hello!! can you please recommend you favourite fanfic about kevin day. i really need a good fanfic about him. just him and his thoughts and reflections! maybe you know some?
and also i want some good fics about kevin day and jean moreau!
FIC REC TIME
I will always think of this quote from Nora’s extra content
“Their brotherly love was partly destroyed by the evolution of Andrew’s character--the more of Andrew I took away, the less room there was for Aaron--and mostly doomed by their destructive mother”
What do you mean that the more people took from Andrew the more they took from Aaron. They where doomed from the moment they where conceived by their mother. There isn’t a single moment where the twins weren’t meant to stray from each other
The Kings men, chapter four
Okay i'm literally shaking posting this, i've been working on it for days i lost all objectivity about it.
Someone requested this scene when I asked for recommendations on an older post, so this is tkm chapter four:
"Andrew sprawled on the couch in the lounge while Kevin went ahead to change out. Neil hesitated, changed his mind and started after Kevin, and changed his mind again. He stood behind the couch, folding his arms across the back of it, and peered down at Andrew. Andrew had one arm folded under his head and the other draped over his eyes to block the light. 'One of these days you might as well practice with us,' Neil said."
This scene is so long I had to cut some parts (including the incredible "You let us run ourselves into the ground and clean up behind us. You play the game like you play life. That's why you're so good at it.").
Not to mention Andrew's height fear, one of my all-time favorite aftg quotes ("When you said you were afraid of heights, you were joking, right?" "Andrew, you can't be. What were you doing on the roof?" "Feeling." -tkm ch.5).
Update: I cut the (too long) comic into smaller images so that you can open it and have a better quality, hope it works!
The Kings men, chapter four
Okay i'm literally shaking posting this, i've been working on it for days i lost all objectivity about it.
Someone requested this scene when I asked for recommendations on an older post, so this is tkm chapter four:
"Andrew sprawled on the couch in the lounge while Kevin went ahead to change out. Neil hesitated, changed his mind and started after Kevin, and changed his mind again. He stood behind the couch, folding his arms across the back of it, and peered down at Andrew. Andrew had one arm folded under his head and the other draped over his eyes to block the light. 'One of these days you might as well practice with us,' Neil said."
This scene is so long I had to cut some parts (including the incredible "You let us run ourselves into the ground and clean up behind us. You play the game like you play life. That's why you're so good at it.").
Not to mention Andrew's height fear, one of my all-time favorite aftg quotes ("When you said you were afraid of heights, you were joking, right?" "Andrew, you can't be. What were you doing on the roof?" "Feeling." -tkm ch.5).
Update: I cut the (too long) comic into smaller images so that you can open it and have a better quality, hope it works!
this is what it means to be human
WRITE IT ANYWAY!!! EVEN IF YOU DONT THINK YOURE GOOD ENOUGH!!! WRITE!!! IT!!!! ANYWAY!!!!!!!
Worlds of Ursula K. Le Guin (2018), dir. Arwen Curry
The next line of her speech is also great: “Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings.”
Speech in Acceptance of the National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters
To the givers of this beautiful reward, my thanks, from the heart. My family, my agents, my editors, know that my being here is their doing as well as my own, and that the beautiful reward is theirs as much as mine. And I rejoice in accepting it for, and sharing it with, all the writers who’ve been excluded from literature for so long — my fellow authors of fantasy and science fiction, writers of the imagination, who for fifty years have watched the beautiful rewards go to the so-called realists.
Hard times are coming, when we’ll be wanting the voices of writers who can see alternatives to how we live now, can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope. We’ll need writers who can remember freedom — poets, visionaries — realists of a larger reality.
Right now, we need writers who know the difference between production of a market commodity and the practice of an art. Developing written material to suit sales strategies in order to maximise corporate profit and advertising revenue is not the same thing as responsible book publishing or authorship.
Yet I see sales departments given control over editorial. I see my own publishers, in a silly panic of ignorance and greed, charging public libraries for an e-book 6 or 7 times more than they charge customers. We just saw a profiteer try to punish a publisher for disobedience, and writers threatened by corporate fatwa. And I see a lot of us, the producers, who write the books and make the books, accepting this — letting commodity profiteers sell us like deodorant, and tell us what to publish, what to write.
Books aren’t just commodities; the profit motive is often in conflict with the aims of art. We live in capitalism, its power seems inescapable — but then, so did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art. Very often in our art, the art of words.
I’ve had a long career as a writer, and a good one, in good company. Here at the end of it, I don’t want to watch American literature get sold down the river. We who live by writing and publishing want and should demand our fair share of the proceeds; but the name of our beautiful reward isn’t profit. Its name is freedom.
Thank you.
i don’t know. i’m barely a person. i just want to be kind and hold someone’s hand. eat an ice cream cone. stare at the lake. feel the sun on my skin. lay in the grass. run through a sprinkler. it’s so easy to forget life is supposed to feel like a deep breath and not a gasp
What I love the most about Rf kuangs books is the subject of being forgotten, how no one will ever know speerly culture asides from the anger, the Phoenix and the actions of altan and rin, how even if Altan lived there for a while he wasn't able to recall anything but the rage and the suffering, not even the reader is spared from this fate; no one will ever know about the sacrifices of Venka or the cike because they were made to be invisible, they will remember Rin as a monster but never as a best friend or as a good student because that doesn't matter on the big picture, but for us the reader, is everything.
How robin will never know that griffin wasn't always angry but that he to loved his consort but was forced to be alone in the sake of revolution, everyone will remember the tower being destroyed but not the students that destroyed it. The worst of their actions will rewrite history but no one will ever now that they to, loved once. As a scholar the greatest fear is forgetting, because what do we do if not digging the earth to find what's hidden and trying to learn it again. Yes history moves in such vicious circles, but only because we forget it, because people haven't told us that this story has long started. and that's the Fate that all of them share.
this is so “do you love him?” “yes. more than anyone else in the world” and “fight well. keep us safe. i love you.” and “he loves her. of this he is certain” and “is there anyone in the coalition you trust?” “venka” and “lovely, wonderful kitay” and “she would draw this moment out forever if she could” and “i left for you” and “i’ll hate you for it but i’ll love you forever” and “she terrifies him and he loves her so much it hurts” and “should’ve realized that venka was trying to save her life” and “kitay. her best friend. her anchor” and “ah, i get it. you’re in love” and “did they love one another so fiercely, so desperately?” and rin and nezha and kitay and venka
The Phoenix outright states: ‘You humans always think you’re destined for things, for tragedy or for greatness. Destiny is a myth. Destiny is the only myth. The gods choose nothing. You chose.’ But is that true?
Altan and especially Rin were doomed by the narrative the moment Speer was razed, the moment they were whisked from their homes to a lab or an abusive household.
The thing is: nobody actually wanted them. They were dirty Speerly shaman trash; Altan was experimented on and Rin was abused for her entire childhood. Even in Sinegard, they were both discriminated against - Altan’s a freak of nature who is used for entertainment even if people fear him, and Rin is only her skin colour - even though they both worked so hard and DESERVED to go there. Nobody wanted them until they went to the Cike.
This fuels the anger that has been curated since they were literal kids. Of course they’re angry, and of course they don’t know how to express that in a healthy way - they’ve ALWAYS been abused, they’ve never known anything else. Obviously that doesn’t excuse some of the things they’ve done because of this anger (see: Altan’s abusive behaviour and Rin’s genocide), but the people around them, and society as a whole, failed them. There were two children, maybe Speerlies, but they were two hurt and scared children.
They did choose some things, but they were doomed the moment that Nikan decided to place them in Shiro and the Fangs’ hands. They were so angry, so hurt, so scared - they never would know anything else, really.
Fate doomed not only Rin’s fate, but the possible future she’d have with Nezha. They loved each other, but they could never have each other. Rinezha are the star-crossed lovers, the Romeo and Juliet, the Pyramus and Thisbe, the fleeting touch, the only kiss, the necessary betrayal and the leaving one behind. They are a walking juxtaposition - fire and water, general who wants absolute destruction and government official/ruler who needs Nikan to be safe for the future, poor and rich etc etc. And yet, they have these soft moments because they know how war destroys; they love each other in spite of all of this, but they can never have each other, because Nezha is the last Yin left, and Rin will never live in a world where Hesperians rule her home.
The Phoenix (and Rin by extension, I guess) doesn’t believe fate exists - that there is a choice for everything - but literally everything ensured Rin and Nezha would never be happy and in love: their race, their positions in power, their ideologies, their families, their relationships with other people, their thought patterns, their beliefs, their relationship with their power/shamanism… literally everything would’ve fucked them up. And yet, here they are defying fate, only to fall back into it again. Love is not enough.
The same goes for Altan and Chaghan. They can never have a healthy relationship where Altan doesn’t die. Altan cannot live, he’s self destructive and miserable and angry. He lives only to destroy and when he isn’t destroying, he wants to die.
They could’ve made choices, yes, but nobody makes rational choices in war. They were limited by the tools society gave them, and yeah, they were awful people, but fate itself doomed them before they were old enough to think.
:(
we're collectively glossing over one of the best-written, most heartbreaking parts of babel (huge spoilers ahead):
"He would never know, for instance, that there was a time when Griffin, Sterling, Anthony, and Evie had thought of themselves as a cohort as eternally bonded as Robin's did; or that Griffin and Sterling had quarrelled once over Evie, bright and vibrant and brilliant and beautiful Evie, or that Griffin truly hadn't meant it when he'd killed her. In his retellings of that night, Griffin made himself out to be a calm and deliberate murderer. But the truth was that, like Robin, he'd acted without thinking, from anger, from fear, but not from malice; he did not even really believe it would work, for silver responded only sporadically to his command, and he didn't know what he'd done until Evie was bleeding out on the floor. Nor would he ever know that Griffin, unlike Robin, had no cohort to lean on after his act, no one to help him absorb the shock of this violence. And so he'd swallowed it, curled in around it, made it a part of himself – and while for others this might have been the first step on the road to madness, Griffin Lovell had instead whittled this capacity to kill into a sharp and necessary weapon."
