Every year the Russian Team does a bar crawl. It’s a tradition now. They all have T-shirts that have Yakov’s face on the front (Above the word Фелстман bolded and underlined) and, on the back, a skater’s name in large bolded font below an alphabetized list of every skater Yakov’s ever had in much smaller text. They get new T-shirts every time someone new is added to the roster, so usually every year or two.
They change the T-shirts to include Yuuri, and also to change Viktor’s name to his married name. Yuuri has no idea that this is even a thing until he walks into the rink one morning to see Yuri skating around with a pile of bright purple T-shirts in his arms.
“Yo, Katsudon,” Yuri mutters when he gets to him, flipping through shirts distractedly. He’s almost a normal person this early in the morning, before the vitriol has settled into his bones for the day. “So your stupid husband didn’t tell us what size you are, but you wear his clothes all the time anyway and since you have the same last name it was just less complicated to order two of the same size. Here.” He drops them so quickly that Yuuri almost overbalances to catch them. He’s halfway across the rink by the time Yuuri straightens back up, making his way towards one of the Juniors who Yuuri thinks might be named Katya.
“Ooh, the shirts came in,” Viktor says happily when he catches up. He takes one and holds it up to the light. The picture of Yakov on the front is…not exactly flattering. “Wow! They look even better than last year! Purple is a much better color than green.”
“What am I looking at?” Yuuri demands, staring dumbfounded at his own T-shirt.
“Yakov, of course,” Viktor says happily. He flips the shirt around. Yuuri startles at the giant, bold
Кацуки-Никифоров on the back. Viktor scans the smaller text (Which is, weirdly enough, in the shape of a skating boot) and says, “Ah, here you are.” Yuuri leans over.
“Yeah, that’s…definitely my name,” Yuuri says, brows furrowing. Юрий Кацуки-Никифоров. It is, of course, right next to Виктор Кацуки-Никифоров. He’s familiar enough with the other skaters’ names to realize that the small text is Yakov’s roster. “Um, why though?”
“I’m not sure!” Viktor says happily. “I came here after it started! I’ll go put these in our lockers. Start warming up please, Kitten!”
Viktor skates away. Yakov’s face seems to wink at him, over and over again, from where Viktor is clutching the shirts by his hip.
“After WHAT started?” Yuuri demands to the room at large. Nobody answers him.
Viktor eventually does explain what they are for, the afternoon before the bar crawl itself. He also shows Yuuri the dozen past bar crawl shirts he owns. The passage of time is indicated by the growing shirt sizes and Yakov’s hairline. Yakov had almost a full head of hair when Viktor first joined the roster.
“Does Yakov know about this?” Yuuri mutters, staring at the shirts in awe.
“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Viktor says. “Lilia makes the shirt orders for us. It’s the only reason she’s not on the shirt too, honestly.”
Every single day, Yuuri is more and more amazed that Yakov Feltsman has not taken to the Siberian wilderness to live in seclusion and blessed silence.
If he was being honest, he’d actually been anticipating a reaction.
While he’d been away at school, he’d started meeting people and making new
friends. Some of those friends had turned out to be fitness guys, who loved running
and working out. Stiles had ended up accompanying them on numerous gym trips,
until eventually he liked it enough to just go, with or without them. He’d
liked the feeling of being stronger, being able to trust his body to do what he
He’d become more confident with his looks, and started accepting invitations
to parties. He’d started buying better-fitting clothes to show off his
physique, and felt incredibly flattered when he was flirted with often. He’d
kissed a lot of people, talked to a lot more, learned as much as he could, and
even hooked up a few times.
i accidentally turned ur post notes off on mobile and checking my phone and not seeing any for like a whole day made me so sad.. i didn't even know man like if you went on haitus for a while i would be fine but i thought somethin had happened to u and u popped up on my dash and this rush of happiness just flooded back into my heart. this blog truly is snug it makes me so comfortable and happy thank u em for running such a great blog and writing such funny tags and generally being a nice person
OMG I LOVE YOUR ART & ART STYLE SO MUCH!! And especially the drawings with Natsu & Jellal, Natsu & Myst and Wendy & Myst fill me with so much joy <3 I also colored them and use them as my phone wallpaper now (thank you for giving permission to do so!) I hope you have a beautiful day! ^^
Thank you and you’re welcome. Have a beautiful day too!
Can u & @queergirlwriting team up for a non binary Alex fanfic? I just feel that the both of u are great writers and that if u guys did this it would be the best of all the fanfics.
wow, ummm…. wow. As much as that sounds kinda awesome, even if @queergirlwriting wanted to
i’m not sure how easily that would work out, as i’m terrible at planning and deadlines, write at a fraction of their speed, and it’d probs have to be like a chapter by chapter exchange. but like, a person can dream?
Request: for the e2 Barry request, how about one where you’re a scientist and he is a fan of your work but like SUPER ADORKABLE FANBOY LEVEL, and when he meets you he reacts sorta like he did when he met Wells - minus the knocking him down part plus you being really flattered?
Barry has never been as happy to be the head CSI as he is now. Thanks to the captain, he gets the honor of interviewing his all time favorite scientist; you. Smoothing out his tan sweater vest, he grins, pulling the clear door open. His brown wingtip shoes squeak on the tiles of the building, echoing through the lobby.
“You must be Mr. Allen!” you beam; white lab coat swaying with your pastel green skirt. His hazel eyes widen a fraction of an inch, jaw going completely slack. Sticking out your hand, you smile softly, placing your clipboard underneath your arm. “Y/N Y/L-”
“I know who you are!” he cuts you off, hands flying over his mouth instantly. You giggle, putting your head down slightly, hair falling into your face. “I… I mean, I love your work, it’s incredible! And your reports? They’re amazing; I’ve read them all! Your scientific research is truly remarkable!” he rambles, freckled cheeks coated with a blush, hands making fast gestures.
When you don’t speak, he opens his mouth awkwardly, pushing up his thin framed glasses. You shake your head, “I…um, thank you. Thank you very much!” you bite your lip, “I’ve never met a…a fan before!” you laugh softly, touching his shoulder through the gray jacket, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Allen.” you muse, grinning from ear to ear.
He inhales a shaky breath, lower lip slightly quivering. “You can call me Barry!” he exclaims, probably a lot louder than appropriate. “I mean, if…if we’re going to discuss the meta case, I'd… I’d think that…um…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck before readjusting his red bow tie. His thick eyebrows raise up his forehead, lips forced into a tight smile. God, he’s so awkward…
Your face lights up and you nod, work lanyard thumping against your cream colored tank top. “Barry…That’s a really cute name.” you compliment, enjoying watching his cheeks heat up.
“My full name is actually Bartholomew but it’s kind of dorky, so, um, I go by Barry…. Not that it matters, I… you… You’re really cute by the way!” he blabbers, long pale fingers fixing his specs again. Maybe he should just go after that comment. “I…er…” he gulps, tugging at his collar.
Blushing, your hands fly to your skirt, toying with the frayed hem. “Thank you, Barry.” you mumble shyly, nervously nibbling on your lips. Barry looks down at his shoes; glasses dipping down his slender nose, chestnut styled hair bouncing. “I think you’re cute too..” you admit, causing his neck to snap up almost fast enough to give himself whiplash.
His glasses are tilted sideways and you reach out to fix them, but retract your hand. Barry blinks, adjusting them with a cough. “T-thank you!” he stutters, rubbing his hands up and down his dress slacks. “So…the.. the, um…”
“DNA! Yes, of course, follow me!” you snap your fingers, pointing down the hallway. Barry sucks in a breath, speed walking with you. Be cool, be cool, control the fanboy…
“Well, that was… interesting,” Tony said with an exasperated sigh. Plopping down on a stool by the kitchen island, he slumped forward with his head resting on the back of his arms.
“I know, I saw the news coverage. And you got your asses handed to you. Well everyone but Peter,” Bruce responded as Tony opened a beer. “Where did he run off to anyway?”
“Who knows. I’m sure he’ll be back. We have the kid anyway, it’s more of a waiting game now.”
“The kid is just lucky Fury wants them on the team so badly. Otherwise, I would have kicked their ass all the way to the other side of the city,” Natasha grumbled while eating a bag of chips.
“Nat,” Clint warned.
“Clint,” She said shooting him a glare.
One just does not take down Natasha Romanoff without some sort of conscience. The whole team knew that she doesn’t go down without a fight easily and the fact that a kid took her out of the fight so quickly was eating away at her. Once you woke up you were definitely in for an interesting discussion.
“Do we have ID on the kid yet?” Steve asked, ignoring his friend’s attics.
“FRIDAY is running it now. We should have a name any sec - and there it is.” Tony grinned finally happy that this whole mess was over. “Our masked vigilante is (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), age sixteen, and by the looks of it, they’re also insanely smart. The kid is already in college and at the top of their classes.”
“Oh, great. Another nerd,” Natasha chuckled.
“That does explain why their suit, by the look of it, was so advanced. It was almost like Tony made it,” Bruce said reading over your file.
As the team started to skim your file, Peter busted in with a slightly flustered face and something in his hand. Ignoring the team’s looks of confusion he made his way over to you - who was still unconscious on the couch. The last thing the team wanted to do was to freak you out when you woke up so they decided to keep you comfortable.
“Peter, what’s in the bag and where did you disappear to?” Clint questioned as Peter sat down in the chair next to the couch.
“(Y/N)’s bag,” He responded as Tony furrowed his eyebrows.
“You know this kid?” He asked.
“No - Yes - Uh I guess? I mean we literally just met today at the diner I was set up at and I notice they had a bag with them before I left. I figured they would want it since you know I sorta drugged them before unmasking them,” Peter rambled clearly flustered. “You know we really hit it off too. We exchanged numbers and everything. Now I going to deal with their wrath when they wake up.”
“Spidey has a crush,” Sam teased as Peter groaned.
Being the youngest on the team left Peter to be teased a lot. Still, he rather have them teasing him instead of the whole team getting into one of their overly protective moods. It took months just to convince everyone to let him go on missions and even then, he has to sit some out. A part of Peter wishes that it wasn’t you who was under the mask but another part of him was glad he didn’t have to keep the Spider-Man secret away from you. Still, he had no idea what you would do once you woke up. If it was him, he would be angry at whoever drugged him. And in his case, it was him who drugged you.
“Earth to Spidey? You’re drooling,” Pietro laughed as Wanda smacked his head. “What? Well, he is?!”
“Brother, stop. I think it’s cute. Young love at it’s finest,” She sighed as Peter’s face went as red as his suit.
“I hate everyone,” He muttered in response to their laughter.
“Alright, kid. Quit staring and wait until the kid wakes up on their own,” Tony said, returning to his beer he left on the island.
For the second time today, you awoke with a pounding headache, but this time your mouth was oddly dry. Adjusting to the bright lights shining on your face, you blinked a few times only to realize you’re not in your apartment. You were in some sort of fancy living room with a fantastic view of New York. Even the couch you were laying on was better than your shitty living situation.
You closed your eyes as the memories came flooding in; everything started to piece together and you slowly started to remember what happened. The fake robbery, the fight where you kicked everyone’s asses, being kicked to the ground by the stupid spider-guy, hurting your arm in the process, him drugging you as he unmasked you, and to make matters worse: he was that cute boy you met at the diner.
“Well, shit,” You grumbled.
Wincing from the pain of your headache and your arm, you slowly sat up from your comfy position. Just as you were about stand up you felt a hand on your bad arm. Out of reflex, you grabbed whosoever hand it was and flipped them into the ground. Realizing what you did, you let out a small gasp as you stared at the poor soul who you just have thrown. It, of course, was Peter - no surprise there.
“Dude, what the hell!?” You squawked, not caring about your headache.
“S-Should’ve seen that coming,” He groaned while trying to catch his breath.
You must have slammed him down hard because the way he was breathing looked like you knocked the wind out of him. Once he was able to breathe a bit normally, he sat up and glared at you. Someone was not a happy Spider.
“Don’t look at me like that!” You began waving your hands around. “You freaking kicked me to the ground in mid-air and drugged me!”
“Touché,” He muttered as you helped him off of the ground. “To be fair, you still have your suit on and you did attack my friends.”
“Really, kid?” You scoffed. “My arm still hurts, I have this annoying headache, and my mouth is really dry. What did you dose me with?!”
To say that you were annoyed was an understatement. You were basically kidnapped by the Avengers - that’s something you don’t hear every day - and this kid was trying to defend his actions. Your bickering carried on for a few more minutes while rest of the team stood with amused expressions. You could say that you already made a good impression on them.
“Listen hear, Spiderling. I could kick your ass any day, anytime. In fact, let’s go right now!”
“Bring it on, Glowstick!”
Before you could say anything else you heard someone clear their throat. Turning away from your heated conversation, you saw Mr. Star Spangled Banner with his arms crossed and a stern expression. Rolling your eyes, you prepared yourself for one of his righteous speeches. It was Captain America what could you expect.
“Alright, kids. Break it up, that’s enough,” He said.
“Sorry Mr. Rogers,” Peter sheepishly said as you scoffed.
“I’m sorry, Spangles… should I salute you as well?” You asked as you heard a few chuckles fill the room.
Smirking to yourself, you notice your bag leaning against the side of the couch. Taking that as your cue to leave, walked over to your bag before a hand grabbed your arm. Flinching from the pain you whipped around and stared at Peter once more.
“If you’re thinking about leaving now that’s not going to happen.”
“First off, stop grabbing my arm. And second, who is going to stop me?” You asked.
“Well, all of us,” Tony replied with a smirk. “See kid we’ve been looking for you for a while now.”
“If you’re going to arrest me, I’ll warn you now that it won’t go so well.”
Tony laughed loudly as you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. They clearly seemed like they wanted to arrest you unless they had some other thing in mind. Glancing over to Peter he shrugged while the rest of the team sighed.
“Your people skills never cease to impress,” Sam dryly said to Tony. Turning back to me he mouth a quick sorry while rolling his eyes at his billionaire friend.
“Hold on Sam I need a minute,” He laughed.
“And he’s drunk,” Rhodey added before walking over to his friend.
“I’m confused. You guys seemed pretty keen on arresting me. Why else would you chase me after -” You began before your eyes widen. As everyone slightly nodded to your realization you finished your thought. “You want me to join the team?”
Silence filled the room (except for a few chuckles from Tony) as you tried to process the new information. They wanted you - a kid with weird alien powers - to join the Avengers. Sure, you had to admit they seemed like good people, but you never saw yourself as Avengers material. You just kicked butt when it was needed, but now they were asking you to join a team that saves the world. That was definitely a big step from the streets of New York.
The team already seemed so close and you didn’t want to squeeze yourself in there if you weren’t needed. You were used to being a lone wolf; only taking care of yourself, not working with other people on a team. Still, the thought of it started to grow on you. The only problem was that you weren’t the hero they saw you as. You needed to deal with some personal things before you could even think about joining.
“Wow, it’s flattering for sure but-”
“You like to do things by yourself and the whole team dynamic ruins your style?” Bucky asked.
“You guessed it,” You said wanting this conversation to be over. “Look I have my own way of doing things. You guys handle the big stuff and I’ll handle the small stuff.”
Ignoring Peter’s protests, you grabbed your bag and threw it over your good shoulder. You just needed to get home and pretend none of this ever happened.
“I hope you know we know where you live and we also know a lot about you. You’re pretty much stuck with us. I wouldn’t try fighting it,” Natasha said grabbing your bag and stopping you.
“Such as?” You asked.
“Your parents and the number of foster homes you went to,” She answered clearly knowing how to get under your skin
Digging your nails into your palms you took a deep breath and yanked the bag out of her hand. Your parents was a subject you didn’t bring up. It brought back to many memories from that day you lost them and what soon followed after.
“Natasha maybe you should-” Steve started to say as the lights began to flicker.
It was definitely not a good sign when energy sources around you did that. Though, you wouldn’t have hurt anyone. You could however, cause a small power outage and break a few windows while you’re at it. You didn’t plan on hurting Natasha for getting under your skin, you could tell she was just trying to read your reactions with certain subjects. Looking at the floor to avoid everyone stare, you tried to calm yourself.
“You should get that checked out,” You joked pointing to the flickering lights.
“I can look at that arm,” Bruce offered clearly seeing that you weren’t putting that much weight on it. “Just let me look at it and you can go.”
You sighed knowing they wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Fine.”
“Great. I’ll show where the lab is and fix you up there.”
“We can also continue our discussion there,” Tony added, and rolled you your eyes.
“If I say I’ll join the team will everyone stop pestering me?” You huffed.
“Fine, I’ll join your little group of heroes. Happy now?”
Most of the team nodded with smiles, and you heard a loud “yes” coming from the annoying Spiderling. As everyone stopped and stared an embarrassed Peter, you let out a loud laugh. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you continued giggling as Peter broke out into a huge grin.
“Welcome to the team, kid. You’ll fit right in,” Bucky said while patting your back.
Returning a small smile while giggling, you followed Bruce to the lab. Though you didn’t care to admit it, you were starting to like the idea of joining the Avengers. They seemed like nice people that just wanted to help you out. To add to that, you now had an excuse to see a certain spider every day and that was something you couldn’t complain about.
Noctis would be very red faced. Wow why are there so many pictures of me? Wait why are there stories of me? What? WHAT IS A HEADCANON? *closes tab as fast as possible*
Prompto, like Noct, would be red faced as well. I think once he got digging down my blog he’d start to feel really flattered. “Wow this person must really like my selfies. That’s awesome. Awww. They wrote stories about me?”
Gladiolus would totally question my fixation on his fixation with cup noodles. “Why is there a cup noodle reference in everything with my name in it?”
Ignis better be as red as a tomato. 90% of this blog is Ignis and I regret nothing. He’d probably feel flattered, like Prompto, about my undying love for him about all the pictures and stories about him. Then he would find me and marry me what. I’m not weird you’re weird.
Y’all. @winterysoldiery wrote this at my request, and even based Y/N on MEEEE :’DYou’ll see why I’m so excited once you read it - I’m so in love. Enjoy!!
A Bucky Barnes one-shot, based on two prompt lines:“Another bad date?“ & “Here, I’m going to make you some tea and we’ll watch a movie. That sound good?”
Warnings: Mild cursing. Bit of fluff. That’s all.
Word Count: 2,200~
It was a hard job, yes, but it was worth the ass-kicking she got every single day.
(Y/n) worked with the Avengers directly, being a combat trainer and keeping them at their finest physically and even emotionally sometimes. Because yes, even the Avengers shed a tear or two every once in a while. Mostly because they tended to party often and had to pay with sweat and extra push-ups for it.
Seijoh has a female manager, and she happens to be Oikawa and Iwa's long time childhood friend — she and Oiks are completely oblivious to each other's feelings, like everyone in the team already knows except for them? Hehe sorry if this is too specific!!
Oikawa? A lady killer? In his dreams, maybe, but when it comes to actual matters of the heart I promise that he’s a clueless amoeba. Cue, Iwaizumi to the rescue. I hope you enjoy this little fic of silly!
doesn’t think that he should be considered a very observant person. Sure, he
picks up on things that he needs to, but he doesn’t have the persistence to be
able to really uncover something that someone’s actively trying to hide. Which
makes this all the more pathetic, in his opinion, because at this rate even a
blind pigeon with a faulty sensory system would be able to notice the amount of
tension in the air each time the two of them are in the same room.
everyone too, they’d all banked on Oikawa being the perceptive one. Heck, his
entire volleyball career is based on him being the most observant out of all of
them- the one who picks up on playstyle, predictive movement and analysing potential
plays. He literally does this every day,
so why, why does this idiot not notice the incredibly suffocating atmosphere
each time they finish practice?
Hajime is no matchmaker. But sometimes enough is enough, and if this is what it
takes to stop the betting pool from growing into unrealistic proportions (I
mean, he’s a high schooler, he can’t afford a car for goodness’ sake), actions must be taken.
One time in college I turned in an essay and my professor underlined a sentence I’d written and told me it wasn’t the appropriate register for a university essay and I have crazy respect for her so I tailored my papers for the rest of the semester but this isn’t a university essay so I’ll start off with
Let’s start with the most glaringly obvious: the racism!
The sad thing is that half these descriptions are obviously supposed to be flattering except they’re… not…
Wow ninjas and East Asia what a novel concept wow
Wow because East Asian men aren’t emasculated in American media at all
THIS KIND OF SPEAKS FOR ITSELF.
by the way this is so very Memoirs of a Geisha-y because Park happens to be a half-Korean kid who LOOKS more Asian than his brother
But Park has green eyes!!!!! so magical!!!! So EXOTIC!!! Also “almond-flavored” please that’s not the most cliched description for Asian eyes in the book
Here have some more grossness around those oh-so-exotic “Asian” eyes
Please let that sink in for a moment. Like Ming the Merciless. Who, as you might know from the Flash Gordon comic, was originally introduced in 1934 and is a pretty clear stand-in for, uh… yellow peril. upon googling, looks like this:
But then Park has a couple of self-hating moments where he of course implies that Asian women have it easier:
“White guys think they’re exotic”. And that is flattering why, Park? “Exotic”, really? And Eleanor isn’t exactly doing a great job of not contributing to this harmful mentality when she explicitly thinks that he’s “prettier than any girl”. Again:
But then!!! Eleanor makes it all better!!! By saying this!! In the middle of a STEAMY LOVE SCENE!!!! (which by the way neither steamy nor lovely just creeped me out a lot because of the following passage):
This Othering, this fetishization, does not stop through the entire book. Finally, we get towards the end:
So no, Eleanor never gets over Othering her boyfriend.
Wait hold on Asian women don’t get a pass either, as Park’s mom is painted as the oppressive parent who doesn’t like “weird white girls”, but according to Eleanor…
“his” Dainty China person because of course Park’s mom isn’t a person, but a literal object to be moved and shifted according to the whim’s of Park’s dad, a Korean war vet.
Here have some more bad stereotyping of Asian women as “thin pretty and petite” and Eleanor’s own self-hatred and fat-shaming:
Black women aren’t exempt from being props to uphold Eleanor either. Her two “friends” at school (I say “friends” in quotes because they don’t really comment on anything except how cute Park is and they all make fun of those OTHER nasty white girls in gym class together), oh, and Rainbow Rowell writes them like this:
“It was an honor that they’d let her into their club”…the “you’re not like THOSE white people club???"
"I got a man”, REALLY???
Park’s “Asian”-ness As Other and He Could Have Been Edward Cullen, What is the Goddamn Difference
I would have felt better if Rainbow Rowell had written Park as a vampire or a werewolf or some other inhuman creature, the stuff of teen girl YA fantasy because a) vampires and werewolves don’t actually exist and therefore you can write them any way you want, albiet cliched, whatever–at least you’re not contributing to some very harmful societal stereotypes.
Park, as you can see from the previous citations, is written out to be this “edgy” indie boy who wears eyeliner and listens to the Smiths (which wow I rolled my eyes at) and is also a loner at school in and his edginess and “magic” make him stand out in much the same way a vampire or a werewolf or otherwise nonhuman creature would. These descriptions of Park really made me think of Twilight and no, not because they are things that “normal” teen girls say or think but because we’ve seen this archetype of, for lack of better word, “magical boy” that comes barging into sad-manic-pixie-dream-girl’s-but-not-like-the-other-girls’-life and sweeps her off her feet:
How artsy, edgy, and NOT PREPPY, he wears all black.
Who else had a face “like a chiseled marble statue in its perfection”? (psst, it was Edward Cullen)
who else was described as “godlike” “angelic” and all that crap? Vampire boy Edward Cullen. Louis and Lestat and Claudia, all of our favorite too-gorgeous-to-be-real fairytale creatures.
But when you use those kinds of descriptors for a character who is very visibly POC and then give them an uncommon feature like ~green eyes~, do they not become a kind of mythical creature in, the stuff of exotic fantasy? Do they then become dehumanized and not real, only the kind of boyfriend a girl can aspire to get?
The answer, of course, is yes. But dreaming about dating a vampire or a werewolf is so very different and again does not carry the same weight as being hellbent on dating a ~perfect Asian boy~. Because at this point it is not about Park. This is not Park’s story, even though he shares half the title. This is Eleanor’s story, the manic pixie “not like the other girls” girl, with her crazy red hair and her weird clothes and her desire to get away from it all.
Eleanor’s entire story is painted on a canvas of abuse and neglect and sadness, so of course she needs some magical boy to literally swoop in and save her– at the end, Park takes her to Minnesota where her uncle lives, away from the safety of her stepfather who is out for her blood. Eleanor is the most precious person in the world to Park, so much that he doesn’t care about his family anymore and the only person he cares about is her. How the hell is that any kind of healthy way to have a relationship?
Park’s Asian-ness is only brought up in the context that it is different to what Eleanor is used to, that it is EXOTIC and MAGICAL and because of that she likes him. No, but it’s in the text, where Eleanor openly admits to fetishizing:
I didn’t end up CARING about Eleanor’s family situation at all. Her relationship with her mother was completely one-dimensional, as was the relationship with her siblings and her stepfather. It was almost as though the backstory was there to make Eleanor more sympathetic to the reader, which as a reader I didn’t end up buying because there was literally no depth to any of it.
Similarly, Park’s relationship with his parents is weird and disturbing and also one-sided. His mom speaks broken English and is demure but madly in love with his dad, who, need I remind you, “liberated” her from her oppressive country. Miss Saigon, anyone? Park’s dad is typical American machismo, a simple kinda guy, but at heart a good one. I feel like the PARENTS’ relationship was something I was more interested in than Eleanor or Park, had it not been written like a weird yellow-fever wet dream, where the white dude comes home and just makes out with the Asian woman all the time and she stays home and tends to their perfect house and their perfect family.
Rainbow Rowell has explicitly stated in an interview that one of her inspirations for writing Eleanor and Park and for making Park Korean was that her father had been in the Korean War:
1. My father served in Korea, in the Army.
This is probably the most obvious explanation.
My parents separated when I was in the second grade, and I never knew my dad that well. I didn’t grow up with him around. But I remember being fascinated by the fact that he was in the military – and stationed in a place where there had been an actual war, even though he was there decades after the worst of it.
There was this photo of him, in uniform, hanging over my grandmother’s coffee table – an unrecognizable teenager with short hair and tiny wire-rimmed glasses.
Every once in a while, if he’d had a few drinks, my dad would talk about the Army. How he signed up at 17 to avoid getting drafted and sent to Vietnam. The Army wouldn’t send a 17-year-old to Vietnam, he said. (I have no idea if this, or much else my dad told me, is true.)
He was especially proud of having protested the Vietnam War while he was in Korea. There was a clipping from a military newspaper with photos of the protest. I was 12 or 13 when he showed me this, and I definitely didn’t get it.
Over the years, I’ve had people tell me I must be confused about my dad, that there weren’t Americans soldiers left in Korea in the ‘70s. But there are still American soldiers in South Korea. We never left.
Anyway, the other thing my dad would talk about, every once in a while, was a girl he’d known in Korea. My mom says he carried this Korean girl’s photo in his wallet for years after he came home. He’d been in love with her; my mom thought he still was.
I used to wonder about that girl. About how he met her. Whether she spoke English. Whether she was his age. Whether it was some secret love affair, or something her friends and family knew about … What if she was his soulmate?
What if fate and circumstance and the U.S. government had come together to deliver my father across the continents to his soulmate – and he just left her there.
He could have stayed, I thought. He could have brought her back. Omaha is a military town; people bring wives and husbands back from all over.
I remember being so angry with him. First for leaving the person he was meant to be with; then for leaving my mom, the person he wasn’t meant to be with; and then for leaving all my brothers and sisters and me in his wake.
So … in Eleanor & Park, Park’s dad gets sent to Korea because his brother has died in combat in Vietnam. He meets his soulmate there. And he brings her home.
He “liberates” her. And puts her in his pocket like a China Doll, right?
These were only a few selections out of the many, many in the novel. Over and over again we’re slammed in the face with the fact that Park is Asian, he’s half-Korean, but only in the way he looks and almost always in the context of his relationship with Eleanor, never by himself. Half the book is supposedly written from Park’s perspective but he never really introspects on his identity except during that scene when he’s with Eleanor, bitter that there aren’t any “hot Asian guys.” Not even Asian AMERICAN, just “Asian”. As though the author were not aware of the hybrid culture that exists in the country–maybe because Park’s “the only Korean in Omaha?”
What first love story is there to tell? They start off hating each other and he makes her a mixtape and asks if she listens to the Smiths, and given that this book came out after Five Hundred Days of Summer…
I’m not sure what the point of the book was. To make people want hot Asian boyfriends?
This read like bad Tamora Pierce Circle of Magic Trisana Chandler/Briar Moss AU fic.