#antis learn what words mean challenge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ruminativerabbi · 4 months

Text

Anti-Judaism Then and Now

On Sesame Street, they used to sing a song that challenged young viewers to decide “which of these things belong together.” The idea was that the youngsters would be presented with a group of things all but one of which belonged to the same group. But the trick, of course, was that the specific nature of the group wasn’t revealed—so the young viewer had to notice that there were three vegetables on the screen and one piece of fruit, or three garden tools and a frying pan. You get the idea. All of the things belonged together but one didn’t. It wasn’t that complicated. But the tune is still stuck in my head and I don’t think I’ve heard the song in at least thirty years.

In the grown-up world, there are also all sorts of groups made up of things that are presented as “belonging together.” Some are obvious and indisputable. But others are far more iffy.

Languages, for example, are in the first category. Danish, Japanese, Laotian, and Yiddish all belong in the same group; each is an artificial code devised by a specific national or ethnic group to label the things of the world. You really can compare the Japanese word for apple with the Danish word because both really are the same thing: a sound unrelated in any organic way to the thing it denotes that a specific group of people have decided to use nonetheless to denote that thing. Languages are all codes, all artificial, and all each other’s equals. The world’s languages, therefore, really are each other’s equivalents

Other groups, not so much. Religion comes right to mind in that regard: we regularly refer to the world’s religions as each other’s equivalents, but is that really so? In what sense, truly, is Judaism the Jewish version of Hinduism or Buddhism? Is Chanukah the Jewish Christmas? Is the New Testament the Christian version of the Koran in the same sense that the Danish word for cherry is the Danish version of the French word for that same thing? You see what I mean: the notion that the religions of the world are each other’s equivalents hardly makes any sense at all.

But what about prejudices of various sorts? Are racism and homophobia each other’s equivalents, distinguished only by the target of the bigot’s irrational dislike? Are sexism and ageism the same thing, only different with respect to the specific being discriminated against? And where does anti-Semitism, with its weird medial capital letter and its off-base etymology (because it denotes discrimination against Jews, not other Semites), where does anti-Semitism fit in? Is it the same as other forms of discrimination, differing only with respect to the target?

I suppose my readers know why this has been on my mind lately.

Last week I wrote about that grotesque congressional hearing in which the presidents of three of America’s most prestigious institutions of higher learning, including two of the so-called Ivies, could not bring themselves to label the most extreme form of anti-Semitism there is, the version that calls not for discrimination against Jews but for their actual murder—they could not bring themselves unequivocally and unambiguously to say that that calls for genocide directed against Jews have no place on their campuses. The president of the University of Pennsylvania paid with her position for her unwillingness to condemn genocide clearly and forcefully. But hundreds and hundreds of faculty members at Harvard, perhaps the nation’s most prestigious college, spoke out forcefully in support of their president despite her unwillingness to say clearly that calling for the murder of Jews is not the kind of speech that any normal person would imagine to be protected by the First Amendment.

At a time when anti-Semitism is surging, it strikes me that treating different versions of prejudice as each other’s equivalent is probably more harmful an approach than a realistic one. That is what led to the moral fog that apparently enveloped the leaders of three of our nation’s finest academies and made them unable simply and plainly to condemn calls for genocide directed against Jewish people.

I think we should probably begin to deal with this matter in our own backyard. And to that end, I would like to recommend three books and a fourth to my readers: the three are “about” anti-Semitism (and each is remarkable in its own way) and the fourth is a novel that I’ve mentioned many times in these letters, the one that led me to understand personally what anti-Semitism actually is and how it can thrive even in the ranks of the highly civilized, educated, and cultured.

The first book is by the late Rosemary Ruether, known as a feminist and as a Catholic theologian, but also the author of Faith and Fratricide: The Theological Roots of Anti-Semitism, published by Seabury Press in 1974 and still in print. This was not the first serious study of anti-Semitism I read—that would have been Léon Poliakoff’s four-volume work, The History of Anti-Semitism, which also had a formative effect on my adolescent self. But Ruether’s book was different: less about anti-Semitism itself and more about the way that anti-Jewish prejudice was such a basic part of the theological worldview of so many of the most formative Christian authors that the task of eliminating it from Western culture would require a repudiation of some of the basic tenets set forth by some of the most famous early Christian authors. I was stunned by her book when I read it: stunned, but also truly challenged. In think, even, that my decision to specialize in the history of the early Church as one of my sub-specialties when I completed by doctorate in ancient Judaism was a function of reading that book and needing—and wanting—to know these texts (and, through them, their authors) personally and up close. Jewish readers—or any readers—concerned about anti-Semitism could do a lot worse than to start with Ruether’s book.

And from there I’d go on to David Nirenberg’s book, Anti-Judaism: The Western Tradition, published by W.W. Norton in 2013. This too is something anyone even marginally concerned about anti-Semitism in the world should read. The book is not that long, but it is rich and exceptionally thought-provoking; its author describes his thesis clearly in one sentence, however: “Anti-Judaism should not be understood as some archaic or irrational closet in the vast edifices of Western thought,” but rather as one of the “basic tools with which that edifice was constructed.” Using detailed, thoughtful, and deliberate prose, Nirenberg lays out his argument that Western civilization rests on a foundation of anti-Judaism so deeply embedded in the Western psyche as to make it possible for people who have doctorates from Harvard to feel uncertain about condemning genocide—the ultimate anti-Semitic gesture—unequivocally and forcefully. This would be a good book too for every Jewish citizen—and for all who consider themselves allies of the Jewish people—to read and take to heart. Anti-Judaism is deeply engrained in Western culture. To eradicate it—even temporarily, let alone permanently—will require a serious realignment of Western values and beliefs. Can it be done? Other features of Western culture have fallen away over the centuries, so I suppose it can be. But how to accomplish such a feat—the best ideas will come from people who have read books like Nirenberg’s and taken them to heart.

And the final book I would like to recommend is James Carroll’s, Constantine’s Sword: The Church and the Jews, published by Mariner Books in 2001. The author, a former Roman Catholic priest, makes a compelling argument that the roots of anti-Semitism are to be found in the basic Christian belief that the redemption of the world will follow the conversion of the world’s Jews to Christianity. I was surprised when I read the book by a lot of things, but not least how convincingly the author presses his argument that the belief that the redemption of the world is being impeded by the phenomenon of stubborn Jews refusing to abandon Judaism is the soil in which all Western anti-Semitism is rooted. It’s an easier book to read than either Ruether’s or Nirenberg’s—written more for a lay audience and clearly intended by its author to be a bestseller, which it indeed became—but no less an interesting and enlightening one.

So that is my counsel for American Jews feeling uncertain how to respond to this surge of anti-Semitic incidents on our nation’s streets and particularly on the campuses of even our most prestigious universities. Read these books. Learn the history that is, even today, legitimizing anti-Jewish sentiments even among people who themselves are not sufficiently educated to understand what is motivating their feelings about Jews and about Judaism. None of these reads will be especially pleasant. But all will be stirring and inspiring. And from understanding will come, perhaps, a path forward. Any physician will tell you that even the greatest doctor has to know what’s wrong with a patient before attempting to initiate the healing process. Perhaps that is what is needed now: not rallies or White House dinners (or not just those things), but a slow, painstaking analysis of where this all is coming from and an equally well-thought-out plan for combatting anti-Jewish prejudice rooted in the nature of the beast we would all like to see fenced in, tamed, and then ultimately slain.

And the novel? My go-to piece of Jewish literature, André Schwarz-Bart’s The Last of the Just, was published in Stephen Becker’s English translation by Athenaeum in 1960, just one year after the publication of the French original. A novel that spans a full millennium, the book traces the history of a single Jewish family, the Levys, and tells the specific story of the individual member of the family in each generation who serves as one of the thirty-six just people for whose sake the world exists. (The book begins in eleventh century England and ends at Auschwitz, where the last of the just perishes.) I read the book when I was a boy and have returned to it a dozen times over the years. No book that I can think of explains anti-Semitism from the inside—from within the bosom of a Jewish family that is defined by the prejudice directed against it—more intensely, more movingly, or more devastatingly. This is definitely not a book for children. I was probably too young to encounter such a book when I did, but it is also true that, more than anything else, it was that book that set me on the path that I followed into adulthood. (And that is probably just as true spiritually and emotionally, as it is professionally.) I was too young, perhaps, to process the story correctly. But when I was done reading even that first time as a sixteen-year-old, I knew what path I wished to follow. The Last of the Just is not a book I would exactly characterize as enjoyable reading. But it is riveting, challenging, and galvanizing. To face the future with courage and resolve, the American Jewish community needs to look far back into the past so as to understand the challenges it now faces. And then, armed with that knowledge, to find a path forward into a brighter and better world.

#anti-Semitism #anti-Judaism #Rosemary Ruether #David Nirenberg #Andre Schwarz-Bart

37 notes · View notes

thesapphictimelady · 29 days

Text

Rebinding

Word Count: 600 words

A/N: While some of these may not be true in your state, I did some research into a few different states to keep this as factual as possible. Is Mel and Jacob’s solution the best one? Maybe not. But Jacob is correct, in some states you can face jail time of 2 ½ years. All of the books mentioned have been banned or challenged at some point in history. Some books are banned or challenged because they make us feel uncomfortable with how they show us our history. We should not be comfortable learning about the things we did wrong. Books are important and should be available to everyone. There are many reasons some of these books are banned and if I had listed all of them, this would have been a lot longer. Anyways, this is super short and thrown together before I head to bed but I hope you enjoy it!

“I can’t believe this,” Jacob said from his seat at the kitchen island.

“Are you reading who gives a crap biweekly again,” Melissa asked, rolling her eyes as she assembled her lasagna.

“Mel Mel, they’re banning books!”

“What do you mean they’re banning books?”

“I mean, if our school library keeps copies of these books, we could face criminal charges!”

“Let me see that,” Melissa said, dusting off her hands, “you must be reading it wrong”

Jacob passed her his phone and set his head in his hands as she started reading aloud:

“A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein…Encouraging bad behavior? A Wrinkle in Time…Witchcraft? Animal Farm…Encouraging revolt? Fahrenheit 451…Hang on, they do recognize the irony in banning that, right?”

Jacob grimaced and gestured for her to keep reading.

“James and the Giant Peach for Witchcraft, The Giver for violence, To Kill a Mockingbird for racial slurs, Where’s Waldo for NUDITY?”

“Yeah, that one I did find kind of amusing,” Jacob said

“Well I don’t see any history or nonfiction books so it doesn’t affect your class…” Melissa said.

“Keep scrolling.”

“The Diary of A Young Girl…that’s Anne Frank. It’s banned for homosexual themes. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings…‘anti white sentiment’? A People’s History of the United States for ‘Leftist Propaganda?”

“See! This is bad! These books are important!”

Melissa handed his phone back, humming thoughtfully as she turned back to her lasagna. After a few minutes, she turned back to him.

“Jacob, what do you know about binding books?”

“Not a lot. Why?”

“I think Book Nook number 3 is going to have to wait.”

The next day, Melissa and Jacob checked out as many books as they could fit in her car from the school library and brought them home.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Jacob asked nervously, stroking the spine of ‘And Tango Makes Three’ (banned because the penguins are gay).

“Do you want the kids to be able to read these or not?” Melissa asked, carefully removing the cover of ‘Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret’ (Banned because of content relating to menstrual cycles).

“Of course I do!” Jacob said.

“Get to work then,” Melissa said, passing him the new covers portraying state approved books to put on the banned books.

Together, they worked through the night and into the next day, replacing covers for ‘The Wizard of Oz’ (promotion of socialist values), ‘The Lorax’ (Being anti-logging), and ‘The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe’ (Mysticism). Around noon the next day, a knock on the door jolted them from their work.

“Who is it?” Melissa called.

“Reinforcements!”

Melissa opened the door to the rest of the Abbott Crew, plus Kristin Marie.

“What are you all doing here?”

“I invited them,” Jacob said, “Please don’t be mad. There’s so many books to rebind before Monday.”

“I brought wine!” Janine sang, rushing to the kitchen to get glasses.

Melissa yawned and stepped aside to let them all in. Barbara smiled softly and held the redheads arm.

“You and Jacob are doing a good thing,” she said softly, “But it’s time for us to take over. You go to bed. We’ll take care of this.”

Melissa nodded gratefully and climbed the stairs, glancing down at her work family and smiling. She’d never admit it, but she kind of liked having people in her house. They were all crowded around the table, a glass of wine and a book in each of their hands.

“For the kids!” Jacob said, lifting his glass in a toast.

Melissa mimed raising a glass to him as she headed to her room.

“For the kids,” she whispered, collapsing into bed.

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #melissa schemmenti #jacob hill

20 notes · View notes

worldsentwined · 23 days

Note

Oooo 14, 28, 33

14. what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do? OH BOY I am saving this question to give to my therapist the next time I see her, because I just like. Fully bluescreened for a minute after reading it haha. (The concepts of "always wanted to" and "been scared of but still wanted to do" are uhhh challenging for me). But! After much consideration, I think we can put "relearn to ride a bike" in this category. I was taught as a kid, but I have a vivid memory of saying "I'm doing it!" and then immediately falling over and that's...the last I remember of the bike learning process. It wasn't exactly useful as a means of transportation where I grew up, and there were other more fun ways to get exercise, so I just...didn't. Now that I live in a place where there are more opportunities, it would be nice to know how, but the fear of falling hasn't diminished and in fact has probably gotten worse as I've aged.

28. do you collect anything? Not precisely on purpose, but I have acquired a steady stream of enamel pins and buttons (particularly union buttons) over the past few years. Most of the union buttons would expose a little more info about me than I necessarily want to put on Tumblr, but here is a selection that lives on one of my jackets:

33. any hobbies? The short answer here is "SO MANY". Long answer, I'm a bit of a jack-of-all-trades when it comes to certain categories of hobby, which are:

fiber crafts - Crochet and hand sewing (particularly mending) are my favorites, but over the years I have tried my hand at quilting, knitting, spinning, embroidery, needle felting, and probably a few others I've forgotten

visual/fine arts - drawing and painting (watercolor) are my favorites, but I have played around with most kinds of paint and various forms of sculpture. I actually majored in art but I kinda knew the whole time that I didn't see it as a professional plan, just something I wanted to learn more about. I've also been doing a lot of digital painting over the past few years, which is entirely self-taught.

writing - fanfic! Original fic! Poetry! Filk! Several attempts at novels have also been made, I spent a number of years working on longform projects before I got into writing fanfic and realized short form writing (for a given value of "short") is a little more manageable.

TTRPGs - I'm in two different tabletop roleplaying groups (one online for DnD, one in-person for the Marvel Super Heroes RPG)

Music - I joined a local labor choir last year and it has become one of my favorite things. "Choir" is a bit of a misnomer, but there's not a more concise word for "ragtag group of folks who hang out and sing union and anti-fascist songs together for two hours a week, who WILL show up at your protest, rally, or picket line if you tell us about it" haha. We actually are working on some more formal choral arrangements for upcoming May Day festivities, but at any given practice we're just as likely to go on a "songs about public transit" or "how many different languages can we sing in tonight" deep dive.

#thanks for asking!#this meme has some DEEP questions on it haha wow #replies

11 notes · View notes

kaybreezy3000 · 3 months

Text

The Anti Hero's Pitfall of Arrogance

Five Hargreeves / Female OC

What happens when you disarm an exceptionally arrogant person, one that is a self-absorbed, teleporting, teenaged superhero? The answer is not great things.

Get ready for Five like you've never seen him before... (Chapter One and Two Post)

- This AU starts off when the Hargreeves are 16 and but is based off the show. It's going to give you a look inside Five's mind at that time of his life and not all of it is good, but I promise it's not all bad. I always make sure to give our boy his day to shine.

Warnings and Tags: sexually explicit content, flashbacks, teen bad behavior, survival horror, bad decisions, regret, POV Five, aggression issues, suffering, humor and angst and fluff, redemption, sweet Five and mean Five in same story, Dolores is a factor, hurt Number Five, Five makes fun and dirty check lists in this one, Young Five is really something, Starts as him in his teens then the rest he is 21, Plot twists and many tags left off to avoid spoiling the story, shocker ending

-this first post will be 2 chapters, the story is 44,600 words, 7 chapters total, posts will be every 5-6 days till done.

-this has sexually explicit parts but also a real story. If you want to avoid explicit material, click my AO3 link at the end of this post and read the version on there instead.

Chapter One: Fateful Days

I was always anxious after our missions, but not because of what we had just done. It was because I knew that we’d be thrown in front of the cameras, expected to perform another kind of show for the public. As we sat in our line of chairs waiting for reporters to call on us, instead of making my nerves easily seen, I carefully controlled my facial expressions and tried to hide my bouncing knees by discreetly pressing them down under my sweaty palms.

My answers to their questions always came out smoothly, not even the slightest waver in my voice. Years of practice learning to hide any sign of fear paid off in those moments. I was a perfectionist in all things, but in gaining fans, I failed because I know that I came off as the most arrogant and aloof of any of my siblings, but it was better than looking weak.

Number Five Hargreeves was not the most likable of the superpowered members of the infamous Umbrella Academy, but I pretended not to care about that and so many other things.

Our life at the academy was extremely private and exceptionally challenging, but it was while placed in the spotlight that I struggled the most. Those were the times I found it hardest to hide how young and inexperienced I really was when it came to anything that really mattered in the real world.

My indifference towards everyone was part of a façade, but also not. My behavior at home wasn’t much different than my public persona. I always knew the answers; I was always better than everyone at everything. This kind of thing, the missions, being the heroes, it was what we were made for; or that’s at least what dad always said. And I was damn sure going to be the best at it, and everyone was going to see that, including my family.

Not all of us had so much pride when it came to our powers or public appearance. Some of my siblings felt the exact opposite about all this, but me being me, I didn’t see anyone else’s suffering as relevant when it came to my flawed view of the big scheme of things.

I should have.

Constantly edging out my family because of my dickhead aspiration to best them was just as prevalent when we were all sixteen as it was when we were very young. Only then, I no longer would bat an eye over their private tears and their personal sorrows. Before that, sometimes I would make myself available to them. I would every so often try to comfort Klaus by reading to him to drown out the ghosts as he tried to fall asleep, or I would sit with Vanya just so she didn’t feel so alone. Ben and I often shared the same interests academically and he was the only one I considered anywhere near my equal in all things intellectual. But by the time we hit our teens, even he and I rarely spoke unless necessary.

At only thirteen years old, the cutthroat mantra we were brought up on was backfiring. Instead of being the team dad wanted, we were pulling away from each other.

As my own way of dealing with all the mental manipulations and general bullshit of our home life, the older I got, the colder and more closed off I became. I wasn’t the only one doing this. We all lacked when it came to handling anything emotional, but I was the biggest offender.

That was probably why, that fateful day, I wouldn’t let anyone else snag the fan letter that was tossed out over the loud line of spectators. I had to win.

It happened while we were doing our final photo shots for the press on the stairs of the courthouse. With my eyes gazing out at our admirers through my mask, I saw the girl that threw it, and next to me, I knew Luther and Diego did too. The girl was the type that caught everyone’s eye.

Even someone as self-absorbed as me could see that she was very attractive.

Based on what I could tell, she was the same age or near it. Based on her clothing, I quickly determined that she attended one of the city's prestigious private schools that was focused on the arts. It was one that was specifically for those that were musicians or dancers and destined to make their careers in that area. The dark blazer and matching pleated skirt weren’t that much different to ours, but the crest near her lapel showed that she wasn’t just an obsessed fan trying to dress like us, though the crowd was full of those too.

She was different. She was special; we all knew it. Her long strawberry blonde hair was slung over her shoulder in a tight braid, and when her big blue eyes met mine, she smiled in the most curious way.

My self-assured smirk faltered in an instant.

Being I was neither tall or strong, or funny or even charmingly ridiculous like Klaus, none of the fangirls or guys usually paid me any attention. Her looking at me in a flirtatious sort of way was entirely new territory for me and I didn’t know how to react to it.

The small white envelope with red lip prints pressed along its seal perfectly matched the girl’s lips that threw it. My plan to piss off my brothers in any way possible was still in place when it landed at my impeccably polished dress shoes. I stomped on it, then bent over and snatched it up before either could pry it out from under my foot.

If I remember correctly, Luther said nothing, but he did roll his eyes at me before he went back to waving at everyone like he was a princess on a float at Disney World-not that I had ever seen one of those, but I had seen pictures.

Diego elbowed me in the ribs as discreetly as possible, then angrily complained, “Stop trying to steal the show. You did enough of that in there with your cocky little stapler stunt and all your flashy-flashy teleporting crap. You are such an asshole, Five. That was meant for me!”

I would have nailed him back, but my death glare would have to do, because dad was watching our immature exchange, a scowl making his usual displeased face even more unpleasant.

It was not that I craved the attention of our female fans the same way that they did. No, that wasn’t it. For me, it was all about the satisfaction to beat them at anything and everything. What I did inside the bank to one of the would-be robbers was merely me doing my job. Fuck Diego and his stupid knifes. If he doesn’t like that I’m better at taking people out with nothing but office supplies than that’s his problem not mine.

I clenched the letter, determinedly keeping it from their greedy hands because I knew all too well that my brothers weren't much better than a pack of wild dogs fighting over a bone when it came to attention and if I let my guard down, the letter would be gone. Pivoting to my left to block Diego's next attempt at getting the letter, I also did my best to search for the girl who threw it, but to my disappointment, she was gone.

Looking back on it now, as I stare down at my feet trudging along with the worn heels of my boots scraping across the broken and burning hot pavement, I wish for nothing more than the chance to go back to that day, or even to the next day, so I could do just about everything differently. I wish that I would have not shut my family out in thinking I was doing something good for myself.

I wish I hadn't done what I did to that girl.

I wish I had the guts to walk away from all of that like she said I should do.

I walked away alright, just not the way she meant.

Now, all I want is to get back to fix this.

Now, my whole focus is surviving long enough to find a way home, which also reminds me that I wish I hadn’t stepped on that shard of glass that sliced through the side of my boot, causing a deep gash in my right foot.

The dried blood from three days ago is crusted to the torn leather, and the color of it reminds me of her lips and that deep crimson red on that letter.

I can almost feel them. They were the first and last real lips I ever...

Anyway ... Now is not the time to dwell on all that. I will always wonder who she really was and why she did what she did. But, right now, it’s looking like I’ll never know the answers to those questions.

Right now, things aren’t looking too hot.

Actually, they are, that’s the problem.

It’s very fucking hot.

The unforgiving sun is burning my back through my clothes, but I can’t take them off because they are the only thing protecting my skin from the sun’s scorching rays. Wandering in the heat of mid-day this time of year is not the best idea, but when we woke this morning, we had to go. If we hadn’t, we would have been sitting ducks, waiting the entire day out in the open, frying on the pavement, and that wasn’t smart either.

My breaths are becoming shallower despite my physical struggle to keep pulling Dolores and our meager belongings behind me in my cart. The strap around my waist that’s attached to the wagon is digging into the protruding bones at my hips. I can feel my skin rubbing clean off me because it’s already chafed from days of endless walking. I keep tripping more and more over the last hour or so, and I’m finding that my eyes keep closing for minutes at a time.

I stopped sweating a long time ago.

I am out of water.

I am not stupid. I know this isn’t good, and neither is the fact that I can’t feel my right foot anymore, but I refuse to stop to rewrap it or to stop and eat the contents of one of my unlabeled, beaten and bent canned goods. I rationed what we have with us, and I can’t eat for another ten hours.

Being dehydrated is nothing new and even turning back now, it’s still two days’ time to the last place that may or may not still have drinkable water.

As for my foot…

I will be okay. It will heal.

I will find water. That’s the biggest problem at the moment. I just wasn’t planning on this oppressive heat or that there would be no rain in the last two weeks. As I lay with Dolores last night, staring up at the stars, we could hear thunder to the west, coming from the direction we’ve been heading, but again the rain never came to us. Everything is drying up. The earth is cracking, and the roads are buckling in the heat wave that’s making it feel like we are in a furnace even at night.

For the last two days there has been nothing but windswept open areas. We haven’t found shelter because there’s nothing other than collapsed structures that at one time had been someone’s home, but now are nothing more than scattered rubble.

It’s like something blew everything around here clear off their foundations. There have been no abandoned cars along the crumbling road.

Seeing the very decomposed or skeletal remains of the passengers as I trudge by them would be a welcome site at this point.

As far as I can see, there’s nothing but minimal indications of long ago burnt vegetation. That may mean this had been cleared farmland. This being a rural area could explain why there is nothing out here, but it could also mean that I am nearing something horrible.

I am leaning on something horrible because this looks like another planet. One that looks like it never had the ability to maintain life.

I clearly went the wrong way. I like to pretend I’m smart, but that’s just one of my many issues. I lie to myself all the time and I always have.

Smart people don’t propel themselves blindly, teleporting forward twelve years in time to escape a life that can never be escaped, only to go so far that they end up at the end of the world, too pathetically weak to function and with no fucking clue how to get themselves back.

Yup. Stupid.

Maybe I am getting better with this whole lying to myself thing if I am openly admitting that.

“What do you think, Dolores, am I getting better owning up to my vast supply of shortcomings?” My voice comes out hardly a whisper on my cracked lips. I don’t even turn to look at her. I don’t have the energy.

‘I think we are in trouble. We need to turn around before it’s too late.’

Dolores ignores my ill-timed attempt at humor. She sounds scared, and she is right about turning around.

She never lies.

This was not where I meant to end up in a world where I’m the last living creature among the other few scurrying insects, and not to wherever the hell I am at, which is maybe still somewhere in bumfuck Pennsylvania.

Arrogance as my perpetual guide, and despite her warning, I keep on walking, dragging her along.

Depending on how you look at our codependent situation, she has to follow me. I like to pretend it’s willingly, but even as convoluted as I can make things in my brain, even I know the truth about that , but like usual, I am good at ignoring the truth. No wonder Dolores didn’t find that funny.

No wonder she is scared.

Since day one, Dolores has been unwavering in her vow to stay by my side, and to be whatever I need her to be. But now, as her partner and her only friend, and because we share much more than a platonic love at this point, it’s not fair of me to cause her so much distress. As I slowly pull her along, I can feel her worried eyes looking at my back and I hate that in doing this to myself, I’m doing it to her too.

“I’ll go just a little further, up over this next high ridge.” My torn fingers slipping out from under my waist strap, I point to what I mean, which isn’t more than another quarter mile.

My arm flops at my side after only having lifted it for the briefest moment. I don’t even bother to push down on the handles again or to slip it back under the strap before lurching along again.

“If I don’t see anything promising at that point, then I’ll turn back,” I reassure as my eyes scan the horizon ahead and the heat ripples off the ground cause the image in front of me to blur.

I know I took a wrong turn somewhere days ago, but that’s just it, in the apocalypse, every turn is wrong. It’s only by luck that I ever find anything helpful, like food, or any other supplies that might keep me alive. Even looking in obvious places, like in ruins of what was once a grocery store, or a pharmacy, can turn up next to nothing. It all depends on how damaged the area is. As we are finding, since we left the city and moved away from the devastated coastline, destruction seems to be everywhere, but this area is the worst I have ever seen.

It figures that when I finally venture out beyond the usual 100-mile radius I’ve been scavenging for the last five years that I’d go in the one direction that led me to this.

Road signs are sometimes still there, sometimes not, and even with maps for navigating it is hard, and that’s because almost nothing looks the same. 'Welcome to this town' signs are a huge help, but they are also a cruel reminder of the amount of life lost in each empty civilization I come across. Many signs are simply gone like everything else.

One big empty world, and to make things worse, now I think I’m lost in the wasteland.

I am in the middle of nowhere of Nowheresville and I don’t know what else to do besides keep walking.

I’ll certainly die if I stop.

“I know you’re scared, sweetheart. I will be okay; I promise I won’t leave you.” This time, my attempt to make Dolores feel better about my deteriorating condition is only in my head, and this time my reply isn’t just to her.

My mind is only half here on this desolate stretch of nothing. At least I’m aware of it, so that must mean I’m not fully hallucinating, which is great news. I do that frequently, and it’s for various reasons, like accidental high level food poisoning, fevers, being offensively drunk, general craziness, you name it.

When I say that I’m not leaving them, I mean my siblings too.

I never stop seeing the faces of the people I love but regarded with so much indifference.

Their blank and bloodied expressions, some crushed almost beyond recognition, some charred almost black, they all stare up at me from the remains of our burning home as I scramble to dig them free.

I never stop trying to tell them that I’m sorry, but they never reply.

They can’t because they are all dead and so is everyone else.

I’ll admit, I am not just dehydrated. I have an infection from that damn gash. The antibiotic I’m taking must not be good anymore.

The worms spill out of Allison’s broken skull as I pull her along to bury her with the rest of my family, but even that doesn’t make sense. They weren’t rotting when I found them. The rot came later.

Somehow even though it’s been years since this smell filled the air, I am hit with surges of smokey burning flesh, the scent coating my tongue, making my stomach instantaneously roar with sickening nausea but also ravenous hunger.

Nearly falling this time, I trip causing my injured foot to twist in an unnatural way. As I try to swallow my body’s attempts at forcing a dry heave, it’s with no saliva to help it along and the desert in my throat nearly chokes me. I cough on the upthrust of bile, the pitiful sounds of my gags are as weak as I feel.

I painfully stumble over my own feet, but manage to stay upright, swaying as I force my eyes off the quivering ground. I try focusing them instead on an area of broken road a few feet in front of me. One foot in front of the other, I keep moving, eyes ahead this time so I don’t fall over another large crack in the road.

My mind screams at me. ‘They aren’t here. You buried them years ago! Focus or you are never going to make it. You have to make it back; that’s all that matters.’

Dizzy, and confused, I try to remember again why Dolores and I are here. My plan was to search outside the city for anything to make our life easier. Something like a more forgiving weather pattern for example. Surviving the first several years in a suffocating nuclear winter and then the actual winters after that with only a handmade shelter and a sea of broken concrete around me has been working, but there must be places that were left in better, more livable conditions.

I can’t get physically strong enough to get back if I am starving all the time. I can’t get back if I freeze in the next few months when winter hits us again. I can run my numbers and figures, calculating the ways I can get back to them from anywhere. Being a few blocks from my childhood home, so close to the red waters of the toxic ocean while living in the ruins of the city library isn’t getting me any closer to them.

Dolores and I have been walking for forty-six days, seven hours, and thirty-six minutes, and my plan had been going fairly well until a week ago. Getting us away from the densely populated coast proved an okay move until I found myself in a very rural area, lost, and in the middle of a major weather change that I had no way of predicting.

After hardly surviving our last brutal winter, I thought there was nothing worse than the bitter cold, but right now, with my body literally cooking and no way to get out of the heat, I am finding that it may have been a major miscalculation to come so far into the unknown.

The valuable liquid remaining in my body is abandoning me in sheets of sweat again and that is just another not good sign.

Neither is the unexpected view of what appears to be a gigantic hole in the Earth. It covers the landscape as far and wide as my eyes can see. As I slowly make my way towards it, the road ends. There’s no more blacktop. It’s just dirt.

I can just make out the edge of the crater. The bottom of the abyss is empty as the rest of my world.

Just one massive hell.

“Dol-or-es… I messed-up ag-ah-in. Um-so- I shoo-d ha..ve listen-”

Just before the ground slants at an impossible angle, an angle that looks like it’s coming way too close to my face, that’s the thought that I can’t articulate that takes me away into the darkness.

I should have listened to her, only I don’t mean Dolores.

Chapter Two: Rain

After that weird exchange with that girl on the street, an unfamiliar excitement filled me. I wanted to read the note, but I couldn’t because we were still supposed to be smiling for the cameras. Then after our final group picture for the press, we were loaded into our waiting cars.

Klaus flopped himself down on the back seat next to me, causing me to have to move in the middle, which I knew was coming.

Not a second later, Diego took the remaining space to my right, glaring at me resentfully. “I mean it, man. That hot chick wasn’t trying to throw that letter to you. Just give it over. Why do you even want it? It’s not like you like girls or anyone else for that matter.”

I stared straight forward, my lips smugly pulled to the side. “I think that girl most certainly intended for me to get her little love letter and just like always, you are jealous of me.”

“Fivey you like girls, don’t you?” The way Klaus asked it and looked at me, it’s like he really thought that’s what this was about.

It wasn't.

Diego snorted out an obnoxious laugh as he pushed his knees into the back of Luther’s seat in front of him, while also taking up even more of my room in the middle.

“Five, doesn’t feel anything for anyone and if he did happen to swing the direction of the ladies, he wouldn’t have a clue what to do with one, especially not a total fox like that. Did you see those legs in that outfit, dude?”

Luther piped in his two cents worth next. “I did.” He turned back with his big muscular arm on the console so he could face us. “And Five, yeah, really? Diego’s surprisingly right for a change. What’s the deal with that letter? You could care less about our fangirls or guys, not that I’m saying it matters if you like guys or girls or whatever,” he blabbered.

Klaus laughed, interrupting Luther’s attempt to belittle me or support me or whatever that was supposed to be. “Oh...buddy, I saw them too, and though I don’t usually get a boner over the more delicate of the stems dancing around in this garden of life, I’ll admit, that girl was something, and I’d make an exception to stick it in her any day.”

At this point, I noticed our hired driver looking back at me through the rearview mirror with a look of disgust in his eyes. I supposed that this was not what he was expecting from the world's infamous superheroes. Turns out, the joke was on him and everyone else because we were way more immature and even more emotionally stunted than your average teens.

“Dude, stop kidding yourself. You’d fuck anything with legs.”

“True,” Klaus agreed to which Luther mumbled something apologetically to the driver.

Fuck me, I wished I was in the other car even though that meant I’d be with dad. My jaw twitched as I tried to ignore all the idiocy. The car pulled out, and rather than acknowledge the two morons or answer Klaus’s question, I looked out, hoping to see the girl again.

My hand wrapped tighter around the letter in my pocket, my smile returning as I thought about how she looked at me, and how mad they all were about it.

After sitting for a debriefing with The Monocle, one that was filled with ridicule even though we completed the bank mission successfully, we all sat for our usual mostly silent dinner, and then finally after hours of waiting to be alone, we were released and allowed to go to our rooms for the night.

I didn’t hesitate. In a flash, I was in my bedroom located in the third-floor attic space. Rushing out of my portal, moving a few steps to my desk, I pulled the chain on my lamp, filling the small room with warm yellow light.

My shaky fingers carefully worked open the letter as I sat down in front of my piles of notes and books. The kiss imprint was placed over the seal, but I did my best not to ruin it.

For as little as I thought or cared about girls, right then, you’d hardly believe it. I felt so unlike myself. My heart was racing as I unfolded the piece of paper inside.

Reading the first line, my heart felt like it stopped altogether.

Holy shit. She did write it for me. I was just being a jerk about all that, but…

What in the…

What is that supposed to mean?

My mind raced with the implications of the words, ‘I promise I will make it worth your while.’

I flipped the envelope, looking down at the red kiss she left me.

Did she like me? Like, like, like me?

I felt stupid even thinking about that question, but I couldn’t help it. It was like I was pissing brain cells and turning into Diego.

Our fans were known to pick favorites and collect our little plastic figurines and buy our posters, but I never thought I was one of those coveted idols, or that I was anything like my brothers when it came to irrelevant things like girls and who they ‘liked.’

The idea of this girl having pictures of me in her dorm room made my face feel hot.

She couldn’t get me out of her head…

Meticulously showering every part of my body and fighting for room in our shared sink area to finish my nightly routine didn’t help calm me down. Lying in bed trying to forget the letter and the girl was getting me nothing but more antsy.

It’s not like I never thought about girls. Diego was wrong about that. I was a teenager with rampant hormones running through me that caused intense feelings that occasionally couldn't be denied. When that was the case, I quickly took care of matters and moved on, nothing more.

I knew it was normal bodily function for someone my age to be stimulated with the simplest of things and end up with a hard on, or to experience the wonders of morning wood or mid-night wood accompanied by arousing dreams that seemingly come out of nowhere. I wasn't embarrassed by my need to pleasure myself. Like everything else, I approached it practically and efficiently, taking things into my own hands (or literally into my own hand as it were), and then after letting go of some of my millions of thoughts and a little bodily fluid I didn’t need, I was free of all that again.

Not everyone in this household was as discreet about their masturbation sessions. I had walked in on Klaus too many times to count while he was in the showers going at it. He may be a lot of things, completely uninhibited being one of them, but at least he cared enough to know that I was attracted to women not men. The shower thing with him and I and my blasé reaction to him jerking himself in there very frequently while I was in there too was probably part of that, but clearly my other siblings weren’t sure which way I ‘swung’ as they put it.

I couldn’t really blame them for their jokes. I never joined Klaus when he snuck out to meet our groupies for whatever they did together, but I had heard him and Diego going on and on about their various supposed exploits that they each have made when it came to those types of things that were intimate in nature. As much as I hated to admit it, if I had tried to talk to them about it, I am not sure what I would have said. They were right, I didn’t know anything about girls other than the basics that we learned in anatomy and physiology. And I was not intimate about anything unless you counted getting smacked in the face or getting choked out as intimate.

I hated not knowing things.

Fuck Diego and his teasing, and screw Luther and his perfect ‘I’m better looking than you’ thing he was born with. The more I lay there, the more I felt like I had to go meet the girl. I was curious what it was all about, but to be fully honest, I wanted to go because I thought that I knew what this was about and simply meeting me wasn't all she wanted.

This was my first chance to be around a girl alone that wasn’t one of my sisters. Who knew what could happen. Maybe something good?

At eleven fifty-five. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had looked at my window about a million times thinking about those red lips and that picture perfect smile. Just the letter afforded me major bragging rights but meeting her and the rest of it that could happen, yeah.

I had to go or I'd drive myself crazy wondering what I'd missed.

Springing from my bed, inelegantly tripping over my own feet while on my way to my wardrobe, I tore off my cotton sleep pants and t-shirt.

Flinging the doors open revealed what I knew all too well. I had nothing other than academy uniforms to call my own. With a cursed fuck it, I mechanically dressed as I always do, my practiced hands neatly pushing up the knot on my tie before pulling my vest down over the top of my stupid shorts. Knee socks and shined black shoes on, I was the picture of… Well… Myself, I guess.

Looking in the mirror, I threaded my fingers through my hair making sure it was lying flipped to the side like I preferred.

Glancing at my clock showed that I had exactly four minutes.

Blinking myself down to the street was nothing. If I really wanted to, I could blink blocks away or even further, but to do that, first I would need to know the coordinates of where I’m trying to land, or I would at least need to be able to see it or have been there before. I had never been to the corner of 25th and Park, but I knew approximately where it was, and if I wanted to get there in time, teleporting was the only way.

That was not super brilliant if I was shooting for blending in since I was dressed in my well-known Umbrella Academy uniform and I was going to have to use my power, but I had no other option. That blunder alone proved how little I was ready for the real world and how different I was to normal people.

By that late hour, the streets were thankfully mostly free of pedestrians near the Academy, but I knew that wouldn’t be the case closer to downtown.

Making sure to land out of sight, I blinked a block at a time, heading towards my destination. Each spatial jump left me feeling energized, with not even a hint of fatigue. Dad would be proud of me for that if not for the fact that I'd just snuck out of his house.

It took me nine blinks to get there, but even then, I wasn’t unsteady when my feet hit the pavement of the alley a block down from where the girl was supposed to be waiting for me.

It’s then that I noticed a storm was coming. The faint flashes of light followed by the sound of rumbling thunder were letting me know that our little rendezvous couldn't be outside unless it was very short.

Again, the reality of her waiting for me hit home. All of a sudden, I was not so sure of myself. I had no idea who she was or what this was really about. Even if this resulted in me finally having some experience with the opposite sex, this wasn't a good enough reason to do this. It’s not like I’d brag to my dumbass brothers about it if something did happen with the girl. I also could just lie and pretend I met up with her. I was no storyteller but I was sure I could come up with something that would make my brothers just a little less full of themselves when it came to me and my lack of knowledge as it pertained to girls.

What I was doing was so stupid and I knew it, but I couldn't help myself.

Glancing down the street, I didn't see her, but I did see other people. This area wasn't nearly as upscale as the block and surrounding properties of the upper east side where I lived. Here, there were cheap bars and clubs on each block, and the homeless were front and center nearly everywhere you looked.

Why would she ask me to meet her here?

As a man with a grizzly beard and a cart pushed past me from down the alley, he asked me for some change. I told him I didn't have any money, which was sadly true.

As he cussed me out and moved on, I found that I was really starting to regret my hasty decision to come, but that's when I saw her. I didn’t know how I missed her at first. It might have been because she was sitting on the sidewalk with her back against the darkened window of the corner store.

With a black baseball cap pulled down low as she played the guitar sitting in her lap, I just thought she was one of the many street people sitting out panhandling.

Ignoring the next guy asking me for change and the strange looks of a couple that staggered past me, I stepped out of the shadowed side street to get a better look at the red haired girl.

Sure enough, it was her. I could see that long braid, same as before, slung over her shoulder. She was dressed totally differently, not that I expected her to be wearing that short schoolgirl skirt, but I also didn’t imagine faded cargo pants, combat boots, and the baggy sweatshirt.

I could just make out the sound of strings being strum and the faintest sound of a female voice as I watched her.

Curiously, I felt drawn to her despite my new reservations. That was until a man stopped and dropped a few bills into the guitar case at her feet. She looked up, her smile of thanks as bright and warm as the one she'd given me earlier that day.

I stopped advancing, and my jaw dropped.

Tucked in tightly at her side was a duffle bag. The same kind that all the people out there seemed to have on them.

It dawned on me that she was homeless.

Why else would she be out here that time of night playing for money? I had so many questions, only one being, why wouldn’t her parents care where she was?

I couldn’t take my eyes off her as I back pedaled. Due to my inattention, my back ran right into a guy that looked like he could stomp me into the ground if he wasn’t so drunk, or if I couldn’t just as easily drop him in less than a second flat thanks to Reginald and his constant training.

I was in a daze as he shoved me aside and yelled, "Get the fuck out of the way kid!”

As I staggered, I heard her soft voice.

“Five?”

My neck snapped back her way.

Oh shit.

Righting myself, I stopped mid step in my retreat, but even as she stared at me, like a coward, I blinked away.

This time when I landed, it was with much less grace. I fell out of my portal, back on my ass, catching myself before my head slammed into the air conditioning unit behind me. Panting from shock and the jump to the rooftop across the street, I edged myself to the ledge of the building to look down at her.

She was standing there with her guitar in hand, motionless as she looked at the spot I had been standing in.

She raised a hand, rubbing her cheek as she frowned.

I felt like a first-class piece of shit.

I didn’t even talk to her but I thought I was more than willing to do other things with her that did not involve talking. Who does that? What was wrong with me?

I felt disgusted but I quickly swallowed it down.

Even sitting there knowing what I just did looked bad for so many reasons, I remained frozen as I watched her slowly turn around and begin to pack up her things. She crouched, taking the bills and change out of the case, stuffing her loot in the front pocket of her hoodie. Then, snapping closed the hard leather case, she didn’t so much as look back in the direction I had been before she took off down the street.

The first of the raindrops were beginning to hit the ground, pelting my hair and my shoulders. Instinctually, I pulled my academy jacket tighter around my middle even though it wasn't that cold.

The area we were in was nowhere near that private school whose uniform she was wearing, and she wasn't heading in the direction of where there was any housing that I was aware of.

I followed her.

I needed to know if I was right. A part of me, one that I didn’t want to admit was there but very much drove me in everything, needed to prove that she was not someone I should be associating with. I knew that sounded bad, but it was the truth I had been raised to believe. People like me didn’t talk with people like her.

Making sure to stay back so she couldn't see me, I went after her. She led me a few blocks away to an even more dilapidated and industrial looking area of the city that was not far from the docks. That was where I saw her enter what looked like an abandoned building. I knew it was not in use because it was boarded up. The only reason the girl got inside was because she knew that one of the boards was only being held on by one nail so she could swing it aside and disappear in the darkness.

I was right.

Why I didn’t stop there, I still don’t know.

Waiting just a few minutes to make sure she didn’t come back out, I entered the building the same way she did. It was nearly pitch black inside at first. My eyes had not adjusted to the dark because the boards were blocking most of the streetlights from shining inside the entire ground floor. When I could see, all around me was garbage and what looked like old moldy couch cushions and things that people must have used at one time or another while they squatted in there. But other than the obvious drug paraphernalia that showed at one time others had been using the place, the floor was quiet, and the girl was nowhere to be seen.

I knew she came in, and I didn’t see her come out, so I kept on looking. It wasn’t until I reached the top floor, by way of taking the stairs and blinking myself along when things didn’t look safe, that I heard her and the sound of water trickling as it made its way in through hidden parts of the building. Even with that and the sound of the hard rain falling on the roof, I could tell that she was singing again.

She had a very nice voice.

This floor of the building was like the others, only it wasn’t as dirty and it looked like no one ever ventured this far inside. From what I'd seen, the building should be and probably was condemned, and nobody should be there, but yet she was.

Unable to drop it even though I knew I was right; curiosity drove me closer to the sound of her voice softly echoing through the large mostly open floor.

The closer I got to her, the more I could hear the rain. It sounded like it was pouring down, splashing against something.

As I crept closer, my shoes ever so quiet on the gritty floor, I saw what appeared to be a small office enclosure off to the side of what was probably at one time a busy workspace full of factory workers.

Peering inside the glass windows, I could see her bag and her guitar case, but she was not there. I moved around the barrier into what appeared to be her makeshift home. I noticed mats laid out on the floor, made up like a bed and the blankets wrapped in plastic to keep them semi-clean. There were personal items, dozens of candles, and small stacks of books, the titles I couldn’t make out in the darkness.

It was bizarre, all of it was but her voice felt like it drew me to her. The beauty of the vaguely familiar French lyrics, ones of love, happiness and the beauty of life, rather than sadness and being utterly alone in a dirty warehouse in the murky darkness, were creating a strange sort of paradox of contradictions.

♫ Quand il me prend dans ses bras (Hold me close and hold me fast)

Qu'il me parle tout bas (The magic spell you cast)

Je vois la vie en rose (To see life in pink...) ♫

I knew that I could escape again in less than a second, and I knew that she was just around the other wall of windows. I could see her now, but it was clear that she couldn’t see me.

Her body was outlined by the ever-present city lights coming in from outside.

It looked like she was…

I couldn’t tell.

Brave or stupid, I came closer, moving around the farther side of the office enclosure.

Like a statue frozen in place, my eyes felt glued to the scene before me.

The rain was cascading down from a hole in the ceiling, one that wasn’t much bigger than a few feet but had clearly been there long enough to cause the roof to bend down near it due to rot.

The girl named Phoebe, was under the sparkling spray and she was completely naked.

Her arms were up over her head, drawing her hair back from her face as she angled it up, reveling in the chilly stream as bubbles slipped over the mounds of her breasts, down her flat stomach, and between her legs where they chose a path down either of her milky white legs.

I could smell the faint scent of the soap she held in her hand, the feminine rosy scent of it a stark contrast to the musty building around us.

Her calf muscles balled up as she rose on her toes as if she might just fly away. She looked like some kind of otherworldly angel that was above all the decay around her.

Her eyes were closed, and she didn’t open them as her hands slid down her body, rubbing the sudsy bar slowly over her chest with one hand while the other slid down between her legs.

I was in a trance as I watched this, fully aware that the sight was causing things to stir in me in places they shouldn’t, but I was unable to stop myself from looking. I didn’t even realize I had made an embarrassingly throaty sound until her eyes flew open, their piercing aim falling directly on me.

After the initial shock of seeing that she was being ogled by a perverted voyeur, those lupine eyes narrowed and that seductive looking smile of hers thankfully appeared.

“Five! You came back!”

She actually looked happy about that fact, and not at all bothered that I was still staring at her.

When I said nothing, the girl reached up to her towel that was hanging on nail sticking out of a pillar, not even fully wrapping it around her as she rushed my way.

“I thought you changed your mind. I am so happy you didn't," she chirped.

Now that she was standing right in front of me, dripping wet, with those eyes peering up at me and her towel dangling in front of her, I could see something else going on in her expression, but I didn't understand it. I just couldn’t put a finger on it. But she did put a finger on me.

I watched it happen as if in slow motion. She reached out and touched my arm, gently pulling me with her back towards the crude area where she slept.

"Come on," she whispered, and her touch and the sound of her voice sent waves of heat over my already burning skin.

Even if I had wanted to blink away from her at that point, my body wouldn’t let me.

Link to chapters Three and Four

Poor Five, so broken...

Thanks for joining me for another one of my Five-centric stories. The next post is coming soon but if you can't wait, click below.

Link to this as well as my stories and art on AO3

Link to my other posts on Tumblr

#number five #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves #whump #number 5 #number five female oc #the umbrella academy number five #number five imagine #tua fandom #tua five #umbrella academy five hargreeves fanfiction #number five hargreeves #kaybreezy-on-a03 #Dolores and Five time in the Apocalypse #Broken Number Five #sad thoughts #Number Five's POV #smut with plot #shocker

12 notes · View notes

summerongrand · 2 months

Text

Some thoughts on fandom curation ... fueled by caffeine ...

I'm all about curating fandom like I curate my coffee. Both can be deeply personal and communal at the same time. I have an entire pantry cabinet dedicated to coffee: coffee beans, grounds, sauces and syrups, all different kinds of gadgets, different types of coffee, and the different devices used to make a good mason jar of coffee. I'm also the type of person that will go out of the way to try an Instagrammable coffee place.

By all means, curate your Tumblr feed. Fudge with the algo. Make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it. If blocking or muting is your cup of joe, then do it!

Where I find this selective curation a bit troubling is what causes people to block. Blocking, again, is great if there's a disconnect between what a blogger writes and what you want to see on your feed. But it can be troubling if the content that causes them to hit the block button is one that calls out inequality against a character they love.

I found out that someone (an active someone in the Chenford space) blocked me because I wrote this post about starting more fandom discussions about gender in the workplace, specifically the challenges that WOC face. I’m baffled that this post about Lucy's struggles triggered them to hit that block button. Nearly 50% of girls and women aged 15-44 in the United States are women of color. That number increases to 100% on The Rookie.

I can understand if someone doesn't know how to participate in this kind of discourse or if they're hesitant to chime in because they don't want to accidentally say something that may be perceived differently than their intentions. We all come from different walks of life and our experiences with people shape who we are. If you do want to engage but don't know how, my DMs are open and they're a safe and judgment-free zone.

It is both eye-opening though and disheartening to see someone actively object to seeing discourse about inequality, discrimination, and racism. This isn't about "wokeness" at all ("woke" and its synonyms are not words that anyone has ever used to describe me). This is about how societal institutions affect a fictional character that you, my blocker, purport to love. It's about engaging in thoughtful discourse to ensure that we don't ignore that same character's identity - again, a character that you purport to love. How can you claim to love a character and actively choose to ignore her struggles?

Anyway, if I spent more time thinking about how I wanted to write this post, it would read a bit differently than it does now. I've also learned that if I spend more time thinking about things, then I lose some of the potency of what I wanted to say.

So I'm just gonna post this thing under the tags, prepare for more misplaced anti-woke blocks, and make some craft coffee.

#chenford #the rookie #lucy chen #women of color #melissa o'neil #intersectionality #women of color in the workplace #representation in media #representation on tv

7 notes · View notes

the-modern-typewriter · 2 years

Note

Any advice on how to write enemies-to-lovers relationships? I have these two characters (one is a heroine/ protagonist and the other is an anti-villain/ antagonist) that I imagine to start off as enemies and slowly fall in love, but I am afraid that they’re incompatible/ the chemistry between them won’t work. And I don’t want their relationship to be forced.

I did a post here on writing conflict in a romantic relationship:

Much of what I say there applies to enemies to lovers and is a good way to start thinking about the characters you have.

If you know you are writing enemies to lovers from the start of your story, the way you set up and create the characters is typically different to when you just write characters who aren't intended to get along ever.

Background bits that are relevant when I talk novel advice

For background reading, generally, if writing a novel, I would recommend familiarising yourself with some common story structures such as The Three Act Structure, The Hero's Journey or Savannah Gilbo's romance-specific take on the Seven Point Story Structure.

Also, this thorough guide on character arcs by K.M Weiland.

I feel it's important to throw this in, because I'm ultimately doing a quick tumblr post, so my tips aren't going to do dig super deep. I'm just hoping to get you thinking about your characters/offer perspective and hopefully clarity.

Now onwards, to enemies and lovers...

I personally like to think of enemies-to-lovers romance characters (though, let's be real, also my protagonists and antagonist generally) as a set. They don't have to match, but they are designed to comment on each other - be that through reflecting the worst or best (in a happy romance, they reflect the best) of each other.

E.g. for me they are often narrative foils or mirror characters. This means that the characters contrast in a way that they highlight each other's qualities, be it how they are different (foil) or how they are the same (mirror).

A romance story in particular is often all about answering the question 'why are these two great for each other?' 'Why should they be together?' 'Why is it worth fighting for this love despite all the obstacles in the way?'

In an enemies to lover's story, one reason is often because they have a unique perspective/ability to challenge each other to reassess their own attitudes and stances (see where this is going back to foils and mirrors?) and thus further each other's character arc.

Foil route:

A simple version of this is, 'hero' character must learn to look out for themselves and not just other people, 'villain' character must learn to not just look out for themselves in order to be truly happy. Bam, collide, and somewhere in the middle of these two extremes you have an actual healthy approach to life, which they end up landing on through interacting and learning from each other. Thus, despite being fundamentally different, they both make each other better, happier people, and this is the basis of opposites attract. They complement each other flaws.

The mirror route:

The characters, despite having opposing goals, learn as they interact with each other that they actually have a lot in common, value similar things, and so a bond forms between them because of this as they realise that, oh no, they actually like each other. A lot. The internal conflict of the novel is reconciling their growing fondness for each other with their still separate goals.

This also means that, for me personally at least, the two sides of your enemies/lovers romance need to be somewhat balanced. I.e. your antagonist cannot be unredeemable monster with no valid points to make, and nothing for your protagonist to reasonably attracted to in them. Similarly, your protagonist cannot be always right, completely wholesome or perfect or...what do they have to learn from the antagonist? What do they have in common?

Obviously, add attraction on top of this + specific reasons to be attracted to each other that fit your characters. Like, as many reasons as you can give why yess, these two, the better.

I don't know your characters, so I cannot tell you if they are incompatible or not. So take-away question, do your characters have the potential to support each other and make each other better? If not, then you may have great tension as a protagonist/antagonist dynamic and they may have sizzling antagonistic chemistry, but that does not necessarily mean they should be in a romance together.

#writing talk #enemies to lovers #writing tips #writing advice #hope this helps #writing

174 notes · View notes

mdhwrites · 4 months

Note

I've seen a few argue that Amphibia has an 'unintentionally authoritarian' undertone when it comes to the moral of accepting change, and while I don't really agree with the argument, I have pondered over it.

The 'evidence' they bring up are as follows: According to Matt Braly, the motivation Marcy's dad had for taking a new job was that it was a big 'opportunity' for him. Going off Braly's words, it seems it was done not out of financial necessity, but simply because Mr. Wu wanted to. As a result, some call Mr. Wu selfish and uncaring, ungrateful for the lofty life he already had. They argue he should have learned a lesson at the end, not just his daughter.

Further 'evidence' is the way Andrias is portrayed in an anti-authoritarian light, but the show 'has an expectation of deference to parents and authority' when it comes to any other parental figure than Andrias or his father. The argument goes that it is 'inconsistent' for the show to never question the Wu parents for their actions, while negatively portraying Andrias'.

Again, I really don't agree, partly because the show doesn't consistently portray parents as 'beyond reproach.' I mean, Hop-Pop often mishandles or mistreats his family, even if he means well, and he's portrayed as...well, wrong for it.

But the main reason I don't agree is because the story is one that wants to end with Marcy accepting the move. Having her dad be 'in the wrong because he took a job he didn't need' would result in an ending where Marcy doesn't move due to her dad learning to appreciate what he already has, thereby...nullifying the ending's message that being distant from her friends won't mean Marcy loses their friendship.

That being said, I think a fair point was made regarding the motivation for the move - if that really was Mr. Wu's reasoning, then I can see why some would interpret the story's resolution as 'your parents can't be challenged, even if they're taking you from an environment that gives you joy without any necessity.' Which is why it stays on my mind even if I don't agree - which brings me to my question: is this argument making a decent point by using evidence from the show creator, or is it another one of those takes that people use to justify their feelings rather than make an argument in any good faith?

This argument is so stupid that I hard stopped and my first instinct was to delete it.

That's not a joke. I needed a sanity check so bad that what I was reading was genuinely just insane that instead of waiting until after I'd written this to discuss it with my Discord, I immediately sent them the ask. Like... What? What show did you watch to make this? What is your definition of authoritarianism to think Andrias, Aldritch and THE FUCKING CORE are not people who force their will, loss of self, etc. upon others for the sake of the state and themselves which is at least a pretty decent component of authoritarianism. It's closer to say their argument is pro-authority but... We'll get to it.

So before I actually get into their bad evidence or how much of the show they're ignoring, let's just talk about lack of evidence. My blogs tend to be so long because rather than go "If you don't see this, you need to rewatch the show", I will actually try to be thorough in my examination and even bring up counter examples against my arguments. Most of my negative blogs on Lumity or Amity still admit that Eclipse Lake is a highlight for them. A sign of what could have been that is then drowned out by what actually happened. I am thorough though in part to make sure my argument is sound. I've literally had moments in blogs where looking at the evidence made me hard stop, like when I realized the first time that after Adventure in the Elements, Eda and Luz do NOTHING together for the rest of the season which I didn't know when I started my first blog on the issues with TOH's found family.

Their evidence, their ONLY evidence, is a very specific interpretation of something a creator said about a character who is vocal in one scene, not even on screen, and Andrias/Aldritch supposedly being anti-authoritarian. That's it. They bring up literally ZERO other power structures, authority figures, parents, etc... Because they'd be fucked if they did. They only focus on this very small group because they can spin it in a way that makes their argument sound reasonable. Not including 90% of the rest of the show though means their argument is inherently unsound.

So... What does the other 90% of the show say?

Well first: THE CORE IS AUTHORITARIAN. ANDRIAS IS AUTHORITARIAN. Aldritch... More up and down but that's kind of because he had such a prosperous state as to not need to quell rebellions but even he saw even one concerned cry of dissent as treason. Andrias is a good leader... Because he needs to be. He bides his time but the minute he has absolute power, he rules absolutely. Those who do not obey are literally mind controlled into serving him. Their personhood lost for the state. Hell, Andrias prefers DRONES over people to do his bidding and literally outfitted a robot with a BOMB as a punishment for if it didn't get its job done. The Core literally has a fuck everything but me button with the moon for if people don't listen to it and gives it what it wants and its whole gimmick is literal assimilation and then being crushed under the actual personality and desires of The Core. So yeah, the more substantial part of their evidence is just FLATLY WRONG.

But what about pro-authority? I said that was probably what they were going for more after all, especially since calling Mr. Wu authoritarian... *gestures at how fandoms moralize again because sweet fucking christ* So how does the show treat authority figures and especially blind trust in authority figures? With giving them absolute power and seeing that as a good thing?

You all remember how S1 ended with an upheaval of the status quote of the world because what the toads was doing was being evil and Sasha's want for Anne to listen to her, no questions asked, was unhealthy, right? Or how about how the one time Hop Pop gets full power over everyone instead of having to commonly explain himself or give concessions was the mind control episode where he was blatantly in the wrong? Toadstool... Exists. He actually only is a good guy once he stops only focusing on himself and wanting absolute power and greed and starts thinking about others and being willing to sacrifice for them. Wally's father wants the repression of his son's identity and desires before being proven wrong and a hypocrite.

One of the show's big themes is community and the positive effects of community and you literally CAN'T be pro-authoritarian, or arguably even pro-authority, with that as a core theme. You cannot say supporting and listening to only one person is correct if your main argument is that people are stronger and better working together and supporting each other. Hell, Hop Pop has an episode where he abuses the blind trust of his customers and it only ends badly for everyone. That is literally not something you can include if your main message is pro-authoritarian.

And finally... I could literally just say "Your anger about not seeing Sasha and Marcy's parents will never be justified" again about Mr. Wu. It's just another way to try to call him abusive. To say Marcy was in the right and the trio should have stuck together. Life changes like this do sometimes just happen. My last major move that wasn't just shifting places in the same small town, happened because a sudden decline in someone in the household's health made it less tenable for me to be there. The emotional strain was getting too great for me to handle. I was gone within a month or two.

Mr. Wu wanting a promotion because he cares about his job is not wrong of him. If the guy the position was supposed to go to fell through, he might have only been given weeks to make the choice and move which means pretty much no time to include his daughter. But also... Parents exist for more than their children. He is still caring about Marcy, he isn't literally abandoning her or kidnapping her, so it's okay if he wants to pursue what he cares about too. And that's pretty much the most cynical I can get about it because this isn't getting into him potentially wanting a better job to set aside more money for Marcy's college fund, or how the job they had might have been strained financially and this move could mean going somewhere MUCH cheaper to live as well. Or like... A hundred other reasons Mr. Wu might have seen this as a great opportunity in general.

And here at the end, I stand amongst an eviscerated argument and am tempted to just go "Stop." At least when others bring me arguments, they actually believe in those arguments. They actually think there might be credit to them. It's a very different feeling to have someone actively admitting they think a take is bullshit when it's brought to you, which is part of why I chose to talk about arguments in general with this like I did with your last ask too.

But... I also do get it. I literally needed a sanity check because of how insane this argument was to me. Not everyone has a Discord like mine though where they feel comfortable sharing posts like this and asking for thoughts, let alone have anyone in the Discord who can properly formulate an argument with evidence for why a take is insane. I might be your only option for a sanity check.

So if you want to keep bringing these, feel free to but also, I do have a dedicated Amphibia discussion channel in my Discord. I have one for TOH too. That way if you want to join but don't want to hear about a show, you at least mostly don't if you just mute the channel (they still both come up from time to time while discussing other cartoons but the bulk of the discussion happens in those channels.)

But BOY these Amphibia arguments are fucking wild to me. It honestly probably is a testament for how good the show is at its themes and messaging that people have to stretch THIS HARD to have anything where as when TOH fans go "It's anti-colonial" I at least understand why they have the base premise they do.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

#Amphibia

7 notes · View notes

repriseofthereprise · 4 months

Text

Getting the “f” out of us

By Sheila Anne

Used by permission of the author.

When I was an anti-feminist, I thought I had created myself. I didn’t think I was affected by herstory, culture, language or by anyone else around me. I didn’t think my thoughts, feelings, or actions were influenced by anything or anyone. No one, absolutely no one was telling me what to do.

I grew up listening to the news, media–well, just about everyone ridiculing and trivializing the Women’s Liberation Movement. I knew that I didn’t want to be anything like these “picky,” “oversensitive” women. I was tough. I could handle myself. And actually, I was terrified. I was terrified of sexuality. I was terrified of my femaleness, my vulnerability as a female. I was terrified of being laughed at–like “those wimmin.”

But No One was telling me what to do.

I didn’t know that I was being told what to do, think and feel before I was born. I didn’t realize that I was being bombarded with words and images from every possible direction that kept me in both a state of terror and denial that there was anything to fear.

And how this all works best is that those who have real power to affect and change my life, do it so well and so constantly, it can be undetected, life as expected. But these “women,” they easily stood out on the landscape and they were easy to blame and laugh at. “These women,” I told myself, were not telling me what to do, how to act and how to talk. But they were not the ones with the power to “make me” do anything. We rarely seem to hold the ones with real power to make us do things accountable in anywhere near the same way as we charge wimmin who raise difficult issues but have no power to “make us” do anything.

Not having my language or behavior corrected (detectably) was very important to me. Coming from a working-class background, I had a sense of not fitting in with the middle-class status quo that we were all supposed to aspire to, that I wouldn’t be able to–and so I didn’t want to. I had discovered other ways of feeling powerful and right.

As a kid, I learned how to fight and defend myself physically, but in most situations, my best weapon was my mouth, the snappy comeback, “colorful,” graphic and especially violent, sexually violent metaphors. I loved to argue, verbally spar and found in my cultural heritage and experience a rich tradition of “having a way with words.” The way with words wasn’t about how to communicate fully and clearly my deepest feelings and thoughts to others, but how to feel in control, keep feelings hidden and protected, how to make others laugh and enjoy themselves around me, and if anyone tried to “mess with me,” it was about how to quickly “put them in their place.”

I punctuated my sentences with the “F-word.” I could use it as noun, verb, adjective, and adverb. My favorite sentence was, “You f-ed-up f-ing f-.” I found that when making a point–well, talking about anything–my sentence for some reason had greater “thrust” if I threw an “f” in somewhere, especially if I said it with some anger or passion. I also found that anything I said was less likely to be challenged if I threw an “f” in. I wasn’t conscious of all this at the time. I would have denied it. I would have said, this is just the way I talk, or that I didn’t “mean” anything in particular by the words I was “choosing” (fairly automatically). I would have accused anyone who was uncomfortable with my language of being “uptight,” “too serious.” Later, when I had figured out only enough about class to use it as a defensive weapon, I would have told anyone who challenged me that they were being classist.

Slowly, I became more conscious about language and power, the role of language in limiting options and in oppression. Slowly I “got it” about the most blatant examples of oppressive language that I had internalized. I began dropping words and expressions from my vocabulary–not because anyone was telling me what to do, not because of the demeaning concept of being “politically correct” where it is suggested that we make changes in language and behavior because of something like fashion or external approval; but because once it was clear to me what I was participating in by using certain words, it became uncomfortable to continue using them. I didn’t want to use them anymore.

But no one was dare challenging me on the “swearing and cursing” words and I wasn’t interested in “giving them up.”

And now this is the hard part.

My life took an unexpected turn in the early 1990s when in my efforts to build and sustain community with other Dykes, I found that many of us had incredibly entrenched obstacles and barriers preventing us from aligning and identifying with each other on any deep level. I began to understand that many of us had been turned against ourselves and each other fairly purposefully by experiences of abuse as children.

I began to understand that this was not a personal issue or a therapy issue but a political issue of power and control on a very large scale. As I became aware of child sexual abuse, a continuum of abuse including ritualistic and cult-related abuse, I also became much more aware of the culture that supports and reinforces the damage of these crimes.

I became aware that when I acted automatically and unconsciously, I was a part of this abusive culture.

I started to notice the violence in my language and how it affected other Dykes around me; eventually, I noticed how it affected me, the changes in my energy and presence to myself. I began to notice that I was surrounded by a culture that I’ve begun to call “rape culture.”(1) With this awareness, I found myself facing off with what had been a favored word, tool and yes, now I know, weapon. The word fuck. What did it mean, what was I saying? OK, it refers to sex. Big deal, right? People are far too uptight about it, right? Well, it certainly doesn’t refer to loving, tenderness, “love-making.” It refers to a violent sexual act, aggression, anger, power over. It refers to rape. It means rape. When used it implies or makes the threat of rape and for the user, it carries that sense of power, the ability to rape, terrorize.

Once this dawned on me, once I fully took this all in, I could no longer be at any peace in using this word. And from this point on, I’ve been in a very difficult and painful struggle.

The struggle with myself is ongoing, daily. I say “f” in my head, under my breath automatically at common annoyances and frustrations, fighting off the sources of my aggravation with that threatening thrust of “power.” It would just be ridiculous to go around saying if it weren’t also so intrinsic to a culture that is so successful at controlling and terrorizing females, psychically numbing us with constant overload that rape culture is the norm–so much so that many of us would deny that we live and participate in a rape culture.

I’ve had success with conscious effort–like efforts I’ve made to eliminate other demeaning and oppressive words–in not using “f” in my talking with others. At the same time, I try not to blame myself for how firmly rooted rape culture is in my mind. It impresses me about how difficult and complex is our struggle for freedom, and how important it is to fight for our minds, to resist our own minds being used against us.

Since I have been separating myself from rape culture, I’ve been experiencing deeper connection with myself and my feelings. It was like every “f” I used was covering, blocking some part of me, some authentic emotion. It was interfering with my presence to myself. It is still an ongoing process where I continue to reclaim more of myself.

The most painful struggle with this word, this manifestation of rape culture, is with other Radical Feminist Lesbians. The resistance and defensiveness has been intense; in fact, it has been silencing. It feels overwhelming for me to challenge otherwise highly conscious Lesbians on using this word. I haven’t done it very much. I also know I need to.

With my present awareness, each “f” is a sting of violation, and once I’ve tried to explain this to another Dyke, it feels much worse when they continue to use and defend this word. It hurts–and I end up feeling very alone in a terrible struggle.

I’ve had Dykes treat me like how men treat women and feminists. Dykes have covered their mouths and said, “Ooops, I shouldn’t swear around you.” Implying that this was just my issue, my little problem, that I was just some prude who found strong language distasteful. And of course this reaction is a huge blow to my lingering bravado, from how I have been in the past.

I’ve had Dykes, again, much like how men defend their offensive, degrading and oppressive remarks to wimmin, tell me they “didn’t mean anything” by using “f,” that it didn’t have the same meaning for them that it did for me. And maybe my suggesting that we get rid of such language could be classist. Now my old excuses and defenses were coming back to get me. Please grasp that these same Dykes would never accept, nor should they, any of these excuses in defense of any other language that could be oppressive in any way–and I know they would argue hard that what was really “meant” or “intended” is not relevant.

What these experiences underscore for me is that we live in rape culture that is incredibly entrenched in all our minds, that this works powerfully against us no matter how conscious we feel we are.

I would like to raise awareness and not defensiveness. I know from my own experiences that no one moves on something or makes changes that go against the current until they are ready to internally. But I invite you to think about it and consider that this awareness could bring the possibility of greater freedom, the ability of being more fully who we are.

Note

1. What I am calling “rape culture” is derived from Mary Daly’s term “rapism (n): the fundamental ideology and practice of patriarchy, characterized by invasion, violation, degradation, objectification, and destruction of women and nature, the fundamental paradigm of racism, classism, and all other oppressive -isms.” From Webster’s First New Intergalactic Wickedary of the English Language conjured by Mary Daly in cahoots with Jane Caputi.

#language

6 notes · View notes

twilightguardian · 1 year

Text

@kob131

The OP blocked me so I didn't see your reply. Which, fair enough, if they don't want to get notified of our discussion. It was their post, we honestly should have moved off it earlier.

I switched because you literally said your problem was his arrogance. What, would you like me to ignore that and keep focusing on the word spite? It was what I was originally talking about, with most people either claiming one or the other or usually both at the same time, and then you clarified your position on the matter. So I switched. It's not hypocritical, my dude. It's how conversations work.

You don't get to talk about me sidestepping your challenge. My response was to tell you to actually watch his damn content because that's where you'll find it if you want to see it so badly and you ignored it and then shot back a challenge at me without acknowledging it. That's not how things work, my dude. Learn about how burden of proof works, please.

If you couldn't possibly bother to look up anything on Raymond's channel that's your own damn fault, like it would be my own damn fault if I saw... idk, one video of Unresolved Textual Tension's videos and complained about Maria's flippant recapping of the book she's reviewing. If I didn't watch any time they review a book she likes and she still reviews the book the exact same way meaning she isn't flippant out of hate, me bitching about how salty she is would mean I have egg on my face. There's plenty of examples in his reactions where he praises the show's writing that tell me you didn't even bother.

You don't get to make stuff up about how you perceive someone to be when you don't bother to do anything except watch (maybe, or maybe you don't, I don't know you, nor have I looked you up. I am just responding to you as you are right now) his Fixing videos and then claim he's arrogant because he said on his twitter one time that he thinks he's better than M&K.

And really, who cares? Having a writing job on a show doesn't inherently make you a good writer. It means that their works are public and up for critique, which anyone is free to do. Writers on other shows are called bad all the time. Stephen Moffat was called a bad writer all the time who should have stayed an episodic writer. Raymond has said that he doesn't think they're BAD writers, either. Just that, like Moffat, their strengths are with shorter, more contained stories. You'd know that if you watched his content, because he's said it multiple times. Point is, Raymond backs up his words with action while most people don't. Most people just sit and complain and say 'bad writer' and then move on with their lives. Raymond is a writer and is doing FRWBY and his own content outside of Fixing RWBY.

Anyway, I do believe I didn't fully take a look at what you were saying and respond to it, you're right, so I'll correct that.

Prove it. And not by saying "this thing sucks". Actually explain in detail why certain things you take issue with are a problem and taking into account the changes Fixing RWBY has made into context. It should be easy for you to do, since you claim he didn't do a single thing better. Not a single aspect is done well. Nothing at all. So you should have plenty of material to choose one thing.

Keep in mind that I may actually agree with you on something. I don't think Fixing is perfect, but just because I don't think that something is the way that I would have done it means that it's bad necessarily. You have to look at more than one aspect before you determine the difference between it not being for you and it being actively bad. Stepping away from your personal preferences to look at something objectively, I can understand the decisions made.

Mupa and I talked about how it would have been easy to make Ren or Jaune Ozpin's host. Ren has the green theme, same as Ozpin. He can also pull off the wiser-than-he-seems aspect. Jaune is meant to be Joan of Arc. Hearing voices in his head is RIGHT THERE. Missed opportunity, if you ask me lol

Though I've said it before, I actually chewed Raymond out in vc once for replacing Oscar because I was looking forward to seeing his interpretation of Oscar. I also pointed out that the point of Fixing is to stick to canon as close as possible.

Thing about spiteful passion is that you quickly get burned out by it. It wears you down if you keep it up for long periods of time. Raymond has been working on Fixing RWBY for YEARS. Because he loves the show. He's said he loves the show multiple times on his channel. Doing a big project on something you love also wears you down, but you are rejuvenated in the end by the end product. Things made out of spite are only effective in the short term, not the long.

You're making a lot of assumptions here, bud.

That a fan, who has less power than the creators, cannot or should not have the ability to insult the writing. He doesn't insult the writers, at least as far as I remember. He doesn't say 'fuck Miles/Kerry the piece of shit' or anything like that, he says he's a bad writer. Oh. How terrible. He's made jokes before about burning idols of Miles in his backyard, sure, but that's not an insult. It's comedy. You don't have to find it funny, but it's not meant to be taken seriously, it's not a threat; the guy jokes around a lot.

That as a fan he should be held up to the same standards as the professional writers, who are held to a professional standard and judged accordingly. Keep in mind: a lot of fanfic authors out there do believe themselves better than the writers of the fandom they write for. Or unrelated professional authors. There's a reason 'I've read/written better fanfic than this' is a common insult.

He does less and risks less of himself than the original creators. What does this even mean? How do you know how much work Raymond does or does not do to make Fixing RWBY? Creating a base world like RWBY is easy. It can be done in mere hours. Or any story meant for younger audiences, not to talk about RWBY specifically. Sailor Moon is a very simplistic story whose premise and characters can be created in a few hours. Spice and Wolf is a premise that is very simplistic world building. And I've seen plenty of authors who have put blood, sweat and tears into writing fanfic, or rewriting something. Making sure the lore is correct, or references something, the characters are fundamentally the same, expanding on things, adding things that don't contradict, and if you are changing aspects of the canon lore, making sure it still is within the boundaries of what the canon is. My own fanfic is an example I've put a lot of thought and effort into with it being an AU pseudo-rewrite based on my gripes with my own main fandom, so I have to constantly cross-reference to make sure I get characterization right despite the alternate scenario and build up new character arcs from scratch despite a lot of the work already being done for me. To say that because he's building off something already established so he doesn't work hard is an insult to all fanfic writers.

This is just reiterating the point you've already tried to make. He's a fan who is not making money selling Fixing RWBY. Thinking that you should criticize a fan making a fan project is a dick move in any fandom that I know of. It's a nonsense question and just makes you look more like a bully. It's a power dynamics thing. Raymond has no real power over RWBY. He's "punching up" as they say. Anyone claiming that they should have the right to criticize a fan and say things about them because "they're doing it too" is being petty and acting like a child.

For the record: didn't Miles literally say he hates people who criticize just to be spiteful or to be mean? He called out people who do that because it's inappropriate. So why do you feel it's okay to do it when the person you're supposedly defending doesn't condone your behaviour?

Raymond loves criticism, actually. He looks forward to any time someone can give him honest critique of the show. He actively says at the end of his Fixing videos to leave comments and criticisms in the comments section. He addresses them. He's acknowledged mistakes that he's made, and strives to do better.

Not all criticism is written equal, though. Saying 'I think this thing is weak/poorly executed because of xyz reasons' is different from 'ew you did zyx how dare' or 'how dare you change [literally anything] you're a hack writer'.

One is a genuine critique talking in detail about the flaws and why they view it as a problem. The middle is saying they don't like a concept. Okay? Noted, I guess. The other is straight up being a troll or a petulant child.

Raymond takes into consideration the first, sometimes the second and laughs at the third. But he's also allowed to defend himself.

Skipped to here in your next post because I already addressed what you said above.

It's subjective. Also, you're being the second person in the example above. What else am I supposed to say here? 'Nuh uh.'

If you don't explain why, there's nothing to talk about. I do not agree it doesn't improve shit. I don't agree it bloats anything and I don't agree that the project is overworked.

Like I said, get up off your lazy ass and look at his reactions for yourself. They're right there. He talks about what he likes and what he doesn't like and everyone usually says he's consistently the nicer one of the group (to RWBY) apart from Dashie. It's not my job to make you drink, I will just point in the direction of water. If you haven't watched his reviews and caught when he compliments the show, that's on you. If you haven't seen when he says directly that he loves the show, that's on you.

But here, scroll through this guy's post. If the videos are still up then watch them. Now you can't say I didn't show you where. Because they're right there.

Eat your words.

Back to your current reply.

It literally doesn't matter, friendo.

Also you claim to know how much his book has been seen now? How many people bought his book? Since you know so much, please tell me, I'm curious. His video views on his announcement aren't indicative of that, I hope you know. The Artificer has been reviewed by at least one other youtuber, a booktuber, so it's out there. It might get picked up by more. Not everyone who casually reads books leaves reviews, either. I know I'm one of those people, because I have nothing substantial to say, or I just don't feel like it even if I do.

I ask why the hell do you care about his other works and whether they're popular. But if we're comparing here, you have a company of at least 300 people by the time of volume 2 compared to a single man. And you think a company with a budget of any kind, no matter how small it may be for marketing and merchandise is really comparable to one man? Like frig. Bigger youtubers than him don't even compare to Company money. Shadiversity for instance, for all his popularity, doesn't compare to Company money.

It's disingenuous of you to act like they are.

I'm not lying lol

Saying you're a better writer than X doesn't make you spiteful gtfo with that stupid argument lol

You're so caught up with that one little thing. Is that your main gripe with him? Would you actually think not a whole lot is wrong with Fixing RWBY if he didn't say that one singular thing you don't like? Are you basically trying to give him a taste of his own medicine? If not, then what the hell does it matter? He said something you don't like. Do you go around disliking and talking shit about everyone who has said something you don't like ever? Or do you move on because in the end it doesn't matter?

You think he's not proving himself better. Say how and why. Popularity doesn't matter, my dude. There's plenty of quality shit out there that's obscure. Look at all the things out there that bombed at the box office but became cult classics. Doing numbers is not indicative of quality.

You perceive him to be arrogant. Doesn't make him so. I think you just have a stick up your ass because he insulted someone you have attachment to and admire and you view him as a bad guy meanie head for it.

I don't think he owes Miles or Kerry anything. He doesn't need to be nice to them. It's ridiculous to think that just because his channel makes money off RWBY content that means he has to be grateful to the writers of the show and thus not say anything derogatory about them.

It's also none of your business, nor do I understand why you whiteknight (not meant to be an insult, it's just late and I can't think of synonyms) for them so much when you don't even know them personally as people. They're professionals. They're big boys with big boy pants who take criticism a lot better than you have. It's the professional world. They're not the only writers who have had mean things said about them, and they're not the last. They probably have learned to let the criticism roll off their backs and pick out what is harsh, but fair criticism and what is just people frothing at the mouth.

He's not fucking MysteriousMrEnter where he used to fly into such a rage calling them names and wishing death upon them he caused other people to harass the writers of Spongebob on twitter. He said the writing was bad. You can criticize someone's work without insulting them as people. You can criticize someone's work without thinking the writers are bad people. Raymond has shot ME down when I said they were bad writers and explained to me where he thinks their strengths are. I've said it many times. If you haven't seen him say it when he has multiple times, that's on you.

He HAS said things in a fit of rage and he regrets it. Terrible thing owning up to his mistakes and trying to be better. What an asshole.

Nah. It's because after I replied to you the first time I learned you're a known issue in the community and I had little faith in you that you would actually be honest. Plus, I'm busy; leads to inaccurate reading, for whatever that's worth. I'm making up for it with this by giving you the proper attention. If I was actually like Lilith Fairen I would have blocked you the moment you replied to me and then kept talking about you behind the block, laughing at how pathetic you were for being a rwby stan who thinks it's okay to harass small creators and blah blah despite that not being the reason you were talking to me.

It's happened before, where I thought I could have a decent conversation with someone only to learn they'd actively ignore anything Raymond said that was positive, the person wanted to believe whatever he wanted about the man and say shit about his content due to that false belief that he hated the show. I'm glad you are actually talking to me and engaging, but we'll see where it goes.

#kob131 #rwde #rwby #fixing rwby #frwby #also probably missed some but I try to take the swears out because they sound so aggressive #but I just swear casually in my conversations

24 notes · View notes