#a hundred people better articulated than me have already posted about this

[threewaysdivided]

As someone who just recently rewatched some of young justice through clips on YouTube for nostalgia, perused a little around the tags and found the absolute goldmine of writing analysis in your blog I just wanted to say thank you! Your knowledge and your care for these characters really shines through and reflect some truths that I feel are more appropriate than ever: no one individual should be pedestaled for the success of a narrative, especially when he seems to misunderstand his own themes. It's very refreshing to see criticism so pointed and razor sharp, especially for a series I wish was better than it is. Your essays certainly gave me a lot to think about in my own writing!

Thank you! 💜 That’s really lovely of you to say.

It always makes me happy when someone stops by to tell me that they enjoyed/ got something out of my analytical posts.  Part of why I write things like the YJ Narrative Breakdown Essays is to get the thoughts out of my head, but a lot of it is that I want to share them with other fans who might feel similarly and want to talk. (I’m especially proud of the YJ: Invasion Case Study - it doesn’t get a lot of love because it’s so long but I’m super happy with how it came out as a capstone to the set.)  It’s really gratifying to hear that someone found them useful or that it helped articulate a feeling they were having or gave them some new concept/ framework to use when thinking about other stories.

If you want more Young Justice stuff, I’ve done some Season 1 metas on The Light, A Different Take on Martian Racism and Dick and Wally’s Friendship.  I also made a short list of other stories that I think capture similar vibes to Season 1 in aspects of their theming/ genre/ character-writing/ structure/ tone etc. which might help any lingering cravings.

I also have a general writing tag if you’re looking for writing discussions, as well as this resource primer for analytical readings.

pssst!  If you want to see me try to put some of these ideas into practice, I’m also writing a fic.  It’s a YJ crossover (canon-divergent post S1) and Arc II which started this year at Chapter 18 is intended to emulate some of the things I really liked about S1, including an overarching mystery and missions.

When it comes to pedestalling individuals, I completely agree.  I think Auteur Theory and Great Man Theory are mostly fallacious - not only in art but in general.  A lot of successes are collaborative (“self-made entrepreneurs” who were actually financially supported by family or succeeded through connections etc.) and, while the lone-visionary idea makes for a simple and compelling story,it can also cause IRL problems in how it disproportionately elevates certain voices, devalues less visible work and creates unrealistic expectations.  It’s good to have a healthy scepticism about those narratives, especially when they centre on people who already had privilege greasing their wheels.

I also think we often underestimate just how many people are involved in commercial art production.  Even Books (one of the closest mediums to sole-creator) often involve input from editors and possibly a publication house - as well as potential ghost-writers, co-writers etc.  Television teams can have dozens of staff across multiple production areas, and for big-budget films and AAA Games that number can balloon into the hundreds.

The role of developer/producer can be a real mixed bag in that space.  Some are close to the visionary/ auteur type - very involved with their teams and in steering the creative process - but others can be coattail-riders or even active liabilities that their teams have to work around.  (The Danny Phantom fandom has some real showrunner war-stories).  

Still, it’s easy to see how we could go from talking about a team lead/ spokesperson as convenient shorthand for the idea of The Author™, to accidentally treating that person like they are the only significant member and attributing all the credit to them personally.

Whether by accident or design, Greg Weisman definitely presents as the visionary type on the surface (something that the fandom and the wiki creators have unintentionally and well-meaningly contributed to).  His ask blog’s visual style certainly makes him look like The Gargoyles Guy™, and the Young Justice wiki editors put a lot of emphasis on him, often directly inserting information from there and his social media straight into main page content as “unconfirmed canon”.  That ask blog also creates a very parasocial environment; I’ve seen fans write posts like they’re talking to/ about him as a friend, and directly attribute specific lines or episodes directly to him.  To look at the wiki, his blog or hear the fandom talk he is the mind behind.

However, once you look closer, he has much fewer direct creative credits than you would expect for that reputation.

And, as it turns out, Young Justice is one of 3 separate series to see substantial drops in story quality after Weisman assumed control as primary writer, with common complaints including weak/inconsistent character-writing (even for characters he supposedly helped create), poor story structure and a seemingly shallow understanding of those stories as a whole.

Now, if it was just a case of Weisman just being a passionate doofus - someone sincerely having fun exploring ideas that interest him but who shouldn’t be left creatively unsupervised because he can’t hack it narratively - that would be frustrating but ultimately fine.  It happens.  Unfortunately though, there has been… quite a bit else that has pushed me more towards parasocial enemies territory.

As I’ve mentioned before, all three series contain instances of Weisman disempowering strong female characters; rewriting their narratives to centre on men and/or a sudden desire to conform to traditional gender roles.  Plus other sexism that resonates uncomfortably closely with pick-up-artist/ incel rhetoric.  His work on both Magic: the Gathering and YJ: Outsiders was also criticised for casually racist and overtly queerphobic writing - especially in his treatment of feminine bisexuals.  A lot of the most egregious instances can be found in the book - the medium where Weisman had the most direct creative input.  Weisman also doesn’t seem to understand the difference between organic character-conflict, manufactured “negative drama” and abuse - something that combines really badly with his seeming unawareness of the invasive implications of telepathy; which results in several telepaths being written as borderline predators/rapists, only for Weisman's narratives to either make no comment or take their side.

I also find his conduct very disingenuous.  I have no problem with ask blogs but the fact that over 80% of Young Justice’s critical narrative content can only be found there, and the implied attitude that fans who are surprised by the sudden appearance of information that was never previously set up in-story are at fault for not seeking it out strikes me as creatively dishonest.  I’m also not best pleased with his responses to the criticism over his insensitive writing (discussed above).  One instance that’s really emblematic to me is Weisman getting kudos for posting a snarky twitter-clapback to a bigot asking him to remove the diversity from Young Justice, despite himself having actively attempted to erase the sexuality of one of Magic: the Gathering’s fan-favourite queer characters (a scandal that made it onto his Wikipedia page).  Respect is something that really needs to be Shown not Told, and Weisman’s work frequently shows the complete opposite.

And look, I don’t know this guy; I can’t claim to understand what Weisman’s deal is or what’s going on in his head.  Maybe he’s always been like this and it just passed under the radar until recently because previous co-creators were skilled enough to pull him up with them.  Maybe he used to be better but let the success of other series he’s been involved in, and the showers of personal praise from his ask blog, go to his head.  Or it could be something else entirely.  I think the only answer we’re going to get is that we’re not going to get an answer.

Which is super disappointing and frustrating.  Like I said in this post, we come to stories in good faith; we want to put our trust in the promises made by the narrative, we want to be able to take the creators at face value, and we want to see the love and respect we have for their story and characters reflected in the effort they put into telling it.  Fandom in part reflects the passion creators have for their work, and when those creators start treating that work carelessly, cynically, or taking their audience for granted, the fandom can start to wane.  (Danny Phantom being one of the only communities I’ve seen thrive after completely severing ties with their producer.)

Circling back to the pedestal/auteur thing, I think that mindset makes it much easier to take this kind of thing personally when it happens.  It starts feeling like a single person chose to make all those promises and show that potential to you, only to intentionally betray them; rather than the Swiss-cheese model of compounding changes, failures, mistakes and/or poor choices from multiple people that more likely happened.

In these situations it helps to remember that we are the ultimate arbiter of our personal relationship to a story.  We don’t even have to be part of fandom; our fan experience can be just between us and the part of the work we found compelling, or us and a small group of buddies who feel similarly.  There’s no rule requiring us to perform fannishness or conform to the mainstream fandom consensus.  A good book/ game/ movie/ season/ comic can stand on its own, even with a few unresolved threads - we don’t have to personally accept subpar sequels, poor-quality prequels, rubbish retcons, superfluous side-content or extraneous add-ons just because they happen to exist.

a good plot was one which made good scenes. The ideal mystery was one you would read if the end was missing. -Raymond Chandler

There are fine things that are more brilliant when they are unfinished than when finished too much. - François de La Rochefoucauld

And, for stories that are created by multi-person teams, it can really help to change how we talk about them; to step away from that auteur mindset and start giving credit where it’s actually due.

So, in service to that, here is a breakdown of main episode credits for Young Justice Season 1:

Putting this together actually made me realise that I’d had too narrow of a focus; I’d previously speculated about changes to the writing staff but I completely overlooked the impact of episode directors. Which is nuts because directors can potentially have major influence over the structure and presentation of the finished narrative.

A few things strike me.  First is that Weisman doesn’t have a lot of direct writing credits; he has the most (albeit only by 1 episode) but it barely amounts to 25% of the season, and you can see that the specific episodes he scripted aren’t ones that put a lot of character focus on the main cast or paying off the emotional narrative.  (Which isn’t to claim that he wasn’t doing other developmental/ production work behind the scenes, but it does make sense; characterisation and narrative resolution are not things Weisman is good at).

The two names that really started to stand out were Jay Oliva and Michael Chang; each individually credited as director on over a third of episodes, and covering more than 75% of the whole season between them.  That’s not to say that they alone were the secret sauce that made S1 so good (that would just be applying Auteur Theory to a new target and, while their IMDB resumes are impressive, it’s likely that other, less-visible team members were also involved) but having that level of direct input across so much of the season would have given them opportunities to maintain consistency and provide structure/ guidance.

And notably, neither Oliva nor Chang have any major credits post Season 1.   For whatever reason, the directors who handled over 75% of the episodes never returned for future entries.  (Compare most of the Season 1 writers, who do make repeat appearances - although no writer other than Weisman or Vietti gets more than a single episode per season of the revival.)  Which is a pretty substantial gap to leave behind.  From that perspective it’s not surprising that the show saw big changes going forward; to some extent it really wasn’t the same creative team driving things.

At this point we might be tempted to speculate that, if Oliva, Chang and the rest had stayed on (or come back for the revival), then Young Justice would have stayed good or at least been better than how it turned out.  But the truth is, we can’t know.  It’s possible that Season 1 was too much a product of that specific team, time, production environment and media landscape to ever last.  Maybe it was always a doomed venture; the lack of proper planning, Weisman’s creative weaknesses and aversion to endings, Vietti’s relative inexperience with original storytelling, Cartoon Network’s infamously awful treatment of “less marketable” PG-rated series, and executive mandates from DC Comics as they pivoted to push the New 52 and got increasingly spooked by the astronomic rise of the early MCU inevitably destined to force changes which undercut the narrative.  The only answer we’re going to get is that we’re not going to get an answer.

But, you know what?

Despite everything, as frustrating and disheartening as things may have turned out… Young Justice Season One is STILL really good.   It has a distinct creative verve with its combination of espionage-meets-superheroics, grounded-but-still-positive tone, character-focus and interwoven plot threads that pay off as a remarkably self-contained fair mystery.  There is a reason why Season 1 is so enduring; why people still make art, and write fic and reference those characters even now.

So, to that original team; to Michael Chang, Jay Oliva and all the other creative staff - be they writers, directors, story-boarders, animators, colourists, composers, sound designers - who are so rarely mentioned when we gush about how clever and good Season 1 was: thank you for what you gave us.

Because that first season, when Young Justice was just trying to be itself?

It really was lighting in a bottle.

Hats off to them for that.

#Young Justice #Greg Weisman #Greg Weisman Critical #Michael Chang #Jay Oliva #Anonymous #3WD Answers #Scattered Thoughts #YJ Essays Collection #I’m really really flattered to hear that you like my approach to criticism #the rule I try to go by is that (even when I’m being uncharitable or unkind) I should still try to be fair #(believe me there is a LOT in that book that could easily be used to make Weisman look very terrible) #(including some Humbert-Humbert-adjacent nonsense) #(but doing that would be intentionally misrepresenting him and I don’t believe in that) #Weisman’s writing strikes me as that of a deeply incurious person who aestheticizes intelligence and progressivism #someone who wants to see themselves as those things (because it makes him feel good) but who doesn’t do the work to embody those values #which is how you get things like token 'girlboss’ moments for female characters who are still written in fundamentally chauvinistic ways; o #empty dialogue about ‘pronouns’ or ‘identity’ from characters who are still written in fundamentally prejudiced ways; or #lines that sound superficially profound/philosophical but turn out to be contradictory/meaningless/nonsensical when examined. #it’s definitely the mistake of thinking ‘I used the language of [thing] therefore I am [thing]’ #Not 'I am [thing] because I try to act in ways that show respect to [thing]' #It's telling that Weisman wants to release tweets positioning himself as better than the bigots #and yet he has a million excuses for why THE SAME bigotry in HIS OWN writing is 'not his fault'/ 'not a big deal'/ 'a misunderstanding' #he looks down on others for not meeting a standard while effortlessly carving out exceptions for his own substandard behaviour #it's all very hypocritical (and in ways that are consistent with other patterns of right-wing conservatism throughout his work) #In short: a deeply tiresome and condescending fellow #I think a much healthier approach would be to talk about the people who made YJS1 good than dwell on the guy who bollocksed it all up #So I propose that we henceforth refer to Weisman as ‘That guy from War of the Spark: Forsaken’ NOT ‘the YJ/Gargoyles Guy’ #and talk about the season 1 production TEAM instead #Weisman's writing credits could be covered if every other writer picked up just 1 episode. Meanwhile Oliva/Chang would need 20 substitutes

[cozyprompts]

alright so RE the whole likes vs. reblogs argument / "how should we engage with fandom creators' work": there have been many more articulate people than me that have talked about how reblogging, sharing, commenting, etc is the way to keep fandom alive and thriving on sites like ao3 and tumblr where there isn't an algorithm to boost things. i'm not gonna rehash that since it's already been talked about time and time again, but i did wanna go into why some of us make content to begin with.

first off, every word of what i say is going to apply to works that a hypothetical reader ABSOLUTELY LOVES. so don't come at me with the, "you aren't owed engagement, some people just won't like your art/fic enough to reblog it!!" that's not what i'm talking about here. if you don't like a work of art, feel free to scroll on by, no one will fault you for it or guilt you for it.

anyway with that out of the way, one thing i noticed is that whenever someone laments the shitty likes vs reblogs ratio on their posts or brings up this issue, they're met with a lot of hostility because people interpret that as though they only care about attention and vanity and that they're a bad person for it and like...... besties........ no.

i have friends that have written hundreds of thousands of words of fic express this same view, and listen man, there isn't a human alive that would pour so much blood, sweat, and tears into anything that didn't come from the depths of their fuckin soul. this argument doesn't come from a lack of genuinity on the part of the creator. all of us here make art because we love it and care about it and value it.

but what a lot of people are conveniently forgetting is that we make art to connect with each other. this isn't true for all forms of it, but a lot of the time (especially in fandom) ART IS MEANT TO BE SHARED. it's meant to be passed around, talked about, and pinned on the metaphorical fridge. so when that doesn't happen, creators are naturally going to lose interest in sharing their art, because what's the point?

i can't speak for everyone, but i can speak for my own creations: i would write for my oc's regardless of whether people would read it or not. but here's what i wouldn't do if people didn't engage with my work: i wouldn't push myself to write as often as i do, i wouldn't go out of my way to research lore, i wouldn't make massive headcanon posts, i wouldn't have learned to mod at all, i wouldn't have overcome the anxiety around sharing my creations enough to post them. all of my little elder scrolls thoughts would stay in my head and never see the light of day.

but most importantly, if i didn't get the engagement i have on my work, i wouldn't have the friends that i have. and fandom is literally all about that!! friends!! like, the people that frequently comment on my work and send me asks and tag me in posts are my friends, and i try to do the same for them because i love and appreciate them, and we only met because of the content we both create. that connection is why i make content, and when someone doesn't ever comment or talk to me about my work, there isn't really room to make a connection with them.

THAT'S why content creators talk about this a lot. engagement isn't the end all be all of our artform, but it's the thing that drives us to create MORE and want to be better at it. i'm willing to say that the majority of us make content because we like sharing it with friends, and those are friends we made because they went out of their way to engage with our work.

anyway, because i know the state of the reading comprehension on this site, here's a list of things i'm NOT saying:

i'm NOT saying that anyone is obligated to reblog or comment every single time. i've heard a lot of valid arguments about how sometimes people's anxiety is too high or their energy is too low to think of the words to say when they reblog/comment. i get that, i also deal with that!! i'm not saying you shouldn't engage with fandom unless you do it "right." i'm saying, if you really appreciate a writer enough and are a frequent reader of theirs, it's courtesy to say something when you have the energy. it doesn't have to be on a reblog. it can be a random ask you send them when you happen to be having a good day.

i'm NOT calling anyone a bad person for not reblogging every single thing they enjoy. you're not a Horrible Awful Monster for slipping up sometimes or whatever. this is just some courtesy, like how you're expected to tip but you won't literally go to superhell if you don't have the cash to spare that day.

i'm NOT saying every single content creator will feel the same way as me. if you make content and you don't relate to a word of what i've said: good for you, but a lot of us DO feel this way.

i'm NOT saying anyone is owed reblogs when you don't like their work. this is only about hypothetical fan content that you thoroughly enjoyed.

i'm NOT saying i don't appreciate people that leave likes. i do, especially those that i consistently see in my notes very regularly. i do recognize, appreciate, and am always happy to see you guys too.

what i AM saying is: this isn't about clout, this is about community

#fandom discourse #likes vs reblogs #long post

[jspark3000]

Tumblr saved my life. Tumblr nearly killed me.

I’ve been on Tumblr since 2010. The people of Tumblr have saved my life multiple times. No kidding. In the worst of my depression, this place was a safe haven and a gentle stream of encouragement.

A lot has changed. I’ve continued to meet wonderful people, but it seems I kept meeting worse individuals too. Worse. And worse. My inbox became increasingly deranged, some who destroyed my mental health. One, in fact, brought me close to the edge of suicide for months. If you’re reading this: you know who you are.

Tumblr in the last few years no longer feels as safe as it was. In fact, on its worst days it’s as bad as *shudders* Facebook.

I don’t mean that it was a simple disagreement. That’s fine. I don’t mean healthy debate or snarky banter. Those are good. I mean racial slurs, threats, long reblogs with carefully articulated bigotry, abusive dynamics, gaslighting (not the way everyone keeps misusing this word—“You said a mean thing, that’s gaslighting”—but I mean really crazy-making reality-bending pathology), and cult-like manipulation. Gone is the humility, safety, and encouragement, except for the rare few. Compassion here is mostly now the exception.

I’m not entirely sure what happened. The election? Polarization? Backlash against people of color? Anger that my faith has evolved? More insular echo chambers? Easier to hide our faces here? Am I just that easy to beat up online? Or maybe you just stopped liking me altogether. I can live with that. But a compassionate space replaced by cruelty? That’s not something I was ready for.

I’ve changed too. I’ve worked at the hospital now for six years. I’ve seen so much suffering. I’ve seen hundreds, if not thousands of people die, sometimes in the worst way possible. I lost my faith once and got it back, and it came back different than before. I am more cynical than I was. I am also more hopeful than I was. I’ve seen the worst of people. The best of people. Times when God seemed absolutely absent. Other times I was sure God was breathing in my lungs.

But one thing I know: I am 100% for the wounded, hurting, and grieving. No question. I am 100% against anyone and anything that would take away from those who have already lost so much. And in the eyes of some, I guess this makes me “soft.” Weak. A liberal. A Marxist. Unrealistic. Emotional. Hysterical. Or just a “feminine f___ng ch*nk.” Working now at the hospital has apparently made me too soft for a place like Tumblr.

No, I don’t think I’m better than this place. Maybe Tumblr never got worse (though I think it did). Maybe seeing so much death turned me into a bunch of nerve endings. I did go soft. And when you see death as much as I do, you realize there are so few places in the world that are safe for grief. Tumblr has little idea what to do with it. It can make grief either fashionable or laughable. Trendy or trigger material. But not tangible. Not divine. Not human. Grief even fits on Instagram. Not here. Not when you can reblog someone and gif them and say “lol.”

The online space is weird. It’s real life and it isn’t. Many times it felt real for me. I know, I shouldn’t take it seriously. But the compassion was real. And unfortunately, the hurt was real too.

These days I post a lot less. But even in the little that I post, it is clear this community is not safe. I never thought I’d ever say that Instagram and Twitter, of all places, are safer than here. But they are. Tumblr, for me, has become a tantrum competition. A speed race for snark. Not the fun kind of snark. Snark that isn’t very clever, but aggressively filled with incel/Reddit/4chan rage. No dialogue. Just dirt.

I will probably keep posting here. And answering my inbox sometimes. And replying with snark of my own. But what this all once was: it will never be again. Not a safe life-giving community. Just a place where I can put my posts. An old storage room that used to be home.

I have a daughter now. She is beginning to crawl. She can almost say “dad” (she probably isn’t, but it sounds just like it, and it makes my heart stop). I always think about the sorts of places she will find life. Or places that will take life from her. Most places do some of both. I hope she finds a place that gives more life than it takes. But some people choose to stay in a hard place because they want to change things from the inside. Maybe she’ll have the strength that I didn’t. She can make change from the inside. She can be the type of person to bring life to a place that has the potential to be good.

I saw Tumblr like that once. Even for years. But I guess I’m too old, too tired, too worn down for that sort of thing now. I have aged out of this place. This place grew past me. I gave it what I could. And I’m glad I did. I’m grateful for Tumblr. It was a place that made me alive. Do I sound dramatic? I guess dramatic is exactly what I loved about this place. I could be myself here. Once I could do that. Others cheered me on. I cheered them on. I loved to see a land of voices vibrant and free. That time is gone. I will always cherish that time. Thank you for all that it meant. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you, if nothing else, than for memories.

— J.S.

[blushnote]

rich girl | m.

⟡ word count: 6,708. ⟡ genre: smut, a bit of angst if you squint. ⟡ contains: a blowjob, facefucking, overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, shower sex, copious use of petnames, just a whole lot of sin.

summary: wonwoo likes to call you a rich girl, and you hate it because it’s true. in fact, you hate a lot of things: your friends, your parent’s attitude, the way your life is supposed to be perfect even though you’re miserable. not much makes you happy, except for a punk boy who you can’t even be with.

a/n: this is a reupload because for some reason tumblr wasn’t showing me my own posts? anyways, sorry for the wait!! enjoy hehe. 

your parents don’t like wonwoo.

even better – they don’t like the fact that you like him.

wonwoo isn’t supposed to be someone you like. he’s kind of foul-mouthed, awfully conceited, and he probably makes deals with the devil in his spare time. he likes to hang around those dimly lit corners at night, just outside the local shops, puffing from a cigarette beneath the dusty street light and chuckling amongst his friends. they all hang out together. they’re very tightknit in the way that they only meet on the corner to smoke and laugh and then head their separate ways when it gets late enough.

honestly, you didn’t think you were going to like wonwoo either. most friday nights you go out for drinks with the daughters of your mom’s friends. she’s a business lady, very professional, makes good money, and has the politeness and etiquette of a true monarch. her friends mirror her every quality, and so do their daughters. you like them, even when they snap at you to sit straighter or give you unnecessarily stern glances while you swallow your alcohol in inhumane gulps. they’re great, but they give you a headache.

also, they’re the only friends you have, even if they’re not very good ones. they once left you to get home by yourself when you got too “drunk” for their liking. not wanting to soil their sophisticated reputations, they literally abandoned you after your wobbly trip to the bathroom to fix your makeup. you came back to an empty table. when you left the bar, this unknown man tried to take you by the arm, promising that there was a telephone just around the corner for you to make a call. your cellphone was dead anyways.

“what the fuck are you doing?”

there was a deep, displeased voice that echoed from the street corner as the mystery man tugged you away. you couldn’t help but stumble in your saint laurent heels. they didn’t add much height, yet you felt as though you were walking on stilts. quickly, you made eye contact with wonwoo. he stepped away from the pole and removed the cigarette from between his bubblegum lips, just before he adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. the air was cold, so he wore a beanie that pulled his hair back.

the man stuttered in response. he attempted to configure a convincing statement, but wonwoo cut him off.

“do you know him?” wonwoo asked you directly. his friends were silent as they crowded the corner, but they looked ready to pounce.

“n-not re-really, no.” you fought to respond sluggishly.

wonwoo then narrowed his eyes at the man who was digging his nails into your skin.

“do you know her?” the man countered. he sounded almost petulant.

“no,” wonwoo admitted impassively, “but i’m not an idiot, and i’ve hung around here long enough to see my fair share of fucking weirdos. go slink back to the other side of the street before i shove my cigarette past your eye socket and into your cranium.”

honestly, wonwoo’s words almost turned you completely sober. the man looked like he wanted to argue, but his pathetic type doesn’t usually put up a fight when their plans are directly thwarted. he released you, and melted away into the night like a sad, shrinking shadow.

“do you need to use my phone?” wonwoo was already revealing it from his pocket.

you nodded. you knew your mother would explode into fumes if you called her at this hour, so you dialled the local taxi service and decided to wait right outside the bar. you wanted to thank wonwoo for intervening when he did. he didn’t necessarily look like a bad person, but his tainted mouth and snarky expressions didn’t exactly shift him into the light.

“thanks,” you told him as you handed over his phone, “i-i appreciate what you dd-did.”

wonwoo made the effort to blow the smoke from his cigarette away from your face.

“it’s fine,” he shrugged, “happens all the time. figured i’d just stand here and be useful i guess.”

so there is a reason you’re always at this corner.

that’s what you wanted to say, but you were too shy, too foggy, to articulate any other acknowledgement apart from a tight-lipped smile. since then, you knew wonwoo would be someone you liked.

wonwoo liked to call you a rich girl. it bothered you, mostly because it’s true. you wore diamonds in your ears, pricey jewels on your fingers, dressed in luxury outfits and designer products. you lived a lavish life because your parents were well off, but it’s not like you tried to rub it in everyone’s face. in fact, you were quite modest, and you only wore the jewelry because your mother never stopped draping you in it. after your first encounter with wonwoo outside the bar, you greeted him again on the street upon exiting the floral shop.

he was alone, not even smoking a cigarette, instead sucking on a vibrant, cherry red lollipop. you could smell its sugary coating the second you stood in front of him.

“hey, rich girl.” he nodded. “how’s life treating you?”

the only reason you approached him was out of gratitude. you had already thanked him for his intervention that one night, but you wanted to thank him again now that you weren’t intoxicated and cloudy in the head. notably, your expression soured at his words.

“rich girl? that’s not my name.”

wonwoo looked you up and down skeptically. his eyes were a strong, earthly shade of brown behind his glasses, but in that afternoon sunlight, they flared up slightly, and the colour was more molasses-like. thick and sweet.

“are you joking?” he seemed like he wanted to laugh, and swirled the lollipop to the opposite corner of his mouth. “babygirl, those heels you’re wearing are more than my rent.”

you didn’t know why, but you were transiently overwhelmed with the urge to drop to your knees and let him fuck your mouth right there on the corner. was that too soon? oh well. you already thought it. remembering you were supposed to feel disrespected at his comment, you crossed your arms, though it only accented the jaded bracelet your friend bought you as a birthday gift.

“i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear anything you just said. i wanted to thank you for getting me out of that situation last week. i thought i should tell you again, now that i’m… well… sober, i guess i could say.”

you then swallowed tightly. “do you really stand there to stop creeps from taking advantage of people?”

wonwoo shrugged. he then tousled his hair, which had been flopping in multiple directions. it was on the longer side, and seemed to be the same colour as dark, silvery ashes, though the roots were pretty much black. his hair looked so soft and springy. you almost wanted to comb it down for him.

“i’m just at the right place at the right time.” he said.

what did that even mean? you simply accepted his response and pressed on.

“well, i wouldn’t mind repaying the favour one day. do you want a coffee or something?”

“no.” wonwoo replied sharply. “you could do me one better and slip me a couple hundred from your pretty bank account. i’m trying to get the local black tar heroin dealer off my back.”

you nearly choked.

“wha-what? are you… serious?”

wonwoo maintained his staid, emotionless expression, and you were really starting to believe that there was a black tar heroin dealer running rampant in the streets that might pop wonwoo if he didn’t pay him off. but then a gradual smile pulled up his lips, and you wanted to retract your entire offer.

“yes, it’s a joke. you’re too easy. the only drugs you’d find in this part of town is the ibuprofen for your grandma’s arthritis. you don’t get out much, do you, rich girl?”

you gaped widely at him.

“careful, baby,” he smirked, and he suddenly brought his hand out, raising your chin with his cold fingertips to close your mouth. “don’t breathe too much of this cheap air. it’s not filtered.”

in a bubbling, festering haze of anger, you snapped his hand away.

“for your information i—,”

abruptly, you heard your name echo from down the street. turning around, you watched your mother exit the floral shop, carrying a pale green wrapping of scarlet poinsettias. they were so huge that the petals almost covered her entire face. it wasn’t her fault, but she couldn’t have picked a worse time to come looking for you, especially when she was cloaked in the thick warmth of her sable fur coat. you sighed deeply and faced wonwoo again. he’d lost his lollipop, attempting to spark up a cigarette instead.

“aren’t these just gorgeous?” your mother swooned, running her fingers over the butter-soft petals. “they certainly cost a pretty penny to get such an exquisite arrangement, but i couldn’t help myself!”

you wanted to sink straight into the earth. wonwoo was looking between you in pure amusement as he crammed his lighter inside a pocket on his jeans. your mother didn’t even seem to notice him until he took his first puff, the distinct potency of the smoke making her nose scrunch.

“a-and who’s this, dear?” she couldn’t even mask her discomfort as she inquired you about wonwoo. at that point, you hadn’t even known his name yet.

“wonwoo,” he introduced himself, “a new friend of your daughter.”

“oh, how lovely,” she nodded at him while forcing a crooked grin. “honey,” she then placed her hand on your shoulder and spoke closely into your ear, “your father is parked down the street. we need to leave soon and get these out of the cold, so please finish your conversation quickly.”

as soon as she slipped past you and began striding swiftly toward the car, you could already taste the muddled defeat on your tongue. if you weren’t protruding the mirage of a spoilt rich girl then, you certainly were now. at least he didn’t blow any smoke into her face, though that didn’t diminish the fact you were going to receive a lengthy lecture in the car.

“why would you say we’re friends?” you scolded wonwoo.

“because you don’t have any.” he responded matter-of-factly while tapping some ash off his cigarette.

“that’s not true! what do you even know about me anyways, apart from that i’m rich.” you made sure to incorporate in-air quotations.

wonwoo pushed back the silver tresses dancing in front of his glasses, embracing the cool, afternoon current against his face.

“not a lot,” he admitted, “you come for drinks every few fridays. sit at the table looking like you hate your life and all the people in it. then you leave with your phony little rich clique.”

“not to be rude, wonwoo—” you almost wanted to laugh; you came here to thank him. now that ship had completely sailed— “but you’re kind of a dick.”

he then had the nerve to roll his eyes. “you’d drop to your knees and suck mine in a second, babygirl. now didn’t your mother say you should hurry up and get in the car? the princess can’t be out of the palace i’m guessing, especially not to talk to assholes on street corners.”

what else could you do apart from swallow your own frustration, bite your lip, and brush past him? there was nothing. it was too bitter to stand outside anyways. a strengthening winter wind was beginning to pick up from the north, the sting making your eyes water. at the same time, your cheeks were hot metal. if no one were on that street, you certainly would have taken him right into your mouth and sucked him dry. he was ridiculous and cruel, but you loved the unhinged nature he unearthed in you. it was liberating in a sense.

you wondered what would become of your relationship.

“where did you say you were going again?”

you looked up from the porcelain dinner plate, in which you’d been picking at the last few crumbs of your wine reduction pineapple cake. it wasn’t your favourite dessert, though you always finished every meal out of respect for the family’s personal chef. you saw your father reach for his water glass. he took a long sip and eyed you over the candlelight and scarlet poinsettias. it was in a way that was completely and unabashedly suspicious.

“ester and i are going to the jewellers to get a custom necklace as aria’s christmas gift. i told you like five times already.”

of course, that was a gigantic lie. you and ester had already gotten the precious necklace last week, you just needed a reasonable excuse.

“and you’re coming straight home, correct?” his voice was stern and unnegotiable.

“i always do.”

“not always.” your mother chipped in as she cut a piece of the glazed cake with her fork. “you’re not going to see that one character, are you?” she always called people with less fortune characters, like they weren’t even considered to be real.

“who?” you acted clueless, and poured yourself more of the sugary, pink lemonade.

“you know who,” there was already a note of displeasure in her voice, “that boy from the corner. the one who smokes. i wasn’t very impressed by his actions.”

you started to squeeze the white cloth across your lap. “he’s trying to quit. i’ve persuaded him.”

“he won’t do it,” your father shook his head, “and he’s not right for you. i don’t want you near him.”

“and that’s why you’re coming straight home after the jewellers.” your mother continued, not allowing you the breadth to speak.

this family couldn’t get any more ridiculous, you were tempted to scream. instead, you pushed out your chair and collected the utensils sitting on your placemat. a maid passing by had scrambled to assist you, though you told her thoughtfully that you could take care of yourself. in actuality, it was the perfect time to get going, just as you could feel the anger warm your own blood to a boiling crimson. you threw on a long peacoat, a spritz belonging to a vanilla perfume, and your saint laurent opyum heels.

“i’ll be home soon!” you shouted down the marbled corridor, but it was only your own voice that echoed back to you.

your knees were beginning to lose feeling from being pressed against the sponge-like carpet of wonwoo’s bedroom, and they would probably ache like hell whenever you came to your feet again, but for the time being, you really didn’t care. your hands were braced against wonwoo’s knees as his hand tangled possessively through your hair, each of his tugs causing your scalp to burn and tingle. you were crying. you loved to be used by him, and he loved using you. especially the warm inside of your slick mouth.

“ff-fuck, that’s it, babygirl, j-just let me fuck your pr-pretty fuckin’ face.” quickly heeding his words, wonwoo bucked his hips up in a sudden snap, the head of his cock nuzzled deep against your throat.

consequently, you gagged, and there were glossy trails of your own saliva uncomfortably pooling down your chin. he bucked up again, his fingers clasping your hair even tighter. you were struggling to breath around him, white, cottony spots blurring your vision while he forced you to take him even further. you were clutching onto his knees with enough strength to bruise his pale skin. but hearing his voice, lined with lust, heavy and laboured, how it hitched when everything felt too good; you were addicted to it.

“you’re so good at this—,” wonwoo grunted through his teeth upon jamming your head down again, “m’gonna cum down your f-fuckin’ throat, baby. be a good girl n’ m-make sure you swallow a-all of me, huh?”

you learned that wonwoo was really filthy. he didn’t have a preference for where he came, though you had to regulate his carelessness. if any of your clothes even got one rip, one pulled up thread, or god forbid a stupid ejaculation stain, your mother would put your head on a mahogany plaque. wonwoo always made fun of you for belonging to a rich family, having to act like the town’s local sweetheart because one wise crack might cost your parents a lost business partner. but you knew he loved it.

the elegant daughter of a rich heir running around with the outlandish punk? he adored it.

eventually, you had to come up for breath or else you would’ve fainted between his thighs. the air gushed into your lungs and coldly filled your chest. a string of your spit was connected from wonwoo’s flushed, hard cock to your wet lips. you could hardly discern anything that surrounded you. the oxygen had yet to thoroughly circulate and the tears were creating a thick blur. wonwoo started to stroke himself while you prepared to take him once more. the empty void in your mouth was a horrible feeling.

“you look like a fucking mess.” wonwoo grinned as he noted that your body was shaking. “am i being too rough with you, babygirl? should i just jack myself off and cum all over your face instead?”

“n-no,” you suckled in a half-hearted breath, “i-i can do it.”

wonwoo smirked. “you still want it down your throat?”

you could see him clearly now. his cheeks were tinted pink, and his eyes were impossibly dark, glittering in anticipation. without thinking, you nodded eagerly, knowing this was what you wanted. he then tapped his cock against your swollen lips, to which you opened up again and calmly took him as deep as you could. he watched your eyes glister with more tears before he started thrusting up into your mouth. his fingers were gentle. they brushed the stray spindles from your face, now destroyed by tears and drool.

“i’m surprised your tears aren’t pure gold,” he laughed, “i guess you aren’t so special.” your spine tingled as his hand crept back through your hair. “m’gonna make you cry even harder, baby.”

his grip had turned to solid iron against your scalp. you got less than a sliver to brace yourself for his unrelenting treatment, in which he pushed you straight down on his cock and kept your face right where he wanted it. with his hand against the back of your head, wonwoo snapped his hips upward, feeling you immediately gag in response. then, he unleashed on you, using your mouth as a mere fucktoy, getting all his pleasure’s worth from you in each of his hard thrusts. everything was so overwhelming and rapid.

wonwoo couldn’t help the mantra of guttural, taunt curses. he started to moan even, his deep voice cracking the second he felt his sticky cum start to abundantly spurt. without a warning, you struggled slightly to accept and swallow it, though wonwoo was intent on keeping you flush to his pelvis until every drop was polished off. he was still thrusting shallowly into your mouth, and you could feel his length gradually begin to soften. his release was warm, and it was similar to cream sliding down your throat.

after he removed himself from your mouth, he titled up your head by the chin.

“did you swallow it all yet?”

you shook your head. quickly, the side of your hot cheek was met with wonwoo’s hand. he’d given you a timid slap, one that wasn’t meant to hurt, but stung gingerly.

“i wanna see you swallow, babygirl.” he purred. “be good, won’t you?”

your tears were dribbling uncontrollably as you fully swallowed his seed. god, your throat felt like it was on fire. each muscle in your jaw was burning up ardently. your knees were so numb you didn’t even think you could stand. there wasn’t enough time for wonwoo to return the favour. you were sure he could smell the thick scent of your arousal, especially as it ruined your underwear and shone on your inner thighs.

but you didn’t care. having him use you for the night was enough.

“are you alright?” wonwoo asked, getting himself back in his pants.

you didn’t respond, just gripped onto his knee tightly and attempted to stand. your opyum heels were still on, and you nearly broke an ankle as the blood rushed into your legs. wonwoo stood also. he stabilized you by holding your shoulders, at least for a good minute. pulling back your sleeve, you rid the tears that stained your face with a quick wipe from your hand. you were going to have to be very speedy getting back to the house, unless you wanted your father to send the swat team after you.

“god,” you sighed with a raspy, dying voice, “i hate my life.”

wonwoo scoffed at you lightly.

“what lie did you tell them this time?”

you muttered, “i was going to the jewellers.”

“that’s a long time to be at the jewellers.”

“i know that,” you snapped quickly in response.

more tears pushed at your ducts. you couldn’t believe how unhappy you were, even despite having every material thing you could ever want. sometimes that particular thought would just pummel you out of nowhere and you’d fight back the urge to cry.

wonwoo’s hand cupped the side of your face. his thumb stroked gently beneath your eye and he leaned in to kiss your mouth softly. his tongue tasted like a cherry lollipop. he really was trying to quit smoking.

“what are you gonna do, babygirl?” wonwoo hummed, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to brush your cheek.

you held his waist. “i dunno,” you croaked, “my parents don’t like you. my dad doesn’t want me near you.”

“then don’t tell him i fucked your face, princess. it’s easy.”

there was a puff of meek laughter in your chest. for a few more minutes, you let wonwoo hold you. it was the most comfortable and happy you’d felt all day. you were running short on time. the first thing you’d do when you get home would be to run a hot shower and most likely finger yourself while you thought about wonwoo’s cock lodged deep down your throat. maybe one day you’d really snap and stuff all your belongings in a suitcase and come live with him in the shitty scope of town.

but for now, that seemed unattainable.

you’d have to come up with another lie as to why you just spent two hours at the jewellers.

“the earrings were the most magnificent things i’d ever seen! i’m going to wear them for my modelling gig next month, in paris of course. i’ll even text you guys some photos of them when i get home. they have these little opal centres that absolutely sparkle.”

just one more word. if you had to listen to aria babble one more word about her modelling gig or her stupid opal earrings or her all-expense paid trip to paris then you might have to throw your glass of chardonnay in her face. those were the only three things she talked about. then the month would change and she’d have another three things to drive into the mud, yet everyone at the table ate up her words like they were a slice of chocolate cake. you were starting to develop a headache.

“that’s wonderful, aria!” ester was gleaming as she readjusted the strap on her pearl-white dress. you could just tell she was dying to incorporate tales of her own wealth into the conversation. “i can’t wait to see your modelling pictures. that reminds me, i still have some old videos from when i went parasailing in bali. do you guys wanna see them?”

everyone started crowding around ester’s side of the table, attempting to view the footage she was pulling up on her phone screen. however, you didn’t budge, and continued to stare with a dull look in your eyes out the bar’s front window. through the glass, you could see wonwoo standing at the street lamp with his friends, swirling around another lollipop from cheek to cheek. you wondered if it was cherry. his last flavour had been green apple. you tasted it on his tongue when he’d fucked you in the backseat of his car.

but that was a week ago.

“don’t you want to see?” ester was smiling at you.

winding your fingers around your thin wine glass, you shrugged. “i’ll pass.”

“suit yourself.” ester replied, and started to play her first video.

you hated everything about this situation.

wonwoo was right. you really didn’t have any friends, and that became especially clear as you observed everyone at the opposite end of the table, adoring ester’s cute, ditsy little parasailing videos that her boyfriend took. you wished you liked the same things these girls did. your life would be one-hundred times more enjoyable if you just embraced your sumptuous blessings and shed a couple brain cells to be on the same level as them.

then again, you didn’t want to be exactly like them.

they left you to get home by yourself just because you drank too much. at a bar.

pressing the wine glass against your lips, you tilted your head back and easily gulped down the remaining chardonnay. it was a pleasant coolness that streamed down your throat, and you slammed the glass onto the table once it was emptied; even slouched back in your seat and didn’t bother patting your lipstick dry with a tissue. aria raised an eyebrow at you. she looked like she was itching to say something. you were in the mood for a challenge. if she was going to make a passive aggressive comment, it better be soon.

“i hope you have a designated driver.” she finally decided to chuckle.

you rolled your eyes. “shut up, aria.”

ester and her friends immediately looked up from the phone.

“excuse me?” aria replied while tucking a strand of her behind her ear. she seemed a bit baffled by your sudden disdain. “i don’t believe i’ve ever heard you speak like that.”

you were beyond a point of caring. “what are you gonna do then? tattletale on me? you’re such a fake.”

“that’s way out of line.” ester intervened, staring you down intensely. “why are you acting like this?”

“whatever.” you stood up from the chair and reached for your coin purse, revealing a wadded clump of cash that you slapped on the lacquered table. admittedly, the alcohol concocted with your frustration (not to mention being around wonwoo’s snide personality) had quite the effect on your behaviour. if you never had to see these girls again, it would be too soon. you couldn’t believe that you’d even went through the effort of buying aria a christmas present. the only thing she gifted you was a card with her signature on it.

like that was fucking useful.

“i think you need to leave.” ester announced like you weren’t already gathering your things.

“exactly.” you falsely commended her.

she probably had a pea-sized diamond in her skull instead of an actual brain. “i’m leaving now before you guys get the chance to ditch me. don’t worry about it though. i can actually walk myself out this time.”

if only you had a camera ready to capture their gobsmacked expressions. it would have been embarrassingly laughable. you flicked past them toward the door and pushed into the nighttime air, which was crisp and wonderfully cold to your warmed flesh. you felt powerful for summoning the courage to break ties with them, and yet, at the same time, you found that you were on the verge of tears. they deserved to have their toxic behaviour thrown back in their face. it was just that you felt a bit broken.

now you truthfully were alone. well – apart from wonwoo.

you approached him as he stood at the corner, still suckling on his lollipop. him and his friends were in the midst of a humorous conversation when you tapped on wonwoo’s hard shoulder. you always wondered what they spoke about. it always seemed more interesting than the lifeless talk you once endured inside the bar. he didn’t seem all that surprised to see you, though he did look with concern at the watery film across your eyes. you could smell the sweetness of his lollipop; it had to be strawberry.

“are you okay?” wonwoo asked, his breath forming wispy cotton against the dark sky.

you ignored his question. “i want to go back to your place.” you told him.

“now?” he raised his eyebrow.

“yes. now would be good. i’ve just been thinking, and i really want you to eat me out.”

you didn’t care if his friends overheard. apparently, wonwoo didn’t care either. he smirked at you and licked his lips, though there remained a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. you had yet to answer his initial question. from inside the bar, you knew those girls were staring at you, watching you talk to wonwoo.

they were definitely going to tattle to your parents.

your fingers clawed mercilessly over the bed, practically uprooting the linens tucked beneath the mattress as wonwoo kept your thighs tightly locked apart. everything felt so dense, so hot, like the universe was pushing down on your chest and igniting flame inside of your body. you lifted your head off his pillow, only capturing a mere glimpse of his pink tongue gliding past your slit, the muscle coated purely in your arousal. he started to fuck you with his tongue, digging it as deep as he could within your heat.

unabashedly, you moaned, extremely loud and most likely disturbing everyone in his apartment complex. everything about the technicality and purpose of his movements was pushing you toward a climax that would be unlike any other. he was so impatient to get a taste of you that he hadn’t even taken your skirt off, instead bunching the pleated material up against your stomach while your underwear were thrown to the floor. suddenly, you were gasping, and your head collapsed back to the pillow.

wonwoo had managed to wriggle his hand between your thighs. as he ran his tongue in hot, fervent licks against your needy clit, he pushed two fingers inside of you, scissoring you open.

“ffuh-fuck, wonwoo!” you wailed, your hand grasping at his soft hair to keep his tongue against you. “it fe-feels s-so … s-so fucking go-good!”

he’d been taking his sweet time in building up your climax. you allowed him to have his way with you, since he knew how to work your body as though he were magic. his fingers started to curl. it didn’t take him long before they were hitching up into that one golden spot, the one that caused the entire room to whirl. you could tell that he was smiling. he began to messily circle his tongue around your clit. the sensation of the warm, wet muscle pleasuring your most sensitive region was leaving you breathless.

“c’mon, babygirl,” wonwoo mumbled against your core, his fingers thrusting up heavily and abusing that spot inside of you, “you gonna let go and let me taste your cum? you’re fucking dripping all over the bed.”

there was a glimmer of drool leaking from the edge of your mouth. you were so blissed out and crammed with euphoria that you could hardly articulate a response. wonwoo wasn’t giving you much of a chance either. he started a brisk pace rubbing his tongue against your clit, and then he closed his plump lips around you to better flick it with the pink muscle. his bicep was probably burning as he slammed his fingers deep into your heat, making you squelch. your slick had thoroughly soaked the sheets beneath you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panted, arching your chest into the air, “i-it’s s-so much, w-wonwoo—m’gonna—nngh—m’gonna cc-cum!”

wonwoo kept your hips pressed firmly to the mattress with one arm as your pleasure exploded. the tears easily streamed down your flustered, glossy face as this extreme contraction passed through you. it was incredibly wet, too wet, and you knew exactly what had happened as wonwoo pulled out his glistening fingers and completely buried his face between your thighs. god, it was fucking embarrassing. you would have curled away from him if wonwoo wasn’t so persistent. he kept licking at you, hard and fast.

at that point, your tears were no longer tiny beads. the sensitivity had left your nerves completely raw, and you sobbed helplessly as wonwoo continued to eat you out. his tongue felt like it was lapping everywhere, impatient and hungry. you tried to pull him away by dishevelled hair, but he swatted your hand back and bit down softly on your swollen clit. before you even knew what was happening, wonwoo had somehow forced your body into another orgasm. his tongue was inside of you as the second wave hit.

“pl-please,” you whimpered in utter fragility, the mixture of pleasure and pain becoming too overwhelming as wonwoo attempted to lick you clean, “pl-please, wonwoo… i-it huh-hurts..”

he chuckled against your sore flesh warmly. “are you sure you’re done, baby? bet i could make you squirt again if i was real gentle.”

“i-i don’t want to talk about it…” you said shakily. honestly, you didn’t even know your body was capable of feeling that much stimulation and pleasure. it was cosmic.

“awe, don’t be embarrassed,” wonwoo hummed, “you have no idea how fucking hot that was.”

“i don’t want to know.” you sighed.

wonwoo scoffed innocuously. he pecked the inside of your thigh, then each hip bone, before he crawled overtop of you and let you taste your own sweetness off his tongue. you spent a few minutes idly making out, smearing saliva over each other’s flushed lips, running your hands up and down his broad, hard chest, leaving scarlet rivulets along his biceps. wonwoo began teasing his fingers against your slit again, and you gasped into the kiss as his finger sunk into you, slowly, deeply.

“what’s wrong?” wonwoo asked while pumping the digit at a gentle pace.

“what do you mean?” you squeaked, staring into his brown eyes tinged with his earlier concern.

“you know what i mean,” wonwoo hummed, “why were you about to cry outside the bar? what happened?”

“are you sure we should discuss this while you’re fingering me?”

“baby, just tell me.” wonwoo urged with a comforting tone in his voice. he started to massage his thumb over your clit, and your entire body jolted.

you sniffled. “i-i just, i— i kind of cut ties with my friends. a-and i’m glad i did it but now i’m just gonna be even more a-alone.”

“of course not,” wonwoo shook his head, “you have me.”

“are you sure?”

slight amusement and shock coloured wonwoo’s face. he pulled his hand away from your core and looked like he wanted to laugh. you couldn’t blame him, but you also couldn’t help your insecurity.

“i’m sure, baby.” he told you firmly. “i’ll always be here for you. i promise.”

you smiled up at him, feeling your heart start to soften.

“can we take a shower?” you then proposed. “i want to get these tears off my face before they dry.”

while wonwoo was busy getting the water running inside the bathroom, you noticed your phone start to glow and vibrate on his nightstand. it was your mother’s number on the screen. taking a long, slow breath, you flipped your phone upside down and ignored the call. it was a risky move, but it felt almost healing in a sense to turn away from the stress in your life. instead, you focused on what mattered in the moment.

wonwoo joined you in the shower, the water gliding in silk-like pathways around his lean muscle and smooth skin. he pushed back his wet hair, sparkling droplets sticking heavy to his eyelashes. he pressed you against the tiles, and their icy touch sent a shiver up your spine. in the midst of the steam and heat, he was kissing you again, suckling softly on your tongue and squeezing your breasts in his hands. his aching length, hard and heavy, brushed between your thighs, to which your palm started to glide up his shaft.

he smiled against your mouth, “you want my cock inside you, babygirl?”

the fire slowly rebuilt itself from the embers in your stomach.

“yes please.” you lilted innocently.

wonwoo decided to press your front against the glass wall instead of the tile. his lips were leaving drifting pecks up your shoulder blade, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. a rough, deep groan filled your ear as wonwoo rubbed his cock between your folds, allowing your arousal to coat him generously. however, you were yearning to feel how he filled you entirely, until you could feel him nestled right to the brink. wriggling your hips against him, it was your non-verbal cue for him to start sliding in.

he cupped your breasts in his hands, whispering into your ear, “how should i fuck you, baby? do you want it hard?”

as impatient as you were, there was something about the atmosphere that told you to prolong your intimacy.  “n-no,” you mumbled as the fog swathed around you, “s-slow, i want to feel you.”

your moan was almost louder than the water spraying against the tiles when wonwoo started to push inside of you. once he was buried as far as could fit, he started to grind into you, extending his pace so that you could truly feel his every inch and vein. his fingers were massaging your chest, the round flesh almost like velvet to his touch. everything about your body was endearingly soft and warm. he loved it.

“does it feel good, babygirl?” wonwoo purred. he was situated at such a pleasurable depth inside you that you felt like complete gelatine. he thrust into you a little harder, but it was enough to make you cry.

“s-so good,” you stuttered, licking the water off your lips. “do i feel good t-too?”

wonwoo smirked. he moved his hips at a shallow pace. “mmhm. you’re so tight and warm around me, baby. feels so perfect. how pretty do you think your pussy would look with my cum dripping out of it? should we try it?”

you pushed yourself back against his pelvis, “fill me up, wonwoo, please.”

“of course,” he grinned, and slowly dipped a hand down your stomach until you felt him begin to rub soft circles into your clit.

“let’s see how much you can take, babygirl.”

you were exhausted. you were sore. but you felt safe. you made an audacious decision and decided to spend the night at wonwoo’s rather than going home, where you knew you’d be greeted by an equally displeased mother and father that aria had snitched to. it was the first time you’d gone to bed without wearing pyjamas that weren’t expensive, pink satin. you were clad in nothing but one of wonwoo’s old t-shirts. he tried to give you one that didn’t still carry the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

his arm was around your waist, your spine resting comfortably against his chest while you lay together beneath the bedsheets. the sheet that was stained in your arousal had been tossed in the laundry hamper. you knew wonwoo would never stop teasing you about it. anyways, life felt different at his apartment; in fact, it felt better, especially when wonwoo kissed your temple before shutting off the light. your wealth had never been a defining factor in your personality, but it did make you consistently miserable.

that night, it was just you and a boy, a boy who you were quite positively in love with. maybe he loved you too. you weren’t completely certain yet, and you didn’t want to rush anything; however, you felt fairly confident his heart was likewise when he buried his face into your neck and wished you goodnight in his low, sleepy voice.

whatever your parents had to say, you’d find out tomorrow morning.

right now, you weren’t the rich girl, but a happy girl, and that mattered more to you than anything else.

#wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #jeon wonwoo #svt smut #svt fanfic #seventeen imagines

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

This October I’ve (finally) been rereading THG trilogy

...slowly with the intention of taking in as many details as possible. I’m nearly halfway through, and here are some thoughts. Keep in mind, I’ve only read these books once before, over the course of a week in 2010. I was 38 then with an 8 year old kid. I was a totally different person in every fiber and cell.

1) At this point, I’m already tired of Katniss’s written voice, and I find myself consistently wishing SC had written at least some of the chapters from the POV of other characters. I know, I know... If that had been the case, the books would have told a different story. Back in 2010 I had a pretty big *girl crush* on Katniss. Before the first film, I was disappointed with the casting of Jennifer because she didn’t match the Katniss I’d imagined, but she’s a wonderful actress and she did come very close to portraying the Katniss I had in my mind.

2) As dearly as I adore Haymitch, I feel like I haven’t been doing justice to him in my writing. I’ve been trying to write him as multidimensional, intelligent, traumatized, with a big capacity for devotion, but damn he really is all that with extraordinary depth. He is articulate, cautious, and other adjectives which are difficult for me to grasp right now and wrangle into this post. More will come later I think. As I’m getting to know book-Haymitch, I’m truly appreciating Woody’s portrayal of him and also recognizing Haymitch is so much more. I want a book written from his POV.

3) The benefit of there being relatively little mention of Effie compared to other significant characters in these books is I feel free at this point to make her nearly anything I imagine she might be. Elizabeth’s interpretation of her is smashing. That said, in my mind Effie is more complex. I have a monster crush on the Effie I’ve been fleshing out in my mind. I find Liz attractive, but I’m really not into her. It’s the opposite. Every time I see her as her actual self, it crushes some of the illusion of Effie. So halfway in, I’m thanking SC for leaving the depths of Effie so open to individual interpretation.

4) Madge. I’m asking, where the fuck is she in the films? She may be a minor character, but she is full of significance. It’s so clear to me that Madge’s feelings for Katniss are big like Gale and Peeta’s feelings for Katniss. Different of course because each person/character is unique. I know #gadge is a thing, but my take is Madge brings that morphling for Gale because she loves Katniss, and she knows how important Gale is to Katniss. With Madge, Katniss is willing to try to learn to play piano. With Katniss, Madge is willing to try to learn to hunt. They’re from different worlds within the same small world. They’re both loners mostly, but they fit together in a way that is unexpectedly comforting for them. I don’t see Katniss being romantically interested in Madge, but the inverse I see quite possible. It already sucks knowing Madge dies, but eliminating her from the universe entirely is much worse.

5) Mrs. Everdeen has more strength than is portrayed in the films. Katniss understandably resents her mother’s protracted catatonia in the wake of her father’s death, so the reader sees that. But there is more to her in the books than the viewers get to see.

6) I’ll save my impressions of Peeta for another post because halfway into the trilogy, he really is still mostly an afterthought for Katniss, but I remember his character will soon be taking up more space in her mind and full being. Deservedly so because Peeta is basically a giant heart walking around that world.

7) Every time the word “Rue” is on a page, my eyes start leaking. I remember that was true the first time I read the trilogy, and it’s still true.

8) Maude Ivory (or someone Covey) is Katniss’s grandparent/great-grandparent. Common headcanon, I realize. I’m straight up making that canon. Not my prerogative, but I don’t care. It’s true.

9) I salute all you people who started shipping Hayffie when reading the books. I didn’t feel that spark 10 years ago. Not at all. And now in the reread, I see clearly the potential of an interesting and complicated relationship between them, in part because I’m looking for those details.

10) I’m enjoying this long-overdue reading, but my desire to reread @hayffiebird ‘s in progress masterpiece, Taste of Strawberries, which I just read days ago and is so present and full and delicious in my mind, is at least a hundred times greater than my interest here in the middle of Catching Fire. Hayffie is really the heart of the Panem universe at this point in my life for reasons I’m only partially clear about and I’ll save for another post.

11) In my opinion, TBOSAS is better written than the original trilogy. I am aware many people feel the opposite, but I don’t expect people to think like me, and I generally don’t care when they don’t. SC, please don’t retire anytime soon. I want more of Panem.

12) There’s a shitload of snow in District 12 for North Carolina Appalachia in a future dystopian North America in which Florida and the entire East Coast are underwater. It���s little details like this which feel illogical that can drive me crazy.

13) Me (watching in the films “Kill her Cato!! Kill her Cato!!”): Why the hell do people ship #Clato?... Me (rereading the books): Ahh, that’s why. Clove is a freak, and he likes her.

To be continued...

#hunger games reread #hunger games musings #thg #hayffie #hayffiebird #taste of strawberries #katniss everdeen #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #madge undersee #mrs everdeen #peeta mellark #catching fire #suzanne collins #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #midlife #clove #Cato #clato #woody harrelson #elizabeth banks #jennifer lawrence

[itshesdimples]

-Hello to anyone reading. This is my first time writing something and putting it out for the world to see. That being said, I would love any constructive criticism you have to give me. Thank you for any support you may give me, I cant thank you enough xoxo ~H - 

I remember the day as if it were yesterday; the day you crossed the unimaginable line. 

I thought we had everything, I thought I was your everything. 

2 MONTHS AGO

"Hey sunshine, just calling to let you know I wont be able to make it home this time. I'm sorry, the label has me doing something that I'm not sure is a good idea but they say it will help me in the long run." He sighs at the end, I imagine him palming his forehead.

"Look, I need you to listen to me when I tell you that you are everything to me, you make me want to become the best version of myself. During the months we have been together I have seen the best and worst side of you and I'm not running, promise. I want you to be mine forever, do you hear me? Just remember that." Harry expelled.

You were a little worried, seeing as you two had been together for a little over nine months and it was extremely rewarding. The time apart has always been different to the other relationships she had been in the past but with Harry it seemed like more than she had ever received from the previous men. 

As a surgical intern you work countless hours and never really get more than a few hours to yourself, so when you met Harry you really never saw it going anywhere. You were just too happy for your own good, openly expressing your life to perfect strangers and expecting them all to be accepting of who you are.

* 9 MONTHS AGO* 

The hospital you worked at allotted 80 hours a work week and as hopeful as you may be feeling, there is a little voice in the back of your head telling you not to go bar hopping. "Just one drink and then water." you emphasize to your good friend Mike, the bartender. 

"Vodka soda coming right up, Dr. Demanding." He chuckles. You turn around in the chair and stare at all the fellow drunks, looking for your intern comrades who should be here by now. 

Although you dont find your friends, you spot a very handsome, familiar face coming toward you. Admiring the face across from you, you decide to take the first step following by the downing of your vodka soda. " You dont seem to be familiar with the very famous bar here in town so you must not be from around here," you tease, holding out your hand to shake. "I'm [Y/N]. Not to sound weird but have we met before?" You get a very bold feeling of deja vu but laugh it off. "I'm sorry, my friends are supposed to be here by now and I'm socially handicapped, sometimes I dont know when to stop talking." Now you're just rambling at the breathtaking man in front of you and feeling red in the cheeks. 

"Its alright love, I sometimes feel socially handicapped around exquisite women such as yourself. Actually, that sounded like you're one of hundreds but I-- what I meant to say was that, you seem a little lonely. Can I buy you a drink?" He rambles, tugging at his jacket. 

"I am only allowed one drink, I know it sounds weird but I'm on a ticking time bomb, you see this?" You pull out your pager, "any moment this thing will go off and I have to skip back to work like a dreamy little school girl but inside I am dying of starvation, need a beer and twenty hours sleep." You just keep spitting up word vomit and your face is permanently pink but you just cant stop because what if it gets quiet? Now that's when it gets awkward.

"I don't think we have ever met because I'd remember you" Harry confirms, looking you up and down your shapely body. "What do you do for a living that has you on such a tight leash?" Taking a sip of his beer, he stands up and walks next to the chair you're sitting in. 

"Surgical intern, Dr. [Y/L/N] at your service, sir." You cant help but crack a little bit of the tension you have building up in your stomach while talking to him but that doesn't stop you from staring him in the eyes and trying your best to flirt. 

The aura around him is too intoxicating, too much to handle without trying to add a little humor in the mix. "I like it when you call me sir, Dr. [Y/L/N] but how long have you been a doctor? I'd love to get to know you before you have to leave me." He articulates, trying to captivate her attention.

"I love my job but it has been a long winded road, it feels like years but I've only been a real doctor for a little over two months. It takes a lot out of me but that is why I'm glad I have two great friends who I can lean on. We keep each other afloat and they're also my roommates. I don't know where I would be without them." All of that poured out of my mouth before I had the chance to cork it but I couldn't help telling him something about myself that was at least surface level.

He just seems like an eerie case of the best illusion I've ever seen. I cant help but shake the feeling that I've known him all my life, like telling him the ins-and-outs of my life wouldn't be detrimental to my health. 

"Now tell me something about yourself. For starters maybe your name? I've never seen you here before and I'm here all the time so I'm pretty good at knowing who is an out of towner, and I don't know how much time I have left." You're trying to get to know him and that is so unlike you. Having had boyfriends in the past, you were never the one asking the questions or wanting to get to know them more than a few dates and drinks. The longest relationship you have ever had was two months and you two went to high school together. 

"Hi I'm Harry, and I don't know how much longer I get to sit next to you so please can I have your number, sunshine? I would love to take you for dinner sometime soon." Harry is going out on a whim asking for your phone number but keeps going, "From what I have gathered you are a very busy woman and I admire that, love it even. I know this sounds crazy but I feel like I know you already and I have never felt that with another person so please give me a chance, I will work around your schedule. I dont care what it--" he is stopped when your pager goes off as an emergent patient being admitted, all hands on deck you assume. 

"Sunshine, huh? I like it." You wink at him and ask Mike for a pen so you can scrawl your number on a napkin and thank Harry for a very pleasant chat. It was good to know that he felt for you, as you did him after just meeting the man, and his nickname for you was adorable. 

For the next two weekends you spent getting to know Harry on a personal note. He told you he loved writing music, performing and was already an amazing talent. Harry showed you his latest music and you wondered how you hadn't connected the dots sooner. You knew he was a very private person, as he told you on your first date. 

(FLASHBACK)

"I'd love to get to know your friends, and see what kind of person you are. I can't wait to know you but I just want you to know that I can't have a lot of people knowing what is going on in my personal life." He sighs, you two sat down at dinner and he couldn't help but spit out what he wanted to tell you when you first met. "I don't want to sound pretentious or come off as someone who cares about his appearance to others but I have to tell you that I make music for a living and have quite the lot of fans. Screaming fans to be exact, " he chortles, asking the waiter for a bottle of wine to start off, "but I can't help but love them all. They made my career but I have to remain a private person. I adore my fans but they are very protective and I don't want our relationship to struggle because of a few of them saying unkind things." He grabs your hand and looks you in the eyes, trying to make you understand the reason for privacy.

"I've never met anyone like you Harry and I meet a lot of people on the regular. You have this way about you that draws me in and I want to get to know you. If that means that I cannot post my gushing about you on social media, so be it. I really like you and would like to know who you are." You declare, hoping he understands that he as a person means more than everyone understanding her lifestyle choices. 

(END OF FLASHBACK) 

Tonight was the night you knew you wanted to understand him on an even more personal level. You knew that the way you felt for him wasn't a normal crush, wasn't even a normal type of love. You knew he had the power to hurt you if he wished to do so but that was so far in the back of your mind. He meant so much to you already that it didn't matter you two were keeping your relationship a secret from most of the world, apart from a select few. It was the best date of them all, Harry cooked you and your best friends dinner so when you got off work, dinner was on the table. He was always so thoughtful of your needs and you thought it was the time to prioritize his.

"Take me to bed Harry." You whimper, "I want you." 

*7 MONTHS LATER* 

Things were hectic in your life but that was the way they always were but now it seemed like days stretched past 24 hours and turned into a marathon sprint that never ended. 

The day Harry unmistakably broke you was the day that sleep had everything on you. Going for days on end was something you were accustomed to but after he cut you deeper than you could ever be, sleep seemed to be your only friend. 

You thought you knew him better than anyone. He was your Harry, your everything, even your person maybe? 

But when his decision to take his career to the next step interfered in your relationship, your life; that was the day to call it quits no matter the devastation. He may have been your soulmate but maybe, just maybe it wasn't right. The timing, the place of it all was just too much. Your life just didn't have room for much else, especially someone who was willing to hurt you unimaginably and not walk away in order to lessen the blow. 

*2 WEEKS BEFORE THE INEVITABLE *

"Hey sunshine, just calling to let you know I wont be able to make it home this time. I'm sorry, the label has me doing something that I'm not sure is a good idea but they say it will help me in the long run." He sighs at the end, I imagine him palming his forehead.

"Look, I need you to listen to me when I tell you that you are everything to me, you make me want to become the best version of myself. During the months we have been together I have seen the best and worst side of you and I'm not running, promise. I want you to be mine forever, do you hear me? Just remember that." Harry expelled.

That was two hours ago and within those two hours you knew it was best to stay off your phone. You keep telling yourself to not look for anything leading you to clues about his voice mail. It wasn't like him to express his feelings over the phone, he was an in person 'declare-my-love-for-you' type of man so when you listened to it you thought it was best to stay off your phone. 

Trailing off to the shower in pursuit of getting to work, you hear your phone's inescapable shrill from your bedroom and decide to opt away from contact to that thing. 

As soon as you leave for work is when your heart stops, skips a few beats and then plummets into your stomach. 

"Harry Styles in a relationship with Camille Rowe? That is the best thing I have heard all week. The star tells us that they met months ago and kept it a secret in order to get to know each other. We cant wait for updates on their relationship. Now on to the juic--" That's all you can hear for the rest of the day, ringing in your mind like it is an announcement on the P.A. at work for all to hear. 

You knew that was the end of everything. Devastation didn't even hit the mark, it was like everything in the world was on fast forward and you were still trying to get through the commercials. Nothing made sense any more, the glass was no longer half full. It was completely drained and then smashed on the ground into a million little pieces. That was how her whole body felt, like it was just shattered on the ground, irreparable. 

The damage was done and there was nothing holding you back from wailing like a siren in front of all of the patients waiting for surgery, but your best friends always had your back. Making sure you eat during lunch and taking you to the bar at the end of your shift so you can drink the bottle dry. 

Just shy of a half hour sitting at the bar was when you were cut-off by Harry running into the bar rambling about how he thought they were spinning the tabloids another way. 

"I thought they were going to report that we just met and were already dating, I would have never let them ruin what we had by saying I knew her while you and I were together. I told them exactly what to say! I don't even know her, we just met." He jumbles his sentences trying to get hold of his clear message. 

You stand up from your seated position and start motioning for him to join you outside. Once out there, you decide what is best moving forward. 

"While we were together?" You scoff, trying to be as civil as can be under your obvious exhaustion, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

"At least you said something truthful in the last two minutes you decided to interrupt my break. Yes, you and I are no longer together. Honestly we should have never started something, our careers couldn't be more opposite and honestly I cannot afford to ruin my career over someone who wants to build his on lies. So thank you for what we had but from now on I would like to move forward, away from you." You keep talking in order to get your point across, hoping that when all is said and done there will be closure on both ends. 

You know that Harry does care for you but in these last twenty four hours you've learned is that maybe you can't have it all. Maybe happily-ever-afters are only for the imagination. 

Maybe life throws things at you so you can overcome them but there are times like these when she wonders what the message is supposed to be? 

Is there a message? 

That you can have one person in your life that should be your forever but just cant fit in there? 

"I know we never said it but I do love you, I think I always will but we can't make it fit. The time we spent together was great and I hope there is a lesson in there somewhere. I can only believe that closure is what we need now." She grabs on to his shoulder and goes in for a hug to end the conversation but he pulls back,"How could you think that we need closure? What we need is each other. I need you, in my life with me forever. You are always going to be the only one for me, I just know it." He grabs on to her and holds for dear life, hoping that he can convey her to stick it out for them both. 

"I know what I'm feeling is selfish because I never want to hurt you but my career is part of my life and I can't run away from who I am but I want you in my life, always. I will never stop loving you." Harry pulls away and looks in her eyes with tears in his," I cannot fathom a life without my sunshine. Maybe the timing is wrong but cant we make it right?" 

[Y/N] pulls away, trying to compose herself and make the most rational decision. She needs to think about her life and what she needs, not anyone else. "Harry Styles, while being with you was the best rollercoaster ride of my life, and if I could stay on forever I would do so; I have to get off. I need to pull away for the sake of my head and heart. Being with you makes me happy but when it interferes with my work, which is saving lives, I have to be on one hundred percent all the time. You have clouded my thoughts and judgement, and while being a star is part of who you are, being a doctor is me so I cannot give up who I am. Sometimes maybe love isn't enough?" By this point you can't hold back the sobs you have held in since you knew the inevitable truth and holding them back would be foolish, so you let them come. 

Harry tries to grab onto you with the little strength he has left from crying and lack of sleep. "I cannot let you get away. You are my everything! I canno--" he tries to catch his breath in between the racks of his heart," please, please do not leave me [Y/N]. We can make this work. I love you and that is enough, it is enough for me. Please." Harry whispers the last part, crouching in front of you and trying to hold you to him. 

"It isn't enough for the both of us Harry, and you know it." You're trying to hold back until you can be alone. All you want is to crawl in bed and become dead to the world because that's how you feel right about now. " I will always love you and maybe one day that love will be enough but right now I just don't see how that is possible Harry. I can't rationalize what is happening in our relationship and tell you that we will make it through it. The best thing to do is cut our ties before we start to resent each other." You take one last breath, looking at your friends inside the bar. You signal to them that you're leaving, and say the one thing that you know will hurt the most. 

"I can't try anymore to be with you so this is my goodbye. I wish you the best Harry, I really do." In the middle of all this you had a death grip on his hands but now is the time to walk away from one of the best things to happen to you. As gut wrenching as it is, the best thing for the both of them was to move on. Worry about the time in their career when it is at the peak so as hurtful as it is, she knows that she is doing what's best. 

You pull away from his grasp, looking down at him kneeling on the ground and kiss his forehead. "I love you." You whisper through tears. 

All you can hear behind you is wails of sirens, drunk people cheering on the football game inside but the one thing that is the loudest is Harry's cries. As soon as you walk away you break down into a blubbering mess. Your friends catch up after you, while looking at the mess you and Harry made behind. You can hear Harry's cries of desperation and the only thing your heart is telling you to do is 'go back, go back to him' but you know it's not logical. 

If it is meant to be you will make it work at a better time. Things will come together and make sense one day but not when her mind is a fuzzy mess. Maybe weeks, months or years later she will understand what it means to have love be enough. It has to mean something right? 

Good byes may hurt but sometimes they are unsurpassable. Sometimes they come barreling into your life totally unexpected and ruin something you thought could be forever. 

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry #harry imagine #harry styles imagine #imagine #one shot #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles wattpad #harry styles watermelon sugar

[twilight0wanderer]

Animorphs Playlist: Rachel

I mentioned in my Marco songs post that I had lists for all the Animorphs and a couple people asked for more, so here we go.

“Woman King” by Iron and Wine

Blackbird claw, raven wing Under the red sunlight

Hundred years, hundred more Someday we may see a Woman king, sword in hand Swing at some evil and bleed

Starting off, just the title of this song screams Rachel to me, and the hits just keep coming.  The whole song (heck, the whole EP) is about female power and presence.  The lyrics blend the violent and peaceful, the stern and sensitive, the mundane and the exceptional, just like Rachel, who refuses to be written off as a beauty queen or a berserker or a top student or a second mother but combines all of those and more into her character.

“Playing With Fire” by Them Lost Boys ft. Lexi Forche

The air is thick with smoke and I can’t breathe All your secrets pouring in and out of me Shut your mouth, lock the door, throw away the key You can’t be messing with me.  Don’t be messing with me!

This one runs on pure emotional association.  The aggressive beats intercut by more contemplative sections, slow builds and sharp drops, and the repeated refrain of “Don’t be messing with me” all sonically and essentially capture Rachel.

“Magus Perde” by Jethro Tull

Tough are the soles that tread the knife's edge Break the circle, stretch the line, call upon the devil Bring the gods, the gods' own fire In the conflict revel

A running theme among many of my choices will be more thematic or emotional connections (as seen in the previous entry).  I could probably articulate the connections given enough time and words, but that would be dissecting the proverbial frog.  Instead I’ll just point out that besides the lyrics listed above (which are pure Rachel Warrior Princess), this song is the closing track to the album Passion Play, and in keeping with the historical origins of the concept is a meditation on life, death, and rebirth.

“Winterborn” by Cruxshadows

Discard regret That in this debt A better world is made That children of a newer day might remember and avoid our fate And in the fury of this darkest hour We will be your light You've asked me for my sacrifice And I am Winterborn

About the only good thing to come out of reading 2/3 of Ghost several years ago (Oh John Ringo, No!) was being introduced to this song.  This is a song about willing sacrifice in defense of others.  More than that, the verses are from the perspective of a higher power providing reassurance and comfort, while the chorus is the statement of the person sacrificing themselves.  The parallels don’t just jump out at you, they club you over the head and go through your pockets for loose change, so I’ll leave it there.

“The March of Cambreadth” by Heather Alexander

Midnight mare and blood red roan Fight to Keep this Land Your Own Sound the horn and call the cry How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

This might be the least nuanced association here: when it comes to fighting, Rachel was the Goddess of War long before Kratos stepped on the scene.  This song is for the part of her that revels in the fight.

“White Flag” by Joseph

I could surrender but I'd Just be pretending, no I'd Rather be dead than live a lie Burn the white flag

While this song also invokes the imagery of war, the intent is broader - refusing to let circumstances force you down, living life whatever the situation is.  Rachel’s ability to live in the moment let her continue to enjoy the parts of her life outside the immediate scope of the war, whether that was appreciating teen idols, laughing at her cousin’s complete lack of chill at a school square dance, or taking time to build her relationship with Tobias.  These aspects faded as the war began to encroach onto everything, but she managed to maintain her life longer than some of the others.

“Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes” by Paul Simon and Ladysmith Black Mambazo

And she said honey take me dancing But they ended up sleeping in a doorway By the bodegas and the lights on Upper Broadway Wearing diamonds on the soles of their shoes

This was a late addition, but as I was writing this post I realized that I have a post-war Rachel-Tobias song but nothing for their relationship during the war, and this just jumped out at me.  This song, to me, captures the difference in their initial positions in life and society, and how little they let it matter to them.  They can be just as happy flying together or hanging out in Tobias’ meadow or Rachel’s bedroom as they could be at a dance or the mall or another more traditional venue.  It also captures a sense of her refusal to let him cut her out and their willingness to meet in the middle.

“Bird Song” covered by T-Sisters

If you hear that same sweet song again Will you know why? Anyone who sings a tune so sweet Is passing by Laugh in the sunshine Sing Cry in the dark Fly through the night

Sleep in the stars Don't you cry Dry your eyes on the wind

This is my post-war Rachel and Tobias song, although it could apply equally well to the rest of the Animorphs after her death.  Initially written by Jerry Garcia in memory of Janis Joplin, I picked this particular version because I love the harmonies and it’s three women singing it.  This is another emotional association, no great character examination, just mourning for a dearly loved friend.

“This War” by Sting

And you can see the coming battle You pray the drums will never cease And you may win this war that's coming But would you tolerate the peace?

This song is written as an explicit condemnation of war, but I interpret and apply it here to Rachel’s own mixed feelings about the war, her love for it, and her place in the world without it.  While she’s not financially profiting, she does find herself more at home in battle (especially as the series goes on) and this song - to me - captures her fear that in giving more freedom to that part of herself she’s losing other elements of herself.  I personally believe she would have had a better chance than some might expect had she survived, but we’ll never know.

“Riot” by Three Days Grace

If you feel so filthy, so dirty, so f---ed up If you feel so walked on, so painful, so p---ed off You're not the only one refusing to go down You're not the only one, so get up

This was already on my Marco list, where I said it was my song for him, Rachel, and Tobias.  Whether they’re stirring s#!t with each other because they’re bored or burning down the world because at this point who cares, this is the song for my feral children.

“Yellow Flicker Beat” by Lorde

I'm a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones It keeps my veins hot, the fire's found a home in me

I’m sure I’m not the first person to connect this song to Rachel.  Katniss is a different person, but as a song for a fighter who still can’t escape their war, it maps onto Rachel pretty well.

God is a DJ by P!nk

I've been the girl, middle finger in the air Unaffected by rumors, the truth, I don't care So open your mouth, stick out your tongue You might as well let go You can't take back what you've done

This song comes back to the joyful nonconformity of Rachel’s character.  She is who she is, and she doesn’t care what you think about it or expect from her.

Marco’s List

#Animorphs #Rachel Warrior Princess #music #actually Rachel is the one I have the easiest time finding songs for #for some reason... #Censored because I don't know where Tumblr draws the line after their clean-up act a couple years ago #and I'd rather play it safe #post #Fandom #Character Songs #playlist

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

a little jealous

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think!

request: Could you write a fic post it chapter 2 where Richie and Eddie start dating, but then Richie starts to feel jealous of Eddie with an attractive coworker?

warnings: a few curse words, a very brief mention of homophobia, a bit of self doubt

They’ve been officially dating for two months when Eddie invites Richie to join him on a work related business party. It’s not the first one Eddie has had to go to, but up until now he had always made up an excuse so that he only had to stay for about an hour, not nearly long enough for Richie to tag along to.

The difference between this one and the others he has already been too, is that this time he needs to stay to the end. Eddie might be up for a promotion if his boss takes a liken too him, which is why he is determined to make a good impression. If Eddie gets turned down, he’ll probably leave his job and search for another one, Richie thinks, since Eddie had been going on none stop about quitting.  

Richie has been to his office before, on more than one occasion, when Eddie was so stressed he forgot his lunch, so it’s not his first Rodeo. He knows a few people that will attend, like Anisa who is the secretary on the bottom floor, Emmet who is Eddie’s coworker and works in the office adjacent to his, and Karen who is about as much a pain in the ass as Eddie’s mom, but Richie loves to fuck with her.

Anisa is his best friend in the office, well of course besides Eds, but whenever he stops by, he always leaves some form of candy on her disk, a references to the first time the two met, when Richie accidentally dropped all the candy he was planning to surprise Eddie with. It had been Halloween, and even though Eddie didn’t celebrate it, none of the losers actually, Richie still felt the need to do something. They hit it off straight after, especially when Anisa confided in him that she had never seen Eddie smile as much as when he got together with him.

Emmet is a bit of a hardass, work till he drops, party till he drops kind off guy. Full-on in everything he does, which sometime is a little of putting, but it can also cause hilarious comedy gold moments, which Richie has used multiple times in his sketches.

He’s pretty sure his winning Karen over aswell, since he has even managed to get a small smile out of her, which is a hell of a lot more than he ever got from Sonia.

The others he knows only vaguely by the nicknames he gave them, ranging from boss man to toilet man, the latter spending all his time on the toilet if Eddie is anything to go by.

Still, Richie is very excited when he gets permission from Eddie to go with him, so much so that he’s practically bouncing on his foot whilst he gets ready. Eddie is less keen on going tonight, but that has nothing to do with the fact that Richie is going.

Ever since returning from Derry, the two of them don’t go out much. They meet up with the losers, but apart from that they usually spend their time inside of the confinements of their home, either fighting over he gets the remote, cooking, working or annoying the shit out of each other.

Neither of them want to either, they enjoy each other’s company, and those of the other members of the losers club. When they do go out, they always seem to run into someone they know giving them shit about being gay. ‘Oh Eddie, I thought you were still married to your wife?’ or ‘If it isn’t the trashmount with a boy. What happened couldn’t get enough girl anymore?’

Most of them don’t mean bad, and Eddie nor Richie are ashamed of their love, they’re just tired of having to explain over and over again, so they stay in.

Work parties are the worst for Eddie, who doesn’t even like most of his coworkers to begin with, but sometimes they are mandatory, and he has no choice but to drag his ass over there.

So Eddie grumbles his way through getting ready, shaving and brushing his teeth with a stern look on his face, picking out his and Richie’s cloths. ‘There’s no way I’m letting you dress yourself, you’ll look like a walking Christmas tree.’

They lose some time while they get ready because Richie tries to cheer Eddie up a bit, by threatening to dose him in cold water, welcoming the snappy warning Eddie sends his way.

By the time they make it to Eddie’s workplace, where the party is going to be held, it’s a quarter past nine, while they were supposed to be there at nine.

This does not do any wonders for Eddie’s mood, who’s scowl turns impossibly bigger. He almost trips over his own two feet in his haste to make it inside, but before they do, he tugs Richie aside by the hem of his sleeve.

‘Please act normal, I need this job alright?’

‘My Eds, you wound me. You think I would throw away your honor just for a few laughs from a couple of lads, I could never.’ Richie’s British voice thick his words with an accent, having the intended effect. A smile tugs up the sides of Eddie’s mouth, even when he desperately tries to hide it, rolling his eyes extravagantly.

‘See that’s what I mean dickhead, don’t do the fucking British guy or I’m dumping you.’

He’s clearly joking, so Richie doesn’t dignify it with a response, though he does snort a little in amusement. ‘Sir, yes sir.’ He calls out long after Eddie has turned his back, cackling when Eddie flips him the bird behind his back. Fondly, Richie follows him through the long corridors, first turning right, then left, left again to eventually enter a massive open space, not to far from the bathroom Richie always uses when he comes to visit.

‘Hey, if you want to get out of here, just use the word salmon for whatever, than we’ll skoot on right out of here, Eddie Spaghetti’, Richie whispers inconspicuously to Eddie, trying to avoid being heard by somebody else. He hopes he succeeded, but by the looks of it, he did.

Eddie shakes his head fondly, his hand interlocking with Richie’s with a warning squeeze.

‘Shut up you idiot’, he mumbles fondly, the look in his eyes radiating nothing but love for the man in next to him.  

They spot Anisa first, the sour look on her face melting away when she sees the two of them entering. She grabs two more drinks, balancing a total of three drinks in two hands, and offers it gracefully to them.

‘What took you guys so long?’ The voice of Bon Jovi booms through the room, originating from a djs-table in the left corner, making it hard to understand what she’s saying.

‘Mister clean over here had to be completely dosed up for this occasion, I think he changed cloths like three times, isn’t that right Eds?’ to be fair though, Eddie looks horrendously handsome, it’s almost criminal. His suit accentuates all the good features of his body, which is everything, his dress shoes make a squeaking noise every time they walk over the floor, and his hair is neatly combed back, making him look even more attractive than he already is daily.

A huff is forced out of him when he feels Eddie’s elbow dig slightly into his side. Eddie glare is turned up to a hundred.

‘Do you know how unsanitary it is to not wash every day? Do you know how many germs are transferred onto your hand by just touching a doorknob? If I didn’t wash up you know statistically speaking I have a 40% change of catching a disease? You know this asshole, why would you need to-‘

He’s intercepted by Anisa; ‘you two are so cute together’, and Richie couldn’t agree more. He takes a sip of his drink; which is champagne apparently, and is seconds away from asking Eddie who his boss is supposed to be, when a man Richie has never seen around the office makes an appearance, sliding in front Eddie’s left to give him a tight hug. By doing so, he breaks the link that Richie and Eddie hands still had, rudely shoving Richie slightly back.

He frowns, but does nothing as he waits for Eddie to introduce them. Anisa, who is still standing with them, looks to be as flabbergasted as he is.

‘Eddie, look at you. Handsome as always’, the man compliments while pulling back, his eyes shamelessly raking over Eddie’s form.

Eddie laughs politely, thanking him while reaching for Richie’s hand again. ‘Yeah, good to see you to Seth, this is my boyfriend Richie Tozier’, Eddie explains when the guy, Seth, makes no move to introduce himself.

Seth forces a curt nod towards Richie, not so much as a hello. It irks Richie to no end, but this might the one Eddie’s trying to impress, and Richie is not enough of an asshole to ruin Eddie’s chances because he’s annoyed.

‘I’m going to find Emmet, I’ll see you guys later’, Anisa tells them, as she turns around and walks off, something Richie would love to be doing now too.

He stays rooted to his spot though, trying to make himself as big as possible. It must look a bit ridiculous, but he can’t help it, there’s something about this guy.

‘So, have you managed to talk to the boss man yet? The guy really likes fresh workers.’ He tries to joke, but it falls flat, and Richie can’t help but feel smug and a little sympathetic towards the guy, so he laughs a bit awkwardly. It’s better than not responding at all, he argues, but then Seth levels him with such an annoyed look that Richie can’t help but feel a little intimidated by.

He hasn’t seen that sort of look since Sonya, and for all his joking about her, he really was terrified that she would manage to convince Eddie to stay away from for good. Uneasiness sweeps it’s way through Richie’s body, the only thing keeping him slightly calm and stable, is the hand he’s holding.

Richie tries to change the subject, to distract himself from how weird he finds the guy, by asking how he and Eddie know each other.

‘We collaborate on projects from time to time, Seth works for one of our client companies.’

‘Yeah, and we wouldn’t be coming back to the same firm if it wasn’t for Eddie over here,’ he gestures to Eddie as if Richie didn’t know who the fuck that was, ‘I’ve never had a more dedicated, ambitious, articulated, clever –‘

While he continues to dish out compliments, Richie reaches his arm over Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him flush to his side. Obviously it’s wonderful to hear compliments, and god knows Eddie deserves nothing but that, but it’s quite off putting that the same guy keeps praising him at every turn, and not even acknowledges his boyfriends presence instead being rude.

Eddie response by pressing a kiss to Richie’s cheek, which is a lot of PDA for him, maybe to sooth Richie, maybe because it was an automatic reflex, either way, Richie takes a deep breath and manages to hold his tongue till the guy is finished talking.

‘Yep, that’s my Eds, nothing but the best. I’m lucky to have him.’

He looks up from Eddie’s face to smile brightly in Seth’s vicinity, not even trying to compete with him, just being brutally honest.

‘He’s just as ambitious at home by the way, you should see the poses he can bend into when we’re-‘

‘Beep beep, Richie’, Eddie’s voice, sharp as the edge of a knife cuts in. ‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence you prick. And don’t call me that.’

Richie cackles, gripping his stomach with the one hand that isn’t occupied to stop himself from doubling over, Eddie’s angry face only making it worse.

‘Why do you call him Eds? He told you he doesn’t like that.’

Richie’s head snaps back up again, and this time, he feels actual anger. It’s one thing to flirt with Eddie in front of him, or be rude to him, Richie can deal with that, at least on the outside. But insulting their nicknames? He knows for a fact Eddie only tells him to stop calling him that out of habit, Eddie having admit to that himself, but this guy had no right commenting on it.

Eddie himself seems agitated now, in a truly fashion, one that he has never used to talk to Richie, but before he can say anything, another man steps their way, extending his hand and waiting for Eddie to shake it.

‘Mister Duke, how are you sir?’ Eddie asks a little nervously, and Richie lets his arm drop down. He refuses to let Eddie be denied this opportunity by homophobia, even if he isn’t sure that the man is homophobic, he’s not ready to take any changes.

With a gesture over his shoulder, Eddie follows who Richie presumes is his boss over to a table with man who looked like they stepped right out of the TV show suits, but Richie declines to walk with him.

Eddie needs a chance to prove himself, and Richie was just going to support him from where he was standing.

For a minute, he forgets Seth is still standing with him, until he opens his mouth again.

‘You know you’re only dragging him down right?’ He asks cruelly.

Richie frowns at him, his hands closed in fists, trying to lure himself away from his breaking point.

‘He would do much better with me. What do you have to offer? Money? I’ve got plenty of that, and at least I have status. Some small town comedian who flunked at his show that one time, and still hasn’t made a comeback yet. You look about as disheveled as a homeless men, and I can’t say I see much love between the two of you. You annoy him, and you might find it funny, respectable people don’t. Leave him before you ruin him like you ruined yourself. I could take better care of him than you ever could.’

After his monologue, he stares Richie down with a cocky expression, seemingly daring Richie to respond. When he doesn’t get one in ten seconds, he trudges on, probably to on to the next person to bother.

Richie feels like all the bones in his body have turned to liquid as he struggles to stay upright. For a moment he gazes around the room in shame, because it seems like a scene from a movie where everyone looks on to the bully annihilating some nerd, as that is the exact same emotion Richie comprehends, before he realizes that everyone is caught up in their own conversation, and he too walks off, going to the bathroom.

He knows Eddie will search for him when he’s done with his conversation, but for a moment that thought is put on the back-burner as he starts to get a little faint. It takes longer than it usually does to reach the toilet door, in the meanwhile he’s had to shrug Emmet of and ignore Anisa’s callout, but none of that matters when he finally gets there.

As soon as the door closes behind him, a loud sob leaves his throat. Only one sob is allowed to leave his lips, he argues with himself, so he resumes to silent tears only after that.

Overreactor, his traitorous mind hisses at him, and he knows it’s right, but he can’t help how he feels. He survived a fucking clown alien attacking him, and even that didn’t make him cry until he thought Eddie might have died.

However, he knows that Seth had a point, Richie is really not good enough for Eddie. And maybe Seth could be, at the very least, he did have a stable job, and he thinks highly of Eddie, maybe he was right, and he should leave Eddie so he can grow to his full potential.

Some times goes by while he’s thinking it over, and in the meanwhile he has moved to wash his face by the washing bins, scrubbing the area around his eyes to make it appear like he wasn’t crying. As he’s doing this, he hears Eddie call out to him. ‘Hey dickhead, you in here?’

The door whips open, clashing against the wall with a loud bang so hard that Richie flinches for a moment. A worried looking Eddie is standing in the door opening, his tie undone atop his blazer, and his frantic eyes searching the door, calming down slightly when he sees Richie.

‘Hey, why are you taking so long, you fall in the toilet or something?’ Eddie tries, a futile attempt at ignorance, Richie can clearly see how perturbed he is, but he’s kind enough to let Richie come to him.

Instead of telling Eddie the things that are on his mind, Richie tries to force a way around the topic, by using humor and creating a joke. ‘Well Eds, I was just about to call your mom, to declare my love for her.’

‘Richie’, Eddie sighs, running a hand over his face like he’s trying to mentally prepare himself? By the tone of his voice, Richie understands that Eddie is asking him to tell the truth, to speak what’s on his mind, but that can be so hard sometimes, so in lieu of having a conversation with Eddie, Richie starts to cry.

A hand pushes it’s way up to his mouth, trying to desperately to muffle the cries of despair, shame was again white hot present in his mind. Eddie looks shocked for about a second flat, before rushing over to Richie, grabbing his neck and pushing his head against the crook of his shoulder, rubbing his own hand up and down Richie’s back, and the other one through his hair.  

‘Rich, it’s okay. You can talk to me dumbass, that’s what boyfriends are supposed to do.’

There’s nothing but silence for a few minutes, which Eddie grants Richie, just trying to get him to calm down.

‘do you ever doubt our relationship?’ Richie finally asks, feeling the way Eddie’s entire body freezes up as if he was told Pennywise was back.

Richie hurries to continue. ‘I mean, if I’d had to choose between me and Seth, I’d pick Seth too. He has a good job and I might be out of one after waiting so long to go on stage again, and I look ridicules, and I push your buttons,’ Richie takes a break to gulp in a large gush of air. ’I’m just saying, I’d get if you would want to break up with me.’

Yet, when Eddie pulls back slightly, Richie panics before letting him get too far. Eddie laughs again, still close enough that their noses are pressed together with Richie bend down the way he is.

‘Hey Rich, you’re really fucking stupid you know that?’ Eddie says with a voice so incredibly soft and fond, Richie nearly melts to a puddle. He’s still stroking curl after curl on Richie’s head, comforting him best he can when they’re in a public bathroom.

‘You’ll have a job. You’re so good at being funny Richie. Even if I don’t say that enough. Besides, let’s say you don’t, you will but just hypothetically, I don’t care about that. I only want to spend time with you. You dress like a toddler, but I like that, it makes you look goofy, just like your personality.’

With a smile that’s showing his teeth, Eddie presses a quick kiss on Richie’s mouth, pulling back fast and firing two more in rapid succession.

‘I love you Rich. Not fucking Seth, Fuck that guy. I could never want to be with him, ever. I mean it when I say I love you dickwad, despite my questionable decision, I choose you.’

Richie giggles, hearty when Eddie stands on his tippy toes to kiss his forehead, and for a moment he feels like he’s five years old. He’s glad to have Eddie, and he’s even more satisfied that Eddie wants him back. Not amnesia could stand in their way, he’s so idiotic to believe a guy from Eddie’s fucking job could.

‘Now, come on. First I have to kick Seth’s ass for making my boyfriend cry. I have to set an example here. Then we’ll go home and cuddle okay? We'll clean the salmon or whatever the fuck sentence I'm supposed to make with that and skoot on home’

Richie shakes his head negatively, ‘what about your job promotion?’

As if suddenly remembering so, Eddie grins like a cat that go the cream.

‘Don’t worry about that, I got the job.’

When they cuddle at night in their bad, after a heavy make out session, and a small skype party with the losers in honor of Eddie’s promotion, Richie falls asleep, safely knowing that Eddie was with him, and he no matter what, he wasn’t leaving.  

#reddie #reddie fluff #some jealousy #eddie kaspbrack #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak imagine #richie tozier imagine #My writing #it chapter two imagine #I wrote this way too late

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

Why Fanfiction?

Hey guys. Okay, so, a few weeks ago one of my coworkers asked me this question. And it has been bothering me ever since. 

Y’see, there’s this problem about explaining fanfiction, or fandom for that matter, to people who have never been a part of this culture. And, no, I don’t think that culture is too grandiose a term. The problem is everyone wants to rationalize fanfiction, justify its existence. Anyone who is not a part of fandom, literally any fandom, wants you to explain why you use your time this way, why you create this way, and why you feel entitled to do so. People struggle over basic things like creation existing outside of monetary gain or copyright, but even that’s not the intrinsic thing outside people don’t understand. 

I spent minutes trying to explain to my coworkers why as they pestered me with the same series of comments we’ve all been called to answer a hundred times before, “Why do you do that?” “But it’s not yours!””Who don’t you write your own work?” “That character wouldn’t do that!” etc, etc. And between trauma flashbacks to 2004 when I was 12 years old and we had the wars of What Is And Is Not In Character, I realized what the problem is: fanfiction is for fun. 

That’s it, plain and simple. I do it because it’s fun. You do it too! You draw or write or read or make or remix or whatever! You participate because it’s fun! That’s really all there is to it. And you and I don’t ask for more reason than that. But I was talking to outsiders. 

And here I should explain that I work in a college. I was talking to academics. Hell, I am an academic, I teach college English. And English professors, god help me, English professors are the absolute WORST at justifying fanfiction. You get two flavors of English professor when it comes to fandom: 1) that’s stealing or 2) that’s deconstruction. If the first, fuck you, I don’t have time for your precious proprietary sensibilities, learn what derivative means and then tell me if your near-and-dears are so goddamn original. If the second, I love ya, pal, and I know you’re trying, but you do too much. You do too much. 

For all of us in fandom, we understand that for every meta-critique, every genderqueer retelling, every better rewriting of a poorly articulated story, there are fifty hackneyed, hand-on-the-crotch, author-kink-specific "adult content” fics (Just in case tumblr got any ideas about censoring this post). And THAT’S NOT A BAD THING!

If you haven’t yet, you will meet people who will go out of their way to defend fanfiction’s literary qualities, but they Bowdlerize it! Sanitize! Clean! Purify. Intentional or not, and sometimes it is definitely intentional, many people feel that in order to justify and defend fanfiction, they must eliminate the porn, forego the smut, ignore the self-indulgent, half-crazed teenage lust that is the life’s blood of fanfiction. And that is some hypocritical, restrictive horseshit. Never mind the fan that chooses to throw the first stone, but what a fundamental misrepresentation on behalf of the authority! 

One of my favorite professors of all time offered fanfiction as an assignment option in every one of her classes. But she always did this with this fundamental misunderstanding of what fanfiction is and what it is for. Yes it CAN be incredible critical thought. Yes it CAN be a literary revolution. Yes, yes, yes. But it is not only this. And it always made me cringe to listen to her sing fanfiction’s praises without embracing all of the gutter trash that is my heritage, my home. I am by no means saying that fanfiction should not do all the meta-analysis and social critique that it can, will, and does do. But that is not all that fanficiton is nor should it be. Fanfiction is also the 18th coffeeshop AU you’ve read for the same ship. Fanfiction is also the soulmates AU for your rarepair. It’s the LOTR crossover. It’s the character death fic that serves no purpose but to make you sad. And it’s the OOC crack nightmare that you wrote at 4 am when you were 13 and don’t share with anyone, but it gave you joy to write. I will never defend fanfic without defending these also. 

And this is what my coworkers struggled with when I tried to explain. They could not accept this simple fact that fanfiction exists, primarily, for joy. And I would not treat fanfiction as high art existing only to hold a mirror up to media. Absolutely fuck that ivory tower bullshit. And they could not wrap their heads around enjoying this. 

One of them understood why I might write fic, but did not understand why I might want to read another’s. For this I can only cite his ego as the reason he would perhaps not like to read from someone else’s imagination. Another insisted that I ought to write my own work, rather than manipulate someone else’s characters. And this was someone who espoused death of the author and freedom from censorship! But still I could not convince her why it would be fun to play around in someone else’s sandbox. And the answer I gave at the time was not what I wanted it to be. I played it off as cowardice, fear of judgment about my own work. And, to be fair, that is one of the reasons I balk at original fiction, but again, fanfiction needs no justification! It is NOT second best! It is a full and legitimate art form in its own right, requiring new and different skills every bit as nuanced and delicate and time-consuming to acquire as those for any other kind of writing. Social acceptance does not make a creation good. Nor does profit or being studied by institutions. These things are accolades and easily recognized to mean value, but they themselves are not what make a creation good. You already know what does that.

And this is why it is so terribly hard to explain why fanfiction? You may as well ask why art?

#why fanfiction #fandom meta #defense of fanfiction

[jyndor]

so I was talking to my friend @timelordthirteen about some shit and I decided to just share with you all about the importance of actually explaining shit instead of just saying it. the Left, I am looking at you bitch (ily bitch but)

lol would put a read more but tumblr's being a petty little bitch today ❤

shitposting is fun. dunking on asshat right wingers is fun. you know what is not fun? seeing people not understand the basic terminology that we use in the ~discourse*

but. if we are going to use terminology, if we are going to inject regular old laypeople conversations with (imo) unneccessary amounts of academic terms, then we should try to use them correctly** because in many cases misusing them means we as leftists do not have a full understanding of what the fuck we're on about. this dilutes both the meanings of these terms and their purposes. I know I am wordy as fuck and can be hard to understand sometimes (thanks adhd) so what I am about to say is a little ironic, but clarity is fucking important when it comes to strategy and organizing.

so I am going to examine some commonly misused concepts and terms today. yay.

1. THEORY, PRAXIS AND FRAMEWORKS FOR ANALYSIS weeee yes I am fun at parties tyvm

what is a framework? a structure, in this case, for analyzing some bullshit we deal with irl. that's it lol but I use it a lot so I figured I'd define it here. examples of frameworks are: intersectionality, marxism, queer theory. seriously, if you can think it, it has already been analyzed through the queer lens.

what is theory? ideas, knowledge in the abstract based on looking at shit happen and analyzing that shit. it is useful because it can help us articulate what we are going through in our shitty lives. this is why I often recommend people learn about chomsky's manufacturing consent (theory of why we get the info we get from the media tl;dr), not because I think chomsky is the ultimate leftist grandpa but because this site needs some media literacy lmao. and btw, this clip narrated by amy goodman is a great, trippy little 4:30 min long video that explains the basics of manufacturing consent so you don't have to open a book or use drugs!

theory can help serve as a framework to understand what the fuck is happening to us irl, but imo is kind of an incomplete understanding of shit without lived experience (aka - theory v praxis). this is one reason why we should listen to marginalized groups on their own shit and not talk over them - because all of the research and theory in the world does not make me a Black woman living in Flint (aka - ground up organizing v technocracy). it is not about being nice, or politically correct, although we should be nice and we should care about people just because they're people. if you understand the why of listening to marginalized groups, you understand that it is mainly about communities knowing their own problems best and therefore having the best solutions for those problems.

2. MARXISM, CAPITALISM AND OTHER BUZZWORDS (and leftists need hobbies)

so marxism is a framework for socioeconomic analysis observed by mr kpop himself, karl marx (and his sugar daddy friedrich engels). because leftists love to argue, there are so many kinds of marxism, and if you ever feel like you are shouting into the void too much, just look up some arguments between stalinists and trotskyists. it's just... magical. no, I am not defining tankie here.

as many people smarter than I am have said (read: kwame ture seriously watch this video it's iconic), karl marx did not discover socialism or invent it or whatever, he observed capitalism and saw how shitty it is, like any other sane person would do. the point of marxism is not karl marx (which he would say) or tankies or fuckin guillotines***

things that marxism is:

- an analytical tool for looking at the world

- a theory which was used to develop the basis of different kinds of post-capitalist economic systems like communism and socialism

things that marxism is not:

- a system of economics or government lmao marx did not govern dick

- scary

marx looked at capitalism and said "this is definitely gonna fail someday because it's clearly unsustainable, I mean the proletariat is bigger than the bourgeoisie who owns everything uh yeah so I can do basic fucking math. if I have one capitalist and fifteen hundred workers, eventually that capitalist is gonna lose his damn head because he is gonna hoard all that wealth and his workers are gonna get pissed that they don't have their basic fucking needs met. lmao now put on some kpop, freddy" or something. idk that might not be a direct quote.

what is capitalism? (besides horseshit) a system of economics where industry is privately owned. and yes, this includes publically traded corporations because they are still owned by individuals (shareholders) even if they aren't privately owned by one person or a group of partners. truly a nightmare to live in, and we hate to see it.

what is the proletariat? well, the working class. and the bourgeoisie is the owner class, the capitalist class. the rich.

and this is something else that we need to discuss, tumblr. if you are going to say "eat the rich" please understand who you are talking about. we're not talking about random actors or musicians, or doctors or lawyers, even if they make better than a liveable wage. even if they often have zero class consciousness, meaning they don't ~see class, like colorblind racism for classism.

anyone who has to sell their labor for wages and is not part of the owner class is working class. this includes people who cannot work for any multitude of reasons (disability, can't find work, caretaker, etc) and also white collar workers who might be well off in relatively high paying jobs because they don't own the means of production, or capital that is used to produce shit. so yes, that rich actor who is a part of a union is actually part of the working class in marxist theory. when we say eat the rich, we mean jeff bezos, not john boyega. jeff bezos owns the means of production. john boyega is a working actor who is in a union.

this is important not because we shouldn't get pissed off when actors and celebrities do tone deaf shit like singing about imagining no possessions in their mansions while people starve during a pandemic. they need to put their money to good use, have some class consciousness, instead of asking fans to donate to causes that they could fund. but they are not the bourgeoisie until they start owning the means of production. and there is no doubt that many of them do, which is why we might eat gwyneth paltrow but we won't eat john boyega.

and by the way, eating the rich is metaphorical, a reference to french revolution-era philosopher jean-jacques rousseau's quote: "when the people shall have nothing more to eat, they will eat the rich." obviously I don't even need to explain it but I will anyway. basically, the people will forcibly redistribute the wealth of the rich if they have nothing else. this is why there are some very smart capitalists who are in favor of reforms and raising taxes, because they recognize the danger to their necks in not providing for basic needs of the working class. no, "eat the rich" does not mean be pro-cannibalism. but there are many capitalists who would prefer to die than lose their hoard so

oh, and one last thing. "no ethical consumption in capitalism" is tossed around a lot and it's a million percent true, but I need all of us to understand that it is not an excuse to support harmful practices but it is also not meant to shame consumers. it is rather an understanding that we as consumers are not responsible for the monstrous impact of capitalism. we live in it, we have no choice but to consume, and sometimes (most of the time) that means we have to buy shit that was produced in unethical ways. unfortunately supply chains being what they are, all consumption causes harm in some way.

it is a reminder that individual actions are not going to have the impact of collection actions. this is why plastic bag bans, though well-meaning, are not going to have the same impact on climate catastrophe as, say, banning fossil fuels would.

I am a vegetarian and I can recognize that I am doing a whole lot of nothing by not supporting factory farms, and when I was a vegan I wasn't doing much either. boycotts without mass support don't have much evidence of working. this is why bds exists - boycott divestment and sanctions. boycott, meaning don't support goods from various conpanies connected to something, divestment, meaning get companies/countries/institutions to remove their money from something, and sanctions, meaning getting countries to penalize a country for their bad behavior until they comply.

this is what the anti-apartheid south africa movement did and what palestinian rights organizers support for israeli apartheid.

do not allow legislators to put the burden of fixing the ills of society that capitalism created on consumers' shoulders.

3. INTERSECTIONALITY (because it deserves its own section)

I don't have as much to say on this as I did the last bit because holy shit capitalism, man.

intersectionality, a term that was coined by law professor kimberlé crenshaw in the late 80s to serve as a framework for people to critically assess how legal structures impact Black women differently due to class, race and gender. it is not incompatible with marxism (in fact marxism has been argued to be a form of intersectionality).

intersectionality can and should be used to examine why the Black queer experience is unique, for example. I also want to acknowledge that professor crenshaw isn't the only person to come up with intersectionality; sojourner truth spoke about it even if she didn't coin the term, for example. patricia hill collins, another influential af Black feminist academic****, created frameworks for viewing intersectionality. also you can read her book black feminist thought here for free.

intersectionality has been used - improperly - by liberal feminists***** to excuse bad behavior from leaders who pretend to care about women while creating and enforcing legislation that harms women. anyone who stans politicians at all needs help. it has also been misrepresented as essentialism, which it is also not (essentialism is the idea that everything has some assets that are necessary to its identity) because intersectionality isn't saying that every Black queer woman has the same experience, just that Black queer women might experience similar issues because of a system that negatively views them as Black and queer and women.

intersectionality does not excuse kamala harris for prosecuting poor moms of truant kids.

okay if you guys have things to add please do because I want us to educate each other instead of always talking shit. both is good.

* I am not calling out people for not being academic enough or not speaking english or not reading enough theory because LOL I am a 2x neurodivergent college dropout who radicalized by working retail and not by hearing karl marx talk dirty to me. also, not everyone speaks english like, I am truly not shitting on people.

** I recognize that language is fluid and ever changing, and that is a good thing. But diluting terms that serve specific purposes is not ever going to be good.

*** and I don't want to dismiss intra-leftist theory discourse (🤢) because I know how annoying it is to hear bernie sanders lumped in with liz warren, or bernie sanders lumping himself in with post-capitalists lmao of course I get it. but twitter discourse is not dismantling capitalism so ANYWAY

**** actually crenshaw built on collins' work (black feminist thought) and the collins built on crenshaw' work we love to see it.

***** I should go ahead and define liberal feminism as well as rad fem and terf and shit because people use them all very very loosely, especially terf (not every transphobe is a terf but every terf is a transphobe, it's like the rectangle/square thing). but I am exhausted with this so next time.

#marxism #word vom #intersectionality #kpop idol karl #truly apologize for my mess

[johobi]

(1/6) Anyone who reads your work and also writes KNOWS why it takes a long time - why it takes so much from you. Your word choice is precise and evocative. It flows effortlessly and that kind of flow takes not just innate linguistic talent, but the willingness to rework and redo and reread. It takes minutes that bleed into hours on just a small section because there is just *something* not quite right.

As I have already expressed to you through DMs, you have somehow perfectly encapsulated everything I aim to achieve with my writing when I’m toiling over it for ages. TT OH how those small sections can sometimes take hours. I’ve never felt so innately understood!!! 

(2/7) I reread Dig Deep last night (for the 5th time) and I am just in awe of how you crafted it. The story is superior, but the *way* you told it was simply masterful - down to the innate cadence the words take on when you read them in your head. You are descriptive without being verbose. The reader is never jarred away by an awkward transition or a repetitive word choice.

Being overly verbose is my BIGGEST fear. And so is being overly simplistic. It’s so hard trying to strike a balance between the two. I’m so glad the fruits of my efforts pay off... even in a story like Dig Deep, which initially was meant to be nothing more than a freaky Hallowe’en drabble. I scour every line for unnecessary repetition (though I also love to utilise it for impact sometimes). 

(3/7) It is vivid and visceral and even good writers cannot always achieve that - because it takes more than just being talented - it takes so much time and an almost undefinable instinct for knowing when something feels right (or if you’re a crazed perfectionist - and you probably are - it almost never feels right, but it at least feels better).

I can easily believe that you are also a writer because you articulate this struggle so well. In a way I wouldn’t be able to without thinking over it for ages. I am definitely a crazed perfectionist. I don’t even understand my standards or what qualifies as ‘good enough’, it’s such a nebulous thing. The goal posts are always moving, which is why sometimes it’s easier to be satisfied, and sometimes it is harder. ‘It at least feels better’. YUP. That’s what I have to settle with and try and move on.

(4/8) Writing like this is an emotionally and mentally exhausting process that takes a considerable toll. I can’t believe you do it for free. I love to compliment writers, because - as a writer - I know that they have earned it. But it is not enough to simply compliment a catalogue like yours.

It takes such a toll sometimes. I do it for free because I wouldn’t do it at all if I was paid - I can’t do pressure. I’m my happiest when there’s no-one to cater to but myself, or I’d plumb up completely. 

(5/8)Your writing ... if I were to hazard a guess - comes from a mind that has read hundreds of books from so many different genres and authors. I could be wrong about all this of course. Perhaps you simply take a deep breath and all this exquisiteness just flows out (and if that’s true then you’re a bloomin savant and someone needs to be documenting you for science and history). I don’t think I am wrong though.

It’s incredibly flattering that that is your perception of me! I actually don’t read at all. I think I read, like, one book in all of 2018 and that’s the last one I can remember. I read quite a bit as a child, but eventually began to enjoy my entertainment through ‘easier’ mediums. I say easier because it takes me a lot to focus and digest words. I’ve always suspected I have some form of ADHD or something, because it’s difficult for me to sit down and settle with any one thing at a time. Or maybe it’s my Gemini moon lol. I’ve played a ton of wordy, flowery fantasy video games though, and I suspect that’s where I’ve picked up a lot of my more archaic style. 

(6/8) When I say your work is worth the wait - I know good and well that your work IS the wait. It is every moment you spend rebuilding your energy from the last endeavor. It is every hour you’ll spend writing, and reworking, and spontaneously changing or adding up to entire plot points and storylines because they came to you when you were already eyeball deep in the narrative. You work is worth far more than any amount of time we wait for it.

Way to gut me with that first line. ; ; oh man. Again, you UNDERSTAND ME SO WELL. It is literally a case of rebuilding my energy between each project. I tend to write in long, productive bursts, 2-3k here and there, and I’ll do that for a few days in a row. But only after weeks, maybe months, of nothing but conceptualising. I can’t explain why I need that long a break but I don’t think I need to to you. You get it. ;; 

(7/8) I know from reading your blog, that you have been facing some challenges lately and my heart goes out to you. I hope my words have lifted your spirits a little. I’ve wanted to tell you this for awhile, but it is easy to be intimidated by someone with your talent and following. Sometimes I feel like a child just hoping someone will play with me on the playground when I put myself out there... I think that is why so many people give praise or ask questions on anon.

They did more than lift my spirits, they invigorated me!!! I know it’s easier said than done but please don’t ever feel intimidated by me. I’m quiet ‘n’ self-conscious and pretty damn awkward lol. I am so, so grateful to you for taking the time to pour your observations out to me. You nailed every. single. one. It’s almost spooky. I FEEL SEEN! Hah. And I will play with you any time, lovely Viola. x 

(8/8) It makes it easier to engage if you aren’t afraid of rejection. The more I read your posts, the more you seemed like someone who is truly down to earth and sweet... So I determined to tell you how much I genuinely admire both your ability and the art it produces. Thank you for sharing it with this community. Sincerely, Viola (P.S Sorry for the awkward numbering. I kept having to break it down into successively smaller pieces to fit the word count 🙈)

And I genuinely admire your courage and intuition. You have a way with words that is uncommon. When I said to you that I cannot wait to read your own works, I meant it. I feel we probably have similar styles, just from reading your words here. You’re a natural. 

Thanks again, Viola. I was overcome with joy when I read these. I hope you have the greatest of days. xxx

#what a RIDE #you read me for filth #can't believe how perceptive you are #jo asks #ladyartemesia

[techmomma]

Barto wasn’t an unkind man; only a cautious one. Sufficient teasing by Marden had been plenty to make Barto feel guilty for mistrusting the old man, and really, Marden was right: however unnerving it was to have the old sheikah pop up out of nowhere, that seemed to be all of his preternatural abilities. The rest of the old man’s abilities seemed to be sitting, making his joints pop without trying, enjoying the sunlight, and making their children and other travelers smile; anyone who spoke with him for a time seemed to leave a little lighter. Considering how rude, abrasive, or entitled customers could be to them, this man was breath of fresh air, Barto thought.

The old man, Barto found, had a particular way of speaking. Rhythmic, rough and worn like the side of a mountain but softened like a stone in the sea and usually accompanied by that particular lilt that came from speaking in a smile. And smile he did, whether he had a wispy, sad gaze to the far horizon or a bright gleam as Gaila and Matu offered him a lizard they’d just found under the tree, and with as much enthusiasm, let it crawl around his hands to their delight. Barto only really saw the smile fade—but not entirely disappear—when the little old man sat with a traveler, nodding and listening and though Barto never knew quite what about, he knew enough about the regulars to have a good idea.

Then again, he could have just been giving them more worldly advice, Barto thought. Catching fish. Tying knots. Sheikah things. He could already hear Marden scolding him.

The old man’s latest conversation companion stood and left as daylight waned, giving him a warm farewell before heading inside to the lodging area. Her name was Fyjo, Barto knew, a young traveler set on proving she was a somebody from a nobody village—whatever that might mean to her. She’d never been aloof, per se, but rarely gave words freely to those too much older than her. Somehow, though, the old man had gotten an hour or so of willing conversation from her.

“Got a teenager to talk. I’m impressed,” Barto noted with some dry amusement as he approached the cooking pot where the old man had taken sentry. If Barto knew his schedule, and he did, no one else was due to come in for the night. Save for the old man’s friend, but they had a more erratic schedule and if the old man knew when they were returning, he never said. They’d paid for plenty of nights though and Marden wasn’t worried, so Barto wasn’t worried. As un-worried as Barto could be.

The old man looked up, silent for a moment but with a laughing twinkle in his eyes as he smiled. “Just hafta let them choose the topic. Most times they’ll go on fer days if ya let’em.” Barto took a seat nearby on one of the vaguely-hewn logs they used as chairs around the stable.

“That’ll come in handy when my two are teenagers.”

“Take it, you’ll need all the help you c’n git.” This time the old man did laugh, a soft, wheezy sound.

“No kiddin’.” So that was how the old man did it. Barto already felt his defenses lowered. “You got teenagers in your family?”

“Ah… no.” The old man smiled but Barto knew immediately he’d hit a spot that shouldn’t have been touched. He couldn’t have known better, but felt guilty all the same. The old man carried on. “Might be over a hunnerd ‘n twenty but I do still vaguely recall bein’ a teenager ‘n wishin’ people might take me seriously.”

“Still feel that way sometimes,” Barto offered, and this seemed to please the old man, making him smile.

“No kiddin’.” He winked coyly. Barto grinned a suspicious half-grin; oh, the old man was good.

Barto then, took pause, as the previous sentence only then registered, the impact dawning on him.

“… You’re a hundred and twenty?” He asked, and this only made the old sheikah smile brighter.

“Don’t look a day over ninety, do I?”

“How—“

“We may not be zora, but sheikah tend ta average ‘bout a century. Even I’m purty old fer a sheikah, though, young as I look.”

This man wasn’t just old; he was a piece of history, himself. He’d lived through the end of the world—a world, not Barto’s world, not Marden’s world. Not the world of anyone Barto knew, himself. He’d lived through the end of the old world, when they made towering structures and the kingdom was alive and real, not myth and folktale. This man was one of the last pieces of evidence that the old world had existed and thrived with people and names—and wasn’t just a story in a children’s book. He was a little bit of the past, peeking into the present.

Barto didn’t have the eloquence to express these ideas that twinkled and went out like stars in his subconscious, clouds of ambiguous thought that were more shapes than words.

The Calamity had never been an interest, per se, for Barto. Or Marden, or most who lived in the wilds. It was a footnote in history, like a catastrophic flood that left scars on the countryside but could not be felt by the living more than a vague melancholy. That was the only reference anyone in the wilds could really compare it to; none had the ability to gauge the true and terrible scope of the end of the world. Even the eldest who’d lived through that dire time just after, the Age of Burning Fields, could rarely articulate the devastation in a way that their descendants could tangibly grasp.

But in that moment, all of Barto wanted nothing more than to ask what the Calamity had been like, and ached because he knew he could not ask. Maybe he could ask around the subject though. Before and after! Or at least see how the old man reacted. Curiosity compelled Barto, but he was, ultimately, a man who did want to do good, and did not like hurting others.

He realized, suddenly (and terribly chastised himself for not seeing this sooner), that the old man was missing an ear. Had he gotten that, too, in the Calamity? It seemed only natural.

“You uh… you wouldn’t have been much older than her, just before the. Y’know.” Barto nodded his head to where Fyjo had gone off to. He couldn’t see Marden watching the two fondly, smiling to himself before attending another guest.

“Mm-hm. Was a royal researcher, if that’s what yer itchin’ ta ask.”

A royal researcher. A sheikah researcher? “You worked with the royal family?”

“Which one?”

Barto leaned away. “I. Which one?”

“Which one, Hyrulean ‘r Zora?”

“Nooooo, you worked with both?”

“And Gerudo. ‘N the Rito ‘n Gorons, but they don’t got a royal family, per se. The royal researchers worked with just ‘bout every part o’ Hyrule ‘n every race.”

“Do you miss it?”

The question had come before Barto could really examine its angles, decipher if it was appropriately curious without overstepping boundaries or encroaching on unwanted emotions, but the loss of the gleam in the old man’s eyes told him how much he’d overstepped.

“… I do.” The old man answered with a soft vulnerability that made Barto immediately regret the question.

“I—don’t worry about it, I shouldn’t have asked that—“ The old man held up his hand, shaking his head fondly.

“The Calamity wove itself into every family that survived it. I’d wanna know what tore through my family history, too.”

Barto’s family had been through something when Calamity struck. He didn’t care much; he’d left them behind a long time ago. But Marden’s family, he did care. They were his family, and the Calamity bled through every generation into even the children who would be tucked into bed later that night.

The old man waited patiently for an answer, and Barto supplied it by propping his hands on his knees to push himself up onto his feet. “Y’know what, we don’t normally cook for travelers, but I think we have some ingredients to spare.” He stood akimbo, asking cautiously.

“… What did you research?”

“Guardians.” The old man answered, watching the color drain from Barto’s face.

 In the time it had taken Barto to light the fire, bring water to a boil and add rations of a hardened meat broth to flavor the soup, he’d watched the old man’s head start to nod, lifting with every intent to stay up as he wavered between sleep and waking. Eventually, sleep won over and the old man dozed off. Drooling.

“Missed your chores today.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Marden had taken a break from his post at the reception counter, as he did every night for dinner when travelers had either made their way to the stable or pitched their tents on the road as the sun set and smoldering twilight fell over the hills.

“Look at that, Barto made a friend.”

“He’s not—he looked lonely.”

“The one who’s been making conversation with all the guests? Sure.” All the same, he produced a blanket he’d brought over, draping it over the old man’s shoulders. He had no idea it was unnecessary, as sheikah clothing kept the wearer warm no matter the chill and cool no matter the heat, but it was the gesture that counted.

“Marden. He’s a hundred and twenty.”

“What.”

“’Swhat he said.”  

Marden looked over at the man, bobbing his head in an agreeing shrug and a mumbled yeah okay that checks out.

“He researched Guardians.”

“Oh now you’re pullin’ my leg.”

“I’m serious, that’s what he said.”

The stablekeeper threw a glance to the sleeping man and then to Barto, taking a seat next to him. “… Well shit.”

“I’ll say.”

Guardians, rarely encountered by the more sane individuals who kept to the pockets of safety left in Hyrule, were the nightmares of any Hyrulean child and many Hyrulean adults. Their blue, ghoulish eyes haunted the dreams of most born after the Calamity and Marden wondered, glancing again to the old man, if they haunted the dreams of those born before, too. They were called machines but they may as well have been monsters, the worst of Ganon’s lot with Lynels and Hinox. But perhaps most maddening was the fact that Ganon had not made them, but people.

Sheikah.

Not this man in particular, Barto and Marden knew. The stories differed slightly but the core remained the same: Guardians were sheikah technology, corrupted, and they had been used to blight the land then and terrorize the land now.

What part did this sleeping old man play in the end of the world?

“Can I join?”

Marden and Barto found Fyjo just outside the ring of light around the cooking pot. Without her backpack and rusty sword at her hip, she looked much younger—her actual age, Marden corrected himself. Somewhere around 18, if he remembered right. He nodded her over and she sat on the dirt.

“Thought you didn’t serve food,” she noted with more than a hint of satisfaction, recalling the times she’d asked.

“Thought you didn’t talk much,” Barto quipped and Marden nearly nudged him off of his seat, Fyjo glaring in response.

“I talk to cool people.”

“He’s cool and I’m not? After all the times I let you pet the horses?” Barto complained. Fyjo folded her arms over her knees.

“He told me how to stun a guardian, that makes him like a solid eight times cooler. Maybe nine.”

Barto and Marden exchanged glances with a mutual understanding that, okay, maybe there was substance to the old man’s claims (and also they were definitely cooler, yes, totally). Not that they disbelieved him, but they were inclined to take everyone’s claims with a grain of salt. Exaggerated tales were, after all, every bit of a trade-good as rice and barley and eggs and weapons at stables.

As if the man himself were about to refute them, the old man breathed in sharply, lifting his head and blinking languidly behind his now-askew glasses, wiping his chin with the butt of his palm. He looked around, visibly putting pieces together in his head, one eye squinted.

“Food’s almost ready.” Marden spoke helpfully, in a tone a little too sweet even if he was trying his best to reign it in. The old man nodded absently, licking his lips as he squinted through a sleepy haze, trying to remember the faces around him. Yes, there they were. The stablekeepers, and… and… the young lady! Yes. He was pleased to remember them. He didn’t quite remember what was going on just before nodding off, but he was sitting among nice people he’d spoken with before. That seemed enough for him.

“Thought you were goin’ ta sleep.” The old man smiled to Fyjo, who attempted nonchalance with a shrug and a glance away.

“Smelled food, was hungry.”

He nodded, the particular smirk on his face clearly betraying his disbelief in her defense. But the old man didn’t press the issue, instead looking around at the others gathered around the cooking pot. Something about the sight felt warm in the old man’s heart and a fond and distant look crossed his face.

“She says you told her how to stun a guardian, old man.” Barto spoke aloud, more question than statement.

“He did!” Fyjo protested.

“I did.” The old man answered.

“Seems awful dangerous information.” Barto noted, the old man watching him with a patient but knowing look in his eyes.

“Seems more dangerous ta go without.”

Barto acceded to this, nodding his head. “You learn that being a royal researcher?”

“You were a royal researcher?” Fyjo lit up again, recalling the ruins she’d gone exploring at the Serenne Stable’s prompting, just northwest of the castle where the lingering spirit of evil turned the earth grey and dead and lifeless.

“I was. And no. Didn’t learn that bein’ a researcher.” The old man turned his eyes to Barto--eyes on an endlessly tired face but flickering with intelligence and wryness. “Learned that from experience.”

The three watched him expectantly and the old man knew every thought by the looks on their faces. But before he could address that subject, he looked away from them to the timid man who’d been peeking from around the entrance to the stable. “C’mon, there’s plenty room,” the old man offered and after a flash of embarrassment at being caught, the man approached, sitting on the ground between the stablekeepers and Fyjo.

Karn, Marden knew. A scavenger but a good fellow; quiet, self-effacing, usually tried to pay too much even though Marden knew he didn’t have much on him at any given time. Flinchy. But Marden had also seen the man make careful, stuttering conversation with the old sheikah earlier. Everyone seemed to have a little piece of him but no one really had the whole picture, Marden thought.

“When… you hunted… guardians…?” Karn asked, so quietly that Marden worried the old man wouldn’t be able to pick up his voice.

“Just afore then.” Nope, heard him just fine.

Fyjo turned slowly to the old-timer sitting next to her. “You hunted them.”

“I did. Used ta be one right over the hills there, a wanderer.” The old man pointed his thin hand to the hill just down the road. Fyjo had been there, knew there were long-smoldered ruins of a tiny settlement there that had been destroyed decades ago. Barto and Marden were none the wiser, despite their years in the area. “Most guardians are coded with set perimeters ta patrol but some had their perimeters corrupted, when they were infected with Malice, sos they go wanderin’ without any set routes. There was a lady named Hehla who was tryin’ ta make a stable here, sos I cleared that one out fer her.”

“Gramma?” Marden leaned in, the old man smiling.

“Was wonderin’ how you were related. You got her nose.” He winked, tapping his own. Marden touched his nose unconsciously.

“How, swords don’t work on them. Guardians.” Fyjo asked, and the old man didn’t answer.

He leaned toward Fyjo, offering his walking stick. She took it, holding it in both hands and immediately noting that she could have not only held it in one hand, but it would have remained balanced no matter where she held it. She was moderately certain she could have placed it on either end and it would have remained standing. She looked up, waiting for a prompt, and he gave her a motion to follow. She gave the middle part a sharp flick and felt a sudden heat from one end of the walking stick, realizing only as she dropped it,

“It’s a spear!”

Marden, Barto, and Karn nearly fell out of their places learning forward to get a look at the pale blue spearhead, condensed blue fire with a sharp blade, a light and a solid object all at once that left a trailing blue vapor from the edge. It felt ethereal and Fyjo was half-tempted to touch the blade in some primal instinct were it not from the heat she felt radiating like another campfire just next to hear. She lifted it, noting the still-glowing embers in the dirt it had left behind, cooling into a transparent, glassy material.

Barto looked again to the little old man, sitting there with his hands in his lap and a blanket over his shoulders, who’d recently woken up from a nap sitting up. The old man who shuffled around and needed extra pillows and sometimes had to be helped up because he’d gotten stuck sitting, the old man with a trembling voice and hands and gait. He tried to imagine a younger version of him, hunting, killing the things of his nightmares and just couldn’t do it.

“This was found at one o’ the dig sites. I kept it, studyin’ it, fer years after the Calamity. On my way up ta Akkala, some guardians ambushed me. I stuck this inta a guardian’s eye in a panic, ‘n I wish I could say it was ‘cause I remembered somethin’ from an incident the Hero. But it was just lucky desperation… It found the eye, ‘n stunned the Guardian long enough that I could do it again. ‘N that seemed enough ta kill it.”

Something courageous swelled in Fyjo then. Some streak of defiance and empowerment as she realized she had, in her hands, something that could kill the monster of her childhood and the monsters that plagued the roads now and made inhospitable, impassable patches that no traveler dared venture.

“You just used a spear?”

“Hylia, no, no.” The old man laughed. “That just gave me the idea fer how ta do it.” He offered his hands and for a single, irrational moment, Fyjo considered taking the spear. Making the old man upset bothered her more than the idea of stealing the thing, though, and she returned it gently. “The Guardians run on blue flame, this substance here.” He pointed to the blade, flicking the spear with his wrist to make the blade disappear as if it had never been there. “’N blue flame is precisely what hurts’em most. So I made it inta arrows.”

He winked to Fyjo, leaning on his spear again, once more a weird but convincingly mundane walking stick. “That’s what I used ta hunt’em with.”  

When silence fell over the four, Marden knew they were in a similar state of both awe and excitement, or perhaps letting this new facet of their new friend sink in. Fyjo, the youngest and least socially graceful of them, spoke up though to cut through the moment.

“Why’d you stop?”

The old man laughed. “I ain’t exactly the picture o’ finesse ‘n fitness I used ta be—‘n that’s bein’ mighty kind ta myself. I just got old, darlin’.” The answer seemed acceptable if mildly disappointing for Fyjo.

Barto, at that moment, deemed the soup done. Why now was anyone’s guess but perhaps he’d noticed the lull, perhaps he’d noticed something no one else had. In careful portions in crude-but-sturdy wooden bowls, he ladled out enough for each, glad to test the meat and vegetable pieces to find they broke easily. He didn’t want to assume about the old man but had a pretty solid idea these would be just right for him.

They ate in silence. A comfortable, if expectant silence, a silence in appreciation for good food but with an eagerness to pick up where they’d left. Pry a little more into an old man’s life, Marden corrected himself, but if the others shared the sentiment, he couldn’t tell. Fyjo, certainly, Hylia bless her, seemed more than eager to pry.

“What was it like before the Calamity?” There it was. The question they’d all desperately wanted to ask but only Fyjo had the bravery—or bluntness—to ask. Marden felt a flush of secondhand embarrassment and yet couldn’t bring himself to say anything against the question. Barto and Karn too looked morbidly curious with judging glances to Fyjo but inquisitive looks to the old man. Perhaps silently hoping he’d answer, but knowing they couldn’t push him on if he couldn’t.

Thankfully, the old man seemed willing to oblige.

#botwau

[anneboleyns]

I saw the downton abbey movie so now here’s kind of a rambling personal essay, under a cut for spoilers for the downton abbey movie. downton abbey movie spoilers ahead.

once again SPOILERS AHEAD also tw for death, grief, suicide attempts/etc mention.

so, i know probably no one cares but considering how active i was in this fandom and how incredibly important this show and the character of thomas was to me personally, i’m just gonna sit here and write my thoughts about thomas barrow, the show, the movie, what it meant to me, and my critique overall

so basically i always loved the show and thomas but it really took off 2 yrs ago during 2017.

i had just moved out of my mother’s house and i had just finished a rewatch of the show, i remember this so clearly lol it was september 2017 the rewatch had started like june 2017. and i remember when i got to my new apartment one of the “comfort shows” i would put on on my very own tv in my very own apartment was “downton abbey”. i believe the other that was regularly tossed on in the background was “the tudors”, obviously lol

anyways, i was so hyper obsessed. i had also JUST discovered that thomas and jimmy were legitimately shipped in this fandom. i had no idea that was a real thing when i watched it live. and i had never cared about jimmy or thought of them as an actual viable relationship. but with this rewatch they just hit different i guess. i spent hours and hours and hours at my mother’s house before the move (which was an EXTREMELY tense living situation, the month or so right before i left. i’m not getting into all of it now. if you followed me back then you know) watching this show like properly sitting and watching an episode with my sister, and then capping for gifs, which if you make gifs you know is basically spending possibly 3 or 4 hours with the same episode. like it can take that long for me personally to go through it and cap everything i want, then, sorting the caps into folders, especially if i’d capped more than one episode. completely mesmerized with the smallest details, hand and facial movements i specifically wanted to gif or be in a set, clothing movements, emotional moments, like i was just so into all aspects of the show and wanted to gif everything. my fav 4 are thomas, sybil, mary, and tom. i also adore edith and it may be a “fav 5″ now as i think i just love all of those characters equally. so i pretty much giffed every single fucking scene they were in lol. unless they were “ugly scenes” that i knew i could never make work in photoshop. sometimes i would cap it anyway and sort it anyway and open it up anyway and try but would end up deleting all the caps for that set. so all the gifs i have posted, is not even all the ones i capped. anyway

okay and then, there’s the fanfic. reading it, rereading, and writing it. it took me 2 years but i actually read close to every single thomas/jimmy fanfic on a03. at some point i only started opening complete fanfics because i got burned too many times on abandoned slow burns, and if a fic wasn’t my thing i would obviously not finish it. but definitely hundreds of works i read, saved to my phone and reread in google books. works i would think about all day.

so, june 2017 i start the rewatch. i also start planning to move out of my mother’s. a toxic tense living situation. in the past i have used harsher words like “abusive”. i can’t really use that word and apply it to my mother right now even though it is accurate. it hurts to think about. i can’t think about it. september 2017 i actually move.

the hyperfixation is in full swing. hours every night reading. reading 50k word fanfics in a single night. hours every day (or, week, i have a fulltime job) capping and coloring frames in photoshop. eventually i started writing fanfic for them as well.

so, in november 2017 my mother is hospitalized. this was not an unusal occurence. in february 2018 they tell us she’s going to die. 12 days later she died.

i’m not gonna really get into what happened to my mental state. it’s uh. bad. guilt. self hatred. like hatred isn’t even a strong enough word. i wanted to annihilate myself. i believed i deserved to be annihilated. that’s the only word violent enough i can think of to describe the depth of it. suicidal. etc. whatever.

but! i had this piece of fiction, this series, and assorted fan works. it really intensified after this. i can look back at this time last year and i remember how obsessed i was lol.

when i try to articulate what this character and show means to me, i always feel really embarrassed. at some point when i’m talking about thomas it becomes obvious i am talking about myself as well. but i’m gonna really try and objectively talk about my opinion on thomas and why i adore him and why i want what i want for him. it’s probably gonna be obvious i am also talking about myself but. anyway. 

here’s the “meta” “opinion on the fictional characters” section.

thomas barrow starts the show as an antagonist. he’s rude, could even be called cruel. a bully, snide, dishonest when it suits him and honest when it hurts him. like, he’s an asshole. what he said about william’s mom. how he treated baxter. his ambition and the underhanded things he does to serve it. overall proud demeanor designed to make those around him feel lesser. feel less able to hurt him. he wants the people around him to feel like they should not hurt him. i think he might be unaware that that is his motivation. because even as he’s afraid of everyone, he craves everyone as well. he’s alone, outside, and he’s been shoved there, constantly, he’s been shoved there politely and he’s been shoved there violently and if they’re gonna shove him here outside, away from them, unfixably different from them, unworthy of them, then he will stay there. like, the meanness and the comments and the attitude. he’s already Not Like The Others. if they already don’t like him, he will make it even harder for them to like him. unless, he can get somewhere safer, which is where his motivation comes in.

i just really view thomas as a character that craves safety.

he wants others to not hurt him. he wants to get from where he is to somewhere safer, somewhere up there, where it’s even less likely for people to be able to hurt him.

so, his motivations: safety, and then, there’s love.

he constantly has this world and these people implicitly and explicitly telling him he cannot love or be loved. it’s not right, it’s not natural, best case scenario is it doesn’t even exist- he’s confused, he’s sick, he’s broken, maybe they can fix it. he’s on the outside, remember, and he just gets to watch thru the window as the others dance and fall in love and have friends and family and be cherished. he can have none of it. this is a really old story that could be told by better people and in a better way.

the loves we get to see him have all have teeth. he’s betrayed by one lover and then abandoned, someone he obviously had feelings for but also betrayed first. then we get a probably one-sided attraction, but still a friend, still someone he can actually be vulnerable with since they’re helplessly vulnerable with him as well due to the circumstances. who kills himself. and then there’s the shameless, stupid hope that almost costs him everything, but he does get a friend in the balance.

he finds a friend in baxter, another character i just adore, because she gives to thomas what he needs even though he objectively does not deserve it, at least not from her, who he has terrorized. baxter’s trauma from her abusive relationship with coyle that thomas knows and uses, the impossible situation thomas places her in, the manipulation, the bullying, some would even term his behavior abusive. baxter would have had every right to ignore thomas, to get him fired, to hurt him back. but she loves him instead. she loves him in spite of. she loves him because. she helps him, she speaks to him softly and kindly. she tells him he’s brave. she remembers him as a child. this especially touches me. the idea of thomas as a child, someone who must have been different from who he is now, and she knows them both and loves him. she looks at the grown, hurt, cruel man in front of her and she speaks to the boy she once knew, and thomas listens. slowly. but he listens. AND she tries to give him advice for finding a lover, supporting and encouraging something the rest of the entire fucking series despises or ignores.

i don’t have enough energy to really go off but, baxter is supreme. i need a baxter.

thomas clearly cannot form self esteem in the environment he lives in. the ground is dead. he can’t grow it himself. he has this ironclad sense that he deserves what the others have, the ones on the inside. it’s immovable. he deserves it, they have no right to keep it from him. maybe he’ll never, ever get it, but in his mind, in his heart, he will never stop believing he deserves it. they tell him he’s nothing, he’s dirt, he’s wrong, and he just nods and keeps walking. they can think that. they can say that. he can’t stop them. but he will not stop working for the future he wants. he will not stop until they have no choice but to let him inside.

but he wants, i think, for them to invite him inside. but he’ll never admit it, and he’ll never ask for it, and he’ll never get it anyway.

so, he tries to change himself. maybe they’ll invite him in then? no.

then, his attempts to form friendships get twisted, and aborted, and he gets tired stereotypical accusations thrown on him.

then, he tries to kill himself in a bathtub with a razor.

then, he leaves his home and spends his days bored and unchallenged and away from all of the friends and half-friends he had.

then, he’s invited back. he’s invited inside!!!! you might say. and yeah i guess. as close as they’ll ever let him. but part of him always ignored and not commented on. part of him always raised eyebrows at i’m sure. and yes, his bad behavior is also to blame for this. but see, the 2 are linked. and you can’t unlink them.

by the end of the show the others still largely tiptoe around him. but due to his now somewhat subdued behavior he’s “likable” now.

i think it’s quite a choice to have this character who is completely sharp edges have them worn away by heartbreak, torture, injury, suicide attempt, ostracisation, abandonment, and present that as a victory, as a happy ending. but guess what? it is. and i’ll take it. he was back among his friends, back home, accepted, celebrating with everyone else, and i adored it, even as the jarring notes i heard in it won’t ever fade from my opinion of it.

anyway, in the aftermath of my grief i fell heavily into this story and the many stories of thomas finding love and safety. and healing, and friends, and peace. lots different from each other and lots the same. again, i relate very strongly to this character. i was not in a mindset where i was able to be kind to myself. or think sympathetically about myself. i think i fixated so much on this character, became obsessed with finding stories where he gets told and he experiences all the things i think i wanted to be told and i wanted to experience. i couldn’t accept it, even the concept, directly. but i devoured and absorbed a billion pixels of a character very similar to me accepting it. it’s the closest the concept could have gotten to me and i’m embarrassed i only recently realized this link and that that was what i was doing considering it is obvious, and common, and normal. maybe not “healthy” but like. let’s not get into healthy and unhealthy coping mechanisms rn bec i promise you the fanfic and the fiction fixation is not even at the top of the list lol

FAST FORWARD it’s september 2019. the movie is in theaters.

my mom is still dead. but. a lot has happened to me. i have happened to some people. i’ve been thru some more things now. dipped my toes and eventually completely submerged and perhaps am drowning in the entire Romance/Love/Sex section of human experience. again, let’s not get into it. but it’s a LOT. 

i don’t quite have the same relationship with fiction and fanfiction as i used to. it’s been only 2 years since leaving my mother’s house, but i feel as though galaxies could fit in between the girl back there and the one here. but they’re the same! i’m working on understanding that. 

i love this character and this show so much. i loved the film. there are problems- the writing and plotting is not nearly as neat and crisp and sharp. it’s more smooth, almost to a loss of definition, and instead of quick-wit it feels just... fast. there’s no time to really dive in in a film, so i’ll forgive all that, but it’s a flaw that should be mentioned. but it’s not a flaw that prevents joy in the film. i was overjoyed watching it. the things i wanted for thomas all happened. all the characters and relationships were... smoothed, i can’t describe it any other way. i feel like the bumps and corners and quirks and hidden pockets of them were just smoothed away. we know they’re there because we watched the show, but the film doesn’t- can’t- show them all. 

it was frustrating for me to see thomas smoothed in this way, but also satisfying, because while he absolutely one of a kind, unique, damaged, and layered, and contradictory, really a marvelous character and well-built... he is just like everyone else. and i think he would love and hate that and i love and hate that about myself.

for this reason, i really enjoyed a scene where he refuses to help carson. carson is flustered and overworked, in a crisis, and asks barrow for help, and thomas refuses, with a smile. i adored it. carson is one of thomas’ worst ... opponents, i could say. carson hurls homophobic abuse at and about thomas several times during the series, casts aspersions on him in the film as well, and he can choke. i love that even though towards the end of the show and yes during the rest of the film thomas’ sharp edges got smoothed away, but they put this one in and it catches you right on the bone how it should- an older woman in my theater actually gasped, offended, when thomas refused to help and carson was left to flounder. i, on the other hand, thought, “that’s my boy,” and leaned back in my seat satisfied. it might be my fav moment in the film. surprising considering the AMAZING joy and tenderness thomas gets to experience in the movie (but, i think that’s just my taste right now due to a personal heartbreak i won’t get into). like, they shoved him outside, carson shoved him outside, outside the realm of normal, and this is a moment of carson needing his help and thomas going, “no, remember how you used to treat me? remember how you secretly think of me? i do. i won’t forget. good luck! bye!” and then goes on to have a terrible wonderful adventure, while someone funny and kind finally falls in love with him, he gets to stand up for himself to the crawleys in the beginning of the film as well and i just felt elated watching that scene.

i could probably write essays about the love and romance portion of his storyline in the movie. but i’m just not in the headspace to do that right now super in depth but.

i’m also annoyed he had to experience yet ANOTHER homophobic plotline. he goes out to a gay club for literally The First Time and gets arrested and called a dirty pervert. i remember this being my exact fear for the movie. like “imagine if thomas goes to a gay club and gets arrested? that would suck!!!” and that is exactly what happens. but at least it’s so quick, i genuinely think that entire plot is like 6 short scenes max. why is julian fellowes obsessed with having this character, the ONE main queer character, suffer solely because he is gay? experience so many gay-specific agonies, the depths of which i just really doubt he, fellowes, can understand. it’s really, really, disappointing. but consistent as the show did this as well. smh. at least he gets out, and his lover, richard, goes to bat for him in this movie TWICE!!!!! and stares at him with stars in his eyes, soft and enamoured? while thomas is oblivious?? I’VE READ THIS FIC BEFORE!!!! so yes that was VERY cute and all i ever fucking wanted

it’s just funny how fiction touches us differently depending on what we’re going through, especially for those of us that were lonely, neglected, children, ones who grew up with favorite characters instead of friends. i might be more “normal” i might be more “sociable” i might have more “life experience” than i used to but this fangirl inside is just not going anywhere.

this was just a ramble, i wrote it with no point in mind and i’m not rereading or editing it lol. enjoy this vague update into my life/movie review/character meta lol

#personal #i wrote this #downton abbey #thomas barrow #spoilers #death tw #suicide tw #tp

[izupie]

Ask meme! 13, 19, 21, 25!

13.  favorite writing song/artist/album of this year

The Final Fantasy X Piano Collection was nearly always on a loop while I’ve been writing this year. I absolutely love it. The songs are beautiful. Specifically the song titled ‘Besaid’. It’s such a bouncy, but soulful tune.

19.  any new fics to start next year

Oh yes! Many, many stories live in my squishy brain meat right now. I feel kind of bad because I feel like 2019 was my 90% Izuocha/bnha year and only recently I’ve been diversifying out into other fandoms and ships so I just know that 2020 will only get more diverse.

It was nice having nearly a whole year mostly devoted to writing for one fandom and one ship, but 2020 is my year for something different!~

If anyone is interested, my list currently looks like this:

The continuation and finale of Hold Me (But I’m Not Scared)

A Reddie Soul Eater AU (oneshot)

A Reddie College AU (medium burn)

Finale of Kyoru fic Cat Therapy (two parter)

A Kyoru Cat Cafe fic (oneshot)

A Sokai Keyblade Training fic (oneshot)

A Madomami Go On A Date fic (oneshot)

And like, probably a load more random drabbles and oneshots I come up with next year. These are the ones I’ve already planned out in my head and would love to write though.

(Also!! Big secret, but I’m actually going to be discontinuing Moth Dust (I know, I’m sorry!) and re-purposing it into my own original idea for a novel that I hope to start planning and writing a little bit for by the end of 2020, ready to knuckle down and start writing it in 2021 !)

21.  most memorable comment/review

There are soooo manyyyy ! I literally am unable to pick just one.

Honestly, there are so many I treasure! Um um um. There are the ones that make me feel like I’m about to cry because I get so emotional and my brain can’t handle it - send in the tears!

Comments fuel me and also turn me into an emotional mess. There are so many of you out there that have made me nearly cry ahaha. This one had me bawling one morning:

But I also love those comments after I’ve written the rare angsty thing where people are just yelling at me and I love that more than I can articulate. I have absolutely wheezed at my phone before. I sent a message to my friends like ‘Look, I made people feel emotional and yell at me for breaking their hearts! I’m feeling so fulfilled!’ and they were like Nat. No.

Also I love it when people quote back their favourite parts to me, that really gives me an idea at what worked!

I know I’m a very lucky girl to have so many comments - I really do appreciate every single one. I wish I could list them all here !

25.  a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

My tastes on fics I read are very much based in the realms of whatever ship I am hyper-fixating on,,, and there’s been a few this year. Ironically, since my blog has been about 90% bnha, 5% writing stuff, 5% everything else this year I have got quite a few bnha followers who would have absolutely no interest in the fic that I’m about to rec, but I’mma answer the question anyway !

The one that has made me cry, laugh and just pterodactyl screech at my phone at 2am the most - which is my criteria for fic recs of the highest tier - is easily a Reddie, post IT Chapter Two fic, called ‘and i will not remember that i ever felt the pain’ by @fluffifullness

Okay. So. Like. This fic. It is angsty in all the Best Ways. The slowest of burns. So many Almosts and Nearlys on them connecting with their feelings that both killed me and had me living. Also there’s a ghost. It’s Eddie. Eddie’s a ghost. And I am just all about the romantic tragedy of character A is alive, character B is a ghost but they still love each other. You ever seen the movie Ghost ? ‘Cause this is Better.

Honestly, even if you’ve only seen the movie once, I would rec the hell out of this and throw it at you to read. (Even if you’ve never seen the movie I would still rec this, but you’ll lose so much extra context!) But yeah, great fic - that’s my rec of 2019~

Honourable mentions go to:

A Hundred Touches by @sheepishlyshippingsheep (Izuocha) (bnha)

Printed on my Wrist by @vixensheart (Izuocha) (bnha)

After a Long Day by @amynchan (Izuocha) (bnha)

Let Nothing Divide Us by @jellojolteon​ (Izuocha) (bnha)

Nevantide by Moonsheen (Nerokiri) (dmc)

for once, then, something by Walleyallens (Quakerider) (Marvels AoS)

And like a ridiculous number of other Reddie fics, but uh, some of them contain explicit content soooo //finger guns// no linking them here

#thank you so much #wow I keep making these so long lmao #izu replies #crazysticks

[mr-entj]

Job Hunting 101

Combined with the following asks:

I feel like I’ve sent in hundreds of job applications to companies and haven’t gotten a signal response. Do you have any advice for someone in my position? It’s getting ridiculous to the point I’m demoralized and losing hope it’ll get better

Hi mr entj! This may be a bit of a stupid question but what should I do if I can't find the job in a field(actually sub-field of a field) that I'm aiming for? I'm looking to be a concept artist but I can't seem to find any such jobs that don't require atleast a year of experience and since I'm a fresher I don't have that. In my country, there is also not a tradition of getting small student jobs so I don't have that experience either. Help me with some tips please.

Hey Mr. ENTJ! I don’t have a clue what I’m doing wrong with applying to jobs in the fashion industry. Do you recommend going back to school or getting a credential? What should I do to get more looks at my resume?

How important are grades when it comes to hiring?

Do you have any advice for young adults looking for a job when times are difficult? I’m 26 years old and I haven’t had a job yet due to my country being still affected by the 2008 crisis, besides my hometown is on the top 3 with highest unemployed citizens. My parents are good and support and inspire me to keep studying but I cannot stand this situation anymore, I have low tolerance to feel dependent on others.

If you’re having issues finding a job, know that you’re not alone but it’s critical to first understand the general problem before hammering away at solutions. 

The problem 

Before you submit a single job application, understand first that companies tend to all follow the same line of thinking when they’re hiring: “I want to minimize the chance of hiring the wrong person and I want to maximize the chance of hiring the right one.” Memorize this, everything revolves around this line of thinking.

The logic behind it is simple: hiring is extremely time-consuming, expensive, and risky. If a company screws up the hiring process and picks the wrong person then not only have they wasted time and money, they’re potentially stuck with a poor candidate they need to continue paying, they can’t get rid of, they may need to pay unemployment benefits to, and that might sue them and/or cause bad press in retaliation. Many of my followers are from Europe which has even more stringent labor laws than America when it comes to firing poor performers. It’s really damaging to make a bad hire, a logistical nightmare to get done in the first place, and a legal landmine to fix. 

The solution

The solution to this problem is that you, the job hunter, need to minimize factors that signal you’re the wrong person to hire and maximize factors that signal you’re the right person to hire. 

This is simple in theory, but difficult in execution. How do you minimize negative factors and maximize positive factors? Like this:

1. Academic record: Have a strong academic record. To the anon that asked, “How important are grades when it comes to hiring?” It’s important when you’re a fresh college graduate who has no work experience because grades and school work are considered pre-work experience. This increases the chances that you’re a good hire because they show how well you perform in a structured environment over a long period of time (4+ years for a bachelor’s degree). 

(Insert side note because I know you’re all thinking it) No, good grades don’t necessarily mean someone is smart. Yes, they’re an imperfect way of measuring intelligence and ability but they’re data points that can inform someone trying to make a hiring decision and trying to minimize the risk of hiring a low performer. Once you’re a seasoned professional, grades no longer matter because you have professional work experience to speak for you.

2. Work experience: Have a strong professional record working for well-known companies. The more prestigious the company, the more advantageous the benefit because it shows you passed a very high hiring bar. This increases the chances that you’re a good hire because other companies have already taken a chance on you.

3. Work performance: Have a record of strong work performance by showing increasing responsibilities, promotions, and expanding roles. The best way to do this is to get promoted in the same company and having a change in title. This increases the chances that you’re a good hire because you’ve shown that you can succeed in a different environment.

4. Work examples (especially important for artistic careers): Build a portfolio of your work to showcase your ability. Buy a domain, build a website, and post your graphics, presentations, mobile apps, etc. This increases the chances that you’re a good hire because displaying what you’ve done for other companies supports that you can do it for this company too. 

5. Affiliations, credentials, and certifications: Earn licenses, certifications, and other professional credentials that signal competency in your field. For project management, there’s the PMP certification. For operations, there’s the Lean Six Sigma Black Belt. For Human Resources, there’s the HRCI. What in your field says that you can do the job? This increases the chances that you’re a good hire because someone who is an expert in the field has evaluated your work and determined you met their standards to provide a certification.

6. Interview performance: Nail the job interview by answering questions clearly, confidently, and supported with evidence. This increases the chances that you’re a good hire because you can display technical and soft skills in-person, you are articulate in conveying thoughts, and you’re likable in person.

7. Culture fit: Attend networking events and knock the interview out of the park. Show that you understand the organization’s mission, goal, and methods. This increases the chances that you’re a good hire because you can fit into their organization culture, you’re on the same page as the team, and you can work productively with everyone.

8. Networking: Reach out to your personal and professional network to get referrals into companies. The majority of job positions are filled before the job listing goes public by someone the hiring manager knows, companies simply post them as a formality to cover their asses in case someone cries foul that the process was unfair. Get involved on campus with social groups, reach out to your alumni network, attend career networking events, select mentors and develop relationships, etc. This increases the chances that you’re a good hire because someone who already works for the organization and succeeds there has pre-assessed that you’re a good fit. 

9. References: Get strong references from people you’ve worked for and people you’ve worked with. This is why building relationships is important because your success is not just dependent on you. Everyone that you’ve come in contact with becomes a witness who can speak good (or bad) things about your ability and character. This increases the chances that you’re a good hire because other people who have experience working with you can vouch for you.

Resources

Resume and Cover Letter Guide

Job interview tips

Do you have any experience with hiring or selecting people to be on your team? How would you recommend filtering people who not only have the skills, but the capabilities for critical thinking as well?

Common interview mistakes by MBTI type

Networking tips

Networking for introverts

#career #job hunting #work #college #college graduate #interview #faq

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

Shorter chapter, but still important. I’m not gonna wait another year for this story to continue, and more’s on it’s way.

Loose Ends

Natasatch remained on edge the entire night, and even though the personnel she met spoke in a calm, reassuring tone, nobody would address the situation of their attempted murderer’s presence on the ship. Immediately after their pickup it was straight to medical, then back to the Viper’s hidey hole, with soldiers she didn’t know posted at the entrance. It was only after Natasatch feel the Avenger’s mass shift, sway, and finally rise did Bradford enter for a quick, curt debrief. Usually plenty talkative for the both of them, Malcolm proved equally laconic. The combination of painkillers and exhaustion meant he nodded off only a few minutes afterward, head propped on her coils as she kept constant vigil, at least until fatigue caught up with her as well.

It was the Commander themselves that woke her up, with Central Officer Bradford at their side. The lack of the slight sways of turbulence let her know their ship had touched down somewhere, while the digital clock near her bedding displayed 5:01. The Viper had a hundred questions prepared, but she never got to voice them before the Commander explained how Ackers would be dealt with:

Ackers was to be given one last chance.

At the very least he was being exiled from the ship indefinitely, and she could watch. Malcolm didn’t want either of them to be present to see him off, but Bradford insisted for closure’s sake, and Natasatch agreed. A few minutes later she was crossing through the bulkhead door to an evacuated Engineering bay, right behind Bradford, while pushing Malcolm forward on a wheelchair.

The cargo ramp was lowered, and new day just started to shift the horizon beyond from deep navy to a rising crimson. At the bottom of the ramp stood Ackers, the traitor, the man who called himself Malcolm’s friend plotting his death. He stood handcuffed at the base of the ramp, while the absence of the regular loading lights just barely allowed her to discern his face, which turned from calm to sour the moment he caught sight of her. Natsatch intentionally adjusted her hoodie, making sure the sergeant stripes at the shoulders looked crisp and level. The Viper could sense his skin heating, seething, hateful, yet powerless, and she felt no guilt in the pleasure gleaned from that sight –why should she?– until she noticed another, identical reaction.

She couldn’t see Malcolm’s face, but his skin not covered in cast or bandage was practically boiling as he looked down at Ackers. It was righteous, it was justified, yet the prospect of her mellow companion filled with such rage upset her in a way she couldn’t fully articulate. When Bradford motioned them both to stop, Natasatch took the moment to place a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, and she felt an immediate drop in her friend’s distress.

Bradford picked up the arrangement of Ackers’ personal effects from the crate it sat upon. Clothes, trinkets, a small survival kit, and a unloaded sidearm with three magazines plus a maintenance kit. The Commander insisted on the pistol’s inclusion, as Ackers would never have the chance without it. Unlike the other two humans present, the senior officer kept himself composed, stoic, but the Viper could sense the rising heat that betrayed the anger Bradford expertly kept under wraps. He strode forward to the soon-to-be exile,  Ackers didn’t take her eyes off her even as Bradford addressed him, his low, gravelly tone making it hard to make out.  

“You know why this is happening, Ackers, and you’re lucky you’re not dead already. You betrayed XCOM.”

“XCOM already betrayed me.” Ackers’ voice was deep, intent, predatory. Natasatch was certain he raised his voice loud enough to make sure Malcolm and her could hear.

A crack appeared in Bradford’s veneer of calm. “Call it what you want. You tried to murder your fellow soldiers.”

“I call it the truth. No alien deserves a breath of Earth air, much less pretending to be one of us. I thought you of all people, Bradford, would understand. The aliens took everything from you, too.”

Natasatch only realized how tightly she was gripping Malcolm’s shoulder until she felt his hand atop hers. She released the tension and their gazes met for a brief moment. He wasn’t worth it, his expression told her.

If Ackers’ remarks had struck home, Bradford gave no indication. He simply balanced the scant supplies on one arm and reaching the electronic key up to Ackers’ restraints. With a quick tap, the handcuffs flashed and released. “Leave, do some soul searching, and find us again. The Commander is giving you one more chance. I suggest you take it.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

Ackers’ hands shot up and swiped the pistol from the top of the pile, loading a magazine and putting his vengeful aim squarely between the Viper’s eyes. He pulled the trigger.

Natasatch flinched, then remembered she didn’t need to. The toothless clang of the hammer striking the slide echoed throughout the cargo bay. Ackers looked confused, shocked, not aware of the fact that the firing pin was in the maintenance kit instead of in his gun. If he had done just about anything besides a suicidal attempt to kill another alien, Bradford would have let him know. Instead, Bradford’s hands were already on the handle of the combat knife at his shoulder.

A few hours ago, she would have been elated seeing the knife slip between Ackers’ ribs and pierce his heart, and have revelled in watching his face contort in frustration and despair. Instead, Natasatch felt no satisfaction, only pang of sadness. A casualty to his own stubborn hatred. He should have taken the chance. I would have preferred him to take the chance. She watched passively as Bradford lowered Ackers to the dirt, and the man died without any further fanfare. When he breathed his last, Bradford released a sigh, retrieved the bundle, and began his silent walk up the ramp.

The senior officer’s expression echoed her own, stoic but twinged with disappointment, yet the resigned look in his eyes hinted this wasn’t the first –nor the last– time he’d seen this exact scene occur, in this exact manner. He spared only a glance at the Viper’s hand on Malcolm’s shoulder before he placed his own on the other one.

“I’m sorry it happened this way, Malcolm. I know he was your friend.”

“Was,” Malcolm clarified, voice quavering. “Whatever I thought of him before, it doesn’t matter after what he did.”

“Mmmm,” Bradford agreed. “Do you wish it turned out better, Mal?”

“...More than anything, sir.”

Bradford took his eyes off the handicapped soldier, and looked up to the Viper. He nearly hid it, but she noticed the slight clench of of his jaw as he looked her over, and how his tired eyes lingered on the XCOM logo patterned onto her hoodie.

She spoke first. “Thank you for not abandoning me.”

“You’re XCOM, Sergeant. We never throw our own to the wolves, no matter where those wolves are hiding.”

Her chest swelled at his affirmation, and Malcolm gave her hand a small squeeze. An unfamiliar moistness clouded the edges of her vision. Bradford turned and approached a wall console, and  soon the cargo ramp gave a metallic screech as it slowly lifted up.

“Sir, may I ask?” Nasatach blurted.

The old officer shot her a curious glance, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. He already had his hip flask in hand, still unscrewing it as Natasatch struggled to phrase her question.

“What are we expected to say to everyone else?”  A lie, she cynically surmised. Like ADVENT?

Bradford sighed, resting a closed fist on the gunmetal wall. “The truth, even if it’s an ugly one.”

Natasatch made no attempt to hide her grin.

Find the rest of the stories here.

#xcom #xcom 2 #xcom 2 fanfiction #viper #natasatch #malcolm silva #central officer bradford #my writing