a mostly enjoyable character. I think Carol is a bit shaky right now, having to deal with the tired amnesia plot and not getting to use her powers all that much, but for the most part she’s an enjoyable hero. I think she’ll fare a lot better in ensemble films and sequels, because Larson does a really good job, it’s just that so much of the movie is spent with her being limited. However, this is mitigated by the fact that she has great chemistry with Samuel L. Jackson, and pretty much every scene with Fury and Carol interacting is amazing. Speaking of Jackson, the effects used to de-age him are nothing short of stunning; you can’t even tell its CGI, it’s that good. Far better than the de-aging effects used in films like Rogue One, that’s for sure
The soundtrack is pretty good, though sometimes it’s a bit too on-the-nose. The usage of “Come As Your Are” is so literal it hurts, and the usage of “Just a Girl” is so utterly cheesy. But I think stuff like this helps add to the film’s charm, as does the fact that this movie is honestly, genuinely funny, especially due to the aforementioned banter between Carol and Fury, as well as the presence of Goose the cat, who Fury dotes over and who plays quite an amusing and cool role in the film, shockingly enough. Goose might be one of the best characters in the film honestly, which is not often something you hear about a pet cat.
Of course, not everything is perfect. A lot of the action is nauseatingly shaky and weirdly poorly choreographed, with the exception of the final battle and perhaps Carol’s escape from the Skrulls near the start. For a superhero movie, having such wonky action is inexcusable, though thankfully there’s not too much fighting… or not thankfully, since again, this is a superhero film, the sort of film where you expect superhero action. It’s not all bad, but when it gets bad it gets really bad.
There’s also the underutilization of characters. You know how the return of Ronan and Coulson was hyped up? Well, unfortunately for everyone, both of their screentimes are incredibly limited to the point they are essentially cameos, though Ronan feels like a cameo moreso than Coulson. Korath, too, is a bit wasted, though he at least gets a little more prominence with him being part of Carol’s initial squad, though he’s still not exactly focused on to any great extent. It just feels so pointless to have these actors come back to these roles if they’re essentially playing meaningless bit parts, especially in the case of Korath and Ronan, seeing as we know they end up dying anyway. It just seems like a huge missed opportunity to do something with these characters.
And of course, the whole amnesia plot kind of holds things back. Not that it’s done poorly, but it is a tired trope that is tricky to pull off, and considering Carol’s amnesia holds back the plot and holds her back from using her powers to any great extent, it does feel like more of a burden than anything that leads to interesting developments. It doesn’t help that most of the stuff revealed over the course of her rediscovering who she is is stuff that you could easily figure out on your own from nothing more than promotional material and the obvious hints throughout the film; it just feels like a contrivance to keep Carol in a weakened, vulnerable state instead of letting her let loose. Say what you will about Superman movies, but he at least gets to be Superman for vast swaths of the film in his origin story movies. Here, Carol’s big Captain Marvel moments really only come at the end, though I can’t stress enough that the final battle is a pretty cool sequence.
Still, nothing in this movie is done excessively poorly; there’s nothing here as bad as the Iron Man sequels or Thor: The Dark World. On the other hand though, there’s nothing here as innovative or impressive as in Thor: Ragnarok, Infinity War, Black Panther, or Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, with the exception of the Skrulls. There’s a lot of good elements here, obviously, but most of the stuff really just doesn’t elevate this movie to greatness; it’s merely a good, even very good film, but not as great as it should be nor as bad as some make it out to be. And this isn’t entirely the film’s fault; as I said, Perlmutter’s meddling did keep this on the backburner for a long, long time, so it’s frankly amazing the film is any good at all.
Really, whether you love or hate this is going to boil down to how much you can tolerate cheesiness. I live and breathe cheesiness, I have been exposed to cheese since I was young, so of course I’m pretty fond of this film. I’m also a huge fan of Skrulls so it’s a given I’d like a film with them in it. But if you don’t like this film, if you just don’t connect, well, it’s hard to blame you. It’s not an amazing or groundbreaking film, and really that’s a shame, because it could have and should have been. But on the other hand, not every film needs to exist to break new ground, not every film needs to change the world… sometimes films can just exist and be good.
Captain Marvel is a film that has attracted a lot of controversy, vitriol, and debating over it, making it one of the most controversial superhero movies in recent memory. Beyond that sentence I’m not going to even bother addressing any of that, because it is all the most idiotic drivel I have seen in regards to film in years. This is an utterly harmless superhero movie through and through, and any argument otherwise is just pointless drivel.
I really wish this could have come out years ago, because this would have been a game-changer back when superhero films were first breaking through. In this day and age? It’s just a good, fun movie, nothing less. I have faith Carol’s next outings, in Endgame and her inevitable sequels, will be a lot stronger and more polished and full of interesting developments, but her first outing is simply a fun time before the inevitable heartbreak and mindblowing that Endgame promises. I’m kind of okay with that; it’s nice to have a little calm before the storm.
#Michael in the Mainstream#review#movie review#Captain Marvel#MCU#Marvel#superhero movie#Brie Larson#Samuel L. Jackson#Nick Fury
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