been thinking a lot about womanhood lately

Something Came Alive - A FNaF Inspired Short Story

It took a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust to the new scenery I found myself in. The room was filled to the brim with arcade machines, toys, and other attractions. While this must have been a place many would've considered their childhood, I never got to visit one as a kid. And yet... Something about this room felt incredibly nostalgic to me.

It's exactly what I pictured an arcade to look like based on the movies I've watched and the stories I've been told. As if I was being led on a trail, my eyes went from one arcade machine to the other, trying to identify any details I could. I couldn't quite recognize any of them until I noticed the side of one of the cabinets. It had the art of a cartoon character I used to adore when I was growing up.

As I walked towards the machine, my excitement went through the roof. I don't usually get that excited about anything, but this had a grip on my mind. I had to play the game. However, when I finally inserted a coin, nothing happened. I tried everything I could think of, putting in more coins, rustling the machine back and forth, and I was still met with a blank screen.

I was as devastated as a little kid being told it can't go on one of the rides in the amusement park. Just as I was starting to tear up, I realized how silly I was acting. I'm a grown woman now, why am I crying over this crappy arcade game not working? As soon as that thought came, it quickly got replaced with another.

The only exit out of this room was a comically grand and whimsical door, like the entrance to a palace. Once I pushed it open, I was disappointed, to say the least. A huge door like that felt like it would promise as equally huge of a room on the other side. In contrast to the overstuffed arcade, this room was completely empty.

I suppose it was meant to be some sort of main lobby, judging by the fact the only thing it contained was a bunch of doors with labels on them. I tried reading them, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. It was gibberish to me. I picked a door at random and went inside.

Wires, metal, and various tools — it seemed to be some sort of storage room. What really caught my attention was all the robotic parts laying around. They all looked like they came from different robots, but I could see the consistency in their design. I picked up everything I could find and started trying to assemble them, like putting together a puzzle, with the difference that there were five different sets mixed together.

I must have zoned out while building it because it was ready before I even knew it. In a way, my creation was rather creepy-looking. No face besides its lower jaw, crooked bunny ears, one singular arm, an endoskeleton leg with every part of it being a different color. However, I felt more sympathetic towards it than scared.

The scrap it was made with was very worn down, and it looked at least 20 years old. Just as I was getting ready to move onto something else, I heard a faint hum coming from my robot. The hum then turned to whirring. Painful whirring and clanging. I watched as the mismatched machine tried sitting up straight on the table.

It was like an animal trying to pilot a human body. Jittering, shaking, and making nonsensical movements. The sight was too much for me to just gawk at and do nothing about, so I helped it stand up. I was taken aback by just how tall it was; like a child staring down an adult, as tall as a tower. For a long moment, it observed me, tilting its head left and right.

The ticking that came from inside the machine as it watched was dreadful. I wanted to run, but my body was frozen solid. I had no clue what it would do once it gathered enough data.

"Input your name," the bot spoke to me. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Everything that had happened made no sense. Wouldn’t this thing need some sort of power source to move, let alone talk to me?

"Input your name," it repeated. I imagined a far more friendly voice from what seemed to be an entertainer, but it was monotone and robotic. Only a hint of humanity could be heard through it.

"Julie. My name is Julie." Once I replied, there was a couple of seconds of relief... Until it quickly came crashing down with fear. Two red lights beamed through the robot's darkened face, or rather lack thereof. I was like a deer in headlights; I was stunned. I didn’t know what to make out of the situation.

"I remember. How could I not?" As it talked to me, I could hear its voice becoming more lively. Like it gained some sort of consciousness. Was it confusing me for someone else? This was the first time I’ve ever been in the presence of an animatronic, and I’ve certainly never been in this place before. “Where am I even? How did I end up here?” I thought to myself.

"You did this to me. And you get to live without a single worry. Nobody knows. But I always will." With every word it spoke, it took another step towards me. I couldn’t let this go on any further. I took a run for it, pushing onwards to any door or hallway I could find. Every new room I entered was stranger than the last, but I couldn’t linger on it for too long. I could hear the machine speeding up, every step sounding more powerful than the last. This maze of a building seemed endless, and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up. My head was getting dizzy; I felt like I would throw up at any second.

After what felt like forever, I hit a dead end. I couldn’t quite tell where I was, but my best guess would be an office. There was one large desk with an assortment of monitors, plush toys, and stacks upon stacks of papers. What may have been my saving grace, however, was a row of empty mascot suits sitting limp behind the desk. If I hid in one of them, maybe it wouldn’t find me. I picked the bear mascot, who sat on the far left. I tried my best to hide as deep inside of it as I possibly could.

CLANK! 

It’s inside. I held my breath and put my hands on my eyes. I’m not particularly a religious person, but at that moment, I had found an excuse to pray for the first time in my life. I begged God to make this thing go away.

One by one, I could hear it snatching the costumes, throwing them across the room once it identified whether I was there or not. As its glowing red eyes focused on the bear suit, I knew what was coming.

It reached inside and grabbed me by the neck. I tried to loosen its grip, but it was far too powerful. After some struggling, it finally pulled me out.

"I will do what you did to me all those years ago. You’ll find out how it feels to slowly get the life drained out of you while you hopelessly fight for survival. You can’t ignore me forever, Julie." Before it could finish, the dim light in the room went out. First there was silence, then there was relief, and finally — panic.

As I laid in bed, my entire body was paralyzed from what I had just experienced. This was the most vivid nightmare I’ve had in a long time. Usually, I forget them shortly after waking up, but this one really stuck with me. It's been 10 years since the incident; why is my brain reminding me of it now? I thought I had moved on; I thought I had put the past behind me. Before long, I tried to forget about it and calmed myself down. It wasn’t something worth being hung up over.

My clothes were drenched with sweat, so I decided to get up and change. I drank some water and got ready to go back to sleep. But as soon as I closed my eyes, I could hear someone walking outside my room. As it got closer, I could feel my entire room shake. I pinched myself, but this wasn’t another dream. Someone or something was approaching my room. After a prolonged sense of anticipation, a subtle creak signaled the gradual opening of my door. Emerging from the shadowy void, a pair of crimson lights cast a glow upon me.

Alright, I've been looking at all the queer crap, so Imma rant about that today. (I also accidentally reblogged a Nimona post on here instead trashlikesmedia so oops, but you can see where I started.)

Labels suck but I need them so there. I consider myself asexual, I came to this conclusion last summer. I've never been in a relationship, never really had any crushes. I always joked about how I had a crush on this guy in like 3rd grade and he liked my best friend (who I didn't actually like but that's a different story), and I've never loved since, but like it's true. I haven't. I always had this idea that I just hadn't met someone worth crushing on. I would ask people how they got into relationships and they'd always be like "just be yourself, one day the right guy will come along and it'll all work out" which was not helpful at all. My younger sibling is queer and they kind of introduced me to a lot of different identities and ideas, and it just kind of grew from there. It all started with me acknowledging the fact that I didn't want to sleep with women, and I felt the same way about women as I do about men, so I'm bi? pan? ace? It took a while to get comfortable with it, but now I'm here confidently ace.

Then the romantic side of things got tough. I've been on exactly one date (it was terrible, I did not like the guy and he did not put in a lot of effort and it was so uncomfortable), and I've only ever really had one crush on a guy and it was such a weird experience, that I couldn't figure out what was going on. (that was actually last summer and part of me realizing I was ace was being excited to hang out and talk with him but physically recoiling when I even thought about kissing him), so romance was not my thing. I do identify as aromantic, because it's the label that most closely matches my feelings and experiences, but I still feel like it's not right. I don't know if it's because I genuinely am alloromantic, or because I so desperately crave romance.

The big deal of it all is that I grew up in a not great family environment. My parents hate each other, especially my mom to my dad. They have been outwardly antagonistic towards each other for as long as I can remember. (I think the only reason they haven't gotten divorced is because it would be too expensive and my mom doesn't want to lose my dad's paycheck.) That contrasted really sharply with all the romance I would read about and see in movies and stuff. I'm a big reader and I have always loved romance. So I grew up with this reality of a terrible relationship and a fantasy of a perfect romance. I constantly worried that I would either settle for a terrible relationship because I thought that was realistic or end up alone because nothing matched my standards. Now, I don't know if my aromantic feelings are just because I'm scared of relationships and all of that nonsense or if I'm just genuinely not attracted to people. It keeps me up at night. At the end of the day, I just vibe and hope that everything works out.

In regards to gender, boy howdy do I have feelings. Cause like, gender isn't real, it's a social and cultural concept that people cling to because they like order. This is not invalidating trans people, gender and body dysmorphia is a very real thing and associating your identity, experiences, and sense of self with a gender and/or sex is normal, whether it aligns with your gender assigned at birth or not. My sentiment is more about the way society views gender as 1) a binary that aligns perfectly with sex and 2) an inflexible and constant pillar of identity that comes before any other identifiers. This is where I got beef. At the end of the day, your personal experience of gender is just that, personal. It's a part of who you are, but it's also influenced heavily by the way society views gender and gender norms, that's inevitable. My personal feelings are just complicated. I identify as a woman and use she/her pronouns because it's easy, not because I feel particularly aligned with the female gender. I'm not uncomfortable being perceived as a woman, but I also just don't care. Gender just isn't something that I consider important to my identity. I am me, I love these things, I do these things, these are my opinions. Y'know? (It probably doesn't help that my sense of self is also just wack, but whatever.) Something that I am uncomfortable with is being viewed as a woman before being viewed as a person. I have always called myself an actor, not an actress. Cause what's an actor? Someone who acts. What's an actress? A woman who acts. Why should part of my identifier clarify that I am a woman? That just doesn't make any sense to me. This view is rooted in my feminist ideals as well, as I've always been an advocate of getting rid of gendered job titles, seeing as the masculine form is almost always the default. However, I can't help but correlate the feelings. I just want to be a person, not a woman. Most of my hesitation in reaching out to and looking into the genderqueer community is just imposter syndrome probably. I don't care about being a woman, I don't feel gender dysphoria, people on the street probably aren't going to hate crime me for not aligning myself with a binary gender, so why should I try to claim any of this. Maybe it's just me making up excuses and pretending to be queer so I can feel cool or special. Maybe all the queerphobes are right and I am pretending to aroace and nonbinary so I can fit in with all the cool kids without actually having to date a woman and transition. I know that's a messed up view. Everyone's experience with gender and sexuality is extremely unique and no one will fit into a single box. I'm allowed to have these feelings without hating myself. It's just hard and scary. But c'est la vie.

On a lighter note, I love the asexual pride flag, it's so pretty, and I love the aromantic pride flag, it is also very pretty. But the aroace flag isn't that great. The colors just don't itch my brain the way the asexual and aromantic flags do individually y'know?

Long post, but I got's lots of feelings. I'm sure I'll make a bunch of posts about queerness, it do be a thing, but this was a good way to get my base feelings just out there.

First of all, thanks so much for sharing your books recs and reviews. I love reading your blog (especially since I did not find many books blog that as good as you in tumblr). 💐🥰

Can I ask your opinion on something? So, I saw some discussion on why shounen series (or series with strong bromance vibes) have more romantic vibes than BL manga/mahwa (MLM books). (Sorry, do you like any BL manga/manhwa or shounen series?) And I kinda agree. But what do you think?

Sorry for this random ask, feel free if you want to ignore this ask....

wow thank you! i love sending my bookish posts into the void and i love it even more when the void expresses its appreciation haha

i didn't know about this discourse but in general i agree with the controversial (?) opinion that non-canon queer-coded or homosocial relationships oftentimes make for more compelling ships than their canon counterparts. one could argue that it's bc something that is just out of reach feels more appealing than something that you already have but in regards to my personal frustrations when reading romance stories and plotlines it often comes down to how the relationship of characters who the author already decided are going to fall in love has little room to breathe beyond that - the sword of damocles of romance is constantly hanging over them and determining their entire narrative. there's little intrigue in that bc when you're an experience reader or a genre-savvy media consumer you know exactly how it's gonna go, bit by bit.

furthermore, i think it's interesting that women and people who used to identify as women when they were young are likelier to write an explicit romance or a canon queer relationship bc they have been socialized to value that type of fiction and in doing that they will, whether by intention or not, regurgitate all the possible tropes and clichées which doesn't necessarily make their original story a compelling romance. by contrast, people who grew up socialized as men have been taught to suppress emotions and value no homo male bonds with their bros which is why a stereotypical cishet male sff author will 1) write an absolutely yucky romance for his male lead and his female love interest, 2) rather die than acknowledge that queerness exists and 3) pour all the most profound and intense feelings his conscious and subconscious mind is capable of into the depiction of the male lead's relationship with his male sidekick. ambiguity tends to make things more interesting so no wonder people will feel more drawn to a ship that is ambiguously homosocial in eve kosofsky sedgwick's sense rather than to a ship that is merely a love story between two people of the same gender.

which brings me to my last (more personal) point: as someone who has been socialized as a woman i am slightly obsessed with romance. however, as someone who identifies as aroace i don't find most romance books or even romance subplots relatable or compelling. this contradiction is a source of constant frustration that accompanies my reading experience - i often seek out romance books bc i do so enjoy a good love story and end up disappointed and alienated most of the time bc of this built in failure to connect with fiction that is written by allos for allos. for example, i have tried to take refuge in historical mm romance bc i figured that neither comphet nor modern identity politics would spoil the magic of two people falling in love for me in this case. however, having read quite a few of those, i have noticed this compulsion the authors have to 1) let the reader know by any means necessary and as soon as possible that the characters in question are in fact into men and 2) state explicitly that these men find each other attractive - a compulsion that speaks to the allo experience of being aware (most of the time) what type of person you're attracted to and being able to interpret a perceived connection as romantic or sexual attraction almost immediately. a compulsion which i, as an aroace reader, find utterly bizarre and terribly frustrating. not to shame allos for how their sexuality works or anything, but i think trying to convince the reader that two characters are into each other without relying on these two conveniences would be a good writing exercise.

by comparison, a relationship that is just allowed to develop without its participants interpreting it as a romance (bc the author who wrote it didn't intend them to at all) feels like freedom. yes, it's unfortunate that they won't kiss or fuck in the end of all that quality time but ah well, i can go to ao3 for that. and yes, if they're not canonically queer it's not real rep etc etc but i think that by now we have all understood that media consumption is not activism and queer rep in your favorite tv show will not bring about the age of tolerance. what i'm talking about in this post is why it sometimes feels like queer fiction fails to depict queerness and romance in a compelling way.

Fruits Basket Diaries, #4: Why Am I Picking A Fight With A Tokyopop Editor?

[see part 1 here]

[see part 3 here]

This is part of an ongoing series where I'll be cataloguing my experience rereading (and finishing for the first time) the Fruits Basket manga. I've just finished reading up to Chapter 101, so there will be spoilers up to that section of the story. Also, please keep in mind that my thoughts are likely to develop as I read more!

So I've just finished the Tokyopop edition (English translation) of Volume 17, and at the end there's an editor's note which includes this statement: "I'd really like to see some drawings of Akito as a woman, in her true gender!" I'm not exactly seething about this statement, but I do find it to be very silly, especially in the context of everything that happens in the volume itself. I've been thinking about the sentence pretty much nonstop since I read it, so I think it deserves an installment of its own in this series.

(For the purposes of this piece, I'm going to refer to Akito as both a woman and a man, but I'll only be using he/him pronouns for him.)

In short, I think that Akito's gender is far more complicated than "woman disguised as a man". Even after Kureno reveals to Tohru that Akito is a woman, he continues to refer to Akito using he/him pronouns in front of Tohru, even while calling Akito a girl. In a later conversation between Kureno and Shigure, who both know Akito's gender at birth, Shigure refers to Akito using both he/him and she/her pronouns, and Kureno uses he/him pronouns to refer to Akito. There's no need for secrecy in these situations, so it seems that these characters do actually see Akito as a man, though not only as a man.

What find really revealing is where Kureno and Shigure choose to refer to Akito using feminine terms--Kureno sees feminine Akito as the girl he pities, and Shigure sees feminine Akito as the woman he's loved for years. Masculine Akito, in contrast, is the controlling, irascible head of the family, the extremely violent person who everyone must walk on eggshells around. Even as Akito consistently brings unhappiness and danger upon the entire Zodiac, both Kureno and Shigure separate him into two parts: man and woman, cruel and affectionate, abuser and lover. Though Akito rarely presents this feminine side, leaving Kureno and Shigure to cling to faded memories of him being vulnerable with them, the duality of his gender, the glimpses of love they see in the midst of abusive situations, leaves the two with just enough hope for them to continue enabling him in the hopes of one day seeing the person they care for again.

When the editors note says that Akito is really a woman, I think it takes for granted that Kureno and Shigure are right, that who he is in rare moments of weakness is more important than the person he is so much of the time, the one who inspires terror in so many family members, and I don't think that makes sense. Though we haven't been told how Akito himself identifies, I think, from the way the story approaches his gender, that he is both a man and a woman, and both identities constantly play against each other to create an antagonist who the older characters, those who have seen both sides the most clearly, struggle to sort out their feelings towards throughout the series.

(I also think this is also a part of a larger vision of genderqueer-ness in Fruits Basket, one I discussed a bit in part 2, where identities outside of the gender binary are not just things that happen to characters by chance, but rather reflections of their personalities and experiences!)

In 'Sex Education', I got the same issue with the character of Otis that I had from the start: He is increasingly written as the least likeable and redeemable character in the cast, which is okay of course, you can have a villain protagonist. He can be a Bojack Horseman. If the moral is supposed to be that an upper middle class British cishet white boy cannot be a good person, I can roll with that.

Except it is still written in tone, complete with musical cues, like we're supposed to believe he got some sort of redemption. And that redemption is so unsatisfying - you see him almost systematically be a selfish arrogant ass for the better part of 4 seasons, and then his conflicts are "resolved" in the very last episode or so by him saying 2-3 lines of mediocre nice things completely out of the blue. And then they have other characters do that "tell, don't show" thing where they praise Otis for being sensitive and smart and helpful even though we are not seeing a lot of evidence for it. Especially his sexist tunnel vision towards almost every woman and girl in his life is never properly unpacked (unless you count that time where 2 of the girls he treated the worst got to see him dive inside a dumpster). When he was accused of been an incel fck, that would have been an opportunity for him to ask himseld- Well, AM I? Bojack Horseman experienced proper turmoil over being an aesshole and didn't get to fix it all with 2 minutes of insight and a few words of kindness.

Maybe that was the goal though. Maybe the writers wanted to deliberately showcase the dissonance when a character like that - with that sort of background - is shoehorned in as a relatable protagonist. Especially when contrasted with an otherwise very diverse cast of mostly redeemable, likeable, even genuinely heroic characters.

Or maybe it was much more cynical than that. Maybe they figured, the people who identify with Otis would not think that anything was off with him, because they would 100% agree with his behaviour and choices (and his redemption being treated as sufficient), whereas the people who don't identify with him would just nodd along as well and say: Yup. That's exactly what those fckers are like - zero likeability, zero atonement, full spotlight. Every other portrayal would have been a lie. He ticked all the boxes we expected... but he's not the reason we watch this show, now is he?

You said Freddie "was in love with an idea of Mary". I don't understand this and some other people's opinion on this. They were in a relationship. They broke up, because Freddie was gay and couldn't have romantic relationship with her. They stayed friends, which isn't unsual (see Joe). He couldn't love her as a friend? Only "the idea of her"? She didn't deserve to be loved? Why is it wrong to ask Phoebe about her? Why the fandom tries to forget she ever existed? She's known Freddie for 22 years.

Alright, I will elaborate then since I think you've misunderstood what I said there, and that is fair enough because I didn't explain.

I'm really not keen on getting into any discussions about Mary, to be honest, which is why I said none of this is a hill I'd like to die on. I'm not interested in defending how Mary acted after his death, there's a lot of valid criticism and it's true that their relationship is and was often misrepresented in a way that is disrespectful to Jim and the very fact that Freddie was a self-identified gay man. So I understand the frustration with that. But anyway, here are my thoughts on Mary and Freddie and their actual relationship with each other.

Let's start at the beginning. Although none of us can really know what their relationship was like, I personally think it's clear that they clicked very well in the beginning, on some level.

Let me just pre-empt this again by saying that pretty much all of this is speculation and my personal opinion, I'm not trying to tell anyone they're wrong. This is just my take. Don't come for me. Let me have my opinion, please and thank you.

I think they fit well in the way that, knowing Mary's background (deaf parents, started working full-time at 15), she was very used to being in a caretaker role and Freddie liked, in many ways, to be taken care of. I think she was also somebody who was not very outspoken with her emotions, not very emotional overall, and I think that actually perhaps suited Freddie quite well. Because I think that her keeping her feelings close to her chest gave him the excuse to do the exact same. Why do I think so?

Having read Rosemary's book, it's apparent that she is a very emotional person and what ended up happening, is that Freddie opened up to her in ways he never did with Mary. He never, until their break up, let on to Mary that he wanted to be with men. Freddie and Rosemary, by contrast, were only together for a year or so and he could not stop talking about it. Rosemary was open, so Freddie was open. I think Freddie was a bit of a chameleon when it came to relationships, which stemmed from his deep desire to be loved and accepted. He wanted to please, he wanted to be a good fit for his partners. I think that was sometimes detrimental for him because he would push himself to be somebody he wasn't. I think incidentally with Mary it sort of worked out quite well for quite a long time. I think that while they did have feelings for each other, there was also a lot of unspoken things, an emotional distance, and I think that made it easier for Freddie to be in the closet as long as he was. Again, having to grow up so fast, I think Mary was someone who learned to swallow things down and not address them and just function. In a way, Freddie had a very similar approach.

Now, let's talk about love and what I meant by him being in love with the idea of her. I believe that Freddie definitely believed and felt that he was in love with her for much of the time they were together, in part because I think he really, really wanted to be. Here was this girl who was in many ways perfect for him, the kind of girl his parents were thrilled about. Also, quite importantly, somebody who believed in him and did support him. I remember seeing one interview with her where she says her first impression was that he was this charismatic, long-haired musician and seemed so confident. Not at all like the person underneath, I think she goes on to say. But it did give me the impression that being as young as she was at the time, there was definitely a sort of wide-eyed admiration of his huge personality there from her side. And I think that stroked his ego a lot. I'm sure that later on in their relationship, she did become somewhat disenchanted with him and most likely even frustrated with him much of the time, but again, being someone who keeps themselves to themselves, I think she put on a brave face and funnily enough he did the exact same thing.

It think that towards the end of their relationship, they functioned as partners, rather than a romantic couple. I think Freddie clung on for a very long time - if not forever - to some ideal of what his life should/could/might have been if only he hadn't been gay (internalised homophobia galore), and that is also what I mean by being in love with the idea of Mary. The idea of the beautiful fantasy relationship with a woman he was never able to live up to, and I think a lot of guilt stemmed from that, for him. That he should have been able to give her that, but he couldn't. That he had failed her. That, therefore, he had to provide for her as long as he lived. Because if he hadn't been gay, he could have married her and everything would have been brilliant - which, you can't tell me, that his parents did not likely think exactly that. I will eat a hat if his mother did not once bemoan that he hadn't or wouldn't marry her. Again, I repeat, this is some deeply ingrained internalised homophobia I'm talking about, I'd be hesitant to say that Freddie was even aware of it.

Now, here's the thing. Freddie was someone who could not be alone, we know this, and he was someone who could not let go of people easily. He stayed friends, if he could, with many of his exes. And I think he was terrified of the thought of losing Mary - who he was used to, who he relied on, who he felt deeply guilty towards because he wasn't the man she deserved - when their relationship ended. Basically, he wanted the to have the cake and eat it, too. And he got that, in a way. He did get to keep her in his life, she agreed to that, and I don't think that was at all times particularly healthy for either of them.

I think Mary resented that Freddie was gay. Again, I don't even think it was a very conscious thing, but I think she absolutely believed that if only he hadn't been gay, they would have been perfect for each other. I don't think she ever stopped feeling like he was the one that got away. I think this led to her deeply resenting a lot of his circle and his lifestyle, resenting having to be involved in it, which I think is a large part of why she burned all bridges when he died. I think she felt free from an obligation that she herself had put on herself. I think the woman could have done with some therapy, tbh, I think they all could have. Anyway.

When I read what Phoebe said in that interview, what jumped out at me was that this was an important dinner with Freddie's parents. I think Freddie took solace in the idea that he could bring Mary out to dinner with them and it was almost as if it was real. That they had the son they wanted, in the way that he knew they didn't. I'm tearing up writing this right now because it's really heartbreaking to me.

But that is what I meant by the idea of her. I think, also, Freddie was generally very romantic. I think he was a bit in love with love, overall. And I think he held that fantasy somewhere in his mind forever, of what could have been, if only. And I think Mary did the same.

Of course it isn't romantic. It's terrible, it's sad, there's so many things wrong with it. But that's what I think their relationship with each other was. I think it always carried an echo of his perceived failure to have been the man she thought he could have been, he thought he could have been, if only he hadn't been gay.

Tl; dr - I'm not interested in erasing Mary from Freddie's life, any more than I'm interested in erasing anyone else who was important to him from his life. I do think he had a lot of love for her, and she for him. I don't think acknowledging that takes away from his love for his husband or makes him any less gay.

The Extraordinary Molly Hooper & her darkness

Molly Hooper is that kind of character you can't help but identify yourself with. She's kind and sweet, but mostly, she's flawed in a way many people are (nervous, awkward, sensitive...), and her non-reciprocal love just makes her more likeable. Many characters are portrayed in a similar way but somehow instead of provoking that endearing feeling in the audience it just makes the character look pathetic, but not Molly. I cannot imagine a context in which Molly could be described as lame or pathetic.

And that is where her darkness comes to play. It is not shown explicitly but it is there, you can sense it even if you don't know exactly what you are seeing. That's why she's often shipped with Moriarty, that little bit of darkness allows her to work well with someone like him, but that's something I'll talk about another day, let's get back on the subject at hand.

All the characters in Sherlock are about contrast, in my point of view of course. Sherlock is the cynical that helps others, John is the war vet that heals people, Mrs. Hudson is the housekeeper and the owner of a drug dealer's inheritance, Irene is the dominatrix that falls in love, Mycroft is the ice man with a soft heart, and so the list go on (Jim is an exception and I'll talk about him another day). Molly Hooper is the kind, innocent and awkward woman who enjoys death, who can be cruel if needed, who imposes respect.

She portrays herself as this kind little woman who doesn't have many friends but is undoubtedly good, and I imagine sometimes she doesn't like being this way because she's sad often, but she doesn't know how else to be so she keeps going even if it's lonely. But there's this hidden part of herself (which is not exactly hidden but it's not in plain sight either) that makes her so interesting. It can be seen in the way she talks about dead bodies, she's used to her job obviously but she also loves it, she loves cutting people open and analysing their organs, despite how morbid that is. It can be seen in the way she kept her mouth shut for two years about Sherlock being alive. Imagine her seeing John completely depressed and devastated and having the nerve to not say a word about it. That doesn't just take courage, that takes the hability to be cold-blooded when needed. Yes, she's kind and nervous and whatever, but she's also the person who smiled when Sherlock hit repeatedly the dead body of someone she knew with a riding crop.

Her character also evolves so fluently through the series, it's like she leaves aside her nice side more often than not when she's angry or when she just decides she doesn't want to be nice anymore (hence the slap scene with Sherlock, the sharp comments, the cold stares...). And I like to thinking that evolution is caused by James Moriarty, in an indirect way that he hadn't even planed or thought possible. Moriarty accepted Molly as she portrayed herself to be, a small little mouse, and even if I said at the beginning Molly is anything but pathetic Jim made her feel like she was. He used her, he manipulated her and made her feel like a pawn, a means to an end and nothing more. He chose her specifically because she was an easy target for his schemes and treated her like a fool. After that Molly was done being a fool.

She drew a line and demanded respect, she wouldn't settle for less. But to demand respect you have to be heard, and to be heard you have to shout, and to shout you have to be angry. So in the process of stoping being the mouse Jim believed her to be she had to let her darkness be shown and all those things you don't want others to see (anger, rudeness, cruelty, selfishness...). In S3 Molly isn't always nice, unlike S1 and S2, nor is as sensitive as she was before. And she's still good, I love that you can see a character be angry and harsh but still be good because your emotions have nothing to do with your moral code.

Molly Hooper is an extraordinary character, equally relatable and remarkable. She learns from the pain without forgetting who she is, and her darkness allows her to be something more than just nice. She's one of my favourite character of this show and she deserves more appreciation.

if you ever feel like it PLEASE talk about the aesthetics of masculinity in gbu i would love to hear your thoughts

I thought a lot about what exactly I did mean when I said that cause it's more of a deep deep feeling than anything else -- I'll begin by saying I'm a physics PhD student and a fanfic writer, not a literary analyst of any kind, so with respect to textual analysis I'd have to defer to others on the subject. 

But since you're asking-- my prevailing feeling of the masculinity in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly is that it's so pervasive that no other narratives seem to exist. It's almost innocent in how self centered the fantasy is-- and I do think of GBU as a fantasy film where Sergio Leone lets his self insert (Tuco) run wild, and offers a few truisms on the insanity of war. (If you're interested in my half baked thoughts on GBU and war, I have a series of posts documented here where I compare/contrast them with a fanfiction). 

In some sense the trio have three different contrasting views of the masculine lawless antihero -- ideal (Blondie), evil/gone too far (Angel Eyes) and everyday (Tuco). It's weird to say because I don't like assigning "masculine" or "feminine" to any particular traits-- but it's more like the idea of the feminine (or any other gender expression) just doesn't exist in Leone's world. 

If women appear, they are to demonstrate the characters utter disinterest in them -- this is brief in GBU, Angel Eyes calloused nature as he beats a woman indiscriminately for information, or addresses a woman's curiosities by calling Blondie a "golden haired angel". It's more overt in "For a Few Dollars More", where a flirtatious innkeepers wife arouses absolutely no interest for Manco. 

(Lest this attract the attentions of other nerds such as I, I am aware of the deleted scene where Manco and Mary have sex. However...seeing as this is not included in the actual text of the film; I rest my case). 

To take a step back, my general feeling is that Leone is playing so intimately with the fantasy of being a ne'er do well manly cowboy bounty hunter, that women or any alternative ways of existing really just might as well be lampshades in his world. 

That isn't an evil thing btw! I love GBU with my heart and soul. But yeah, it is why I said a little while back I couldn't write a genderswap fanfic au of any kind without it being so different I might as well be writing original fiction. The whole thing is male power fantasy extreme :) 

To wit, the only gender stuff that seems thematically relevant would be to have any or all of the trio be trans men. There's a number of trans masc leaning folks in the GBU fandom who identify with Blondie; and his lack of history as well as masculine ideal. Re-exploring the film from a more self aware gender lens (ie. Masculinity and it's ideals are the focus, but the alternatives to masculinity actually exist) which make a compelling exploration of the world. There is one existing trans!Angel Eyes fic, though it's more of a cute crackfic :) 

In my "talking won't save you" fanfiction an underlying theme is the failures of (masculine) communication; or rather, exploring characters whose sense of affection has been replaced entirely by violence, to the point where emotions are something to fear and hide from. The instability of this way of being is contrasted with another relationship in the story, between two OCs. I don't really ascribe to their relationship femininity per se, more so that I needed women to exist in the world for me to care about it any further than a hatefuck fic and a really weird five times fic. I will say, however, I think it's thematically relevant to today that the ladies of my story are providers of emotional labor. They got their own struggles and flaws though for sure!

Thanks for the ask, this was fun to think about ! :)

(Crappy GIF made by me, please do not use without permission!)

Chapter 2/?   Words: 3507  

AN: Hello my lovely followers! (which there is almost a hundred of now holy hell??) I just wanted to quickly say thanks for supporting me :3 even just one message saying they like my stuff keeps me going, so please, never hesitate to drop by to talk or..scream? <3

Anyway here is chapter two of S.L. Noire! I don’t really like the ending but I didn’t have better ideas so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I hope you enjoy it! <3

The night was long and dark; the faint sound of droplets on the window being the only reminder that you were actually awake. Your bed was cold yet you wanted no one to warm it; your dark thoughts were your only company. Everyone has their demons, some more dark than others. The thought danced through your mind as you took a drag on your cigarette, before letting your hand fall back down the edge of the bed. The feeling filled your lungs and numbed you until you had to exhale. It was nice to lay in the darkness, you thought. The wind howled outside, resembling a weeping woman searching the streets for her lost child. The sound was familiar. Smoke rose up to your face as you put out the cigarette; its harsh smell only made you more awake.

The clock on your nightstand told you it was already four thirty-three, yet you hadn’t gotten a single hour of sleep. Not even the most imaginative of people could make the grey ceiling interesting; it was just a cold block of cement like the rest of the building. Your room was sparsely decorated with only a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a mirror filling the space. It was foolish and useless to decorate or make it personal, you had been told. You could never know when it was time to pull up roots and run. That either meant that you’d leave a lot of valuable stuff behind or that the police had something to identify you with. Or both. If the latter were to happen, you could rest assured that you would be left behind. Every man for himself - nothing personal.

A clatter downstairs caught your attention. Maybe a stray cat or a homeless seeking shelter, or perhaps you had finally gone crazy. Despite your young age, you had seen more things in the years staying in this place than most people see in a lifetime. You had seen enough to make most people escape at first chance, but that had never been an option for you. It’s not like you hadn’t thought of it; you had spent countless nights wondering what would happen if you simply just.. left. There was a time where you saw the world in black and white; there were good people and there were bad people. When you met them, your new family, you realised that those were just foolish thoughts of a young and innocent girl. As time went by you began seeing the world in shades of grey and black; no white. Sometimes good people do bad stuff, and bad people seem kind. You often wondered if those around you were good or bad, but it turned out trying to put them into boxes was an impossible task.

The floor felt cold against you naked feet as you got down to investigate. Your nightgown wrapped around your curves beautifully; Its dark red colour stood in contrast to your pale skin like blood on snow. You threw on a silk robe out of habit, but the cold didn’t actually bother you that much. The stairs creaked as you tiptoed your way down. You swore the old planks of wood would break under you one day. You rounded the corner to the kitchen, although kitchen was hardly the word for a rundown cafeteria, used by warehouse workers before it was abandoned. ‘’June..’’ you spoke softly. The man, who had turned out to be the source of the noise, turned around to greet you with a smile. ‘’Couldn’t sleep?’’ he asked with a sigh, although he probably knew the answer already. Some nights your bed was too cold and your thoughts were too dark, and that often led you into his arms. The warmth from his body and his relaxed breathing calmed you down more often than not. ‘’How do you do it?’’ you had asked him one night, with your head on his chest. ‘’Do what?’’ he had answered. ‘’Sleep while knowing you’ve destroyed someone’s life.’’ You never got an answer. The reply was caught in his throat and died on his tongue along with many other words he wished he had said. Instead he kissed your forehead and ran his fingers through your hair until he eventually fell asleep, leaving you awake.

‘’No, I couldn’t,’’ you finally answered after studying his form. Although his smile was both contagious and sincere, it also managed to send a dagger through your heart. It reminded you of a time where laughing was a luxury he couldn’t afford, and where happiness was punishable. If anyone in this crooked world deserved to be happy it was him, you thought as he enthusiastically shook a can of beans and an egg in front of you. ‘’I’m making breakfast,’’ he stated, ‘’care to join me?’’ You couldn’t remember the last time you had had proper breakfast, yet alone eaten with any of the members, so you quickly nodded. You stepped besides him as he continued cooking, carefully putting your shead on his shoulder. You were almost hypnotized by the movement of his hands as he cracked the eggs onto a pan; so caught up in the nothingness of your mind that you barely registered June’s question. ‘’Did a nightmare keep you from sleeping?’’ he inquired, but you didn’t know how to answer. You suppose you could call life itself a nightmare, in that case, yes that was indeed what was keeping you awake. ‘’June..’’ you started, but it was like the rest of the words refused to leave your throat. He turned to look at you with worried eyes. ‘’Look Y/N, if-’’

‘’Did he have a family?’’ you finally blurted out, interrupting him mid sentence.

‘’Pardon?’’

‘’Mr. Park.. Park Chanyeol, our last victim.. Did you find portraits of a wife? pictures of children?’’

June sighed, finally realising what you were on about. He knew you well enough to know why you were asking, and he loved you enough to give you the answer you needed. ‘’No, as far as we could tell he had no one in his life. He’ll be fine, he’ll have earned enough money to buy back what we stole from him within a month,’’ he answered, pulling you into a tight hug, ‘’don’t worry.’’ But you did worry. How could you not? Mr. Park may have been wealthy enough to survive after a burglary, but you knew that that wasn’t always the case. How many men had you fooled by now: ten? fifty? a hundred? You had lost count, but all of them gnawed at you and served as a reminder for your sins.

The two of you sat across from each other at a small table, silently eating June’s cooking. ‘’What was on the note Monster gave you?’’ he suddenly blurted out, causing you to almost choke on your food in surprise. ‘’Sorry,’’ he continued, ‘’I just couldn’t help but notice you two talking, and I’m guessing it wasn’t a love letter or something of the sorts.’’ Monster hadn’t explicitly told you to keep it secret, but most of his orders didn’t come in the form of words: they came with the way he looked at you. Did you dare interpreting his gaze as his approval or did you keep the details of your mission secret?. ‘’I’m not sure I can tell you, June’’ you muttered into your coffee mug. ‘’I won’t tell anyone if you don't’’ he laughed in response. Ah, fuck it, might as well take the chance.  

And so you told him the content of the small lap of paper. Today’s mission was a little different from the usual; for you at least. Park Jinyoung, your next target, was more than just a gullible, lonely man whose home was going to be ransacked: he was a journalist. And a dangerous one at that. He had been investigating your group for a while, trying to catch you and make the front page. Luckily, you had all been invisible enough for him to not know any of your faces, making it possible for you to get close to him without getting recognised. The one face he did know though, was one that could cause all of you trouble, should he get exposed. Waiting outside a pawnshop, known for its relations to the crime world, was Jinyoung, ready to snap a picture of Monster selling stolen goods. Tragically, he succeeded and now had proof that he was involved in illegal activities. And that’s where you came into the picture. Monster knew that Jinyoung always carried the pictures on his person, in fear of getting them stolen. While the others stripped his apartment of anything valuable, your job wasn’t just to distract him, but to get those pictures. ‘’I don’t care if you have to hit him with a frying pan or sleep with him, just get the pictures by any means necessary’’ Monster had told you after Jack and June had left the previous night.

‘’Wow’’ June uttered in shock, ‘’I didn’t realise he was in that much trouble.’’ You couldn’t exactly blame him for not noticing. A strong leader never shows his weak sides, and you knew that if he could’ve dealt with the issue himself, he would’ve. As a woman with no future you had instantly recognized a man with a past. He had been thrown to the wolves, only to come back as pack-leader, and his scars made him stronger than most. He had lost more than most people have to begin with. He had nothing to lose, no one to fear, and that’s what made him dangerous. That’s what made him a good leader, and none of you could afford to lose him. ‘’I have to get those pictures’’ you stated with a voice full of determination. June had finished the last of his food and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, sending you a smirk behind his hand. ‘’With a beautiful girl like yourself, he probably won’t mind you getting a little handsy. You’ll have those pictures before he can realise what’s happening’’ he laughed, and you laughed with him. It felt great to truly smile for the first time that night.

‘’Do you have a plan?’’ he asked while washing the dishes. You shook your head at first, not realising he had his back to you. ‘’No idea’’ you quickly added upon noticing. You knew how important it was to get them, but neither sexual endeavors nor physical violence appealed to you. Instead you thought it was safest to try what you do best: listening and talking. ‘’I’ll just see what happens I guess’’ you concluded, to which June let out an approving hum. Once done with cleaning, he stepped besides you and pulled you up into an embrace, rubbing small circles into your back. ‘’Just promise me you’ll be safe’’ he muttered into your neck. You let out the breath you didn’t even realise you had been holding and went limp, letting his strong arms hold you up. You could promise him no such thing, but hearing the hurt in his voice made you utter the lie anyway. ‘’I promise.’’

The car was filled with the smoke from Jack’s cigar. You sat in the passenger seat, nervously fiddling with the bottom of your dress, next to Monster who had been driving. He gave you a nod, silently telling you to go ahead and step into the dirty alley. You nodded in response, assuring him you’d get what you needed. ‘’Good luck’’ M called after you as you stepped out of the car. They drove away, leaving you in the cold to make your way to the bar you knew so well. You pulled out the lap of paper one last time, staring at the name written on it. It stared back at you mockingly, and you couldn’t help but feel ominous about the whole thing. To say you looked gorgeous that night would be an understatement; you looked irresistible. But a question still remained: would he even care?

You set foot in the crowded bar and looked around. You recognised a few of the faces: criminals mostly, or people you shouldn’t ever come close to. The description you had gotten of the man you were going to meet was vague. Dark hair, Korean, uses dialect, young and average in height. So basically every other man in there. You walked to the bar to ask the bartender if perhaps he had seen someone who stood out. Just as you were about the open your mouth, a pair of warm hands gently grabbed your shoulders. You quickly turned around and raised a hand, getting ready to smack whoever was touching you. Friendly eyes met yours as the man before you grabbed your wrist, successfully stopping you from hitting him. ‘’Do you usually hit your dates?’’ he laughed. He had a thick dialect, you noted; this must be him. ‘’Do you usually sneak up on yours?’’ you fired back, earning you another laugh as he shook his head. He had a cute laugh, you added to your ever growing repertoire of notes.

He let go of your wrist and bowed slightly in respect. ‘’I’m Jinyoung, and you must be Y/N’’ he stated. ‘’Mm’’ you simply answered, mirroring his gesture. After the initial greeting, he put his hand on the small of your back to push you in the direction of one of the more secluded booths in the back. You let him lead you, feeling surprisingly light, as if you were floating. Your heart was pounding so hardly you swore you could almost hear it. This night was different. Not just because you had to steal something from him, but because for the first time in forever, the touch of a stranger didn’t feel painful against your skin. The look in his eyes as you both sat down neither screamed lust nor desperation. He merely looked like a man, showing genuine interest in the woman across from him. You weren’t used to that. ‘’So, Jinyoung, what do you do for a living?’’ you asked, although you already knew the answer. One of the hardest parts of the job was pretending like you didn’t already know who he was. Some small part of you wished you truly didn’t know him; he was a man you could imagine meeting in another life. ‘’I’m a freelance journalist’’ he answered proudly, ‘’I’m currently working on a story about the infamous group of criminals called The Promised Ones.’’

The promised ones, you thought to yourself, is that what the public calls us. You hummed in interest, acting like you had never heard of said group. You rested your head in your hand, leaning slightly across the table, exposing enough cleavage to hopefully warm him up to your presence. ‘’What about you?’’ he asked. Your eyes widened. You weren’t used to actually being asked; most men didn’t care about anything but your face and body. ‘’Uhm,’’ you started. How does one answer that question. I’m a swindler that distracts lonely men while my accomplices ransacks their homes and strips them of everything valuable. That would never work. ‘’I’m an assistant’’ you finally settled on, your throat turning dry. Jinyoung noticed and winked at you. ‘’Don’t worry, I ordered drinks before you got here, they should be here any minute’’ he explained. You awkwardly laughed out a thanks and dropped your gaze to your hands. You were feeling awfully self conscious, as if the usual flirtatious and daring part of you had been dropped outside in the rain. And true enough, not long after, a small woman came and placed two glasses in front of you before leaving. You almost downed all of its contents in one go, hoping to drown your nerves. ‘’Whoa there, didn’t realise my company was that nerve wracking’’ he joked as he took a sip himself. You nearly choked on the liquid and got thrown into a coughing fit because of it. ‘’It’s not that...you’re actually..surprisingly sweet..’’ you managed to get out through coughs.

Something between worry and doubt crossed Jinyoung’s face, but it left as soon as it arrived. ‘’If you consider common courtesy sweet, then I won’t dare to think about the behaviour of your past dates’’ he muttered with an unreadable anger lingering behind his words. You hadn’t actually thought about that. You had always been too focused to make sure the men you were tricking were distracted, and the easiest way to do that was to simply say and do what they wanted. ‘’I’m glad I’ve finally met a respectful man like you then’’ you smiled, once you had finally gained control over your cough. ‘’Cheers to that’’ he laughed, holding up his glass. You lifted yours too and the two of you clinked drinks while catching each other’s gaze.

Once the first hour had passed, you knew stuff about him you didn’t know beforehand, and he knew stuff about you. Stuff about the real you.  During the second hour you talked about everything and nothing, simply enjoying each other’s presence and gaining energy from watching the other smile. It wasn’t until you reached the third hour and your fourth drink that you realised you were slowly breaking your most important rule; you were getting attached. Jinyoung was in the middle of telling a funny story when the same waitress as before came over and interrupted him. ‘’I just talked to the boss of a Y/N and he asked me to leave a message.’’ She handed you a note with shaky hands and quickly left before you could ask questions. ‘’Excuse me’’ you apologized while unfolding and reading the message.

‘You got what you needed? Come out and meet us as soon as you can’

You looked up at Jinyoung with remorseful eyes. You were stupid to think this could ever work, you were just drunk and needy of attention. At least that’s what you told yourself. ‘’Everything okay?’’ he asked, leaning across the table to put his hand above yours. You didn’t know what was so special about him, but every time he touched you a spark traveled from your skin to your heart, making it flutter. He was handsome, smart, kind and most of all he seemed to actually care about you. You hadn’t experienced something like this in years and it made the feeling all the more powerful. ‘’I’m so sorry, I’ve just been called to a work emergency - I have to go’’ you sobbed, sounding less convincing than intended.

He stood up and offered you his hand, dragging you up to meet you face to face. You felt his breath on your skin and you wanted nothing more to stay here with him, but you knew how foolish that was. This would be the first and last you saw him, and while you’d return to your old life, he’d return home to a broken one. A small tear escaped your eye as you leaned up to place your lips upon his. He was soft and warm so when he licked your bottom lip, you happily let him in. The way his hands felt on your hips and the way he hummed into the kiss felt almost too perfect, and it made your entire world spin. You slowly ran your hand across his chest and under his jacket. With careful fingers you wandered into his breast-pocket, successfully getting a hold of the pictures inside it. You hid them behind your back and forced yourself to pull away from the kiss. ‘’See you around?’’ he asked with hope in his voice. You hated lying, you really did. It seemed like your life was filled with empty promises and sweet lies; it made you sick. ‘’Yes’’ you answered, trying to force a smile. You desperately wanted that to be true, but you knew better than to get your hopes up. With one last peck on his lips, you left the bar with hasty steps, not daring to look back.

In just a few hours you had managed to break your ‘’no attachment’’ rule and fall in love, just to steal from him and leave him behind. When you entered the car you didn’t dare looking into the eyes of your group. They asked how it went, but you simply threw the pictures onto Monster’s lap in response. They all celebrated with hoots and laughs, but you weren’t in the mood for celebration. M noticed your silence and tried reading your expression, but to no avail. Monster proudly shook your shoulder and thanked you; a rare gesture from his side. Yet you didn’t even look up. The rain outside had finally stopped and stars painted the night sky. Droplets of water was now replaced with the tears running down your cheeks. Your bleeding heart sank deeper and deeper as the car drove into the night. You had finally done it: you had managed to fuck up big time.