#but inevitably my little brain just kept creating scenarios

[thebxghag]

Azulaang aus c:

#this fully started out as a crack ship #but inevitably my little brain just kept creating scenarios #sdknfksdjnf #most of the sketches are from an au in which azula chose to go with the gaang after the war instead of with Iroh like zuko wanted her to do #just to be a contrarian #and then somehow she ended up one of the last members travelling with aang full time #and the one in the middle is for an au in which aang lost the war and became a politaical prisoner #that I’ve been writing for three heckin years #but I DO think I’m on the last draft for that one >D #my art #atla #fanart #avatar the last airbender #illustration

[gunsli-01]

So, Triage was certainly a thing huh. Whelp, let me tell you. I've been listening to triage all day and I have some thoughts that may just conflict with everything else said. So, watch me go against my own interests and state for all to see despite me personally voting Shidou Innocent I'm certain he's everything but that!

I believe Shidou’s spouse may have gotten sick which is what initially made him begin taking organs. However, since he was also the main source of income for his household he was gone often. His wife may have still taken care of the house but was not really permitted to do too many strenuous activities because of her illness. Inevitably, her illness worsened, and she was put into a hospital full time. The beginning of Triage even alludes to this being the case with lyrics,

“Those cards of promise I discarded were they retribution for my incessant taking. In that case, I should have been the one. That’s the correct answer, but then why?”

He was already taking organs before his children were impacted more than likely to save his wife from whatever illness she had. In Shidou’s second interrogation he says,

“You saw my true self, didn’t you? There ought to be very few people who have killed more than I have. In comparison to me, the prisoners who weren’t forgiven have also hardly done anything wrong.”

He responds to Es’ assertion that his murder was the act of harvesting organs from brain dead patients with,

“Well… About halfway, I would say."

Es assumed that Shidou’s patients were brain dead and he’s halfway correct but that’s pretty far from correct. Chances are Shidou’s patients were not brain dead but more than likely in vegetative or comatose states with possibly very little chance of recovery. Es is once again seeing what he wants to see here and creating the best-case scenario to justify the choices already made.

Even worse Shidou could have lied to his patients families stating they were brain dead when they weren’t in order to persuade them into pulling the plug faster. When he confronts family members of his patients in Throw Down, he has no paperwork concerning the individual being discussed. So, the family members just have to take his word on it. This is shown being the case multiple times.

Even worse we see the actual patient records scatter through the air and strewn down at Shidou's feet near the end of his first mv.

Average people wouldn’t be able to immediately tell the difference between brain death and a coma.

“Their loved one who has suffered from an injury to the brain is in a hospital intensive care unit. Doctors are doing everything possible to help the patient including supporting blood pressure and heart rate with medications, breathing for the patient with a ventilator, and constantly monitoring the patient’s condition. Often, for the patient with a non-traumatic brain injury like a stroke, there is no outward sign that their loved one has suffered a devastating and non-survivable injury to the brain. The patient looks to be asleep, is warm to touch and appears to breath, albeit with the help of a machine.”

“ “NO” the hesitation I killed is holding its breath and sniffing out lies.”

“Lying, replacing with hope.”/ “To keep you alive, you are still living.”

There is a chance that the person who was brain dead was Shidou’s wife. I’m saying this because of the amount of organs Shidou is displayed taking and the height of the individual he is shown to be working on in Throw Down. If his wife was brain dead and he was deluding himself into believing she could recover she would constantly need new organs. Because organs in brain dead patients can only remain functioning with the assistance of life support for a short time.

“However, the vital organs such as the heart, lungs, liver, pancreas and kidneys can be kept viable for a few days if supported by artificial or mechanical support.”

“You don’t even know yet, and yet- Killing, extracting, I still won’t see them again.”/ “Not dead; yeah, she’s definitely not dead.”

This could be why we see the kids go from being supervised by her to playing by themselves. Under this framing Shidou would still have a very demanding job that he would have to do even more to manage to pay for his wife’s hospital bills, collect organs for her possibly already brain dead body and meet his children’s basic needs. While he was gone either one or both of his kids could have gotten into an accident while playing.

More than likely related to the soccer ball we see bounce to a halt in Triage before we see Shidou in a dark empty home. The call Shidou misses in Triage could be someone attempting to contact him about the accident. This could also explain why the imagery that alludes to an individual (possibly the wife) flatlining is accompanied by the noise a landline phone makes when it’s busy.

Something that conflicts with what we hear at the beginning of Triage which is someone calling Shidou’s cellphone not a housephone. We can tell this is the case because the calling noise rings three times before he sends the call to voicemail. More than likely because he was busy with something else either work related or related to his wife’s care.

From the reaction of the kids when Shidou enters the house he doesn’t seem to be home often. Then when we see him spending time with his wife he’s wearing the same clothes he was when he was walking there. So, they probably were spending time together on one of his off days. The house we see Shidou in is also completely different from the apartment we see him residing in during Throw Down. So, chances are he rented an apartment close to his work and would regularly send money back to his family and visit them when he got free time.

After the mother fell ill to the point of needing hospitalization or was found brain dead. Shidou may have moved the whole family out of that house and into the city where she could get better care for her needs. This is why when the kids are seen playing Shidou sings,

"I yearn to be found guilty."

However, after we see him and his wife walking together it changes to,

"But it tilts towards, find me Innocent."

This is also why he's happy to get his judgement handed down to him by a child. Because in his deluded pursuit to prolong his wife's life regardless of if it had ended already or not, he neglected his children which ultimately led to him losing everyone he loved.

I need to state I'm not saying this to get Shidou’s verdict to change by any means I think he should still be Innocent even while recognizing these things as possibilities. I’m only saying this so people don’t delude themselves into thinking Shidou is someone he’s not.

Certainly, he is willing to care for those who are injured now but that was not always the case and he had to lose a lot to even get to that point. Even after that he tried to find the quickest way to run from his guilty conscious by asking for the death penalty right out the gate. Kirisaki, Shidou is not such a simple case and looking away from the truth in favor of the ideal is how he wound up in Milgram.

Don’t make the same mistakes he did. Look that bastard dead in the eyes and tell him to do something right for once. When I made that post saying friendship ended with my morals I meant that don’t fall for Es’ misconceptions and remember to think for yourselves. If you don’t and allow yourselves to be led by your biases all you’ll get is disappointed or worse used.

#milgram #kirisaki shidou

[evolutionsvoid]

Before I had even started this trip, I already had the worry of getting lost. Driving for hours on end through places I had never even heard of, it seemed inevitable. Despite that, I had no other choice but to go. What life I had here was gone, and staying would only have me stewing in the rotten memories and people that plagued me. Though this opportunity was a weak one, it was my only shot out of here. So I packed up my meager things and drove off into the unknown. Best to take my chances out there, then remain in this prison a minute longer. My anxiety born from this journey drove me to prepare for every possible scenario. The biggest worry was getting lost on the way there, but with a mountain of maps, a GPS and a folder of addresses, numbers and contacts, I figured I would be safe. After all, once you get into the barren countryside of flat fields and endless dirt, all you had to do was pick a road in the right direction and drive. I needed to go west, so that was what I did. I drove on for hours, but it felt like I had hardly moved. What a strange feeling it was, to travel hundreds of miles and see absolutely nothing. This trip was supposed to be a transformation, a needed change for me to finally regain control of my life. Yet, I felt no joy or wonder. I guess I was expecting to encounter breathtaking landmarks and travel through strange new places, evidence that the world was bigger than my ignorant little hometown. Instead, I drove through a flattened world of grass, corn, dirt and the occasional pathetic tree. Not exactly the scenery that inspires awe. This repetitive land was probably the reason why things turned out this way, as it was impossible to get a bearing when everything looked the same. Hours had passed since I turned onto that empty road, and yet I failed to notice that things were not right. I ignored the fact that I hadn't seen a single street sign the entire time, or that there were no forks or splits to be found. To be fair, it was long into the night, so most of the blank landscape was smothered by the darkness. I just held onto the idea that I was almost to the next town, if you could all any of these places that. What little civilization I had seen was a sad collection of wore down store fronts, crumbling bars and ancient gas stations. They sat in clumps along these forgotten roads, sharing much with the greasy roadkill that was spattered on the asphalt. Pathetic as these places were, I still yearned for them as I drove down that endless road. Surely one had to be nearby, I just needed to go a few more miles. I followed this delusion for quite some time, pretending that the lack of signs or markers wasn't something to be concerned about. Eventually, I just had to give up. With the clock on my dash showing some obscenely late time, I knew I needed to pull over to collect my thoughts. Looking over my supplies, I found my GPS worthless and the maps just as useless. With no service or any indicators that could help me pinpoint my position, these intricate foldouts might has well have been blank. It was then that I realized that I wasn't lost, as it felt like it was something far worse. When one is stranded in a place they don't know, one of the biggest issues is the overwhelming amount of options. Be it the woods or some unknown city, you are faced with many directions and choices, but you have no clue where any of them lead. Do I go north or south? Do I take the parkway or the back roads? Which exit on the roundabout gets me going the right way? With all this, it is obvious why clueless people wind up going in circles. That was what I considered being "lost" was. This, was something quite different. I didn't have a ludicrous amount of options, rather, I only had two. Go forward or back. The problem was that both choices felt wrong. The path forward had no hope or potential, no signs that suggested anything was to be found up ahead. That choice led to an unknown future, but it seemed more enticing than turning back. Though I didn't know what lay ahead, I did know what was behind me: absolutely nothing. Turning around would mean driving a countless amount of hours until found out where civilization had stopped, but I had no clue where or when that was. I would just be retracing my steps through a known wasteland, losing both time and gas. In the end, the unknown path ahead seemed more comforting. Surely I was bound to run into something eventually, even if it was a rusty road sign or some hermit's shack. Though my mind was made up, I chose not to continue just yet. I was drained of all energy, and I knew it was a poor choice to drive in such condition. It was the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, so what harm was there to grabbing a quick nap? Perhaps sleeping until the sun returned was a good choice. Daylight could reveal clues about my whereabouts, ones that were currently blotted out by the dark. A rested mind would also work way better, and it would probably solve this problem in a second. So I made sure my car was properly off the road before I turned it off. I locked the doors and leaned my seat back as far as I could. It wasn't long after I closed my eyes that my exhausted body finally received some reprieve.   I awoke awkwardly, as if some unremembered dream or nightmare had snapped me from my slumber. It was still night, though I didn't know how much time had passed. I looked at my phone, but my groggy mind couldn't interpret the numbers it showed. I tried to stretch my limbs in the cramped space, but it gave very little relief. My drowsy state made me think that I had only dozed off for a few minutes, as I sure didn't feel any better. Perhaps this cluttered, stuffy car wasn't the best place to get some beauty rest. I figured I would try to go back to sleep, as my options at the moment seemed just as bad as before. As I wriggled around in an attempt to get comfortable, my eyes looked out into the night and saw it. It was funny how strange it seemed at that moment, though I knew fully well what it was. The slow flash of a yellow light, a sight I was quite familiar with, but my tired brain struggled to understand it. I leaned forward for a better look, but it didn't help in the slightest. With my car turned off, the world was pitch black, save for the errant star and that pulsing light. It sat way off in the distance, but there was no mistaking what it was. It took me a second to understand that this was a good sign. A human construct like this suggested civilization, and also a cross road. Perhaps up ahead was where I could find some identifying signs or directions to a nearby town. With sluggish joy, I went to turn on my car and pursue this miracle, but then the thought struck me from out of the blue. How come I didn't see this before? Sure, I was tired and disoriented at the time, but a bright yellow light blinking in a dark void seemed impossible to ignore. I had sat in this spot for a good while before I had decided to get some rest, so how come I didn't see it then? As I struggled to properly answer this question, I looked to the light and noticed something odd. Looking at it now, after a few minutes of gathering myself, it seemed to be bigger. It flashed brighter and larger than before, but perhaps it was just my imagination. I sat there for a moment and soon confirmed that this was no illusion. The light seemed to be getting closer to me. I looked to my dashboard, thinking I had accidentally put the car in neutral and I was slowly rolling forward. The little arrow pointed firmly on the P, so that couldn't be the answer. When I looked back up, the light was nearly blinding. It also seemed to bob and sway about, as if blown about by a weak breeze. The realization that it was the one moving froze me in my seat. I had no clue what it was or what was happening, so panic took over and short-circuited my body. A turned into a statue in the front seat and only stared with wide, terrified eyes. I did nothing but watch as the light bobbed closer, until it was at last upon me. At first I believed it to be heading right towards me, but in those few horrified moments, I saw it walking upon the very road I had traveled. It strolled down the middle, treading upon the cracked asphalt and faded lines. When the light came perpendicular to the front of me car, I at last could see what it was. I recognized the three colored traffic light that hung over every nearly every road, but the rest of it refused to be understood. I saw a metallic skeleton, built of rebar and steel. It bent and twisted into a bizarre lattice, creating limbs and body from an iron spider's web.  It walked upon four legs, and the blinding light hung from a long, arching neck. Something black and wet hung in clumps from its body, creating a sticky cloak over its wiry bones. As I sat frozen in terror, the metallic beast strolled down the road. It walked with slow tired steps, its blinking head hung low. Though it was clearly no creature of flesh, it made me thinking of an exhausted horse, weary from a long day's work. It didn't approach my car, it just kept walking by. It was only when it was passing my driver window that it paused. It stopped in its march and slowly turned its pulsing head towards my vehicle. I could not tell if it was looking at the car or me, but I clearly caught its attention. It gazed at me with a single yellow eye. Above and below sat the green and red, but they remained dark and cracked, like eyes that had long gone blind. It made no move, it just sat there for a moment to watch. After a few seconds, it sadly lifted its legs and continued on its march. The bobbing light continued down that endless road, the blinking growing weaker as it went deeper into the night. I sat there until that yellow light grew small in my mirror, becoming just another star in the darkened sky. I didn't know what to do, or even think about it. Though it showed no aggression, I dared not turn around and pursue it. Instead, I simply turned the car on and pulled back onto the road. I gave up on any thought or reasoning, my mind refused to accept what I had seen. I just got into that dusty old lane and began to drive onwards... -------------------------------------------- “Caution” A design I came up with a way back, which fittingly enough was around the time I went on my roadtrip. I think it came to be through a mashup of traffic signs and weird art sculptures.

#traffic light #monster #creature #art #drawing

[arrivisting]

For fanfic Friday: I'm curious what generally 'sparks' your story ideas? Do you begin with a narrative direction in mind, or with smaller-scale imagery and concepts that then grow into the eventual plot?

It really depends on the story! Some burst into being with a full-blown plot, or are clearly small and self-contained to begin with, but usually I just have a very clear starting question or image or scenario, and then I’m on the hook for what happens next. Sometimes I have some idea; a few notes, or a feeling; often none at all; sometimes I just have [initiating scenario] -> [they bang???? Somehow????]

A lot of my ideas are sparked by rereading the canon; for Les Mis, sometimes I’d be struck by a line about other characters, or one of Hugo’s maxims, and apply it to e/R. Reading, mostly: I read a lot of French history, and it would give me ideas. There was a book that mentioned in a line or two that male revolutionaries would sometimes dress as women and pass as the wife of a friend who wasn’t being followed by police, since a passeport for a man automatically covered his wife; there was a whole e/R fic I started for that! study in scarlet was inspired by material about m/m activity in 1830s France and the use of the Palais-Royal as a cruising spot that we know about from the records kept by police, who watched and reported, but didn’t arrest (homosexuality not being illegal in France then). better than the thing I am is scaffolded out of that research reading about m/m activity and republican discourse.

A lot of my Les Mis ideas came from me saying to @gofuckinggentle ’I’ll write you something in email, what should I write?’ and then her providing ideas and motivation (fleuret, have & hold) and going ‘and then what?’ as I sent a 300 update every day or so. MakingHugoSpin back in the day sometimes offered a fruitful (pornographic) prompt or two (cf. mieux que la realité, flowers that bloomed in eden, holding onto stars). I just had so. many. e/R feelings: it felt like my brain was a machine for generating new ways to put them together.

For Tolkien, it’s a blend: it’s usually canon lacunae, or the fact that while we often know what happened, or that something happened, the personal and immediate ramifications are underexplored. I want to poke them and blow them up.

People always compared Arwen to her famously beautiful, heroic, strange, transcendent ancestor? How did she feel about that, and how much or little did it influence her choices, and how true was it? (a marvellous thread). Who is Elwing (woman into bird) and how much of is known about her by the Third Age is only myth? why are there such differences in Finduilas and her relationships between the different versions of the Narn? (the fugitive heart).

There are so many potential hooks in canon, or contradicting canons: and then, given the fraught relationships many of the Silmarillion characters had in life, what happens when they are, inevitably (or perhaps not inevitably, in the case of the Fëanorians) returned to life in Valinor? How much gets resolved before they are re-embodied; how much remains to work out? (all my war is done). My driving interest in the Silmarillion, in the First Age or after, is: how do people that were never meant to die or deal with death and inevitable loss find a way to do so?

Some of my canon-based thinking is silly, though. Oh, at different times Tolkien said Gil-galad was Finrod’s son, was Fingon’s son, was a grandson of Fëanor? How could they all be true at once? et voilà: scion, which I will be honest, had a working title of 3dads1baby. Sometimes I’ll literally say to someone, god, please, tell me what to write, and they’ll say, ‘idk, Maedhros finds Elured and Elurin after all?’ (birds in the hand) and then I have an image and a first scene in my head and I’m off. No idea how it will end!

I‘m too lazy to work to come up with ideas: usually they just spark, in similar ways to above; something I’m reading snags in my brain and then a cloud of images and lines and half-finished conversations roll out, enough to get started.

Like, for radiant damage I was idly thinking about the terrible paradox of the Peredhel, the mixing of what oughtn't be mixed, mortal and immortal, the way they somehow drive so much change in Middle-earth; and about how Melian must have had to consciously create her own fána, one with ova that were compatible with Eldar genetic material to create Luthien, and about the many different strange ways in canon that Maia get lost or diverted or take paths of their own once away from Aman; and I was also reading a book about textiles that talked about how weaving and knitting are algorithmic; but mostly

Edit: oh, and void junk: first thing I wrote in months, and its whole spark was a friend of mine mentioning she had a horror story published in a collection called Void Junk. The very second I read that, I went, haha, I see, space junk but metaphysical... what kind of junk is in Tolkien’s Void... Maedhros, possibly. Okay, but what ship might he literally clunk into? Vingilot! But Elwing should be there, I know Tolkien says she never went with Earendil but I hate that! [sudden blast of images and exchanges, almost all the fic in very sketchy form, already in my head in a minute after reading that title: fleshed out in an hour or two and posted].

[crstapor]

Terror White

“You’re either with us or against us.” - George W. Bush


1.

On January 6th, 2021, domestic terrorists invaded the Capital Building in an act of political insurrection. Their intent was to overthrow the will of the people by preventing certification of a free and fair democratic election. They did so at the behest of their political leader (who was impeached a second time for inciting this gross transgression of his oath of office), other voices in their party - the so-called GOP - and talking head agitators inhabiting the far-right media echo chamber. Nearly to a man, a woman, a they, each of these terrorists were white.

Images of ‘good old boys’ traipsing down the halls of the people’s house waving confederate battle flags, kicking feet up on the Speaker’s desk, walking off with public property or smearing their shit on the floors pervaded the internet. These images provided by the villains themselves, posted shamelessly to social media profiles.

As a result of this treasonous, insulting, juvenile, despicable, and ultimately futile effort five people died. Even still, hours after the fact, a majority of members of the so-called GOP voted in accordance with the will of these terrorists. They voted to overturn the results of a free and fair election in the world’s oldest modern democracy. They did so because they believed there were serious ‘concerns’ (‘concerns’, let’s be clear, that started with them and like the Ouroboros, ended up with the confusing, if unhygienic, phenomenon of not knowing where their mouths or assholes ended or began) with the 2020 presidential election. After over 60 court cases arguing that point only one was ruled in their favor. None of the 50 States comprising our union found any evidence of wide-spread fraud. Indeed, a federal agency tasked with monitoring election security stated unequivocally that the presidential election of 2020 was one of the most secure in a generation.

And yet? There they were. Spouting conspiracy theories, assaulting police officers (those stalwart stewards of the ‘law & order’ they otherwise claim to love), brandishing spears and bearskins, stealing mail, leaving death threats to the Vice President, fundamentally acting the fool. A bunch of bullies let out of detention with rage and rebellion on their minds.

Let me be clear: each and every one of these terrorists should be hunted down by law enforcement and charged to the fullest extent of the law. They should then be prosecuted and the judges in each and every case should show or allow no mercy. These barbarians must never be allowed to storm the gates again.

Fine.

But that’s not the really interesting question here. The far-right has been producing assholes forever (one of the few things the ‘right’ is truly consistent at). What’s actually interesting is how these insurrectionists arrived at the conclusions they did. Which is to say; how did their ‘thinking’ bring them to this point.

2.

While it might be tempting for some on the left to see that last sentence as a joke, let’s remember we’re sitting at the adult table. These terrorists, being human, sharing our genetic code, are people - real, live, eating, shitting, fucking, anxious, sleeping, scared, afraid, terrified people - just like you and me. As much as it would be easier if we could see them as Uruk-hai instead of our brothers and sisters, sadly? That’s what they are. Family. Part of the Human Condition.

Though humans that are clearly very, very, very sick. My diagnosis? Mind Cancer. Let me explain, under the assumption my readers understand the difference between mind and brain. As such, I am not asserting that the terrorists are physically sick. From their pics and videos it’s clear many are - obesity, hypertension, anal retention - though that isn’t the point. It’s their mental programming, their minds, that have been infected. Infected with what?

Put simply? A disjointed ontological phenomenology obscured, obfuscated, and accelerated by persistently chaotic epistemological aberrations. Said plainly? Their ability to process reality has been impaired.

Why? Racial resentment, poor economic opportunities, an aversion to books and learning? Yes. All that. Plus? The internet, which has created a new Dark Ages.

Paradoxically, one built on light.

3.

Look. Self-interested demagogues intent on self-aggrandizement are nothing new. Nor are their ability to rally or rile a downtrodden populace. Sadly, demonizing the ‘other’ is also pretty par for the course in these scenarios. An old story, all told. What’s new this time is how it happens.

In a single second - count it out! One Mississippi - a beam, or photon of light moves 186,000 miles. Roughly seven times the circumference of the Earth. The new speed of hate. The internet, that modern marvel ushering in Humanity’s first truly post-scarcity resource, is built on light. Philosophers have for millennia wed knowledge with light. And now we all (well, those of us in the post-industrial world) carry a terminal connected to this internet in our pockets. A stunning marvel of human ingenuity. One would imagine that access to such a wellspring of knowledge and information would have a truly edifying affect on the Human Condition. Perhaps, in aggregate, or retrospect, it will. At the moment?

Yeah ...

At the moment it seems that the more access to information humans have the more they double down on tribal identities, wish fulfillment, instant gratification (read: porn), perceived slights, fantasy lands, Rick Astley videos, or the jibbering incoherent rantings of simple capitalists fomenting the fragile emotional states of low information individuals who feel they have no place in this world. This is a fundamentally devastating epistemological conundrum. Why? For centuries the barrier to the future was the amount of information, knowledge, you could access or process. Yet here and now? Here and now there might be too much access. Too much information. More so, the striking fact that our ability, as a species, writ large, to process or parse this information has not kept pace with the information at hand. A sad equation that inevitably leads to moments like 01/06/21.

4.

The Trump Terrorists of January 6th, 2021, weaponized the internet to facilitate their attempted coup. As did their ‘dear leader’ throughout his humiliating single term in office. In fact, it was the geometrical acceleration of connectivity and interconnectedness enabled via the web and its insanely capitalist platforms that allowed for their ‘movement’ to incubate and evolve. While it is true that neo-liberal policies advocating globalist economics and monetary policy are at the current root cause of most ills genuinely affecting rural, or poor, or uneducated MAGA-heads, it’s also true that apart from an Independent from Vermont no one in the political economy of the last couple decades gave much of a shit about these poor and dispossessed inheritors of old racial mythemes and toxic narratives of self-reliance. No one that is, other than their ‘dear leader’. Never mind he didn’t intend to ease their suffering in any material, or structural way. He talked about it. He tweeted about it. And then he gave them a little song and dance at the rallies. Breathtaking stuff.

However, it wasn’t just the performative act of playing ‘authoritarian’ that got them hot and bothered. No, it was at the same time the eternal need to belong to a group, the legitimate feeling of economic obsolescence, coupled with these new tools of information transmission. Tools that at once gave them powers unheralded and seemingly ensconced them in a protective shell, a perpetually larval manifestation of all their baser inclinations. A reactionary ‘safe space’ from which they could launch a thousand ships of intolerance and hate. What good is truth if you can’t weaponize it? What good are facts if you share them with everyone else?

And so we find ourselves revising Plato. There isn’t just one cave in which we are chained, kept from reality. There are multiple tunnels, alcoves, deeper caverns in which we might dwell. Furthermore, if lucky, there are different days, vistas, egresses in which we can escape from the confines of ignorance. Much like the lucky Mormons, it would seem the far-right believes there are plenty of planets in which ‘Truth’ can dwell. Never mind that multiplying ‘Truth’ in such a way doesn’t actually produce more truth.

In fact, it reduces ‘Truth’. Impoverishes it. Hollows it out.

Which is sad, really. For the major harm caused by these rebels isn’t to our democratic institutions, nor our mythological vision of our nature, nor that ever-loving economy - but to the very fabric that binds the social contract on which all the preceding rely.

That fabric being, specifically, a shared objective reality.

5.

How can we survive if we can’t agree on basic facts? Can a multi-racial, multi-cultural, representative democracy exist when a large percentage of the comprising citizens don’t believe in, or even acknowledge, that that’s actually what’s happening? Is White Supremacy so fundamentally a part of our nation’s DNA that the country can’t exist without it? If so, for those of us who vehemently oppose White Supremacy, the question might then be: is the country worth saving?

Most versions of Western Ethics indicate that violence is not the cure. Nor do I advocate such a position. At the same time I’m deeply troubled, because due their illness these actors are neither rational or coherent. Ergo, we can’t reason with them either. So what next?

To corral the revolutionary, if inchoate, spirit of these sick, fringe minds diseased as they are by hate, grievance, and digital oubliettes would any policy proposals be acceptable? Perhaps as fantastic an idea as the images from 01/06/21, what if the Federal Government decided to halt its obsequious sycophantry to corporate America and ‘elites’ and instead actually, seriously, emphatically reinvested in the heartland, in Main Street, in the working class? Wouldn’t it be ironic if a little more socialism was truly the cure these hatemongers require?

6.

Maybe we should step back and listen to the wisdom of George W. Bush.

Confronting what was at the time the most disheartening terror attack on the homeland, Bush made clear not all who could otherwise be lumped in with the terrorists were terrorists. In the same way that, yes, not all Trump voters are Trump Terrorists.

Even so. Bush made it clear you needed to pick a side.

With us - toward a diverse future in which the promise of the Founders is emboldened and expanded for all who live between our shores. Or against us - back to your stunted hovels and holes with all the other low information troglodytes you like to cosplay revolution with.  

Choose.

It’s your call. But choose quickly, because history is watching, and only one path moves toward the future.

C. R. Stapor Longmont, CO 01/16/21

#January 6th #terrorism #domestic terrorism #the internet #social media #revolution #insurrection #01/06/21 #low information #mind cancer #George W Bush #Trump #GOP #epistemology #white #essay #philosophers on tumblr

[letterboxd]

Horse Power.

The Nest’s writer-director Sean Durkin talks about creating atmosphere, watching films without judgment, and the best movies of 1986.

Downfalls in Hollywood movies tend to be chaotic, dramatic and a lot of fun along the way. From Citizen Kane to The Wolf of Wall Street, outsized ambitions are realized on screen in castles, exotic holidays, wild parties, sweeping us up in the extravagance of it all, before the inevitable crash. The Nest takes a slower, far more British view of ambition and its effects on family—or, as Charlie writes, “this movie is a reminder that people who call themselves entrepreneurs should instead be stay-at-home dads”.

The new film from writer-director Sean Durkin, the brain behind cult-survivor slow-burn Martha Marcy May Marlene, is less “strap in and enjoy the ride”, more “slow disintegration of all sense of sanity”—a tense psychological drama focused on the person who usually gets hurt the most: the wife. And that horse-lovin’ dream wife Allison, as played by Carrie Coon, is a character to behold (and the subject of many obsessive The Nest reviews on Letterboxd).

Just as Durkin takes time to carefully explore Martha’s vulnerability in his earlier film, in The Nest, he closes in on Allison, as she and their children adjust to 1980s life in an English manor, far from the comfort of Allison’s American home, while wheeler-dealer husband Rory (Jude Law) chases a new opportunity.

There are thematic similarities in both films; a case to be made that ambitious men wreak a comparable mental destruction on their families as cult leaders do on their followers, breaking them down with charm, persuasion, false promises. There’s also something about the juxtaposition of periods in the film—the fifteenth-century manor vs the ’80s bangers on the soundtrack—that adds to The Nest’s unnerving atmosphere (other parts of the soundtrack are composed by Arcade Fire’s Richard Reed Parry in his first film-score credit).

Keen to understand more about Durkin’s influences and memories, Jack Moulton put him through the Letterboxd Life in Film interrogation.

Carrie Coon as Allison O’Hara in ‘The Nest’.

The Nest feels like a very personal film. In what ways are the emotions of the premise personal to you? When I was making Southcliffe in 2012, I was back in England where I spent my childhood and I hadn’t been back in close to twenty years. It really struck me how London and New York felt very similar now but they didn’t when I was a kid. I thought maybe I wanted to make a film about a family that moves in that time and how a move can affect a family. As I wrote the script, I became a parent, so it became as much a reflection of modern adulthood as it did about my childhood in the ’80s. Although it’s a period piece, I wanted to make it feel very close to today to look at the celebrated values of the time and how those are still very relevant.

The mansion the family moves into is the titular ‘nest’, and the use of space and atmosphere contribute so much to the film’s subtext. What were you looking for when location scouting for the house? Was it an easy or difficult process? Yeah, it was difficult. It was like doing an open casting call. I had a very specific idea in my head but [my production designer] was able to put it into actual architectural terms so we were able to find a house that a successful commodities broker would live and commute from in Surrey. We needed something beyond that, but if you go too far, you get small castles. Once we located the right exterior, there were a bunch of [houses] that would’ve been great, but when we got inside, there were no open spaces. I wanted to have long hallways to be able to see through multiple rooms to create that isolation—the opposite of the cozy American house that they were living in before, to really highlight the good life they left behind.

Carrie Coon and Jude Law in ‘The Nest’.

We love the soundtrack; not just the choice of songs but the way that they’re mixed. Can you give us some insight into the song selection? When writing, I build a playlist that I write to. This one was a mix of personal memories from childhood—like Simply Red, which takes me back to falling asleep in the back of my dad’s car—so there’s a way into writing there on a sensory level, and then I build upon it with songs that I love from the time. I was listening to Richard Reed Parry’s Music for Heart and Breath album a lot and he ended up being the composer of the film, so his music was always part of the heart of the movie as I was writing it.

I would spend my drives to set with my assistant talking about music and he would turn me onto some stuff that would make it into the movie. It was a mix of a long-running preparation and things that I pick up in the moment then making that all work at the right level so it feels of the world. Like with The Cure, we actually played that off a tape cassette when Allison walks into the room.

Since your debut feature in 2011, you’ve had a prolific career in television and as a film producer; you’re a founding member of Borderline Films with fellow directors Antonio Campos and Josh Mond. Do you see yourself more as a producer who only occasionally directs films yourself? No, I don’t really consider myself a producer. I’ve produced movies for filmmakers and friends and I help people where I can. I’m not someone who’s out getting properties and thinking about how to put together a film, I’m only thinking about my own work as a writer and a director. Between finishing Southcliffe in 2013 and The Nest in 2018, I had a five-year gap where I was developing lots of projects one after the other—two features and a television show—that were both so close to [being greenlit] but something fell through, which was really bad luck.

What film made you want to become a filmmaker? The Goonies and Back to the Future were those movies as a kid that first made me want to make movies and tell stories, but the moment where I realized what filmmaking is was seeing The Shining. I saw it for the first time when I was eleven or twelve and a friend showed it to me because his older brother had the VHS. It was my first time understanding atmosphere and direction and I just had a sense that I could do it too. It was a really crucial moment, and I kept that thought to myself for a very long time.

Cinematographer Mátyás Erdély shoots Carrie Coon in Soho.

What’s your scariest film that is not technically horror? AKA, your area of expertise. Oh man, scariest? Something I’ve watched recently is The Vanishing and it’s probably one of the most unsettling films I’ve ever seen. It was incredible to rewatch it because I’d last seen it when I was in college—I watched everything back then—and I’d also seen the American remake, so when I watched it this time, I was trying to remember things [that were different] from the remake. I was like “he’s gonna get out, right?—oh no, that’s in the American version!” I find it an astonishing movie. There’s a real human element to the pain of the killer.

Let’s nerd out: what’s your top film of 1986, the year that The Nest is set? [Laughs] I’ve no idea what came out in 1986. Can I look up a list and I’ll tell you? Let’s see, films of 1986… This is fun! Alright, “popular films of 1986” I’m seeing: Blue Velvet, Short Circuit, Stand by Me, Platoon, The Color of Money, what else have we got here? River’s Edge… Pretty in Pink… Ferris Bueller’s Day Off—Ferris Bueller’s gotta be up there. Big Trouble in Little China! That’s it! I’m sure there’s other things, but from my quick search, I’d say Big Trouble in Little China. That was a movie that was always on in my house because it was one of my dad’s all-time favorites.

Which is Jude Law’s best performance? I love The Talented Mr. Ripley so much. I constantly rewatch that movie—it’s perfect. I also loved him in Vox Lux recently.

Sean Durkin and Jude Law on the set of ‘The Nest’.

What is the best film about marriage and why does it resonate with you? Shoot the Moon was really influential for me. I’d say it’s a bit more about divorce and family than it is about marriage but [it depends on] if you take the ending to mean that they’re going to stay together—I kind of do. You could say a separation is part of a marriage. I love that movie for how it finds light in humor. Albert Finney is struggling with his masculinity where, even though he’s the one who left, he still thinks he owns it all, and Diane Keaton is quite liberated by this scenario. It’s like their journey to find language again. I find it very beautiful.

Which film was your entry-point into international cinema? I’m trying to think back to what I would’ve seen, there certainly wasn’t a lot growing up. In college I really discovered Michael Haneke and Michelangelo Antonioni. L’Avventura made a huge impact on me. I think [because of the way] the mystery kind of dissolves and it’s about the journey, not the solution.

What film do you wish you’d made? I don’t. Filmmaking is personal and it’s so much an expression of perspective when done with care and love—though obviously, there’s stuff that’s just churned out. I never see something and say “I wish I made that”. One of the things I find hard is when people critique films and say they would’ve done this differently. I’ve become very sensitive to that over time because every choice you make as a filmmaker is so specific and thought out. I try to consume movies without knowing anything about them or making any kind of judgment. I just let them be what they are and wash over me.

Which newcomer director should we all keep our eyes on? I don’t think I’m looking out for new stuff necessarily. Once I get to see something, everyone else already knows about it. One person I would say is Dave Franco, who I just worked with on The Rental. I was an executive producer and I was a creative bounce-board for Dave through the process. It’s his first film and it’s astonishingly directed. We were getting dailies from the first week and we were like, “This is his first movie? This is insane!” I think he will do some exciting things.

Finally, what’s your favorite film of 2020 so far? I was absolutely blown away by Eliza Hittman’s film Never Rarely Sometimes Always. I miss having retrospectives at local theaters, which I’m always keyed into no matter the city I’m living in. I’ve started watching a lot of Criterion Channel and I watched a movie recently that’s taken over my brain: Variety, by Bette Gordon, from 1983. It’s set in New York City around Times Square, and it’s this incredible journey that this woman goes on that captured my mind.

Related content

Sean Durkin’s Life in Film list

Sean Durkin’s Sight & Sound Top 10

Clarissa’s list of films that burn slowly

Everything Carrie Coon watched during quarantine (and the best of that huge list)

Tracy Letts and Carrie Coon’s 24-Hour Movie Marathon

Follow Jack on Letterboxd

#sean durkin #the nest #film director #filmmaker #jude law #carrie coon #slow burn #psychological thriller #letterboxd #life in film #martha marcy may marlene

[thisiswhatwereupagainst]

Obscure Marvel fancast of the day: Rachel Shelly as Dr. Tania Belisnky aka Red Guardian aka Starlight!

Tania Belinsky was a brilliant neurosurgeon from Russia, written back when the USSR was still in power. She grew up a devoted patriot to her country, and though she found some of what the government did to be (in her own words) repulsive, she was still dedicated to the positive Communist ideals of unity and the individual serving the many. However, when her father was exiled to Siberia for being a dissident, Tania become a costumed vigilante who fought crime, but also protected other dissidents, in hopes to reform Soviet society from within. For this reason, she was considered an enemy of the state and a wanted criminal herself by the Russian government. As a vigilante, she called herself the Red Guardian, after a previous superhero, a man who had been Russia’s answer to Captain America during the 50s. She had no superpowers, fighting purely through athletic skill, hand to hand combat, and the use of a bladed belt buckle as a weapon. Tania came to US at the request of Dr. Stephen Strange. Strange did not know she was secretly a superhero; he merely wanted her help as a fellow neurosurgeon in performing a brain transplant. The operation was a success, but right afterwards, Strange was attacked by the supervillain Plantman. Tania revealed her secret identity as Red Guardian, and they defeated Plantman with the help of Power Man. After that, Tania stayed in the United States to serve as another member of the Defenders alongside Dr. Stranger, Power Man, Valkyrie, Nighthawk, the Hulk, and other heroes. Alas, she only had a few adventures with the Defenders before she received a call from Russia, threatening her loved ones if she did not return. She did as commanded, and when she returned home, the KGB was waiting for her. They informed her that they knew of her secret identity, but it was not the government that they were taking her to…but instead to the most powerful man in all of Russia, the feared being known only as “Codename: Sergei”. It was he who had ordered her return and orchestrated this kidnapping. Tania fought her captors, but a mind-calming cowl was placed on her head, so that she was in a subdued state when she was brought before this man–Sergei Krylov aka “The Presence”, a mad scientific Soviet genius who had caused a Chernobyl-like nuclear disaster in the “Forbidden Zone” by using cobalt radiation that had transformed him into a superhuman being. He had been monitoring Tania and her activities, and while he considered her heroic ideals to be naive and misled, he had decided she was his ideal mate. Tania was forcibly subjected to the same radiation, and granted superhuman abilities as well—flight, super-strength, invulnerability, and the power to shoot blasts of pure nuclear radiation. However, these powers came at a terrible cost: her free will. Tania was now in mental thrall to the Presence, as little more than his zombie-like slave…though even in this state, she always begged him not to hurt others. However, the Presence was a supervillain (what a surprise) and when the pair inevitably came into conflict with Tania’s former teammates, the Defenders, Tania regained her free will when Presence was about to kill her friends. She rejected him, and when he called her the thing he loved most, she called out how his very words showed he just thought of her as a THING, and said that he didn’t really love her, he loved a fantasy he had of her, a zombie he had created. Basically, the Presence was a gross incel before a term was invented for it, and she called him out on it. His heart broken and ego deflated, the Presence departed. As for Tania, she was kept isolated at a Soviet research facility, til the Presence unleashed a giant radioactive amoeba on Russia. Tania was unleashed to do battle the amoeba and stop him. When she arrived on the scene, she realized he wasn’t the blame for the giant amoeba, but was fighting it himself…and failing with their combined powers, they destroyed it…and then Presence confessed his love to her and as if that weren’t bad enough, SHE STAYED WITH HIM! And, surprise, she was later shown to be under his mental control again later! which makes me think that his control never really left her in the first place, and that her getting away from him physically helped her stave it off, but when she got close to him again while fighting the amoeba, that re-activated it, and THAT’S why she agreed to stay with him once more. Anyway, Presence starts going mad with power…which just means he gets more egotistical and gross. he decided he should not just be content with ONE mind-controlled consort, but should have ALL the sexiest Soviet superheroines. So he sends the mind-controlled (yet still aware enough to cry) Tania (who now goes by Starlight instead of Red Guardian) to kidnap her fellow Russian heroines, Black Widow and Darkstar. Darkstar, by the way, is the long-lost daughter of the Presence. And he knows this at this point. And yet he still wants her in his little Soviet Harem. Seriously. It’s so gross. Starlight says that this shows how he isn’t mentally well, but his “symptoms” seem to be just being egotistical and thinking he’s entitled to a bunch of hot women being under his command including his own daughter, he doesn’t seem insane so much as just disgusting to me. In any case, Starlight once again manages to snap out of his control, but “chooses” to return to him since she believes that her love can heal him. Yeah, I don’t think that’s really her choice. I think her “love” for him is just more mind-control. And if it’s not, it’s Stockholm Syndrome. And the tragic thing is, if she ditches him for real? She’s all alone. His radiating her didn’t just give her powers (which seem to have been simply to enable her to do his dirty work, like KIDNAPPING WOMEN) they also make her radioactive herself, so she can’t be around other people long or she’ll irradiate them, killing them or making them sick. He’s ensured that he’s the only person she can be around, it’s either him alone or total isolation. Just like a real abuser often isolates their victims through mundane means. Anyway, yet again she “chooses” to be with him after he is defeated by the Avengers in another villainous effort. Tania begs for his life to be spared and accompanies him into custody despite the fact she did nothing against the Avengers during their conflict, only looks sad. The exposition says that Thor shakes his head at her choice, but…as I’ve said, I don’t think it’s a choice. It’s either some degree of still-active enslavement, or the “choice” of any other abused victim when they “choose” to stay with their abuser. That’s what so many people don’t get about abuse—that victims usually “choose” to stay with them, because of how much the abusers warp their mind. And that’s just in real life, where super-powered mind-control doesn’t exist. Starlight and Presence are later released from custody to fight a greater supervillain threat, Kang the conqueror, and Presence plans to use their regained freedom to do more villainy, but Starlight talks him out of it. That’s usually what she does, try to persuade him not to be a supervillain or hurt innocents. So she’s not under totally robotic control, she can have free thought like that, she just…can’t leave or disobey him. In a way, that’s almost crueler than if she was just a robotic zombie, because it means she’s aware of what’s going on. No wonder she looks sad a lot, huh? But then again, her “persuading” Presence not to go rogue while fighting Kang…was by threatening to him that she would leave him if he did. And he agreed. So he at least does believe she can or would leave. Maybe his control waxes and wanes. Or maybe she really is choosing to be with him, so long as he doesn’t go too far in his evil, because she thinks she can change him or because, as mentioned, she can’t be around anyone else. Of course, HE can’t be around anyone else either, so does that give her one bit of leverage too. Abuse victims do sometimes have that, and it doesn’t invalidate their victimhood or make them “not really victims/not really abused”. Anyway, at some point offscreen, she grew able to control her radiation seepage, so that she was able to be around others again, and she left Presence. She became a superhero again, and joined the Winter Guard, the Russian superhero squad. Darkstar and Vanguard, the Presence’s long-estranged children, were on this squad…and Starlight started a romantic relationship with Vanguard. The son of the man who enslaved her and forced her to be his lover and servant. And as weird as that is…I get it, actually. Abuse victims often desire to go back to their abusers, and many do. Others have to fight themselves on it, even years after escaping. It’s quite possible, likely even, that Starlight still “needed” Presence, and thus getting with his son was a way of coping with that, a way to be with him without returning to him. So yeah it’s weird and squicky but it makes sense. As for Presence, he took up with a Dire Wraith sorceress named Fantasma (who was a former member of the Winter Guard herself) When the Winter Guard fought them, Fantasma was thrown into Limbo…and she dragged Starlight along with her. Neither has been seen since. My problem with Tania’s story isn’t the content itself. A story about a smart, powerful woman with her own interesting life who has everything taken from her because a man decided he owned her is a very realistic one, despite the fantastic trappings of this scenario, and it’s worth telling. But it needs to be handled with care and attention. This should be TANIA’S story. It should be ABOUT her. We should see her tragedy and triumph up close and personal. The writers should CARE and ask the readers to care too. But that’s not what happens. This cool lady joins the Defenders, has an interesting personality set up with an interesting personal conflict set up (her loyalty to her country vs her hate of its government) and then all of a sudden she just gets swept off the playing board and is kind of forgotten, popping up here and again over the next 20+ years to remind us that she belongs to this gross guy now and has limited to nil free will, escapes a few times but only temporarily, and the heroes she was friends with just all kind of ignore it. This isn’t like Bucky Barnes or Laura Kinney where the story of her trauma and enslavement is the focus, where she’s the main character, where careful attention is paid to her arc, where she HAS an arc. Tania doesn’t have an arc. Hell, when she finally gets her free will back and her radiation-seep under control, it’s completely offscreen! Her victory is never shown! She just shows up with the good guys again and we’re left to infer what happened, as if it’s some insignificant detail! And just as she’s done this—she gets tossed offscreen, forever. At least forever thus far. It’s just…so unfair. And I don’t mean on an in-universe level, where drama and conflict and unfairness should happen just like in the real world, and to keep the story moving. I mean it’s unfair in how it was handled on a meta level, and this character and her story deserved a fuck ton better.

#marvel #marvel fancast #fancast #red guardian #tania belinsky #starlight #rachel shelley

[moonlightrichie]

Why Did the Cute Guy Cross the Road?

A repost of my Reddie meet-cute. Wanted to post it properly on here.

Summary: 

Richie is really out there falling in love with any cute guy who smiles at him, even when said cute guy is just crossing the street.

Word Count: 4722 Pairing: Reddie

READ ON AO3 HERE

Richie Tozier was 25 years old. He had a steady job at the radio station, cracking funny (anyone else would say bad) jokes, playing music, doing his voices, getting listened to by thousands every day. He lived in his own apartment, had his own car and cooked his own food. He had great friends. He would go out drinking with Ben, Bill and Stan every Friday, eat lunch with Beverly every Wednesday, and spend time with the four of them together every Sunday. They would watch movies, go bowling, go on drives, picnics, whatever they felt like doing that day. It was nice to have the routine. 

In a way you could say he had his shit together, living his best life, doing pretty well. He was making money, being social, eating semi-healthy, and even sometimes working out when he had the time (he couldn’t believe it either). And in a way it was also true. There were parts of his life he really had going for himself. His friends would agree on this.

There was only one thing Richie did not have going for himself. When it came to his love life, all of his friends would tell you he was a mess. At least three times a month, he would call the four of them in their group chat and tell them he had met the love of his life. A girl he locked eyes with at the supermarket, a guy who had smiled at him on the train, a girl who had let him cut in line at Starbucks, all people Richie had claimed to be in love with. Then Richie would talk about them non-stop for the next three days before inevitably forgetting them, and repeat. It was getting ridiculous.

Richie knew himself that his love life was a mess. He just didn’t want to admit it. All his friends were in stable relationships and were planning their futures. Beverly had just moved in with Ben, Bill and Audra were engaged, and Stan and Patty were getting a dog together. All Richie had was a goldfish named Deborah. He had decorated her fish bowl with all sorts of nice things. There was a tiny house with a blue seashell ceiling, some cute seaweed in Deb’s little fish garden, white sand, three pink rocks. He was pretty proud of it. He wanted to buy a big aquarium at some point with salt-water fish, he thought they were prettier, no offense to Deb.

He was still waiting for the perfect person to meet, and just knowing, really knowing, that they were the one. Sure, he always told his friends that he was certain he had met the love of his life, even tricking himself into believing it sometimes, but deep inside he knew that no, of course not. Eye contact wasn’t enough to know if someone was the right person for him, and he wasn’t stupid enough to actually think that either, no matter what his friends thought.

Richie decided then, as he was driving on his way home from work, that he wasn’t going to tell his friends that he had met his soulmate until he was absolutely sure.

The sun was in its final moments before setting, lighting up the world around him in golden tones. It was undeniably beautiful, and his stupid lovesick brain couldn’t help but think how perfect it would be to meet someone with the sun looking like that. It seemed like he couldn’t ever stop imagining romantic scenarios.

A soft tune was playing on the radio, something he hadn’t heard before. The melody really fitted with the sun’s warm embrace. Sunlight reflected in the windows of the buildings around him, enveloping him like a blanket, and he smiled.

So what if he was single. He was happy, content with how his life was, and damn it if he wasn’t going to enjoy it. The love of his life would come into his life when the time was right.

With that thought swirling around in his head and the sun shining into his eyes, he almost didn’t see the man waiting to cross the street. He was looking right at Richie’s car, obviously waiting to see if he would stop for him. Richie slowed down; barely managing to stop in front of the crossing, noticing the man was probably around his age. The man locked eyes with him, tan skin glowing in the sun, soft blonde locks moving with the wind, and Richie was entirely mesmerized.

Angel. That was the only word coming to mind as the glow from the sun surrounded the man’s head like a halo, turning his blonde hair golden. And then the man smiled, cheeks round, freckles dusted across his nose. Finally regaining control over his facial muscles, Richie managed a smile in return. He grabbed his sunglasses and moved them up into his curls, squinting at the man before putting both his hands back on the wheel.

With sparkling eyes and pink lips quirked upwards, the man nodded in gratitude, and Richie grinned wider, showing his teeth. The man’s gaze drifted off as he started crossing the road, and Richie was in love.

In an instant, everything was in slow motion. The man took a step, a slight bounce to it, arms swinging faintly by his sides. The sun disappeared behind him as he strode in front of it, blocking the light and creating a silhouette comparable to one of a Greek god. His pink denim jacket fit perfectly around his shoulders, the color of it making his tanned skin glow. As the sun once again emerged behind his head, the blonde waves looked platinum in the brightness.  

The man was about halfway across the road when he turned his head to meet Richie’s eyes once more, eyes gleaming cheekily, almost as if he knew he had Richie’s full attention. His cheeks were a rosy color, smile still ghosting over his lips, and Richie couldn’t do anything but stare.

He knew he probably looked ridiculous, being so obvious with his staring, glasses in his chaotic hair, squinting through the sunlight.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed when the man took his last step over the road. He took a last glance at Richie, smiling shyly. Richie returned the smile; more reserved this time, realizing with a broken heart that this was when the two of them parted ways. It felt like a mutual conversation had passed between their eyes, both of them feeling the sparks. Or maybe it was wishful thinking, and Richie was being silly again. The man raised his hand then, giving a small wave, a gloomy goodbye. Richie nodded his head, waving back.

The man winked at him before turning and starting to walk away. Wanting to look at him for as long as he could, Richie kept his eyes locked on the man. He had a regal presence in his steps, moving his hips in light washed denim jeans. Obviously showing off, he ran a hand through his hair, sunlight hitting it just right. He definitely knew he had Richie’s attention.

A blaring horn rang through the air, and Richie jumped out of his staring, the sound not making any sense in his trance-like state. He looked in the rear view mirror, seeing a car behind him, an older woman glaring in the front seat. Heat pooling in his cheeks, he raised his arm as an apology. Then he quickly threw a glance towards the man. He had turned back around at the sound, and it looked like he was laughing. Richie smiled sheepishly in return, shrugging his shoulders in an ‘oops’-motion, not letting himself be too embarrassed about it.

The woman behind him hit the horn a second time, and Richie finally managed to react. Pushing the gas pedal sadly, he got the car driving.

The man disappeared when Richie drove around a corner not long after.

Two day went by, and Richie could not for the life of him stop thinking about the beautiful man he had seen. Kind of ironic how just seconds before the two of them had locked eyes, he had promised himself to not tell his friends about the new love of his life until he was absolutely certain it was real.

He had picked up his phone more times than he could count, finger hovering over the call-button on the group chat before sulkily deciding not to. With tingling fingers and bouncing legs, he had sat through lunch with Beverly, biting his bottom lip several times to stop himself from spilling everything. He had gotten questionable glances from her all throughout the meal, obviously not being as discreet as he had hoped. She hadn’t asked about it.

On Friday night, now four days since he’d seen the beautiful man, he had gone out with Ben, Bill and Stan to their favorite bar, just like they always did. He had to restrain himself from drinking too much, knowing he would burst if he passed a certain point of intoxication. They had all been looking at each other in confusion when he kept zoning out, fingers tapping unsteady rhythms on his pint glass.

Then Sunday came, and all five of them together with Patty and Audra decided to have a barbeque in the summer sun. They decided to have it at Stan and Patty’s house, as they were the only ones with a back yard. Six days had passed since Richie had fallen in love with the man crossing the street, and he was still very much infatuated. Usually his small stupid crushes on strangers only lasted about three days, but this time he couldn’t stop thinking about the guy.

He knew he was close to cracking, and having to spend the day with all of his friends and their lovers, he just figured he wouldn’t last even for an hour.

They were all eating hamburgers and drinking red wine around Stan and Patty’s garden table when Richie finally cracked. Ben was telling a story about his day at work, and everyone was laughing, and so was Richie, but he didn’t really follow.

“And then he takes out a box from the fridge and says: ‘I’m so tired of people leaving their leftovers to rot in our fridge’ and something about having seen it lay there for a month. And that’s when I recognize it as my box of strawberries that I had brought with me a month ago and forgotten about”, Ben laughed.

“No way”, Stan said.

“And I’m just, like, holy shit, but instead I just nod my head and say: ‘I know, right? I can’t believe someone would do that’, and then he throws the entire box in the trash. And sure, I don’t want the strawberries, but the box was mine from home, so as soon as he walks away, I go over to the trash to pick it up.”

“I feel like I know where this is going”, Audra laughed.

“And just as I’m holding the box, he actually comes back around the corner with a co-worker.”

“Oh no”, Patty said, putting her hands in front of her face.

“And he looks at me, and down on the box I just picked up from the trash, and I say ‘I knew I recognized that box’, and he just laughs and shakes his head, but seriously I thought I was going to die from embarrassement.”

Everyone continued laughing around the table, and Richie laughed with them, deciding now was the time. 

“Uhm.” He cleared his throat. “Guys,” he said, getting their attention. “I have to tell you something I’ve been dying to say for almost a week now.”

Beverly raised her eyebrows over her wine glass. “Good news, I’m hoping?”

“Totally.”

“So what is it?”

“Okay, so six days ago.” He paused for suspense, because he liked to be dramatic like that. “I met…” He held up a finger. “… The love of my life.”

Beverly, Stan and Bill all groaned at the same time.

Audra gasped. “Wow, Richie, that’s so great!”

“I know, thank you.” Richie smiled at her.

“No, he does this all the time”, Stan sighed.

“Honestly surprised he hasn’t mentioned it until now”, Beverly said.

“Yeah, I’m impressed, Ruh-Richie”, Bill added.

“Okay, first of all, rude.” Richie leaned back in his chair, pretending to glare at his friends. “Second of all, I haven’t even told you about him yet.”

They all sighed fondly at him.

“Okay, well, did you at least get his name this time?” Stan asked.

Richie stopped for a second, considering his options. “Uhm, yes.” Lying was probably a mistake.

“What’s his name then?”

As soon as the question was out of Stan’s mouth, every single boy-name in existence disappeared from Richie’s brain. He couldn’t even remember his own name in that moment. For some reason the only word coming to mind was ‘pencil’. Yup, definitely a mistake.

“Uhm,” he fumbled. “Edmund?”

Stan narrowed his eyes. “Why did you say it like a question?”

“Uhm…”

“His name is not Edmund.”

“Hey, his name could totally be Edmund.”

“Oh, my God”, Beverly rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “So you don’t know his name, but how did you meet then?”

“Okay, so we didn’t technically meet, but…”

“No, stop”, Stan interrupted. “This is going to be one of those ‘I locked eyes with a cute guy while grocery shopping, and now I’m in love with him’ things. And Richie, I know you’re a hopeless romantic and believe in all that ‘love at first sight’-stuff, but you do realize love doesn’t actually work that way, right?”

Patty grabbed Stan’s hand. “Babe, don’t be so harsh”, she said softly.

“No, he needs to hear this”, Stan replied, but kept a hold on her hand. “Richie, you know we’re totally rooting for you to find someone, and will support you one hundred percent when you do. But just because you see someone cute and they smile at you, that doesn’t mean they’re the love of your life. You need to at least talk to them before you decide.”

Richie exhaled tiredly, prepared for a negative response, but definitely not for a lecture. “Listen, Stan, I know that, okay?” He opened his mouth and closed it again, feeling pretty dumb, not really knowing what to say. “I just had a different feeling in my stomach this time. I know I’ve told you guys I’ve met my soulmate more times than I can count, but I’m not stupid. Of course I know that I don’t actually love them, but something was special this time, I could feel it.”

“Why don’t you tell us about him?” Patty said, smiling warmly.

Richie looked over at Stan with raised eyebrows, waiting for approval to continue. Stan sighed, but then his lips stretched out in a smile. “Tell us, Richie.”

Instantly, Richie’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “Of course, Stan the man, your wish is my command.”

“It’s not really a wish…”

“It was a beautiful Monday evening”, Richie interrupted loudly, “and I was driving on my way home from work, and I get to a crossing. And there stands the fucking most beautiful man I have ever seen, even more beautiful than you, Stan the Man,” Richie winked at him, “and he looks like this Greek god, like, absolutely stunning. And he smiles at me in gratitude for stopping, and I swear to Jesus, he was swinging his hips knowing he had my attention, and I am so in love with him.” Richie was waving his arms around while rambling. “Fucking soulmate, I swear. I can’t stop thinking about him.” He fell back into his chair.

A moment of silence passed through the group.

“Seriously, why duh-didn’t you talk tuh-to him?” Bill asked. “If you’re suh-so sure he was your s-soulmate?”

Richie shrugged. “Well, I didn’t want to seem like a creep, and the old lady in the car behind me kept pressing her horn to get me to continue driving, I don’t know, I’m stupid, okay?”

“Yeah, you are kind of stupid”, Beverly said. “But if it’s been six days, don’t think I didn’t notice this is the longest one of your crushes has lasted, and you’re still thinking about him, I feel like that has to mean something, no?” She looked around the table for confirmation. Audra, Patty and Ben were all nodding. “And lets all just ignore the fact that you’re basing all of this on looks, because that would make you seem kind of shallow.” She winked at him. He flipped her off.

“Yeah, you should have talked to him”, Ben said.

Richie sighed. “I know. Every time I’ve passed that same crossing, I’ve hoped to see him again, but unfortunately…” he drifted off, an unsure expression on his face.

“Well, if you do ever see him, promise me you’ll talk to him, no matter the situation you’re in, no matter how awkward it would be, just promise me.” Beverly held out her right pinky, a challenging yet hopeful look in her eyes.

Richie looked around the table. They were all smiling and nodding at him. “I promise”, he said and locked their pinkies together.

The next day came and it was Monday once again. Exactly one week had now passed.

As Richie was driving on his way home from work, he tried to not hope too much that the man would be at the same crossing. With the rain pouring down around him, the wipers going crazy on the car’s windshields, there were barely any people out walking. He didn’t blame them. If he as much as stepped out of his car, he knew he’d end up soaked in seconds.

People were all probably cuddled up with their significant others on the couch, watching movies, and Richie would kill to be doing the same. Just need to get that significant other first.

At this point, Richie was starting to get upset with himself for not being able to find someone. Everything else in his life was pretty great, and exactly how he wanted it to be. Now all he wanted was someone to share it with.

He turned a corner, and he could see the crossing in the far distance. A hope was building in his chest, massive and stupidly unnecessary. There were a few people that could be seen walking around, some even without umbrellas. Some of them looked like they couldn’t care less about the rain while others were running in panic to take shelter.  

The crossing was coming up next, and there was someone walking towards it. This person was the only chance to be the man Richie was hoping to see, and he made the decision to drive slower so they’d make it there at the same time. As he got closer, he could see it was a man, and his heart started pounding just a little bit faster. The man lifted his umbrella and looked over at Richie just as he pulled to a stop in front of the crossing.

It’s not him.

Richie tried to swallow down his disappointment, but it was hard to ignore the feeling of his heart falling to the pit of his stomach. He watched the man walk over the crossing, heaviness in his chest.

The street was empty except for his car, and he let himself drop his head to the steering wheel, closing his eyes. Fuck this. He’d missed his chance. It was time to let it go. He sighed loudly, the sound of the rain hitting the roof echoing through the vehicle. The weather certainly matched the sadness he was feeling. It was almost like the sky was crying for him.

He raised his head, his sight of the world blurred by the water on his windows, and pressed the gas carefully, ready to get home and under the covers in his bed. Movement in the corner of his vision caused him to stop abruptly. Someone was just about to cross the road, but had halted just before stepping off the sidewalk as he’d started driving. Eyes met his, and Richie’s heart skipped a beat.

It’s him. Holy shit, it’s him.

The man was holding a rainbow umbrella, the bottom of his jeans wet from the rain. Richie wasn’t sure the man could even see into his car, but a flicker of recognition seemed to flash over the man’s eyes. He then raised his available arm and gave a little wave, a small smile playing on his lips. Richie was in absolute awe.

It’s now or never.

Richie had not prepared for what to do if he actually saw the man again, and a moment of complete panic coursed through his veins. He raised his hand to wave back, smiling widely. Seeing that he had the man’s attention, he needed to get his message across before he looked away and started walking. His wave instantly turned into a point directed at the man. He then proceeded to frantically try to sign for the man to cross the road and wait for him, flailing both of his arms. He mouthed please wait as clearly as he could all the while the man cocked his head to the side, a confused smile on his lips.

Richie then pointed to the bus stop just a small distance away, and the man seemed to understand. He nodded carefully, a small blush seeming to spread over his face. After he had crossed the road, Richie drove over to the bus stop, constantly checking to make sure the man wasn’t walking away.

He wasn’t.

Hopefully no buses were coming anytime soon.

Richie stopped the car, looking in the rearview mirror, seeing the man approaching him. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped out.

The rain soaked through his bomber jacket in seconds.

“You could’ve just opened your car window, you know?”

Richie looked up as the man stopped in front of him. He let out a small laugh. “It was a spontaneous decision, I wasn’t really thinking.”

The man smiled widely. ”You’re the man who stopped for me last week, right?”

Richie nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

“Kind of a cool coincidence that you stop for me at the exact same crossing two Mondays in a row at the exact same time.”

Richie put a hand through his wet hair, the rain fogging up his glasses. “Yeah, I’m on my way home from work.”

The man seemed to remember it was raining, and Richie was standing in the middle of the pour. “Oh shit, hey, get under here.” He waved Richie over, lifting his umbrella to fit him underneath. Richie took off his glasses to dry them quickly before putting them back on. “What do you do for work?”

Richie was freaking out about how good this was going. Being so close to the man made it easy to really get a good look at him. Even without the sun shining, his tan skin still seemed to have a glow to it. With shining eyes and a smile so blinding they didn’t even need the sun, he was looking up at Richie, and Richie sincerely thought he was dreaming. Angel.

“I work at the local radio station”, he replied. “Just cracking jokes and playing music mostly.”

“Oh! That’s so cool. Maybe I’ve heard you on air? I don’t know. I don’t really listen to much radio to be honest, sorry.” The man smiled sheepishly.

Richie laughed. “That’s fine, didn’t expect you to.”

They looked at each other for a few moments, both of them smiling softly.

“What about you?” Richie asked.

“What about me?”

“Are you also on your way home from work?”

“No, I uh…” He blushed and looked away briefly. “I recently started taking piano lessons on Mondays, so I’m on my way home now. I actually considered just staying home today because of the rain, but my roommate Mike forced me to go.” He chuckled to himself. “He knows I don’t really care about the rain, but rather used it as an excuse to not go.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

The man shrugged. “I’m not very good yet, and I also forgot to practice the scales I was told to learn for this lesson.”

Richie made a quick decision. “I’d love to hear you play sometime.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Are you asking me out?”

“I really tried not being too obvious.” Richie bumped the man’s shoulder with his own.

They both laughed lightly. The rain was still pouring down around them, but the sun had just started to peak through the clouds, filling the town with a soft light. Richie was certain that had to mean something.

“I mean, sure”, the man said softly. “But I’m still very terrible at it, just warning you.”

“I don’t mind.”

The man looked at Richie as if he was studying him. “This was kind of a weird way to meet someone.” He was shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“I guess so”, Richie said. “But I thought you were really cute the first time I saw you, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I felt like we had a mutual moment, so when I saw you again, I knew I had to talk to you.”

The man just stared at him, and Richie started freaking out about revealing too much and probably coming off as a creep.

“I uhm- I can be very forward and honest, sorry if that came out the wrong way”, he backtracked. If he had managed to mess this up, he was seriously going to flush himself down the toilet to float in the sewer with his departed goldfishes.

The man just smiled. “No, I like that you know what you want. And I thought you were really cute too”, he winked, “squinting through the sunlight, being tooted at by the car behind you.”

Richie felt heat pooling in his cheeks immediately. He laughed awkwardly. “You noticed that, huh?”

The man laughed. “I noticed.”

“It makes a funny story though. Might have to tell it on my radio show.”

“I guess I’ll have to start listening to it then.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Silence settled over them, both looking at the other shyly.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” the man asked. “I know a really great coffee place.”

Richie broke into a big grin, knowing his semi-crooked teeth were showing, but he didn’t care about that one single bit. “Sounds great.”

The man was beaming back at him just as big. He reached into his coat, pulling his phone out and giving it to Richie. “Just put in your number, and I’ll text you.” 

As he put his digits into the phone, he checked four times to make sure he had written the right numbers. He considered saving the name under something lame, but decided to just write ‘Richie’ with a heart-eyes emoji.

“There you go.” Their hands brushed when he handed the phone back over, and all of his body focused on that spot, unable to feel anything other than the tingles in his fingers.

The man looked down on his phone, smiling widely. “Well, Richie, I’ll text you as soon as I’m inside and safe from the rain.”

“I sure hope so.”

Another beat of silence.

“I should probably head home, but I’m really happy I met you”, the man smiled softly.

“Me too”, Richie said. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Definitely.”

They looked at each other, and then the man pushed up on his toes, kissing Richie’s cheek sweetly. “Bye.” 

“Bye.”

He started walking backwards, and soon after, Richie could feel the rain once again envelop him as the umbrella disappeared from over him. They smiled widely at each other. Then the man turned and started walking away for real.

Richie was about to get into his car when he remembered something

“Wait! I never got your name!” he yelled.

The man turned around, smiling widely. A rainbow could be seen in the distance behind him. “You can call me Eddie.”

“Eddie?” Richie was ready to burst. “Short for Edmund?”

“No!” The man gaped. “Eddie, short for Edward! Definitely not Edmund.”

Richie laughed out loud, eyes twinkling with drops of rain dripping from his hair. “Hey, your name could totally be Edmund.”

#reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #lynn writes #my writing #meet-cute #reddie fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #it 2017 #it fanfic #it fanfiction #reddie fanfiction #it #cute #it movie

[talnunes]

Depths of the Game

“He’s my brother, Jenny. Take what you need and go, that’s all you need to do.” 

There are a lot of things I was feeling at that moment. Anger. Misplaced anger that should have targeted my unrelenting naiveté and blissful ignorance that everyone around me tried time and time again to uproot --- but instead, my brother held that burden. He didn’t understand what laid outside of his tunnel vision; deeply seeded creeds placed trust in only what was orthodox. It wasn’t his fault, being brought up the way he was. Then again, I was reared by the same community. Fostered within the same traditions.

If I hadn’t done what I did, we would all still be one big happy family, woven into the life of a one-sided brotherhood with a bone to pick. Living amongst insurrectionists thinking in black or white.

Maybe my brother was right. Leaving will cause just as much pain as staying.

And maybe I would have been okay with that; in another life, I’d have grown into the body they carved, filled the shoes they had tailored.

“He’s a defector, Grant. All of the sacrifices we have made, the people we’ve killed and the people we’ve lost, has to be for a reason. You believe that, or else you wouldn’t be here.” If Grant wanted to say something, he gave no indication, but he knew as well as I did that she was right. We wouldn’t be here if he had any sort of doubt.“ If everyone just up and left like him, our whole lives would be spent in vain. We can’t just let this go.”

Grant stayed silent but I knew her words weren’t falling on deaf ears. He was listening.

“What are you saying, Jenny?”

I felt nauseous as I began to follow every diverging path that led me to this stalemate. A lie here and a lie there, a protest to spite every single person who expected me to follow them in darkness, a blindfold wrapped tightly around my head with a single hole poked into it. So small that I would become tunnel visioned, having no other option but to stumble close behind, or else I would lose myself to the night.

All this time, I have been racking up my karmic debt without dwelling on the score I would later find myself knee-deep in. I was so angry and afraid that I lashed out at the slightest provocation.

I don’t regret anything now that my bill has come due.

But I never wanted Grant to pay as well. He was just a pawn.

“What I am saying is we have to make an example, as convincing as possible without leaking any… ‘sensitive information’.” Jenny said, with venomous sympathy seeping through every syllable.

I felt his stomach churn, his heart stop, waiting for what inevitably came out of her mouth next. The tension was cutting deep, releasing that rotten tightness in your chest when the anticipation became too much to handle. When your brain runs its 10k, anxiously kicking up all the worst-case-scenarios it can come up with, and you think - stop being so pessimistic, it’ll never happen.

And every single one of them happens.

“ You’re a loose end, Grant. I don’t like loose ends.”

The sound of metal sliding on metal bore goosebumps across my body and sent a cold shiver down my spine. There was a shift in the air, a change in atmosphere, as my brother's fear became heat spilling from a radiator, digging itself into every inch of my body.

The steel snapped sliding back into place, producing a final click as I imagined the small little ball of metal alloy shift into place. Ready to extinguish the only spark left in my life. The only family I have left.

My buried screams, submerged underneath a thick layer of cloth wrapped tightly around my mouth,  kept distracting the running time bomb in my head--- it’s all my fault, it's all my fault, it’s all my fault.

Even though a bag had been placed over my head, I still knew the positions of every piece on the board; Jenny lied straight ahead, one move away from taking my brother out of the picture. Grant stood across from her, a pawn in both of our plays, blind to the fact that we both used him to further our own agendas. To advance our other pieces.

And then there was me, the rook, trapped between the queen and a hard place.

Ironically, I was cut off from the game, because once again, when I screamed, they couldn’t hear.

But that didn’t stop me from screeching my throat raw, trying to keep distracted that pestering mind of mine, the time bomb inside my own head --- it’s all my fault, it's all my fault, it’s all my fault, it’s all my f-

“But I’d rather not lose the only tie I have left to mom.”

Grant let a sigh of relief escape his lips as Jenny assumably lowered the gun. My brother laughed nervously, probably scratching the back of his neck like he usually does when he's nervous. I did the same, but it was nothing more than a mumble. An echo from six feet under. Even though his bounty was cleared, I still had mine to pay off.

And it was all I had.

“I do, however, need to know you’ll keep your lips sealed. So consider this a test.” She was pacing now, circling my brother like prey. The gun in her hand clicked and clacked as she moved it from one hand to another, deciding on what to do next. Apparently, she decided.

The sound of her elbow joint cracking as she extended her hand registered in my head at the same time as the gun switching handlers gripped my heart like an iron fist.

No, that can’t be right. There were a million other possibilities. Maybe Jenny put the gun down, realizing that she can’t kill me. Maybe she was simply stretching, getting ready for what inevitably came next. Maybe...maybe she doesn’t even have a gun. Maybe every machination my brain has constructed is false. Yes, yes, that has to be right. She’s just here to reprimand us, nothing more. It’s not my fault, it’s-not-my-

“Fuck!”

The bag over my head flew off, scratching my neck and ears as it left my eyes at the mercy of the sunlight. My arms involuntarily flew upwards to shield them, but were stopped abruptly by a zip tie tied around my wrists.

“If you do as I say, I’ll let you live. It’s as simple as that Grant.” My eyes were starting to recover, but not enough to piece together what was in front of me. The scene was blurry, but I was able to make out a figure in front of me --- whether it was Jenny or Grant, I had no idea. Other than that, I couldn’t figure out where we were and if I had any chance of getting away. I had a feeling though that my sudden nausea was a clue.

“It-it’s not and you of all people you should know that, Jenny.” Grant’s voice cracked, a flaw exposed by the sudden loss of composure. Control was slipping from his grasp like time on a clock. And he didn’t have much of that left.

“And you of all people should understand why I’m doing this!” Patience. It was never one of Jenny’s virtues. Quite frankly, she doesn’t have many at all.

She was blessed with justice, if you asked her.

If you ask me, she's a self-righteous bitch with a god-complex.

It makes her good at her job.

“He’s my brother.” Grant mumbled. 

“There's no other way.”

“There's always another way! Jenny we can still go back-”

“Stop with this shit.” She screamed.

“I can’t!”

Silence. With both of their voices stopped dead in their tracks, I could finally hear myself breath. I could hear my own heartbeat trying to escape my chest. I could hear...waves. Punching the side of a boat. Rising and falling, ready to catch me if I fall. When I fall.

She brought me to the middle of the ocean to die.

This was my burial ground.

No one would hear my screams. No one would see life leave my body except my brother and Jenny. No one would even know, except for the lies they would be fed.

And just like that, I would be forgotten.

“What are you doing Grant? I’m giving you a chance!” Jenny was breathing heavily, taken aback by his refusal to listen to orders. “I don’t want to kill you.”

Grant stayed silent. 

My vision was clearing and I could just about make out who was in front of me --- who my executioner was. Jenny or Grant. Grant or Jenny. Jenny or Grant. Grant or Jenny. 

“I don’t want to kill you.” She repeated, this time barely a whisper.

Even if I could see, it wouldn’t matter.

 Both figures were now standing in front of me, one guiding the others hands upwards, holding on to their shoulder.

They stopped rising until they were pointing right at my head.

And finally I could see.

“It’s easy,” Jenny whispered into my brother's ear, “All you need to do is pull.”

Tears were streaming down his face, and it hurt knowing I did this to him. But I knew he wouldn’t pull the trigger. I was his brother. He came all this way to protect me, only to be the one to kill me? No. No matter how much shit I’ve pulled in my life, he still loved me. And now that the gun was in his hands, I can bypass my karma. I can live. All he needs to do is do the right things. I should trust him, shouldn’t I?

Our eyes met, blue on gray, to create a stormy sky. He was scared, nervous, torn, sympathetic. He was everything I knew he would be, but there was something else in there.

“Every second you waste, Grant, the more pain he is in.” Jenny coaxed my brother forward, each step bringing the reality that I suddenly didn’t know what my brother would do closer.

Before I knew it, I was staring down the barrel of a gun.

There were a lot of things I was feeling at this moment. Anger. Anger that I let myself believe I would get away with this without punishment.

Anger that I let my brother tell me I have to stay.

And anger that I ever had an ounce of sympathy for Grant.

Because he was going to be the one to put the bullet in my head.

Jenny backed off of my brother.

I shook my head violently, pleading with him, but I had no influence over him anymore. He was her pawn now, and she knows his virtue is loyalty.

I was alone.

“Sorry Koda, this game was only ever gonna end one way.” 

I closed my eyes.

“And I never lose.”

#writing #creative writing #original story #science fiction #novel in progress #betrayal #emotions

[wbbbrothers]

Dear We Bare Bears,

Hello! I am Sugs. Within the next month, I will be in the start of my college experience as an Illustration major. That fact is completely wild to think about considering when I first started watching this show (on this day four years ago) I was entering High School as a freshman student and I was, in fact, a completely different person. Therefore, I decided that because I am stepping into a whole new chapter of my life and this show has been with me the entire way... this Anniversary I wanted to write about how this show has impacted me over the past four years.

 Apologies for this being a long post, I have a lot to say.

I created this blog right at the end of the premiere week of this show. I had watched every new episode airing during that Bearbomb that week. One of the  last episodes of the week was Primal. So, while it was still airing and I decided in the middle of it that I was hooked! And I knew I needed to make an ask blog to enjoy these silly bear brother characters and fuel the love I had already already found for the show somehow. Wbbbrothers was that ask blog.

I didn’t know at the time but that was possibly one of the best decisions I could have ever made for myself at that point in my life and do mean that very sincerely. Growing up, having intense interest in media that took over my entire creative output was always a very common thing (and obviously still is). These large phases were able to keep my full attention about 1-2 years tops until my brain latched onto something new. But, out of all of those I have to say that We Bare Bears and Bears in general truly are very special to me. I have never been able to create such a variety of stories, embrace so many flawed and imperfect yet still loved characters and feel so deeply about them and the stories I was telling through them. Especially for this long of a time. We Bare Bears as a show holds a great deal of heartfelt comfort for me.

To me: We Bare Bears is a unique show in the fact that (most of the time) it has a very casual, down to earth and calming atmosphere about it. That being said, it is never afraid to experiment or step foot into other genres thanks to its open ended and episodic nature. It is not perfect by any means, like any cartoon written by human beings with flaws. But I admire the love that gets put into it with its personalized watercolored backgrounds, muted palette aesthetics, little visual humor and amazing colorists in general. It can be hit or miss sometimes but it is episodes like Chicken & Waffles, Chloe & Ice Bear, Occupy Bears, Yuri & The Bear, Hibernation, Hurricane Hal and more that remind me why I fell in love with the show in the first place. It loves the quiet moments just as much as I do. It does not have to be constantly shoving stimulation down your throat and in your face in order to tell a fun or compelling story. I have always respected its ability to take things at a slower pace sometimes, especially when a lot of current cartoons tend to lean towards Snappiness (snappy humor, snappy action, bright colors and fast pacing)

 We Bare Bears feels like warmth. When I re-watch my favorite character driven episodes I cannot remove the fond smile from my face and when I re-watch my favorite adventure filled episodes it always sends me bouncing in my seat.

My method with interacting with my interests was always to create my own fan-content or Alternate Universes with the characters that I loved.  It was my way of putting a piece of me into the characters whether it be through my other interests in media or my own experiences and feelings. The AUs I make are a genuine form of self-expression to me. 

Obviously, the Character Driven and Open Ended Slice of Life nature of We Bare Bears as a series really opened up the flood gates in terms of my creativity and ideas for AUs.  I never felt happier than when I was creating new jokes or dialogue or just silly scenarios. Alternate Universes were a combination of all the parts I loved about creating for me and they started to act as my own free-roam stories to explore these favorite characters of mine in all sorts of different ways. Since I have started, my work has only improved the more love and passion I put into it. 

Superhero AU and Bad Bears are my main two fan stories/AUs of mine that have been around since I was 14-15 and are two of the most developed AUs I have ever had. They taught me a lot about, developing fictional worlds, characters and plotlines and I am STILL developing and enjoying them even now! They’ve also inspired me to make so many other OCs and stories so much as influencing future projects that I am currently in the middle of developing.

It baffles me to think of a world where I never watched We Bare Bears and never was able to be influenced by its fans, its art, writing and its characters.

If you’ve been on this blog long enough you might recall that my first Wbb AU was your average run of the mill Zombie AU (this was while wbbbrothers was still primarily an ask blog) not to be confused with my Zombie 2 AU which is a completely different premise entirely aside from the zombie apocalypse part. Long story short, I had a Fuckload of AUs back then and I mean A Lot. Enough to get condescending messages over, even some curse outs. (Not everyone I met over the four years was the greatest...) I was scared away from publicly speaking about most of them the way that I used to. While my technical skill was lacking for that age and I could not write a solid scene to save my life, despite the negativity, the intense passion and enjoyment I felt from making content kept me enthralled with the show. I kept making my AUs in private and developing them, posting more general fanart and occasionally art for my Superhero AU publicly. I even started to get pretty good at drawing Bears! And managed to make some friends who shared interests with me, something I never got to have offline.

It was not all great of course, the past four years have been extremely hard for me and extremely hard for everybody else, I’m sure. Bears was my default thought when surviving High School; my go-to pick me up. I seriously would say that it has saved me more than once whether it be through talking to my friends I met because of it or just offering a distraction/creative outlet from whatever was going on in my life.

Prior to becoming a fan I never would have thought I would have been able to  make so many stories, projects, art, writing and comics  and talk to so many amazing creators and people all thanks to this one show about Socially Awkward Bears living in San Fransisco.  

But here we are.

And you know what, even when I inevitably move onto newer projects or interests, I think Bears will always be an important influencer to me. The wonderful people I have met throughout these four years have given me so much support and love and friendship like none I have ever been allowed to experience before. I have learned so much about my identity through my friendships and my stories. And even the awful people I have met taught me what NOT to do and what to avoid when moving forward in my life.

 I am just. So, so grateful for everything and being able to pursue what I love and have it be received by others to make them feel things too. There is a Lot more I could say I am sure but since this is long enough as is I will send it off here.

 So from the bottom of my heart I can only say Thank you. Thank you to my friends who still talk to me to this day, I love you guys. Thank you to those I used to speak to but don’t anymore, our friendship of the past  still stays with me. Thank you to anyone who enjoys my work, my stories and follows me despite my wild ramblings such as this!! (If you’re still reading this wow, points to you)

And Thank you We Bare Bears for helping me grow so much as an artist and giving me a sense of direction and purpose with my work as a hurting teenager who was very, very lost in 2015.

Sincerely yours,

Wbbbrothers <3

#anniversary rant #wbb #modspeaks #SORRY IM A SAP #text heavy #long post

[marshmallow-phd]

Charming Instruction

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Summary: You were just an average, everyday college student desperately trying to graduate. Only one more year stood between you and that celebratory walk. However, due to an oversight by your adviser, it seemed that the one class you never wanted to take was required to take that walk. It wasn’t the subject matter that made you uncomfortable. It was the teacher. Your heart sped up every time you saw him and you didn’t want that distraction in your life, attractive or not. With meeting him now an inevitability, you swore that you would keep your hormones in check. But after your first day of class, a series of hi jinks and weird situations lead you to discovering the secret of your professor and why he seemed to bombard your every thought.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I Final

**

You scrambled off the bike as fast as you could, just wanting to get out of there. It seemed like every time your mind started to wander in Junmyoen’s direction, reality slapped you back on track.

“Thank you for the ride,” you mumbled quickly before taking off in the direction of your apartment.

“(y/n), wait!”

You didn’t wait. You didn’t even slow down or second guess your decision to run. The way that woman was looking at Junmyeon and his surprise at her appearance, there was something going on there and you didn’t want to be in the middle of it.

The whole way back home, your mind kept going back to that secured little room back in the museum. A tiny slice of your mind wanted to read into that scenario.

He’d driven you away from campus on a motorcycle, clad in a leather jacket and looking nothing like the college professor you were used to. And then he took you to a museum, to a secret room in a museum and let you just stare at the artifacts without any sense of rushing you. He said that he hadn’t shared that with anyone, putting you right back into the “special” category. That had to mean something, right?

The much bigger part of your brain that was a bit pessimistic reminded you that it was simply because you were an archaeology student. And that he was your professor. And that you were planning on moving far away once your final semester came to an end with your graduation. So, you shouldn’t care about any mysterious girl that randomly shows up and makes goo-goo eyes at Junmyeon.

You shouldn’t even be calling him by his first name whether it was just in your head or not.

Walking through your door, you sighed as it clicked shut behind you. Then you were bombarded.

“Who the hell was the hottie on the motorcycle?” Cam demanded. She didn’t seem angry at all. In fact, there was a sparkle of excitement in her eye.

Behind her, Gemma was bouncing up and down as she munched on a sandwich. Apparently, Cam had shared the little sight of you disappearing on the back of a motorcycle, most likely adding a few flourishes that made it sound much more adventurous than it really was.

“How do you know he was attractive?” you countered, searching for a possible get away. “He was wearing a helmet.”

“I’m not totally blind, (y/n),” Cam scoffed, leaning back a little to give you more room. Not enough to escape, but enough to have your own space back. “Even under that jacket, I could see that he was attractive. Now, who is he?”

She was not going to let this go. Especially after you had point blank told her that you weren’t seeing anyone just a few minutes before running off with some guy. That was the thing about a lie, once you created one, you had to string more of them along until you were completely entangled in the web. But you couldn’t confess the truth now. Junmyeon was counting on you to help him stay out of harm’s way, to keep his own secret. But the best way to keep a lie was to put just enough truth in it so keep your head on straight.

Entangling your fingers together in front of you, you started to mumble, “He’s a guy….”

“Yeah, we got that much,” Gemma giggled.

“A guy… in my class.” See, just a little bit of information that was technically true. Junmyeon was in your class. He just simply stood in front of everyone else and gave the lecture rather than being one of the students listening and taking notes.

“Ooo,” Cam wiggled her eyebrows at you. “What’s his name?”

“Jun-” Crap. Why did you answer so quickly? You couldn’t give them his real name. These two were too slick for that. They’d make the leap in record time if they just happened to come across your professor’s full name. But you already gave part of his name away. “Jun..ie?”

“Junie?” Cam snorted.

Gemma finished off her sandwich before adding, “Isn’t that kind of… cute for a guy in leather jacket?”

She had no idea how much she’d hit the nail on the head.

“I didn’t pick his name,” you grumbled. Letting out a hefty sigh, you begged, “Can I go to my room now?”

“Uh-uh,” Cam grabbed your wrist and pulled you over to the couch, making you sit down between her and Gemma. “Give us the deets.”

You frowned. “The deets? That’s not even a word.”

“The details,” Gemma elaborated with a groan. “How did any of this happen?”

“Where did you guys meet?” Cam asked excitedly. “Was it in class or outside and you happened find out you were in the same class? What’s his major?”

“How many times have you ridden the motorcycle? Is he at least a safe driver?”

Too many questions were being thrown at you in both directions, you were getting dizzy from focusing your attention from one friend to the other. This was like the night you came home from the woods all over again. However, this time, instead of jumping up and running away, you retreated into yourself, folding up and burying your face in your knees.

The difference was that, in this particular situation, you weren’t just telling lies to protect Junmyeon. If you gave your friends more details, then they’d be fake scenarios that you wished could be true.

It was almost too much, the strange happenings that you’d experienced over the last week were bizarre to say the least, but you didn’t wish for it to go away. It was just the opposite, really. You were almost… thankful for it. Who else could say they’ve lived through something like this?

Well, okay, the other pack members’ mates probably had similar experiences, but you doubted they were exactly like yours. None of the other boys were professors after all, nor did they have to wrestle with the fact that they had a crush on a person they could never have. And it wasn’t even a crush anymore. You were headed straight into the danger zone.

Crushes typically consisted of vague notions and surface level looks. And you would have certainly said that whatever was brewing inside you before Saturday. But now? Now you had to admit to yourself that you liked Junmyeon. You liked his smile and how open he was with you. You liked how he thought of you when he wanted to share his family’s history. And – as much as you hated to admit it – he was very appealing on that motorcycle, even if you liked the bookish professor look a little bit more.

“(y/n)?” Gemma called out soothingly. “Is everything okay?”

You lifted your face just enough to rest your chin on your knees as you sighed, “Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just don’t think it will last too much longer.”

“Why not?” Cam asked, all her earlier enthusiasm replaced by genuine concern. She placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently to reassure you that she was there for you.

“I think I like him more than he likes me,” you admitted, that woman’s – Soomi, did he call her? – face flashing in your mind. “And besides, I’m leaving next year anyway. No point in getting too attached right?”

Neither of your best friends said anything to contradict or confirm what you said. In your peripheral, you watched them exchange a look of worry as they took turns rubbing your back. They were only seeing a portion of the turmoil you were currently going through. Back and forth you went, trying to decide if you should continue accepting invitations from Junmyeon should they happen in the future or if you should just severe all contact outside of class now before you got hurt.

**

“(y/n), wait!”

You didn’t slow down at Junmyeon calling for you and he was helpless to watch you take off from the univeristy, headed for a cluster of apartment buildings that were havens for the students since they were cheap and could hold several occupants comfortably.

“Did I interrupt something?” Soomi asked, looking truly worried as she watched your retreating back as well.

Junmyeon sighed, swinging a leg over the bike and hopping off. “I honestly don’t know.”

Soomi raised an eyebrow at bike. “Is this new?”

“Uh,” Junmyeon cleared his throat. “Yeah, it is.”

“Did you buy it for her?” Soomi’s voice came out cautiously, like she was afraid of the answer.

“No,” Junmyeon answered defensively. “I bought it for myself.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t think even a seer could have predicted that.”

“Did you need something, Soomi?” he snapped. And immediately regretted it. He’d never once been so rude to Soomi, but the wolf was growling with irritation, overwhelming his logical thinking. It wasn’t her fault that she happened to be nearby when he was with you. She wasn’t a malicious person. It was simply terrible timing. “I’m sorry, Soomi. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

A smile that used to make his heart flutter crept up in the corner of Soomi’s mouth. Its past effect no longer existed and Junmyeon was somewhat relieved.

The boys used to hound him, asking over and over what it was about her that made him feel that way. He never had an answer. Maybe it was her differentness. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t have to explain who he was and fear that she’d run away. Or maybe it was simply due to the fact that he needed someone to fill that void until his mate came along. If it was the last option, then he felt incredibly guilty. That wasn’t fair to Soomi and that wasn’t right of him.

“It’s okay,” Soomi said softly. “I surprised you, so I understand.” She ran her fingers through her long black hair, looking at him shyly. “I was wondering if you had time to go get that cup of coffee.”

Junmyeon let out a long exhale. “Soomi… I can’t.”

The smile deflated from her face. “Listen, Junmyeon. If this is about potentially finding your mate someday, it’s okay. I’ll understand. Why not spend the time enjoying life? I promise, I’ll step aside when the time comes. No harm, no foul.”

“I still can’t,” Junmyeon exasperated, holding the inner wolf back from snapping at the suggestion. She didn’t mean any harm by it. While she knew about it, she didn’t really understand it. “Yes, in the past, it was about the fact that my mate might show up any time and I didn’t want to hurt you, but now….”

She frowned. “But now?”

Junmyeon let the answer hang in the air, not verbalizing it. Understanding blossomed in her eyes, smothering any sign of hope that used to grow there.

“Oh,” Soomi avoided his gaze, keeping her eyes down at the sidewalk. Then she looked back up at Junmyeon, resigned. “That was her, wasn’t it? The girl who ran off?”

Junmyeon nodded. “Yes. But she doesn’t know yet. She knows about me and what I am, but she doesn’t know she’s my mate yet.”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll feel extremely lucky once she does find out,” she mused.

“I hope so,” Junmyeon mumbled, more to himself than to Soomi.

“Well,” Soomi said, a bit louder and firmer than necessary, “I guess I’ll head out then. Have a good night, Junmyeon. And good luck with your mate. I know the two of you will be very happy together.”

“Thank you,” Junmyeon forced a half-hearted smile on his face. The kind where both parties know it’s purely out of politeness and not because the giver is happy about the situation. “And I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she insisted. “It’s just the name of the game. Good night.”

“Good night, Soomi.”

For a few moments, Junmyeon just stood there, leaning up against his bike and watching Soomi walk to her car. It was only when she drove away did he finally get back on the bike to head home. This time, though, he didn’t put the helmet back on. He knew it was dangerous, but that didn’t stop him from strapping the protective gear to the backseat and roaring the engine to life.

Junmyeon loved the way the engine purred, vibrating the whole bike while it anticipated the jump to get going.

Kicking off, he headed back to the farmhouse, taking advantage of the long ride on the deserted road. The wind whipped at his face and tousled his hair, but he didn’t care. It was an almost freeing feeling. Like when he was running in his wolf skin, the forest blurring by him as he kept his focus on what was immediately ahead of him.

That focus helped keep his mind from wondering off to other paths with dangerous ideas. Like turning around to find you, to explain everything. But he couldn’t do that. You weren’t ready yet. You were still so quick to run away after Soomi showed up, he could only conclude that you misunderstood the situation.

Junmyeon slammed his hand down on the handle, making the bike falter and wobble just for a second before he was able to correct it.

He just wanted to tell you everything. Why couldn’t he be brave enough to just say it, out loud for you to hear and accept him so he could stop feeling like this and be with you?

The farmhouse came into view and Junmyeon slowed down until he came to a complete stop just outside the garage before walking the two wheeled vehicle the rest of the way in. Minseok’s car was gone from the garage. So the house wouldn’t be too full. Meaning there wouldn’t be too many to watch during the night’s run. If they hadn’t already headed out without him.

The living room was deserted, but Junmyeon could hear voices and movement coming from the kitchen. He shook his head. They had a perfectly good living room that was bigger than the kitchen and yet everyone preferred to hang out there.

Everyone who didn’t choose to go back into town was sitting around the table, watching Luhan and Sehun play an intense card game, picking the flimsy pieces of laminated paper and putting them back down in a flash.

Egyptian Rat Kill.

Junmyeon could never figure out why the game was called that. According to Luhan, it had several different names, but that was the one they stuck to.

“I thought you guys would have been gone by now,” Junmyeon said as he took his jacket off and slung it over the back of the breakfast booth. If Minseok had been there, he would have given the leader a death glare, but for now, Junmyeon did what he wanted to. This was his house after all.

Maybe if he kept telling himself that he would actually exert that authority. Maybe someday.

“Those two wouldn’t pause their game,” Baekhyun grumbled, tapping the table with his fingers impatiently.

“This kid will cheat if I take my eyes off the game for a second,” Luhan pointed out, his comment emphasized by the fact that he did indeed refuse to look away from the cards.

“That’s not true!” Sehun whined. “You’re just a sore loser.”

Luhan rolled his eyes before slamming down his hand on the pile of cards between and jumping up in victory. “Take that!”

With pouting lips, Sehun swiped away the scattered cards, grumbling to himself as he folded his arms across his chest. The rest of the pack was cheering or shouting. Junmyoen even noticed a few bills exchange hands. These boys. They bet on everything.

Above all the noise, though, Yixing seemed to notice Junmyeon’s lack of smile or any sort of emotion that showed he was entertained by the scene before him. Typically, Junmyeon would have been grinning and laughing at his brothers, but his face remained somber.

“What happened?” Yixing asked as he stood from his seat. “You look like you got booed out of the classroom.”

“I ran into Soomi on campus,” Junmyeon murmured, keeping his eyes down.

“Ah,” Tao snapped his fingers like he was the cleverest one in the room, “so you had to let her down and tell her about how you’re no longer on the market and a free man – ow!” Luhan, who was right next to the self-professed playboy, had smacked him upside the head.

“Yes, I told her,” Junmyeon confirmed.

“But that’s not all that happened?” Jongin guessed.

Junmyeon groaned, running a hand through his hair. It got caught a couple time from being tangled by the wind. “(Y/n) was with me when we ran into Soomi.”

“Tell me you didn’t freeze,” Baekhyun pleaded. When Junmyeon didn’t answer, Baekhyun gasped. “You totally froze, didn’t you?”

“I don’t get what the big deal is if he was surprised to see Soomi,” Sehun shrugged. “He wasn’t expecting her. It’s only natural.”

“You need a better understanding of how the female mind works,” Chanyeol scolded.

“Yeah, you’re one to talk,” the maknae bit back.

Luhan gave Junmyeon a sympathetic look. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that (y/n) high tailed it out of there.”

“Like a cat after someone stepped on its tail,” Junmyeon confessed.

“Ouch,” Baekhyun winced.

“Whether she knows about being your mate or not,” Yixing said, “you’re going to have to explain to her that you and Soomi are just friends.”

Sehun raised an eyebrow. “But I thought once you find your mate, you don’t have feelings for anyone else? Why would you freeze at seeing Soomi?”

“I was just shocked,” Junmyeon argued. “All those feelings really do go away. I just didn’t expect to be caught like that. And by Soomi, no less.”

Baekhyun raised an eyebrow. “Caught like what?”

Junmyeon picked up a napkin from the counter and crumbled it up before throwing it at Baekhyun. “Get your mind out of the gutter! I just meant on the motorcycle. (Y/n) was sitting behind me. That was it.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Tao snickered.

“Why don’t we go for a run,” Luhan suggested. “Maybe that’ll cool you down and help you figure out how to explain things to your mate.”

Junmyeon nodded. “Yeah, good idea.”

“Finally!” Tao whooped and hollered as he ran out the back door, already shirtless and working on jumping out of his jeans.

“That boy has issues,” Baekhyun mumbled.

“Just go,” Junmyeon sighed, already headed out himself.

By the time he’d shifted and his front paws his the dirt floor of the forest he knew best, he already felt a little better. He could fix this. He could make this work and get his plan back on track. Every journey had a few deviations, didn’t they?

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo supernatural au #exo scenarios #exo series #junmyeon x reader #kim junmyeon #suho #Charming Instruction #untamed wolf universe

[scripttorture]

(1/2) There’s a part in my story where this character is taken captive and kept in an inescapable but nice mansion. He’s given free reign to basically do anything (except escape or try and contact anyone) and he’s given food as if he were a guest. After a few days he’s briefly taken to a room where he’s tied down and interrogated. The character trying to gain information from him is telepathic and will ask a question (ie. location of secret hideout) and attempt to read the character’s thoughts.

(2/2) If there’s no physical harm being done to the character, would he still panic and not be able to accurately remember these things? Are there ways the telepath could put thoughts into the character’s mind to scare him into giving information? If the character is returned to the mansion unscathed, and then he was rescued a few days later, could he walk away without any long lasting psychological damage? And is it realistic to have them torture him afterwards for not giving them anything?

Ithink this is one of those fictional scenarios where it reallydepends on how you play it. Because the changes you’ve made toreality are- well pretty central to the situation.

Ithink this answer is going to be less about ‘would this work’ andmore about avoiding torture apologia while keeping the fantasticalelements.

Partof this depends on how you’re thinking of telepathy. If it’sseeing what someone thinks with no influence over that thoughtprocess- I think that would be easier to use and avoid apologia. Itcould still work if telepathic conversation is just a conversation.

Butif you’re picturing something more akin to the way the Xmen couldroot around in a character’s subconscious, rearrange things,implant false memories, dig up old memories, create hallucinationsand so forth- Then I think you’d have a problem and it would bebest to take torture out of the story completely.

Thisis a power set which canbe used to twist reality in such a way that torture ‘realistically’works. And that sort of fantasy is- well justifying torture. In around about way.

Forgetabout scaring the character. Forget about threats and forget abouttying him up.

Stepback from the super powers for a moment and treat this like astraight forward interrogation. Startby having a read through my post on effective, realisticinterrogation here.

Thefirst important point is that interrogation is really one of theworst ways of finding out anything. The human memory is shockinglybad at the best of times. People who genuinely know the informationand want to help oftenget things wrong. Not out of malice but simply because our brains arenot supposed to hold on to everything accurately.

Anysort of stress makes it harder for us to remember things accuratelyandmakes the creation of false memories more likely. That doesn’t justmean pain or threats. The severity of pain and stress during torturemeans that accurate recall is virtually impossible during torture.But if you think for a moment about your own experience you canprobably think of ordinary low-stress situations where your memoryhas failed you.

Anyoneremember being sure they knew the answer to that one question buttheir brain went blank when they sat down for the exam?

Normal,every day stress can be sufficient to affect memory. Especiallyif that stress is effecting the character’s ability to sleep.

Scaringthe character, restraining him, treating him badlyis going to work against the interrogators. Even if they have amassive magical advantage.

Becausetheir telepathy is limited by hisbrain.They can’t recreate information that they’ve destroyed.

Beingkidnapped and held hostage is stressful enough. Even with ‘nice’kidnappers this situation could easily be traumatising.

Thebest way to get accurate information from an interviewee is toestablisha friendly rapport.

Anythingthat gets in the way of that undermines the process of gettinginformation. That applies just as much here as it does in a situationwithout super powers.

Ifyou want to use scary or creepy elements through this here’s whatI’d suggest. Rather than a deliberateattempt to terrify the captive character have the telepathiccharacter just- lean in to those powers a little.

‘Youmay as well just tell me you know. You’re going to think of itsooner or later and I’ll hear. Honestly you’re just gettingyourself worked up trying notto think about it. I’ll find out. It’s inevitable. It’ll be somuch easier if you tell me.’

‘Youknow every time I ask you a question you think a little bit about theanswer? I might not get everything at once but I get enough. I’llput it together. Here I’ll show you- Where’s the secret base? Wowthat’s a beautiful oak. It must be hundreds of years old to looklike that. And now I know it’s near the base. How many trees likethat do you think there are dotted around? Oh so there aren’t anyothers near that one. See? We’re narrowing it down all the time-’

‘Ohyou got nervouswhen I showed you that picture. Am I getting warm?’

Thatwould probably also make interrogation less effectively. It wouldmake it take longer and it would lower the quality of any informationthe interrogators got. But you could easily play that as inexperienceas an interrogator or incompetence or just relying on powers to makeup for poor technique.

AndI think this would be much more likely to get somethingthen active attempts to intimidate or frighten the captive character.

Thelast two questions are uh- a little confusing for me.

Ifthe character is tortured then he wouldhave long lasting psychological ‘damage’ as you put it. That’swhat torture does. If you want to avoid that don’t use torture inyour story.

Ifyou don’tuse torture in the story, if the character isn’t terrorised or hurtduring his kidnapping, he couldstill realistically be traumatised and have long term psychologicalproblems. He could also realistically not be traumatised and not havelong term psychological problems. Either is possible.

Iwould say having trauma symptoms seems more likely. Things likeanxiety, hypervigilance, and memory problems all seem incrediblylikely to me. PTSD is possible. So are panic attacks and addiction.

I’dsuggest picking at least one long term symptom for the character tograpple with.

Personally?I’d go with a memory problem for this story because I think thatcould fit very well with the themes that seem to be present in theinterrogation itself. The stress on this character’s memory (andthe accuracy of them), the idea of a telepath standing there judginghis thoughts and memories, the way characters could assume memoryproblems are a product of telepathy rather than a common traumasymptom-

Ithink it’s a symptom set you could use to add to the story in a lotof ways. I’vegot a masterpost on memory problems here that you can take a look at.

Ifyou choose to have the character tortured during the story then I’dsuggest picking 3-5 symptoms fromthe list over here.Which you would have to show for the rest of the story. The characterwould be dealing with these for the rest of his life.

Whichleaves the last question-

Yesthat’s possible, but I don’t think it’s particularly likely.

Torturersare not effective interrogators and effective interrogators are nottorturers. Bluntly a torturer would not have the patience or sense tohold off on abuse long enough to get accurate information out of acharacter.

Ifyou’re thinking about a larger groupof villains then I think you could plausibly have one character getall the information they need out of the captive and then pass himoff to another holding facility where torture occurs.

Butsomething like that would have wider implications for the bad guysand their group. Torturers have a toxic effect on the organisationsthey’re part off. They ignore orders. They’re terrible for moral.They actively destroy an organisation’s ability to gather accurateinformation.

Basicallya lot of your scenario boils down to this: what is more important forthe story, that the character is severely traumatised or that the badguys get accurate information from him?

Realisticallyboth are unlikely and trying to blend the two often results intorture apologia. So prioritise. Think about what’s more importantand what the story can survive without.

Ifyou’re worried about adding threat and drama to your scenariobelieve me you have enough as it stands without torture and withoutovert threats from the villains. They have control of thischaracter’s lifewhen they have him captive. That is a terrifying situation with a lotof dramatic potential. Don’t be afraid to use that.

Ihope this helps. :)

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#tw torture #tw kidnapping #fantasy ask #writing victims #writing effective investigation #torture and memory #torture as interrogation #effective interrogation #Anonymous

[talabib]

How To Be On Top Of Your Game At Work

Most of us can probably picture one of those great days at work when we’re at the top of our game: we’re bubbling over with ideas, can handle any problem and even get along with that one especially surly coworker. Of course, not every day can be as smooth sailing as this. But if you follow the advice offered here, you can turn almost every day into at least a good day; you’ll feel good about yourself because you get things done, focus without too much effort and bravely withstand the urge to procrastinate. You will learn

How to get a lot done in the day,

Manage workload and beat procrastination,

Surround yourself with pleasant relationship

Address decision systematically by using thinking routines,

Give great presentations and

Deal with challenging situation at woork

If you feel concerned that you have completely wasted your day or you are not getting a lot done before the day runs out , here are a few tips to help minimize that feeling

First, clearly set out your intentions for each day and try to eliminate any activities you know tend to distract you from achieving them. Instead of turning to distracting habits like checking news websites whenever you feel overwhelmed with your daily tasks, increase productivity by identifying what those distracting habits are for you and put extra focus on avoiding them. Keep your sights on the day’s goals

Second, frame your goals in positive language. Goals framed positively can also be called approach goals – that is, goals that state the positive outcome you’re hoping to achieve, such as “make my product irresistible.” The contrast to this would be an avoidance goal, like “stop losing customers.” There is research to back up the benefits of this strategy: a 1997 study found that students using approach goals improved their performance, whereas the opposite was true for those using avoidance goals.

Third, make a when-then plan to prepare for obstacles that could come between you and your goals. For example, say you decided to start a consulting firm and you are naturally not an early bird. Since you don’t have a boss expecting you at work at nine in the morning, you can be tempted to sleep in and while away the morning.  You can commit to a when-then plan to overcome this obstacle: when I wake up, first I’ll take a short walk, then I’ll check my e-mails. This little rule will help you get out of bed and face each day in a good mood.

Another way to be on game at work is to manage overload, beat procrastination and stay focused by making a plan and scheduling enough breaks. Crammed calendars and full to-do lists at work make it easy to feel overwhelmed. Let’s look at some of the ways to deal with these situations.

First, the physical: lean back on a couch, exercise ball or even your office chair for a few minutes and focus on your breath until you’ve calmed down enough to think clearly. Then, to order your chaos into manageable chunks, make a plan and decide where to start. First, write down everything you need to do in the next few days or weeks. Mark the most important tasks and take one step toward completing that task today, no matter how small it is.

Let’s take Crystal as a case study. Crystal was an attorney who wanted to run for a post in her company, which self-elects rather than appoints managers. However, the task of “start election prep” always felt too daunting. The enormity of those three words gave her anxiety, so she kept avoiding the task and procrastinating. What eventually worked for her was splitting the task into smaller steps, breaking it down into something like, “have a talk with my boss about my idea.” Once she’d split up the big task into small, manageable steps, “election prep” became much less overwhelming and she was able to tackle it.

Another essential prerequisite for focus is scheduling breaks at least every hour and a half. Focus inevitably wavers throughout the day and needs to be recharged periodically. Over the course of 90 minutes, our brains go from highly focused to scatterbrained, which is why we end up doodling or playing on our phone if we’re forced to concentrate for longer. When famed psychologist K. Anders Ericsson studied people at the top of their fields, like world-class violinists, athletes and chess players, he found that they also practiced in blocks of 90 minutes or less, with short breaks in between.

Surround yourself with pleasant relationships by building rapport with the people you meet and resolving tensions directly. Getting along with the people around you is essential for getting the best out of your day. Here’s how to kick-start those relationships!

First, build rapport when you interact with someone at work. Don’t just awkwardly slip by them in the office kitchen when you’re both reaching for a mug – engage them and ask open questions like, “how are you spending your holidays?”

Find commonalities or shared areas of interest by showing a genuine curiosity in your coworkers, as well any other people you meet. Creating this sense of connection is important because it creates a culture of trust and collaboration in the workplace. Highlighting shared interests is also important when looking for work, as employers are more likely to hire people they share similarities with.

Let’s take a look at a study conducted by sociologist Lauren Rivera from Northwestern University, where she asked recruiting managers about their most recent hires. She found that 74 percent admitted feeling some similarities with their new hires, whether it was based on a shared interest in sports, technology or something else. This indicates that managers prefer to hire and be around people with whom they share commonalities.

To have a great day, it’s also important to address and resolve any tensions with coworkers, as they can really sap your enthusiasm. The best way to go about this is to openly explain to your coworker what you’re feeling and why in a polite but firm manner.

For example, let’s take Jeff, a real estate advisor who was annoyed with a client who kept promising him specific assignments but rarely followed through with them when the time came. Instead of reproaching his client or bottling up his frustration, Jeff was up-front and communicated how he felt: “I’m confused because I received positive feedback from you, but didn’t get the project. Would you mind telling me what you were dissatisfied with and what I can do better next time?” This approach helped his client understand him without feeling attacked and getting defensive, and they ended up having an in-depth discussion about what the client was looking for.

Another way to be top on top of your game at work is to address decisions systematically by using thinking routines and breaking down complex problems into an issue tree.The next time you feel overwhelmed because you are struggling to make difficult decisions, try the following simple steps:

First, develop a versatile routine that helps you reach sound decisions in all manner of situations. The routine might be as simple as asking yourself a set of questions like, “what are the alternatives and potential disadvantages to this choice?” or “what would the worst-case scenario be, and what are some of my options if that happens?”

Peggy is an advertising art director who developed a routine that works for her. Her trick is to always invite colleagues to give her feedback about her current work. While she doesn’t agree with them all the time, their input often helps her catch potential problems in her campaigns, thereby improving her decisions. Remember, good advice can come from anyone, not just experts. Peggy once received valuable feedback from someone in customer support about an air freshener campaign. The support representative had on-the-ground knowledge suggesting that customers didn’t understand the visuals of the campaign, and Peggy was able to adjust accordingly.

Another tip for optimizing your problem-solving skills is to break down a complex problem with an issue tree. Start by jotting down the key issue – let’s say your business is doing poorly, which might make your central question, “how can I increase profits?” That question is now the trunk of the tree. Now, write down the two possible options that form the branches of the tree, in this case increasing revenues or reducing costs. Then, think of concrete actions that would help you realize those options; for instance, you could dismiss employees to decrease costs, or launch a new product to increase revenue. These suggestions make up more branches of the issue tree, until eventually you’ll have systematically mapped out many potential next actions you can take to tackle your problem.

A bad presentation can throw you off your game. To get your message across, involve your audience and make your presentation memorable. Have you ever been giving a presentation, only to look around and see that most of the audience wasn’t actually listening? To avoid this in the future, just follow these simple techniques.

First, remember that your audience will be much more receptive if you involve them and make them feel as if they’re choosing what to learn.

For instance, Emma organizes training programs covering new pedagogical techniques for teachers. In the past, it was hard to get any of the participants to deviate from their own, entrenched methods, thus making it difficult to get anyone to actively listen during the training session. So Emma tried a new type of meeting, in which ten teachers each presented their own methods at different stations around the table. Participants were then free to walk around and stop by the stations they were interested in. Emma’s strategy gave the teachers more agency in terms of what to learn, which in turn made them much more enthusiastic about the training.

Second, make your presentation interesting by incorporating videos or posters that will keep the audience on their toes. Make sure to utilize a whiteboard if there is one; people will internalize much more of your message if you draw and write in real time, rather than just using prepared slides. An experiment at Stanford University showed that people will recall nine percent more of a chart’s content if they see how it comes together as it is drawn, rather than just seeing the completed chart on a slide.

And throughout it all, make sure to use short and simple sentences in a fluid manner to hold your audience’s attention and emphasize why your audience should care about what you’re telling them.

How you deal with challenging situations at work will determine how great your day will be. It’s Monday, you’re tired and longing for the weekend already – but you’ve got a meeting with a dissatisfied customer first thing in the morning. What do you do?

First, keep your cool by taking some distance from the situation. Imagine it’s not you but a friend who has to face the client. What advice would you give? You can take this even further by talking to yourself in the second person to gain a more distant perspective.

Next, think of a past situation you handled well and ask yourself what resources helped you then. Maybe it was your wit, fearlessness or supportive friends, all of which can probably help you through the present situation, too!

Let’s take Jacquie, a college PR officer, as an example. Once, an earthquake cut off her college’s power and water supplies. But instead of seeing it as a disaster, Jacqui spun the earthquake into a positive PR story for the school. The school still managed to hold a graduation ceremony amidst destroyed buildings, a story that the national media covered as a success story of perseverance and community – thanks in large part to Jacqui’s attitude and skills in dealing with the media.Thinking back to how she managed that situation continues to make Jacquie feel like she can handle anything.

Turning to positive thoughts in challenging times is another surefire way to inject some energy and cheer into your day. Try out these tricks next time you’re in a tough situation. Start by identifying the mental, physical and temporal patterns and triggers that affect the ebb and flow of your energy. Maybe, for example, you always feel lethargic after lunch. Then, find ways to boost your energy during the energy lows. Maybe it’s getting up to make a cup of tea, having a five-minute chat with a coworker or taking a walk around the block.

You can even try a gratitude exercise: think of three things that happened to you today that you’re grateful for, even if it’s just a small thing like remembering your umbrella – or forgetting it, and running like a little kid through the rain! Even small thoughts like this can make a big difference.

#great day #top of your game

[filii-tevinter]

Okay, so while we're at it, let's all take a more in-depth look at the Tevene cast-system. Because it's actually pretty darn complex, considering how one-dimensional it has been depicted in canon, so far.

In fact, you can easily reference real existing ancient Empires, that clearly were used as reference for the Tevinter Empire. But in order to even realize that, you have to actually go and meticulously analyze the various codex-entries and canon-mentions of the empire, as well, as every Tevene character, we meet in-game. Because Bioware was doing their usual half-assing, after creating the world-state and simplified the whole thing to: "Humans rich. Elves slaves. Also bloodmagic. Durrhurr!"

As I mentioned before, it is politically impossible for an Empire as formerly huge and actually ancient (it is the oldest still standing country in Thedas, after all) to have such a simple political basis. If one race is forever doomed to be enslaved in a political system, then said race will be more likely focusing on forming a powerful opposition, which inevitably leads to revolution. Such a system would not survive, as long, as the Tevinter Empire has. Ferelden's rebellion against Orlais is a shining example to that and there it wasn't even a specific race, that was being oppressed, but simply everyone of a certain nationality. And that alone was enough to kick Orlais' butt.

Now as we know Tevinter has been inspired by ancient Empires. The Roman and the Ottoman Empire, are the ones that spring to my mind immediately, when I think of Tevinter. The resemblances are rather striking. Since I'm sick and my brain is 60% snot, right now. I will not attempt to point them all out, because I would probably just end up getting things mixed up. You can do your own research folks. You should. Trust me. It's fun. History is fun.

Instead, I want to focus this meta-post on the specific cast-system Bioware has created for the Tevinter Empire. Because unlike what we get told in the game, it is not just elves are slaves, mages are nobility, everyone else are normal citizens. It is far more complex and it's complexity is actually the key to how it managed to survive for so long, without any major political reformation.

Let's start with slaves in general. First off, it is nowhere said, that you get born into the class of slaves, but only that you can be sold into slavery. Now this is indeed important.

Because in ancient Rome for example, you had two ways, how one could become a slave. Either they were sold into slavery, due to a debt for example. In that case, their children were still technically free, although, they would likely end up being sold into slavery too, to further pay of the debt. But the point is, in this case slavery is not being inherited. The other case is, when you are the child of war-prisoners. War-prisoners were brought to the Empire as slaves already and all their off-springs would inherit that trait, unless one of them gets freed.

SO back to Tevinter. Now, I'm not saying slavery cannot be inherited in Tevinter, all I'm saying is, we don't have any canon-evidence, that it is an inheritable trait. Another point, that supports that case is actually Krem's fate. Krem's father sold himself and his wife into slavery, but according to lore slaves are not allowed to join the military, yet Krem did. Krem only kept his assigned gender a secret, not his family. Therefore it is to be considered canon, that Krem never was a slave, even as his father was.

Now slaves can be freed again, either before a judge in presence of their master, or through their master's last will. But then, they still are not considered common citizens. They are Liberati, which is a sort of slave sub-category. They have more rights, can own land and property, but are not allowed to join the military, or any form of governance.

With one exception: If they possess magical talents. Liberati are allowed to join the Circle of Magi, or even become someone's apprentice. Now here it becomes mushy and we have to switch back to real life Empires, because Bioware left this part rather vague and probably, purposefully ambiguous.

Technically Liberati even as apprentices, or in a Circle of Magi cannot join any form of governance, but it is also canon, that the Circle of Magi is a sort of political platform for everyone in Tevinter. Those with magical talent will use the Circle of Magi to form political connections, and also to assert oneself among others. Now if a Liberati has enough magical talent to be outstanding amongst others, as well as enough political cunning to not get pushed to the political sidelines in the Circle, they can actually rise past that class. All they need, is to attract the interest of another higher-ranking mage and become their protege, or - better even - their fiancée.

And this is just one possible scenario about how a Liberati could raise beyond the ranks of slavery. It really all comes down to their skill both in politics and magic. And this is actually a very clever move by the Tevene government. Because as long, as there's a chance to make it out of slavery and up into the higher ranks, slaves will more likely focus on seizing that chance, than on forming revolutionary groups and trying to overthrow the system. By sowing jealousy and ambition amongst the lowest of the low, the upperclass assures that everybody will be too busy to think about revolution.

Now let's climb the ladder a little and look at the Tevene middle class, the people, who are not slaves, yet not nobility: The Soporati. This class consists mainly (not exclusively though) of humans and every common citizen, who's not a mage, is considered Soporati, unless born into a mage-family. Soporati are under great pressure, throughout their lives. Because the risk of falling into slavery is high and the chance of rising up, pretty low. The only way a Soporati-family can rise up, is by having a mage-baby born to them. (Now let's think back on the Liberati, who would gain citizenship, simply by marrying into a Soporati-family already. So how many marriages do you think, happen between a Soporati and a Liberati from a Circle of Magi?) There's not much more of interest to say on the Soporati. They are not allowed entrance in any form of governance and can only rise to the clerical rank of father or mother.

After the Soporati come the Laetans. A Soporati family, that had the luck to get a mage-baby is allowed entrance into this class simply by default of there being magic in their family. Laetans can actually rise politically and Archon Tidarion was in fact the first Laetan to become Archon. (That instance caused a civil war lasting 7 years, but that's besides the point right now.) One third of all Archon's came from the rank of Laetans. Laetans could be considered "lesser nobility" or "upstart nobility". They are either Soporati-families, who had recently magic discovered in their family, or mage-families with no ties to the higher class nobility. Aside from that, Laetans have three seats in the Magisterium.

The last class, are the Altus. (-Gasp- not the Magister?!) Note, that Magister is not a class, but a political profession. Just like congressman is not a social class either. A magister can be either Laetan, or Altus, although the majority of them is Altus. Altus are the "old nobility". They are believed to be descendant of the dreamers, who could speak to the Old Gods in the Fade. When you're born into one of those families, you are already upper-class, even if you are born without magic. On the flip-side an Altus-family with a depleting number of mage-babies is in some political trouble, since a talent for magic is a requirement for entrance into any political governance, including the magisterium. Which makes it quite likely, that many altus-families occasionally let promising Laetan-mages marry into their clan to replenish the influx of magic into their bloodline.

As you can see, if you actually bothered reading through this monster, of a meta-post, it is not as simple, as the game make it be. And there is many reasons, for why there must be a possibility for slaves, even elven slaves to rise up, in order to maintain the political order and prevent any successful uprising. I would have written more on the influence of the Roman and Ottoman Empire into the construction of this complex political system, but as I said: I'm sick and my brain is mush. So this must do for now. Thanks for reading. 8D

#Tevinter #meta #okay to reblog #long post

[mymusicalitylove]

Dive

In my feels. Trying to be productive and direct them in a positive way.

The other night I feel like I broke because the latest disappointment (that I created for myself), came to the surface. I took a hot shower, cried and told myself to let it all go. Hardest I have cried in a long time because I replayed a lot of scenarios about this endless loop I seem to be stuck in: I give up on this notion called ‘love’, discard it and begin to focus elsewhere.. then along comes another unsuspecting fool that says all the right things to get me twitterpated and caught up in the fantasies my brain creates. I get sucked in and think, ok, maybe this will go somewhere.. just to BAM! Slam my face into a wall of unending disappointment. Wash, rinse, repeat. It feels as though this scene has been on replay about eleventeen times over these last few years, and all I can say is: How. Fucking. Stupid (Who is the REAL fool? Ya, that’s me).

I went to bed after my therapeutic shower and slept ok, but kept waking up. I finally decided to get up and be productive, and had Ed Sheeran’s “Dive” stuck in my head. Hadn’t heard it in a while so I’m not sure where it came from, but it stayed with me the entire morning. 

My entries on this thing almost always relate to music and how the lyrics relate to my life. I’ve saved some drafts with songs I’ve wanted to write about later. When I realized I wasn’t going back to sleep, I decided to write; I checked my drafts and whoa.. “Dive” was already on there.. I don’t even remember saving it. 

(Despite there being a few too many typos for my taste in this post above, I feel it, Rising Woman!)

September 2019 is the most notable time I can remember starting the self-destructive cycle. My boss left at work and I decided I needed to do something to change my life up. I put all my energy into planning my amazing sabbatical in Italy. Everything was set up; all the wheels were in motion for me to see Europe, do me selfishly, and not worry about shit! In my mind I put together plans of sightseeing, concerts, volunteering, gymming, wandering, and getting lost in the country I fell in love with a year prior.

In October on a night out with friends, I met an EMT at a bar. He worked his bullshit game, and did it well because he was intriguing. He made me feel good over a two hour convo that honestly felt like a first date, and convinced me to give him the digits (which I don’t freely give to strangers). Too bad the man never called. Womp, womp.

After a taste of those vibes I craved that “feeling” again. I tried a dating app again for a couple months. In a comical turn of events, said dating app matched me with this same EMT! This presented me with the opportunity to call his ass out, and incidentally feel validated as to why it actually was better he never called. Talked to a few other guys on the app, but really can only report on a couple stupid funny anecdotes of just how sad it is that guys don’t know how to talk to women anymore. At least this time I wasn’t taking it seriously and only did it for shits and giggles. Decided okay, just keep focusing on plans for Italy, stacking that paper, and looking forward to the new year (*point and laugh at the idiot who had no idea what 2020 had in store!*). 

In January a boy (with a girlfriend) who I’d had innocent flirtation vibes with for a while tells me he’s now single. I had already placed him in the “not gonna happen” folder, and his confession obviously began a different wave of chemistry and banter for months. We had a conversation about the reality of where I am/what I’m ready for, and where he’s at/what he’s not ready for. Oh, and in the midst of all this, Covid hits and I have to make the heartbreaking decision to cancel Italy and deal with the feels of defeat that followed. And let’s also add all the sadness of being stuck with only me, myself and my thoughts in quarantine.

One last convo in April with “previously not gonna happen” sealed the deal of this endless string of flirtation not going anywhere and back in that folder he went. I then decided to give my number to this other guy who had shown interest a while back (but I hadn’t paid him any mind cuz I was stuck on folder guy). New dude didn’t really engage, so I disregarded him again, and worked on rearranging my place, organizing, decorating, spring cleaning and purging. Fast forward to now, it’s June and new dude comes back to work, asks to hang out, we have a great first “date” lasting three hours, and now here I am less than two weeks later wondering what happened. New dude: MIA / Me: WTF?

I truly do not understand why this cycle continues. Each time I feel like I get closer to something real, just to be lead into feeling like a fucking moron. I can’t stand it anymore, and it honestly makes me want to go back to being guarded and jaded, but I know that’s not the right way to find anyone. So I open up and allow some level of vulnerability, even though I’m scared af cuz of how hard I fell five years ago with the man I thought I was going to marry.

This is gonna hurt, but I blame myself first

'Cause I ignored the truth

Drunk off that love, my head up

There's no forgetting you

You've awoken me, but you're choking me

I was so obsessed

It was a matter of time

But you are the fire, I'm gasoline

Gave you all of me, and now honestly, I got nothing left

'Cause I loved you dangerously

More than the air that I breathe

Knew we would crash at the speed that we were going

Didn't care if the explosion ruined me

Baby, I loved you dangerously

I learned a lot from that short but impactful relationship. It was the love of my life and I went into it with complete abandon. I loved him dangerously. Things felt “right” and escalated quickly, which lead to our demise because we did not explore all the things before going full force into a relationship. We mutually thought this was “it” and talked about the future we would have. It completely broke me to end things, and upon rebuilding the pieces of me, I promised myself I would never rush into things like that again. 

I know that I do it to myself, but I guess I don’t know how else to do it. If I’m closed off and guarded, I’m not welcoming anything in; if I’m open and vulnerable, I start to dream in fantasyland with expectations just to be let down and end up inevitably disappointed. I clearly don’t know how to find the balance that works and it has become maddening beyond words. 

I need to find that balance, and it would be a lot easier to find in non-Covid times where I could have something else to focus my precious energy on, rather than wanting to find “my person”.

Maybe I came on too strong

Maybe I waited too long

Maybe I played my cards wrong

Oh, just a little bit wrong

Baby I apologize for it

I could fall or I could fly here in your aeroplane

And I could live, I could die

Hanging on the words you say

And I've been known to give my all

And jumping in harder than ten thousand rocks on the lake

So don't call me baby unless you mean it

Don't tell me you need me if you don't believe it

So let me know the truth

Before I dive right into you

And I've been known to give my all

And lie awake, everyday don't know how much I can take

I could fall, or I could fly here in your aeroplane

And I could live, I could die

Hanging on the words you say

And I've been known to give my all

Sitting back, looking at every mess that I made

This new dude made me really feel this. I tend to fall, and fall hard because I am so ready to give my heart to someone. But I need to put on the brakes and slow my damn roll. 

I can’t keep getting my hopes up. That is ultimately my problem. I tell myself to not have expectations and I do well to begin with, then have an amazing connection and am fed (what is obviously) bullshit and fall for it like a moron. I have grown thicker skin this time around, so at least there’s that.. but hopefully this has been my last lesson. 

I have found a new diversion for my focus and just put in my first offer for a new home! This will be my new passion project and will take up my thoughts and energies for a while, so as freaked tfo as I am, I am equally excited for this new venture. If it’s meant to be, it will be, and if it’s not, my new little home is out there somewhere not ready for me yet. 

06/19/2020 - 11:51 PM

[creationshortstory]

Part 4- The Deeper Text

A quick recap. I am writing a short story, and have decided to try to write some of my thoughts of how I go about writing whilst creating it.

What’s New?

A more polished draft is done, and you can see it below this post. Overall this is one of those stories that quickly turned into something that felt bigger than I had originally anticipated. As a result, I am satisfied with the end result though I do feel as though it could be improved in some places. One thing I think could be improved is the antagonist name. I think Mother is too generic, and is, at the moment, seems to be a go to name when it comes to stories where a group by some kind of massive brain like entity which this very much falls into the category of. At the same time, I have no idea what else to call it, and it would also require a title change. Any suggestions, don’t be shy to voice them.

This is one of the main reasons I do post my stories, because I feel like they need opinions from other people in order to improve. So, don’t be shy if you think something is wrong, and could be improved.

However, now it is time to talk about a certain element that makes people groan. What is the deeper message of the text.

The bad rep from school

I’m sure all of you remember this scenario from school, or still do if you are that young. The English teacher brings out a bunch of books, and you swiftly realise that you are going to have to write an essay interpreting the deeper message that the book is trying to bring across. Yes, it is time to talk about the deeper messages of the text, and one very interesting thing that they don’t tell you during this period of school. The writer often didn’t write the story with the intention of making those points your writing about in the essay. I know this sounds weird especially when during said essay you had write how it author intent form the start, but it’s true trust me as I will now explain with the one I just wrote.

When I started Mother’s Town my only goal was to write a story about a town being mind-controlled by an alien plant that was growing underneath it. This was the case until half way through I threw in a metaphor that made me realise oh that’s what it’s saying. The metaphor in question is the one where I compare the town to a fictional television set where everything is perfect, and as such feels like it is taking place in a bizarre land that is fake. Doing some more thought it’s reflecting my view on the worlds obsession with living the perfect life. Everybody wants to create the illusion that their life is perfect especially on social media. However, it doesn’t take much to knock that mask off, and reveal the true rotten core that lies beneath. Mother is even a root. The root of the problem. Verity is somebody new experiencing this strange habit for the first time. An outsider’s perspective if you will. That’s my read though yours might be different, and I don’t care. Everyone is different, and as such what you will get out of it is up to you not me.

Once this was realised I decided that the best course of action was to run with this revelation rather than avoid it. Let’s call it a happy accident.

Now I know that there is the old saying that art, and politics should not mix. They’re right, but there is something that all writers need to take into account.

How we view society is going to work its way in regardless

When creating anything that can be classified as having artistic merit it has always come from an individual who has their own unique view of the world. As such the thing they create is going to in some way reflect this individual’s view of the world whether they like it to or not. A story might start of about good guys fighting evil villains who have to come to blow up the earth. On the surface there is nothing wrong until you look closer and you see that the good characters all exhibit certain traits in a positive light, and the bad guys exhibit other traits that the story shows as being negative qualities. Then you realise that the author, whether they want to or not, is telling you what they consider a good person, and what they consider to be a bad person. This is another reason why I don’t like binary good vs binary evil.

What does this mean for writing?

You may be a little confused when I mentioned the statement of politics and art not mixing, and yet I just said it is inevitable. Well here’s the thing with writing you should never start with the intent of writing something political start a basic idea, and let it come in by itself. If it’s a story that you like then the message that enters the story should be one that you agree with.

Dredging up After Earth again, in that movie they kept bringing up Moby Dick throughout the story in a way that brought the entire plot screeching to halt. This is something you shouldn’t do because as said it brings the plot to a standstill. This is something the audience should come to themselves, and it ultimately gives the illusion to talking down to your audience. Nobody likes being talked down to.

A good example is, funnily enough, Moby Dick. It’s a story that can be read with many different subtexts. Humanity battling against nature. A cautionary tale against letting revenge, and anger blind you. On the base level it is a story about a man travelling on a whaling ship captained by a crazy man who wants revenge on a white sperm whale, and that’s all it has to be if you want.

You shouldn’t be afraid if a message does appear in your text, and people start to question it. Don’t be like the people who made the video game The Division 2. For those of you who don’t know during the build up the release of Division 2 one of the creators was in an interview where he laughably tried to weasel out of admitting that the story said anything political despite it being about a terrorist takeover of Washington D.C. with you taking on the role of task force member who has to go into the city to retake it establishing the white house as your base of operations.

With that said this ends these posts. The story is done, and I don’t really have anything else to say. However, as said earlier in this post if you have any suggestions for improvement then I graciously welcome it.

All images used are not owned by me. I obtained them from Google Images.

#writing