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aintnouseofpretending · 5 years

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But My Love, This Cannot Be pt. 1

Mr M (Brian May) x Tomboy!Reader x Mr R (Roger Taylor) Time Travelling reader AU imagine

>>The continuation of Many Years Away. I strongly encourage new readers to read the previous Imagine and fully immerse yourself first before continuing because the story is escalating. Also, yes, this is a two-parter as I got too carried away explaining some details ._.

Tagging peeps that want the continuation~; @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark @tini-monster

ENJOY!

Small recap; you’re a college student from twenty thirty-nine. Worked in a guitar store and as a session musician in a big recording studio near your flat. You have an odd dream of being in nineteen seventy-three and becomes May and Deacon’s best friend, which are your guitar heroes from the legendary rock band, Queen. But when you wake up, you actually have to work with Brian May. After showing your guitar and bass skills to him, he says; “Perfect. Sounds just like yesterday…”

Your days were never been more perfect than today. “Thank you, sir. You’re a very big influence on my entire career.”

“Just call me, May. We’re going to work together again anyway.”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I respect you too much to just call you like an old friend, sir.” You say, purposely ignoring the last bit of his sentence. Although you have some suspicion,

“But we are.”

“Whatever do you mean—?”

“Were you not to told me you’re from twenty thirty-nine, how would I be here? Specifically picking you? Let alone wrote ‘39? You even play, dress, and worked as a session musician, exactly like that day. It’s already impossible to forget, now it feels like we’re still in that awful studio, taping, the way you cannot seems to stop calling it. Annoyed Rog so much he throws his sticks at you. How many times was it?”

“… May?”

“You’ve missed many of our plays. John misses you, y/n. And so am I. Much more than you can imagine.”

Both of you catching up right after you got the chance to talk in private. At first, May cannot stop telling you how much he missed you, how much he cannot believe when the producer recommended you as a backup, the fact that you are indeed a time traveller. He’s trying his best to fulfil your last wish before you disintegrated; to be happy and live his life. “And to always remember you,”

You still don’t believe it, neither did he. But what for you was in a blink of an eye, for him it was almost sixty-five years. Whilst you wonder why are you time travelling, do the others know? How is Deacon? You can’t help but notice that May has been fidgeting, and when you mentioned Deacon or Taylor or Mercury, he looks a bit displeased, but he answered anyway,

“To stop the questions on your whereabouts, I simply told them that you might be too caught up in family issues and cannot come back.” At first, they’re looking for you whenever they got the time; especially Deacon, to the point that it depresses him greatly. Deacon doesn’t know you’re actually no longer existed, but May does, and it destroys him daily. Eventually, they accepted that they’re forever lost contact with you,

But things still don’t add up. How do you do that? To time travel? “You should know better than I do, May. You’re an actual scientist. Even in sixty-five years, it shouldn’t be possible to time travel yet, undoubtedly?” You wondered after both of you finally get the chance to talk again post-recording. “That’s a good question,”

He promises that the two of you will meet again to discuss it, for, unfortunately, his schedule was full this month. He said that he has dinner with his family, a birthday party; much it is to break your heart alone that you remember, he has a wife, kids, and grandkids. “Understood. Be careful on your way home, May. I will be right here,”

You pondered; do May still see you the same way? Surely he has moved on from your departure. And just thinking about that fact makes you a bit sad, how you stuck in time all by your lonesome. Why does that have to happen to you? What is actually going on? What did you do? … It was the cassette. You remembered you are listening to it before you're asleep last week, and then woke up in nineteen seventy-three. That cassette also the reason why you're back here. You’re uncertain whether you should listen to it again, but you made sure to tell May about it,

You’re still not unsure how listening to the cassette could make you travel back and forth in time. You go back to the music store from where you bought it. The clerk says that a man sold it there for a cheap price and later on the same day you buy it. The clerk—an acquaintance of yours, only knows that the man is middle-aged and since haven’t been seen. He can’t remember how the man looks, his memories are weirdly blurred when that happens. “Maybe I was hungover still. Don't tell my manager,”

After recording the next month, May inspects the cassette. He remembered that cassette, it’s Queen’s debut album after all, and one of the first few copies. He’s still quite happy when you come to him and ask him to be the first one to sign your copy. Although you never told him that Taylor was actually the one received the honour, but the bastard returns it to the sender with a note; only going sign it after you introduce him to this pretty bombshell that works in the same music store with you—the gal that already has a girlfriend. He ended up signing it from the peer-pressure given by his bandmates six months later,

“The process was unbelievably slow and painful. The hallucination becomes very vivid to the point that I might’ve been just in two different worlds at once, but stuck in the middle,” you explained. “I’m afraid I will be time travelling again if I listened to it.” “It looks like a normal cassette,” May noted, “although I haven’t seen that many cassettes for a long time. Highly probable that there’s difference cannot be seen with naked eyes,”

“Perhaps I should try and listen to it?” You suggested, “you can see how it works on me.” At first, he’s pretty much against it due to safety. But you reason that the process most likely won't escalate if you didn't tell him about it, someone that's correlated directly with the cassette You wish to gain as many information as possible to help the research later. Also to further prove that you are indeed could time travel. “My first priority will be getting this cassette to travel back here. Make it as short of a trip as possible,”

“Is that all?” He asks, but you only shrug. “Yes. I shan’t try to change things. Instead, I'll collect photographs, tapes, and some other legit proves about my existence in that year that you—or someone—could keep until exactly today. Look for more clues and blends in. Maybe there's more to this cassette when I first bought it in the seventies.” “Why?” “Because we should stop and hide this time travelling business that could potentially harm many people,"

“No. Why don’t you want to change things?”

“Why, May, I don’t belong in seven-thirties, I belong today. Before this trainwreck happens, my life is just a store clerk and a musician and a college student. Idolizing and to be like you. But you shouldn’t know about me at all; we’ve never met.”

“Yes, that’s how it is, before. But now that you have the power to change the history, why don’t you change it?”

“Why should I? What if that’s the cause in the first place? That someone has done it before and sold the cassette to forget about it, and now it happens to me? Besides, I am content with what I am today.”

“Surely?” He pleaded. That’s when you realised what he meant. There might be a huge doubt in your heart, but you have made up your mind. You know there’s no use to lie in front of the smart May, still, you did, and explained that you have no right to change things, whatever causes you to have such power. He respects your decision in the end. “What matters right now is finding how this works. We can stress about that later.” You closed the discussion,

Back to the cassette, you bought your priced vintage portable cassette player. You put on the headphone, waiting for May as he prepares the papers and pen, and making sure the camera is recording; so he can see and deduce how it works based on your reactions later. Unfortunately, by the time the music start, you passed out in an instant. When you are awake, however, you feel incredibly dizzy,

You don't remember what you've been dreaming, but it's something very real… Of someone. You promised someone that you'll buy… Something to go back? To buy them something? It's about music—perhaps a record? A cassette… It was a cassette! But for whom? And what cassette? You promised someone that you'll buy them a cassette—oh! Now you remember! You're supposed to bring your demo cassette to the new recording studio so that you can be a permanent session musician with Jordan!

You saw the clock on the wall and realised you're awfully late already! You quickly change your clothes and ran to the new recording studio. You're in so much hurry that you flung yourself out of the way of someone that's coming in your direction; nearly breaks your cassettes but magnificently hurt your own arse in the process—at least you didn't hurt whomever passerby you almost shouldered out the Earth,

“I'm so sorry! I didn't see there was someone around the corner!” A man profusely apologizing as he reached down and help gather your belongings. “Not to worry! I will be the one beaten by my boss! Have a good day, sir!” You told him whilst you put everything as fast as you can in your arm, although you can't help but notice that the man is a bit striking with his kinky brunette hair and a tall, skinny body. A familiar sight, you have to say, though you have no time to confirm it and simply continue running past his blonde girlfriend,

No matter whether the band wasn't ever here yet or to witness his glorious cracking voice, the producer took the liberty to be as loud and as merciless as he could when he yelled at you. He even pointed at your cracked cassette as you, apparently, left the good copy by the road; a disgraceful sign of the shit he and Jukebox—the band—has to listen to today. “You're lucky Jordan recommended you, or I might fire you on the spot,”

You try your best to hide the smug smile you had when Jukebox is visibly impressed by your skills, completely ignored the producer biased opinions. Despite witnessing your win, you're not ringed on the day where Jukebox supposedly taping. “Yeah. But you don't have to come. In the end, I didn’t do anything.” Jordan answered after you ask if he was ringed. That's odd. Not being ringed today… Weirdly doesn't feel right. As if you're supposed to get ringed in as a backup even though you're not doing anything. You later simply shrug it off, thinking maybe you're still quite upset the producer is so against you,

But it doesn't end there; once you did get ringed, you feel that odd tug again in the bottom of your heart. Relieved as though this indeed supposed to happen, that things are going back on track. When you've arrived, however, new curious thing hits you like a truck and tops every gut feelings you've felt these past weeks—you saw that tall man with the kinky hair again, in the studio, with his blonde girlfriend… Wait, the blue-eyed gal is a man! He's the drummer,

“They're the new band that had been using the studio past the taping schedule,” Jordan explained. “Name is Queen.” That's it! When you heard that name, you don't know why you instantly recognize them; vocalist Freddie Mercury, bassist John Deacon, drummer Roger Taylor, and… Guitarist Brian May. “You might've heard of them when we're out hanging in the clubs.” Oh, alright. Now that makes sense, but still, that fact doesn't satisfy you, there's supposed to be more to it, but again, you didn't bother…

In your mind you thought; “Alright, what the fuck is going on? Why did I have been feeling endless déjà vu since this morning?”. That reaction immediately sparked after you play both your guitar and bass since Dorian—Jukebox’s guitarist—broken his fingers from partying too hard, and the fact that Loui—the vocalist, told you to just straight up play the bass as well since you’re obviously skilled enough. And then come May and Taylor forward; they practically approach you straight up to comment on your skills after Jukebox taping is over,

That feeling like things doesn’t go right now is much clearer for you to identify; the fact that you expect May and another Queen member to came to you, but Taylor isn’t supposed to be the other one. Or that Taylor is the one that gives comment and praises your skills instead of May. Rather, May only apologizes about the previous incident and mostly listens to your answer for Taylor’s barrage of questions,

“We would like for you to watch us taping,” May insisted, desperately. “You should watch them taping, yes. They’re good.” Jordan agrees. “If the three of you said that word again, I will deck all of ya’,” shouted Taylor from behind his drum set. “What? Taping?” You received two sticks directly at your shoulder; thrown at full speed. Whilst Jordan and Deacon scolded Taylor for being rude to a woman—Taylor thought you were a guy with “uniquely progressive” fashion choice up until that point. Instead of anger, you, Taylor, and May laugh. There’s this familiar humour that tingles you and made you question why you find it funny instead of rude?

You try your best to convince yourself that you are indeed, perhaps, watched them play on a stage in one of the college gigs you attended or in any music clubs. But no. Their play is far too familiar—in a sense that as if you've been stalking them since the day they made Queen. The fact that you’re supposed to listen to them the day you’re not ringed when Jordan does makes you very upset—again for no reason; as to why you know you should have listened to them already despite finding them as familiar as the palm of your left hand, and for the fact that you think things have been nothing but a line of wrongness,

“Yeah, I really can’t. This is the third Saturday of the month, I have dinner with grandma.” You told the musicians when Jordan and May ask you to have dinner with them at the nearest pub. Jordan immediately put you into his hug that at first surprised you, but then he said; “Mate, your grandma’s been dead for two years. Let go.” “What the bloody hell are you—she’s alive!” Then it hits you. What he’s saying is right, you even remembered crying your eyes out as he hugs your shoulder. You think; “No. This is far too wrong. Something isn’t right. My mind and memory are fucking me up.”

“You’re right. Maybe that’s why I need to go home.” You resigned weakly, “have fun boys. You will be taping again tomorrow, correct? I will come and see if you don’t mind.” You could hear a subtle worried whisper asking “Is she alright?” which you presumed came from May,

Once you’ve locked the door, you quickly discard your coat away and sat on the cold floor. You try to think so very hard about the madness you’ve been through, that your stomach is swirling by itself trying to tell you what is right what is wrong without further made clear where it steers you to. Then you grab a pen and crumpled paper, write down the right-wrong things your own body trying to tell you; One, when you bumped with May and you felt like he’s your old middle school friend that lost contact with you. Two, you know that even Jordan doesn’t do anything when ringed in, but the fact you’re not even ringed upsets you greatly. Three, when you’re finally ringed; it feels so right. Four, the fact that there’s Queen and you feels like you’ve known them since their first debut gig. Five, that May and Taylor came to you and complimented your skills. And Six, your grandma. Your heart and gut declared that she’s indeed still alive, but your brain emotionlessly tells you that you attended her funeral shitfaced and simply still can’t get over it in two years straight,

After listing all of them and that particularly peculiar day ends, you decided that if you feel it again, you will investigate it further. One more to the list; Seven, the cassette. The cassette your brain trying to remember was not your demo cassette, it was something else—precisely about buying it, but for whom you still have no clue,

Since the day you met Queen, you have been watching and aid them taping. The weird feeling is gone, and you’re very grateful. You, May, and Taylor quickly becoming a best friend; you don't know why you're best friend with Taylor, though. Taylor occasionally casually chipping in—mostly because he throws his sticks at you for you seems to cannot stop using the wrong term; plays for gigs, taping for recording, at this point you continue doing it because you know it pisses him off,

“You’re going back to the campus after this, y/n?” Ask Deacon, you nodded in response. “Why, aren’t you model student? Be cool, hang with us more. Maybe you can hook with one of us.” Mocked Taylor as he sits next to Deacon. You happen to have lunch with them since they’re finally back in London after their debut album tour. “I have to be a model student for myself. Thesis incoming. That’s why I can’t help you with your next album.” You explained, completely ignoring Taylor's suggestion. “Never crossed my mind to ask you about it, but what’s your major?” May inquired. “Astro—,” you scrunch your nose as you think, “music.” You answered, finally. There it is, the weird feeling is back,

“Bri was Astrophysics. Never knew there's another major, what? Astromusic? That sounds cool. And how come you forget about it?” Taylor jokes again. “Wait, so that means you can’t tag long for our next tour?” You shake your head, continue eating. “That’s very unfortunate,” May sighed deeply, you can only shrug. "Listen to our cassettes if you miss us, love. Don’t worry, I will miss ya.” He said with a wink. Your spoon stopped mid-way as you quickly look at Taylor that’s being smacked by May and Deacon for some reason,

“What? You’ve forgotten to hook me with the shag? Don’t you want me to sign your cassette? Or you instead want to hook with me?” Your eyes widened as you dropped your spoon, which causes a confused reaction from the boys. “What cassette?” You queried, now this makes both Taylor and May shows expression of a sudden realization for something. “Didn’t you… Didn’t I say I will sign your copy of our debut cassette once you introduce me with the gal from your music store?”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t buy your debut cassette, I’m busy helping Jukebox and jamming with Jordan.” “Hold on. Wasn’t I the first one to sign it?” May adds, but just as unsure. “No?” “Bri was right! I saw him signed it with John!” Taylor nudges Deacon. The man was completely lost as to what happened with the three of you. “Y/n never come to me to sign anything.” “Exactly—,”

It’s like getting your head hit with a giant dictionary book, you finally remembered! Both your mouth and eyes were as wide as they can be. You are indeed from the future and—, “fucking shit! I forgot completely!” You screamed and jump from the chair, ran outside and to the store where you’re supposed to buy the cassette. It was almost on the other side of the city, but you’re glad you brought your bike with you,

“Have—,” you cough like crazy before you could even talk, scaring the store clerk, which are your friend. The same exact friend that sold you the cassette in the future. “What on earth is happening to you?” “The Queen! Queen debut cassette! Have you sold any?” “No—?” You immediately go to the rack. It’s there, what you assume is the same one from your first run in the past. You immediately fall down the floor, trying to calm yourself whilst inspecting the cassette; it was exactly the one you bought on the first time you’re in the past, because it’s a wee bit misprinted by half a centimetre which bothers the hell out of you, but it’s already signed when you notice it,

“You got the cassette?” Someone squatted right next to you. “May? Wait, what?” The man only nodded, “you should pay for it. Let’s talk outside,”

“I should’ve taken a taxi like you. I feel like dying,” you’re still wheezing, glad the air is much better than it was in the future. “But how?” You questioned, May folded his hands on his chest and contemplate. “I’m not sure. Do you remember when you throw yourself into the pavement just to avoid bumping that night? I have felt since then that you looked familiar. I thought you were my old school mates I might’ve forgotten. But then I remembered things we’ve done on your first time in the past—the fact that Rog said exactly the same thing despite everything was completely different… Perhaps he is affected too? But the memories of after your first disintegration was… Much more blurry. Same with when before you’re disintegrated in front of my eyes in twenty thirty-nine. I think my brain thought it was false memories and simply decided they're not important,”

As interesting as they sound, unfortunately, you really can’t be bothered about that much, so you told him to write it down. Now your objectives are to get as many proofs as you can and May will keep them safe until twenty thirty-nine, and go back to the future. “I’m terribly sorry that you have to go through another sixty-five years whilst I can travel back and forth as if the year thirty-nine was in Wales.” “About that, uhh... Should we really hurry?”

“May. Don’t. I have made up my mind. It’s far too dangerous if this fall on someone else’s hand. God knows they have certain things in mind on how to use this.” He closed his eyes and nods, “thank you.” He catches your arm. “Why I’m back here too is perhaps because I listened to the cassette. It was a week after you’re gone, and you haven’t come back. I was worried and helpless. Please understand.” “Well, at least there’s a silver lining to it—that you don’t have to live another sixty-five years to got to thirty-nine! And I’m awfully glad that I know I’m no longer have to do this alone,”

Both you and May bought a Polaroid camera and cassette recorder. The two of you jams together and taped the session, take pictures with the band and Jordan and Jukebox. In your flat, as you put the “proofs” of your existence in 1973, you saw the pic of you with May, Freddie, and Taylor jamming, the one that Deacon took. Something inside of you crumbles. “What happened, y/n? Are you okay?” You didn’t notice you’ve shed tears and it falls on the picture. “No. Nothing happened,”

May sat next to you and grab your hand. You stared at his hazel eyes. “I will miss you and Taylor. I will miss everyone living in this year.” You whisper as you hug him. “You’re a dear friend of mine.” You tighten your hug, and he does the same. You let go and wipe your tears. Before May could say anything you both will regret, you cut him, “we will study this cassette. Promise me you will.” He reaches for your hand one last time, give it a quick squeeze before he stands up and sits somewhere else,

“Ready?” He asks. You nodded. Your eyes never leave his, same goes for him. You both took a deep breath when he clicked the play button...

To be continued...

9 notes · View notes

dilfhakyeon-moved · 6 years

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Uhhhhhhh ralbert 38 please boo

hello yes it took ten years and a half but in my defense,, i hadn’t expected i’d get requests for that prompt post ahfjkdshf

it’s just big fluffy tbh there’s no angst at all they’re just good boys. yeet

“Isn’t this amazing ?”

For as long as he could remember, he’d been working for the same people… forever. Maybe at first it wasn’t really working, because he was too young and all, but he’d always been there. No memory of his family, just that everlasting smell of hay, horses, and freedom. This really felt like freedom, didn’t it ? It was all he wanted. All he needed, maybe. The freedom he could try to pursue away from this place could never match with this. Surrounded with his favourite animals, working with them ( it didn’t really feel like working, to be fair ) and taking care of them, even sleeping with them sometimes, wasn’t it great ? He couldn’t ask for anything more. And that was his mindset, for it had been his mindset forever.

But… how old was he, now ? Sixteen ? It’d been a long time. Had he not grown up ? Had he forgotten to age ? His body hadn’t, for sure.

He couldn’t afford to keep thinking this way. Yes, this could be a life - but he’d changed so much since his youngest childhood. He’d managed to get good things, actually, for a homeless orphan child - the man he worked for paid for his education like he paid for his own sons’, wasn’t that neat ? One of them was his age, too. And they all had funky hair, funky red hair. Race only really got to play with the youngest’s hair, though. The one his age. And not when he was awake, at least only recently.

But they’d always known each other, hadn’t they ? The blond was safe in saying they were friends. Yes, they were ! They went to school together and had always shared the same classes, and maybe, just maybe, they’d gotten really close. Inseparable. Best friends. Told each other secrets - although Race didn’t keep quiet about many.

He did, for some. A few. He had to main the mystery of that one horse kid working for your father all your life, but you don’t know all the basic things about him ! Because he liked being interesting, in the eyes of that kid. Albert.

In a way, maybe his mindset had changed indeed. Life wasn’t all about his freedom - a large part of it was about that kid. They were always together, how could it not ? Always talking, playing and messing with the other, probably the best addition to his life the taller kid could’ve asked for. In a way, wasn’t he so lucky to have found someone he could stick with ? For a child initially most likely meant to either die a baby or survive and have to deal with homelessness and lack of education for a long, long time - if not forever -, he was truly lucky to have housing, free food, school… although he’d rather skip on that one. All that just for him to “work” with horses. And the bonus was an amazing friendship he found himself cherishing way more than he’d ever thought he would, but here they were.

Race had managed to trust that other boy so easily, but when living together, it probably wasn’t that hard. Albert’s father never considered or treated him like a son, though. He was still that poor kid for whom he’d felt just enough pity, and now there they were. Impossible to develop a brotherly bond with his son ? Great, they’d just be best friends, that was fine too.

Best friends were better than brothers, Race often thought. From what he could observe. Albert and his brothers used to be close, but as the others aged, more conflict settled in.

There had been conflict, that sure. He couldn’t enjoy thinking about it.

Either way, what they had was so much better, wasn’t it ? Genuine trust. Teasing and messing with each other, but no actual… tough fights, mean fights, ill-meant fights. There was nothing vicious between them. Although they weren’t always too honest with their feelings, they knew each other enough to keep that trust - and this, it was so much better than brotherhood and breaking your family bond eventually. He wondered what Albert thought of it, but why would he ask him ?

… And he’d been lying in the hay for hours, thinking about this instead of falling asleep. Ah, right. He couldn’t sleep in his bed, and that was how he’d ended up there, like… most nights. Sleep wasn’t the easiest, for some reason. Life there wasn’t a lot, but school could be… exhausting, right ? Not the best people. Not… the best environment, and-

“You should put a shirt on, ‘case dad comes by.”

Oh, the shock of hearing a voice. What, was it so bad he wasn’t wearing a shirt when he was simply having some lonesome time with his tall friends ? God.

He sat back up, his eyes quickly meeting the other kid’s, although his hair was being really messy for once - and he really wanted to stare at it. And mess with it. Maybe brush it. Oh, whatever.

“I’m flat, ’s fine. Ain’t like he’s gonna notice anythin’.”

“Maybe flat, but probably not flat enough.” Albert spoke into a yawn, stepping closer to sit in front of his friend. “I don’t think he’d wanna see you shirtless either way. Always asks us to put our shirts back on even when it’s awful hot weather, and we’re surely as flat as it gets.”

“Yeah, 'know that. I just don’t like clothes.”

He puffed his cheeks for a second, staring at one of the horses who were watching them. But this time, his mind couldn’t rightfully on said horse, and he quickly dismissed it to turn around and look at Albert.

“What’s you doin’ here anyways ? It’s late, usually y’ always sleep at that time.”

“I was bored,” the other retorted with some sort of… bore, in his voice.

“Huh. Bored.”

“Yeah, and I couldn’t really text you. It’s not the right time period.”

“Ah, fuck. Progress.”

They both sighed. Fuck you, twentieth century. You sucked ass.

“But like, d’ you even plan on doin’ stuff or are we just sittin’ here waitin’ for one of us to fall asleep ?”

Albert raised an eyebrow. Fuck if he knew, it wasn’t like he was great at planning things. Maybe they should be going outside, at least in Race’s opinion - it’d be more fun. Even if he’d have to put his shirt back on, maybe.

“Well, maybe we could go… in the field. It’s nice out, the sky’s clear an’ all…”

That was his only idea, and it just so happened Race absolutely loved it. How surprising ! Race loved hanging out in the field, which coincidentally consisted of his entire life since he was a child ! How unexpected. No, really, the biggest grin formed on his face and he immediately pulled himself up, his long legs allowing him to stand taller than Albert even when the other was standing. Which is why he was referred to as 'taller’ early on.

“Yea, right ! Let’s go now ! Do I gotta put my shirt back on ?”

Albert glared for a second. The blond thought the answer would be 'no’, but quickly, the other’s features softened, even adding on a soft smile. “Nah, it’ll just be us anyway. Not like anyone comes in the field at night 'cept for us.”

Success. No one could truly force him to wear a shirt, tiddies or not ! Well, he’d rather do without, but top surgery isn’t a safe procedure yet, is it ? Oh, and probably expensive if it does exist. What year is it exactly ? 1910 ? Whatever it is, he has to wait.

Race pulled the other up with little to no effort, and in a few, quiet but sort of clumsy seconds, they were sneaking out of the stables, running off to the field and laughing quite loudly for a night situation. Did they care ? Would it wake anybody ? No, to both. They were free to do what they wanted - that same freedom Race had held onto for quite a long time. He loved sharing it with someone else. Made his heart flutter, and oh god, was that part of his mindset change ? He didn’t mind it so much as it was unexpected. Was he meant to feel so great with his only friend ? Probably, that was how friends were. Probably.

Once in the field, the two boys looked around them. It was quiet. Some wild animals jumping here and there - rabbits, mice, lizards and whatnot. Maybe snakes too, for all they cared. That wasn’t scary to them anymore, at that point in time.

It was all quiet. Quiet felt nice. And it was nice, up until grass was thrown at the blond, and a loud noise of protest left him.

“Hey, what !”

Soon enough he was running after Albert, who despite being a good runner, didn’t manage to match with Race’s speed. And a few seconds later, he was being tackled to the ground, them rolling in the grass for a few metres before they just laid there, panting a little and resting against each other, breathy giggles leaving them as they caught their breaths, Race’s bare chest pressed against Albert’s arm, who didn’t seem to pay any mind to it. Race felt comfortable. Race felt accepted, just like his friend had always made him feel, and no one was here to judge either of them.

That was freedom, wasn’t it ?

As they slowly calmed down, they both laid down on their back, their eyes staying closed for a little while until they both made the decision to look up at the sky.

The stars were beautiful. They had the privilege to witness a moon not covered by clouds ; they could totally see in the dark. With such a bright light, no one could… trip on their foot, or a tree’s roots, or anything that could possibly be an obstacle on the ground. Either way, Race’s eyes were lost in these stars, a hint of a smile back on his lips as he did so. And Albert had decided to watch him instead, to watch how his eyes reflected that sight he admired.

“Hey…” Albert spoke softly after a while.”

“Hm ?”

“Isn’t this amazing ?”

“Like… the sky ? Yea.” Race sounded sort of absent-minded, but if there had to be an emotion, it’d be… joy.

“No, I mean… like, us. Our… friendship.”

“Ah.”

The blond paused. He blinked, then closed his eyes again. “Yea. I think it’s probably on my top three favourite things ‘bout livin’ here an’ workin’ for ya old man.”

This earned a chuckle from the other, who shook his head. “Better be, punk.”

“Hey, oh.”

They both laughed. Then, more silence. Fortunately, awkward silences between them had stopped after the age of six ; all silence was just silent understanding. Silent conversations where all they had to say was ‘hey, I really trust you and what’s happening is really comfortable ; I feel safe and happy’. A nice conversation.

Then Race felt Albert’s hand on his own. A reflex: holding it. So he did. And no one said a word.

Could he have held anyone else’s hand ? That kid who couldn’t let anyone approach him without being aggressive or offensive to keep people away from me, the one who always got in trouble for nonsense on purpose, that kid whose trust was only given to Albert. Probably not. He’d maybe made a few friends, but no one came close.

And while silence reigned, someone had to break it off. This time, it was Race.

“Can we… cuddle ?”

“Sure.”

Albert sounded sleepy. Race found it quite adorable, but he held back from commenting and brought himself closer to his friend again, resting his head on his chest and his arm wrapping around him. Albert responded by wrapping his own arm around the blond’s waist, and pulling him just a little closer.

Sleep became so tempting.

Maybe Race fell asleep there, thinking about that evening that had passed by so quickly when he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep well and nothing could help that. Maybe Albert took this opportunity to press a light kiss to Race’s head, humming quietly and looking up at the sky one last time.

“You’re killin’ me, Racey…”

He kept his voice quiet so it wouldn’t wake his friend. But they were both smiling, and maybe a field wasn’t the best location to sleep in, the happiness on their face was worth every uncomfortable spot in the grass.

Tag list:

@well-the-kids-do-too@racetrackcook@i-got-personality@imjusttheoutgoingsidekick@thatfancyclam@we-dont-sell-papes@ben-cook-can-cook@not-your-cigar@nverkept@jackhasdreams@racescoronas@suddenly-im-respecsable@purplelittlepup@hopeful-broadwaybaby@broadwayandbookblog@crazymecjc@maiawakening@awwwwwwdang@albertdasillva@daveys-pet-snake@be-more-chill-evan-hansen

#ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #newsies #androlomew writes stuff #warning: probably a lot of weird sentences #of weird words #of repeated words #bc i'm tired !#as always

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craftmanatee · 4 years

Text

DreadXCollection 2 Games Review

Me and my friend played through DreadXCollection 2, we each played a game resulting in 6 for him, and 6 for me. Although, there is a 13th game which is the hub that goes between the games. Despite playing separate games like this, we both experienced it together and I feel confident in making a short review for each game in the collection and a conclusive one for the collection that is DreadX.

Il be reviewing each game in the Order I think You should Play if you are going to.

Game X: The House (Ingeniously done!)

Scare Type: Spooky

I would advise you to figure out and play trough the house, you will be forced to play through one game from the collection before the house opens up to be fully explored. When that is the case, give it your pace by doing the house little by little or all at once so that there are no barriers to the games.

The House itself is such a nostalgic trip for me when I think about it, it reminds me a bit on Mario 64 or Banjoo Kazooie where there is a hub and you have to figure out how to get to the next level. But the next level is a game in this case. Some of the puzzles can actually trip you up, but I fully believe you to try and figure them out on your own. There are always other puzzles to do if you are stuck on one. For us, they were not in any way difficult.

When you do unlock a game, make sure to read the terrible comic. Me and my friend did not... GET it, and it felt awful due to the terrible voice-over.

Solipsis by Daniel Mullins (alright!)

Scare Type: Surreal

This is the first recommended game to play. A fairly short one that puts you in the right mood for the rest of the House and the game. Solipsis is artistically very very very good. It gives a sense of dread, and plays with a certain mechanic wonderfully to the character. Its a bit of a Walking simulator, but it is worth experiencing, especially as a first before doing the house! My friend was the player of this one.

Then do the house, The next game on the list then is!

Arcadletra by Vidas Games (Not that good)

Scare Type: Jump Scares

This is a very short linear experience, the quality is not bad or anything. But artistically it does very little to satisfy a tense horror session. It felt very run of the mill, and just got me (Who was the player) to just walk forward into what the game wanted me to walk forward into. No real game, just a jumpy experience.

To The End Of Days by Scythe Dev Team (Meh)

Scare Type: Action packed!

Here is a fun one, and one I think is good to rub the last game off with. To The End Of Days is an 80s style action movie where you blast through enemies with your shotgun. Some enemies make a return from their previous DreadX collection game, those are probably the only spook worthy enemies in the game. It is pretty forgettable but a nice change of pace. My friend was the player of this one.

The Toy Shop by Mahelyk (Oof... pretty bad)

Scare Type: Copy-pasted enemies coming from the Darkness???

I get that these games are having fun with their ideas and are being unique, there are some unique ideas in this game but it just falls flat and you want it to be over. This game becomes several different games in different areas, you arent really sure what kind of horror this game is trying to bring. Although, I did like some of the aesthetics here and there, again it has its ideas but it was not enjoyable. Knock this one out. My friend was the player of this one.

Another Late Night by Secret Cow Level (What?)

Scare Type: Suspense

Playing this, I was mostly waiting for the big reveal or the grand horror, but I was mostly confused. Did we miss out on certain scares? Were there scares at all? I will give it that there is suspense. The horror here is of an entity speaking to you through the computer. That is... about it. Im sorry! I dont have much to say about this one!

Undiscovered by Torple Dook (Just fine)

Scare Type: Hopelessness

It is a pretty campy and simple Silent Hill esque game with a horror Indiana Jones adventure. Its not all that fun to PLAY, but kind of funny poking fun at the campy quality. As you go deeper, the game does get more interesting. Nothing to write much about, but is a nice treat.

From here on out, the upcoming games will be both better and scarier! If you are following this list, know that it all now becomes absolutely worth it!

The Diving Bell by Bathysfear Labs (Pretty cool)

Scare Type: Lonesome/Paranoia

The Diving Bell was a bit too forgiving with its difficulty, but it did have interesting ideas and design. It did get spooky and was also often moody. It was a bit glitchy, enough for us to find an easter egg by accident. Most of the spookiness might be randomised. Regardless, this was a nice spooky experience I personally wish I could see in a more fleshed out game. My friend was the player of this one.

Touched by an Outer God by Wither Studios (Fun!)

Scare Type: Gross

A rouge-like esque arena shooter akin to Doom. Its fun to upgrade yourself and blast through enemies, this game however, desperately needs music to accompany the campiness of the game. You will want to upgrade for killing efficiency before anything else, you will get overpowered, dont worry. However, the constant attention for a bit of skill-full clicking did make things a bit tiresome.

Squirrel Stapler by David Szymanski (Godlike!)

Scare Type: Huge Build-Up, suspense.

I would rate this as the second best game on the collection. It does take a bit of frustration and time, but that is all just a build up. And when the time comes, learn to strafe and let them charge past you. Youl know what I mean. In any case, this was to me the most memorable as it had a lot of anticipation and build up as well as a cursed nature to it. It struck me exactly the way I wanted it to.

THE THING IN THE LAKE by Panstasz (Great!)

Scare Type: Panic

A neat little game with a cool aesthetic. I personally find it disappointing, but I also recognise it for being solid and designed well. Tip: If you hear a rumble, maybe you should wait. I wish there was more to this game as it was enjoyable learning the layout and getting the secret ending.

SUCKER FOR LOVE by Akabaka (Awesome!)

Scare Type: Twists and turns!

A cute point and click “Date”-ing simulator (Not really a dating simulator at all) that turns dark. Its funny, ngl it does get tense, and is well made! Most dating simulators or point and click games dont reach this quality. My friend was the player of this one.

Charlotte’s Exile by John Szymanski (The best!)

Scare Type: Anxiety

Save the best for last, as this one will make an impression! This is such a well rounded puzzle game. Great art, great puzzles, great everything! Its 100% the best in this list, and is probably the most gratifying to end on. My friend was the player of this one.

Conclusion to the Entire Collection

Despite some games being pretty bad, it did make the variety pack feel like a good variety of small games. Top 3 for me goes to Sucker for love, Squirrel Stapler and then Charlotte’s Exile. The house that bring them together is also great, each tape comes with an uneventful comic which ties to the house in some way. The ending to the entire collection was fine, could have had a bit more fanfare or an objective but it was fine.

As a game/collection, this is legitimately a breath of fresh air. It feels nostalgic to experience a variety pack of games, and bundled together in an interesting way. I have my friend to thank for making it possible as it was he who hosted the evenings.

#dread x collection #dreadx #dread x collection 2 #review #horror #games #video games

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class301-blog · 7 years

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NEW SUSPECT.

MOON NABI is the #07 on the class 301 rollcall list. born on september 14th, 1999. links up with the brunch bunch ( pepper ) and the mystery gang ( the spy ). voted most likely to murder park jisoo? let’s run by the evidence.

THE PRECEDENTS.

THE COLLECTED INFORMATION ON THE SUSPECT.

MOTHER - His mother is as innocent as she is beautiful but not even growing up in a quaint town like Jinhae could spare her from the evils of this world. She dropped out of high school in an attempt to escape the rumors surrounding her name and ends up in Seoul and in even more situations that make her odds of survival shrink to unlikely. Yet, somehow, he found her before all hope was lost. From one pained smile, he could see there was still a light that shone beneath the filth that had been piling up on her. He’s much older; fifteen years older, in fact. But he is kind and gentle and that’s all she has ever wanted. He is a successful man and has the power to whisk her away from anything that can hurt her, just like a King in a fairy tale. Their union is an unlikely one and whispers continue to follow her, but it’s different this time. She knows that she has earned the unconditional love and support of a soul that matches hers. No one can hurt her now. She is safe. FATHER - He has blood on his hands and the more he tries to wipe it off, the more it spreads until it’s caked onto his fingers. The blood dries and hardens and he fears there’s nothing to keep the digits from curving into sharp claws only capable of drawing more blood; causing more destruction. Yet, somehow, She found him before all hope was lost. From one pained smile, she could see there was still a light that shone beneath the filth that had been piling up on him. In that moment he knew that he’d found what his heart had been yearning for. Something pure; a lonesome dove to protect and nurture. Her grace warmed his heart and her tears of happiness washed away the blood on his hands, at least, in his mind. He treats her like a queen, the word “no” never passes his lips, at least, not until her child is born. BROTHER DEAREST - He’s a hellion. From the moment he greets this world and draws breath into tiny lungs; he’s wailing. From the moment his legs can carry him; he’s flailing, knocking down everything in his path. His mother tries to calm him but even as a child, he overwhelms her. Her husband still loves her as much as the day they met and anything that upsets her must be removed. Taeho is removed. He’s taken to a home for “special” children and abandoned there until he’s worthy to be in his mother’s presence. A BOY NAMED BUTTERFLY - He never tells her “no.” Not even when she decides on a new name for their first born. They’d settled on something quite masculine and formidable weeks before, but one look into big cat eyes blinking inquisitively changed her mind. “No, not like a butterfly…like a kitty,” she corrects her husband sweetly and turns her attention back to the quiet child in her arms. “Right, Nabi? Nabiya…Nabiya.” She sings him to sleep cooing the name and his father can’t help but wince from rekindling fear that had been smoldering in his gut. Weren’t they stacking the deck against him a little early? It reignites. HOME SWEET HOME - The big city of Seoul is no place to raise a child and as much as they’ve enjoyed traveling all across the globe on a honeymoon that’s lasted, literally years; it’s time to settle down and play house. They’re sure relocating to Jinhae is the best thing for their children. Yes, children. Taeho is collected from Europe and he fits even less with the picture-perfect couple now that there’s a brand new baby to love. His Korean has suffered terribly during his time abroad. He needs special care to catch up with the other children. His mother loves him cautiously but focuses on the baby. Her husband ignores him. They hire a nanny to raise him. And when that one quits, they hire another and another. CHILDHOOD - A lot had already happened to his family before Nabi came into the picture but he was their hope. He was a good boy; the child that they’d wanted. Curious but obedient, clever, quick, and sharp. He was thoughtful and empathetic and sweet. Taeho was the opposite. He was mean; a bully. He was much bigger and older and Nabi was obviously the bane of his existence. Nabi understood there was a difference between how he and his brother were treated but he could only attribute the contrast to how disobedient Taeho was. If he’d just behave, his parents wouldn’t be so hard on him. Nabi didn’t realize that wouldn’t have changed anything. For all the times he was teased and picked on to tears or beaten, he kept his mouth shut. If his parents asked what had happened, Taeho’s story was repeated word for word from his bloodied, split lips. He was like his father; he could take a beating and get back up. He would endure hardships on his own until he found a way to settle things himself. Taeho was bigger and stronger, but Nabi was smarter and it wasn’t long before he’d learned exactly how to take away the enjoyment from Taeho seeing him hurt. 7th GRADE - School changed everything for Nabi. He took off running and never looked back. He was bright-eyed and thirsty for knowledge. He was confident and smart and stood up for kids who were picked on because he knew how that felt. He had friends in every class, but a small group that he felt personally close to, a few kids that he felt were special and he trusted them, implicitly.

Despite being like his father and surviving his older brother’s bullying, Nabi was still very much like his mother. He had the same innocence, the same trust in the universe; an unwarranted faith that he could present his true self to the world and the world would not pick him apart or rip him to shreds until there was nothing left.

Like his mother, he was wrong.

And like before, Nabi clamped his jaw shut when fingers were pointed at him and bore the blame on his own; a sacrifice to angry adults who said he was just like his troublemaker brother, just like his father; a thug from Seoul that made his fortune from the misfortune of others. They were criminals.

He was a criminal. JOHN THE APOSTLE - “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” He is shaken to his core, but the sentiment gives him desperately needed strength and before long, the man’s name is inked into his skin, among other things. He justifies the actions of his so-called friends and his own inaction. It takes a long time until he can swallow over the lump in his throat, but with an entire month of mandatory self-reflection, it gives a sensitive and now jaded boy like Nabi a lot of time to plan. PEPPER - The walls go up on every side. Walls to shield a tender heart and what is left of his pride. He hands the key to Cinnamon and puts on a mask before facing his peers. He’s not going to let anyone hurt him again. He’s determined to smile and laugh and brush off everything thrown his way. He faces his adversaries with a cold glint in feline eyes. If they’re expecting a delinquent; a rebel, then he won’t disappoint them.

THE SPY - He keenly observes those around him and assesses the given situation. Whether it’s comforting words that purr forth from thick lips or a lashing from a sharp tongue that brings an uncomfortable truth to light, Nabi has the power to say what others wish they could, but wouldn’t dare. He’s allied himself to many secret causes throughout the span of his high school years and has forged alliances where not even his close friends would think it possible. It’s rumored that at least half the crimes he’s taken credit for aren’t his own.

It’s also rumored that his main motivation for pulling in favors in an attempt to find out who really murdered Jisoo, is because he knows there are few people the town would rather see punished for the crime than himself.

THE ALIBI.

THIS ACCOUNT IS CONSIDERED UNRELIABLE.

“I already told you.” His tone is flat but the edge of his words begins to sharpen. He’s been there for hours, repeating the same information to one ugly mugged cop after another; each one more disbelieving than the next. “We saw him coming out of his mom’s office. I don’t remember what day it was…Sunday? Tuesday? I don’t fucking remember.” Arms unfold from his chest and clasp behind his neck. Annoyance that had been pinching his face is gone once the youth stretches from side to side in the hard chair in which he’s been sitting for far too long. He should have a parent or guardian present or legal representation, but a phone call is not offered and he’s too proud to ask for one.

“And the night of the murder?”

“At home, with my family… like every night.” His answer is the same as he’s said before and his tone is just as smug. The truth is that it doesn’t matter what he told the police; they wouldn’t believe him anyway. However, the alibi he’d chosen was too clearly a lie. Any police officer and anyone who lived within a mile radius of the Moon’s lavish home could tell you that his parents were rarely home simply from the amount of noise complaints that were called in on any given night. The couple was almost always off on some exotic getaway, doing their best to put the love of Gomez and Morticia Addams to shame.

“Yeah and I bet you, and dear old dad, and your addict brother all took turns with her… like every night.”

It’s clear that the officers are frustrated and what better way to incite the rage of a teenage delinquent than insulting his precious mother? Indeed, Nabi feels bile rise and burn the back of his throat, but he swallows his fury, as he’s practiced. He smirks as he lifts his eyes to the older man and smiles; vicious and cold, as he’s practiced.

“Yeah… something like that.”

THE TESTIMONIAL.

THE SUSPECT’S THOUGHTS ON JINHAE HIGH.

He operates largely behind the scenes; habitually conducting business in dark hallways and empty classrooms. He considers himself, amongst other things, a sin-eater; a necessary evil. He deals in secrets and lies; some that are his own, but many that are not. He’s deceitful and whether it’s to help or to hurt isn’t ever clear. He holds sway over student, teacher and parent alike but you won’t catch him gloating or showing his cards until the moment is right.

He’s a Joker in this House of Kings and Queens. Jinhae High’s very own Least Likely to Succeed.

#301: file #cc: the brunch bunch #sc: the mystery gang

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artsy-jandi · 7 years

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Sebaka pt. 01

@sharingan-rasengan-chidori Erika, I have a present for you. =D

Sebastian and Erika. I ship them.

After that headcanon, I felt I had to add more to it since it felt incomplete to me. Since last year, I have been self-shipping myself with Sebastian secretly. I would even internally be scornful of girls pairing themselves with "my man", but I never went and attacked them over it as an anon, or non-anon, since I know Sebastian is not real. If I had, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself even after I apologized. I like my reputation as a sweet girl more than a fictious demon. I value my genuineness. When I was thinking about my crossover (the one I mentioned in my reblogged post after Erika posted my headcanon I shared with her), I jokingly thought up Sebastian whining up with Erika at the end of my story even though I already have an ending in mind. When Erika reblogged a "share your headcanons of me" post, I decided to share the one I thought up. She liked it enough to accept it as her love story for her and Sebastian.

So, here are my headcanons, or scenario, for Sebaka. The first third of the story. I originally wanted to post the entire thing. But seeing how much I have come up with in just three days, I think it would be better if I just posted them in parts.

Before They Married, Before the Adventure

- When Sebastian and Erika met; Erika thought she was dreaming, while Sebastian thought he whined up in the future of London since Erika does live there.

- Erika let Sebastian stay at her place, but they had to keep it secret since she still lives with her parents. Sebastian made that part easy for her being the demon he is.

- Erika introduced modern technology to Sebastian. He is fascinated with smart phones and tablets.

Sebastian: So, the telephones, or smart phones, of this era are just smaller tablets? Erika: Pretty much.

- While Erika was at school, Sebastian did a ton of homework while looking for a way to get back to his 'time'. Since the Victorian era ended 130+ years ago, Sebastian had a lot of questions about the gap between that era and the current one he was in. He went to the internet and library for this excessively.

- On the web Sebastian discovered:

Cat videos: he watched these for hours before he went on to something else. ((He learned about animal shelters from an add that played before watching a compilation of cats greeting their owners home on YouTube)) )

The Black Butler fandom: He's had many reactions to this population of people who oddly support him and Ciel. It intrigues him. But his spine became solid ice learning the horrifying fact that he has been shipped with Grell of all people, although he can't decide which pairing is more sickening: the Sebaciel, or the Sebagrell. He has accounts where he flame wars with people who attack Lizzie for any reason they can come up with. He has been banned from forums for this, and has even gotten people banned with him, or just flat out banned by "doing some research" and reporting them to the admins. He enjoys reading the theories and analysis people come up with. He has seen the impressions people have done of him and the others. Normally, he is not impressed by the amateurs, but when he does find some very impressive ones, he offers his wholesome critique. Same thing can be said of the fan art and fan fiction.

It was also because he found the fandom that he realized he was not only in the future, he was in the future of a dimension where the Phantomhives never existed. This was where Sebastian really had to think about what to do. He decided he would take advantage of his time here to learn about the past of this dimension while hoping it would prepare him for the future of his own.

The Kuroshitsuji anime and manga: Sebastian was surprised that his time with the young master had been recounted in these strange books people called "manga". He fondly read through the chapters of the past times working for his lord, and he was fascinated with the art of animation. The anime, of course. When he watched the Book of Circus animation, he laughed at Grell's shock over him seducing Beast. But that was short lived when Grell started enjoying it like a porno. Sebastian went back to reading the manga, and it would be a while before he went back to watching the anime.

As a result of reading the manga and learning the real circumstance of his situation, he is taking notes on what to do and what not to do during those "arcs" so he will be prepared by the time he gets back to his dimension (The Weston arc has yet to "start" at his dimension). He is also taking notes from the theories and predictions people have made about his dimension.

Black Butler II: He is taking note to ensure he has his arm intact when he does eat Ciel's soul, if that rule is very relevant in his dimension. His idea of being a butler doesn't involve starving for eternity. (But then there is that twin theory going around.)

Many cooking recipes: He is abusing Erika's printer for his recipe collection.

Arthur Conan Doyle's work: He is reading his work before they are even published in his own dimension while looking for those complete collection volumes of Sherlock Holmes. He wishes to bring them back with him for his young master.

Aoshima, the Isand of Cats: when Sebastian learned that Japan had an island mainly populated by cats, he ran over there to see it for himself. For the first time in his existence, Sebastian knew what Heaven felt like. But he wouldn't bring Erika here until their honeymoon. He also took note to visit this place again in his dimension when it became Aoshima Island.

- When Sebastian started staying at Erika's place, he couldn't stand how dirty it was. Naturally, he set to cleaning up her home. When her parents got back, they wondered how everything was so spotless. Erika got scared, and tries to make Sebastian stop cleaning her place because she thinks it could give him away. But she remembered how sneaky our butler is, so she eventually dropped it.

- As a result of staying at Erika's place, Sebastian has spoiled her cat, Morrigan. Morrigan wouldn't be going back to eating dry cat food. Her parents are concerned about this.

- It goes without saying Sebastian (and Erika when she isn't busy) had been looking for Ciel and his group. Unfortunately, they have not been found. Sebastian fears they might be in separate dimensions.

- When Sebastian and Erika are not busy, they either watch Holmes, or Erika shows Sebastian around Modern London.

- When Sebastian was watching Black Butler on the computer or TV, he tried to jump into the screens thinking he could go back to his dimension that way. But that didn't work. He just made a fool out of himself by knock the screens over.

- When Sebastian and Erika watched Black Cat, Sebastian said he would gladly feed the Sweepers as long as Sven Vollfied gave him a couple of cat bombs as payment. (Sven has cat bombs that summon cats. Sebastian's favorite toy.)

- When going through London, Sebastian questioned why Erika is not a people person. But that was just the start of the many questions he had for her.

- It's safe to say everyone that saw Sebastian thought he was a spot-on cos-player. That didn't stop them from calling him Sebastian and requesting him to take pictures with them while Erika plays camerawoman. Just wait for those comic cons.

- A guy caught a Pokemon that was on Sebastian's head. Sebastian then asked Erika what a Butterfree was.

- Sebastian is appalled with the excessive language people use.

- Sebastian is impressed with the independence women have gained in the future.

- He never intends to tell Grell about the sex changes that would be readily available to him in this dimension when he gets back to his own. Not like he would bat an eye at him if Grell did become a she, he just doesn't want him to know about this dimension's accessible sex changes.

- When Sebastian and Erika went to a book store, Erika introduced him to Garfield. Sebastian is amused. They also ran into the guy that caught the Butterfree. He named it Sebstian.

- When Erika is working on her blog homework (the requests she gets), Sebastian reads through them and offers her some suggestions. Hence, he became her muse.

- When Sebastian was going through her blog, he discoveries to his horror that Erika fancies him with Ciel. He didn't take it very well. More like he didn't what to think of it. But he doesn't confront her about it for a while. When he does, he pops question after question why it fancies her.

"I am not very amused with people pairing me with my young lord. To be frank, I find it disgusting." - Sebastian Michaelis

As long as she wasn't attacking people who ship Lizzie with Ciel, he could let it go.

- When he learned about Erika's fear of the dark, he teased her about it in anyway he could think of. As he naturally would. He did it a bit out of revenge for being shipped with Ciel, but mainly out of amusement. But when it got out of hand, he apologized and went easy on her. He made it up to her by playing cat videos on her computer as she fell asleep since he knows it would soothe her. https://sharingan-rasengan-chidori.tumblr.com/post/155276499266/since-sebastian-is-a-creature-of-the-night-and-he#notes

- Sebastian had to learn how to brew a perfect cup of coffee for Erika to enjoy since she is not a tea drinker. This took time, but Erika was patient with him.

- Sebastian offers Erika a shoulder to cry on when she is lonesome for her cat, Allaidh. As a demon who has lived a long life, he has had many cats come and go. It goes without saying he knows the painful agony of having his precious cats pass on from this life. It isn't one of the best things about his existence. Erika's sorrow over her deceased cat was where Sebastian and her really started to bond once he started to share with her tales of some of the cats he fondly remembers.

- When Sebastian and Erika realize he might in this dimension longer than he wished, she suggested he get a job so he could afford a place to stay. He immediately jumps at the opportunity to look for a animal shelter to work at. He also took a job at the book store he and Erika went to before. He did this to further educate himself.

- Have you read the headcanon Erika has for Sebastian working at a cat shelter? Everything, but the parts about owning it, is pretty much what happens there. https://sharingan-rasengan-chidori.tumblr.com/post/158151477181/can-i-have-a-sebastian-headcanon-of-him#notes

- When Sebastian started working at the book store, lots of people went there just to see Sebastian. Mainly girls. But he manages to get them to buy a few books. When he is not busy, he reads history books, and Garfield. He read every volume available in his first week on the job.

- Eventually, Sebastian got another part time job at the university’s library. This influenced his decision to work as a teacher in the Weston Arc.

- As a result of going to Japan to see Aoshima Island, he discovered who Yana Toboso really is. But he wouldn't tell anyone about it, except Erika. But she wouldn't know that until their first time between the sheets on their wedding night.

- Sebastian figured the best way he would get back to his dimension is to break into the government's secret files for any projects regarding traveling to other dimensions. So he did just that on Erika's computer. (He has yet to purchase a laptop.) Sebastian is willing to look through all government files just to get home. Rather it be the United Kingdoms, or other foreign nations. Sebastian is very determined.

- When he is not using Erika's computer to rummage through the government's archives, he is breaking into their bases to go through them himself.

- Sebastian discovers in Mexico that a dimensional warper had been stolen by a thieves back in the 1980s. Sebastian speaks to the literally stars of space to find this stolen machine. (Demons are capable of talking to the stars. I learned this reading Solomon's Testimony where he actually dealt with demons during the Temple's construction.

110. And behold, in those days one of the workmen, of ripe old age, threw himself down before me, and said: "King Solomon, pity me, because I am old." So I bade him stand up, and said: "Tell me, old man, all you will." And he answered: "I beseech you king, I have an only-born son, and he insults and beats me openly, and plucks out the hair of my head, and threatens me with a painful death. Therefore I beseech you avenge me."

111. And I Solomon, on hearing this, felt compunction as I looked at his old age; and I bade the child be brought to me. And when he was brought I questioned him whether it were true. And the youth said: "I was not so filled with madness as to strike my father with my hand. Be kind to me, O king. For I have not dared to commit such impiety, poor wretch that I am." But I Solomon on hearing this from the youth, exhorted the old man to reflect on the matter, and accept his son's apology. However, he would not, but said he would rather let him die. And as the old man would not yield, I was about to pronounce sentence on the youth, when I saw Ornias the demon laughing. I was very angry at the demon's laughing in my presence; and I ordered my men to remove the other parties, and bring forward Ornias before my tribunal. And when he was brought before me, I said to him: "Accursed one, why didst thou look at me and laugh?" And the demon answered: "Prithee, king, it was not because of thee I laughed, but because of this ill-starred old man and the wretched youth, his son. For after three days his son will die untimely; and lo, the old man desires to foully make away with him."

112. But I Solomon, having heard this, said to the demon: "Is that true that thou speakest?" And he answered: "It is true; O king." And I, on hearing that, bade them remove the demon, and that they should again bring before me the old man with his son. I bade them make friends with one another again, and I supplied them with food. And then I told the old man after three days to bring his son again to me here; "and," said I, "I will attend to him." And they saluted me, and went their way.

113. And when they were gone I ordered Ornias to be brought forward, and said to him: "Tell me how you know this!" and he answered: "We demons ascend into the firmament of heaven, and fly about among the stars. And we hear the sentences which go forth upon the souls of men, and forthwith we come, and whether by force of influence, or by fire, or by sword, or by some accident, we veil our act of destruction; and if a man does not die by some untimely disaster or by violence, then we demons transform ourselves in such a way as to appear to men and be worshipped in our human nature."

- Testimony of Solomon, verse 113

Winter, Dr. Jay. The Complete Book of Enoch: Standard English Version (Kindle Locations 2147-2150). Lulu.com. Kindle Edition. )

- Sebastian finally learns the whereabouts of the stolen dimension from a certain star: a man from Oklahoma took the machine when he was visiting Mexico during a vacation. A friend of his made during his trip wanted to take the machine. When they successfully took it, the Mexican played decoy while the other took the machine. The Mexican promised he'd meet up with him after they escaped the cops. But the Mexican friend was captured and sent to prison where he died of old age. The man from Oklahoma still kept the machine and waited for him all those years. He went on to have a son, who just happened to have been the guy that caught the Butterfree on Sebastian's head in London.

Sebastian: What a strange coincidence.

- When Sebastian came back to his apartment, Erika was there with the recently released Kuroshitsuji chapter. Sebastian informs her of what he has learned from his hunt, and Erika reveals she had met the guy he's looking for at her university. His name is Harold Larry Lewis, and he is an exchange student from Oklahoma. Sebastian asks Erika that she set up a meeting date for them. He has questions to ask him.

- Sebastian and Erika meet Harold at the farmer's market where he was buying a bag of buns with olives and dried berries. (I had one of those, and I really would like one right now. I'm hungry.) He just happened to have been eating one, too.

- Sebastian, Erika, and Harold go to a secluded place where they won't draw too much attention. Sebastian proceeds to inform Harold:

Sebastian: Mr. Lewis, I had learned something very interesting about your father. Back in the 80s, he had stolen some government owned property. A dimension warper, to be exact. From what Erika has told me about you, you are studying for a degree in technology and engineering. This studious pursuit of yours wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the warper, now would it?

Harold is dead quite. He is wondering if Sebastian is a detective, FBI, a secret agent, or even the actual Sebastian Michaelis. Before he can run, Sebastian places his hands on Harold's shoulders. "I'm not going to hurt you.", Sebastian starts, "But I will tell you this. If you so much as tell anybody who I am, I personally will do you in. You can keep the machine, but I need it to find my master, and hopefully get back to my dimension." "You... You really are-", Harold turns to him with his face paling in fear. Sebastian grins smuggishly, and draws closer to his ear to finish Harold's sentence, "One hell of a butler.... So, do we have a deal, Mr. Lewis?"

To Be Continued

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tuesdayandtuesday · 7 years

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the art of the trade

day three of @platonicvldweek - lions/bonding

2694 words, in which keith and red share a moment or three. s2 spoilers.

also available on ao3.

Red believes in equal exchange or nothing at all. Trust for trust. Joy for joy. Hope for hope. But she also deals in wrath, envy, even despair. Whatever Keith can offer her, she will match it, and needless to say, he prefers trading lighter memories, few and far between though they seem. However, Red shows no obvious interest in the memories themselves, but in the act of the trade, and when Keith settles into her cabin to think, her presence presses all around him, heavy and warm. Expectant.

At first, he ignores her needling. The dark bruise in the crook of his neck already prickles with every movement, and Red’s prodding is nothing compared to that. Truthfully, he isn’t sure what might compare to the Trials of Marmora and the assorted purple souvenirs he has returned with for its completion. So little in his life has been so grueling as Kolivan’s challenge, so little has been so exhausting.

Leaning back into the seat, Keith turns his knife over and over in his hands, returning time and again to the insignia on the hilt. He’s felt disbelief in his life before (his father gone, the Kerberos mission lost, the Blue Lion found), but the disbelief that fills him every time the blade transforms is a far different kind. This disbelief is not colored by awe or despair, or even skepticism, but a vague shade of peace mingled with the shadows of questions he is unprepared to pursue. After years of confusion and ignorance, years of pushing away the dwindling hope that he might find answers, he has them. Not all of them, of course, but more answers than he ever dreamed of seeing in this lifetime or even the next.

A wave of curiosity washes over him, a tightly checked answer to the What’s next? that he asks himself. It comes from his lion. He rests the knife across his knees. “It’s Galra,” he says. “I’m Galra.” It feels a lot like a confession.

Silence. The faint pressure lifts from his shoulders to prowl around the cabin. Even seated, he gets the sensation of pacing, tensing, and then a soft weight settles on his chest. Red, expecting more, but not taking it. Red never takes.

But just because Red never takes doesn’t mean that Keith is ready to give. Or to receive.

Sometimes he appreciates Red’s reliability, her give and take. He can count on her even when the rest of the universe is unsteady. The knife across his lap breathes hesitation into the cabin, though, and he knows that if he shares with Red tonight, she will not waver in her policy. Offering her the Trials of Marmora means offering all his anger. All his fear. And then Red will trade him anger and fear in kind.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. He’s felt enough terror to last a lifetime. What’s a little more? So he braces himself and lets Red in, laying the Trials at her feet. The weight on his chest lifts, taking with it a sense of security, but he pushes the Trials forward through his vulnerability, waiting for his lion to take them.

And she takes them with a reluctance he has never felt from her before, as if she too dreads the pact they make and the memory she must provide in return. Red hovers over the loose, scattered offering and hesitates to draw it close.

“I’m here,” he tells her. I’m ready, I’m scared, just do it, he means. But it isn’t until he adds, “Come on, Kitty Rose,” that she pounces.

She’s never burned through his mind so quickly. He gasps despite himself, hand scrabbling for the armrest to use as an anchor. The Trials rush before his eyes in sharp relief, jerking along at breakneck speed, and even though these are his memories, he can hardly keep up. Only when Red pauses to reflect his emotions back at him does he fully comprehend where she is in his memories.

The triumph of solving the first riddle of the Trial. The terror of watching Shiro leave him alone. The aching cocktail of regret and desperation and sheer smallness of seeing his father again, losing his father again. For the sake of a greater cause, perhaps, but Keith chokes on that loss in particular. That’s a deeply personal memory, and though it’s too late to draw it back now, it’s probably closer to his heart than anything else he has ever allowed Red to see.

Curiously, she skims over the truth of his heritage with disinterest rather than surprise before drawing back, leaving Keith to steady himself with his head between his knees, knife cast aside on the floor. The cabin spins when he opens his eyes, and there’s a ringing in his ears that’s just soft enough that he only catches it during held breaths. Eventually, though, the world rights itself and Red’s composed quiet returns.

For a moment, the cabin feels lonesome, like Red has retreated. Keith slides down in his seat and puts a hand flat against the dashboard. “I did my part. Come back?” He doesn’t ask out of the desire to see Red’s memories. No, he is rethinking just how much fear he can take in his life right now. But Red has never wavered before, and if she can relive the troubling portions of his past, grounding him, then he will do the same for her. There is no caveat to this, no second-guessing. Just simple responsibility coupled with the unshakable desire to exist together. There is no turning back now. The time for that came and went in the moment he opened the airlock to earn her trust. They chose each other.

So Red comes creeping back into the cabin, filling the space with a soothing warmth that Keith reads only as an apology for what’s to come. “When you’re ready,” he says, shutting his eyes.

But instead of blitzing through again, Red eases him down slowly. She begins with a name.

Cassidia. Cass.

Then Keith is struck by a burst of pride and affection so strong that he is nearly pitched from Red’s memory. Visions flick past, blurry stills that shine with color, particularly with bright scarlet and streak of sky. He knows those colors. Every time he and Red set out for the emptiness of space, he wears them.

Red does not need to speak for Keith to understand that he is seeing a guarded glimpse of his predecessor. She is Altean, with cherry bright marks at the corners of her eyes, like Allura and Coran, and her pointed ears glitter with a row of silver studs in each lobe, little lines of starlight. In some scenes that Red supplies, Cass is loose, relaxed. Keith knows very little of Altea, but he doesn’t have to be an expert to understand that these frames show Cass with her people, wholly in love with her place among them.

There are other moments that Red provides, though, sharper moments. Flashes of the other paladins appear with their faces smudged out, their backs against Cass’s and their weapons raised against a common foe. Red’s pride takes on a fierce, even violent edge before being suddenly swept away in a wave of stuttering fear.

Here the memories coalesce into a stream. Motion and sound arrive, and though dimly aware that he is in Red’s cabin, Keith still flinches at a series of explosions that erupt behind his back, as if they can still hurt him. Red wants him to watch, though, so he steels himself. For her.

He recognizes the ship’s interior. Its structure has changed a little with the advent of better engineering and ten thousand years, but not so much that he cannot recognize the cargo bay of a Galra ship. He also recognizes the height from which he looks down at the scene; this is distinctly, immediately Red’s memory, played out through her eyes alone.

She is not moving. She tries, but a stifling ripple of magnetic interference has locked her limbs into place, making her helpless even as her paladin fights for her life below.

Cass’s fighting style strikes Keith as reckless, and he shares a faint flare of approval with his lion. The numbers of the Galra have yet to overwhelm her, and instead of fighting the group head-on, she twists between individual soldiers, using them as shields against their fellows as she works her way to the outside of the cluster. Along the way, she doesn’t touch her bayard, instead trusting in her raw Altean strength to throw her foes into one another, blocking the way. Only once free of the throng does she draw her sword and defend herself, which has its own wild abandon to it. Cass does not pause to consider her options, but slides fluidly from one strike to the next, making it up as she goes along. The life-or-death nature of the fight makes it necessary, but there’s a practiced air to her carelessness, as if she cannot fight any other way.

But even a capable warrior cannot fight numbers, and a reckless warrior rarely fares any better. For every soldier Cass cuts down, two more, three more, four more take their place. She is surrounded in half the time it took her to free herself from their midst, and no closer to Red than before. The bayard gleams, throwing up showers of sparks with every robotic limb severed, but behind the glass of her helmet, Cass has taken on a pale cast.

The scene slows. Red’s doing. Keith feels her waver, and waits for her to collect herself. They will see this through to the end, as they do.

Perhaps for Keith’s benefit, or perhaps for her own, Red skips most of the fight, skimming ahead to the worst of it all and leaving the details in the dark. Unadulterated dread rises in Keith’s throat, almost choking him, and he can barely bring himself to look at the carnage in the bay. The cargo has been destroyed, as have the soldier drones. Not a single space is free of debris save for the ring around Red’s feet, guarded by her particle barrier, which sputters from electromagnetic interference that Red still, still cannot fight. But Cass is not inside that ring.

The worst of the devastation is against the doors that lead deeper into the belly of the ship. Entire pieces of the infrastructure have been ripped out and thrown into a colossal heap of mangled metal, still smoking from whatever destroyed it. At the edge of the mountain, Cass’s hand curls around her bayard, now in its compact state, and suddenly her voice is in Keith’s head even as it crackles over the comm and into the cabin.

“Sorry about that,” she rasps, and Red’s translation is shaky; he can hear the underlying Altean in weak, jagged notes. “Thought I was clear. Can you come get me?”

They all know the answer. Paladin and lion alike are trapped. They spend some time in total silence save for Cass’s labored breathing and weak struggling. She is pinned down by the debris, her legs crushed by the weight above. Suddenly, Keith is glad that this is not Cass’s memory; he doesn’t know if he could bear sharing that pain. He doesn’t know how she does it.

Did it.

Even as he realizes that this is a memory long past, even as he remembers that Cass was the Red Paladin of Voltron, Red’s anguish catches him unawares, bringing hot tears to his eyes.

He is right. Cass is–was–reckless. She forces herself upright as far as her trapped legs will allow, and even as he follows her line of sight, she whips the bayard along it. Straight for the cracked, flickering control panel across the room. Altean strength is a marvel, because the bayard sails without slowing, and Cass’s coordination is a miracle, because the weapon hits its mark exactly. A red light comes to life overhead, blinking on and off as a precautionary alarm begins to sound. At the bay’s edge, the shuffle of locks and pistons grows into a roar. The airlock begins to open.

“Here’s the plan!” Cass shouts, though Red can hear her no matter what. “That door is gonna open and carry everything out in about ten tics. Me, you, this scrap pile, everything. And then you can come get me. We can get away from Zarkon. All right?”

Keith knows it won’t be all right, and so does Red, but there’s still a desperate hope in them both that somehow this will work. And for Cass, that hope is more than enough. She seems to sense Red’s terror and doubt in the final tics, and smiles anyway, thumbing her nose before sealing her helmet again.

“You’ll catch me. Rosie, you always do.”

The Altean is not precise, given the way that Red stammers over the translation, but Keith can hear the echoes of his nickname for her with heart-wrenching clarity. It doesn’t matter that he adopted it from Hunk, albeit in private. It doesn’t matter because it’s his name for her, Cass’s name for her, it’s a name that spans centuries and she has clung to it all this time.

And then the universe drops out from beneath him as he watches Cass get sucked into space, even as Red is held back by the magnets and her own emergency measures that can’t be overridden without her paladin. Red’s loss finds all the fragile crevices in his chest and splits them wide open, stealing his breath and setting fire to his spine. His head swims as he sees glimpses of Cass spiraling out into the void, laid over with a translucent shadow of him doing the very same thing.

There are only two differences amongst the overlapping, overwhelming grief. The first is that while this is Red’s last glimpse of Cass, it is her first glimpse of Keith.

The second is that she could only save one of them.

Just like that, the memory is gone and Keith is back in the cabin. He sucks in the deepest breath he’s ever taken, curling his hands around the armrests to keep them from shaking. He is one part human, one part Galra, but after that, he may as well be one part despair and one part rage. The fury is residual, he realizes as he waits for Red’s emotion to work through his system and fade away. It is residual, and it is inward. Red blames no one but herself for Cass’s death, and guilt-ridden, Keith silently promises to make an effort to float freely through space with far less frequency than he has been as of late.

After sharing so much, they share silence. Keith’s heart slows to a crawl, and Red’s warmth creeps back into the cabin, coloring the air with a heady mixture of apology and regret.

For the first time, these things are freely given.

Keith almost doesn’t comprehend it at first. Searching for the absence of something is harder than finding the thing itself. The sense that something is missing crawls under his skin, insistent and wary, and then it suddenly dissipates as he realizes that Red is not waiting for him to offer a memory in kind. Tonight, they’ve traded hearts, and there is nothing more they can ask of one another. Nothing more they should ask.

Still he closes his eyes and presents her with one last memory for the night. There is smallness again, this time created by the legions of stars all around, by the cold kiss of space, but there is also a touch of peace and ease as he floats by. The universe is grander than any dream he could possibly harbor, and out here, he should be scared.

But then Red’s muzzle looms before him, eyes burning, and in the scant seconds it takes for her to catch him for the very first time, he is home.

Judging by the way she drops her head to her paws, the cabin lights dimming, so is she.

#platonicvldweek #fanfiction #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #tuesday writes #pvld week day three

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goldmerryi · 4 years

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AUSTRALIAN SUPER RUGBY RETURNS TO FOX SPORTS THIS WEEKEND

Beauden stated the news this day which will see him miss adjacent year's Super Rugby season to appear in for the Tokyo based club to the fore returning to New Zealand for the 2021 international season to see out the perch of his concord bearing in mind NZ Rugby until 2023.

When asked roughly his brother's Japanese submission, Jordie said it wasn't a surprise but joked roughly how the news left him in an awkward Live Rugby Streaming point of view.

"Wasn't too much of a astonishment to me," he said. "We chat quite a bit. I just add footnotes to saintly upon him.

"Well played upon his behalf. He's enjoying playing golf in Queenstown even if I have to front and reach his media.

"He's his own man. I guess we speak a little bit and it's often un-footy associated and he makes his own decisions."

Jordie said he has no issues gone artist sabbaticals later than the deals taken by Beauden and All Black teammate Brodie Retallick.

"I think it's unwavering. They'regarding guys that spent eight or nine years lead playing in New Zealand rugby and plying their craft here and have finished therefore much for New Zealand rugby in general.This is what weve been waiting for! This is what weve been waiting for! yells a youth rugby fanatic as he plunges his shoulder into the stampede in stomach of him.

Rugby has returned to New Zealand but unlike in optional optional connection countries where professional sport has begun to be played inside vacant stadiums, last night in gloss to 20,000 fans packed into the Forsyth Barr stadium in Dunedin to watch local favourites the Otago Highlanders comply to upon the Waikato Chiefs.

For rugby fans in New Zealand it marked the absolute subside to a week celebrating the lifting of all coronavirus restrictions after Jacinda Arderns government confirmed the nation virus-forgive.

At the Forsyth Barr stadium there was a big destroy of people heading through a skinny corridor to profit to the Zoo, a section of the stadium specifically catering to Dunedins raucous student population, where social detachment was officially off the cards.

Its all anyone was talking nearly all week, said Zach Langbridge, a student at the citys University of Otago. Lots of my association mates done our semesters yesterday for that defense this is the first times for us to all get bond of together and have fun.

New Zealand has taken Covid-19 from 1,366 swift cases down to zero today, and behind sport upholding upon the agenda, Langbridge commemorated the occasion taking into consideration an arm re his friends shoulder and triumphant finger prickly at the camera.Im not too scared who wins. Im just glad to not be stranded in my cool flat, said Alana Nancarrow, an international student at Otago University.

For the more massive fans who made happening the majority of the 19,100 people in the packed stadium, this was a inadvertent to back again indulge in living sport after creature deprived for months. Where reruns of early games were back the by yourself rugby entertainment to hand, the crowd handily relished the joy of an formless consequences, audibly gasping at the slightest unintentional of a Highlander opportunity and rising speedily to their feet to celebrate all accurately-off swap.

Ive been a fan my entire quantity moving picture, for that reason its been truly weird not monster dexterous to vent in this time of year. Its feeling following things are in fact coming right that I can be here watching this today, said Tony Smith, a long era Highlanders enthusiast.

The virtues of alive sport were upon full display in the waning moments of the accomplishment, when visiting Chiefs taking the along in addition to, lonesome to have the advantage snatched by now taking place in epic fashion as the Highlanders Bryn Gatland scored a drop take desire to win the let.

Fans wearing Chiefs and Highlanders shirts could be seen hugging in the stands. Loyalties were muddling after months uniting neighboring to a common opponent. As thousands of fired going on going on fans spilled into the unapproachable Dunedin night, normality or some brand of it was returning to New Zealand.Papalii, who came off the bench last week, starts at No 7 even if Ioane, following 68 Blues caps to his description, comes in at No 6 replacing Blake Gibson and Tom Robinson respectively, who are both unavailable due to cause offense.

The Blues have the related belly five but are bolstered as soon as the recompense of North Harbours Sione Mafileo, one of the standouts earlier in the season, who will earn his 50th hat off the bench.

In-form number 8 Hoskins Sotutu, Papalii and Ioane will form a potent drifting focus on trio in what should be a pivotal scuffle at the psychoanalysis.

The backline remains unchanged in imitation of Otere Black, who celebrated his blazer game for the Blues in the win higher than the Hurricanes, remains at first-five following Beauden Barrett later again starting at fullback, to form an risk-taking backing taking place four together in the middle of Rieko Ioane at centre and wings Caleb Clarke and Mark Telea.As for the Chiefs, lock Naitoa Ah Kuoi will influence from the bench into the starting XV in jersey No. 5 to add happening furthermore last weeks debutant Tupou Vaai in the single-handedly changes from the Chiefs talk to pack that drifting to the Highlanders 28-27 in Dunedin.

All Blacks halfback Brad Weber will again captain the side in the non-attendance of Chiefs and All Blacks captain Sam Cane.

Weber will tote taking place taking into account experienced first five-eighth Aaron Cruden at No. 10 in the without help bend from last weeks starting backline, amid Bay of Plentys Kaleb Trask providing lid upon the bench.

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waynekelton · 5 years

Text

Fluxx Digital Review

Heraclitus of ages past surmised that, at heart, fire is the fundamental element of things. In other words, all things are beset by constant change. That philosophy has been boiled down to the saying ‘no man steps in the same river twice’. Sure enough and true to its name, no one plays the same game of Fluxx twice, for the party game is an ever-mutating affair. Its cavalcade of rules and action cards mean upsets are the norm. Fluxx been a standby filler game for ages now, and the app has always been a serviceable one. Thanks to a new 64-bit version, the game is back from the grave. It plays like a breeze but lacks the pep and polish most party games need to shine.

Fluxx has a metagame built right into its rules. Most of the cards in the deck tweak what’s possible and required on a ‘normal’ turn. ‘Draw X’ and ‘Play X’ are the usual culprits, with some rascally limits on hand size and Keepers popping up here and there. Most crucially, the Goal of the game itself is also a moving target: the winner is the player who, at the end of their turn, has Keepers in play matching those described on the goal card also in play. It’s a lock and key system which always gets jumbled up, since the same player who has the required Keepers rarely has the corresponding Goal. It’s a right mess trying to line up the victory conditions. The deck just reshuffles and play marches on interminably until someone wins. I’ve had games done on the first turn (my maiden voyage on the app was like this, somehow) and games which last an hour. The bedlam is entirely the point.

It’s manageable, just. And the app is well-organized, with big, bold icons and buttons for the UI. The game is mostly about timing and holding back strategic options for last-ditch switch plays. Fluxx has a story-like quality because even in lightning-fast rounds of the play, things feel stretched out and even long-winded. So if a million betrayals and thefts happen, the injury and insult is leavened by the game’s rapid-fire changes. Easy come, easy go makes for easy-going players.

Fluxx is in excellent company. There are a few playing-deck games about changing rules and guessing rules, like Mao and Eleusis. (Sidenote: The latter game was the seed inspiration for Zendo, another game published by Looney Labs) The conceit of changing rules feels nominally ‘clever’ without actually adding any difficulty. It’s not really that sophisticated, but it is good for a laugh, and I enjoy the volatility and uselessness of deep planning. Fluxx never puts on airs, it never promises a grand or thoughtful experience. Just some good old-fashioned sloppy fun. It’s a little old-school, though, and there are plenty of other short games which do pack in some mental crunch-time, even in just twenty minutes. As far as comparisons go, you might like Fluxx if Munchkin or Exploding Kittens are up your alley. It’s also useful as a kind of pressure-release valve for when the gamer brain wants to get its fix without too much strain involved.

Now, all of this might sound like one long back-handed compliment. Au contraire, my friend. Fluxx simply has settled into an unusual and somewhat dated niche, that of the insane, anything-goes filler. One of the most egregiously Type-A dudes I know loves Fluxx to pieces, though, so you never know who might become a fan. You play the game, or rather the game plays you, more than a bit. Technically part of the appeal of Fluxx is that it has a million different versions, with decent themes and comic-style art for all of them. The mix-and-match aspect isn’t present in the app, though, unfortunately. The regular deck of cards is plenty robust from a gameplay standpoint, strictly, but it’s missing the flair that Chthulu Star Trek Anatomy Mega-Fluxx has. This boast is only half in jest.

For all its zaniness, the game really is quite simple and shockingly devoid of decision-making. Depending on your breed of gamer, flat decisions might be an absolutely deal breaker. For the omnivore it’s no big. Far from a knock on Fluxx’s design, this straightforwardness makes it a great beer-and-pretzels game. Low mental overhead means extra presence of mind for banter and the hey-how-are-ya catchups which are part and parcel of why tabletop gaming is fulfilling. Systems and socialization in the same package. Fluxx fits in the flow of life, what with its playtime and light ruleset.

Well, on the socializing front Fluxx as an app oversells and under-delivers. Because there is only one physical index to track the game’s state, people’s attention wanders just a tad too much. If there’s much food, drink and merriment to be had, a lonesome iPad is bound to get lost in the shuffle. So while Fluxx is a great party game, the app itself won’t make a splash at those same parties. Whereas with a deck of cards spread out on the table, there are constant reminders of what’s going on. It seems a cruel paradox, but I find light-weight games have a harder time justifying their app versions, because the book-keeping and portability gains are offset by this reduced social presence on the table.

One could argue, fairly, that this reviewer has been rather hot-and-cold on the most pressing issue: is the Fluxx app any good? Well, the answer depends (fluctuates, even?) on what kind of void it is meant to fill. It’s certainly good for a bit of nostalgia, or shooting the breeze, and must be said that the game’s online play options are good. But as an app for premeditated play-sessions, the digital Fluxx has lost some of its spark.

Fluxx Digital Review published first on https://touchgen.tumblr.com/

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preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

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This song is why

by Jamie Johnston

Friday, 11 June 2010Dar Williams' When I was a boy inspires a mixture of analysis and over-sharing.~I had a couple of friends round for dinner the other day and one of them (who is amused by how I think the internet is full of amazingness) asked me what was amazing on the internet at the moment, and I showed them Tiger Beatdown, and there was a bit of 'Oh, er, feminism? Is that... I mean... surely that's a bit... why?' And I answered... in song! Well, no, that makes it sound like my life is a musical, which I'm sad to say is not the case. What I did was I played them When I was a boy by Dar Williams:

youtube

Because that, at the moment, is the most complete and coherent and honest answer I can give if someone asks me why I'm trying to be a feminist.

I had never heard of Dar Williams, let alone this song, before I saw it casually mentioned in some blog or other and, as I often do when I see music I've never heard of being casually mentioned in some blog or other, I looked it up on Spotify to discover whether it was any good. I found it (not quite this version, actually, but the one from the Radio Woodstock 25th anniversary album, which remains my favourite version (

)), and it started playing, and I carried on reading and clicking stuff and whatever, and really didn't follow what it was about; but there was something compelling in it, and when it finished I felt I needed to hear it again. So I closed everything else down and played it again and properly listened to it, and wept.

As an answer to the sort of 'Why?' that really means 'How did it come about?', this song is an incomplete answer. A more complete answer would perhaps start with some of the

Minority Warrior

stuff here on Ferretbrain, would get a jump-start with

Fugitivus on rape

, and would certainly include Tiger Beatdown as well (

); an even more complete one would go back over the many conversations and interactions I've had with female friends over the years that suddenly began to flash through my memory as I read that Fugitivus post and thought, 'Oh god, how could I have so completely failed to understand?' (

). But, actually,

When I was a boy

would still be a very major part of any answer, for a simple and important reason. By the time I heard it there had already been feminist writing that had made me think, 'Oh yes, actually that is quite iffy', and there had already been feminist writing that had shocked me, and there had already been feminist writing that had made me feel ashamed, and there had already been feminist writing that had made me feel joyful, and there had already been feminist writing that had made me angry about oppression, but there had never been feminist writing that made me feel (even if only for five minutes) desolate and heartbroken and like I just couldn't bear for the world to be this way. In other words, this song was what changed feminism from an option into a necessity.

It's also an incomplete answer - even more incomplete, in fact - to the sort of 'Why?' that means 'For what reason, for whose sake?' Even at this very early stage of exploration I've absorbed enough to see that

When I was a boy

is by no means a comprehensive catalogue of gender oppression. It isn't hard to think of umpteen reasons to be a feminist that are arguably more 'Important' than anything Williams describes here: endemic rape in the Democratic Republic of Congo, endemic apology for and dismissal of rape in the democratic constitutional monarchy of the UK, the wage gap and the double shift in the US, denial of women's suffrage in Saudia Arabia, and so on and depressingly on. But this isn't a song about every single way women are oppressed: it's a very personal song about a young fair-skinned comfortably well-off first-world woman who could be one of your friends or someone you passed on the street yesterday (

). And, you know what, within those limits it actually covers a great deal: the threat of harrassment and rape ('it's not safe') and the way that very threat becomes a way of making women dependent on men for protection ('I need to find a nice man to walk me home'); the way society tries to make women show off their bodies for the enjoyment of men ('more that's tight means more to see') and also tries to mark those same bodies as obscene ('my neighbour came outside to say, "Get your shirt"'); the way gender norms are both imposed from outside ('the signs say less is more') and internalized ('I could always cry, now even when I'm alone I seldom do'); the way we sometimes feel we can't even admit that we don't want to be the way we are ('it's a secret I can keep').

But covering a lot of bases isn't what makes this song so powerful. My grasp of musical theory is even more tenuous than my grasp of feminist theory, but here are a few musical things we can notice. Notice how it starts with various warm and slightly sparkly chords (

), matching in each of the first two verses the descriptions of the singer's (

) joyfully boyish childhood; and then how it moves to a barer set of two less richly harmonized chords as she moves to the present (leaving the party or standing in the clothes-shop or confessing the missing part of herself), then back to the warmer sound for 'when I was a boy...'. And notice, in particular, the discordant pair of notes plucked loudly just before that first transition ('and I remember that night'), disorientating the ear and wrenching the song for a moment out of the realm of ordinary chords entirely (

). And notice the way that the main guitar line roams up and down the scale in quick wave-like arpeggios, and then how during those sadder minor passages the little in-between notes (semi-quavers, possibly?) drop out and leave an unfulfilled two-tone alternation coinciding with the parts of the lyric that most strongly express the sense of a flatter, less complete life. And notice how the words 'when I was a boy' are held back until just after the beat before they canter exultantly up the scale and jump off the end just as the guitar slides up to the next chord. And notice how at the moments when the words move from memory to present sad reflexion ('I don't know how I survived'; 'I know things have got to change') the previously wandering melody rises to a high note and sticks there on that same note for the whole line, as if Williams has suddenly hit the (glass?) ceiling and has nowhere to go. And notice how the parts of the tune that largely correspond to descriptions of the past (when she was a boy) are mostly lower (more 'masculine') in pitch, whereas the parts in the present are higher-pitched (more 'feminine'). And, keeping hold of that last point in your mind, notice how, in a musical tradition (folk / pop / country / whatever) in which a rise in pitch usually signals the singer accessing a new level of power or intensity (e.g. just about any song you can think of), this song is constructed and pitched so that the lower sections (which are also mostly the brighter-chord sections, which are also mostly the sections with the most harmonically rich guitar-figures, which are also mostly the sections where the singer's voice sounds more 'masculine', which are also mostly the sections in which she remembers her 'boyhood') are firmly in the centre of Williams' vocal range and so sound strong and rich and resonant, while the higher sections (which are also mostly the harmonically more dissonant sections, which are also mostly the sections with the flat and incomplete-sounding accompaniment, which are also mostly the sections where the singer's voice is more 'feminine', which are also mostly the sections where she's in her heavily 'feminized' present) are just a bit too high and make her voice breathy and weak. And, with all that in mind, notice how the very highest notes of each verse - the ones where Williams sounds weakest - are in the final lines of the verse, where the rhythm of the vocal line becomes halting and uncertain, emphasizing the singer's capitulation and undermining her inner defiance: 'and you... can walk... me home... but I was a boy too'; 'but I... am not... forgetting... that I was a boy too'; 'and I... have lost... some kindness... but I was a girl too'.

And the lyric. Oh, reader, the lyric. The opening invocation of

Peter Pan

, which both instantly reminds most of us of our own childhoods (which is when we first encountered

Peter Pan

) and tells us that we're hearing about the singer's childhood (because we know Peter Pan only visits children) (

), as well as placing the song in the context of a literary work that has some pretty complex stuff going on with childhood and gender (too much to go into here). The telegraphic account of 'liv[ing] a whole life in one night', like a verbal action montage, enlivened by the repetition of sprightly 'L' and 'I' sounds, and rounded off with the heart-warming equality, reciprocity, solidarity of 'we saved each other's lives out on the pirate deck'. The contrast between the you-and-me-against-the-world intimacy of that Neverland adventure and the world-against-me loneliness of what follows, with its blank and anonymous 'some friends' and 'somebody tell[s] me'. It's so much about contrasts, this lyric. One that runs right through is between abstraction and particularity: the passages describing the singer's childhood are composed almost entirely of specific details, images, events (climbing, riding a bicycle, catching fireflies, 'grass-stained shirt and dusty knees'), giving them immediacy and substance, while the present-day passages are much more general and generic (for it's clear that the scenes leaving the party, standing in the clothes-shop, the 'lonesome awful day' are not unique occasions but things that happen quite often), creating a sort of repetitiveness and sameness. Similarly, the childhood passages are full of agency, of first-person active verbs ('I learned to fly, I learned to fight'; 'climbed what I could climb upon'; 'riding topless, yeah, I never care who saw' (

)), while the present-day sections are much more passive or third-person ('I hear somebody tell me'; 'walk me home'; 'the signs say'; 'they've got pills to sell'). The linguistic contrasts underline the main device of the whole song, which is of course the rapid switching between past and present. The frequency of this alternation - back and forth at least twice in every verse - means that, once the pattern is established, one hears every section while still retaining a strong memory of the previous and a strong premonition of the next. This makes every joyful return to childhood also sad because it's lost, and makes every glimpse of the present even sadder for coexisting with a contrasting image of the past.

And I haven't even talked about the central metaphor: 'when I was a boy'. So simple and direct, so eloquent and challenging. So eloquent and challenging, in fact, because it isn't really a metaphor at all, and that's the point. It isn't literally true that the singer was ever physically male - I think that's fairly clear from the line 'I said I was a boy; I'm glad he didn't check'. But if gender consists (at least to a great extent) in behaving and having one's behaviour interpreted in certain ways that are strongly associated with physical maleness or femaleness ('he behaves like people with male bodies do or should so he must be a boy'), then in behaving like a boy the singer literally was a boy. If, on the other hand, we flip that round and see gender as a matter of having one's sexed body interpreted as necessarily or probably implying certain types of behaviour ('he looks physically male so he can expected to behave like, and assumed to be, a boy'), then in growing up and becoming visibly physically female the singer becomes a woman, regardless of her own wishes and behaviour. In short, without any kind of conscious or voluntary transition, it is literally true that the singer used to be a boy and is not a boy now. That's why the non-metaphor of 'when I was a boy' is dynamite: the simple use of that word 'was', rather than 'was like' or some other less uncompromising phrase, exposes the fact that socially constructed gender is so crushingly powerful that it has literally changed the singer's identity against her will and based on nothing but her physical appearance. The fallacy of essentialism is rejected: it's clear that she doesn't feel that she's changed, and indeed she hangs on tightly to the memory of 'the other life I lived'. The only things that have changed are things beyond her control, namely her body and the way other people unthinkingly treat her because of it. And I should say here that I don't think it's necessary or even really satisfactory to read this song as about transgender or to see the singer as a nascent or potential transgendered man (though there may well be much in the song that will speak especially to trans people). The singer's 'other life' as a boy doesn't imply that she wasn't also a girl, except in as much as it rejects the distinction between the two. The point, rather, is that as a child she could be both at the same time, or sometimes one and sometimes the other, and - crucially - it didn't really matter: 'you were just like me and I was just like you'. The sadness of the contrast between past and present is one of loss. It isn't sadness that she once had A and now has B; it's sadness that she once had A and B, and one has been taken away.

Because it isn't anything as pedestrian as a nostalgia song, this song. It isn't about how everything was so much better when the singer was a child. That sort of nostalgic exercise generally has at its core the idea that somehow being a child is in itself better: one was more carefree, or more loved, or more innocent, or whatever. Childhood is fetishized as some kind of ideal state. But the singer of

When I was a boy

doesn't want to be a child again: she wants to be an adult who can be herself fully. The importance of childhood is that it was a time when she was allowed to do that; now she is no longer. So the value of her childhood now is as a way to access a certain inner wholeness that's still there even if it can't be expressed; memory is act of resistance: 'I am not forgetting that I was a boy too'. In a sense she's lucky, for although she would perhaps be 'happier' and less troubled (like the person in Plato's cave) if she had no such memories, they also give her a source of strength that isn't so readily available to someone who's so fully internalized her (or his) constructed gender that she (or he) isn't even aware of it. Lucky, but also frustrated and sad. And weary.

That weariness comes across most strongly in the final verse, which begins by evoking the constant, low-level drain on the singer's emotional resources that must (I can only imagine) come from an ordinary day full of ordinary little oppressions (

). And whenever I sing this song quietly to myself, if it hasn't already brought a tear to my eye before the last verse, this is the line I always choke on: 'And so I tell the man I'm with about the other life I lived, and I say, "Now you're top gun: I have lost and you have won."' Can there be anything more heartbreaking to a man with any heart at all than the thought that your female friends and relatives might, even only in brief moments, feel like your defeated opponents? And then Williams does something extremely generous and important: 'And he says, "Oh, no, no, can't you see? When I was a girl..."' It's generous because this man's reply could, and in the comments thread of any feminist blog probably would, be treated (quite reasonably) as derailing and possibly also mansplaining (

). It's important because it makes a sketch of how sexism diminishes women (which is already a massive and vital point to make) into a sketch of how sexism diminishes everyone. In Kate Millett's phrase, 'each personality becomes little more, and often less, than half of its human potential' (

). The song invites women and men to recognize one another as mutually (though not equally) disadvantaged by current ideas of femininity and masculinity, and to remember that 'you were just like me and I was just like you'.

It's hard, in the end, to say why

When I was a boy

affects me so strongly. It isn't because I relate especially strongly to the man in the last verse: I was never that much into flowers, and have I mentioned that I cry sometimes, for example when listening to this song? Ahem. And the rest... well, maybe. It's true, at any rate, that I'm lucky like the singer of this song: lucky to have had parents who gave me a dolls' house as well as Transformers, to have made it through nearly thirty years without ever being compelled to take the slightest interest in football, to have grown up with female friends playing make-believe games that could happily include princesses and robots and (like

Peter Pan

) pirates and fairies together. And this song does sometimes make me think of one of my oldest friends, and how for the first however many years of our lives our different sexes had literally no impact whatsoever on our friendship, and how we're somehow more distant now, and how I remember her once saying to me, when we were both just into double digits, that she liked having me as a friend because with me she could do things that boys liked doing, which surprised me because I'd rather thought of her as someone with whom I could do things that girls liked doing. But I don't think it's really very much to do with whether I relate this song to my own life or identify with anyone in it. It's perhaps the opposite: it's the way this song so so powerfully conveys an experience that I've never had and makes me realize how unfair that experience is and how very much I wish nobody had it. Which is a pretty impressive thing for a guitar and a voice to do in five minutes. I've tried to pick out some of the ways the music, the performance, and the lyric do it, but I'm no music critic, and in the end I just don't know. I can say, though, if anyone asks why this stuff matters to me, this song is why.

Notes

· I can't find it on the internet but if you have Spotify it's

here

· Indeed Tiger Beatdown's

Ladypalooza festival of music criticism

is probably what set me unconsciously composing this article in my head before I noticed that's what I was doing. (Yes, I started writing this about a month ago! It took me a while to get to grips with the music theory parts, okay?)

· And indeed further back still, to my English teacher Miss McLaren (who I realize now was probably the first actual feminist I knew and who I like to imagine deliberately chose to teach at a school for privileged boys in order to do undercover feminism at them without their noticing until years later) and to early memories of my mum complaining about women with paid jobs saying 'I work' as if what she did at home all day wasn't work (which, though she wouldn't have thought of it in these terms, was almost certainly the first critique of patriarchy I ever heard).

· Admittedly some of this picture is transferred from Williams herself to the character who 'speaks' the song and aren't particularly supported by the lyric. On the other hand, although it's plainly wrong and unhelpful to treat any song as entirely true of its singer or writer, the characteristics of the person who performs the song do inevitably inform our reading of it. So my reading is informed by knowing what Williams looks like and that she's from North America somewhere, and I think it's a reading that's entirely consistent with the lyric.

· Lots of suspended seconds and fourths and added ninths, if I'm not mistaken, which are the sorts of chords that make things sound like the Byrds.

· I use 'singer' to mean the character whose words are the words of the song, to avoid possibly wrongly (and at any rate irrelevantly) attributing the experiences and feelings expressed in the lyric to Williams herself. Though it's admittedly a bit less clear-cut than that (see note 3).

· The interval between these notes is the

diminished or 'devil's' fifth

, which is frequently used to disrupt tonal harmony and is, by suggestive coincidence, called 'oppressive' by Wikipedia. For noticing the use of this interval in this song and patiently explaining to me how it works, many thanks to Joe Templeton (who suggests the beginning of

Purple haze

by Jimi Hendrix as a good example of this interval): needless to say, any error in what I've written about it here is the result of my misunderstanding the point, and not to be attributed to Joe.

· And you can see how effectively it tells us this by noticing that that it's actually the only thing that tells us we're in her childhood, and then noticing that you hadn't noticed that. Apologies if the word 'notice' has now started to sound meaningless through over-exposure.

· Here too the vowel-sounds in those lines enhance the effect, for not only are the lines filled with the actual first-person pronoun 'I', they are also heavily populated with that same sound within other words: fly, fight, life, night, lives, pirate.

· 'Every day a little death: in the parlor, in the bed; in the curtains, in the silver, in the buttons, in the bread', as Sondheim writes in a slightly different context in

A little night music

. Also, incidentally, notice how Williams' voice wobbles on 'off guard', like a stifled sob. One might think it a bit of improvised styling, but no, it's there in every recording I can find.

· Those who don't hang out on feminist blogs much can refer to these definitions:

derailing

;

mansplaining

· In

Sexual politics

(1969), quoted in Cudd & Andreasen,

Feminist theory: a philosophical anthology

(Blackwell, 2005), page 42. I've amended the punctuation: the text in Cudd & Andreasen says 'each personality becomes little more, and often less than half, of its human potential', which must surely be a typographical error (not the only one in this anthology).Themes:

Music and Gigs

Minority Warrior

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~Comments (

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http://puritybrown.livejournal.com/

at 21:58 on 2010-06-11Very well said.

Some years ago I bought a CD single of "Cool As I Am" that had this song and "This Was Pompeii" as B-sides. I remember weeping when I heard "When I Was A Boy" the first time, and playing it over and over again, so that to this day I can sing it from memory (even though I haven't listened to it in a long time, because I can only listen to it in circumstances where I feel comfortable crying). It's a concise illustration of the maxim "the personal is political", an encapsulation of all the reasons why feminism is important

even if

you are an educated white middle-class Westerner with buckets of privilege, a deeply moving personal story, and a beautifully-written song wrapped up in one.

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Sister Magpie

at 22:01 on 2010-06-11Wow. What a great read--because I love this song! And something that's funny is that as a woman listening to it doesn't make me emotional *until* that last verse--so the exact opposite of, as you say, feeling like that verse is mansplaining or derailing. I guess because the first two verses don't hit me as hard--I think because they're basically just describing the way things are. Like, all those things are so everyday, everything she says, but for some reason when she makes it about everyone instead of just about these things, changed the whole song for me.

I think especially because there's such a nice contrast between the details (as you pointed out, the childhood sections are all rich in details) between the two. The girl (or should we say "boy") details are all about adventure and independence and invulnerability. The boy details are about beauty, relationships (well, that's not exactly true--but the girl's relationships are defined through the action of saving each other's lives, the boy's through "always talking" and so sharing thoughts and feelings) and vulnerabilty.

Which I think I also liked because it makes it clear, as you say, that it's about having both, not rejecting one for the other. The girl doesn't want to lose the parts of herself that might code female, because that would just be a different version of what she has now--just one that she might not be as aware of because those things aren't valued as much in her society.

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Frank

at 23:40 on 2010-06-11Beautiful and powerful read, Jamie. Thanks.

but I'm no music critic

I disagree. That was some good analysis.

Because that, at the moment, is the most complete and coherent and honest answer I can give if someone asks me why I'm trying to be a feminist.

I don't think you can be a feminist, but you can be an ally to feminism. For a male to say he is a feminist is to appropriate the term, manhandle it and muffle the authoritative voice of feminism:

girls

and

women

(both links are on the same subject: Terry Richardson).

The song invites women and men to recognize one another as mutually (though not equally) disadvantaged by current ideas of femininity and masculinity, and to remember that 'you were just like me and I was just like you'.

What I don't like about the last lines is that it is the man telling her 'hey I got it bad too' and then she doesn't call him out on it. He is of the dominant sex, what's he doing to further the cause to equality except to say we were the same once?

And because the man has the last word, maybe it's Dar Williams saying something, that the narrator in the song is once again shut down or at least quietly and softly oppressed. With your excellent musical analysis of the song, what do you think the music is suggesting?

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Arthur B

at 23:47 on 2010-06-11I don't gots no purty story about how I done had a political awakening. My mammy just done brought me up right.

That tune be pretty though an it done brought tears to my peepers.

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Andy G

at 00:00 on 2010-06-12Oh wow that's a beautiful song, and a really thoughtful post.

To alleviate your mansplaining concerns (or am I now mansplaining myself?)I thought the final verse (which also makes me well up) was in line with a comment made by C.L. Minou over at

Tiger Beatdown

, in which she mentions "the ways that sexism and kyriarchy hurt men too" (even if the damage isn't equivalent to that caused to women). And I definitely feel on firmer (and less mansplain-y) ground saying that it's true that homophobia is similarly harmful to straight guys (whether as perpetrators or victims).

I did wonder though what your thoughts are thoughts are about the depiction of childhood in the song? I'm just not sure if the poignant metaphorical truth about loss of innocence and freedom overlooks the literal reality of childhood, which involves being subjected to incredible pressure to conform by both the adult world and other children (who can be very judgemental). I wonder if the real tragedy isn't what comes after childhood, but rather that childhood is the period during which people are being rapidly made into women (or men as the case may be)? And doesn't the freedom to challenge those roles only come after childhood?

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Sister Magpie

at 00:02 on 2010-06-12

It could certainly be that, but personally I never took it that way. I take it more as a validation. His gender conditioning might not have led to oppression--there's nothing in his experience that is a parallel to half the things she's talking about, but he doesn't lay claim to those things, only to the basic idea of having once felt free to act in ways that are now considered exclusive to the opposite gender.

I guess to me the guy's verse sounds enough like something he's sharing that he doesn't particularly like to share--she herself is only sharing because she's tired and caught off guard. Especially the fact that his last line is saying that he's lost kindness, which is I would think a criticism of himself. I guess I felt like it was more a validation that he believed her experience rather than just saying that he had it hard too, because there really isn't much hard in his version. He just hasn't "won," if that makes sense.

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Frank

at 00:43 on 2010-06-12

He just hasn't "won," if that makes sense.

It does. And I can see where he's attempting to validate her experience but, to me, it doesn't need any validation especially by the man she's with. I know he's not a bad man, he's self critical and probably a good man. Still, even though he may not have 'won', he is ahead.

I think the song kind of reinforces the cultural norms (as permitted by whitestraightabledcis male dominance) it's lamenting.

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Wardog

at 10:53 on 2010-06-12Oh wow, Jamie, wonderful article and thank you for the song - which, being generally ignorant about everything, I had never heard before. I loved it, and had a little cry to myself over it too.

I can't really articulate which aspects affected me in what ways, but the first verse really touched on something because I suddenly remembered when I was a boy too, and it awakened in me a sort of yearning for simpler, fearless times.

I didn't see the last verse as particularly problematic. I mean, the bulk of the song and the perspective that leads to the final verse is the woman's - I think one can over-literalise the rhetorical impact of "the last word" sometimes. Also I don't think it's so much the man trying to get a seat on the oppression train, as an acknowledgment that these issues affect everyone, and marginalising the experiences of men in the name of feminism is as harmful any other sort of marginalisation. As the man says: everyone is a loser here, because everyone is denied their authentic selves because of the pressure to conform.

Also if that verse wasn't there, the whole song would carry the implication that it is just plain better to be a boy - to be fearless, and climb trees, and get into fights. That would, of course, be not so great actually. The singer is yearning not to be a boy but for the freedom to self-define within her own terms - and the final verse broadens the perspective by reminding us that this can include crying and picking flowers, as well as riding bikes.

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Sister Magpie

at 15:39 on 2010-06-12

Yes, that's a big part of why I need the last verse. For me, I just wouldn't like the song that much without it. It would feel too much like a complaint, and one lacking in awareness. Not that I think the narrator truly wants to be male, but the way she's feeling she's just longing for those particular things. So I am relieved when the other side is brought into it and "female" becomes something other than something acted on and controlled by others.

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Jamie Johnston

at 17:54 on 2010-06-12Oh no, I've turned Arthur into a hayseed! :)

Er, this reply will be long. Short version: see long version.

Frank

, as to 'feminist' v. 'ally', I'm aware that this is

contested territory

, but it seems to be contested on both sides: arguments against the term 'ally' are expressed

here

by someone who admittedly doesn't identify as a woman, but I have heard the same from women. Interestingly, the Feminism 101 article I linked to in the previous sentence seems to say that the objections to the idea of 'feminist men' come mostly from men, which makes me wonder what happened to the principle of female voices having more authority on these issues. The way I personally apply that principle at the moment (though I'm open to being persuaded in any direction) is that I don't claim either label for myself, and won't consider doing so unless and until I find myself being routinely described with one or the other or both by undisputed feminists. (And in fact I'd do the same at the moment even if there were no dispute about the terminology because I just don't think I know enough or have done enough to claim whatever the appropriate term is.)

Having said that, at the moment I feel more uncomfortable about ever calling myself an ally than about ever calling myself a feminist. One could say that the statement 'I am your ally' is always necessarily a bit of arrogation, and the only things anyone can ever say with full authority are 'I want to be your ally' and (though of course not unilaterally) 'you are my ally'. Maybe that's going a bit far, but maybe not. On the other hand, the word 'feminist' is structured analogously to any number of other '-ist' words that are routinely used and understood to mean 'person who subscribes to a given school of thought'.

Anyway, that may be a discussion for another time and place. In any case, even if it is impossible for a man to be a feminist, I'm perfectly happy with the statement that I'm trying to be a feminist: at worst it's formally analogous to the statement 'I'm trying to perfect', an aspiration that's impossible but probably none the worse for that.

Everyone

, regarding the last verse: I'd pretty much adopt Kyra's answer on this point. In the context of a real conversation, I agree that the singer would have been perfectly entitled to say, 'Well, okay, I sympathise, but please also note that I'm really tired and upset and you've just started your reply with "No no no, can't you see?", which is not very supportive; plus you've then gone on to describe a distinct, though related, problem that is not what I was talking about; plus you still have a lot more going for you than I have; plus what exactly have you done to help me with all this, since you're so sympathetic; plus I've run out of cookies.' And I tried to nod to that in the article. But on balance I think the song itself absorbs and neutralizes the problem. Purely by number of words, the man's experience accounts for only 15% of the song, and more importantly everything he says is there by the permission of, and enclosed within, the singer's narration. It's true that she doesn't come back in her own voice and add anything after it, but her quotation-mark is there after his final word.

And speaking of his final word, I think it's not unimportant that his literal final word is 'you', which returns the focus to the singer. Nor is it unimportant that having said 'you were just like me' (taking himself, and perhaps by implication men in general, as the norm) he immediately reverses it and says 'I was just like you' (comparing himself to a female norm). And, while we're on this last phrase, he doesn't say 'you are just like me and I am just like you', which would be the old 'But men are oppressed too!' line (in which 'too' implies not only 'also' but 'equally' and indeed 'to such an extent that it's unreasonable for you to complain about your oppression because what about mine?'); rather, he says 'you were just like me and I was just like you', i.e. 'the inequality here is not innate or necessary or inevitable', which is of course the point of the song. So although he starts unhelpfully, his comments over all come out as, 'Yes, you're right, and by the way my experience supports your view'.

So I read the construction of the end of the song as Williams actually being quite self-confident and, as I said in the article, generous, by using a male mouthpiece to broaden and sum up the over-all point of the song. On the other hand, as Frank suggests, she may also be making a subtle extra point with the implication that the singer-character herself is so weary from putting up with everything else that she also puts up with the man's intervention in the conversation, even though it has some characteristics of a hijacking as well as of an agreement. Nonetheless I see the song as broadly endorsing what he says (and vice versa).

In musical terms I don't detect any particular clues either way. In all the live versions the guitar does pretty well exactly the same thing under his speech as under the rest of the song; in the studio recording there's a little brass part (or possibly woodwind: I'm terrible at identifying instruments) under the last verse, but that doesn't seem to tell us anything much, and perhaps a hint of extra force in the strum under the 'see' in 'can't you see', which one could read as extra masculinity or as extra interruptiness. The only thing that I do find suggestive is that the instrumental backing doesn't resolve itself to a conclusion at the same time the vocal ends but carries on once more through the section that corresponds to the first four lines of each verse (e.g., in the first verse, 'I won't forget...' to '... pirate deck'). I'd say what that does is to leave the thought hanging, so the effect isn't 'Hurrah, the Man has solved the problem!', as it might be if the music came to an end along with the lyric, but something more like, 'Yes, there's the thing, isn't it? Let's think about that for a while.' It also - and here's where things get very subjective indeed - leaves me personally with the mental image of the singer sitting looking out at the fireflies in the back yard, which is a mental image to which the man, who may or may not be sitting with her, is not terribly relevant. It would be hard to argue that that's a thought the song is in any way designed to leave the listener with, but I do think it's perhaps significant that the instrumental section that's repeated after the end of the vocal is the section that corresponds in the first verse to the Peter Pan adventure, in the second to the topless cycling, and in the third to the awful day (ending, in fact, precisely with the line 'catching fireflies out in the back yard', so perhaps that's why that image sticks in my mind): in other words after the end of the singing the music takes us back to linger on the singer's experience, rather than ending on the man's response.

Andy

, I agree that if there is a problem in the song it is that it does at some point seem to imply that childhood as a whole is a sort of pre-gendered state, which is demonstrably not the case (as one sees from the extremely young age at which studies (can't at the moment lay my googling fingers on a reference, but there was a news story in the last few months) are now showing female babies preferring pink things and male ones blue things, combined with the

evidence

that these colour-preferences vary across time and space in a way that suggests very strongly that they are culturally imposed). But I think I'm inclined to let Williams off the hook for that, at least to some extent. The song does show the process of gendering happening during childhood (especially in the topless cycling episode, but also, more subtly and more sadly, in the line 'I said I was a boy; I'm glad he didn't check', which of course implies (not unjustly) that Peter Pan, and by extension much of the culture that we produce for children, is horrendously sexist and only lets boys have adventures and fight pirates. There's also the interesting question of the singer's mother's attitude: on the one hand, would it have 'scared the pants off' her quite so much if it had been her son climbing stuff? but on the other, is there a joking significance in the fact that we imagine her mother wearing pants (trousers, for those of us in other parts of the Anglophone world) in the first place, in mild defiance of the patriarchy? :) So I think on that score the fault may be more mine than Williams', since I see that the article does largely ignore those aspects and talk about childhood as pretty thoroughly ungendered.

Another reason I'm inclined to give the song a pass on this question is that I'm not sure we're meant to take the depiction of the singer's childhood literally. In the same way that we plainly aren't expected to assume the singer, for all her 'boyish' activities like climbing and cycling and fighting pirates, never did 'girly' things like talking to her mother and picking flowers and crying and being kind, so too I don't think we're meant to imagine that her childhood was as thoroughly infused with ungendered self-determination as perhaps it seems in the song. The thing is that every glimpse of her childhood is mediated through her adult memory, specifically for comparison with the oppressive present. So although it's functioning in the song as a sort of symbol of genderlessness and as a source of emotional support, I don't think that amounts to the song saying that that is what childhood is actually like.

I think part of it also comes down to the thing of this song not trying to be about all women (and men) ever. It speaks to me in part perhaps because my childhood was approximately as ungendered as the singer's: not by any means completely, but just enough that I can compare it to the present as draw pro-feminist conclusions from the comparison. There will be others for whom childhood was much more the site of comprehensive engendering (except that that's a word for something different, but you know what I mean) and is therefore much less an inner source of positivity, and for them adulthood may be the empowering idea because it provides the tools for self-liberation that were denied in childhood. I guess looking at it from that angle

When I was a boy

isn't really saying that childhood is literally or necessarily a time of liberation so much as just using childhood - this particular type of childhood - as a symbol of the equal and full humanity of everyone.

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Jamie Johnston

at 17:56 on 2010-06-12Seen since writing the above: Sister Magpie's

most recent comment

. Response: yes. :)

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http://alex-von-cercek.livejournal.com/

at 18:37 on 2010-06-12I was always taught that "feminism" meant striving for equality of the genders. That seemed a fine and noble undertaking, but I don't see how you can claim that definition if you can't admit the possibility of male feminists.

I call myself a feminist and not an ally because, well, I don't know you! I might disagree with you on a whole bunch of issues you consider quite important. And you can't claim that feminists always agree on everything, no more than other prefix-ists always agree (which is to say, hardly ever). Also, "ally" seems so very personal, like I'm claiming to be your old and trustworthy brother in arms, like I'm claiming this relationship exists between us where in fact there is none.

If I say I'm a feminist, I'm speaking for myself. If I said I'm an ally, I'd be telling you what I am to you.

On the subject of winning, and how though the man may not have won, he is ahead. He is, but it's like a game of Defcon 5 where you "win" or "are ahead" of the other guy because in the last half hour, 60 million people in his country died in nuclear fire, while your own civilian casualties are barely 30 million.

I mean, you've won, but it's hardly a desirable victory.

...er, don't mind me, I just started hanging around this site because you actually analyzed WH40k novels for their literary merit, and then kind of stuck around.

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Wardog

at 18:40 on 2010-06-12On a lighter note, I just can't get past the term Kyriarchy - which, by rights, should mean oppression by me.

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Wardog

at 18:42 on 2010-06-12PS:

...er, don't mind me, I just started hanging around this site because you actually analyzed WH40k novels for their literary merit, and then kind of stuck around.

Not at all, you are very welcome here :)

And I'm sure Arthur would agree that, as far as reasons to stick around go, that must be one of the best :D

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http://roisindubh211.livejournal.com/

at 20:42 on 2010-06-12I'm watching the football while I read, so I couldn't listen to the song, but I read the lyrics. And the last part, to me, read like she gets so tired and worn down that her defenses fail, and she admits to this story that she's been hiding- it felt a little scary, like anything can happen to her because she's vulnerable. And instead of attacking, he's secretly "just like you"- he's her ally, because he knows what gets lost too. So it felt hopeful to me, more than anything else- like, if you look, you can find more people who remember and mourn their own loss.

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Arthur B

at 21:12 on 2010-06-12

On the other hand, the word 'feminist' is structured analogously to any number of other '-ist' words that are routinely used and understood to mean 'person who subscribes to a given school of thought'.

Putting the joke hick accent aside, this is kind of the way I see it. If you consider feminism a philosophy, and "feminists" to be people who adhere to that philosophy (in the same way that "communists" believe in one of the various flavours of communism), then saying "men can't be feminists" is tantamount to saying "men can't accept and believe in these ideas, only women can". That implies that men's brains are just plain wired differently from women's - which I think is a thing called "essentialism", and isn't universally accepted by feminist thinkers.

(Which isn't, of course, to say that if you consider feminism a philosophy you can't criticise men who claim to be feminists but fundamentally just don't get it, or try to mansplain everything. It's like being a middle-class supporter of communism - sure, come to the meetings and wave the red flags, but don't pretend you're a proletarian when you're clearly not.)

On the other hand, you could argue that feminism isn't just another philosophy or school of thought like Marxism or liberalism or whatever, but is an entirely different sort of thing. In which case it might make more sense to deny the "feminist" tag to men.

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Andy G

at 21:29 on 2010-06-12@ Arthur: It's complicated a bit because being a socialist is a matter not just of believing certain things but also being committed to certain values and actions. Someone who believed socialism was true but never spoke up or did anything would not be a socialist. I guess you could argue that the privilege that men enjoy makes it difficult or impossible to be a feminist because it would prevent the ideas from translating into action. Somebody could believe feminist ideas but still act and talk in a very sexist way.

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Jamie Johnston

at 21:31 on 2010-06-12Also, Chloe Angyal just tweeted

'Feminist men are so fucking sexy'

, so after due consideration I've decided to be one of those, thank you very much.

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Arthur B

at 22:04 on 2010-06-12

It's complicated a bit because being a socialist is a matter not just of believing certain things but also being committed to certain values and actions. Someone who believed socialism was true but never spoke up or did anything would not be a socialist.

I think they would, at least by the philosophical definition - it's just that they'd also be a hypocrite or a coward or someone just plain compromising for the sake of a quiet life, like anyone who chooses to behave in a manner not in accordance with their beliefs.

Somebody could believe feminist ideas but still act and talk in a very sexist way.

Which makes them a hypocrite, and a deluded idiot who needs to examine their own actions.

Basically, I think men can call themselves feminists if they want to, but it's not necessarily down to them to decide whether they're actually any

good

at the whole feminism thing. See, for example, Jamie's comments about how he's trying to be a good feminist, even if he knows that sometimes he might not be.

I would say that someone who believes in socialism but doesn't speak up or do anything is still a socialist. They're just a crappy socialist.

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Andy G

at 00:36 on 2010-06-13@ Arthur: Well, the thing is that just believing a rule or principle to be correct doesn't mean you understand how to apply it. For instance, you may know it's a rule of football that it's a goal when the ball goes through the posts - but what if you're playing casual football with friends in the park and a stranger's dog runs onto the pitch and knocks the ball through the goal? If you say it doesn't count because it was the stranger's dog, it's not because you had agreed on some sort of exception to the rule in advance (It's a goal wen the ball goes through the posts unless it was knocked in by a dog), but rather that you understood the point of the rules (to structure the game to make things more fun). Coming at a system of rules or principles from the outside, you can fail to grasp how to apply them unless you're able to understand the point behind them. The situation of privilege can impede being able to understand the perspective that allows you to apply the principles of feminism correctly, even if you believe them to be correct.

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Viorica

at 01:00 on 2010-06-13

That implies that men's brains are just plain wired differently from women's - which I think is a thing called "essentialism", and isn't universally accepted by feminist thinkers.

But isn't that part of the definition of transgender- that the person's brain is one gender while their body is another? If there was no difference between the male and female brain, then surely transpeople wouldn't

exist

, because their brains wouldn't register any difference? Or for a more specific example, there have been cases- I can't remember the names, but I know at least one was in Canada- where a child was born physically male but raised female due to a botched circumcision, and chose to live as a man after being told what had happened. If there was no difference between the male and female brains, then he would have been happy to live as a woman, because he would have identified the way he was raised.

Some feminists do ascribe to the idea that there's no difference between the brains. They're wrong, and they erase transpeople in what they percieve as efforts to prove that men and women are equal. They're doing more harm than good.

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Arthur B

at 01:02 on 2010-06-13I don't see how this changes the situation though. Someone who believes in feminism, or communism, or football, but doesn't really know how to apply this is a just plain bad feminist, or a bad communist, or a bad footballer.

If privilege sometimes ends up hampering men's ability to do the feminist thing in a situation, then that means then men are going to tend to be less successful at being feminists than women. That doesn't mean they're not feminists - that would imply they didn't

want

to do the right thing, when they might well want to do the right thing but not know what that is. It just mean they're not as good at it as people who aren't blindsided by privilege are.

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Andy G

at 01:24 on 2010-06-13@ Arthur: I'd say you need to be able to apply the principles to a certain degree of competence before you merit the label feminist. Sort of like with language - you can only speak the language fluently once you're able to actively and creatively apply the rules you've learned. But it's a moot point about labelling really (see discussion about genre), as long as you accept the difficulties that the privileged male perspective can present to applying feminist principles.

@ Viorica: Are you talking about Julie Bindel? I agree entirely, though I don't think there HAS to be a physiological difference between the brains to justify trans people's gender identities. Even if gender is entirely a social or psychological construct, that doesn't mean it's NOT a building block of someone's identity - there's nothing 'unreal' about it.

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Andy G

at 02:00 on 2010-06-13To clarify: I agree with Viorica. Not Julie Bindel.

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Viorica

at 02:09 on 2010-06-13*looks up Julie Bindel* She's certainly a good example of the phenomena. As to the physiological versus social causes- I don't think that

can

be it, because otherwise, why wouldn't the buy I mentioned above (I think his name was David something) have ID'd as female? He was raised that way. Besides, the social construsts of gender usually imply extremes- the "manly man" archetype or the woman all decked out in pink- but transpeople often vary within the spectrum of the gender they idenfity as. A transman might not identify with any traditional definition of masculinity yet still consider himself a man. Either way, it should definitely be considered a legitimate identity- on that we're in complete agreement.

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Arthur B

at 08:46 on 2010-06-13@Andy: I think it is worth linguistically decoupling belief in a particular -ism from someone's ability to live that belief. If saying "X is not a Y-ist" means that X doesn't believe in Y in the first place, and saying "X is not a very good Y-ist" means that X is just plain bad at putting Y-ism into effect, that's surely less liable to confuse than a situation where "X is not a Y-ist"

could

mean that X doesn't believe in Y, or

could

mean that X in fact does believe in Y but is incompetent at putting it into effect.

I could go around calling myself "a believer in feminism" rather than a "feminist", but I suspect a great many people - most likely the majority - would regard the one and the other as being identical anyway. For the same reason I'd question the utility of using "supporter of feminism" or "ally of feminism", because a lot of the time people will reduce that in their heads to "feminist" anyway.

But I agree at this point we're debating semantics.

@Andy Viorica: To be honest I was using "you're saying mens' brains and womens' brains are wired differently" in the sense that "you're saying that on a cold, philosophical level, there are some arguments that men just can't follow and some arguments women can't follow" (which is a point the argument has moved away from when it became clear that neither side believed it).

Obviously, transgenderism is a real phenomenon, obviously on an experiential level the experiences of men and women (trans and otherwise) are going to differ. I'm not enough of a neurologist to comment on actual physiological differences.

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Andy G

at 12:19 on 2010-06-13@ Viorica: I'm not going to pretend to be any expert, but I'd guess there are complicated different reasons why someone might legitimately identify as a certain gender. A particular person's personality is socially constructed but so too are the kinds of identities available to them - a Western person couldn't identify along the lines of Eastern gender identities, for instance, or premodern European gender identities. Bindel's point appears to be that, because there is in fact no essence behind gender identities (something backed up by the existence of intergender people, for instance), it's nonsensical to feel that there's a mismatch between your body and your 'real' gender, but of course these gender identities (constructed or not) do form the building blocks of our selves.

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Andy G

at 12:24 on 2010-06-13@ Arthur: Now I'm a bit more awake, it suddenly occurs that that Cracked article about women in Red Dead Redemption is a good example of misapplied feminist beliefs. Alternatively, I remember reading that back in Britain's colonial days, men who voted against women's rights at home used feminist arguments to condemn foreign countries as primitive (the same thing happens today with regard to gay rights).

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Arthur B

at 14:21 on 2010-06-13@Andy - All of that is appalling, but it looks to me like a situation where the people involved claim to believe in feminist principles but demonstrably don't, in which case they are not feminists but have deluded themselves into thinking they are, or do believe but are just shit feminists.

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Dan H

at 17:22 on 2010-06-13

I think you're oversimplifying a number of complex issues here, some of them scientific and some of them sociological and gender-political.

This is going to get long, because it's complicated, and like Andy I'm not an expert.

For a start, I'm not sure it's possible to separate "the brain" from "the body" as absolutely as you seem to think. The brain is, after all, part of the body so describing somebody as having a "brain" of one gender and a "body" of another is inherently contradictory. It simply wouldn't be possible for somebody to be "physically male" and yet have a "female brain" because the brain is part of the physical body. It's as contradictory as suggesting that somebody could be "physically male" and still possess ovaries and a uterus. You seem to be using "brain" here as a way of expressing a more nebulous concept of self-identity.

Arguing for the existence of a "male" and "female" brain reduces gender to an observable property of a person's physical body. Saying "this person is male because he has a male brain" is ultimately just as trans-erasing as saying "this person is male because he has a penis". I'd also note that most "male and female brain" studies say very little about actual gender identity, indeed most people who study the differences (if any) between men's and women's brains specifically exclude transpeople from their studies or insist on categorizing them as members of their "biological" sex.

To put it another way, if you tested a trans-man, and found that he had a "female" brain, would that mean that he was a woman? Or is it, in your view, impossible for such a thing to happen? I'd point out that most studies that *do* conclude that there are "male" and "female" brains also point out that some (cisgendered) men have female brains and some (cisgendered) women have male brains, and vice versa. If as you suggest transgenderism has to be explained in terms of the existence of a "male brain" and "female brain" I am not sure how you explain these results.

Or for a more specific example, there have been cases- I can't remember the names, but I know at least one was in Canada- where a child was born physically male but raised female due to a botched circumcision, and chose to live as a man after being told what had happened. If there was no difference between the male and female brains, then he would have been happy to live as a woman, because he would have identified the way he was raised.

You're presenting a false dichotomy here. Off the top of my head I can think of a great many reasons why this guy didn't identify as female, the most obvious of them being that while he was raised female, he was presumably also raised in contemporary western society, and contemporary western society teaches (wrongly) that your gender is what you are born as. Once he found out he was "really" a boy, he would very likely have assumed that it was best to live under his "real" gender.

Adoption might be a good analogy here. If you have two biological children and an adopted child, you wouldn't argue that the adopted child's brain is *structurally different* from the biological children. If the adopted child finds out that they are adopted, however, they are quite likely to consider their adopted parents not to be their "real" parents even though those people raised them. Or they might not. Either way you can't say that it "has to be" something in the brain.

Put simply, gender identity is complicated (as for that matter is identity in general) and reducing it to a single factor is unhelpful, incorrect and (ironically) trans-erasing. Suppose that a conclusive study were to be published tomorrow which proved that men's and women's brains are not structurally different - would you then conclude that transpeople no longer have a valid gender identity?

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Andy G

at 17:55 on 2010-06-13@ Dan: Yes. Exactly.

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Sister Magpie

at 18:26 on 2010-06-13

Hmm. But see, in his case he already considered his "real" gender to be male. He just always had people telling him he was wrong, that he was female because that was what his body was and that was what he was socialized to be.

I wouldn't say that his brain was structurally different, but he clearly was born with an inborn *something* that naturally conformed more to behavior people considered "male," and more importantly, with a natural sense of himself as male. And unfortunately, iirc, a lot of this was denied and covered up by his psychologist who wanted him to fit his theory. This also led to the family being ordered to not reveal his original physical gender to him at all costs even when they wanted to tell him the truth because they thought it would be a relief to him.

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Viorica

at 18:30 on 2010-06-13I'm not sure you're entirely understanding me. I'm not saying that the difference between male and female brains are purely physiological. I'm saying that there is a difference, because otherwise no one would ever ID as the gender they weren't assigned to at birth. Since we don't know a lot about how the brain works, it's hard to say exactly what the relationship between the brain and the body is- and how much of what we think and feel is chemical as opposed to sociological- but I don't believe that gender is a purely social construct.

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Sister Magpie

at 18:32 on 2010-06-13Oh, also another thing to consider is hermaphrodites. There is a practice of "choosing" a gender sometimes when a baby is born. I remember in a book I was reading about some of these issues and there was a guy whose mother refused to let them do this. He was giving a talk at a thing for hermaphrodites and he said it was because of his mother standing up for him that he was not standing before them that day as a very angry lesbian.

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Viorica

at 18:34 on 2010-06-13

And unfortunately, iirc, a lot of this was denied and covered up by his psychologist who wanted him to fit his theory.

That was a big part of it too. The case was widely-publicised, and the psychologist involved wanted to make his reputation on it. Plus, the boy didn't only start to ID as male after being told the truth- he always preferred being a boy. He just didn't know why, because he was being purposefully misgendered.

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Sister Magpie

at 18:45 on 2010-06-13

Exactly. Iirc, his life was a series of identifying as a boy and having someone tell him, "No no no!" And I remember the kids in his class called him "Bigfoot" because, basically, he didn't move like a girl. Not that it isn't possible for a girl to have the same kind of way of moving, but it really did seem like his behavior was full of millions of little things that people considered "wrong" for a girl.

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Andy G

at 19:15 on 2010-06-13@ Viorica:

I'm not saying that the difference between male and female brains are purely physiological. I'm saying that there is a difference, because otherwise no one would ever ID as the gender they weren't assigned to at birth.

I don't think the 'because' clause follows, because the difference doesn't have to be 'in the brains'. It could be a difference at the level of consciousness/selfhood - in the mind - that is a function of the way the person interprets socially constructed identities and roles as applicable or inapplicable to them (on the basis of their sensibilties, traits, physical features, etc.). Their interpretation could differ from that which is imposed on them by other people but that does not mean that the identity itself is not constructed.

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Jamie Johnston

at 20:25 on 2010-06-13I'm feeling quite squeamish about this chapter of the discussion: it feels like a conversation that's likely to be at best fruitless and at worst, er, worse in the absence of specific knowledge of the state of neuropsychological research and / or first-hand or close second-hand experience of what it's like to be a transgendered person, and I get the impression we have neither of those things here at the moment. So no contribution from me at this stage, really.

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Andy G

at 20:44 on 2010-06-13Yes I'm feeling that too. My arguments are hypotheticals about what must or needn't follow if something is the case. Some solid data would be handy.

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Frank

at 21:05 on 2010-06-13To back up the conversation:

People can choose or opt out of various world views (theistic, philosophic, political, etc.) they were born into. Granted, some may experience some emotional difficulty in doing so but that's mostly due to family relations rather than social ones. People can't chose the sex, sexuality, gender identification, race, or the physical and mental ability they are born with though there are surgical procedures like sex reassignments or cochlear implants which can alter one's appearance or deafness. Neither procedure will grant the full sex change (testicles for ovaries or vice versa, to name one example) or complete hearing restoration. (But maybe the scientists will one day find the means to do so, and perhaps that will be the singularity.)

Women, the LGBTQ community, People of Color, Disabled people grow-up in culture that defines them as 'less than' and/or 'other'. A white, straight, abled male can be an ally to all those communities but still say something unintentionally offensive because those men grewup within the same culture with its institutional sexism, racism, homophobia, etc but who aren't as sensitive to the kyiarchal language or images being used within the culture because it didn't hurt them. This isn't a criticism. It's an understandable, self-preservation tactic. People need to be taught to consider others. Allies make mistakes, and if they are true allies they apologize and reflect on their offense in the hopes of recognizing the institutionalized whatever that gave it to them and learn how to be a better, stronger ally. I think this is best done by reading various blogs within the communities one is most interested in being an Ally to as it is not the responsibility of the non-dominant communities to teach the white, straight, abled man about the minority community.

Returning to the male as feminist argument.

Here's the jist of what a feminist friend told me some years ago:

You're anti-rape, but that doesn't make you a rape victim. You don't know what's its like. You might be able to imagine it, the fear and violation, but you haven't experienced it. You can help rape victims: provide legal support, meeting space, or coffee for support groups, but you can't go to the group because you're not a rape victim. In fact, even though you've probably raped no one, you represent the rapist just by having a dick. So you can support rape victim causes and feminist causes, but that support doesn't make you a rape victim or feminist just a friend (ally).

Now, it was only one woman that told me this and she obviously doesn't speak for all feminist, but it smacked me pretty hard at the time and I was a bit butt hurt about it, yet when the hurt subsided I came to see her perspective, and how it relates to other marginalized communities.

Men are not in the community of women like whites aren't in the community of anyone of color.

Men can offer to volunteer for the community of women like whites can do the same for communities of color.

Women to men: thanks, vote for suffrage, that would help out a lot. PoC to whites: write to your House Rep/Senator and demand that he pass the Civil Rights Bill, thanks.

NOW to men: we got this, but you can donate. NUL to whites: we got this, but you can donate.

But I'm willing to be wrong. According to Sarah Palin, she is a feminist, so why not Jamie and Alex?

Apologies for the US-centric references!

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Jamie Johnston

at 21:47 on 2010-06-13

According to Sarah Palin, she is a feminist, so why not Jamie and Alex?

Ouch! ;)

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Frank

at 21:51 on 2010-06-13:D

In good fun!

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http://alex-von-cercek.livejournal.com/

at 22:37 on 2010-06-13I think the analogy loses something when it tries to equate being a rape victim with being a feminist. I think we can all agree that being raped is not a prerequisite for joining the feminist club.

In fact, they're different in a very crucial way - rape only harms the victim, not the perpetrator. I don't believe that it's actually in my best interest to perpetuate the patriarchy. I don't think I'm shooting myself in the foot when I complain about how women are portrayed in media. I think that when and if we achieve actual equality of the sexes on this planet, in a sort of Star Trek-esque future utopia where all ancient irrational prejudices have been wiped out,

I as a white heterosexual European male will be better off than I was before.

Again, yeah, I'm "ahead", but it's not a desirable ahead. We're not all rape victims, but we're all victims (with varied degrees of actual harm incurred) of the patriarchy/kyriarchy/irrational prejudices that fuck up humanity's shit. That's one of the things "When I was a boy" is about, right?

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Melissa G.

at 22:44 on 2010-06-13For what it's worth (sorry this is late in coming), my very close friend is transgender, and he and I have talked about it a lot. And what he tells me is that he believes that trans people are meant to be born as whatever gender they identify as but that there was a genetic mishap that happened to make them the wrong gender. In which case, there would be a connection with brain chemistry and gender, I suppose. But it's probably also safe to say that not every trans person has the same experiences/beliefs and there could be multiple reasons for why someone identifies as the opposite of their physical gender that have less to do with science and more to do with social pressures/conditioning. But most trans people (to the best of my knowledge) spend their whole lives feeling like they are in the wrong body. It's something that's there with them from a very, very early age so I feel like there has to be a biological reason for it. But I, like everyone else, am no expert on the subject.

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Melissa G.

at 22:44 on 2010-06-13Apologies for opening that topic up again, but I felt like it was important....

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Arthur B

at 22:45 on 2010-06-13To be honest, so long as a person's actions have a net positive effect on things, I couldn't care less what they call themselves, so long as they don't use whatever titles they've given themselves as a stick to beat other people with.

So Sarah Palin pretty much fails on every single point there.

Apologies for the US-centric references!

I wonder, in fact, whether there isn't a cultural thing at work here with the "ally" thing. It's not terminology I've seen from many UK sources, and I kind of share Jamie's reluctance to go out and unilaterally declare myself someone's ally - surely it's their call whether I'm an ally or not? It could be we are being terribly English about the whole thing.

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Dan H

at 23:18 on 2010-06-13

I'm saying that there is a difference, because otherwise no one would ever ID as the gender they weren't assigned to at birth

I think we might be talking at cross purposes here, because I think we're talking about two different things.

One is the origins or otherwise of gender identity. This is a Big Serious Complicated Issue and one I'm not remotely qualified to talk about apart from saying "it's really complicated." It's ultimately reductionist to say that it comes from any one source, be that socialization or some currently unknown neurological factor.

The second issue is the concept of "male" and "female" brains - the notion that women's brains innately process information differently from men's. The first thing to say is that the jury is simply out on this. There's no good scientific evidence one way or the other. The second thing to say is that even the studies which *do* support the idea that men and women process information in different ways observe that there is broad variation between the sexes, so a great many men will have "female-type" brains and a great many women will have "male-type" brains, but these people will not self-identify as a member of the other gender. If there *is* a brain-based "root cause" of gender identity, it's got nothing to do with the concept of "brain type" so beloved of gender essentialists.

It's true that there's a line of transphobic apologia which runs along the lines of "transpeople just reinforce the gender binary," which is of course offensive, but it's important not to go down the line of assuming that transgenderism *requires* gender essentialism. To put this in pure I-statements, I personally do not believe that men and women are "wired differentely" or that you can describe a particular person as having a "male" or "female" brain any more than you can describe them as having a male or female heart. I also believe that trans-men really are men, just as much as I am and I do not, personally, see a contradiction in these two positions.

The question of why some people self-identify as a gender different to the one they were assigned at birth is one to which I do not have, and do not propose, an answer, but I certainly do not think there needs to be a single physiological source which determines a person's "real" gender.

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Dan H

at 23:28 on 2010-06-13

But most trans people (to the best of my knowledge) spend their whole lives feeling like they are in the wrong body. It's something that's there with them from a very, very early age so I feel like there has to be a biological reason for it. But I, like everyone else, am no expert on the subject.

From my (very limited) understanding this is another thing that Varies Really Quite A Lot so I suspect that the best that we can do is to put our hands up and say "This Is Extremely Complicated And It Is Important Not To Make Generalizations".

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Jamie Johnston

at 23:31 on 2010-06-13

Melissa

Apologies for opening that topic up again, but I felt like it was important...

No need to apologize: I didn't mean to seem like I was trying to close down the discussion, just to flag up that maybe it couldn't get much further than it had done without referring to actual trans experiences (which is what you've relayed here) and / or scientific evidence.

I'm extremely uncertain about the whole question. My highly non-expert understanding is that it's generally agreed among the relevant experts that a lot of extremely important stuff happens in very early childhood, to the point where it's quite risky to assume that a given characteristic is innate solely on the basis that the person concerned has had it ever since she or he can remember. On the other hand I know of no evidence that transgender isn't at least partly physiological, and it's clearly obnoxious to do the thing Viorica complains of, namely challenging a transgendered person's interpretation of his or her own experience not on the basis of evidence but simply to defend an absolutist position on the construction of gender. On the other hand again (what is this, the third hand? - sorry), surely one could in principle hold that absolutist view while also saying, 'Even if the transgender experience of being born in the wrong body is somehow scientifically false, it's still clearly something that they haven't consciously chosen and that means their bodies are preventing them living the lives they want, and therefore it's extremely important that they be able to make whatever changes to their lives and their bodies will make them feel more truly themselves, and that they not be stigmatized for it.' But perhaps that misses the point, I don't know. I confess on trans issues I'm at such an early stage of learning that I wouldn't even call myself a beginner as I'm now prepared to do on the more 'traditional' feminist issues. Hence I shall clam up again now! :)

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Jamie Johnston

at 23:37 on 2010-06-13Good grief, I've just re-read the hypothetical position in my comment above that starts 'Even if the transgender experience...' and seen that it's very othering and rather awful. Not that I was saying it was my position, but still, gah. I really shall shut up now before I do that again (especially since Dan has done a better job while I was writing).

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Melissa G.

at 04:39 on 2010-06-14

I suspect that the best that we can do is to put our hands up and say "This Is Extremely Complicated And It Is Important Not To Make Generalizations".

Oh, I most certainly agree. I imagine it's a complicated mix of nurture and nature (like most things) that no one can really pin down and make work for every single experience. Which is probably why I find psychology so fascinating. :-)

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Melissa G.

at 04:44 on 2010-06-14

Thanks! I was just making sure. Because it's all very well and good for me to be like "Well, my trans friends says..." but I still can't speak to the topic with much authority past what I've been told by the one person I know who's trans.

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Frank

at 05:10 on 2010-06-14

I wonder, in fact, whether there isn't a cultural thing at work here with the "ally" thing.

I was thinking this too when I saw the tweeter from Jamie's link was from Australia, but then continued down the short bio to learn that she went to Princeton and lives in NYC which makes me think she would be familiar with the use of 'ally'. So, yeah, I don't know.

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Dan H

at 23:03 on 2010-06-14

On the other hand again (what is this, the third hand? - sorry), surely one could in principle hold that absolutist view while also saying, 'Even if the transgender experience of being born in the wrong body is somehow scientifically false, it's still clearly something that they haven't consciously chosen and that means their bodies are preventing them living the lives they want, and therefore it's extremely important that they be able to make whatever changes to their lives and their bodies will make them feel more truly themselves, and that they not be stigmatized for it.'

Replying to this point because as somebody who *does* hold the "absolutist" view (insofar as I consider it extremely probable that there is no such thing as a "male" or "female" brain and don't see much room for maneuver on that) I thought it might be worth clarifying a couple of things - if only because otherwise I'm tacitly admitting to being a trans-hating bigot.

The first thing is that, as I understand it, there's a difference between being *transsexual* (feeling that you were born in the "wrong body") and being *transgender* (possessing a gender identity which does not match the identity assigned to you at birth, or by society). Obviously the two often go together but it is possible to be transgender without being transsexual. There are quite a lot of people who self-identify as a member of the "opposite" sex but feel no particular discomfort with their bodies. There are, in fact, men who are perfectly happy with their vaginas.

This again is part of what makes me so uncomfortable about the "girl brain/boy brain" idea. If you assume that trans-identity has to stem from a "dissonance" between the brain and the body, then you exclude all those who feel no such dissonance. There are people who self-define as trans but feel no need to have surgery - something which under the "male and female brains" model should be impossible. I'm also not certain how it accounts for people who identify as genderqueer, or for people who are intersex.

Ultimately some people *do* feel like they were born in the "wrong body" and it's obviously important to recognize the validity of that but at the same time it's important to recognize that when it comes to a person's body "right" and "wrong" are subjective terms. If somebody feels that they're supposed to have breasts, then they're supposed to have breasts - this has nothing to do with gender essentialism and everything to do with people's rights (within the limits of technology and some really horribly complicated areas of medical ethics) to have control over their bodies.

I think it's quite important to recognize that a person's right to define both their gender identity and what happens to their body (which may or may not correlate) does not need to be validated by reference to biology. Indeed most attempts to define gender in biological terms have major problems - some men have ovaries, some women have testes, and if you believe in that sort of thing, some men have female brains. It feels a little like this thread has tacitly accepted Viorica's original dichotomy (embrace gender essentialism or invalidate trans identity) and I think it's quite important to realize that this isn't necessary.

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Andy G

at 15:21 on 2010-06-16I just noticed that there is an interesting series called 'A trangender journey' on the Guardian at the moment:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/jun/02/transgender-journey

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Furare

at 20:13 on 2010-07-26I wanted to say something about this article when I first read it, but could never quite work out what to say. So, just two things, then:

(1) Men can absolutely be feminists, and in my opinion "feminist" is exactly what they ought to call themselves. "Feminism" is still treated as something of a dirty word by some people, so I think that anyone who holds genuinely pro-equality opinions should proudly claim the label and not be put off by wondering whether they deserve it. Make people think twice about what feminism and being "a feminist" actually means.

(2) That song is awesome, and I think the last verse is as necessary as any of the rest. Primarily because, even as a feminist who was a tomboy growing up, I still thought "wait, what?" about the man asserting "when I was a girl". Because it's somehow more acceptable for a girl to behave like a boy than the reverse - apparently, even in my head. <cone>

@Jamie specifically: Since you've read some of Fugitivus' blog, I wondered if you'd ever come across

this article

, which I found via a link in one of her posts. It reminded me of what Alex said in this thread about how he believes that abolition of sexism would benefit him as a man, which is something I believe to be true also. (Even though I'm a woman, heh.)

I wish I could write something as coherent as this about why I became a feminist, but every time I try it just fails to come out right. :(

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Jamie Johnston

at 13:27 on 2010-08-01Hi Furare, sorry not to have responded earlier - I've been moving house and things have been a bit wouaeugh.

Yes, I do remember reading that, quite possibly linked from Fugitivus, but I'd forgotten it so it was good to be reminded, thanks. It produces in me a somewhat similar reaction to the line 'I have lost and you have won' in the song, namely a blend of sadness, shame (by proxy, by association, and directly), resolve, and fear at the scale of the task. A this-is-the-price-of-your-privilege smoothie, if you like. Just the thing to drink in the morning before a day of trying not to be a cad. :)

And yeah, I agree that abolishing sexism would benefit men. (Unless of course it turned out that abolishing sexism involved, as some suggest, abolishing 'men' and 'women' as separate categories, in which case it would benefit the people formerly classified as men.) Hypothetical men in the future, definitely. But it's a bit strange to think about whether it would benefit me because it's very difficult to imagine. I mean difficult not just in the sense that it's difficult to imagine a world without sexism but that it's difficult to imagine that happening within my lifetime so that I would be able to benefit from it. I can imagine waking up tomorrow and finding that cars had been abolished, or war, or higher education, because those are external things that could, in theory, just simply stop in an instant and never be seen again, and we'd all be the same people we were the day before except we wouldn't be able to travel / get killed / learn stuff in quite the same way. Whereas sexism is in all our heads and we wouldn't be the same people without it. It's in my head and I don't know what it would feel like for it not to be there and how much I'd feel like me. So trying to imagine a world without sexism involves either imagining a world without me in it, in which case I obviously wouldn't be getting any personal benefit, or imagining a world in which I were a different person, possibly a radically different one, in which case it's hard to identify the 'me' who would be getting the benefit.

You might reasonably accuse me of thinking too literally about a hypothetical situation that's really just a turn of phrase, but that is pretty much my reaction, even without the alternate-world theorizing. I can't imagine getting any serious personal benefit out of not being a sexist or out of other people not being sexist (apart from the 'I feel better about myself' benefit that's always used to 'disprove' altruism). When I think about making myself and others less sexist - when I conceive that task and feel my reaction to it - it feels like a hard and unending slog with little promise of personal reward. I feel like I would be more content and more self-confident and probably even a more interesting and fun person if I made myself not care. I might even, on balance, bring more pleasure and excitement to other people's lives that way, but it would be at the price of doing some harm and supporting harmful behaviour in others.

Which isn't to say that feminism never makes life more pleasant or fun for men who engage in it: I'm sure some, maybe most, find that it makes them more outgoing, or more at peace with themselves, or more exciting, or more relaxed, or whatever. I guess it depends on the mental techniques you use to change yourself. My experience of self-improvement mostly involves self-censorship, self-criticism, and working to neutralize bits of myself, which over all tends to make me less talkative*, less confident, less spontaneous, less relaxed, and generally less interesting. Which isn't a benefit. Of course if sexism were suddenly magically removed from all our minds while we slept I wouldn't have to do so much of that, which I guess would be a benefit, but also I'd be someone different (and so would you and everyone else), so it would be a benefit to someone else. If you see what I mean.

* (Some may be surprised by the suggestion that I'm becoming less talkative. I'd clarify that if this comment weren't already far too long and far too much about me. But it is, so.)

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Furare

at 15:54 on 2010-08-01Ha! I'm afraid that feminism is making me *more* talkative, while at the same time, a bit of a killjoy. Sometimes I'm afraid that I am the world's most boring person for caring about any of this. But - I don't know if you've found this or not - I can't stop caring about it. Once you realise how fucked up everything is, it's really difficult to stop realising. It's everywhere, and once you've started noticing it, you keep noticing. You - or at least I - just can't help it anymore.

You're right that sexism is kind of embedded in our culture and it's difficult to imagine what things would be like without it. But - and I may well be telling you something you already know here - being anti-sexism doesn't actually benefit an individual woman any more than you feel it benefits you. Life is actually a lot easier if you shut up, smile and don't think too hard. Being a feminist has made me paranoid that I sound "too angry" (self-critical, and also a sign of internalised sexism), careful about not making "reverse sexist" comments about men in case someone decides I'm a hypocrite (self-censorship), and as I've already said, I'm afraid it makes me less interesting.

But then I guess, like all activism, the end result is the reason we do it, not because it will benefit us. Not that I particularly mind the idea of being someone different, mostly because that person would probably be less neurotic.

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Robinson L

at 18:30 on 2010-08-02Sorry, may comment more when I've gotten around to reading the article proper. For now I just want to pop in and address this:

Furare: Once you realise how fucked up everything is, it's really difficult to stop realising. It's everywhere, and once you've started noticing it, you keep noticing. You - or at least I - just can't help it anymore.

Seriously, are you reading my mind or something?

Being a feminist has made me paranoid that I sound "too angry"

Yeah, I'd noticed you apologizing for

your mini-rant

on the

gender-segregated exams

a couple months ago. I've also heard Kyra apologize once or twice in the podcasts for having a feminist rant. Personally, I wince at every apology, because I strongly believe it's something you shouldn't be apologizing for, and I hope this site at least is a safe space for people to air those types of feelings.

I'm afraid it makes me less interesting.

Exactly the opposite, to my mind.

But then I guess, like all activism, the end result is the reason we do it, not because it will benefit us.

Agreed, but for myself, I find solution-based activism incredibly fulfilling and satisfying. (Ranting about the problem can be fun too, and a good way to blow off steam, but I don't get the same sense of accomplishment as when I'm participating in a project which I think will - even in just a small way - make the world/some section thereof a better and more equal place. Yay, run-on sentences!)

It sounds like your experience is rather different, and I'm sorry to hear it.

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Dan H

at 10:02 on 2010-08-03

Men can absolutely be feminists, and in my opinion "feminist" is exactly what they ought to call themselves. "Feminism" is still treated as something of a dirty word by some people, so I think that anyone who holds genuinely pro-equality opinions should proudly claim the label and not be put off by wondering whether they deserve it. Make people think twice about what feminism and being "a feminist" actually means.

Just thought I'd chime in on this one.

I think the problem with being a feminist-identified-man is that while "Feminism" is treated as a dirty word by some people, it's treated as a get-out-of-jail-free card by others. c.f. "Joss Whedon Is A Feminist Therefore His Portrayal of Gender Can Never Be Problematic" arguments passim ad nauseam.

A depressing number of feminist-identified-men treat feminism as this abstract principle which in no way requires them to modify their behaviour. I suspect, for example, that the vast majority of Nice Guys also consider themselves feminists (because after all, being a Nice Guy is all about having *respect* for women and that's what feminism *is*, right?).

As a result I (ironically) tend to only self-define as a feminist to anti-feminists, and otherwise just settle for "trying not to be too much of a dickbag".

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Dan H

at 10:22 on 2010-08-03

Yeah, I'd noticed you apologizing for your mini-rant on the gender-segregated exams a couple months ago. I've also heard Kyra apologize once or twice in the podcasts for having a feminist rant. Personally, I wince at every apology, because I strongly believe it's something you shouldn't be apologizing for, and I hope this site at least is a safe space for people to air those types of feelings.

So ... B must try harder?

Sorry if this sounds oversensitive but it just strikes me that Furare's initial comment stands perfectly well on its own as a description of her experiences and doesn't need you to elaborate on it.

Sorry if this sounds overly hostile, but this is kind of the behaviour I was talking about in my previous comment. Your response here is actually a little bit patronising - Furare is an intelligent adult woman who is capable of articulating and understanding her own experiences, she doesn't *need* you to spell it out for her. She certainly doesn't need your permission or your encouragement to express herself.

I'm sure it's not your intent, but your entire comment reads like your primary concern is pointing out to us what a Big Damned Feminist you are rather than actually engaging with anything anybody has said. I mean basically your whole post boils down to "I feel the same way you do, except more strongly, and I'm more comfortable about it, and I do more."

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Furare

at 11:44 on 2010-08-03

As a result I (ironically) tend to only self-define as a feminist to anti-feminists, and otherwise just settle for "trying not to be too much of a dickbag".

Yeah, that's kind of what I meant by claiming the title anyway. It's not like I go up to people and say "Hi, I'm Furare, and I'm a feminist" a la Daffyd from Little Britain. And you're right that there are feminist men who use feminism as a shield rather than engaging with it as an ideology. My original comment did say "anyone who holds genuinely pro-equality opinions", which to my mind involves the behaviour modification that some allegedly feminist men never try to do.

I guess the thing is that, like one of the posters above, I don't like people telling me they're my ally. Call yourself a feminist and I can say "Well, okay then, but if you're a feminist why do you still do X/laugh at Y?" Call yourself an "ally", and maybe it's just me, but I would feel like I can't nitpick as much because "you're not really my ally" sounds more personal than "you're not really a feminist".

I do agree with something you said once, Dan, which was (I think): "Men who identify as feminists should take a good look at themselves because, guys, there is a non-zero chance that you are a creepy asshole". Being male and a feminist involves more self-scrutiny and self-censorship than being female and a feminist. But it's possible as long as you ("you" being the hypothetical feminist man) keep an eye on yourself and make sure your actions match your words.

I stand by the comment that men can be feminists. I don't think that every man who claims to be a feminist is one, which is why men who *really are* feminists should claim the label. And maybe challenge the Nice Guy jackasses who are using feminism as a means to cover their collective asses. I do think there's a negative correlation between how feminist a man actually is, and how willing he is to call himself a feminist.

It sounds like your experience is rather different, and I'm sorry to hear it.

Well, my immediate experience is being told to lighten up and not take everything so seriously by my mother, having my sister tell me that I'm RUINING THE JOKE when I point out that something is problematic, being told every now and again that I'm "one of the boys" by someone who means it as a compliment...

And apparently I'm "too rigid" if I insist on always paying for my own dinner. Even though the reason I want to do it is because there is no good reason for me to let a man buy me dinner, short of me buying him dinner in return at a later date. Or if it's my birthday. Which is, like, once a year.

RE: Apologising - I apologised for the mini-rant because it was technically a massive derail. I do have a tendency to apologise when I don't need to in real life, but I always thought this was just because I'm British.

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Jamie Johnston

at 13:31 on 2010-08-03

But - I don't know if you've found this or not - I can't stop caring about it.

Yes, I know what you mean. In principle I think I have to believe that one could somehow switch it off again, because it feels like as a necessary corollary to my belief that people can make themselves better I have to also believe that people can make themselves worse. But it's quite hard to imagine how that would actually work.

I've also heard Kyra apologize once or twice in the podcasts for having a feminist rant.

Well, yeeees, but also I remember Arthur apologizing for his '

Angels & demons

is evil' speech, so although there is undoubtedly an internalized sexism thing that often makes women feel the need to excuse themselves after expressing strong opinions, we shouldn't necessarily assume that that's what's happening every time. I'd say in the podcast setting there was another factor operating, especially in the early episodes when we weren't used to the dynamics of that particular group yet (and I can only speak for myself, but I suspect the others had variations on this): not wanting to take up more than one's fair share of air-time, and also not wanting to make the tone too heavy for what was essentially a fun and slightly flippant exercise. And when you have a long rant you feels like you've sort of broken both those 'rules', especially if you get to the end and you don't find everyone saying, 'Yeah, totally, that's exactly what I thought'. I think in the later episodes there was less of that because we developed an alternative habit: rather than X rants and then X apologizes, it tended to be X rants and everyone else mocks X a bit for ranting, which is more entertaining for all involved. (E.g. Arthur on 'Everyone has been hypnotized by everyone else' and me on the housekeeper and various people on 'No seriously I think something is going to happen in the next chapter of

The god of small things

'.) My attempt to dive into the depths of The Nature Of Plot came somewhere in between, so although I didn't actually apologize for it I did try to minimize it a bit, and the others didn't exactly mock me but did say 'Oh not this again' next time the subject loomed. So, er, I can't quite remember what point I was trying to make, but anyway there we are.

... short of me buying him dinner in return at a later date.

I'm a big fan of one person paying for both and the other doing the same the next time and so on, and I do it equally with friends of all kinds. It sets up a spirit of mutually dependent reciprocity rather than independent separateness, and it also has that feature you get in gift-exchange cultures where the exchange of gifts never comes to an obvious point of equilibrium where the parties can say 'Okay, we're all square now, we can walk away' and therefore the constant imbalance encourages the relationship to continue, because there always has to be a 'next time' so that the person who didn't pay this time doesn't end up in profit permanently. And eventually it gets to the point where no one can keep track of it any more and it's just become a relationship where sometimes we buy each other stuff and we really don't worry about it, which is nice. But the most important and massive advantage for me is that it means I don't have to do mental arithmetic.

Having said that, I guess it wouldn't necessarily be great for early dates when one might want to keep an element of 'We can get out of this at any time because we're all square at any given moment'.

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Wardog

at 13:55 on 2010-08-03

I've also heard Kyra apologize once or twice in the podcasts for having a feminist rant.

Yes, not to keep flogging this dead horse but I think I was apologising for being anti-social rather than being feminist.

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Robinson L

at 21:15 on 2010-08-03*Looks at last paragraph of previous post, beats head repeatedly against wall*

Thank you for drawing this to my attention, Dan. Ye gods, but that was massively patronizing. I apologize to Furare and everyone else on this thread.

As for the rest, I meant to say, essentially “please, don't apologize.” Thank you, Furare, Jamie and Kyra for addressing that.

Er, so, apologies again for the epic fail.

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Furare

at 21:26 on 2010-08-29I always meant to get around to replying to this.

RE: Paying for dinner - I find it really difficult to relax and enjoy dinner if someone else is paying for it. Even when it's one of my parents. It makes me uncomfortable, and also renders me anxious about what my food choice - with particular reference to how much the meal costs - says about me. Like, if I have the steak, that's expensive, so will they think I'm selfish and greedy? If I really want a cheap dish, though, will they think I'm calling them stingy?

This might not be a concern for a lot of people, but I have social anxieties, and paying for my own dinner cuts out a lot of what makes me feel uncomfortable in that particular social situation. I'm explaining it here for the sake of context, but I should not have to say this to some guy I don't know very well. I probably wouldn't explain it, because anyone who chooses to "insist" on paying after I've already said no is not someone with whom I'm particularly interested in becoming further acquainted. (Oh, you "insist" on pushing my boundaries in the name of tradition? How sweet. Bleh.)

I don't really care what arrangements other people have with their friends or SOs or whoever - what I do care about is that the man paying for the woman's dinner is still seen as the default. I'm not trying to say that Jamie's favoured setup is wrong, and in fact alternating is a very egalitarian way of dealing with these things (and probably more convenient when it comes to paying by card in restaurants). It wouldn't work for me, but that's not the be all and end all of whether or not something's right. Heh.

I only mentioned the paying for dinner thing in the first place because I'd read an article written (for men, by a woman) on How To Guarantee a Second Date. And one of the tips was basically "you should pay. We lied. We don't want to pay half." To which my incredulous response was - Speak for yourself. Because you sure as hell aren't speaking for me. Jeez, way to encourage men not to believe a word that comes out of a woman's mouth. I'm not pretending to be independent and feminist to look "cute".

Bah, now I've gone and made myself angry again.

RE: Robinson's comment - I didn't find it offensive, to be honest. Maybe there's something problematic about him saying I don't need to apologise, or that activism can be fun, but I didn't read it that way. People are always telling me not to apologise for things because I really don't need to, so that's how I originally read what Robinson was saying even before he clarified it.

Though this discussion kind of reminds me of a far more obnoxious argument I once had about feminism on a gaming forum. I actually got people DISAGREEING WITH ME when I said "as men, you do NOT get to decide that women aren't subject to sexist discrimination any more." Christ, what a train wreck that was.

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Robinson L

at 18:06 on 2011-01-19Okay, having now read this perfectly lovely article and perfectly lovely discussion with perfectly lovely links all around I'm sorry all over again for shooting off my mouth and bringing the quality down. So let's try again and see if this time I can avoid losing my foot down my own throat.

I don't have much of an ear for music, and I guess I feel the same about this song as I do about most others: it's okay. The discourse is very good, and as a male, I did feel a resonance when the man in the song says “I rarely cry anymore.” That's also a great analysis of the song's construction, Jamie.

Re: Men as feminists

I was at a workshop over the summer run by a white guy talking about feminism and a bunch of other progressive ideologies/movements.

When we came to discussing the distinction between “feminism” and “pro-feminism,” he shared a story of taking part in a feminist group in which he was the only man, and after a while one of the women in the group pulled him aside and said gently, “Would you call yourself a black liberationist?” And that seems to have made a significant impression on his thinking when it comes to the “feminist” label.

Philosophically, I'm of the school which says that men absolutely can and should be feminists. Feminism to me means replacing patriarchy and sexism with gender egalitarianism, which is a project equally for women and for men.

I generally use the term “ally” to refer to issues within feminism or anti-racism or whatever that do not affect me personally. I can be an ally on an issue without calling myself personally an ally to every person affected by that issue. For what it's worth, I also think it's reasonable to say “you call yourself an anti-domestic abuse ally, but look how you push around your girlfriend all the time” (sorry, there're probably better examples out there, I'm just blanking on them at the moment).

Perhaps,

as Arthur suggests

, all that “ally” stuff from the previous paragraph is more US-based (though I don't recall ever having heard it articulated like this before); but by no means is there an agreement in US feminist circles that men cannot be feminists. All of the feminists I know—American and European—are quite clear that men can and should be feminists.

Of course it's a problem when men (and women, for that matter) who clearly aren't feminists claim that label—but I think cooptation is a problem for social movements pretty universally. People who genuinely care about the issues do need to resist when skeevy people in power (whether macro or micro) adopt the rhetoric of those movements to advance truly destructive agendas. None of this,

by itself

makes for me a compelling argument that men cannot be feminists.

I can't imagine getting any serious personal benefit out of not being a sexist or out of other people not being sexist (apart from the 'I feel better about myself' benefit that's always used to 'disprove' altruism). When I think about making myself and others less sexist - when I conceive that task and feel my reaction to it - it feels like a hard and unending slog with little promise of personal reward.

Agreed on the unending slog, but I wonder about the lack of serious personal benefits. Here are some of the thoughts which occur to me:

It is my belief that a sexist outlook and attitude creates an incredible amount of cognitive dissonance; psychic damage. Achieving a completely non-sexist mindset is impossible in a patriarchal society, but the less sexism in one's outlook, the less cognitive dissonance and the less damage to one's psyche. Similarly for racism, militarism, classism, heterosexism, etc.

Also, as a man, I see sexism as working (somewhat successfully) to cripple my emotional/relational maturity and my ability to make meaningful connections with other people. Terrence Real—one of my touchstones for a feminist masculinity—has written a book exposing how the violent, unemotional, never-lose patriarchal view of masculinity results in internal as well as external damage. (i.e. it hurts the men living it out, even as they in turn hurt other people.)

I couldn't count the times I've caught myself rejecting assistance with something-or-other because, as a man, I'm not supposed to need help from other people—I'm supposed to suck it up and tough it out. I'm generally pretty good at doing favors for others without reward, but I'm bad at accepting favors from others, and worse at asking for them.

I've also noticed numerous little behaviors which I've censored, because they'd mark me out as too “girly,” or gay, or both. You should see the way I agonize over little things like telling my friends how much I love them.

It seems to me that eliminating these manifestations of sexism (and homophobia) in myself will make me a happier and healthier human being, as well as a less prickish one.

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http://lokifan.livejournal.com/

at 21:14 on 2011-05-05Thanks for introducing me to Dar Williams! Wonderful article. The song made me cry too.

this is the line I always choke on: 'And so I tell the man I'm with about the other life I lived, and I say, "Now you're top gun: I have lost and you have won."' Can there be anything more heartbreaking to a man with any heart at all than the thought that your female friends and relatives might, even only in brief moments, feel like your defeated opponents?

That line makes me emotional too -

you were just like me/I was just like you

made me cry. It's not one of the Big Serious Things that happens because of sexism, or even one of the insidiuous unavoidable things, but I do believe patriarchy makes it harder for men and women to reach each other and connect, between the messages telling us we're so inherently different, and the differences in how we experience the world. Which is just unbearably sad.

#Ferretbrain #Music #Jamie Johnston #Feminism #When I Was a Boy

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aintnouseofpretending · 5 years

Text

But My Love, This Cannot Be pt. 1 & 2

Mr M (Brian May) x Tomboy!Reader x Mr T (Roger Taylor) Time Travelling reader AU imagine

>>The continuation and possibly the end of Many Years Away. I strongly encourage new readers to read the previous Imagine and fully immerse yourself first before continuing!

>>Summary: You’re a college student that works as a session musician in the nearby studio, and a guitar store clerk. Also a time traveller. You thought when you live in the 70s, being the best friend of the legendary band Queen; and particularly close to John Deacon and Brian May, was simply a dream. But after being called in to assist the recording of the legendary Brian May in 2039, he makes sure to know that it is absolutely real—and that you’re dearly missed, especially by him. When the two of you are about to test the cassette again, you instantly sent back in the 70s before you meet Queen. But this time, things are changed; instead of Deacon, you caught Taylor’s interest. Brian remembers you. And most fatal of them all; you lost the cassette.

>>Warning: A bit of angst? Fluff.

Tagging peeps~; @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark

ENJOY!

Your days were never been more perfect than today. “Thank you, sir. You’re a very big influence on my entire career.”

“Just call me, May. We’re going to work together again anyway.”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I respect you too much to just call you like an old friend, sir.” You say, purposely ignoring the last bit of his sentence. Although you have some suspicion,

“But we are.”

“Whatever do you mean—?”

“… May?”

“You’ve missed many of our plays. John misses you, y/n. And so am I. Much more than you can imagine.”

“No. Why don’t you want to change things?”

“Yes, that’s how it is, before. But now that you have the power to change the history, why don’t you change it?”

“You got the cassette?” Someone squatted right next to you. “May? Wait, what?” The man only nodded, “you should pay for it. Let’s talk outside,”

“Ready?” He asks. You nodded. Your eyes never leave his, same goes for him. You both took a deep breath when he clicked the play button...

Nothing happened. Not even a headache. Instead the two of you listened to the beginning of Keep Yourself Alive. You took the cassette cover and check for the misprint. “This is exactly like the one I have… But why?” You gave it to May, he does inspect it before you’re even travelled back to ninety seventies. “We need to account the fact that our memories was affected when we travelled.” He remarked as he looks at you. You then list down the possibilities, such as perhaps they rearrange the rack, or that perhaps the cassette has to get signed by each members, and many more,

The two of you set the deadline to try as many possibilities whilst laying low for the worst; that someone might have it and it might harm you. It’ll be September 1974. It’s the month where you’ll graduate and going back to the future—according to the first time you’re here. “Worst thing that could happen is that someone that found it will change the world drastically to the point we have no power to stop it.” You concluded, “and the best thing to happen was… I got to continue my life as if I was part of this era.” It’s quite unmistakable how that this is a huge win situation for May. It should be for you too. But something deep inside you giving a blaring alert sign that you shouldn’t stay here for too long,

“Not until you—.” “Piss off, Taylor. She’s taken.” You both laugh as you give the man the cassette. He jokingly frowned but sign it anyway. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Taylor.” The two of you shake hands, but when you try to pull away, Taylor keeps holding your hand as he looks around. “That day,” he starts, “what was that about? I clearly remembered that Bri have signed your cassette, so does John. After that you run away like you’re caught cheating with someone else’s husband, and Bri looks like he’s bestowed by the knowledge of universe and follows you,”

“Oh, I forgot to bring the papers to submit for my thesis.” Trying to lie in front of the god of truth that is May so many times had polishes your bullshitting skills considerably. “I don’t know about May. He didn’t follow me to my flat now, that would be incredibly odd, wouldn’t you think?” That will be pretty convincing lie even if it was stated in front of May, so Taylor buys it easily. “Two of you might mistake it for something else, Deacon did say I didn’t ask him to sign anything,”

Taylor let it go pretty easily, but you’re still very careful about it—especially when he has been very annoying and cannot stop trying to make you invite him to your flat the way you did with May. You told May that Taylor might also get affected by it, and make the decision that the more people know—especially Taylor, it’ll most definitely give more disadvantage than benefits. As it might attract unnecessary attention, specifically to you. On the other hand, there’s no progress at all; the signed cassette didn’t work, the two of you bought almost the entire stock of the cassette from the same store and listened to each one, still doesn’t work,

“What’s scarier? To know that it might be in the hand of someone evil and not being able to act upon it, or not knowing at all?” You ask jokingly as you try to come up with more possibilities. May give you a side glance, and he’s silent for quite some time. “I would prefer to see the good thing even in the darkest situation.” “That I was here with you as we suffer together?” He raises his shoulder nonchalantly at the same time trying to hold back a chuckle. “That at least I have to go through such terrifying time with someone that was put in the same situation like me.” “Suffice to say, I was too reckless. I shouldn’t have suggested to listen to it that soon. You’re right, it was dangerous.” He shake his head, “no use of regretting anymore. We’re already here,”

In one of your jamming session with Jordan and another session musician, some of the naughty lads bring hard liquors, make almost everyone drunk, including you, by mixing it with the juice. But even when drunk, you notices something that get your full attention; a device from the future. It’s a phone, exactly like yours from the twenty thirty-nine. You pretend to be blackout drunk to see who has it. It was Jordan,

“Why did you call me?! She’s here with me!” He whispers after accepting the live call in the backyard; it was from Loui. “Anything we miss?” Loui questioned a bit urgently. “She doesn’t look like she’ll die from that. Which confirms your first theory that she’s just like me and you. It’s more like, you know, she kinda stands out? Maybe she doesn’t feel right living here, doesn’t feel like she fits here anymore, like me when—,”

Jordan closed the call when he saw you. You simply lean on the wall. “You guys must have the cassette. But I will let you explain,” you demanded forcefully. “I will. But not here. You know the danger.” “Do you think I care at this point?” “You should. Or else, nothing would happen, really. You can’t do anything to me or them. You and I, them? We’re all victim.” “Them? You meant Jukebox?” “Smart girl.” “Don’t make me punch you.” “If you wanna know more,” he pat your shoulder as he goes inside, “call me tomorrow.” He gives you your phone from twenty thirty-nine,

You wish to tell May about this, but Jordan advised to not tell anyone. He give you an address that goes straight to an old studio that you didn’t know exist. It was in a remote place that’ll be very difficult to find, and the unwelcoming aura would drive away people that do sight it. Inside, it was very clean,

Jukebox was there. They quickly show you exactly hundred made-to-look-vintage radio plus cassette players that was neatly stacked and fit an entire side of a wall. Each radio have label on them from nineteen hundreds to twenty-three hundreds. Loui told you that he’s the first to discover the building. When he found it, there was only 23 radios has the cassette in it. The Jukebox are formed by people that found the cassette and get themselves pulled in the messy time travelling business, and that chose to stay and study the time machine. So far the Jukebox have collected 40 out of 100 cassettes. One from you,

The Jukebox says that it's perhaps coincidental that you are sent to twenty thirty-nine instead of twenty nineteen, where you actually belong. But perhaps it has something to do with how you're very fond of the song '39, as it is also might be the main reason why you don't require your cassette—the "device" for you to travel in time—to stay alive throughout seventy-three to seventy-four twice. That your being is so affected by your passion towards the first cassette you receive from the grandma, just like some of the cassettes founders that chose to stay in place they don't originally belong. Whilst most of the Jukebox has to keep the cassette they found in order to not deteriorates. Of course except for Loui and Dorian,

“Wait, what? I don’t belong in twenty thirty nine either? What do you mean deteriorates? Didn’t I deteriorates when going back to thirty nine?” Jake—Jukebox drummer that came from twenty one hundreds—gave you your demo cassette. “In most case, some that try to stay in the era they don’t belong without the cassette they found will deteriorates health wise. And soon died. We still haven’t found the direct cause of this.” Explained Dorian, an actual scientist from twenty seventy-seven. They explained further that the cassette works objectively; once listening to it, you'll be pulled to the year that cassette was originated from. Much like a backdoor that'll lead you inside the house—the era you belong, and the garden, the era the cassette is created. The front door is the entire gigantic machine that can bring anyone anywhere. But of course, if they’re not strong-willed enough and doing it for a joke, only cassette founders can stay longer holding their cassettes, or their being will quickly get eaten by time,

It appears that when one has strong enough passion or will, they’ll have a very strong influence, they'll fit in any timeline they like, replacing someone else from that era, whilst the person getting replaced are replacing the time traveller on the era the time traveller came from. “That means, you’re switching with someone from this era; a music student that is a session musician and works in a music store. Someone that resembles you. As for how do we know where you belong was.” The demo cassette you have was the one that’s falling apart. On it, written 2019 instead of whatever year you thought you made it. You didn’t write the year on the other one that’s still intact because it was just a copy of this one,

Then everything start to piece together. Your memory refreshed and you remembered who you are from twenty nineteen. An astrophysic student that’s deeply inspired by Brian May. Learn the bass too because you admire John Deacon. Living with a grandma that rented a room for you. She did gave you the Queen debut cassette, the one that sent you here in the first place. Maybe the grandma that died in this year was whomever you’re switching with. “Your memory was all janky because of the time travelling. For that part, that’s all the explanation we could give you because we’re still studying this damned machine ourselves,”

Loui explained more, “like me, Jordan, and Dorian, the cassette is a mere device for you to time travel. After your initial time travel, the year the cassette was made works more like a station. What decide the destination you ask? This,” he points at his chest. “Jordan tells me that you don’t feel like you belong here anymore.” “Will it affect me if I chose to stay somehow? Whether I feel right or not about being here?” “Yes. Because you will lose the only reason you’re here. If you want to live here longer without the will, you require your cassette to survive,”

“Which right now is no longer possible,” Dorian intercepted. “We need the cassette to study the machine. Each one of them is unique. Yours, like some that was made in the nineteen hundreds, are extremely brittle. I’m not sure it can be used for another time travel; holding it will increase the chance it’s breaking. But it’ll be odd if you chose to stay despite your heart wants to go back.” You’re also aware of the risk; they elaborated that you could change a small part of history and free to go back or to stay, in exchange that you must return the cassette. It is also possible to change the future drastically, and that's also the reason why they're there; to stop whomever the cassette founder from changing the future too much,

“Don’t worry.” Dorian assures you before you’re going back to your flat. “It’s most definitely not your fault that you don’t feel like staying. There’s a higher chance it was simply the side effect, it happens almost ninety per cent of the time. Whomever you’re leaving behind will understand.” “Do you know when I will get back to twenty nineteen?” “I don’t. But you will,” he points at his chest. “Please keep this a secret. And enjoy the rest of your stay, hmm?”

It’s extremely difficult and awful to lie to May that you still got no progress. It was September, next month Queen is scheduled to start touring for Sheer Heart Attack. On your side, you’ve graduated with honour despite getting side-tracked with the cassette and helping Jukebox taping their new album. In the same month Queen start touring; October, you also get to join Jukebox new album tour considering you have nothing left to do and as Dorian said; to enjoy your remaining stay whilst you can. That’s also why you feel very guilty seeing May so very relieved you have given up completely on the cassette—thinking you have decided whole-heartedly to stay and promise to spend more time together before Queen has flown out the continent,

You have never felt more alive. You enjoyed your time like it was your last—maybe literally. You hang with Queen; especially May and Taylor, whenever you can to the point that you are expected backstage, just like the first time you’re here. You get to be as close but still maintain some distance with the two of them to avoid building up more pain, which May thought you simply want to play it slow,

“Loui expected my full attention next week; his wife and relative are going to come,” you told the boys, wearing your coat. Taylor chimes in like always; “so, when it’s your turn to meet your relatives? I want to at least send you off, love.” “Excuse me?” “Isn’t that’s why you make that party in September? A goodbye party?”

“What are you talking about, Rog?” May ask from the other side of the dressing room. “Huh? Did I miss something? What is that party for, then?” “Graduation party.” Deacon answered. He also added as he wears his jacket, “you’re a really great friend, Roger. I guess graduating with honour was too common these days.” “What? Y/n is that true? Why don’t I know?” Poor Taylor looks very confused whilst you and May exchanged a look. “Should we tell him?” May queried as he follows you outside. “It wouldn’t matter much soon enough. There will be no more memories from my first time here. Besides we’re all busy.” You answered a bit too casually. May hugged you before you take the taxi, which you returned with a broken heart. Soon I wouldn’t be able to feel the warmth. And neither will he. You thought as you get in the vehicle, trying your best to not cry,

The next week, you are indeed used and got to play on-stage in front of many audiences. You’re a bit taken aback to the point it felt more like a dream, but you nail it anyway. Even Dorian and Loui shout you out for the awesome performance. Jordan was about to fling you into space backstage once he got a hold of you. “Bloody hell. Not bad at all from nineteens gal. How do you feel, mate? Health wise? Kinda afraid of the effect—” “I’m alright, Jordan. It’s not going to be any sooner, but the feeling is getting stronger and—,”

Your eyes caught the sight of Taylor and May, they’re leaning on a wall and receive quite the attention from the stage crews. May waved at you, but Taylor looks quite displeased. Jordan letting you go off his hug and looks at you sympathetically. “Remember, mate, not your fault. Don’t force yourself to stay if it feels wrong—it will never go away and will get worse, you’ve experienced it yourself. I have to learn that the hard way twice and it was a waste of time even for a time traveller,”

You gaze out the window, occasionally catching Taylor stare daggers at you through the rear-view mirror—which explained why May took the wheel. You don't know where the two of them is going to take you, all you knew was that May probably tell Taylor about you being a time traveller and upset he's left in the dust by himself. Still, you don't know what to expect or tell him besides that things are happening, and that you're staying—… Would… Would they hate you if you suddenly just gone? Not telling them at all you have to go back home?

It was your flat. As the three of you get in, Taylor immediately kicked your armchair. “Explain!” “Take it easy, Rog!” May get a hold of Taylor’s shoulder as you defeatedly stared at him. “Have you not explained everything, May?” “I have.” You try hard not to sigh, but you told them to sit as you make some tea. “I’m not here for tea!” “Might as well make you some, I know you’re going to shout and you still got a tour to finish,”

The first thirty minutes was a pointless argument about how much of his involvement could greatly alter the reality—mostly Taylor screamed at you. The fact that the two of you leaving him out of it despite knowing well his memories were affected, confuse the living hell out of him. “Are you done?” you questioned once he’s huffing and standing. He stares at you for a solid two minutes before he gulped his tea in one go and angrily sat on the armchair he previously kicked,

You then presented your argument on why you’re not involving him; One because you thought you’re going back to the future. Two, because if Deacon can’t remember, that means Taylor’s will not be and things will go back to normal. Three, both you and May knows how to get information quickly spread around; tell it to Taylor and label it a secret no one must know. “It’s dangerous.” “Bullshit!” This time your coffee table fall victim of Taylor’s brand new boots. “Do you even care how I feel?!”

“We do—.” “But May, I just want to kiss-kissy just with you~! Taylor here is making me jealous, but since you’re my one and only, let’s not tell Taylor and let him suffer~! I prefer Deacon anyways!” Mocked Taylor. “Hysterical queen.” Your retaliation causes him to stand up and flipped the table; you take it as a challenge as the both of you face off. You’ll understand if May chose not to intervene; your height difference with Taylor was minuscule, and your figure could easily match him—which is why the dumbass thought you were a dude. “At least Deacon will understand. But instead, you’re the one that came to me,”

“I don’t fucking know it was my fucking fault when after seeing your eyes my fucking being punch the goddamn red alert in my mind! That I have no fucking clue who you are! But my heart is screaming at me to stop you every fucking time you’re going home, or even going to another room! I was on the edge of my goddamn seat that you’ll never come back, every, fucking, time! For no fucking reason at all!! Oh well, I am fucking sorry that I fucking suffered not knowing why you’re so goddamn important to me alright?! That I got a headache every damn time trying to remember something I supposed to remember, but I can’t!”

The entire time he screamed that at you, his eyes teared up. Your eyes widened as you learnt a new point of view. You looked at May which also a bit shocked, but the tall man simply returns your stare with his meaningful one. You sit back down, burying your face in your palms. “Thank you for telling me that,” you whispered, staring at your ceiling. “You’re right, it was all my damned fault. The second I remembered, I should have never stayed here. I should have just flown off somewhere and rot,”

“Don’t say that, y/n. It was no one fault—.” “Why? You can’t do that now?” You snorted at Taylor’s retort. “Be fucking happy, Taylor. If that’s what you want, I will stay and slowly die.” “Y/n? What do you mean?” This time it was May that stood up in front of you. You grumbled angrily, completely forgotten that you're supposed to keep this a secret bit longer and that the man is sharper than a chef's knife. “Fine! I have to burst the bubble at some point anyway!”

You told them what the Jukebox have explained to you. That you can stay if you steal the cassette from Jukebox, which sounds just as stupid like stealing something so precious from six goddamn time travellers that have the knowledge how to time travel like flipping their own hand. On the contrary, something inside you keeps telling you that you must never stay there, which kills whatever passion you have left to stay without the cassette. Something absolutely you have no control with. “Jordan has it, that’s why he’s here; because he doesn’t feel right staying in another era, and it almost kills him twice,”

“You don’t wanna stay?” The pain in Taylor’s voice hurts you. “I just said I can’t! Will you stop bitch about it?! I feel both not right staying and fucking guilty have to leave you two behind!” The two of you face off again, this time May is ready to stop it. “Must’ve been fun to be the time traveller huh? You can just leave this all behind?” Taylor growled. “Must’ve been fun to only care about your own feelings without thinking maybe I hurt too, huh?” May swiftly pulled Taylor away once he raised his hand to slap you,

“Let’s completely forget that I wasn’t supposed to be here. To disturb your lives with my existence. Making me regret to have such deep respect for each one of you. If only I didn’t listen to Queen and get inspired to be a guitarist myself, I wouldn’t be here and hurt any of you. I’m sorry for being here. I’m sorry for everything. Soon I will be gone and none of you has to worry that I will wreck your lives again.” You sit down, covering your face. “Rog was right, y/n. You’re selfish,”

You raised your head to look at May. “We aren’t simply a spectator of your time travelling experience. We are here. You have no idea how much your existence greatly affected us. How it inspires us. Our feelings for you is just as real; you’re our best friend. We cannot simply forget you existed in our life. Are we not your friends? Are we just standing figures that just happens to be there when you’re going back and forth in time?”

You noticed you have guilt-tripped and be extremely toxic towards them. You are there already. Making connections with the two soon-to-be-legendaries. You have hurt them simply from not telling them you can’t stay,

“You’re right. I am selfish. In the place where I belong, I can never believe to be someone important for any of you. I’m afraid that this all will ended up just another dream of mine. I am too caught up with my own feelings and imagination in my mind that I forgotten you are all human being just like me. I never meant to hurt you, I am terribly sorry. I really wish I could change this fucking thing in me, but I can’t—that’s why I repress everything, so when I inevitably gone, I don’t want to cause any more pain than I already have. I am sorry. I am so sorry. Neither of you deserve this,”

Taylor has long unable to look at you halfway through your confession. Soon enough, he stand and leave the house, slamming the door behind him. You let your head fall, you grab your hair as you resist the urge to just pulled them off. You convince yourself that it is better this way. You have successfully drive them away, hopefully it’s enough for them to avoid you entirely. Maybe that way they don’t have to hurt as much any longer,

“Hey.” You almost jumped when you hear that. You see May is still there. He crouched in front of you and hugged you so very tightly you almost can’t breathe. “I can’t lie and say that I understand fully how you feel. I am not the time traveller—.” “No. I don’t want you to be in my shoes at all. And I’m sorry to hurt you. I am sorry to hurt all of you.” “Hush now. It can’t be helped. None of us want this.” You let go of the hug as you place both of your hands on his cheeks. “My time is numbered. I will not disappoint you.” May smiles. “What are you talking about? We disappoint each other, but we will still love each other. Are we not friends?” You return his smile, “we’re friends forever,”

After that, you keep touring and play more often on the stage, sadly giving you no time to visit Queen and to see Taylor. You aren’t joking when you say your day was numbered. You feel it; it’ll come in three days. Jukebox give you a goodbye the day before your last, which also the last day of their European tour. The next day and your last day, you attend Queen last England concert and go backstage, and you’re not surprised when May say he was expecting you,

“I am here to say goodbye.” After hearing that, his smile dropped in an instant. You thank him and hug him for as much and as long as you can. He does the same. Neither of you hide the tears that falls. “I will… Call Rog to come. He’s already on stage.” “No need. Just tell him I’ll miss him. And please forgive me from not trusting him enough. I'll watch from here. It’s my dream to see you rockstars rocking it on stage,”

You stand somewhere near the stage but not in the way of the crews running around. They start with the procession, and when they jump right to Now I'm Here, you've never stopped singing with them. One song before break, Mercury is talking with Taylor about something, then Mercury quickly nodded before he speaks; “This is for the girl that'll be missed deeply. That you're our friend. And no bullshit excuses can stop that truth. Period. Forgive us for whatever we have done to you. We love you. Listen to us always, darling,”

You can see that Taylor is crying. He doesn't know you can see him, so he doesn't find wiping his tears necessary. Not that it's visible from all the sweat that drenches him. You can't help but notice you're in the same position as him; crying and sobbing. After one more song, you finally feel it—it’s time to go home. You wish you really could stay and see them until the end, no matter how angry you are at yourself, your body move by itself. All the way to Jukebox secret bunker, you tell Jordan whilst weeping,

“It feels wrong to stay, but it hurts like hell to leave them. Why is this happening?” You cried as you hug Jordan. You cupped his face and look at the man, “I'll miss you.” “Hey, mate, I can still visit you if you miss me. I'm a time traveler remember?” “Thank fucking god.” You hug him one last time. “I really don’t want to leave, Jordan.” He continues to return your hug and rub your shoulder. “I would’ve told you if you can stay, but I simply doesn’t want you to regret it later like I do,”

Jukebox says that there's a door near the wall full of cassettes player, it'll open the door to the era of a cassette that was played. You've noticed your cracked demo cassette was in the twenty nineteen player. You turn to Jordan and give a questioning look. “Let’s just say one day Loui panicked almost play your demo when the producer is there. What was played fortunately wasn’t this one. A mystery you don’t have to solve. And you already beat many of us by finding two cassettes. Hell, you make one of them, and almost break both of them too. You gotta be proud at least, cus I am for you,”

You both laugh for the last time then finally the door is open. You say your last goodbye and walk to it. You don't feel anything as the lights warped you, then you woke up. You're on your bed, in your room. Your calendar that was heavily doodled and marked shows it's mid 2019. It took you a couple of minutes before you remember fully that you indeed belong here; that the sweet memories is just a dream that felt too real,

After having a breakfast, telling your crazy story to grandma—that receive a quizzical look from her but she egging you either way and excited for you. You go to your campus, go to your classes, goes on with your life like the dream was nothing. You still feel empty and sad. When you saw Jukebox is going to held a reunion concert next week, your heart sunk even more; just yesterday you’re playing with them, and also to wish Queen could do the same with their full members. Although, still, quite odd to see not only the ticket is awfully beyond your budget, but also has sold out in a day. “They're legendary after all,” your friend commented,

Your blue mood still lingers, so you wish to stay out longer in the night, visiting a music club that's supposedly have you as their frequent in ninety seventies along with Jordan. But you from today is new to that place, and the interior is completely different, got some cheap foods and drinks, though. Maybe it is just a dream, and you happen to stumble and thought of going here long ago but you forgotten? It's like bad luck, when you finally forget about Queen, there's a band that'll play that night and their name is also Queen. You give up trying to fight the sad truth that you're back to your reality where they're far away; you immediately go home. Maybe the new Queen band is just a jazz or pop band,

The next day, you don’t feel like getting up, not that it matters; it’s holiday. But before you could continue to sleep, the grandma called you down, ask you to buy her groceries, whilst she cleans the house. “We still got some food. Let’s just order take outs.” “What are you talking about? You don’t serve your guests poorly, dear!” You don’t remember there’ll be any guests today—well, you do, it’s the third week of the month, but you have told one of your friend yesterday to just cancel the dinner at your place and spread the words. “Well, you’re already down here and are awake. Why not take a fresh air?” You lose and still got to buy the grocery,

You really can’t complain, grandma is kind enough to say she’ll buy the rest that requires you to take multiple stops downtown, just so you don’t have to go back and forth from the outskirt of the town and spend too long outside when you’re tired. After shopping, you decide to take the scenic route; tired of having yourself in shit mood and you don’t want to give grandma any more trouble,

Half the way home however. “There she is!” Someone call quite far from behind you, kinda feels like it was directed at you, but you chose to pay it no mind. Right now if you try to joke yourself out of awkward situation in public, you will become the joke instead and you’re just not ready for such commitment. “Oi!” The boy calls again. His voice sounded a bit familiar, but then again, you take no chances. “Don’t pretend to be deaf, y/n!” “What did you just say, shorty?” Your retaliation was spontaneous as if it is a long habit of yours, but then you turned around,

It was Roger Taylor. His exact replica but in today’s rock fashion; partially shaved multicoloured hair, ripped black jeans, boots, and spiked jacket. He’s coming to you at full-speed. Maybe if you’re not a champ right now carrying groceries with many fragile things inside, you would take his tackle. Unfortunately you grandma shopping list are more important and so, you have to take two steps away from him as you feel powerless not being able to stop the man almost passionately making out with the conblocks in slow-motion. Luckily, he spins and falls on his arse just in time,

“Taylor?! Are you alright?!” You crouched next to him. “Of fucking course I am not! Why the fuck are you dodging me?! I ain’t gonna tackle you to the ground!!!” “I’m carrying eggs and jars! I don’t want grandma to kill me!” “Oh, right.” You’re still confused as to why you are talking to him normally, but the urge to beat the shit out of the brat because he immediately hugs you before he even clean the dirt off his clothes, is gone, instead you asked; “how are you here?! You’re not supposed to—”

“Either you still think all these bullshit is a dream, or you’re too sad to go back so you tune the fuck outta what Jukebox told ya.” “Huh?!” Taylor still not letting you go, and you’re not willing to push him away either. But before you could ugly cry from the emotion, you notice much quicker that people are watching. After telling him grandma’s wrath will be very unforgiving, he let go and insisting to carry the groceries for you. “Mate, you can’t carry all of them.” “If you can, then I can. I am the man here.” “Alright.” You gave him half, “want more?” “Only when your grandma ain’t this sadistic. Holy fuck, these are heavy,”

If it’s not for the groceries he’s carrying, perhaps Taylor would dunk you to the ground again. On the walk home, he cannot stop explaining how much he’s dying without you… As tears waterfalling down his cheeks. “I miss ya so much. They bleeding made us wait until the fucking crap machine is ready which is two fucking months. I didn’t know you were already gone until Bri told me backstage you have gone back since two days ago, and he can’t stay mad at me cus that’s making him sad as fuck. So—.” You can’t help but to see how different he is. Taylor looks like he’s indeed born in the nineties like you, speaking like one, but he still retain his seventies characteristics which is swearing and talking too much. “If ya wanna shag me, can you make it less obvious. At least try to calm the crying man, woman!” “Oh, sorry. I just, miss you too, you know.” “You still don’t look away.” “Cause you still hasn’t answered my question and I am waiting,”

If you didn’t say that Jukebox and Jordan was a time traveler, maybe Taylor wouldn’t try to burn their studio down. Maybe May secretly trying not to blackmail the band—absolutely influenced by Taylor, just so they’re allowed to go to the future and follows you. They’re not allowed to go immediately to test whether they’ll survive without the cassettes. “They’re making sure you’re alive. Not because of the machine.” “Who fucking cares, honestly? At that point I know I will die for you.” “Is that suppose to make me feel special?” “What the heck?? I’m willing to do it right now!!” “You’re willing to die for your own car right now too.” “I know, but—,”

Apparently both Taylor and May had been here for awhile with Jordan’s supervision. They’ve proven they’re belong to this era now. “Proving passion is enough to stay alive!” He shade you, but when your eyes start getting teary—; “Fuck! I’m sorry! I didn’t meant it!! Jordan and Jukebox has told us many times it wasn’t your fault!! I know ya wanna stay! Shit. I am sorry. I am so sorry—,” he almost dropped the groceries, but because he’s answering his phone. “What d’you want you fucking poodle!?” You can hear from the other line someone’s voice saying; “status?” Taylor stares at you. “Meet me at the location,”

Taylor’s trying to make the way home longer and you don’t know why. Fearing the anger of grandma is enough to make him quit the plan. He doesn’t elaborate further about anything else besides when before and after you’re leaving the past; that he and May fights on the day of your departure, and when May told him two days later, Taylor immediately drive to Jordan’s house. Only to find him doesn’t “exist” anymore. That’s why he try to burn the studio down. After Jordan finally shows up and talk to them, refusing their wish to go and live in the future, May almost actually blackmail the damn time travelers; he will spread rumours about them being time traveler with proofs, but then Jordan able to convince Jukebox saying this is their prime opportunity to get willing “test subjects”,

“You guys are the friends that I cancel the dinner plan?” “And so fucking abruptly right when we’re back from shooting in Scotland. You can imagine Bri reaction, but Freddie straight up burst into tears thinking you feel betrayed cus you found out he’s gay but he never told you about it. Fucking Deacy doesn’t want to touch his bass until we apologize to you for whatever shit we have done” “What the hell?” “I know right? Well, you’re our best friend even in this era—.” “No. I meant this.” There are three extra pair of shoes on your porch,

“Oh, darling! You’re back!” You stop Mercury mid-launching you through the roof as you put down the groceries. After you’re done, you’re caught off-guard and get carried from behind by Taylor. You both screamed and yelped in delight and fear as the two spinning you and almost make hit your head on the chandelier. “Put me down!!!” “Alright, put her down boys.” Deacon is on the attack the second your feet is on the floor. He hug you so tightly the both of you fell on the floor. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I thought you were mad at us.” “No. I’m not. I’m just—,”

May sitting on the dinner chair. He’s smiling so widely, his eyes practically twinkling. If you don’t find his happy face cute right now, no, you absolutely not going to miss his much shorter partially straightened hair and found it so bloody weird on him that you didn’t take Deacon’s offer to pull you up. “I know right?” Taylor mocked as he laid on the floor next to you. Trying hard to give pouty mouth, May could only roll his eyes, but smiles appear permanent on his lips. Deacon and Mercury joins the two of you on the floor whilst throwing insults at May that are “a massive coward” because he’s too disgusted and chose to stay and sit on the chair,

But you’re just there. Staring. You still cannot believe it. Right now sitting next to Taylor, Deacon, Mercury that’s still roasting their guitarist despite already forgetting the reason why; and May about to throw everything in his bag at his bandmates. Well. It’s the perfect time to cry, since Taylor already got his share of ugly cry, it’s your turn as you hide your face on your feet. “Oh, y/n. What’s happening darling?” Mercury hug and rub your back, the others start scooting even closer to you and ask the same. “I’m alright… I just… This will cringe the shit out of you, but I love you all. And I am grateful all of you are here.” But you said it whilst you have your head still in hiding, and Taylor points it out. “You ain’t a wee lass anymore, at least face us and say it, you coward.” “Said the wee lad that’s already crying.” Deacon commented. “Don’t you fucking run you little punk! Who’s the little boy now huh?!”

“What is going on?” Grandma arrival finally makes you raise your head up. “Are you crying, dear? I thought you don’t want to have dinner with them.” “With these suckers? Hell no.” “Language!” “Sorry, grandma.” “Any of you that’s hungry better please give me a hand. Let’s cheer our lovely y/n.” “Anything for our lovely y/n.” Taylor teased. If the rug is any thicker, perhaps you would roundhouse kick the blonde,

“Are you still thinking you’re dreaming?” Whisper May as both of you getting some herbs and vegetables from the garden. “With your hair like that? I guess not so much.” He snorted insultingly. “What? I know you still have to keep your original memories being in the seventies. You will not let go of your iconic hair. Remember too, Taylor is head over heels over my uniquely progressive fashion choice.” “I will grow it if you want to see it so much.” “Also, did Deacon and Mercury got their memories back too?” “No. But it happens that our influences are enough to bring them here as well. Now it’s no longer the legendary Queen. Jukebox replaces us.” You eyed him sympathetically. “Why? Don’t you want to be a rockstar?” “If you can stay in the seventies, y/n. We wouldn’t be here now, correct?” “For many different reasons as well.” “But Rog and I only need one.” He returns your gaze with an emotional one. You can feel the meaningful, the feelings in it, the love. He gives a shrug, trying to stay calm when you’re getting closer to him. “B-besides we still can be rockstars. Even better if you joined us.” “You think so?” “Yes—,”

It felt really great. You feel like jumping. You know you’ll do it, although you didn’t know you’ll do it in your house, in twenty nineteenth, not in your flat in the seventies. Not a goodbye kiss you plan on giving him if only you’re a bit more honest back then. But you could never imagine to kiss him. Not the legendary Brian May. Now he’s still just Brian May. Many things came in mind but you no longer care. What you care the most is to pull the man in your embrace and kiss him even deeper. You see his deeply red face. His eyes twinkle again like it’s reflecting millions of stars in yours. You looked around before pulling him inside the garden shed and lock the door. “I love you. Y/n. You have no idea how much I want to say that.” “I have a couple of ideas, actually. Like when you’re asking why I don’t want to change the future—.” “Shut up and kiss me already.” “Alright, alright. I love you too.” “Time travelling twat.” “Wow. Okay, you rude fucking skinny poodle.” And the two of you stayed in the now warmer shed. Up until Taylor threaten to break the door and let him join.

End.

I’m sorry if it feels a bit off. I plan to write this later and don’t want to spoil the new much bigger plot. But I really do hope y’all enjoy this! :D :D

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