#xenophobia at it's finest
Note
BEGGING I WAS LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOT THE MONSTER AU 141 😭😭😭😭😭
pretty pretty please 🙏🙏
Only Human pt.2
Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x reader
Cw: canon-typical violence, hate, xenophobia, mention of racism, blood and violence, injury, fighting, protective 141, trauma?, anxiety, tell me if I missed any.
wc: 6.3k
Only Human Masterlist
Previous
You still wonder, to this day, why you were needed on the Task Force. It worked like a well-oiled machine when put to the task, nearly unstoppable in the face of enemies. Although you were prideful to call it your home, you felt lacking compared to them, all much stronger, fiercer, and nimbler than you in every aspect, separated by miles of distance. One thing, however, that you could wield with an iron fist was your human nature and people’s fear of newly implemented hybrids. The public expression from governments about welcoming them into their ranks and their society without staying hidden under the pretence of being sick or behind a veil of secrecy.
You, after seeing how many Joint Task Forces and other Teams treated the 141, decided to deal with the introductions, the medium, the pacifier, between every team. Humans tended to react differently to another human than to a hybrid, they were nicer, less brutal and honest (a kind that held little spite). Laswell seemed more agreeable to your idea when you first came up to her with it, having seen the hate sent to hybrids she worked with. She encouraged you to be the first to interact or stand beside Price when he greeted human soldiers. Price, unlike Laswell, was reluctant at first. His instinct of protection and possession of his hoard made him less open to such ideas, especially if it brought you some, if any, backlash from other humans (humans are cruel, they shun what they don’t understand, they fear it and push to control it, if not, they destroy it. The need to control every aspect of their life made humans ruthlessly unremorseful and unsympathetic to other causes.).
As a tight-knit TF, some decisions are taken in votes, by hearing what the others thought of the idea or plan and his one was harsh. Ghost was hard-pressed on keeping you between them, the little, fleshy human of their Task Force (the youngest) and to let them deal with xenophobic glares while keeping you protected. Alejandro was similarly worried, but he knew the outcome of letting you speak first or accompany Price. He was torn. The others, Soap, Gaz and Rudy, seemed onboard, with the kind of why the fuck not? kind of look on their faces. Soap especially, he’d be able to stick close to you without having to hover over you like a protective guard dog.
Seeing the votes in your favour, he let it pass, and no sooner had they needed to meet a second team - human soldiers - for the next deployment. You stood beside Price when he strutted down the walkway, shoulders broad and back straight, an image of a strong and fearless leader with his draconic tail flailing lowly. He, as intended, greeted them first, rank and name before he presented you, his little human helper with humans. They’d taken better to speaking to you, being spoken by one of their own rather than a hybrid. He saluted you more amicably and more sincerely:
“Pleasure meeting you, Hunter.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Captain.”
Although it wasn't without its setbacks, the operation went well, you had been able to come out mostly unscathed, leaving a few enemies on the brink of death for Ghost to savour. He was most thankful, a part of his body dissolving into the finest mist as they washed over the living bodies sprawled on the ground. You watched on, mesmerised by the uncanny way Ghost’s body absorbed the bodies of others, flooding the area with his shadow while you stayed unbothered, in the same condition as he first started. His darkness reached your neck, covering you in a soft cover of warmth as he ground the bodies to ash and dust. His skin was cold, but his powers were darkly hot, burning with the embers of hell, of a dead soul coming back for revenge and evilness.
Beyond the fact that your idea worked, you liked feeling useful to them, having a semblance of usefulness in a team of extremely competent beings. You felt with first greetings from then on, smiling and saluting to the leading figures of the groups you’d work alongside. It lessened the weight on Price to appease and pacify the new additions, he’d be able to fare better with the operators now that they had a different welcome, a different kind of greeting. It played into the minds of wary men that a human was the one to greet them, that one of theirs was leading the hybrids for them. You played the perfect example of a soldier for any xenophobic bastard.
Ghost, while still feared, received fewer glares than he usually would, occasional ones from daring or bold soldiers holding a lower rank than him, but he appreciated your attempts at making them more comfortable. He’s used to the negative reactions, had been since his childhood, but you seemed to make him feel like he deserved better, like he shouldn’t be glared, spat and scoffed at.
Soap, Rudy and Alejandro looked like human men in peak condition, if only for Soap and Alejandro’s glowing eyes and heightened strength and agility. Rudy was somewhat human, he looked and acted like one, down to the DNA, but with the title of cadejos vessel came powers. Perhaps not as strongly affecting as the rest of the hybrids, but he had subtle changes in his molecular making.
Gaz had stares coming left and right, daggers sent his way for having wings and talons he couldn’t will them to disappear, to recess under his skin and wear the appearance of a human man. He felt the heaviest blow by both not being able to cover his gifts and the colour of his skin. Although you wanted to proclaim that your new age came with more open-minded people, you knew that it simply couldn’t fix hundreds of years of standards in a few decades. People would still judge others by the tone and colour of your skin, they’d still hate the different and the strange; just like they hated hybrids. So you kept to his side most often after your introductions, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close, letting him embrace you with a protective wing and a grateful smile.
You mostly worked hand in hand with human-filled teams and spear-headed human-led operations. So you were shocked, frozen to your core, when you saw a tiger haetae hybrid beside a tall, veiled operator walking down the cargo ramp. The hybrid, a tiger variant from the black-striped, orange tail that flickered slowly in a warning to any approaching beings. Dark glasses and a mask covered his face, his jacket and vest riding to the edge of his jaw, covering any skin from showing, though his lower back was left uncovered for the comfort of his swaying tail. He was neither short nor tall, he was tall enough to be slightly over the average height, but his teammate dwarfed him.
Perhaps his enormous height was an aspect of his monster half, or maybe he had the perfect genes to hold such a frame. He too, like his haetae operator, hid his face under a veil with maroon tears painted under his eyes. Like Ghost, he was covered head to toe in equipment and clothes, a jacket, a vest, gloves and black paint around his eyes. Whoever this was had both height and mass, burly arms and broad shoulders eclipsed by a slim waist and equally, disastrously thick thighs. On their left arm were flags, one from South Korea and the other from Austria.
They were the only ones to walk out, the only ones to approach you. Then your TF only had two new faces to work with rather than a whole team. You were tempted to say it would be easier, you waited until they stopped for Price - Price only - to greet them since they wouldn’t need a human to negate any aggressiveness between human and hybrid - or so you thought. They moved in synchrony, Price stepping forward to cover you with his body, his back facing you as he crossed his arms. Ghost and Alejandro had moved next to the captain, covering your sides. Alejandro had crossed his arm in a similarly menacing way, and Ghost stood still, body rigid but ready to strike at a moment’s notice; both were glaring ahead. Soap and Rudy took their places behind the colonel and the lieutenant, arms glued on their sides, weapons within reach with menacing stares towards the Korean and the Austrian. Gaz’s wings grazed you, soft feathers wrapping themselves around you and pulling you into his chest, acting as a protective cocoon for you.
“What-?”
They moved so quickly and efficiently that they seemed to suddenly appear in place, back straight and protective. Protective of you. Hybrids, from what you’d heard from couples and families, were possessive of their own, caring and extremely wary of other hybrids they hadn’t formed a bond with. Your TF was your pack, they were all tethered to each other through the familial bond they formed over the years. Then you came in, small and weak with your human self into a den of lions, thrown to be subjugated to their loving mercy and sinfully strong personalities.
The team of six hybrids encased you, barring the KorTac specialists from seeing you. Monsters and hybrids could sense one another - from what you heard - and they reacted instinctively. You saw their bodies tense as the two approached your team, muscles strained under the compacting anxiety and possessiveness. You could neither see over their shoulders nor feel what was happening, they stopped farther from you than you’d expected and you couldn’t see their feet.
The only sign you had was your captain’s gravelly voice welcoming them, his tail swaying like a cat’s tail, a slow, cautious motion. It - knowingly or unknowingly, seeing as Price acted on a mix of instincts and worry - wrapped around your ankle, clinging tightly to your boot-clad leg while a rumble rattled his chest. Steam rolled from his lips, billowing over the top of his hat in a show of power and warning. You hoped they wouldn’t take this negatively. They worked hard to curb the harmful rumours of 141 being beasts in human skin, acting like blood-thirsty and ravaging monsters that cared for nothing but themselves.
Although you couldn’t see them, the Austrian could, his towering height assured that he could see over almost any human, monster and hybrid alike. He was curious about the way they protected one of theirs as if you were weak. He cocked his head, green eyes gleaming red as he stared silently at the small mop of hair between them. What made you so important? What made you such a protected soldier? He couldn’t sense you like he could the others, their scent and magic masking yours in a violent torrent.
Unlike him, his friend couldn’t be bothered with the show of protection, he’d enrolled for the money and wouldn’t be deterred by much. He was a tiger haetae, honourable to a certain extent and proud. He might be shorter than the hybrids around him, but he was as vicious and talented as the next. He, however, was slightly curious, but he wasn’t paid enough to inquire or worry about the doings of 141’s pack.
It went as well as anyone would expect for the 141 with the added help of two military, hybrid operators from an elite PMC. As the combat medic of the TF, you followed them from behind and moved to the middle when you entered the building. You’d usually be at the back, being a medic, but you were a combat medic, having seen and participated in complete ops dealing with infiltrations and hostage rescue. You were an integral part of every mission. Now that they had a medic on hand, the wounds the men suffered could be treated in place rather than wait for the long ride home with the possibility of letting infection take root in the gash and watching it fester during hours in the carrier.
They had a habit of getting shot and slashed, a tad bit reckless in their ways but still effective. The stress of risking infection or the impossibility of reaching a medic after a mission was lessened, Price would still be able to live a few more centuries before his hair turned grey with nerves and his face wrinkled with frowns. You were a treasure beyond the fact that you were extremely helpful and insightful on your own. Your hands were steady and your demeanour calm and collected (albeit fidgety when put under too much pressure and fiery when someone looked at them differently.), you were a beauty, someone they needed to nurse and protect.
“I warned you about standing so close to the explosion!” They watched you berate Soap, cheeks puffed and lips pulled in an adorable pout. You went on a list of things he could’ve done better and safer than the decision he made, hands pulling the bandage around his arm, your bag set beside you.
“How was I supposed ta know?” The werewolf grumbled, giving you his best version of his “puppy dog eyes'' while he slouched back, trying to sit as comfortably as possible on the hard seats of the aircraft carrier.
“You’re a demolition expert, you’re supposed to know, Soap.” You hissed, tightening the wrap and smoothing it over so that it would hold. Your hand dipped into your bag, pulling out a few alcohol wipes for his face. With a jerky motion of your hands, you broke the seal and started patting his bleeding cuts from shrapnel and grazes from bullets. He winces with every dab, fidgeting in his seat while you disinfected his wounds, wiping away the dirt and blood before deeming it clean enough to move to the next one. “You also have a habit of setting things on fire.”
Although you mumbled it so quietly, the others heard you clearly, laughter rumbling out of the others while they watched Soap being scolded by the youngest. You never feared reprimanding them for an idiotic act that would result in having you tending to them, it was something they appreciated, the familiarity and comfort you had with them. They weren’t monsters, hybrids or anything with you, they were your family.
Seeing you so at ease with them had König and Horangi curious, most would cower or segregate themselves from other hybrids. You especially, seeing as you were the only human with them, they thought it’d be normal to see you shrink onto yourself and ignore the world around you while you waited to return home. Yet here you were, berating a werewolf for cuts and bruises that would heal in the following days, his metabolism prevented infection and permanent scarring unless it was too deep or deadly. They’d simply add to his rugged handsomeness.
König wondered if you’d show him the same amount of compassion and ease when you tended to his wounds - if he ended up having any at all. Would your hands be soft like his mother’s when cradling his arm? Would you whisper soft nothings to him while you cleaned his gashes with antiseptics? Would you also scold him for being reckless? He doubted that. Granted, he was extremely reckless and lost himself to the adrenaline pumping through his system when he entered the field, but he always came out unscathed. As a percht hybrid, his extreme enhancements made him practically numb to pain and sensations, with the small exceptions of a few primarily driven emotions or natural reactions to certain stimuli.
Perhaps, if your efforts were thwarted by his immense height, you’d hold and tend to him as softly as you did with the others, running your fingers through his hair and cradling him against your chest. He thirsted for something mundane, something so human-like that he would be reminded that he wasn’t completely a monster. He missed the softness in people’s gazes or the carefree way they spoke to and with him. He missed being reminded that he - too - was a living being with their rights. You could be the start of a regular life - as regular as a mercenary could have.
Even Horangi, who had vehemently stated to König that he could care less about the small, weak human in the operation, gave you the merit of being strong-willed and confident enough to stand beside them. He, the ever prideful and strong hybrid he was, deemed you competent for a human. Your usefulness started with your quick reactions and impeccable skills in your field and stopped when you couldn’t save someone, which had yet to happen. He was intrigued by the workings of your TF, how they managed to score a single human and an amicable one at that, strong and fierce, yet gentle and compassionate. If he’d grown up with someone like you, would he have turned out the way he did?
He simply watched from his corner beside König, through tinted glasses his eyes followed your movement, memorising everything you did for your brothers. They felt like imposters in your small, seven-men group, seemingly standing awkwardly in their little corner. 141 had shown a bit of aggression towards them in warning words and deadly glares when they assumed you didn’t see them, hissing out threats to ensure your safety among them. Not only were they confused by the dynamic, but they weren’t told anything besides “Back off” and growls.
After patting Gaz’s knee, giving him an oscar winning smile with gleaming eyes that were received with enthusiasm, you packed your things in your bag and moved to the next patient. You skipped Price, Ghost and Rudy, crouching in front of Alejandro. Rummaging through your bag and handing him a clean wipe for his dust-covered face, the soot clinging to his cheeks. He expected you to sit by your locked rifle after checking them, but you continued walking. You were heading towards them.
He knew König left the ground unscathed, clean of anything but dirt and blood, which meant he was the one you were heading towards. Hand on your pouch and a steady step backed up by a determined expression, you stopped before him. He tilted his head, a silent question. You blinked dumbly, holding out your hand to him, your small fingers backing him to give you something.
“Can I see your hand?”
His hand? He hadn’t thought much of it as he rested it on yours, palm upwards and gloveless. He saw it then, the small cut that bled red, small enough to be neglectable, but long enough to still be bleeding. He hadn’t felt anything from it before or after boarding the aircraft, he must’ve still been riding the adrenaline rush from the fight. He wondered how you knew he hurt himself.
Your fingers curled around his palm, holding it firmly as you lightly dabbed the inflamed skin with a sterilised tissue, being careful of the flared sides of his torn flesh. Under the blood and dirt, his skin was pale and swollen, the area having demanded his body to react to the potential bacteria that would worm its way into his system. You threw the bloody tissue aside and got an antiseptic wipe, being careful to not irritate his wound. Your care was gentle and patient. To a being like him, a hybrid and KorTac op, gentle and patient were foreign words to him. None were gentle to hybrids and none were patient with mercenaries.
Even as you wrapped the gauze and bandage around his hand, you gave him all your attention, sweetly cradling his hand between yours and nursing his gash with utmost care. It felt alien, the soothingly soft care of a medic. Other medics would’ve stared at him with disgust or hate if he walked near the infirmary, or they were rough and uncaring towards his needs.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, the sudden realisation of his silence in the face of a benevolent angel and the rush of embarrassment that flushed his neck hotly. He stared dumbly at his hand when you left, placed on his thigh with the white bandage staring right at him. The warmth of your hand had sunk into his skin, the feather-light tenderness of your fingers painted in his memory and your smile and determined expression stuck to him.
Even as he let his mind wander and body thirst for another taste of your gentleness, he could feel the burning stares of the other men. König with his curious and envious gaze, wanting to feel the snippet you offered Horangi, wanting your hands and stare at his giant figure. The 141 with their protective and warning glare, resenting him for taking a few minutes of your attention from them. You’d moved on your own, making your decision to help him with his small wounds as you did with them, he hadn’t forced you or compelled you to treat him.
Perhaps there was more than money and experience that was worth in this joint operation.
When the success of their first mission reached the prying ears of the General, he’d given them a few more joint ops - paid by the United States pockets, of course. Horangi and König were given temporary rooms in the barracks, in the same corner as the other hybrids and you, but far enough to show that they were excluded from them. Fortunately, they wouldn’t share the room, tigers were protective of one’s territory, and a percht hybrid - as rare as it may be - was documented to be hyper-possessive of their things, especially so for someone like König.
Horangi didn’t ignore you anymore, wanting to start a conversation when he passed you or staring at you from the other side of the room until you waved at him, letting him know he could approach you. He worked relentlessly to close the gap he had made between you, wanting to attach himself to the one good thing he had. Yet he had to be cautious, any indication of him being a threat to you would make your team act out in unison, pushing him back and covering you like they did the second he descended the ramp.
Ghost would hover over you, his body moving the darkness around him to seem more menacing. Ghost always glared at him when you turned your back to the Brit, his brown eyes swirling with the promise of death and devastation. Ghost wasn’t a physical hybrid, as Horangi had learned, but he had no qualms about keeping a hand on your hip or over your shoulder, acting as an imposing being that showcased his claim on you so publicly. It filled the Korean with envy and anger, he wanted to touch you as easily as the wraith did, he wanted a claim on you like the Lieutenant did, and he wanted to hold you close.
If not Ghost, it’d be Rudy or Gaz crowding you. If you were in the rec room, Gaz would usually be there with you. His arm thrown over your shoulders, pulling you into his side while his wings curled around you two, dark brown feathers ruffled to look menacing but comfortable to your touch. With the way he sat, slouching and legs spread across the sofa, he took all the available seats on the cheap, brown couch. When Gaz caught sight of him, he’d purposefully moved to take up more space, showing just how much one of the nicest of the 141 ostracised him. Although when someone from his TF, he’d move aside, giving space to the man to join them.
If you were walking around the base, Rudy - or Rudolfo as Horangi was forced to call him - would be by your side. Rudy had an arm wrapped around yours, seemingly like a military couple out on a casual walk, or he had his hand on your back, acting as the protective lover. Rudolfo’s smile was always wide and adoring when Horangi saw him walk you, exchanging words and making you laugh. It stung Horangi in an inexplicable way as if someone was knowingly sentencing him to death without any proof of his accountability. Rudy, the second nicest guy, also made glaring passes his way, pulling you closer to his side, directing you away and staring coldly at Horangi.
It rubbed him wrong, all the silent glares and insults at him to push him farther from you, but he was Horangi the Tiger haetae. He made his calculations, he was as smart and as resourceful as he was patient. Give it a few more missions together and they would loosen enough to let him swoop you off your feet. You were his source of comfort, of love and gentleness, he had to protect it.
Unlike Horangi, König actively sought you out on the base, following the trail of your scent and the soft noises of your voice and heartbeat. He was like a dog on your trail, nose sniffing every bit of air for you and ears strained for any noise you’d make. His senses were stretched thin to find a moment with you. He was as animalistic as a hybrid could get, leaning towards his monster to help him with his ops and trials.
You piqued König’s curiosity, making him wander the halls like a lumbering monster in a dark veil and glaring, red eyes. He saw how you treated big and dangerous monsters like the dragon hybrid you had as a captain, a respectable man, as soft as you treated the rowdy and rough werewolf and gracefully dangerous nagual. König wanted to feel your softness on him, your small hand grasping the tight muscles of his shoulders and back, kneading the tension away with grounding massages and stretches. You were their doctor, you cared enough to join them in the field, so you’d naturally be willing to mass the pain out of his body, no?
He wanted moments alone, where he could speak his mind without fear of being interrupted or pushed away for his imposing stature and aura. He wanted to place a hand on your waist, to feel the plush roundness of your stomach and the firm contour of muscle on your thighs. He wanted his voice to carry easily in the void of silence, where his voice could be heard by you from a small whisper. He wanted your eyes to focus on him, solely, as if he was your world.
He found it rather irritatingly difficult to find such moments. When he followed your scent through the halls and down to the medic's office, he’d find Captain Price crowding the room with his powerful musk of Ashe and fire - of metal and iron. Although Price was much shorter and lesser ranked than König was, he held the power of age and wisdom, an unfathomable strength that lay solely in draconic beings. This eternal power that none could rival apart from Eldritch beings, most cower, whimper and hide from dragons. He wore his power and wisdom on his sleeves, a warning for everyone, him and his KorTac operators included. König might’ve been reckless, but he wasn’t a fool, fighting headfirst with dragon seamed chaos and devastation. So, as any hybrid did, he backed away, an old dragon was dangerous, but a crippled one made it even more perilous.
When König tried to find you in the rec room, you were held in the tight embrace of a possessive wolf. Soap had you straddling his lap, facing him as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. He purred and kissed your skin, making you squirm and giggle, but then Soap’s eyes gazed upwards and grew cold and unruly at König’s appearance. A proud - dare he say, cruel - smirk curled the corners of his lips. That was when he realised what the sergeant was doing. Soap, in the open, was scenting you, rubbing his musk over your neck, where - if you were another sifting hybrid like him and Alejandro - would’ve been your scent gland. It was a blatant show of possession. He nipped at your throat, drinking in your yelp and hiss, your back arching and moving to push him from biting too much. It filled him with rage.
If you weren’t with either dragon or werewolf, you were with Alejandro, the Hispanic scenting you as much as Soap did, but he did it with more finesse and subtlety. He would draw your hair back, the gland on his wrist grazing your neck and ears, imprinting you with him. Alejandro would hold your hand, fingers neatly intertwined with yours, his face laying on your shoulder as he spooned you in his lap. He purred and whispered sweet promises that had you nodding and smiling like a child on Christmas. He oosed of pheromones, filling the area with his scent and in turn, covering you completely in him. König watched with envy as Alejandro read to you, cradled between his thighs and falling asleep, his, Soap and everyone else’s musk laying a possession over you.
König’s a determined person when he put his mind to it, willing his beaten and bloodied self back to camp, or his sleep-deprived and insomniac-ridden mind to concentrate on the enemy. He was a battering ram, he pushed forward forcefully, however hard he had to, all to reach the end goal. This time, it wouldn’t be the head of his target, or the capture of an asset, this time, it would be you.
They both wondered, with how close your TF was, what was the dynamic. Was it a pack that shared the same lover? Was it a pack that had formed such a close connection to a human that you were deemed an integral part of the pack? Or were you the child they watched over and protected?
The next few missions 141 and the two from KorTac went on were as successful as the first, the cooperation of two ruthless mercenaries and a hybrid, specialist group made these tasks easy, near child’s play for them. Along with the aspect of having a medic on hand, it let them run wild, play along the edge and act more recklessly than they normally would. Having Horangi and König for so long, made them become a standard in the base, seeing them walk among the shorter and weaker humans. That also meant they had seen their fair share of xenophobic soldiers with balls bigger than a dragon’s and an ego the size of an Eldritch creature.
Every hybrid and monster was used to their hateful glares and sneering venom-dripping words. Ignoring them had become easier after the first year of enrolment. Horangi and König were, however, not used to someone defending them with their most honest heart of gold with earth-shattering words.
The first time they’d seen you defend your team was right after a mission, haunches, lumbering bodies descending the carrier’s ramp with their bags slung over their shoulders and addled with fatigue after a week of deployment. Young, power-hungry sergeants who’d let their ranks get to their heads had slid before them, head held high and shoulders held wide. Every single one of them knew that the moment the sergeant’s mouth opened, nothing good would come out of it. Perhaps degrading insults or back-handed sneers.
When the first sentence slipped from the man’s tongue, you pushed your way between them, barrelling into the man who’d insulted them. A deep frown was etched into your lips, brows creased so darkly into you that it cast a dark shroud of anger over your face. If König hadn’t known that you were a human, he would’ve thought that you were a being of darkness.
“You dim-witted bastards-!” Was the first word you let out, your usually soft-spoken self with gentle hands spewed acid at them, threatening to burn their skin.
Dim-witted, indeed. Old, conservative assholes who thought they were better than the rest with their pro-human propaganda and xenophobic acts against hybrids. Horangi had expected you to continue your scolding, wringing the sergeant dry with your words, not your hands. You used your hands, fingers curled inward, thumb over the curves of your bones and decked the man. It shocked them both, you were smaller, shorter, human and seemed weaker than the men, yet here you were, sending him toppling on the floor, his friend gaping and pouncing on you. Only to be met with your foot to his crotch.
“You bet your ass you won’t get any medical attention after this,” you hissed.
Although your words sounded improbable since you weren’t the only medic on base, you had built a connection through the system, every medic knew you and heeded your words. If one didn’t want a man healed, you and the rest wouldn’t help him. If you wanted a man to suffer, the rest would watch on with you. Medics were themselves, a tight-knit couple that helped one another. So your words were more than a threat, it was a promise.
“Until I see your sorry asses on your deathbed or grovelling, none of us will lift a finger for you. Bleed and beg all you want, but you aren’t getting help.”
You acted with an iron hand, sending the rest to the ground, moaning and groaning, cradling whatever part of their body you’d hit. They wondered why Ghost hadn’t moved, and neither did Gaz or Rudy, the most protective ones. When König glanced down at Ghost, he saw pride in his eyes, dark curled on sadistic pleasure swirling in his brown eyes. When Horangi gazed at Gaz and Rudy, he saw simple amusement, their mouths threatening to curl in a smirk.
All of them had known you’d act this way, erratic and violent rather than calmly scold them and stomp over their ego. You were strong-headed and blunt to them, making them bow to you, like lesser men to a lady, a queen, a goddess.
Horangi had experienced his own protection from you. After the men had loosened enough to trust him and König, he could walk beside you and hold a simple banter, albeit awkward at the start. You were much more violent this time, reaching for the downed man while hissing and screeching after you sent him to the floor with well-aimed kicks. You were like a gremlin, small and lively. He understood your anger, they’d called him racist things, calling out his Asian roots and hybrid characteristics.
Horangi had to hold you from going off on him following your promise of neglecting his medical needs. It worked, though. The first group had searched to plead, to apologise and beg for medical attention. You’d sent them away with a small note lifting the ban for medical help. You were as ruthless with people as they were to enemies.
Any other encounters with hot-headed men and women that glanced at them weirdly were met with a varying amount of anger and disgust from you. Horangi understood why 141 held you so carefully, so tightly in their hold. Why they worshipped you like a priest would do with his goddess. It was a sense of camaraderie that had evolved into love, affection dripping from their pores.
König received a bit more attention for his size, the threatening nature of his ouster coupled with his brute figure, made him a subject of fear and rejection. That hadn’t stopped you from wanting to approach him, had it? Going as far as calling him cute when he stuttered while broaching the subject of him liking certain things. For a burly man with the height of a giant, he was nice to sit next to, his quiet but anxious stature when he wasn’t deployed made it easy to talk to. He might sometimes let his instincts drive him, but they were all well-meaning, wanting nothing but goodness for you.
His turn came in quick succession, he was shunned and ridiculed left and right. It never helped that he would shy from others, preferring his little corner that made the room look stranger and claustrophobic (not that he let them walk all over him, he growled and glared, standing tall with the promise of lashing out or eating them. Even when humans feared König, they still attempted to rile his anger.). But with you, he wasn’t by his lonesome, he had someone to rattle on about the things he liked to do, or the things he wanted to do. His shoulders were relaxed and mind calm, free to speak his mind about the goriest and the sweetest dreams he had, his speech unperturbed by his anxiety.
Unlike the others, König stood before you as an impenetrable wall of muscle and fat when you raised your hand at an insignificant pig. Why would he let someone so disgusting touch you (even though it was to hit and kick the man, he would do it for you instead)? He guarded you as if they were insulting you rather than him - though it was the reverse - and glared down at anyone with dreadfully scary eyes. Like the devil that had risen, he sent them running with their tails tucked between their legs. Although he was the one that had gotten rid of them, he was always so proud of you, holding you close to him and gushing about your brave and inspiring actions.
He saw how the men in 141 looked at you, he wanted to be a part of it, to be able to freely nuzzle your face and hold you like Soap would, to cradle you in his arms and carry you around the base. König wanted a piece of your heart, to be able to show the world he held it in his hands, caring for it between his big, calloused fingers and soft affection. He might be dangerous, he might be deadly, he might be reckless, but if you let him, you would be his world like you were to the others (Horangi would agree, they spoke about it on their own.).
Next
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Newish Comics:
It’s a big week huh.
Hawkgirl #3: I am staring at the camera. Why you do this to me in a title I was enjoying? It’s a MINI! Get them out of here! (Grumble grumble go away Court of the Owls grumble)
On the other hand. Hello Alysia Yeoh.
World’s Finest #19: it’s the Bottle City of Kandor! Phantom Zone! Electrifying the floor of the Fortress! All very dramatic
Wonder Woman #1: ok here we go into Tom King’s world.
I can hmmmm see the shape of the story King is interested in telling? In what he’s setting up? The thing is I’m not certain it’s a Wonder Woman story I’m interested in.
I’m just not sure I can deal with another xenophobia and security paranoia storyline right now. (Also Mutant Control stories always go over so well when Marvel does them [not] why are embracing this in DC?)
I also don’t think I trust King to write a compelling story about the American tendency to maintain an effective class system while denying its existence (look King’s started this with a CROWN, I don’t think subtle interrogation of dynastic power is going to occur here).
The Vigil #5: okay this has been an ‘I am ALSO reading’ title, but it managed to hit the horror straight on for me today. Good job landing this, Ram V. (I think this will read VERY well in trade)
Warlord #20: this week…Deimos is using cloning technology!!! He can grow a perfect clone from a tiny piece of flesh! Also he’s now immortal due to the Mask of Life!
I love the secret Atlantean tech of Skartaris so much you don’t even know.
Anyway Deimos has cloned baby Joshua and sent the clone away to hide while he ages Joshua to adulthood and orders Travis Morgan to fight him to save his life.
This is gonna go REAL WELL I can tell.
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*Someone talks positively about a Latin American country*
Gringos:
Xenophobia at its finest.
The same people that get absolutely pressed when someone talks negatively about their country act like this whenever they see positive posts about third world countries.
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Only A Man
read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OtbXqj1
by Stressedspidergirl
Somewhere around the middle of season 2 of S&L and then not too long after Superman Red & Blue came out as a trade and I reread a certain issue, I started writing this fic.
It is a mix of comic canon from various comic lines and decades, the shows, cartoons, etc. It tracks the evolution of Clark and Lois' relationship, along with the development of his and Bruce's. Then trails into the events of S:R&B (also back to an old 2 issue story of the 70's World's Finest), until it moves to season 2 of S&L.
There are mentions of events from the animated series, and apparently I anticipated plotlines/scenes that just came out in the comics (this week actually) that happen in my fic.
The main essence of the story is love.
Words: 4605, Chapters: 1/45, Language: English
Fandoms: Superman - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types, World's Finest (Comics), DC Animated Universe (Timmverse), DCU (Comics), Superman & Lois (TV 2021), Supergirl (TV 2015)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Characters: J'onn J'onzz, Oliver Queen, Kara Zor-El, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Alfred Pennyworth, Damian Wayne, Perry White, James "Jimmy" Olsen, Kelly Olsen (Supergirl TV 2015), Martha Kent, Tal Rho, Jor-El, Jonathan "Jon" Kent (Superman & Lois TV 2021), Jordan Kent, Sam Lane, Diana (Wonder Woman), Alex Danvers, Bruce Wayne, Lana Lang, Kyle Cushing, Vicki Vale
Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Dinah Lance/Oliver Queen, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne, Alex Danvers/Kelly Olsen
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury Recovery, Recovery, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Sex, Embarrassment, Awkward First Times, Implied/Referenced Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Polyamory, Bisexuality, Family Feels, Falling In Love, Caretaking, Protectiveness, Kryptonian Biology (DCU), Found Family, Extended Families, Loving Marriage, Healthy Relationships, Xenophobia, Autistic Bruce Wayne
read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OtbXqj1
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BL Elitists & Snobbery in Fandom
Disclaimer: My favorite BLs of all time err on the "mature" side, harassing actors is bad, fanservice can be bad, shipping can be toxic, and I too am critical of certain aspects of fandom. Nobody's perfect but let's all try to at least be nice and better than we were yesterday.
Since the premiere of KinnPorsche, there's been an uptick in elitism in the BL fandom. Fans of shows such as KinnPorsche, Bad Buddy, Semantic Error, and other BLs with "mature" themes, BLs produced in East Asia, and/or BLs which cast seasoned actors, increasingly bad-mouth fans of shows like Cutie Pie and others which either exist as pure fluff or take a more trope-y approach to BL storytelling. As a watcher of your ITSAYs and Tonhon Chonlatee's alike, it's a strange sight.
I was already burnt out by all the pandering straights who only enjoy the finest of Taiwanese and Korean BLs and scold the fan service-laden Thai BLs. But it has reached a new level that's, quite frankly, exhausting. It's like, we get it, you want to see the gritty realism of a gay relationship in modern East Asia, you want the glossy production and the seasoned actors in Japan--and the "no-nonsense anti-shipping/fan service" culture in Korean fandoms.... At least that's what you say. But all I see is a need to feel superior and a clear xenophobia that just goes unaddressed. Let's talk about this in parts.
1. Stanning a "mature" BL doesn't make you a better person. Also, saying you have superior taste for stanning ITSAY and Gameboys because "it's LGBT, not BL" is not helpful to anyone.
Let's start here. I will die on the hill that BL is part of LGBT media. I get that people traditionally associate the former with fantastical depictions of gay relationships but I posit this: if Twilight can be classified as a heterosexual romance, with all its blatantly unrealistic and even toxic elements, why can't Dark Blue Kiss or Fish Upon the Sky be LGBT romances? Why must all gay media be about the struggle of being gay? Why can't LGBT-identifying people have a break from the overwhelmingly rough reality we face? It's like saying POC should be limited to films about facing structural racism and borderline modern-day caste systems. As if we can't enjoy an escape from reality like Aladdin or Black Panther or whatever it is that allows us to have all the things western white people have in their media. For some of us, BLs and GLs, however unrealistic they can get, is a fantasy we enjoy. Let those who want it, have it.
2. Trashing Thai BLs just seems like xenophobia at best and color/racial superiority complexes at worst.
Honestly, when people brag about how "Korea is coming for the BL industry" and how superior Korean BLs are, despite how homophobic, boring, and straight up scarce many Korean BLs and BL actors are, it gives "Kpop rappers are better than American rappers" vibes. Like, I have seen people PRAISE Korean and Japanese live-action BLs as superior to anything out of Thailand (and claim ITSAY to be an exception--of course) when the reality of it is is that Thailand is just far more prolific and has been in the live-action game since day 1. Now, I'm not gonna lie, Korea has it's foot on the Yaoi manhwa genre's neck, but that hasn't translated very well into live-action. Moreover, when asked why they prefer Korean BLs overall, these stans can never give a rational answer. But common themes I've noticed include how attracted they are to the MCs, how ~realistic they are (AN: they're not, see: Color Rush, Cherry Blossoms After Winter, and other big names out of Korea), or just how they're "refreshing" as compared with Thai BLs because they're ~above fan service and things like that.
But increasingly, I'm finding that the biggest KBL stans are also kpop stans who just prefer the Korean idol look where everybody is limited to some variation of pale skin, small faces, and eurocentric features. And before anyone tries to come for me, just look at kpop idols, watch documentaries about the toxic single beauty standard and culture, or just talk to your Korean friends (like I do!) The beauty standard is highly specific and everyone must conform to it lest they be ostracized for being "too dark", "looking SEA" (which, why is this an insult?), or "looking poor/old". I'm not saying this to demonize anybody's type, but it feels strange (again, borderline xenophobic) when people who have definitely fetishized that standard reject excellent media on the basis of it. These same people seem to exclusively enjoy BLs from Northeast Asia and/or the white west and wouldn't even give Thai, Filipino, or Black LGBT stories a chance. Again, to each their own but it's the false sense of superiority for me.
As for criticizing the fan service culture, these same fans try to justify their clearly baseless attacks on non-East Asian/white media by saying that, for example, the Thai industry is toxic. But the reality is, Japanese and Korean media practically invented OTT gay fanservice between the straights. Just look at the way kpop and jpop idols are with each other. And while it isn't as OTT with BL actors as it is with the idols, that's likely largely because of how much of a niche BL is in those places compared to the pop idols. There's also something to be said for the fact that LGBTQ+ people, while definitely still discriminated against, are much more visible in places like Thailand. I may be going out on a limb here but I propose that if live-action BLs were as popular in Korea and Japan as they are in Thailand, we'd see a hell of a lot more OTT fan service. And with the recent success of Semantic Error, I can definitely see it happening. You already see it with Taiwanese BLs (MaxHao (however real or not real), anyone?)
3. Letting us know that you're ~not like the other girls, and "don't fetishize gay relationships" is not only blatantly false but also mischaracterizes a lot of the situation.
Now the elephant in the room are those who still enjoy Thai BLs but are so loud about preferring the 1000 Stars' and Bad Buddy's because "there's no seme-uke dynamic and I like that because it makes the characters more real" or "the actors are really good friends behind the scenes and I stan the friendship, not the possible romantic relationship" or, even worse, the "it's none of my business what the actors do outside of the show and I don't ship real people, so I'm better than everyone else who does because that shows my allyship and how I don't even see sexuality." It's giving ACAB, BLM, yet screaming over Black voices vibes.
Now, I never want to trash true allies and I totally agree that it's important not to blur fiction and reality and that we need at least some realistic depictions of gay relationships. But when the hets start going on and on about it whilst at the same time only enjoying BL like it's a dirty secret and assuming actors are straight (but criticizing any notion that an actor may not be), and going on about how everything is fan service so they're just ~above it all anyway...it gives overcompensating for what you know to probably be a fetish within yourself. It gives "I enjoy looking at two hot guys I wish I could fuck go at it and don't want to stop, so I'll pretend like I'm down for the cause, when in reality, I am very much just like the other girls" (girls used gender-neutrally here lol). I don't know, it just seems so fake to me.
And while I'm not saying I prefer delusional, toxic, shippers, there's something to be said for not pretending to be better when, in fact, you aren't. Why can't you consume BL the same way you consume straight romances (or even GLs)? Why does it have to be some activist political thing when you do it? Like, obviously don't fetishize MLM relationships but, speaking as a minority in many senses of the word, the way to normalize non-traditional relationships isn't to constantly make a big deal out of how you think they should operate in media when the reality is, as long as no one is being harmed, diverse representation is the easiest and best way to present any group of individuals. Like, not all Asians know martial arts and are super smart, not all Black people are artistically and athletically gifted, not all white people are wealthy and powerful. Likewise, not all LGBTQ+ people live the same lifestyle. Some are heteronormative. Some are femme in femme/femme relationships. Some have a lot of sex, some don't have sex at all. Why can't we show all these perspectives and allow people to like what they like, again, and I stress, as long as no one is being harmed?
Like, yes, we should definitely not encourage delusional waanjais who give Gulf porn art of him and Mew, but, there's a happy medium where we can do away with harmful representations and actions toward marginalized groups but also celebrate their diversity and people's love of their stories. I just don't see why elitists have to act like they're above everyone else when they are really all in the same boat.
That said, I will still (playfully, of course) roast anyone who actually enjoys boring ass Check Out, because that shit is just horrible lmao. But the difference here is roasting someone's taste in media vs. acting like you're doing the community a favor by uplifting strong masc/masc, non-heteronormative, non fs-driven relationships. Like what you like, roast what you want to roast, just don't be pretentious about it as if you're taking some sort of political stance on it.
I understand I too may fall victim to shaming certain behaviors, but the key is in noticing you're doing it and reeling yourself in. Life is about happy mediums, not extremes.
Anyway, that's just my take.
#thai bl boys love#korean bl japanese bl yaoi#kinnporsche bad buddy semantic error#cutie pie i told sunset about you tonhon chonlatee#check out 1000 stars itsay a tale of a thousand stars color rush cherry blossoms after winter dark blue kiss fish upon the sky
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The Sad Mutant in the Room, Picard s1e1 rewatch.
Is this the way Star Trek? Melancholy may not seem very Star Trek, but stories of chasing redemption and hope seem worthy of the chevron. This is part of a series of essays in which I rewatch Star Trek Picard and explore the fandom accusation that it made the Federation into a darker, more dystopian place.
There’s no way to not acknowledge the influence of Logan. Clearly Stewart as an actor loves playing out a character facing the loss of everything that had given his life purpose and finding a path back to hope. Clearly audiences respond to this too. The Mandalorian, The Witcher, Logan, even to some extent the prototypical story of Batman and Robin: we love a story about a tortured soul being shaken out of complacency and resignation to doom by a sense of responsibility for a young sidekick.
It feels slightly out of place in a setting supposed to already be hopeful but the more I’ve dug into Star Trek Picard, the more I’ve begun to feel that pronouncing this story to be a betrayal of Star Trek or to be a dystopia is misguided. I have written more on this and will write more to come.
Suffice to say, in my ruminations a core theme of Star Trek at its finest is an acceptance that things can’t always be perfect if you want dramatic tension. As I note in the essay that outlines my analysis of the dystopia discourse, there’s something about the TNG era that is perhaps less “extra” than TOS when it comes to themes of galavanting around the universe, lecturing less developed civilizations on their failings. Yet that is still a recurring theme of TNG.
I’m no hardcore moral relativist for the purposes of examining and acting upon my conscience. I accept that other cultures may prefer to do things that I find odious and that it can be counterproductive, even ruinous to try to impose change from outside. On the other hand, I have absolutely no problem saying that for instance the women of Iran are well within their rights to fight for autonomy and also dignity in whatever way they define it.
Yet again though, one can be proud of the achievements of one’s society and find your norms and practices preferable to those of another society but if one is only ever directing criticism outwards and never engaging in any reflection whatsoever, that’s a problem.
This is where episodes like “The Drumbeat” are fantastic, because they depict the hard emotional and intellectual labor that it takes to protect a just society. Such as being willing to name a problem where you see it and act accordingly, as Picard does to defy Admiral Satie and protect his crew from has quickly spiraled into a full blown inquisition fueled by xenophobia.
It must be acknowledged too, that this happened! That it did happen means that the Federation can objectively be a better, and more just society than the audience finds itself in, yet still be engaged in a never ending struggle to keep our darker impulses from flipping the table, baring their fangs at strangers, and hoarding power and affluence.
Which brings us back to Picard the character and Picard the setting. As I said before, this seems to be one of those times where the Federation needs saving from itself and the criticism needs to be directed inwards. I don’t see that all is lost. I’ll do a deeper dive into why I think the Federation made a tragic error based on bad information, not because it lost its soul, but for now that’s where I land on this.
A solid narrative needs something to struggle against and hopelessness was a fine thing to struggle against in 2020. It's still a fine thing to struggle against in 2023. Even in Star Trek. I find my own anger and frustration mirrored back to me, but I also find myself inspired by Picard the character and his capacity to allow his moral compass to lead him out of defeat and despair.
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youtube
Top 50 Albums of 2022
4. Skinty Fia by Fontaines D.C.
Considering their cult-like status and massive global following, it can be quite easy to forget that Fontaines D.C. only founded in 2017. Where a lot of artists after a highly successful debut will sit and stew over their follow-up for years on end before releasing another album, in just five short years the Irish post-punk quintet have already found themselves on record number three.
In that time, they have set a very high bar for themselves too – from their instant classic, Mercury Prize-nominated debut Dogrel to their darker, brilliantly moody sophomore record A Hero’s Death, they’ve already delivered two of the finest albums of the last few years. Both those records landed inside my Top 20 in 2019 and 2020 respectively, but now their incredible third album, Skinty Fia, has earned them their highest spot to date on my annual year-end countdown.
The brilliant teaser tracks for Skinty Fia released earlier in the year heavily suggested Fontaines were about to unleash their best album to date with this latest opus. Now after playing it constantly throughout the year, I am certain that it more than holds up to the extremely high standard set by its two predecessors and that it is for me personally, my favourite of their records so far.
Whilst they may have lost some of the raw punk energy that made Dogrel so captivating, their confidence in what they’re creating has grown and it is coming through loud and clear in the music. The musicianship is more accomplished, the songs more dynamic and Chatten’s poetic storytelling is as entrancing as ever.
In ár gCroíthe go deo sets the tone perfectly – a sermon-like six-minute opener that draws on known modern tales of Irish people living in England and highlighting some of the xenophobia they have faced. With the album largely inspired by the band’s own experiences since moving to London, it is a central theme that runs right through the record.
Big Shot is more classic Fontaines, with the band pondering their newfound fame with genius lyrics like “I travelled to space and found the moon too small.” As great as the original album recording is, the live arrangement of this song is even better, as you can see from the beautiful string-tinged Glasto performance above. How Cold Love Is then features the perfect contrast between a sweet, romantic guitar melody and Grian’s drawling, tired vocals, sonically encapsulating the song’s lyrical subject matter perfectly.
When Jackie Down The Line was released earlier this year it immediately became one of my favourite tracks within their catalogue, and since then only one thing has changed – it is now one of my favourite songs of the whole year too. With a signature jangly guitar melody and an infectious refrain of “I will wear you down in time, I will hurt you, I’ll desert you, I am Jackie down the line” along with the odd “do do do, la la la”, I still think it’s brilliant. The meandering grungy riffs of Bloomsday then make way for other single Roman Holiday, which has a strong, very noticeable Oasis feel to it, both in terms of the Noel Gallagher-esque guitars and Chatten’s own Liam impersonation (which isn't a bad thing).
The Couple Across The Way then sees Grian describing an argumentative couple whilst reflecting on his own relationship. With the track featuring a simple accordion backing for a more Irish trad style feel to it, it divided fans upon release but I have personally always loved it. The accompanying music video is well worth seeking out too, as it really brings the song to life. It arrives at just the right time in the tracklist too, acting as almost a palette cleanser that sets up the final three tracks in quite emphatic fashion. Once the accordion fades and the title track’s brilliantly glitchy synths and thumping drums kick in, you’re suddenly transported into a different zone, and it makes for an utterly exhilarating crossover. With heavy Joy Division vibes, the title track is simply pulsating and another big album highlight.
If that wasn't good enough, subsequent track I Love You then arrives to blow nearly everything else out of the water. Hugely atmospheric, it steadily builds to Grian Chatten’s passionate vocal cries in the song’s outro, with more stunningly poetic lyrics:
“And I loved you like a penny loves the pocket of a priest,
And I’ll love you ‘til the grass around my gravestone is deceased,
And I’m heading for the cokeys, I will tell 'em 'bout it all,
About the gall of Fine Gael and the fail of Fianna Fáil,
And now the flowers read like broadsheets, every young man wants to die,
Say it to the man who profits, and the bastard walks by,
And the bastard walks by, and the bastard walks by,
Say it to him fifty times and still the bastard won’t cry,
Would I Lie?”
After that jaw-dropping moment, Nabokov then arrives to close the record out perfectly, with some dreamy, spiralling shoegaze riffs that eventually fade the album to black.
Whilst the debate surrounding which Fontaines record is the best will no doubt rage on, and everyone will likely have their own favourite of the three too, there are still some universal conclusions that can be drawn about Skinty Fia. The main one being that this is another hugely impressive and brilliantly crafted work, from one of the finest bands operating anywhere on the planet right now. A worthy addition to their increasingly remarkable discography and without a doubt, one of the year’s very best albums.
Best tracks: Jackie Down The Line, I Love You, In ár gCroíthe go deo
Listen here
#new music#best new music#albums of the year#album recommendation#album of the year#best of 2022#best of the year#aoty#aoty 2022#best albums of 2022#albums of 2022#fontaines d.c.#big shot#glastonbury#glastonbury 2022#skinty fia#grian chatten#Youtube
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From Hell. By Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell. Top Shelf, 2006 (originally 1989-1998).
Rating: 3/5
Genre: graphic novel, crime noir/horror
Series: N/A
Summary: Having proved himself peerless in the arena of reinterpreting superheroes, Alan Moore turned his ever-incisive eye to the squalid, enigmatic world of Jack the Ripper and the Whitechapel murders of 1888. Weighing in at 576 pages, From Hell is certainly the most epic of Moore's works and remarkably and is possibly his finest effort yet in a career punctuated by such glorious highlights as Watchmen and V for Vendetta. Going beyond the myriad existing theories, which range from the sublime to the ridiculous, Moore presents an ingenious take on the slaughter. His Ripper's brutal activities are the epicentre of a conspiracy involving the very heart of the British Establishment, including the Freemasons and The Royal Family. A popular claim, which is transformed through Moore's exquisite and thoroughly gripping vision, of the Ripper crimes being the womb from which the 20th century, so enmeshed in the celebrity culture of violence, received its shocking, visceral birth.
Bolstered by meticulous research that encompasses a wide spectrum of Ripper studies and myths and coupled with his ability to evoke sympathies in such monstrous characters, Moore has created perhaps the finest examination of the Ripper legacy, observing far beyond society's obsessive need to expose Evil's visage. Ultimately, as Moore observes, Jack's identity and his actions are inconsequential to the manner in which society embraced the Fear: "It's about us. It's about our minds and how they dance. Jack mirrors our hysterias. Faceless, he is the receptacle for each new social panic."
***Full review below.***
CONTENT WARNINGS: misogyny, antisemitism, nudity, blood, gore, violence, graphic sexual content, incest, racism/xenophobia
OVERVIEW: I was a bit disappointed by the last thing I read about a historical serial killer, so I figured I'd finally pick this book up in an attempt to read something more thought-provoking. I have a lot of respect for Alan Moore, so I went into this with high hopes and high expectations. Unfortunately, I can't say this is among my favorites of Moore's work. While the art was quite impressive and I appreciated the supplemental materials included in the Top Shelf 2006 edition, I just wasn't blown away by Moore's Ripper story. So for those reasons, this book only gets 3 stars from me.
WRITING/ART: There isn't much prose, per se, in this graphic novel, so I'll use this space to primarily talk about Campbell's art.
Overall, I was actually quite impressed by the art. Campbell draws with a scratchy, sketchy style with a lot of messy lines. Personally, I was reminded somewhat of Victorian-era engravings, though Campell's art is a lot looser. Campbell's art really shines, I think, when depicting architecture and London scenery. Because the artist uses a lot of straight lines for things like tone and shading, the build environment comes across as more controlled and deliberate than his organic forms, and I very much enjoyed the scenes with a lot of buildings in them.
PLOT: The plot of this graphic novel primarily tells the story of William Gull, Royal Physician to Queen Victoria and her family. When Prince Albert Victor marries a common shop girl and fathers a child on her, Victoria enlists Gull's help to silence those who know about it: namely four women who are looking to use the information to their advantage. Little does Victoria know that Gull is a Freemason with cosmic visions of time and space; Gull also believes that murdering these women will bring about a future in which women's power is suppressed. His fanatic killing leqds the papers to dub him "Jack the Ripper." Meanwhile, Inspector Abberline tries to uncover Jack's identity, all while being undermined by those in Scotland Yard who are in league with Victoria and Gull.
Personally, I was not very impressed by the plot as a whole. Having Jack the Ripper be a Freemason with delusions about time and space wasn't as thought-provoking as I had hoped, and even linking the Royal Family to the killings didn't have quite the punch as I wanted. Perhaps I'm not understanding Moore's intention or else I'm just not all that impressed by conspiracy theories and Freemasons; whatever the reason, I didn't quite think about the Ripper killings in a new way or use them as a lens for reinterpreting other aspects of politics, history, gender, etc. If anything, Moore seems interested in the concept of time, but I'm puzzled by the decision to use the Ripper murders as the vehicle for exploring this.
Also (and this is a minor complaint), the amount of random sexual content in this graphic novel was a little off-putting. While some sexual content is understandable, i felt like some was inserted for edgy shock value, and I got tired of it after a while.
But even though I wasn't a big fan of the story, I very much appreciated the annotations included in the back of the book. The annotations talk extensively about the creative choices and the historical context, and I found them to be a useful tool for analyzing the narrative.
CHARACTERS: There are quite a few characters in this book so I'll only focus on a handful, for brevity.
William Gull (the Royal Physician and Jack the Ripper) was not very interesting, in my opinion. As a doctor who was also a Freemason and a believer in a certain cosmic view of space and time, he's more of an archetype - the crazy mystic who I driven to kill for zealous reasons. Personally, I find most stories that imagine an identity for Jack the Ripper to be difficult, as attaching an identity takes away some of the mystery. Of course, Moore wasn't trying to write a mystery, so perhaps this is a case of me having very particular tastes.
Abberline, the Inspector, was fairly sympathetic in that he seemed honest and down to earth. His kindness towards a woman named Emma made me like him for a while, though I did sour on him when he became angry and misogynistic.
The five victims of the Ripper were also sympathetic and I appreciated that we got to know them and their struggles a little before they were killed. I do wish there was a little more done with the injustice of their killing (and the conspiracy to cover it up), but Moore doesn't seem to be as interested in class and gender dynamics as it pertains to these women.
TL;DR: From Hell contains some impressive art and a very useful section of annotations; overall, though, it was not a particularly memorable reimaging of Jack the Ripper or a compelling commentary on the topics it aims to explore.
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Note #4534
The wish cities of Alat-Shef are the finest places in the world. Inside these magnificent cities are the dizziest heights of extravagant wealth, flourishing art, and technological golden ages—guarded by the fiercest legions of the most merciless soldiers. Their walls are pure white and perfectly smooth. They could subjugate the entire continent with a mighty crusade, but their xenophobia keeps them wholly inside their walls. And besides, why trouble oneself with the affairs of a lesser world? So the insides remain a matter of continual debate and mythology to the outsides. The most a commoner could ever hope to see is a vagrant wish ranger sitting in the corner of a bar with a stern eye, armor gleaming pure white.
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Only A Man
by Stressedspidergirl
Somewhere around the middle of season 2 of S&L and then not too long after Superman Red & Blue came out as a trade and I reread a certain issue, I started writing this fic.
It is a mix of comic canon from various comic lines and decades, the shows, cartoons, etc. It tracks the evolution of Clark and Lois' relationship, along with the development of his and Bruce's. Then trails into the events of S:R&B (also back to an old 2 issue story of the 70's World's Finest), until it moves to season 2 of S&L.
There are mentions of events from the animated series, and apparently I anticipated plotlines/scenes that just came out in the comics (this week actually) that happen in my fic.
The main essence of the story is love.
Words: 4605, Chapters: 1/45, Language: English
Fandoms: Superman - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types, World's Finest (Comics), DC Animated Universe (Timmverse), DCU (Comics), Superman & Lois (TV 2021), Supergirl (TV 2015)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Characters: J'onn J'onzz, Oliver Queen, Kara Zor-El, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Alfred Pennyworth, Damian Wayne, Perry White, James "Jimmy" Olsen, Kelly Olsen (Supergirl TV 2015), Martha Kent, Tal Rho, Jor-El, Jonathan "Jon" Kent (Superman & Lois TV 2021), Jordan Kent, Sam Lane, Diana (Wonder Woman), Alex Danvers, Bruce Wayne, Lana Lang, Kyle Cushing, Vicki Vale
Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Dinah Lance/Oliver Queen, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne, Alex Danvers/Kelly Olsen
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury Recovery, Recovery, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Sex, Embarrassment, Awkward First Times, Implied/Referenced Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Polyamory, Bisexuality, Family Feels, Falling In Love, Caretaking, Protectiveness, Kryptonian Biology (DCU), Found Family, Extended Families, Loving Marriage, Healthy Relationships, Xenophobia, Autistic Bruce Wayne
via https://ift.tt/fvFGpys
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*I received a free review copy in exchange for an honest review of this book.
DNF 24% in.
The worldbuilding is pretty dense and frequently relies on descriptions of visual details in a way that’s hard for me to process due to my aphantasia. Ultimately it didn’t work for me, so I’m stopping.
Full review at link
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Just a reminder that we the third world, the global south, the former colonies, more than just having been forcibly violently colonized by Europeans powers, also received TONS of waves of European inmigrants whenever we discovered new resources or when Europe was having a war and dragging us all with them.
So I hope ya'll remember that before you vote for goverments that spread the idea of closing off borders.
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love when americans will deem something weird and uncommon and mock it and make fun of anyone who does it, and the thing in question is commonplace in every single country other than the usa
#xenophobia at its finest#replace thing with: watching korean dramas#writing dd/mm/yy#liking anime#using fahrenheit#idk
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I want someone in the batfam to lecture Wes on the importance of secret identities because you bet they will once they figure out that Wes has been trying to expose Danny ever since he figured it out.
Tim or someone else: I already get kidnapped enough as it is just by being rich, do you want to see Danny potentially kidnapped and experimented on for being even slightly less human????
Jason probably: Xenophobia at its finest
Wes: ... ( thinking about it then remember phantom pranking his camera and locker) .... yes?
LOL I more so imagine them all trying to scare Wes.. but wes just finding out each of their identities instead =w='...
So it becomes a bigger problem and Danny like yeaaah he's annoying : T
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I think it's ironic that the stop asian hate tag is near frozen because not enough asians are talking about our experiences with racism (can't count myself out, I'm guilty of this too) (I always asked myself if I was allowed to reblog asian-specific posts and usually decided not to since 'I had reblogged enough asian stuff')
being invisible and convenient were what we were taught to be, and every time we talk about the racism we experienced we are somehow ashamed that we have the audacity to tell others that we are human beings who can feel pain
especially since posting asian-centric stuff online means you've gotta be braced for backlash from racists and people who want a convenient target to take their frustrations out on (the logic goes something like this: 'you are pathetic, there is no racism against asians')
there's so much fear involved with the simple act of stating, "I have been wronged," because we know to expect the vultures that'll swoop in to screech and invalidate every experience we've ever had (gaslighting at its fucking finest)
it is taboo to talk about our history, it is taboo to be less than perfectly assimilated into whichever country we've immigrated to, it is taboo to be "cringe" with our "asianness", it is humor to laugh at our appearance and degrade our elderly
state governments think of us as "immigrants" and "pests" and "viruses" that must be kept out, I mean what the FUCK how audacious can you be with your xenophobia
our own neighbors hate us so much that they would idly watch people initiate violent attacks on us like it's some kind of funny game
you know what fuck you
I am allowed to be angry
we are allowed to be angry
this anger is allowed to be permanent and lasting and you bet your ass I will not stop being angry
why should we be so careful about asking for basic human respect? why is it a given that we shouldn't expect for others to stand up for us in racist situations?
we should be allowed to expect decency
we should be allowed to exist without being ridiculed or fetishized or objectified
and it is bullshit that the above standards are something we are lucky to be "allowed"
#stop asian hate#fuck racism#my thoughts#yeah this is a rant but I am 'allowed' to be angry aren't I?#or should I get that fucking signed and approved by Experts?
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THIS IS RIDICULOUS
Billboard number one song competing with BTS??? REALLY? This is the conflict? This is how y'all marketing Olivia now?
What, the angsty emo teenage songs isn't enough? The Adele meet Taylor Swift in Genz twilight zone isn't enough? The perpetuating negative and toxic stereotypes of women tearing eachother up over some piece of dick and profiting off of it isn't enough?
FREE OLIVIA. FREE SABRINA
And how about y'all stop profiting off of BTS's fame and success. How about that?
This is the worst form of xenophobia I've ever seen! These cis white male marketers behind her need to hit the breaks. They are giving me Super M vibes. A whole group created to take on BTS- are y'all not embarrassed?
FREE BTS
It dont feel like a healthy competition no more, it feels like a purge. It feels like someone wants to get rid of the kpop world domination and infiltration into the US market. It feels like an industry trying its hardest to reset and reclaim their spot as the 'greatest' in the music industry. It feels like someone set out to target and dethrone the biggest most influential Mc for the youth.
It feels like someone is rallying up all the BTS antis they can find behind them to go up against BTS in a showdown on charts.
This is white supremacy at its finest.
Yall need to back off BTS now
I don't even get why they are pushing her to compete with A BOYBAND. They get that BTS is a boyband right?? I really don't get it.
Olivia has her place in the industry. She has her audience or is building her audience.
Let her cater to them.
BTS have their place too- it's right there on top of the charts😏
And they've put their backs into it. 8yrs and counting. It didn't get handed to them. No cis white man behind them pushed the radio plays on their behalf.
It dont have to be a competition.
THEY ARE THE BIGGEST BOYBAND IN THE WORLD PERIOD.
Signed,
A really pissed off BTS stan, GOLDY
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