#golly i should be writing but i just keep drawing instead

[vkelleyart]

Thoughts on fandom: inclusion and engagement.

(Art credit to the kindhearted @penpanoply​!)

There’s been some stuff floating around on Tumblr about strife in the CO/WS fandom, and though I haven’t been explicitly named-dropped on anything public, my DMs have been... active. lol Rather than rehash what’s been said already, I just want to impart a little wisdom and perspective in the hopes it may soothe frayed feelings and offer a way ahead for cultivating a respectful community. As someone who has been an active participant in online fandoms since the mid-’90s, which was the advent of online fandom content creation (shout out to my fellow X-Philes!), and who has also spent a chunk of her professional life managing social media for the federal government and for activist groups, I can promise you it’s all gonna be okay.

Here’s some context for why strife happens and what we can do to create a more inclusive and communicative fandom environment. 

1) It sounds cliché, but fandoms go through growing pains. 

In the case of the Simon Snow fandom, what was once a small and cozy space untouched by cataclysmic events (such as the release of *gasp* a sequel) has grown exponentially in a relatively short amount of time following the release of Wayward Son. Newcomers are eager to find a home in this space at the same time as folks who’ve been here a while may be consciously or unconsciously wary about widening their circle, and It’s important to remember that this is not necessarily an expression of bad behavior on either side but just human psychology doing its thing. 

The byproduct, however, is that tension and stress builds over time from the lack of meaningful communication across the divide, which subsequently fuels misunderstandings. Ironically, the interfaces we use to communicate don’t help with this because any existing communication about the tension happens in tiny vacuums until a trigger goes off and bad feelings go public. 

Way Ahead: These moments of destabilization are opportunities to see where we can be more self aware about how we engage with fandom and the kind of community we want to be. Can you promote, support, or befriend someone trying to gain a foothold? If yes, please do! Each person must reach their own decision about what they can do within the confines of their available energy, health, and time, but a little self awareness goes a long way as long as you’re honest with yourself and others if applicable about what you can contribute. Anyone who judges you for it isn’t worth the strife.

2) In a fandom comprised of vulnerable/marginalized people, it’s more accurate to say that cliques are “bubbles of trust.”

This one's important. Just by nature of the source material, the CO/WS fandom includes fans with a wide array of backgrounds and experiences, especially when it comes to those who identify with the characters’ queerness, mental illness, and/or trauma. I really believe––based on individual conversations/group chats––that the difficult lived experiences that so many of our fandom peers have endured has produced one of the most open, aware, and accepting fandoms I’ve had the pleasure of participating in. Our vulnerability is, in a real way, our strength.

That said, a community of survivors also has the side effect of cultivating small circles of engagement that I call “bubbles of trust.” When you’re a survivor of abuse, marginalization, mental illness, fill-in-the-blank, it’s often quite hard to risk casting a wide net and expanding your circle to include new faces––which can subsequently be internalized by equally sensitive and vulnerable newcomers as rejection, judgement, or inadequacy.

Way Ahead: First of all, there may indeed be gatekeeping and exclusion going on. But before internalizing someone’s cagey behavior as gatekeeping or purposely exclusionary, ask yourself if you have all the information. Many people are private (I include myself in this assessment) because life has regrettably taught them to be this way, and so they may insulate themselves to a small group of people who have earned their trust. Some people might also triggered by certain content (case in point: smut triggers my anxiety) so they don’t engage with it. Others might have something in their pasts that define how they handle certain subjects (for example, a person of color should not be tone policed for getting angry when confronted with a racialized microagression, however accidental it was). You just don’t know what you don’t know. 

The solution here is to regularly check your privilege and ask questions in a private space if you sense you’re being treated unfairly by someone. If you go public with your grievances in hopes of mobilizing the mob, you may accidentally find yourself stepping into the role of the aggressor instead of the victim.

3) Social Media is not built to help you get engagement. It’s built to help itself make money off of you.

Repeat after me: Hits/likes are not a measurable indicator of talent or worth. There are ridiculously talented folks on Tumblr and elsewhere who, for whatever reason, haven’t had their viral moment, and it’s not their fault. Loads of factors come into play where things like likes, reblogs, and comments are concerned, among them being posting frequency, subject matter, the time of day, the day of the week, the week of the month, the month of the year, the current administration, the stock exchange, the concentration of middle class users, who just won the Superbowl, a madman trying to steal an election and undermine the democratic process, a PANDEMIC, do you get where I’m going with this?? lol

At the end of the day, my humble successes have been helped along by good luck, good timing, high profile signal boosters, and an absurd amount of work. (This is why I try to signal boost new work whenever I get a chance over at @vkelleyshares.) 

So while you cannot control Tumblr’s interface, trends at large, or your fellow users, here’s what you can do to ensure you give your work the best possible chance of exposure.

Have an image ready to go with your post. Tumblr is a visual platform (no matter what it says about being good for text). Not good with images? Set up a Canva.com account and get access to free graphic software with a gazillion templates to create whatever attractive image you want to attach to your post.

Keep the outward facing text brief and easy on the eyes. Too long and eyes will glaze over. Put excess text behind a “read more.”

You may think you’re being cute when you do this, but don’t put yourself down in your posts. (Don’t put yourself down in general, of course.) Doing so acts as engagement repellant. If you don’t believe in your work, no one else will.

Related: Be your best cheerleader. Confidence is a magnet, and if you don’t have it, go ahead and fake it until you start to convince yourself you are worth the buzz. So promote yourself! You have gifts that only you can impart. Use that knowledge to fuel everything you do from your art/fiction writing to your outreach with other content creators, and by golly, if someone’s done it already, acknowledge that contribution and then tell the world that this is YOUR unique take on it.

Treat your fellow fandom creators as human beings, not art/fiction/content boosting machines. I cannot count how many times I’ve had folks slide into my DMs with offers of friendship only to disappear once they realize I’m not available to draw a picture for their fic. It hurts because it’s manipulative and it makes me want to hole up and not signal boost anyone. Creators who truly support each other will not give off a transactional vibe. I want to help you reach more people, but not if that’s all I’m good for in your eyes. 

The long and short of it: Lead with compassion, do your best with the opportunities at  your disposal, and remember that fandom belongs to everyone in it. ❤️

What saves a fandom made of sensitive and vulnerable souls from imploding when it goes through growing pains is radical compassion from those who can offer it. Begin with the assumption that your fellow fandomers are not trying to harm you, and wade into the water knowing that your insight into the lives of your peers is limited by default and you may need to temper your words or actions accordingly. If you’re a content creator, save compassion for yourself as well, as there are indeed challenges to gaining an audience, and lack of engagement does not mean you lack talent or skill. Be your best advocate, and if you have the bandwidth to lift up a fellow creator and make a new friend, please, go ahead do it! 

And finally, fandom belongs to everyone, and no one has a monopoly on characters, tropes, or themes. Create and consume what you love (with respect for your more vulnerable peers), and bask in the variety, my friends!

That’s all I’ve got in my head at the moment, although I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting. Thanks so much to @penpanoply for letting me use her art for this and to everyone else, hang in there and try not to judge each other too harshly. These are unprecedented times, and most of us are doing our best in circumstances that are pushing us to our limits. 

As always, if you have questions or want to sound off on anything, shoot me a message or an ask, or ping me on Discord. It might take me a second to respond (thanks, Covid) but I’ll get to it! Love, love, and more love to all.

#fandom stuff

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About "What If...Captain Carter was the First Avenger" from Marvel Studios' What If...

Salutations, random people on the internet who certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

Back when Marvel Studios announced the new lineup of films and shows, I was admittingly underwhelmed. Nothing we've seen so far has been poorly written, far from it, but during the announcement, nothing really popped out at me as worth getting excited for. That is, except for one series: Marvel Studios' What If... An animated series that changes the canon of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, all through the simple question. The question being, "What if this happened instead of that."

From the get-go, I was sold on this idea. I'm a sucker for hypothetical scenarios, thinking up all the ways of how some of my favorite stories in fiction could be drastically different thanks to one tiny change. Some might call that "Fanfiction the Series," and while you're not wrong, I fail to see how that's a criticism. Because fanfiction can be fun...just as long as you ignore the sick freaks, sure, but it still can be fun! So whether Marvel Studio's What If... is fanfiction or not, it still didn't change how excited I was to watch it. Was it all worth the hype? Well, to answer that question requires spoilers, so keep that in mind as we dive deep into Marvel's most ambitious project yet.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

The Watcher: Gonna get the generals out of the way before I talk about what I specifically like about this episode. Ok? Ok.

Now, using the Watcher as the narrator for this series is just perfect. What If... already has a similar energy to The Twilight Zone: An anthology series that takes viewers to new and mysterious realities all through the guidance of an omniscient narrator. And using the Watcher as that type of narrator might just be the second-best choice...number one would be Stan Lee, obviously, but...he's dead now. May he rest in peace.

I haven't read that many comics, so there's not much that I know about the Watcher's character aside from a ten-second Google search. But something tells me that a character described as a celestial being that observes and records the events surrounding the galaxy sounds like the exact type of omniscience to guide us through the unknown. All added with Jeffrey Wright's performance, who really does convey a character that sounds like he's as old as time and wise beyond his years. Plus, it's pretty cool that such a seemingly odd character now technically plays a major role in the MCU canon. Comics are weird, and if the Watcher proves anything, it's better to embrace that weirdness than deny it.

The Animation: Looks like someone watched Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse.

That really is the feeling I got when watching this. What If... doesn't look as good as Spiderverse (Nothing can be as good as Spiderverse), but the idea is still there as it combines primarily CGI animation with a few hand-drawn elements. It makes certain scenes just pop and, at times, even makes specific shots look like they're straight from panels in a comic book. Besides, while Spiderverse still looks better, that doesn't mean the animation isn't phenomenal in What If... The scenery looks gorgeous, the CGI models moderately match their live-action counterparts, the expressions are fantastic, and movements are as smooth as butter. There was definitely some money that went into this series to make it look as good as it did, and my eyeballs were more than grateful because of it. Especially when it comes to--

The Action: Holy s**t, was it a good thing that this series was animated!

The MCU has had its fair share of great fight scenes in the past, but it always felt restricted to what the big superhero fights could be due to everything needing to look "realistic." That all changes in What If... Because now that this series is animated, we can finally chuck realism out the window and allow these characters to be as epic as they were in the comics. The movements are swift, the blows look like they hurt, and best of all, you actually get to see characters fighting each other! There are no random cuts to hide the stunt doubles or weird camera angles to avoid audiences seeing how ugly the CGIed replacements are. We get to see all of the action with zero restraint, thanks to the fact that animation is limitless and allows writers to get away with literally anything. And shows like this make me wonder, "Why the hell isn't the MCU animated?"

Peggy as Captain Carter: It's here that we get into the specifics, and by golly, do I love me some Peggy Carter making a return. And what a return she made!

Seeing Peggy kick Nazi ass as Captain Carter is as awesome as it sounds as she gives a new definition of a "Strong, independent woman." She took s**t from no one and was more than willing to destroy anybody who said differently. It's a ton of fun for fans (the ones who aren't sexist, at least) and even fun for Peggy as well now that she gets a chance to wreck shop. However, that in itself could cause problems. If you watched Agent Carter (a great show, by the way), then you'll know that Peggy doesn't act as...somewhat meatheaded as she does here. As she said it herself, she's "usually more covert than this." And she is, as she was pretty much the first superspy in the MCU, who's impressive through how she effortlessly infiltrates her way to winning the day with diminutive requirements for fighting. So stripping that away gets rid of a core part of what makes her character so interesting. Although, in fairness, you could blame the fact that the reason she's acting like this is that the super-soldier serum is messing with her brain a bit. We've seen through U.S. Agent the reciprocations of the wrong person taking the serum, and while Peggy is far from the worst pick, there are hints of why Steve Rodgers was the best choice. Still, even though it's not the same Peggy Carter, that doesn't mean Captain Carter is a poor addition to the hero roster in the MCU. She's cool in all the right ways, even though they're drastically different from what made her compelling, to begin with.

Howard Stark: Another character I'm more than happy to see again!

Howard didn't leave that much of a grand of an impression in Captain America: The First Avenger, but in Agent Carter (Seriously, great show), he was a blast. You can just tell he was Tony Stark's father through all the ways he fast-talks in and out of problems and brilliantly comes up with solutions thanks to being tech-savvy. The main difference between Howard and Tony, however, is that Howard prefers to stay on the sidelines, where Tony learned to be more proactive. You get a sense of that in this episode. Because even though he goes to save the day, you can tell that he would rather be anywhere else. And, as a bonus, Howard's just funny. Probably not up there as one of the funniest characters in the franchise (Paul Rudd's Ant-Man reigns supreme), but he still cracks me up more times than not. Howard may be nothing more than a side character, but he'll always win me over no matter how small of a role he has.

Steve Rodgers in the Hydra Stomper: Don't mind me. Just admiring the fact that despite being crippled and skinny, Steve Rodgers still finds a way to fight the good fight, which is who Steve is to me. One of the best things about The First Avenger is that it fully understands the hero that is Captain America. Serum or not, he will do all he can to do the right thing and won't give up despite how many times others tell him he should. So if Steve's going to fly around in a suped-up Iron Man suit that's appropriately named "The Hydra Stomper," then Steve'll f**king soar. Because he is a gosh dang superhero, no matter what name he takes at the end of the day.

Fast-Forwarding Through Events: Some fans might take issues with this. Don't get me wrong, I would love to see all the little changes that Captain Carter makes to the story, but realistically that's not the best choice to make. Let's be honest, there's not that much to show other than what this episode did, and doing a full-on rewrite of Captain America: The First Avenger would have rubbed some fans the wrong way. Besides, from what I can tell, most of the What If... comics are one-shots that very rarely branch out into longer arcs. The primary goal is less to write this large-scale story and more of this self-contained narrative that does what it precisely delivers: Show fans a glimpse of what would happen if this happened instead of that. That's what we were given, and I can't really complain that much. I would have loved to have seen more, but I can learn to be happy with what I got.

Colonel Flynn Taking Credit: This guy is sexist and an idiot, and that's why I hate him...but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't at least chuckle when he said everything was his idea. It's such a scumbag move that I couldn't help but find the humor in it.

(Like, what even was that scene where Peggy was pissed at Steve kissing a girl. THEY WEREN'T EVEN DATING !)nd Steve falling in love inThe First Avenger, which certainly wasn't helped by how they had these dumbass misunderstandings of each thinking the other was dating someone else. Here, they at least get to interact, confiding in one another about their insecurities and offer support when needed. And while it may be a little rushed, I'm more willing to believe their romance in under thirty minutes than I did in over two hours. It could have been better, but it also could have been much, much worse.

(Like, what even was that scene where Peggy was pissed at Steve kissing a girl. THEY WEREN'T EVEN DATING AT THE TIME!)

“I won’t tell you anything.”/”He told me everything.”: That's the Peggy Carter I know and love! Added with a solid joke, too.

Steve’s Pratfall: It's nice to know that no matter what universe we see, Marvel is still funny.

Peggy’s Sacrifice: Much like Peggy and Steve's romance, I buy Peggy's sacrifice way more than Steve's. Several fans already pointed out how it makes no sense for Steve to crash the plane into the icy waters when it seemed like he had enough control to land it or could have easily jumped out after aiming for the crash landing. Here, there's a more legitimate reason why Peggy sacrifices herself. The monster was undefeatable, and the only way to stop it was to push it back through the portal. Peggy, being the only one strong enough to do so at the moment, was the only option, and there was no way where she didn't end up going through with the monster. Even her return makes more sense, as I think her being lost to time and space sounds more believable than Steve surviving being frozen in ice. Something no mortal man should live through. Peggy's sacrifice proves that while the MCU can't change its cannon past, the writers learn from their mistakes and make something better.

WHAT I DISLIKED

The Reasoning Behind Peggy Becoming Captain Carter: So, the idea that one small change can greatly alter the story we knew is a great one, and it's one of the main reasons why I was excited about this series...but how does Peggy staying in the room cause the Hydra agent to detonate the bomb early? I understand the ripples that come from the Butterfly Effect, but I feel like that's too big of a leap to reason how Peggy ends up taking the serum instead.

Colonel Flynn: How is it possible that this guy is somehow even more of a pain in the ass than the general he replaced? At least Chester Phillips had the decency to respect Agent Carter!

Red Skull is Still on the Dull Side: Red Skull isn't an awful villain, but he wasn't really a great one. It's the same here, as he's just as forgettable and wooden an episode of television as he was in a full-length movie. But at least he had a cooler death this time.

Sebastian Stan is Not a Great Voice Actor: He's not awful, but his talent really doesn't shine in this regard. Some people think that being an actor and a voice actor is the same thing, but it's not always the case. Through live-action, actors are given a chance to express emotion through their expressions, movement, and voice. With voice acting, actors still have to convey emotions, but strictly through their voice. Meaning that actors like Sebastian Stan are limited to what they're used to and can stumble a bit when trying to perform in a field of acting they're unfamiliar with. You can tell he was trying his best, but this type of thing can take far more practice for others to perfect.

“Whew. Thanks. You almost ripped my arm off.”: ...hhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHA! HA HA! Ah...oh man...I, uh...I felt the internal bleeding with that one. Wow. Just...wow.

Bucky Leaving After Steve “Died”: Ok, now that's the biggest bout of bulls**t I've ever heard. BUCKY WOULD BE WITH STEVE 'TILL THE END OF THE LINE AND WOULD NOT HAVE LEFT THAT QUICKLY!

...This episode did Bucky dirty, didn't it?

IN CONCLUSION

I'd say that "What If...Captain Carter was the First Avenger" is an A-. It's still a solid start of what I can already tell will be a great series, but some elements could have used some polishing out. I loved it, but it wasn't as bloody brilliant as it could have been.

(And I meant it: WATCH AGENT CARTER! It's pleasantly surprising!)

#marvel cinematic universe #mcu reviews #marvel studios what if #peggy carter #captain carter #steve rodgers #hydra stomper #howard stark #bucky barnes #what i thought about #what if reviews

[marielambs-corner]

Under the Studios Ground, a BATIM x OtGW Crossover

Wanted to expand a little on this AU idea, that’ll be mostly like the events of the show placed in the studio with the crew as the cast in different situations. And here we have...

Henry as Wirt

Bendy as Greg 

An Alice Angel doll as Beatrice 

Sammy as the Woodsman 

The Ink Demon as The Beast 

Brute Boris as that beasty dog that’d later turn into a regular, original Boris 

The Lost Ones in Bendyland costumes as the Pottsfield people 

Bertrum as Enoch 

Level P’s lunch room as The Black Lamp tavern, with JDS crew being named by their roles (hosted by Lacie as The Mechanic)  

Wally!Boris as Fred the Horse 

Tom!Boris as Quincy Endicott 

Allison Angel as Margueritte Gray 

The Buttcher Gang as the frogs in the boat 

Malice Angel as Adelaide 

A Bendy Cartoon, all black and white, as the dream Greg/Bendy would have 

Susie as The Queen of Clouds

Adaptation and Plot Points!

First of all, the show’s dialogues would be mostly adapted according to how the events in the crossover develops.

The studio is like in game on its singular places, but would be all mashed up according, again, to how the events develops (Like, Pottsfield = Bendyland, and that’s way in the beginning, but later we go to Level P, and then we fuse In-Game Boris’ hideout with Tom and Allison’s hideout to make for all that “I don’t remember this place to be so big/This place is so big I don’t even recognize my own home” sort of thing, inserting as well the extended rooms from BATDS as a way to connect both hideouts).

I’ve given it a lot of thought, but the episodes Schooltown Follies and The Ringing of the Bell don’t seem to quite fit in here, sorry :/

This means No Ms. Langtree, no Jimmy Brown (even if Sammy and Susie fits well but I already asigned their roles), no Lorna and no Auntie Whispers.

Same goes for the frog AKA Jason Funderburger. Sorry ú-ù

Sammy would be carrying a projector that he’d need to lubricate with fresh thick ink to keep it running.

Where’s Norman~?

Joey is The Lie...

The Flashback episode AKA Into the Unknown would be Henry getting the letter and pondering if going or not, encouraged by Linda, even if that meant quite a long trip and who knows what Joey had in store, specially when he invites him to go to the studio and he gets in...

Instead of turning people into Edelwood trees to get the Oil, they start to turn into Searchers agonizingly slowly (a regular Searcher would be a Swollen Searcher with no more Thick Ink).

You Do realize the dark tone it will take with the roles, right? Maybe I should go chapter by chapter seeing how it works...

The Music Department. 

Hard Times at Bendyland

Songs of the Projector

Survivors’ Love

Lullaby in the Ink River

Toons in the Studio

Into the Studio

The Studio

There are parts where I just can’t figure by just writing, so maybe there’d be some drawings involved (actually I already got a third of the intro song).

One of the things that hooked me up with the idea of this crossover was the mental image of how the end, near the final battle against The Beast, would develop with these guys. So if you wan’t to tear your hearts out, I invite you to check under the cut~!

Gonna leave it as a dialogue only. If you are familiar with the scene, it’ll just resonate with you ^-^~

Henry: Bendy? Bendy!

Alice!Doll: I thought it was here...

Henry: A mask...

Alice!Doll: A tape.

Henry: It looks like Sammy’s stuff...

Alice!Doll: What happened here...?

Henry: Bendy! Oh, no. Bendy, are you--?

Bendy: ...Henry?

Henry: Oh, Bendy...!

Bendy: Henry, I did it...! I defeated the Ink Demon... *Coughs a lump of ink*

Alice!Doll: Oh,Golly! He’s also melting inside!

Bendy: I’m sorry, Henry...

Henry: No, Bendy. It’s my fault we ended up here. All’s been my fault! I shouldn’t have ditched you, that wasn’t right--!

Bendy: No, Henry. I mean... Joey...

Henry and Alice!Doll: What?

Bendy: He wasn’t here. He hasn’t been here since long ago. I- I lied to you...! And I can’t erase that now!

Henry: Bendy, no. That doesn’t matter--!

Bendy: It DOES Matter! *Coughs* There’s nothing you should be doing here. You shoulda go home.

Henry: No. I won’t leave you in here! I said I would take you out with me!

Bendy: Heh! That’s so sweet...! Lies are always sweet...

Henry: Bendy? BENDY!!

And one more thing. When I was plotting out this idea initially a year ago, I asked @/lnicol1990, writer of some Toon!Henry AU stories, if I could use their extended version of The Dancing Demon song (originally the intro for JT Music’s song Can’t Be Erased), and that’d replace Adelaide’s song with Bendy happily dancing and chirping while sining it in their journey. (Thanks again for allowing me. I know I haven’t done much ever since I told you about the idea but still means a lot you allowed me ;3;)

Alright! Thanks for bearing with me and my rants! I hope this would push me to actually do something for it ^^u

And again, if you are curious, want to know more about this, dig deeper than what I showed, you are totally welcome to ask!

*End of Lamb’s Rant!*

#BATIM #Bendy and the Ink Machine #OtGW #Over the Garden Wall #BATIM AU #Bendy AU #Bendy #Bendy the Dancing Demon #Alice Angel #Henry Stein #The Ink Demon #Crossover

[uas-fics]

Title: Soulmate Highs Rating: T Summary: Everyone has a soulmate tell. As Stan finds out one day, his is that whatever his soulmates write on their skin appears on his as well. He should be overjoyed, but instead, he’s just nervous his soulmates will find him boring… Ships: Stunny (Stan x Butters x Kenny) Other: For @polyshipprompts Polyship Week, day 2, Soulmate AU.  

Oof thought I had an extra day to work on this but nope, I was wrong. >>, Sorry if it seems rushed or lacks the deeper nuisance and trope deconstruction of my other soulmate works. This one is mostly just for an excuse to write this ship.

—-

“Well,” Kyle took a breath, “that’s a dick alright.”

Stan couldn’t keep his eyes off the crude drawing of a penis across the underside of his arm. One moment, he had nothing there, then the next a line appeared. As if by magic, the rest of the appendage slowly grew across his skin.

“I can’t believe it,” Stan muttered. He’d heard stories of this, but never thought he would experience it. This happened to a second cousin’s hairstylist or a friend of a friend of an aunt’s stepmother. People you didn't ever meet. People who were lucky and excentric.  This didn’t happen to normal people like Stan.

“Me neither.” Kyle prodded the drawing with his finger. “You’ve really got your soulmate’s writing on your arm.”

Stan slapped his best friend’s hand away. “They’re not writing to me. I bet they don’t even know it happened.”

Stan covered the drawing, his mind buzzing. Everyone had some way to find their soulmates. Those were the soulmate tells. Some people swapped eye colors. Some were color blind until they touched their soulmate. Some shared fingerprints.

Stan had always assumed he would be someone who shared a birthmark with his soulmate, and, given how small and awkwardly placed his birthmark was on the back of his upper thigh, he would never have a chance to find his soulmate anyway.

Having his soulmate’s drawing just appear threw that theory out the window.

Only one in a few thousand had a soulmate tell like this! A direct line of communication right on his skin!

“I really, really can’t believe this.” Stan felt a goofy smile spread across his face. “I never thought I’d get this lucky.”

“Yeah,” Kyle crossed his legs on the carpet, “you’ve got a really good lot in your love life, Stan. I’m happy for you.”

Stan winced at Kyle’s tone. Kyle wasn’t upset or mad or even jealous, but behind his happiness for Stan, there was a tinge of bitterness.

On Kyle’s wrists were the words ‘thank you, please, come again’. They were either his soulmate’s first words to him or their last. Kyle had long ago adopted a pessimistic outlook that they had to be the first and last, and he would walk out of whatever store they worked at never see his soulmate again.

“Hey, Kyle, I’m sorry,” Stan started, but Kyle held up his hand.

“Dude, it’s fine. Are you going to reply?” Kyle changed the topic back to Stan’s soulmate.

Stan nodded, craning his head around to find a pen or marker. Spotting one under his bed, he moved to his side and reached out his fingers to roll it close enough to grab it.

He spun the blue sharpie in his fingers, thinking what to say. Maybe the direct approach was best. Something like 'Hello? Is this my soulmate?“ Or maybe he could draw a dick back. Give his soulmate the first impression that he was a chill dude.

Before Stan could decide, teal blue words scrawled across his arm under the dick drawing.

"Wow! Did you draw this? Are you my soulmate?” the words said, with an arrow pointing to the drawing and a wide smiling face.

Stan frowned, twisting his arm around. Why would his soulmate reply to their drawing? Unless…

The original purple ink wrote under the teal blue, “I guess I am! If I knew today my arm drawings would reach my soulmate, I would have drawn something more classy than a dick! lol”

“You don’t just have one soulmate, you have two.” Kyle gasped. “Shit, dude. Now you have to reply.”

Stan nodded, uncapping the marker with his teeth. He spat the cap out and held the marker over his arm, just under purple’s response.

“Wowie, golly, and here I thought I’d never have a soulmate. I wasn’t born with weird eyes or marks or nothing. Where you?” Teal ended their question with an oversized question mark, right where Stan was about to write.

“I gotta mole in the shape of Louisiana on the bottom of my foot, but that’s it.” Purple drew a rough outline of the Pelican State.

“I’ve never been to Louisiana. I don’t think I’ve ever been off Hawaii.”

Stan sucked in a breath. “He’s from Hawaii?” He exclaimed as Purple wrote, “You’re from HAWAII?!?!?!”

“Yup!” Teal added a stick figure surfing on a wave.

Instead of replying directly, Purple drew sunglasses on the stick figure then added a speech bubble proclaiming, “Cool!”

Stan grinned at their antics. He was sure he’d like Purple’s personality, and Teal must have so many stories from living in a tropical paradise.

“So, are you going to eavesdrop or tell them?” Kyle asked, leaning back. He snapped a photo with his phone. A second later, Stan’s phone lit up with a SnapChat notification. Stan capped the marker and picked up his phone, already knowing what the notification was about.

“Local Love Struck Doofus To Scared to Talk To Soulmates. More At 10,” the caption on the picture read.

Kyle smirked as Stan flipped him the bird.

“I’ll talk to them, I just…I need to find the right time to jump into the conversation.” Stan twisted his arm to see the continuing conversation his soulmates were having.

“So where do YOU live?” Teal asked.

“I live in the Colorado mountains,” Purple added a winter hat to the surfing figure then a few snowflakes.

“Kyle, he lives in Colorado!” Stan scrambled to sit on his knees and shoved his arm in Kyle’s face. “In the mountains, like you do! Maybe you know him?”

“There are a lot of mountain towns,” Kyle fell back to keep Stan’s arm from his vision, “and besides, if he lives in South Park, too, he’ll definitely know about you. Everyone in South Park and Middle Park knows about 'Tegrity Farms. It’s where most of the town gets its weed.”

He waved his hand around as if clearing pot smoke from the room. “I guess that works out well for you, then. Having one live in the same state.”

Stan’s stomach fell to his knees. He hadn’t thought of that. What would his soulmates think that he lived on a cannabis farm? There is no way they wouldn’t think less of him for knowing how to make pot butter.

For probably the millionth time, Stan cursed his dad for moving them out of the mountains ten years ago when he was five to start 'living naturally and in one with nature.’

Stan tossed the marker onto his bed before flopping onto his stomach on the floor.

He held out his arm and stared at the conversation.

“Do you snowboard?! Sled? I’ve never seen snow before!” Teal wrote.

“Sledding yes, but not snowboarding. I know how to ski a little.” Purple added a bear surfing alongside the stick figure. “It’s pretty boring here. I like it like that, though.”

Teal started to write something, but Purple wrote over him with another question.

“What’s your name? We should probably know lol.”

“My name is Leopold, but everyone calls me Butters–it’s a long story.”

So Teal Ink was Leopold–Butters. It would take a while for Stan to get used to calling someone 'Butters,’ but he was sure he could do it if he had to.

“Butters? Like what’s on toast?”

The last few letters in 'toast’ curved up so they didn’t overlap a part of the earlier conversation.

“Brb, gonna wash my arm off,” Purple said in the middle of the penis drawing.

“Me too,” Teal added under.

“Well, this seems as good of break in the conversation as any,” Kyle commented, tracing the words on his wrist with his fingers. “Wait for them to wash it off, then say you’re here too.”

Stan chewed his lip. “Yeah, maybe…”

Hearing the nervous tone in his voice, Kyle rolled his eyes. He stood and brushed his pants off.

“Where are you going?” Stan demanded to know as Kyle strolled towards the door. “ You can’t leave me while this is going on.”

“I’m coming right back.” Kyle pulled open the door. “You know my mom doesn’t let me eat at your house. Do you want me to pick you up anything while I’m out?”

Stan sighed. In retrospect, he should be glad he was able to keep up a friendship with Kyle at all after he moved away, but all the rules and regulations Mrs. Broflovski put on Kyle when he came down to visit were such pains in the ass.

“Yeah, there is a new gas station if you turn left and head East instead of back up towards South Park. They have that macha Monster I like and awesome chicken veggie pizza.” Stan pushed himself up to pick up his wallet from his desk. He took out a ten and handed it to Kyle.

Kyle nodded, pocketing the money. “Ok, macha monster, chicken veggie pizza. Got it. Don’t get another tattoo while I’m on a food run.” He smirked as Stan slapped a hand over his hip.

“That happened one time and you won’t let me live it down,” Stan muttered, tracing the poorly done paw print tattoo through his shirt. Some older kids from Stan’s school had invited them to a party, where Stan had been talked into being a canvas for an eleventh-grade amateur tattoo artist.

Kyle had tried to talk him out of it, but the artist was so pretty, Stan couldn’t say no and waited until Kyle left to grab something to eat back upstairs before allowing her to make the paw outline on his upper hip.

“Nope.”

As Kyle headed down the hall and the steps, Stan stuck his head out of his room to shout, “And get me a Twix, too.”

“Are you going to stress eat all night over this?” Kyle yelled back, the top of his head disappearing down the stairs.

“I just fucking might!”

“Stanley, language!” His mom shouted from downstairs.

After calling down an apology, Stan went back to his room and sat at his desk. He eyed the cup of pens, markers, and pencils. It would only take one mark for his worrying to end. If they were his soulmates, then what his family did for a living shouldn’t bother them too much, right?

Stan’s hand hovered over an uncapped ballpoint pen sitting straight up in the cup.  His arm was clear of ink now. This was his chance.

Just as his fingers brushed the pen, Butters replied.

“That’s better and yes my nickname is Butters like what goes on toast ha-ha!”

“That’s awesome dude,” Purple replied a moment later. “My name’s Kenny btw.”

Stan dropped his arm to the desktop, heaving a sigh.

He couldn’t do it.

Resting his cheek on the cool wood of the desk, Stan watched his soulmates get to know more about each other, unaware of their third partner’s eyes on their words.

Butters and Kenny went on to fill up his arm several times with chit chat and doodles. Butters was quite the artist and covered his wrist with vines and flowers twice. Kenny was funny as hell and made Stan have to cover his mouth to keep quiet before his parents came barging in.

They seemed like amazing soulmates.

After erasing their arm conversations again, Butters asked, “Could you do me a favor Kenny?”

“Sure, what?” Kenny wrote back.

“I have a tattoo. I got it to piss off my parents last year. Do you have it now? Or does it only count if I get another?”

Stan’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t even thought about if old ink still counted. He pulled up his shirt and stared at the faded green-black paw print.

“You have a tat? That’s sick dude! What is it? Where is it? I’ve always wanted one but couldn’t afford to go to a good place.”

“Thank you! I designed it myself. It’s on my left shoulder. Check yours!”

Heart pounding in his ears, Stan slowly rolled up his sleeve. Just before his shoulder, he stopped, shaking. Forcing courage through his body, he rolled it up completely to see a T-like shape in a box with the word 'Chaos’ written under it. Each of the word’s letters was in a different font style. Unlike Stan’s simple outline, this tattoo had shading that made the weird box shape look like metal.

“Oh, no…” Stan whimpered. He spun around and dove onto his bed where he left his phone. He didn’t bother to try texting. Pressing Kyle’s number, he held the phone up to his ear.

Three rings and Kyle picked up. “Yes, Stan?”

“Butters has a tattoo–and now I have one too. Another one. They’ll know I’m here when they see my tattoo.” Stan started to pace his room. “What do I do?”

“Just tell them! Who cares what they’re talking about. Just write on yourself that you’re their other soulmate and live happily ever after or whatever.” Kyle’s voice sounded irritated. “It’s not hard, Stan.”

“You don’t get it, Kyle! My family lives on a cannibis farm. I’m not funny or artistic like they are. I’m just…you know a normal joe. Nothing special.” Stan threw his arm out and brushed the back of his hand across his pen cup, knocking the whole thing over.

Pens and markers scattered on the floor, several rolling under the desk.

Stan swore, running his hand through his hair.

“Dude, I am not letting you have perfect access to meeting your soulmates and throwing it away because you’re a coward. Don’t make me take matters into my own hands, Stanley,” Kyle threatened.

“I am not a coward–”

The sound of coins and cash hitting a glass counter came through the phone.

“I have to help my love-struck, doofus best friend talk to his soulmates. Keep the change,” Kyle told someone. To Stan, he continued, “you have until I’ve driven back to 'Tridgey Farm to do it yourself, or I will sit on you and write it myself.”

Stan shuddered. He’d known Kyle since they were both in diapers. He could and would do what he threatened. No doubt about that. he would pin him down and write bluntly something like “This is your other soulmate’s best friend. He is too much of a wuss to talk to you two. His name is Stan.” right across his arm in black ink.

Stan slumped down in his chair, burying his face in his arms.

“Why can’t I have a colorblind soulmate tell or anything else? This isn’t fair…” Stan whined.

“Don’t know what to tell you. At least you know you’ll be able to meet yours and not walk out on them forever…” Kyle muttered bitterly. “Just–oh, shoot. That’s the clerk coming to my car. Well, you just got yourself another few minutes.”

He hung up before Stan could speak.

Stan repeatedly dropped his forehead against the desk. What was he going to do? He couldn’t let Kyle get here and do it. That would make him look like a total loser!

Deciding that reading Butters and Kenny’s conversation might calm him down, he rolled his head towards his arm.

A mark of blue ink ran down the back of his hand from his knuckles to just past his wrist.

“Did you do that? Are you ok?” Kenny asked, drawing an arrow to the blue streak.

“No, I didn’t draw that.” Butters drew a frowny face.

“Is there someone else here? Helloooooooo?”

Stan watched the final o and question mark appear on his skin. He heaved a sigh and sat up. He reached for a pen, only to remember he knocked the pen cup from his desk a moment before.

Shaking his head, he bent over and picked up the first pen he found.

“Ollie ollie oxen free!” Butters wrote. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Swallowing down his nerves, Stan pressed the pen to his skin.

“Sorry.” He wrote then added, “I’m Stan.”

“What?! So, there are three of us here? Triple soulmates?!” Butters then drew a big heart. “I woke up today thinking I had none and before noon I got three? How lucky!”

“Noon?” Stan asked himself, then remember Hawaii was a few hours behind.

“Cool, man. How long have you been watching?” Kenny asked.

Stan considered lying that he had just woke up, but decided against it. Best foot forward didn’t involve lies.

“An hour? I saw the dick. I was,” Stan paused, “nervous.”

“Wow. That’s cute.”

He could almost hear the tease in Kenny’s words as if he had spoken them, but somehow he didn’t mind it. Instead, he wondered what they really sounded like, or even what they looked like. Kenny seemed like the kind of guy to have a lopsided smile. Butters probably spoke with his hands, Stan guessed.

The whole conversation he’d read, they had given vague descriptions of themselves. Both of them were blonds with blue eyes and his age, fifteen, but nothing else.

“It’s ok! I was nervous, too,” Butters made a smiley face, “but with three of us, will we have room on our arms anymore?”

“If we write really tiny…” Kenny let his handwriting grow smaller and smaller until the n and y were barely readable.

Stan snorted a laugh. In his tiniest handwriting, he asked, “Does anyone have a Discord or something?”

“I do! It’s ProfChaos172, my hamster is my pfp.” Butters announced with a picture of a hamster in a square box.

“I do but could you wait a few minutes? Don’t have wifi in the house,” Kenny admitted. “Gimme ten minutes to get to the library.”

“Wait, first, there is something I have to say if you even want to really include me in your lives.” Stan steeled himself. “Dad moved us to a pot farm when I was 5. Other than that I’m boring compared to you two…Idk if you want a boring soulmate like me.”

“A POT FARM?! HOLY SHIT!” Kenny drew a big, purple cannabis leaf. “Dude, that’s not boring.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to have a boring farm life no matter what farm you’re on,” Butters announced.

A weight lifted off Stan’s shoulders. With a smile on his lips, he placed his fingertips over the top of his soulmates’ last words. Knowing they wouldn’t think he was weird or boring because of his farm life, Stan wrote down his discord name and told Kenny he and Butters would wait ten minutes before attempting to contact each other.

Once Kenny wished them both goodbye, Stan bent down to turn on his computer. He tapped his fingers impatiently against the desk as the discord logo spun around. Updates, of course. It’ll take forever for all of them to download.

Leaning back, Stan took out his phone and pulled up Kyle’s contact. If Kyle was driving, should he just text him? Calling would be faster, but would Kyle even pick up? He only got his license a month ago and was a very careful driver.

Just as Stan went to open a text message, his phone rang. Kyle was calling him.

“Perfect,”  Stan mumbled before answering, “Hey, Kyle, good news. You don’t have to hold me down. I did it.”

“Oh, yeah, cool for you, Stan. Good job,” Kyle replied absentmindedly.

“Kyle? You sound distracted?” Stan strained his ears. He couldn’t hear any engine rumbling or radio or the wind. Hadn’t Kyle left yet?

Someone asked a question, and Kyle covered the phone to answer.

“Kyle?” Stan shouted into the phone as discord finally loaded. He already had a request from ProfChaos172 waiting. His profile picture was a cute cream-colored hamster. It even had a little cape on. Stan made a note to send a picture of his dog Sparky right away. Did Kenny have any pets? That topic would be a great starting off point for all three of them to talk, and it wouldn’t be hard to steer the conversation that way, either.

“Stan, you are not going to believe what happened at the gas station.”

“You got the final punch in your free pizza card,” Stan guessed as he pulled up his file folder of Sparky pictures.

“No, better,” Kyle laughed. “Do you know Jimmy Valmer?”

“Yeah. He’s in my class. Funny guy.”

“He works at the gas station you sent me to, and do you know what his Soulmate tell is? It’s like mine, words on his wrist.” Kyle continued, excitement growing in his voice. “You know what the words are?” He didn’t give Stan time to answer. “'I have to help my love-struck, doofus best friend talk to his soulmates. Keep the change’.”

Stan furrowed his brow. “No. No way. Isn’t that what you said while you were on the phone a bit ago?”

“Uh-huh! And Jimmy told me 'Thank you, please come again’! Do you know what that means? We’re soulmates!” Kyle shouted. “I found my soulmate. Life is great!”  Stan could almost see Kyle jumping to his feet as he announced his joy to the gas station parking lot.

Stan held the phone from his ear, but couldn’t help but smile. After years of moping and being bitter about it, Kyle ended up finding his soulmate after all. Stan would have to rub the irony of it in Kyle’s face sometime.

“Aren’t we just a lucky pair of boys tonight.” Stan chortled to himself. “Are you coming back here?”

“Nah, I’m staying in the parking lot to talk with Jimmy until I have to head back up the mountain. I called to tell you that so you didn’t worry,” Kyle explained. “I’ll pay you back for your pizza next time I see you.”

“No, it’s fine. Consider it a gift for urging me to talk to Kenny and Butters.” Stan smiled fondly at the computer screen. Only a couple more minutes now until Kenny showed up.

“Thanks, man,” Kyle replied. “I think I’m going to go now. Have fun chatting with your soulmates.”

“Have fun chatting with yours.” Stan hung up as a request to join a private group chat with ProfChaos174 and 6969SexyBeastMcCormick6969 appeared on his screen.

Without missing a beat, Stan moved his mouse and accepted the invite.

#stan marsh #kenny mccormick #butters stock #stunny #stan x kenny x butters #one-shot #polyshipweek #kyle broflovski

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Mads!! I was wondering if you had some thoughts on Bi!Wyatt because you write him so well and he is, uh, at least 50000% more interesting than I Am Wyatt Logan And I Am Definitely Straight!Wyatt. I JUST HAVE A LOT OF BI!WYATT FEELS

Oh. Oh you wanna know about Bi!Wyatt. Oh ho ho. This. This is gonna be fun.

AKA the Why Wyatt is Bi Meta That I Probably Should’ve Written a Year Ago But Didn’t Because I’m Lazy. BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS. THIS IS A FUCKING MANIFESTO.

This will be in two parts. The first will be my arguing why I think Wyatt is bi (pointing out examples that support my argument) and the second will be musing on why taking a character like Wyatt and making him bi is a more creative and interesting writing choice and gives him depth and complexity as a character.

PROLOGUE

Okay before we get started, people are probably wondering why I’m putting so much goddamn effort into writing about the possible sexuality of a character that managed to royally piss us all off for two thirds of an entire season.

Two reasons:

The first is that as I’ve mentioned countless times previously, Wyatt Logan isn’t a malicious person. He’s not a villain. He’s had genuinely good and loving moments. His toxic behavior actually makes him a wonderful example to people watching because it shows how otherwise good men can exhibit this behavior, and in my fiction I love to give him a chance to overcome that behavior and be the good and loving person that he can be and was meant to be. @brassmama once said I should start tagging all my fic “The Emotional Redemption of Wyatt Logan” and frankly, she’s right. That’s what I set out to do. Because to me, just hating on Wyatt and wanting to set him on fire is fucking boring.

also the amount of hate some of you show is concerning me are you guys okay?

Why hate when you can stretch your writing skills and give a character a thorough and well-earned redemption arc? Because shocking news, a lot of the toxic people we meet in our lives are not one-dimensional villains that we can dismiss. It’s not our job to fix them but by golly don’t you hope that they grow past that and become better people? I know I do.

Second, my anger at Wyatt isn’t actually mostly at Wyatt. It’s at the writers. It’s at the shitty boring writers who decided to just hand him his happy ending instead of taking the golden opportunity before them to give him a nice deep and complex redemption arc. It’s at the writers who decided to make him a toxic asshole in the first place instead of taking all his potential in season one and putting it to damn good use and making him a character who was interesting for all the right reasons instead of making him one who was interesting because he pissed us off. Two strikes means you’re out in this particular game, writers.

So. I didn’t come onto this goddamn blue hellsite in order to adopt Wyatt motherfucking Logan of all characters but since I am his mother now I am going to make him interesting and I am going to give him his emotional redemption and one of the best ways to do that is to make him bi so without further ado, here is a) why I think he’s bi and b) why that matters.

PART THE FIRST: LA PREUVE!!!

Before we get into this, I suggest that you quickly read my meta on why I see Wyatt Logan as submissive rather than dominant. It touches on some moments I’ll be mentioning here and helps to further round out how I see his character.

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? With our favorite British spy, Ian Fleming, in 1x04. This is Wyatt’s reaction when he learns that it’s Fleming they’re dealing with:

“NOT NOW BONER!”

“Oookay that’s hot, he’s hot.”

“Oh oh oh he’s funny and cute aaaahhh”

“LUCY LUCY LUCY DID YOU SEE OHMYGOD DID YOU SEE WHO THAT IS AAAAHHH!!!!” *puppy eyes*

What’s important to note here isn’t just Wyatt’s reaction, but Lucy’s. Lucy is looking at Wyatt with a bit of fond exasperation–she’s saying “seriously?” Rufus has a similar reaction a moment later (although it was too quick for a screengrab, dammit). It’s like they’re annoyed, in a gentle friend way, by Wyatt’s behavior.

Note that Lucy’s geeking out and hero worship is never greeted with suspicion or fond annoyance by Rufus, Wyatt, and later on Flynn. Lucy’s hero worship and knowledge of historical characters is considered one of her strengths, because it allows her to get close to them. So why are Lucy and Rufus reacting this way when Wyatt hero worships someone?

Maybe because it’s not hero worship but, rather, a crush. Lucy and Rufus’s reactions much better fit friends dealing with their friend and the object of his affection.

We see this again in 2x2 with Wendell Scott. Scott makes what can only be described as a ‘sexy entrance’, throwing a man out of his tent and striding out while rock music plays, the camera panning up his body. *fans self* Oh hello sailor.

And the camera goes immediately to Wyatt who has THIS expression on his face right before saying breathlessly, “that’s…”

Wyatt then rushes in to defend Scott (who is just… hhnngghhh… sorry I need a moment that man is a Lot…) and shakes Scott’s hand with this look on his face:

If this isn’t the definition of heart eyes I don’t know what is.

When Scott compliments Wyatt, Wyatt blushes and looks away, pleased and embarrassed. Wyatt then spends the entire episode gooey eyed over Scott, and in a telling moment, tells Scott about his abusive father–private and intimate information that not even Lucy, Wyatt’s official love interest, knows about. It would make far more sense for Wyatt to tell Lucy about all this since she and Rufus are clearly wondering why Wyatt’s so knowledgeable about cars, and Lucy is Wyatt’s chief confessor at this point. Out of everyone, you’d think he’d be most comfortable telling Lucy about something like this.

But instead, he tells Scott about his father, clearly wanting to connect with Scott and be closer to him. This is something you see people do all the time when they have a crush on someone or are attracted to them: we tell them intimate details about our life in order to grow closer to them, intended to speed up the relationship process and stimulate them to be intimate with us in return (since we want to know everything we can about the people with whom we are infatuated).

Moreover, Wyatt’s reactions to Scott contrast Rufus’s reactions. Rufus also greatly admires Scott, and their growing connection as two black men despite their differences based on the times they live in is central to the emotional plot of the episode. But once again, Lucy and Rufus are basically telling Wyatt to “cool it.” Why Wyatt and not Rufus? Because with Wyatt, they’re not telling him just to calm down, they’re telling him to keep it in his pants.

Another thing to note about Fleming in 1x04 is that Wyatt is envious of his interactions with Lucy. Here’s his reaction when Fleming kisses Lucy’s hand:

🎶HEY JEALOUSYYYYYYY 🎶

Not the best screengrab but he’s trying his damndest not to roll his eyes.

Now, we the audience are probably supposed to make the jump in logic that Wyatt is envious of Fleming i.e. Wyatt is attracted to Lucy. But in the previous episode, 1x03, Wyatt tried to use the telegram system at the Vegas hotel to warn Jess of her death and save her life. He’s still hung up on his dead wife and wants to save her (we see this again in 1x06 when Flynn states outright from the journal that Wyatt is ‘obsessed’ with Jess and bringing her back). At this point in the series, Wyatt is still in love with his wife and wants her back. There’s no reason for him, therefore, to feel possessive of Lucy in any way.

But Fleming is Wyatt’s hero, not Lucy’s. So if Wyatt is attracted to Fleming, his envy makes sense. He’s envious of Lucy for getting all of Fleming’s flirtation and attention.

However, conversely we see that Wyatt is uncomfortable around other men who might show him interest. In 1x16 at the gay club, we see that Wyatt is extremely discomforted and stated that he “feels like a piece of meat.” Wyatt has so far been perfectly comfortable with LGBT+ people such as Denise, and then he’s comfortable with Ethan Cahill later on, so this doesn’t stem from homophobia but specifically from gay men thinking Wyatt is gay. I admit I’m drawing from personal experience here but in said personal experience, men who react with such discomfort tend to be suppressing a few things themselves–most straight men I know would laugh it off or roll their eyes.

Wyatt, however, is outright skittish. He’s acting like he’s got something to hide. Our first indication is when Lucy says, “This is 1954. You could get arrested for being gay.”

I couldn’t get a good enough shot of Wyatt’s reaction but here’s the tail end of it. Wyatt reacts to this assertion with discomfort and self-consciousness. Why would he do that? It’s not like they’re talking about him… unless Lucy’s reminder that people think being gay isn’t okay has painfully reminded Wyatt of himself. Wyatt grew up in a small town in Texas. I doubt they were all that kind to LGBT+ people there.

This is Wyatt right after a guy checks him out:

Check out his face. Wyatt’s avoiding the guy’s eyes, shifting uncomfortably, looking at the ground. Look at those puppy eyes. He’s scared–but why would he be scared? He’s not going to get jumped or anything. What could he possibly be fearing? The only thing that makes sense is he fears being outed, somehow, by another gay man who might be perceptive enough to metaphorically back him into a corner and force Wyatt to reveal something that he’s not ready to reveal.

Wyatt then tries to blow it off, “he’s looking at me like I’m a piece of meat,” but if we actually look at the onceover the gay guy gives him… it’s not actually that objectifying. The man looks down, then looks Wyatt right in the eyes and smiles at him flirtatiously. There’s no sloooooow drag up Wyatt’s frame, no wink, no outright leering. It’s quite tame compared to how most men look at women. But Wyatt’s response is that he feels like a piece of meat. His discomfort is actually disproportionate to the action that sparks his reaction.

But of course, all of these examples pale in comparison to the main one. The piece de resistance, the most compelling set of reasons yet, I give you… (drumroll, please)…

GARCIA FLYNN

Wyatt’s reactions to Flynn are… extreme. Rufus and Lucy have more reason to dislike Flynn than Wyatt does, and yet Wyatt’s the one storming all over the place and acting like just being around Flynn gives him an allergic reaction. He’s constantly going out of his way to push Flynn away and show Flynn just how much Wyatt hates him. It’s like Wyatt needs to prove to Flynn–and to everyone else–just how much Wyatt dislikes him.

Like this moment in 2x06 when Wyatt demands that Flynn “keep them safe”:

Note that Flynn winks at him:

was this wink scripted Goran Goran hey hey was this wink scripted or did you do it in the moment because Certified Mess™ Flynn can’t resist flirting with Wyatt to knock him off his game Goran inquiring minds need to know GORAN I HAVE QUESTIONS

And Wyatt is caught off-guard by the wink and then has to turn around and collect himself, taking a deep steadying breath:

Or take this moment when Flynn walks into the bunker in 2x03…

…where Wyatt literally stands up and storms out of the room upon Flynn’s entrance, saying to keep Flynn on a leash. Wyatt can’t even handle being in the same room with Flynn, while Lucy and Rufus (y’know, the guy Flynn got shot in 1x15) manage to stay in the room and have much smaller reactions to Flynn.

Note: Flynn definitely checks out Wyatt’s ass as he leaves I’m just saying–

Wyatt might as well be waving a giant red flag going HEY! HEY! I HATE THIS GUY! IN CASE ANY OF YOU THOUGHT I MIGHT LIKE THIS GUY OR EVEN RESPECT HIM THE TINIEST BIT!

We get even more of this in 2x07 when Wyatt gets extremely aggressive and tells Flynn to stay away from Lucy:

…and they were roommates.

(Oh my God they were roommates.)

…I mean do I even need to talk about the homoerotic subtext in these screenshots?

Wyatt, however, has more reason than anyone besides Lucy to connect with Flynn. Not only because they mirror each other, but because Wyatt gets to see a vulnerable and personal side of Flynn that nobody else does. Flynn doesn’t tell Lucy about his family’s murder–he tells Wyatt. Lucy doesn’t see Flynn risk his own existence to save his brother’s life, Wyatt does. Why does Wyatt get to see these moments if not to set the two men up as a parallel, a mirror for one another, and frankly why does he keep insisting Flynn’s an asshole when Wyatt is privy to moments like these:

Quote: “He just saved your son’s life.”

Quote: “Every memory I have of you, you were always sad. I know what it is to lose a child. I didn’t want you to lose your son, not if I could stop it.”

Moments where we clearly see Wyatt realizing Flynn’s not such a bad guy and understanding that Flynn is complex and has layers and weaknesses and powerful, understandable motivation. Why would we a) get to see Wyatt with Flynn in these moments of vulnerability and intimacy but then b) see Wyatt go out of his way to continually push Flynn away more than anyone else?

This has no bearing on the whole bi thing but frankly, this is one of Wyatt’s best looks. 10/10 suit. Pretty pretty puppy.

There’s only one reason: he’s scared of Flynn getting too close to him. And why would he be scared of that? Same reason he’s scared of the gay men in the bar hitting on him: Flynn might see a secret that Wyatt isn’t ready to look at.

1x08 is Flynn at his third lowest point (second lowest being his suicide mission in 1x16 and lowest of all being the end of 1x10/beginning of 1x11 when he kidnaps Lucy). He is ready to erase his own existence to save his brother and make his mother happy. It would make the most sense for Flynn to be seen like this by Lucy, who is the only character who’s made any attempt to understand him or connect with him and is the one he’s making the most effort to reach out to, the one he says he’ll “make a great team” with someday. Not to mention that given the disappearance of Amy from existence, Lucy’s the one most poised to understand what Flynn’s doing: saving a sibling. And Lucy’s the one (prior to 1x16) with a good relationship with her mom, just like Flynn, and would feasibly understand wanting to do anything to make one’s mother smile. Wyatt’s mother is never even mentioned in canon.

But it’s not Lucy who sees him like this and gets this intimate glimpse into Flynn’s past and home life. It’s Wyatt. Wyatt gets to see that–and usually in fiction writing, the character who gets to see that is the romantic interest or the character who at least has some sort of romantic feeling for the person.

Hmmmmmmm.

But before the Space Race, there was an even more prolonged and intimate moment between the two men–the first real interaction they have and one that, for me, cemented Wyatt as a closeted bisexual.

I’ve left this one for last, since it’s our biggest piece of evidence: The Watergate Tape.

AKA Wyatt Logan Has a Brain Glitch, AKA Wyatt Logan Has a Bi Crisis and Discovers a New Kink, AKA In Which Wyatt Logan Realizes He is Kinkier and Gayer Than He Originally Planned

thank you to @extasiswings for the second title

Aaanyway.

So. In this episode, Flynn captures the Time Team and sends Rufus and Lucy to get information for him while he holds Wyatt hostage.

I think I’ve seen this porno.

Flynn then spends his time with Wyatt telling him about Lucy’s journal and how Lucy writes about Jessica Logan’s death–in fact this is how the audience finally finds out how Jess died–and that Wyatt is ‘obsessed’ with Jess’s death and needs to learn to move on. In return to earn Wyatt’s trust, Flynn tells Wyatt how Flynn’s wife and child were murdered by Rittenhouse (again, this is how the audience also learns the story).

It’s a startlingly intimate moment between the two men. Like with Scott, we’d expect to hear the story of Jess’s death through Wyatt talking to Lucy, the person to whom he is closest and the person who at this point he is starting to show sexual attraction towards (I personally think Wyatt started to really be attracted to Lucy in 1x05 after she steadies him at the Alamo during his PTSD attack but anyhow). But instead, we hear it in a painful and intimate exchange between these two.

Pay attention to how Wyatt gets super uncomfortable when Flynn gets close to him, how he looks up at Flynn through his lashes, how very submissive Wyatt is being with his body language.

“Raise my chin even more to look Flynn directly in the eye? Nah. Gonna do a half-head tilt so I’m giving him a sultry side-eye.”

Wyatt also throughout their exchange (before Flynn pushes Wyatt’s buttons and makes him angry) routinely gives Flynn these looks:

Hmm, where have we seen Wyatt have that facial expression? At Fleming, for one, and at Lucy, for another. It’s a flirtatious expression.

There’s no reason for this screencap I just think it’s preeeetty. Mmm. Bask in the pretty.

Actually this screencap does a good job of illustrating the use of this scene to parallel the two men’s lives and storylines and show how they mirror each other.

Also? Look at how Wyatt’s positioned.

He’s not just in a hugely submissive position, he’s in a sexually suggestive position. He’s tied to a chair, and Flynn is looming over him, both of which are submissive. And look at how his legs are spread. His feet aren’t tied, by the way–Wyatt is doing that subconsciously, which puts, ah, certain aspects on display and in another situation it might be manspreading but given the positioning of the rest of his body and the situation he’s in, I sure as hell wouldn’t be manspreading. Manspreading suggests confidence and relaxation. His life is in danger and when we’re in danger whether we like it or not we instinctively go to protect our ‘vulnerable bits’ including, especially for men, our junk. By spreading his legs like this, Wyatt isn’t asserting his relaxation or confidence, he’s displaying himself.

His legs are spread, he’s tied up, he’s looking up at Flynn through his lashes, and he’s wearing a shirt that’s stretching across his chest, drawing attention to it. Now, in day to day reality, we sometimes wear shirts that do this and it doesn’t mean anything. But this is fiction and that means a costumer put that actor in a shirt that they knew would stretch across his chest in that way and therefore make him look even more sexually suggestive and exposed, and they chose to undo his top buttons and expose more of his throat, making him look more vulnerable and suggestive through that as well.

If Wyatt was, say, hanging from his wrists, that would be submissive, but not sexually suggestive. This, however, is both. The way the two sit together, the way Flynn tries to get on his level, the soft lighting, the way the two are wearing a pastel version of each other’s colors (Flynn’s signature color is burgundy and Wyatt is wearing pink, Wyatt’s signature color is blue and Flynn is wearing pastel blue)… if Wyatt was a woman there’d be no doubt that we’re seeing a prelude to a romantic connection here.

Throughout the whole confrontation with Flynn, up until the point where Wyatt’s angry over Flynn bringing up Jess’s death, Wyatt is in a suggestive, submissive position, he’s giving Flynn flirtatious looks, he’s uncomfortable in a not now boner way when Flynn gets too close the same way he was with Fleming. The whole time Wyatt is acting like he’s uncomfortably aroused.

Wyatt then takes great pains to shove away any connection with Flynn. There’s no real attempt to reason with Flynn, or acknowledge their similarities. Instead he denies any connection between them and calls Flynn a sociopath. Why? Because you can’t let any man to whom you’re attracted too close or he might figure out those dark feelings you’re trying to deny and/or hide. Wyatt is practically allergic to Flynn’s overtures or even to Flynn’s presence, as we already covered in 2x03, 2x06, and so on. But he keeps being given reason to think Flynn isn’t such a bad guy (1x06, 1x08). His shoving Flynn away like this only makes sense if Wyatt is scared of what will happen if Flynn gets too close to him, physically or emotionally. And it all starts here with 1x06.

It was this conversation that led me to go hmmmm and then re-examine 1x04 and take a closer look at Wyatt’s behavior in subsequent episodes.

So, to recap:

Wyatt shows in 1x04 that he is capable of being attracted to a man given his behavior around Fleming and Lucy and Rufus’s reaction to Wyatt’s behavior (”ugh get a room buddy,” etc). This is seen yet again in 2x02. In 1x06, Wyatt has a long conversation with Flynn where it is in a vulnerable position emotionally and physically and is furthermore in a sexually suggestive and submissive position in relation to Flynn. In 1x08 he gets an intimate look into Flynn’s psyche and childhood and family. In 1x16, we see Wyatt is uncomfortable in a LGBT+ setting suggesting he is not comfortable with his own sexuality and is scared of being found out. For all of season two, he then goes out of his way to show Flynn and everyone else how much he absolutely hates Flynn, despite having the least reason to do so, since his only reason is vying for Lucy’s affection and Flynn doesn’t become a true threat to that until 2x06. But in 2x03, 2x06, and 2x07, we see Wyatt making sure Flynn knows he’s not wanted.

Conclusion: Wyatt is bi. Wyatt is uncomfortable with being bi and has not accepted that about himself or perhaps even admitted it to himself. Wyatt is attracted to Flynn, as seen in 1x06, and has tentative romantic feelings for him developed in 1x06 and 1x08 based on seeing Flynn in vulnerable moments and learning intimate details about Flynn’s life. Wyatt then pushes Flynn away in order to push his own bisexuality away and avoid confronting it.

Wyatt being attracted to Flynn is the only logical conclusion for Wyatt’s behavior towards Flynn pre-2x06, given that Lucy and Rufus have more reason to dislike Flynn than Wyatt does, and that Flynn is not a true contender for Lucy’s romantic affection until 2x06 (he is, but Wyatt has ZERO reason to know this until 2x06 when Wyatt sees Flynn and Lucy smiling and joking together and walking down the hallway together, presumably towards one of their bedrooms for a private conversation, and Lucy tells Wyatt how great Flynn was on the mission). Wyatt has no reason other than being attracted to Flynn.

Wyatt being bi is the only logical conclusion for his behavior towards Fleming and Scott, given that Lucy and Rufus also have characters they hero worship and are not treated by the other two the way that Wyatt is when he ‘hero worships’ Scott and Fleming. Compare and contrast Wyatt’s behavior towards Scott with Rufus’s behavior towards Scott.

Wyatt being bi is the only logical conclusion for his behavior at the gay club, given that he is otherwise shown to be comfortable with LGBT+ people and seems not only uncomfortable but genuinely afraid, which as a Delta force-trained man who can more than protect himself physically, he has no reason to be–unless he’s hiding his sexuality and is scared of exposure.

The proof is in the pudding. Wyatt is bi. At least, according to my headcanon he is.

We can’t say for sure what the writers intended for Wyatt’s sexuality, and I’m not saying with any of this that they were secretly writing him as bi the whole time. I’m certain that some of them definitely didn’t write him that way *cough* Arika *cough* but either way I would never presume to know about the secret or hidden agendas of the creative team. This isn’t me saying “the writers were going to reveal Wyatt as bi in season three!” or “they secretly wrote Wyatt to be a closeted bisexual!”

Rather, this is me showing you through screenshots and a breakdown of Wyatt’s behavior in the episodes that it is perfectly possible and even logical to conclude that he is bi, and that I can use the actual source text (in this case the episodes) to back up my assertion.

This got annoyingly long so you can read the rest here!

#koortega #wyatt logan #timeless #timeless meta #wyatt meta #Wyatt Logan's Bisexuality Crisis

[wardoftheedgeloaves]

Of Sound Laws, Shortcuts and Sloppiness

I want to expand on Tocharian Irredentism’s last post regarding the decline of historical linguistics (as it’s short, I’ll quote it here in its entirety):

I don’t know what it’s like in the hard sciences, but my impression is that, past a certain point which we may or may not have already reached, the rate of progress in historical linguistics wouldn’t change much with the addition of more manpower because you need a lot of motivation and brainpower to do it right, and to the extent that anyone with those qualities isn’t already there it’s because academia is a raw deal nowadays. Adding more people would probably just result in more ‘work’ like Blevins’s Indo-Vasconic, where many of the proposed IE etymologies are straightforwardly wrong, or premature internal classification, or ~computer-aided statistical methods~. There are only so many people who are going to bother to learn four languages or spend years doing fieldwork on Malaria Mountain, especially since you could instead bung together some computer program and golly would you look at that, Japonic must be related to Ainu and Korean!

A lot of science is sort of fake, and if you add more people who are just going to do fake science, you’re not going to get anywhere – and it’ll be harder for the people who aren’t doing fake science to find each other, keep up with the papers, and so on, since the signal-to-noise ratio will change unfavorably.

What could increase the rate of progress is improving access to information. UPSID was useful, PHOIBLE is useful, Index Diachronica could end up being useful and that was put together by random people on a forum. There’s a lot of low-hanging fruit! But how well does academia incentivize doing the infrastructure stuff? In many fields, not so much.

...............

About a year ago I had a conversation with a guy who was doing his doctorate at one of the top grad programs in the US for linguistics. He explained solemnly to me that the reason it was Important always and everywhere to transliterate Greek into the Latin alphabet was that otherwise the literature wouldn't be accessible--accessibility being the lodestar of linguistics (and other fields more broadly) in our modern age.

Never mind that many, many, many of these articles and monographs are paywalled at exorbitant prices. It's self-evident to me that transliterating Greek into the Latin alphabet in an article that costs $29 for any non-academic to look at isn't about "accessibility" at all, and that anybody who thinks it is is either blind or willfully disingenuous.

But more broadly I think the whole "accessibility" obsession is symptomatic of a broader loss of...it's not rigor and I want to make it clear that I'm not accusing the wider linguistic community of lack of rigor. It's something else. I think there's a big difference between how historical linguistics is done and how many other forms of linguistics are done, that this difference runs very deep, and that both the obsession with "accessibility" and the decline of good historical linguistics are symptomatic of. Consider the way theoretical syntax or sociolinguistics are done. You have a broad theory (minimalism, X-Bar, sociological observations about code-switching or class differences in language use), and you fit a case study into it: A Minimalist Analysis of the Syntax of Guaraní; Gender Differences in Spoken Egyptian Arabic; Class and Language Use in Brazilian Portuguese; The Morphosyntax of the Nivkh Verb (A Generative Approach). The case study is generally fairly self-contained and, although obviously references will be made to the existing literature (if you're doing a Minimalist analysis of Burmese, you'll probably be referencing a Minimalist analysis of Yoruba or Kurdish at some point), it's a case study: fit language A into theory B.

I don't say this to imply that these approaches aren't intellectually rigorous or valuable--they absolutely are! But they break down in the face of historical linguistics, where to figure out why a particular form in Celtic appears to show a lengthened grade it helps to be able to reach into the back of your head and pull out an obscure paradigm from Luwian or Tocharian, or where to explain why a particular word almost but doesn't quite fit the known sound laws you want to be able to rack your entire mind for neighboring forms looking for a dialectal borrowing or analogical reshaping. And if you can't find the form in the back of your head, you'd better have the patience to rummage through five or six dictionaries until you have a good picture of what might have happened. It is not a field that lends itself to doing anything quickly, by halves, or with corner-cutting, and it encourages, indeed almost requires, the ingestion of hundreds of individually meaningless factoids about individual words, sound changes, or morphemes--each factoid nigh-useless on its own, but enabling the historical linguist to make incisive and wide-ranging analyses by bouncing from factoid to factoid in one's mental or physical library until a slightly less murky picture emerges.

This is the fatal flaw in the fashionable attempts at macro-comparison exemplified by Blevins' attempt at Proto-Indo-European-Euskarian (a lengthy title--Indo-Vasconic works just as well, surely?) or the Automated Similarity Judgment Program. By not putting in the tedious spade-work of individual analysis at the word level the new approaches are doomed to see connections that aren't there and miss connections that are. An example from Blevins' newly published monograph on Indo-Vasconic is a proposed reconstruction *okho:

I won't comment on the Basque lemmata--I know very little about Basque. But PIE *ko- 'together, with, by' must have had a palatovelar, as Lithuanian sù (with unexpected depalatalization, but a clear etymology) and OCS съ readily attest--but PIE *ḱ goes back to *khi- in Blevins' PIV.

How about Tocharian oko? Here's Douglas Q. Adams' Dictionary of Tocharian B on the matter:

Probably cognate to "acorn", from a form *h₂ógeh₂- or thereabouts, with reshaping here and there. But under Blevins' framework PIE *g must go back to PIV *g.

Or take this entry:

But Greek τῑμή can't be from *t- anything; *t before *i *u or their glide counterparts yields σ in Greek (compare Latin tū with Greek σύ and Sanskrit tyájati with Greek σέβομαι. (Should I be writing all my Sanskrit examples in Devanāgarī? Perhaps, but there seems to be less of a tradition to do so--and there's certainly no such tradition for Tocharian). Instead τῑμή must be from the zero-grade of *kʷeh₁y-, probably with laryngeal metathesis, in the same family as τίω 'I honor'--on this Beekes and Chantraîne are in agreement. The development of the Greek consonants is hardly an obscure matter--the palatalization of the labiovelars before front vowels and sigmatization of *t before high ones are well-known.

Now it is all very well to propose "I think I'm right about these words, and the established etymologies are wrong, and here's why." But Blevins doesn't do that. τῑμή and oko indeed look like the other forms to which they are connected, but it is well-established that they are not related at all. Well-established etymologies are of course overturned from time to time. But you cannot overturn a consensus judgment without confronting it, and the consensus judgments here are not even mentioned.

And what of the Automated Similarity Judgment Program and similar attempts to do historical linguistics by bringing in Big Data, the Delphic oracle of our time? Anything a human can do, a computer can do faster; and insofar as the goal is to draw surface-level connections between similar-looking words that will fall apart upon closer inspection, these programs may be said to be successful indeed. Consider the way the ASJP codes sounds (Appendix C): all the sounds of the world's languages have to be mapped onto 41 characters. But the groupings are not made with reference to what sound changes and correspondences are actually found. For example, <i> is used for all four of /i ɪ y ʏ/ and their lengthened versions; but /y/ corresponds to /u/ in related languages far more often than it does to /i/, because /y/ derives from /u/ much more often than from /i/ (consider French, Ancient Greek, Dhegiha Siouan, Germanic umlaut, and California English). By using a simplified toy model of phonology with little reference to what actually happens, the deck is going to be stacked in bias of certain sound shifts and correspondences before the cards are even dealt. But the broader problem is that same as that seen in Indo-Vasconic above: historical linguistics does not deal in chance resemblances but in the historical derivation of lexemes and morphemes. A computer program is doomed to ring true on English bad and Persian بد (bæd), English day and Latin diēs, PIE *h₁ed- 'eat' and Mongolian идэх; it's similarly doomed to ring false on wheel and cakrá-, day and foveō, hear and ἀκούω.

Of course, you can always give it extra information, telling it to undo Grimm's Law with Germanic data, for example. But where does that extra information come from? It comes from the tedious nuts and bolts of real historical linguistics, thumbing through dictionaries, making lists of misbehaving words, for which there is no substitute and never will be.

Real historical linguistics is hard. Real historical linguistics is tedious. Long live historical linguistics, and long live historical linguists, who can't be replaced by computers--not until the computers are really reading through dictionaries and thinking about reshapings. More broadly, I think both the Indo-Vasconics and the Big Data-driven approaches are driven by the desire to make historical linguistics work more like generative syntax, the application of a theory to a well-defined, self-contained case study.

I'll leave everybody with a quote from the inimitable Ives Goddard's 1981 article Against the Evidence Claimed for Some Algonquian Dialectical Relationships (bolding mine):

The problem with Proulx's claim is that it is made without any explicit formulation of what the historical rules are that are taken to derive the attested languages from the protolanguage. But to do comparative linguistics by making reconstructions without formulating the subsequent historical developments that convert them into the attested languages is completely invalid, since the reconstructions are not ends in themselves and are only as valid as the histories that they imply. It is a widespread misunderstanding to consider the comparative method a method for reconstructing protolanguages or proving languages to be related. It is not. It is a method for doing linguistic history.

And that is the crux of the issue. To connect Basque okho to Tocharian oko, or to propose linguistic relationships based on a computer's similarity judgments among a list of forty words picked from the Swadesh list, without reference to the real historical work on the languages involved, is like asking a computer to write a history of the United States based on a random subselection of the literature while ignoring out a vast field of very important work on the subject. It wouldn't fly in history and it shouldn't fly here.

(A final word on transliteration of Greek? It's an OK norm to adopt, I suppose, if you're really concerned about accessibility. But I remain convinced that it's not really about accessibility. Rather--and this is a very unusual attitude for an academic to have--there are a lot of linguists who for some reason just don't want to learn how to read the Greek alphabet. I agree that there's a bit of Eurocentrism and arbitrariness in that e.g. we traditionally transcribe Sanskrit and Tocharian but not Greek or Cyrillic; but it is what it is. And much more often accessibility is made more or less possible not by the format of what is being written or even by paywalls but by the literature on which the subject is founded. There simply is no doing comparative Indo-European at anything approaching an academic level without knowing the Greek alphabet or indeed being able to make your way through an article in German, with a dictionary if need be. Absent a monumental effort to translate and transliterate two hundred years of literature, that won’t change.)

#linguistics

[ghostmartyr]

"and give her fucking themes a chance to actually fucking matter to the fucking plot you fucking fucked up story" thank you for being a constant voice of reason in this fucking fandom i'm never Not going to be mad about historia's story playing out beautifully and then having it all be undone. sometimes it feels like the CD skipped and reset all the progress in the story so we have to learn, AGAIN, that freedom is good and raising kids to serve you and your ideals is BAD, etc etc

Technically I left the fandom my home is the void.

(To no one’s surprise, this got angry. I should maybe consider shutting up about this, but as you can see by the number of times I use the word “fuck” in the quoted material, I have lost the self-control battle here many times.)

The part of it I always come back to when I’ve made the mistake of thinking about it and getting angry all over again is that if we learn that lesson again this arc, what we’ve really learned is that nothing that happens to these characters matters.

If their arcs can be undone by a time skip, there is zero reason to believe that any of what happens to them will stick. The entire Reiss cavern debacle is this exact thing, of Historia telling tradition to go fuck itself because it’s not a tradition worth keeping. That’s the watered down version, but for crying out loud, Historia’s whole damn arc leads to her changing the world.

Not because of any noble reason. Because she doesn’t want to die. She wants to stay herself, and for that she obliterates centuries of children eating each other. She’s her family’s bastard child who refuses to take part in what’s kept them broken for so long.

Yes, let’s have that character be shoved back into the cycle off-screen. Let’s have the girl who grows up unloved and unwanted, who breaks her family’s curse because she finally feels in her bones how wrong it is, go along with a plan to curse another child.

Historia being. fucking Historia enough to snap out a yes to cutting her life short if it saves the world does not bother me. The girl is a dumbass Gryffindor; it takes up until she’s taking her first step off the bridge to realize oh hey, maybe this is actually bad. She’s not an Idiot Hero, but try telling that to some of her decisions.

But her whole arc, as it is introduced and as Ymir’s soaks in, is about how if fate’s fucking you over this badly, maybe consider telling it to go fuck itself and use your own good qualities to carve out something better.

Nine seconds later we’re scrubbing that lesson off because the stakes have clearly changed.

Same story, only bigger. Now that it’s bigger the rules are different. Let’s have one page of Historia not looking miserable to remind everyone how the story’s shooting her directly back to being miserable.

There is no point to this. The one person who knows what it’s like to be seen as a curse and a tool, turning another child into a curse and a tool? After her entire character denouement is about picking up unwanted orphans and treating them as people?

Forget every single other part of this:

If things are as written, Historia has consented to selling away a child’s future. Several more generations, actually. She’s consented to passing on that feeling Frieda has when the weight of the world crushes her and she’s collapsed in tears in between a fence and her baby sister.

The torture that Frieda goes through is not the driving force of Historia’s resolution to give a damn about her life, but it’s something she knows just as keenly as her own pain, and it helps guide her speech to Eren. Her raison d'être comes from her entire family’s exploitation at their own hands.

There are ways to have characters become everything they hate. Those stories can even be interesting and very well done.

Interesting and well written ways do not include the literary equivalent of a character checking the Yes box on becoming everything their arc says they never want to be. Historia has like. Twenty pages where she’s drawn in between her arc’s conclusion and 107. Six of them have her saying anything, and four of those six are her reacting to Ymir’s letter and telling EMA she sure is golly chuffed to see how they aren’t permanently scarred.

Then 107 happens.

You can’t hit the undo button on a character’s arc that efficiently and still pretend like anything they go through has a lasting impact. Ymir’s choice to turn herself in is cut from the same contrived cloth, with every single new thing we find out about the world only making her decision somehow looking worse in addition to the character mutilation thing.

There’s a lot to what’s going on that skeeves the ever-loving fuck out of me. In the realm of squick, this is where my brain will never willingly live.

But it’s the complete bastardization of Historia’s arc that pisses me off.

Would the stupid kid agree to die in thirteen years five seconds after hearing that’s an option?

Yes, she’s a fucking idiot. All the growth in the world won’t ever undo that.

Would the stupid kid agree to have a child so its child, and its child after that, could eat their parent to become a tool of war?

…

“Everything That My Personal Arc Stands Against, I choose you!”

Thank you, I’m so glad we sat through all your parental and existential angst to have land you in a place that would come much closer to making sense if those pages had never been written. Brava.

-takes a very deep breath-

And that’s why I’m still clinging to hope that things aren’t as they seem. Because this story has always cared about character. When something doesn’t make sense, it’s because something is missing, not because the story didn’t care.

In theory.

Historia’s thing is the strongest test to that theory since Ymir’s thing, and as loud as I am about the latter, that hasn’t actually been resolved yet either.

Paradis agreeing to use children to fuel their survival is the kind of permanent marker stain that is hard to go back on, but it’s also nearly impossible to move forward with, because it would mean that Our Heroes’ one truly heroic trait is bunk.

They are the ones meant to break the damaging cycles, no matter the personal cost.

This is where they’ve chosen perpetuating them to escape personal cost.

Hence my growing opinion that they can all go ahead and die if this is where they’re at. If they’re growing more of these cycles, they’re just another villain, and I’d rather watch them all be wiped out while they’re still trying to be heroic and failing than what comes if they keep up with this.

So.

I’d like to think the story isn’t really doing this.

That it is threatening this, and driving itself deep into the muck, but will ultimately call out the illusion of this much darkness as an illusion.

I really don’t want to read a story where it goes, “our themes matter! …unless we don’t think the plot progresses the way we want when we let them matter.”

Character should determine story, or story should determine character. Pick one, but they shouldn’t ever be at war. If a character’s arc is about telling fate to go fuck itself, but fate fucks them, you can’t expect the audience to buy it when any other character fights fate–but for real this time!!1!

Hell this makes me so frustrated.

I really, really would like to believe it will turn out fine, because you legitimately could not write something that flew more in the face of everything Historia’s grown into, and despite this story’s eccentricities, its character work is some of the best I’ve ever seen.

Eren’s out murdering children and making Mikasa cry, and it’s a given that something more is behind it.

Historia’s pregnancy breaks essential themes of the entire story, but yeah, it is totally what it looks like.

(inb4 it’s not what it looks like but somehow manages to be even worse because that’s the kind of bloody trail it’s been)

I don’t mean to keep beating this horse, because I’m guessing most everyone is sick of me losing my temper about it by now, but it drives me up the wall. I obviously have a personal interest in Historia’s arc, but I like the manga, and part of the appeal of Historia’s arc is how it is singing directly to the beauty that’s to be found in the cruel world instead of bowing to that cruelty.

Now one of the voices of that appears to be on bended knee and just. pleeeeease be a ploy. Please don’t turn into one of those series where I have to get out MS Paint and draw a bad graph about where a really great story gave up on itself.

Honestly, one of my dearest hopes is that I’m going to feel like a massive idiot for getting this worked up over this because it’s all going to be fine.

Time will tell, I guess.

For the time being…

-twitch-

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #attack on asks #what is my tag for this #shingeki no no #? #hell I don't know but it needs one because I'm starting to feel really guilty for the amount I go off on this

[determination-and-familiars]

When You Befriend A Soulless Flower

It's been so long since I've added to this there have actually been some headcanon changes, such as what year it takes place. I hadn't actually gotten bored with this AU, just so many things happening IRL and then some of my actually diagnosed ADD making me keep jumping ahead and either write or draw scenes from later on in this AU. I finally actually forced myself to focus on adding more to the AU's set-up. There is still one more part.

This is more of a montage of scenes of how fun it is living with Flowey while he's still soulless

The other parts of this AU setup are under the tag “AU Story”

It’s under a read more for being other 5k words

Vines snaked under the bed covers and wrapped tightly around Frisk’s ankles. Careful to not wake the sleeping girl, the vines pulled her out from under her blankets, lifting her up even higher. And then released her. She landed with a thud and pained yelp. Groaning and rubbing her head, the human rolled over to shoot a glare in the direction of the fertilizer tub.

“Oh, good! You’re up!” chirped the flower, vines slinking back into the soil. “Oh golly, are you ok? That sure looked like it hurt.”

“This isn’t going to become a morning thing, Petals.” Frisk pushed herself up from the ground, and felt around for her glasses on her bedside table. She then looked at her alarm clock. “5:30 again.” Yawning, the human covered her mouth and sat down on her bed. There was a shuffling sound and soon she spotted vines climbing up the side of the bed. Reaching over the side, Frisk lifted the flower up and set him down next to her. She yawned again. “What’s up, Flowey? Why’re you such an early bird lately?”

Flowey shrugged his vines. He then climbed down onto the floor, and scuttled towards the door. “C’mon! All those annoying people won’t be up yet!”

Frisk stood up just as Flowey managed to wrench the bedroom door open and began skittering downstairs. Throwing off her night-dress and pulling on a shirt and shorts, the brunette joined the blossom downstairs. Stepping into her shoes, the human quietly tapped out the code to unlock the door. She turned down to the flower, who glared up at her impatiently. “We won’t stay out too long. Mom will freak if she wakes up and we’re gone.” She bent down to offer an arm for the plant to climb on. He refused it. As soon as the door was opened, Flowey scuttled outside. Frisk followed then turned and touched the keypad to relock the door.

It was mid-summer, but this early, there was a cool morning breeze.

Flowey actually waited for Frisk before scuttling down the sidewalk, little petaled head turning this way and that, taking in everything. Frisk was mindful to not accidentally step on the flower’s vines trailing behind him as she kept pace.

This was turning out to be the best exploration yet for the small flower: he was already beginning to feel the warm sun as it rose, he was getting to explore the surface, and there weren’t crowds of humans around. There was only one he could mildly tolerate at best.

Frisk stayed quiet, only occasionally glancing down at the curious blossom while he explored. She yawned every so often, but her tiny friend almost seemed happy as he darted about; something she’d never seen from the plant unless he was faking it to lure someone into a trap.

As their surroundings changed from a light blue to bathed in the warm yellow of morning, people left their homes to head off to work. Some eased into their autocars, and snapped opened a paper as it drove off. Others zipped silently by on e-scooters.

A certain group of people caught Frisk’s attention.

“Hey, Flowey, let’s go this way.” She gestured down a random road in town. She kept watch on the group.

Flowey followed her gaze before looking back up at her. He opened his mouth but Frisk bent down, scooping him up, and turned down the road. “What? Are you being bullied or something?”

Frisk gave a forced chuckle. “No. Uh, let’s just say some people aren’t so happy that monsters are here now. And equally not very happy with the human who brought them up. I’d just like to avoid any scenes.”

“Well what if I wanna cause a scene?” the flower challenged.

“Flowey. No. Not this time. They’ve almost killed monsters before.” Frisk’s face was stern, her mouth in an almost straight line.

Flowey raised an eyebrow, but otherwise looked unimpressed.  “I’ve actually killed monsters before and you have no problems cuddling me. Just do your stupid mercy on them and make them your friends.” The flower began squirming to get out of the human’s hold. “Lemme go, and let’s go mess ’em up!”

“Flowey, I said no.” While the human talked, she’d begun walking home. She made sure to keep a firm hold on the flower. If he wiggled free, she just knew he’d burrow over to that group. “I’ve been ok with you doing a lot of things: I don’t care about when you’re rude, or wake me up by dropping me on the floor. I don’t care when you throw food on the ground if you don’t like it. But I’m not letting you do this.”

Flowey grumbled and lowered his petals.

“… How about this: you leave them alone and I’ll get you a full plate of bacon.”

The flower’s petals perked up instantly. “Bribe accepted!”

…

Flowey climbed out of the flowerpot he had insisted Frisk leave downstairs. Frisk’s mother was at work, and Frisk was at an ambassador meeting. The perfect opportunity for the flower to properly explore his new home without either human in the way. There was a small square of paper next to his pot; Frisk had left a note. In it, she wrote there was food in the kitchen within easy reach if he got hungry, as well as her number, but to please only call if there was an emergency since she would be in meetings all day.

Crawling over the note, and wrapping his vines around the table-leg, the small flower slowly slid down to the floor. Uncoiling from the table, Flowey began scuttling across the floor, using his vines like spider legs. He was in the living room, the largest room in the house. He’d only ever passed through this room into the kitchen and hadn’t actually spent much time in it.  There was a large bookcase against the far wall facing the staircase that held mostly books, a small collection of DVDs, and a few boxes marked as ‘Games.’

Flowey crawled closer and wrapped a vine around a game, pulling it out for a closer look: ‘Battleship’, whatever that was. While the main picture on the box showed what Flowey assumed was the game, on the sides there were pictures of what he could only guess were ‘battleships’ blowing up. He couldn’t help but snicker at the thought of such a pacifist like Frisk owning a game like this.

Dropping the box, Flowey continued his exploration of his new home.

Scuttling across the room, Flowey checked out the couch and smaller coffee table. The couch was soft and Flowey liked the medium blue of it. Maybe next time he’d have Frisk leave his flowerpot on there instead.

Moving past the couch, Flowey scuttled out, ignoring the kitchen, and into a little room just to the right. This was the mysterious room Luna walked out of on his first night on the surface. It was an office of sorts: there was a desk with screens above it, and several narrow bookcases and file cabinets. The screens interested him, and the desk surface had rows of letters and numbers. A computer, Frisk called it. Different to the one in Alphys’ lab. After a moment he decided he didn’t want to use the energy to climb the desk just to find he couldn’t make the screens do anything. Flowey backed out of the room.

Skittering back through the livingroom, Flowey approached another door, and gave a quick peek in: just a small, boring bathroom. Flowey made his way to the stairs. Using his vines, he slowly climbed them: he placed two vines on the step above, and pulled himself up. He repeated this until he finally reached the second floor.

Glancing into his and Frisk’s room near the top of the stairs, Flowey continued down the hall and peeked into the first room he came to. A bathroom, larger than the one downstairs but not very interesting. Ducking out, he scuttled further down the hall before trying the next door. This one was locked.

Frowning, the flower thought about shooting it with his pellets until it broke, but ultimately decided against it. That wouldn’t exactly help Frisk’s mother warm up to him.

The next door opened. This was a bedroom but other than a bed and nightstand the room was completely empty.

Closing the door, Flowey maneuvered his way downstairs to see what food Frisk left for him. There was still the basement, but Flowey… didn’t feel like exploring that. He could do that later when Frisk was back.

… Frisk groaned as she glared down at the paperwork covering almost the entire surface of her desk.

“Just write that everyone’s fine and they should butt out of everyone’s business already!”

The human turned around towards the flower sitting on the desk. A flowerpot was next to him. He wasn’t in it but he was idly drawing figure 8s in the soil with a vine. He was resting his petaled head on another vine.

“I can’t say that. It needs to be professionally worded.” Frisk sighed.

Flowey huffed loudly. “I’m bored!”

“I know! I’m sorry! I am too, but I gotta finish this first.” Frisk ran a hand through her hair. “Once this is finished, I promise, I’ll find something fun to do – as long as it’s legal.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Flowey grabbed the paper with his vines to look it over. He then gave it back. “Ok. I’ll help you finish this – and then I wanna go outside and play. Find something fun that can only be done up here.”

Frisk nodded in thanks.

The human had to write quickly while the flower talked about the other monsters. Some things she knew from talking to the others herself: like how Toriel and Asgore adopted a human who fell, without hesitating, or how Papyrus always tries to inspire others. Some things she didn’t. Like how Nabstablook would sit and talk to someone for hours if they were truly upset. Or how the bunny who ran the inn, if someone desperately needed a warm place to stay the night but had no money, would let them stay anyway.

Or how the skeleton brothers had once taken in a homeless child.

Soon the spaces provided on the paperwork were all filled.

“Thanks so much, Flowey!” Frisk said, stacking the paperwork in a neat pile. Thinking for a moment, she then asked, “Have you ever been on a bike before?” At the confused look she added, “Two wheels, you ride it around?”

“Chara used to talk about those. You actually have one?”

Frisk nodded. “Yeah! Though I’m going to insist you go in the pot. I don’t want you being blown off during the ride.”

Once the flower nestled back into the soil, Frisk picked up the pot and went out to the garage. Grabbing a basket and some straps, Frisk clipped the basket to the front of her bike, set the flowerpot in it, and used the straps the secure it. She then popped a helmet on and walked the bike outside.

Flowey stayed quiet, mostly just enjoying the sun while Frisk pedalled along the road. However as soon as Frisk rode down a hill and the wind rustled through his petals, Flowey actually started to enjoy it. He closed his eyes and stretched himself taller in his little pot.

Frisk circled around the neighborhood in order to go down the small hill again and again, and only stopped when her legs needed a rest.

After the break, the two rode around town for a few hours, Flowey at one point directing the way. Rolling through town on the bike allowed him to explore quickly.

…

“Ok, I’ll be right back and then we’ll head out.” Frisk stood up from her desk and ran upstairs.

Flowey for a change had actually already been in one of his little flowerpots. He turned to look out the window while waiting for Frisk.

Footsteps caught his attention. That was fast. Turning around expecting Frisk, instead he found Luna. She was holding a watering can.

“Um. … Hi?” she tried. When Flowey didn’t respond, the woman spoke again, stepping closer to the desk. “We got off on the wrong foot. If you really did help Frisk escape, I do thank you for that.”

“Uh, yeah…” Flowey looked towards the stairs, hoping Frisk would hurry up.

“You’re name’s Flowey, right?”  

The flower nodded, but said nothing. There was another awkward silence. “Do you want some water?” she added.

Instead of answering, Flowey turned away.

Luna hesitated, then stepped forward and raised the watering can. Water poured onto the soil surrounding Flowey.

“Hey!” Flowey whipped around and actually bit the woman on the hand. He didn’t draw blood but it startled her, and it hurt.

Luna flinched away, inspecting her hand. She slammed the watering can down and stomped upstairs. She passed Frisk who was finally heading down. “Frisk, do be careful that that weed doesn’t bite you too.”

Frisk could only blink, mouth open slightly as she quickly darted the rest of the way downstairs. She flew over to Flowey, who now had his thorns out. “You bit her?”

“She watered me when I wasn’t thirsty!” Though glaring, he retracted his thorns as Frisk lifted his flowerpot.

“Did you tell her you didn’t want to be watered?”

“…No. But I turned away when she offered!”

Frisk sighed. “Flowey… You need to use your words. Heck I might have taken that as a yes, with you turning away so the water wouldn’t splash on your face!”

Flowey huffed as Frisk carried his pot outside.

“We’re going to work on your manners.”

…

Undyne shot a glare at the small flower, who responded by sticking out his tongue and blowing a raspberry, before she grinned at Frisk. “Alright! Like usual, we’re gunna start with a few warm up stretches and maybe work you up to lifting fifteen pounds this time!”

Flowey called from across the room, by one of the training dummies. “When’re you gunna kick her butt?”

Undyne fixed the plant with another glare. “I’m not gunna kick her butt, it’s not that kind of training!”

Flowey giggled. “I meant Frisk kicking your butt!”

Groaning, the blue fish monster turned back to Frisk. By now the human had finished her warm up stretches. “Ready?”

Frisk nodded.

Neither Undyne nor Flowey knew why Frisk brought him along for these sessions, but the flower watched intently. He was kinda curious what sort of ‘training’ Undyne actually gave the human. There was no need for the girl to fight, so what was the point?

By the looks of it, it was mostly self-defense: Rather than throwing punches and kicks, Frisk was dodging and twisting away from various holds.  

After a while, Undyne brought out the weights. “What do you want to start with?”

Before Frisk could answer, Flowey piped up. “Go for the heaviest!”

“Will you butt out?!” Undyne yelled. “I’d like to see you do better!”

This only made the flower laugh more. “I’m literally a flower. There’s no way I could! I dunno why Frisk even brought me along.”

Frisk grinned. Apparently she was waiting for him to say exactly that. “But Flowey! When I went down to get you, you caught me just fine when I fell and even lifted me back up to that tree root when we left! And I’m about twice your size!”

Flowey sank in the dirt while Undyne turned from Frisk back to him, motioning with a finger for him to come over. Unhappy where this was heading, Flowey reluctantly burrowed closer.

“How much can you lift?” Undyne asked once he was close enough.

Flowey made the mistake of raising two vines out of the ground in a shrug. He realized his error at the way the grin spread across Undyne’s face. Before he could lower the vines back underground, Undyne set the entire box of weights on them. For a moment he almost dropped them, but then he tightened his vines around the box and held it in place.

“Not bad.” Taking a weight from the box and handing it to Frisk, she then added, “While still holding those, pick up Frisk as well.”

The human laughed lightly as vines snaked around her before lifting her up.

At the flower’s almost smug grin, Undyne said. “Alright. Now come out of the dirt and lift something.”

Flowey’s grin fell.

“C’mon, Flowey! It’ll be fun!” Frisk added.

Gulping, the small flower set Frisk and the box of weights down before his roots disappeared underground and he carefully uprooted himself, climbing out of the dirt. He glanced around nervously, feeling very uneasy at being out of the ground and exposed like this around the fish monster. Without soil, his vines could not grow and protect him. If she wanted to, she could easily spear him before he could slip back into the soil.

Flowey swallowed. But instead of attacking, Undyne reached into the box and pulled out a dull metal weight with a ‘2’ in large numbers etched into either end. The two pounder was the lightest one in the box. Undyne held it out to the flower.

His vines looked shrunken compared to before, without soil to give him strength. Reaching up with a much smaller vine, Flowey wrapped it around the middle of the weight. And was promptly pulled to the ground with a clunk. Coiling a second vine around the narrow middle of the weight, Flowey tugged at it, leaning back and grimacing. The weight did not shift.

“Looks like I’ll be toughening up both of you,” Undyne smirked.

  Later, Frisk headed for home with an exhausted flower laying limply across her head.

“Are you ok?” Frisk asked, glancing up.

After a moment Flowey sighed and then responded. “Yeah. It was actually kinda fun. I’m,” he stretched out a vine, “tired. But in a good way.”

The human beamed, her eyes still rolled upward, trying to glimpse the tired flower. “Wanna come again the next time?”

Now the flower hesitated. “Uhhh… Maybe. If you can convince her there’s no way I’ll work up to lifting 20 freaking pounds in one single freaking day.”

Frisk giggled and nodded, reaching up to softly pat the flower on the head. This time he didn’t shove her hand away. “Deal!”

The sun was setting, and in the falling dusk, Flowey didn’t see a small happy smile turn up the corners of Frisk’s mouth. This was great! He liked it. Her plan just might work:  Flowey was still a little ball of aggression. This could be an outlet for him to work some of that out without harming anyone.

…

“Where are we going now?” the flower grumbled from his perch on Frisk’s shoulder. Over her other shoulder was the strap from a backpack which held one of Flowey’s flowerpots.

“To see my dad!” the human chirped. “You haven’t met him yet!”

Flowey shut his eyes and unwrapped a vine in order to shrug with it. “I just assumed you didn’t have one and you were created in some lab. Some experiment on how to make something freakishly happy all the time.”

Frisk raised an eyebrow. “Flowey,” she said, adding a slight whine to her tone. “I’m not freakishly happy all the time!”

“Sure.” After a moment, Flowey added, “Why aren’t they together? Is it like Mo- … Toriel and Asgore?”

Frisk glanced away with a slight wince. After a moment the human finally responded. “It’s … complicated. They technically aren’t divorced but they’re struggling to stay together.”

Flowey raised an eyebrow. “That’s dumb.”

Letting out a sigh, Frisk shook her head. “It’s just a … it’s complicated. I don’t want to see them fight anymore, but I also hope they can work things out and maybe get back together someday.”

Flowey rolled his eyes and fell silent again.

As the two waited for the bus, the pair couldn’t help but notice how many people gave them odd looks and the occasional glare. As one solar bus sighed past, silent except for the wheels crunching on the road, Flowey stuck his tongue out at passengers frowning through the windows.

Frisk sighed again. “It’s better to just ignore them, Flow-Flow.”

With his tongue still out, the flower pivoted his glare to the girl before pulling his tongue back in. “Yeah. That’s a nickname that’s not staying.”

Finally their bus came. As the door slid open, the bus lowered almost to the ground, and an elderly woman crept slowly off. Getting on, Frisk walked to the back. Flowey climbed over to the shoulder closest to the window, looking out. The bus pulled away from the side of the road and joined the cars, bikes and motorcycles flowing down the street.  

As the view outside passed by, the small flower reminded Frisk of an excited puppy on a car ride, the way they bounce up to a window and fall back down, then finally place paws on the door to see out. Flowey also was trying to take in everything. He kept moving from her shoulder, then down onto the seat, then climbing back up on her shoulder. At one point he was stretched so far forward on his roots, when the bus stopped Frisk had to quickly catch him from falling.

Finally Frisk pushed a button on a grab-pole in the aisle. The word STOPPING lit up on a screen near the front, where the driver was located. The bus slowed, then pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Frisk gathered up Flowey and headed to the door. The pair were greeted by an average height Hispanic man in his forties.

“Hi, Dad!” Frisk exclaimed, running up and hugging the man.

“Ah mi hija, I hope the bus ride was alright?” He returned the hug. When he pulled back, he asked, “And who’s this?” while offering a friendly smile to the flower perched on the girl’s shoulder.

Well, Flowey was beginning to see where Frisk gets her annoying smile from.  “…Flowey.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Flowey. My name’s Dante.”

Unlike Frisk’s mother, this guy didn’t make even one comment about the fact Flowey was, well, a flower. He was simply greeted the way another monster might greet him. Very weird coming from a human, but a nice surprise.

However, as good as it was, Flowey was curious about how calm this Dante was about everything.  The human’s other parent seemed to still have such a huge problem with him. “Um, how are you so ok with a talking flower?”

Dante let out a soft chuckle. “Why shouldn’t I be? You have every right to exist as I do.”

Flowey wasn’t able to respond, rendered silent in the way only Frisk and Papyrus had managed until now. Never before had a human said something like that. He still didn’t even fully like his own existence. After technically what could be years and years of being bored with nothing new, he wasn’t sure how to react to so many new and surprising things happening all the time. The flower remained quiet. One group of humans were so dangerous Frisk walked a different route. Others glared, or stared, or frowned. To Frisk’s own mother, he was a weed! But to Dante? He had a ‘right to exist.’

Maybe Frisk and Dante shared more than just the tendency to grin like idiots.

…

Five a.m. rolled around once again. Flowey blinked awake and yawned as he unfurled his petals. Sunlight was just beginning to peek through the bedroom window. The human lay quietly in the bed. It wasn’t fair she was sleeping with the sun starting to rise.

A toothy grin spread across the flower’s face as his vines stretched forward out of his fertilizer bed to snake under the blankets. The vines had only just barely wrapped around Frisk’s ankles when she sudden spoke.

“Don’t you even dare.” Her voice sounded half asleep though.

“Whaaaaat?” Flowey feigned innocence. “I wasn’t going to do anything!”

A tired groan escaped the human as she pushed herself up on one arm, turning her head to peer down at the flower. She caught Flowey quickly withdrawing his vines back into his dirt tub. “So you weren’t about to throw me out of bed again.” It wasn’t a question. She knew.

“Why would I do something so mean to my bestest friend ever?”

“You’ve done this every morning for the past week and a half!”

Flowey dropped his innocent act.  “I’m bored, ok?! I stupidly synced up with the stupid sun and so I’m forced awake at stupid-early o’ clock and have to wait for your stupid butt to wake up! So I get you up so it’s less awful for me!” The small flower raised three of his vines and crossed two of them, imitating folded arms while pointing the third accusingly at Frisk. “You never warned me that coming to the surface included these side effects!”

The human sighed, though not in annoyance. Pushing herself the rest of the way up, she stood and crossed the room to the dirt tub. She knelt down to be eye-level with Flowey. “I didn’t realize. You’re the only sentient plant I know – well, other than the Vegetoids – but they didn’t seem to sync.”

Flowey only glared. “Fix it or find something for me to do and maybe I won’t throw you on the floor every morning.”

Frisk exhaled through her nose and ran a hand through her hair. She hated being dragged out of deep sleep every dawn. Still, she couldn’t really be upset with him for being pissed about being dragged to the surface just to spend hours alone every morning. After a moment an idea came to her.

“Maybe I can set up a little ladder next to Mom’s computer. Teach you how to use it. Then you can watch videos or something while waiting for everyone to wake up,” Frisk suggested.

The little flower snickered. “Ok Google: How to kill all humans?”

Frisk cringed. “Maybe I’ll think of something else for you to do…”

Flowey’s little face twisted into one of disappointment, tiny mouth ajar. “No, no! I won’t! The only computers I’ve seen were Papyrus’ and Alphys’! And they weren’t hooked up the actual internet!” He even shifted his face to resemble his old Asriel self: large red eyes, shining and watery, little fang-y snout turned down in a pout. Complete with a little quiver. “Please? I’ll be good!”

He’d even altered his voice! He’s dropped the normal distortion and crackiness, but kept the childish tone. It brought Frisk back to the night the barrier broke.

How was she expected to say ‘no’ to that?

Frisk sighed in defeat. “Ok, ok. You win. But if it was illegal to do down there – don’t look it up online up here, ok?”

The flower’s distress fled far too quickly. He shifted back to his flatter flower-face. “Deal!” he exclaimed, in his normal scratchy voice.

Frisk held out her arm for the little blossom to climb onto. “Well I’m up now. C’mon.”

After easing out his roots one at a time, Flowey coiled them around Frisk’s wrist.

Yawning, the human stood up, heading downstairs.

  The next morning Flowey glared at the window, as the blackness began greying and then lightening up to a medium blue. He was tempted to fling the human out of bed again. So tempted. But he ultimately decided against it. While still in the soil, he used magic to extend one of his vines to the doorknob, twisted it, and swung the door open.

Climbing out of his dirt-box, Flowey scuttled out of the room. Reaching the top of the stairs, Flowey peered down into the gloom. He grimaced in annoyance. There were a lot. Careful to not trip over his own vines, the flower started climbing down each tread. Using his roots, he lowered his bulb first before crawling to the next step and repeating the action.

Flowey huffed in exhaustion when he finally reached the ground floor. Why did humans have to have stupid stairs?

Pushing himself back up on his roots, the little flower tapped across the livingroom until he reached the room just right of the kitchen. Luna’s home office. Slithering inside and next to the computer desk, the small blossom began pulling out drawers so he could climb up.

The little plant hoisted himself onto the desk. Looking down at the holographic keyboard, he tapped a key to wake the computer up. Where was the mouse? Other computers Flowey had seen had an oval device one could slide around to move from one section of a screen to another, or to click a button icon. Aha! A small grey rubbery section was embedded in the desk. Flowey stroked it, and an arrow moved across one of the screens.

He perched by the keyboard and slid a vine across the mousepad. A report with many words was open on one screen.  Flowey didn’t close it off but minimized it instead. He then opened Firefox and pulled up Google. Flowey paused to think about what he actually wanted to look up.

After a moment the little plant tapped his three other vines across the keyboard and a search for movies came up on one of the computer screens. Using the mousepad, Flowey scrolled the page for a moment before going back to the search bar and adding the word ‘horror’.

Scrolling this page for a while, and clicking the star to bookmark the ones that caught his interest, Flowey finally stumbled across one from roughly 340 years ago. A very old film from 1974 called “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre”.

Flowey clicked on that and skimmed the description, glad Chara taught him how to read human words. Liking what he saw, Flowey started the film.

~*~

It was the screaming that woke up Frisk and her mother; the high pitched shrieks of a woman in terror. Practically falling out of their beds, the pair rushed downstairs, following the cries to Luna’s home-office. This is where they found Flowey, perched on the desk and grinning with sharp little fangs while watching the movie. Volume turned up to the max.

Frisk darted in and paused the film.

“HEY! I was – You said –”

“That’s way too loud! And that one’s way out of your age demographic!” Flowey actually growled, glaring daggers up at the human girl. “We’ll make a list of ones you’ll like that’re more … appropriate.” Frisk held an arm out for him to climb onto.

Flowey, still glaring, instead chose to climb down the desk and onto the floor and then sulk out of the room.

Luna crossed the room and after closing off the browser, checked the documents she’d left open the night before. She sighed in relief when she found they’d only been minimized. Turning to her daughter she asked, “I’m guessing you said he could browse if he woke up before you?”

Frisk nodded. “Yeah, sorry mom. I told him not to close anything off and taught him how to use Google.”  And told him not to look up violent things, she added silently, deciding against telling her mother about Flowey’s interests. Luna would lose it. She was still getting used to monsters in her town, and in her house.

“Next time teach him about volume control too.” Luna ran a hand through her un-made, messy blonde hair and checked her wrist, blinking upon realizing she didn’t have her watch. It was a rather rude awakening. Yawning, Luna went back to her room.

Frisk sighed as she left the room, off to hunt for a pouting flower.

…

Sprinting upstairs and throwing the door open, Frisk beamed from ear to ear as she looked around the room for Flowey. “Hey, where are you? I’ve got some great news!”

Flowey crawled out from under the bed.

Frisk gave him an odd look. “What were you doing under there?” At Flowey’s lack of a response, the human sighed and continued. “Anyway, the people at the embassy were really impressed with the paperwork you helped me fill in before. They invited you to come along to the next meeting!”

Flowey raised an eyebrow. “Why would I want to do that? Sitting in a room of grumpy old humans being grumpy and old? Sounds boring.”

Crouching down, closer to the plant’s level, the girl tried again. “Flowey, this is great progress! In just a month they’re going to start listening to what monsters have to say!”

“What if I don’t want to? What if I wanna stay home and watch TV instead?” The flower paused, but before Frisk could speak again, he added with a wink: “Buuuut, if maybe you offered me a reward for spending my time with boring humans…”

“You’re serious. I gotta actually bribe you into helping monsterkind get equal rights.” She ran a tired hand through her hair. “Alright, what do you want?”

Flowey tapped a vine on the ground. “Hmmm. A full plate of bacon and there’s a movie series – Saw I think – I wanna watch that!”

“Fueling your addiction to bacon and gory horror movies.”

The flower crossed two of his vines. “Hey – hey! I don’t have a bacon addiction!”

Frisk snickered. “Of course you don’t.”

“So, deal?” Flowey asked, uncrossing his vines.

“I’ll need to think about it – I’m not sure how healthy all that human-food bacon is for you.” She paused, then added, “And I’m not sure how good seeing all that gore would be either.”

If he had feet, he would have stomped. “I’m not a baby! With all my resets I’m probably older than you!”

“I just said I would need to think about it. And how about proving that maturity and settling for a compromise?”

The little flower grumbled. “I’ll think about it.”

#Flowey #Frisk #Undertale #Undertale AU #Undyne #Undertale OCs #Frisk's parents #AU Story #fic

[spacenerrrd]

Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover: Chapter 2

Sander Sides

Word count: 2,948

Characters: Patton/Creativity, Virgil/Anxiety, Patton/Morality, Logan/Logic

Warnings: School stresses

Summary: Logan runs a library in a small town, allowing him to share his love of books without feeling left out. His business partner and friend Roman helps by running the bright Disney themed cafe that attracts more people to stay for longer. The two clashing but somehow perfect match of a friendship went their days peaceful in their small community until one day a new pair of brother; Patton and Virgil, moved into town and showed the owners a new way of live.

Chapter two: Getting to know you

Chapter 1

~~~

Scribbles.

“So you understand that the y-intercept can be found by knowing the gradient of the slope?”

“No I don’t get it. How can you do that? I don’t understand the equation Logan.” The red haired girl hid her freckled face into the heels of her hands.

“Well, let me write it down for you. The equation is y=mx+b and the m stands for….Lucy?” Logan heard sniffles coming from the girl and his face softened from his usual serious tone when he was tutoring. “It’s alright ok? You’ll pass this test because you’ll understand it.”

“But what if I don’t? I need to pick up my grades in Maths otherwise I won’t make my dream university.” She mumbled in her hands, voice rough from her recent crying.

“Don’t you dare say that you won’t make it. I know you can, believe me. You are one of the most brightest and intelligent young ladies I know and you can do this.” Logan scooted his chair closer and rested a delicate hand on her back. “Look at me Lucy.”

She hesitantly looked up, her shining blue eyes glistened with the tears ran down her cheeks, sticking strings of her hair messily across her face.

“Let’s take a break. Why don’t you get that book you come in when you’ve had a bad day and you can read it to me?”

“How did you-”

“It’s my job to know this stuff. Now go.” Logan gave a soft smile that lit up Lucy’s face as she ran off to search the shelves. He sighed, sorting out the sheets of study papers and notes. He didn’t need to see it to notice the person sit across from him, and somehow feeling the smile radiate off them it would really only be one person. “Greetings Patton, I’m glad to see you back again.”

“Hiya Lo! Gee, this place is just oh so lovely that I couldn’t stay away!”

“Thank you for the compliment. May I ask where Virgil is?”

“Oh! Yea Virg is just at the cafe. Needs a big ol’ cup of coffee before diving into the books.” Patton’s happiness seemed very dramatic for the situation, but Logan guessed that’s just how he was.

“So he’s still in school.”

“Yes sir-ry! Very much into the music industry and arts. Such a brilliant kiddo he is!”

“He sounds wonderful indeed. Now I’m sorry Patton, but I have a tutoring session currently and she will be back any minute.”

“So that’s who that pretty young chooken was! I saw how you handled her emotions and it just made my heart swell with joy. You seem to be so good with the children. Do you help them a lot? She seemed to be just so comfortable with you like my golly. I would not expect that from you Lo, but I guess you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, am I right?”

Before Logan could even get a word in to reply to any of the questions Lucy had already returned, grinning ear from ear that made him blush.

“Oh yes, sorry, teaching session going on. I’ll get out of your way.” Patton was still smiling, shuffling his chair back until Lucy spoke up.

“Wait Mr, you can stay. I haven’t seen Logan smile like that in ages.”

“I was not smiling Lucy and you know better.”

“Oh yea, totally. But can you stay? I was only going to read this book anyway. Do you want to sit with us?”

Logan was about to protest the idea before Patton spoke up. “My golly, I would be honoured to listen. You have such a lovely voice.”

Lucy giggled, a light pink covering her cheeks that made her eyes shine brighter. “Why thank you Mr.”

“Please, my names Patton, but most people call me Dad.”

Lucy laughed, smile unfortunately spreading across Logan’s face from seeing her happy. She opened the book, and to little surprise by Logan she started reciting the words from Alice In Wonderland. “Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, `and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice `without pictures or conversation?'”

Logan looked over at Patton who was resting his head in his hands, eyes sparkling as he listened like she was an angel from heaven. Logan cringed at the small smile that was on his face, but he unfortunately couldn't help it as his heart fluttered that tiny bit more.

Virgil had his headphones ear so loud that it was a wonder how his ears weren’t bleeding. The purple hood covered his face in a shadow, hair assisting as it fell over his eyes. He stood in front of the counter, trying not to smile at the Disney puns of names before he was snapped back when a hand waved in front of his face. He disgruntledly removed a headphone and looked up at a smirking Roman.

“Well hello emo child, glad to see you back here.”

Virgil stared at him. “You’re the closest coffee place….and the best tasting in town.” he grumbled, trying to decide on what to get.

“I suggest the Black Cauldron. It’s the biggest and strongest coffee we have, perfect for study time when you hardly have any sleep.”

“I am not-”

“Bag slung across one shoulder that is shaped to hold books and a laptop, too lazy to wear properly as it’s too close of a walk. Although you seem to cover it with your heavily done eyeshadow, the bags under your eyes are still visible and almost draws attention away to your beautiful eyes.” Roman smirked. “You’re not the only student who’s a favourite here. Soon I’ll know your timetable.”

Virgil stood there speechless, blushing furiously as his eyebrows knitted together. “Just make my damn coffee will you?” He slammed the change on the table and stomped off to one of the tables, the smirk growing wider.

Virgil had his music pumping into both ears again, setting up with a textbook, sheets and an art book he was currently sketching in. He was drifting off from the real world, getting lost in how the pencil worked against the paper until a coffee slid in front of him and someone occupied the spare seat. He sighed heavily, trying to ignore Roman as he took a large gulp from his cup and went back to his book. The boy would of kept going if it wasn’t for the fact that Roman shuffled closer, trying to peer at what Virgil was drawing. He tilted the book away, getting words from Roman that he couldn’t hear. He pulled an earphone out, earning a smirk.

“Whatcha drawing handsome?”

“None of your business.”

“It will be if you’re going to becoming in regularly. Just got out of an art degree myself last year, along with theatre, so I’m making sure you guys actually keep going on the work.”

“How did you know I’m taking an art-”

“I also can tell you’re taking music. Do I really need to go through how I know this, Senior.”

Virgil flushed again, nails digging into his palms in agitation as he pulled his jumper sleeves down.

“I’m not here to pick, we’re here for support, and quite honestly you’re a cutie so I don’t want you to be getting behind sweetheart.”

“I am not sweet. If I was coffee I’d need as much sugar as that coffee did yesterday Princey.”

Roman’s smile faltered at the name, Virgil about to apologies before Roman spoke up again like nothing happened. “You wish. I’ll get the soft side out of you, just wait. I-” Roman was cut off by a small child tugging at his sleeve. The small boy had chocolate brown eyes that matched his hair, small freckles covering his face. “Well hello Miles. What would you like?” “Isn’t it story time Ro? We wanna know what happens next!” The small child pointed to a large clock, the arrows pointing to the words STORYTIME in silly font instead of the number 3.

“Well would you look at that it is! Why don’t you go tell the other’s that I’ll be there in just a giffy.”

Miles smiled wide, running of to spread the word to the other children playing.

“I’m sorry to cut our date short, but the children will attack if I don’t go over soon. I’ll come back just after playtime if you’re still here though.”

“This wasn’t a date-”

“See you later hoodie boy.” Roman winked before standing up and walking over to the the small children who cheered in unisation. Roman smiled at them all, taking his seat in the throne and picking up a book. All the children gathered and sat patiently, wide eyes and bright smiles facing Roman as he narrated the book, facial expressions and different voices for the characters packaged in that had the children laughing.

Virgil tried to make it not obvious that he looked up to watch Roman from time to time. The way the kids seemed to love him to bits that made it extremely hard for Virgil to force a smile down.

Once Lucy had been feeling better and convinced Logan that she was fine to keep working, they went back to work. Patton still sat patiently across from them, learning too from listening to Logan.

Lucy looked at her phone for a moment before having to take a double take, eyes going wide. “Oh god, it’s already 5. I really need to get back home.”

Logan looked confused until he got a glimpse of the time himself. “Oh god Lucy, I’m sorry. I should’ve been looking at the time.” His face turned to one of guilt.

“No no, it’s alright. It’s my responsibility. It shouldn’t be too bad today anyway. Dad’s not home so Mum should be out and won’t even notice.” She smiled, hiding a million different emotions behind it. “See you later Logan, and thanks for spending time with us Patton.”

“Anytime kiddo, I wish you luck for your test.” Patton waved Lucy off, smile still wide. He looked back at Logan and the expression on his face made him worry. “Come on Lo, being home a little bit late shouldn’t be too bad, right?”

Logan looked at Patton, trying to hide any emotion on his face but his eyes betrayed him. “Lucy doesn’t have the best living arrangement at this current moment. She doesn’t have the money to live in campus so she needs to stay there for now.”

Patton smile faltered for a moment. “Oh… well at least she has you and your library to come back to a safe place.”

Logan gave a quick small smile. “Yes, I guess that is a positive.” he started cleaning up the textbooks and scrap paper left on the table, grateful for the silence until Patton was speaking up again.

“I never would of thought you would be so good with kids Lo!”

“I’m not good with humans. The only thing I know how to do well is to teach and the point of that interaction was to teach.”

“No way! She was crying and you calmed her right down to where she was smiling. If I don’t call that good then people don’t call me Patton.”

“I was merely being factual, it was just a plus that she found it comforting.”

“Whatever you say Lo, but we both know the truth.”

Logan gritted his teeth. Why couldn’t Patton just trust that he was bad with human interaction? If he was good then they would’ve stayed, not hurt him. He wouldn’t be here if he was good with human interaction , so why can’t Patton just admit it. He stayed silent, afraid to open his mouth and walked away to put the textbooks back on the shelf. Logan thought he would be left alone until he could hear the soft skipping on the carpet that was unmistakably Patton. He stayed silent though as he sorted out the textbooks and some other books that he saw were out of place. The entire time Patton trotted behind him, smile still there as he quietly admired everything. Something about the silence was worse than Patton’s talking but he wasn’t going to mention anything. Once he had finished organising the books he turned around to the ball of sunshine following him. “Do you need to get home? I think Virgil has been studying for a considerable amount of time..”

“Oh yes! I bet he’s gotten so much work done. Gosh, i’m just so gosh darn proud of him, ya know?” Patton said cheerfully like everything else, starting to head to the cafe.

“I do know, as you have expressed it in the past before and it is very evident in the way you speak about him.” Logan state, not understanding the question Patton said was mainly rhetorical, but still getting a bright grin in return. He walked over to the cafe, Patton happily trotting alone up to the table Virgil was sitting at. With both of his headphones in he didn’t realise the two coming up and saw him looking over at Roman who was playing with a small girl, parents must of still been at work. The small soft smile being wiped off and being replaced by a flush of red after hearing Patton’s exclamation.

“AWWWW VIRGE!! You’re smile is adorable!! If it was making you that happy you should’ve just asked to join them.”

Virgil’s eyes went wide, turning to see if Roman heard to be met with the princes shining eyes and a laughter tumbling from his lips. Virgil stared at Patton who was oblivious to what he was doing wrong as he started to back up his work. Shoving it into his bag, mumbling something under his breath before stomping off to the exit.

“Well it seems like someone’s on the Virge about something.” Patton grinned, giggling at his own joke. Although he did not find it that amusing himself, Logan found himself giving a small smile about something. “Well I guess I better get him, make sure he doesn’t get lost on the way to the car. I’ll see you later Lo!”

“My names Logan, and goodbye Patton.” He waved off the bouncing ball, taking a seat at the cafe to watch Roman play. Even though it was past the playtime, as evident by the hands on the big clock being past the words PLAYTIME that replaced the 4 and 5, he still played with the little girl who was left as their parents were late. Logan just couldn’t understand how he was so good with people. All the students who came in and went to him seemed a little bouncy on their toes as they left. Roman claims the same happens to the kids he tutors but he denied it, saying he couldn’t see any difference in them. Logan didn’t realise how long he had been sitting there for, lost in thought until Roman pulled up a seat beside him. He sighed when he saw his massive grin. “Nothing did or will happen.”

“I never said anything did. I was grinning about that I saw you smiled at a pun. Honestly I feel offended that you smiled at his because I’ve been telling you some for years and haven’t even gotten the smallest sign of a smile yet he could get one out of you just like that.”

“I wasn’t smiling at the pun.”

“Oh, so there was something else.”

“Why can’t I just smile and have it be over nothing?”

“Because you don’t smile anymore.”

The tone suddenly dropped, a silence falling over the two for a bit. Logan didn’t look up at Roman who was giving him a gentle stare. After a few moments the Logan suddenly stood up, the chair scraping against the wooden floors. “You know how to pack up.”

“Oh Lo, you know I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t call me that.” Logan snapped, making Roman shut his mouth. Logan’s expression softened slightly, eyes apologising. “I will see you in the morning.” He received a nod from Roman as he walked out. Even though there was still an hour until they were suppose to shut, there was currently no one else in apart from them and some students who offered to clean up the shelves for some pocket money. Logan’s leather shoes trotted along the pavement as he made his way home, hands in the pockets of his heavy jacket. Soon the keys were clicking the lock open and they were dropped with a clank into the bowl that sat upon the table. The jacket was shrugged off and hung up neatly through routine, shoes shortly following suit. Logan made his way straight to the his office, sitting down in the dark blue leather chair that was positioned behind the oak desk. The draw was slid open to allow him to pull out a black fabric covered book. It was opened, revealing pages upon pages of neatly writing words, dates differing from hours to months. His mother taught him that showing pain and emotion was weakness, so to allow a book to keep them locked up and safe was the better option. Logan found a new fresh page, crisp white seeming to shine in the dim light. A fountain pen was picked up from the cup that kept his desk neat and was soon spilling its ink along the pages, expressing emotions it shouldn’t be able to.

Scribbles.

~~~

Here’s Chapter 2 y’all! I hope you all enjoy this one because I really enjoyed writing this. If you’d like to be tagged in future ones and aren’t on my tag list let me know and I’ll happily join you in!

Next chapter

Tag list peps:

@deathbyvenusftw @moonlightinwater @princeanxious @roman-is-a-gay @coffeekeyboardsss @ocotopushugs @thepoolofthedead @sanders-sides-things @angered-turtle @gayrobotalien @rebaobsessions @a-ghosts @catsandrandomness @fricksonsticks @v-blue-writer @hanramz-the-fander @your-username-is-unavailable @emphoenixcat @daughterofsomnus

#ayyeee new chapter peps #hope i provided well #sander sides #logan #logic #patton #morality #virgil #anxiety #roman #creativity #thomas #thomas sander #sander sides fanfic #prinxiety #logicality #Don't Judge a Book by its Cover #djabbic

[jesterbelly]

A bit of a writing exercise to keep practicing, but also to just write a story entirely based around a rampaging vacuum machine.  Also takes place in a completely robotified world, with robotic heroes (such as Jett) saving the citizens of Robotica from giant vacuum robots sent in to hoover everyone up. It's goofy, and only focused on a vacuum peril scene, while trying a little tiny bit of world building on the side.  Thanks to Toxygen for their inspiration for the idea, and also doing a final proofreading pass to fix any errors they caught as well as adding bits to the story.  Read after the break!

[Content-warning:  vacuum peril, robots]

“Jett, we need you!”

The sentinel droid was quick to make the call, just as the Vac Bot planted all three clawed legs into the ground at Robotica's City Square.  Its perfect tripod was formed, and from the top of the beast a hatch SHOOOMED open, its rubber funnel mouth shooting straight up and out.  A long, thick rubber neck connected the funnel to the mechanical body.  The funnel's wide base slammed down on the ground, with each pair of eyes lighting up on its sides as a loud WHIRRING filled the area.

As if opening a ready maw the funnel flared wide and the tough rubber vibrated with the force of the air rushing in.  The citizens of Robotica didn't have much time to scramble to safety.  Some were able to reach a hiding spot but most had to find something to hold onto.  The sentinel droid wasn't as lucky.  Having focused first on calling for help, they scrambled to grab and claw at the city streets as the suction carried them close to the large machine.

Others watched the scene in dismay. All they could do was find something to anchor to as the winds pulled at their android bodies.  Many wore jumpsuits that fluttered in the intense wind, and those  with more traditional armors like metal, plastic, or rubber didn't find themselves any more aerodynamic.  They were just as easily pulled closer.

The sentinel was the only one in the square not currently anchored.  He slipped closer and closer to the vacuum's funnel, and just then, as their robotic feet lifted up and toward the throat of the funnel, and their fingertips just barely held to a nearby curb in the street, a flash shot out from the nearby alleyway.

A streak combining of energy, fire, and roaring engine plucked the sentinel away before they flew into the vacuum.  There, in the arms of a robotic lady clad in titanium armor, patterned in the style of a blue and orange jumpsuit, the sentinel knew he was safe.

“Jett!  By golly you're just in-”

“Can it, Stanley!” Jett barked. Her powerful jet engine, blasting from out of her shoulder blades, was enough to keep her airborne and carry another android.  She wasn't sure how much it could help resisting the Vac Bot at the same time, and was quick to find a landing place behind a section of fence.

Even as far away as the two landed from the vacuum beast, its pull easily reached them.  They both braced against the fence as they were sucked into it, the chains rattling and heaving in toward the center of the city square.  It was uncomfortable, yet the best place to rest her jet engine, as steam bellowed from her shoulder blades and swirled into the vortex of air.

An internal warning beep faded in her head, and she could again focus.  To the left of the two, another droid clung to the fence from the other side, their legs kicking back into the air as their cloth jumpsuits fluttered in the wind.  They were one of the rubber droid models, the most common and lightweight in the city.  As a result, vacuums were the weapon of choice against such a population.

The android's panicked stare didn't pierce Jett's confidence as she ordered to Stanley, “Alright, I'm going to see what I can do.  You rescue who you can.”

“Rescue?” the sentinel gulped. Cowards, as always.

Jett grabbed him by the collar with her right and left hand. The toes of her robotic feet clenching to the fence, she used all her might to easily toss Stanley to the side of the fence.  He swung around the edge, grasping hold as the winds carried him, and didn't need any more orders to know to start climbing over to the droid in trouble.  Stanley would be fine.  

Jett boosted herself up to the top of the fence, resisting every urge to flip over.  The Vac Bot wasn't relenting, but the citizens were doing their best to keep from flying inside.  Her eyes darted across the city square to look for who to help first.  In most cases, droids were in good spots to get away or hang on long enough.  Jett smirked, ready to make a quip, but bit her robotic lips as the worse case scenario happened.

A nearby bus stop splintered apart. The robots who had taken shelter there tumbled toward the Vac Bot instantly as the debris flew right into its funnel.  One bot managed to hang onto some remnants of the station in time, with another sentinel bot edging its way closer to help.  One less bot to worry about, but two more were going to be much more of a problem.

They tugged, and grappled, and yanked at each other, as if fighting one another instead of fighting against what was sucking them closer by the second.  Their robotic bodies clanged under their suits, and they easily bounced off each other in the scramble, finally realizing what they should have been worrying about in the first place.  They called out for help as their bodies lifted up, the winds wrapping and pulling over their metallic bodies. As Stanley had before, they grasped at the ground to no avail.

One robot, the male, with a stronger upper frame covered by rubbery vest, tumbled by a bench bolted down to the street.  He quickly grasped to the frame, fingertips bending some of the tough steel with the power only a robot could.  The lady bot, a wider, more rounder and bouncy frame, hit the back of the bench and struggled to keep behind it.  The winds easily yanked her up over it, and in her confusion she desperately grasped at the male bot until finally getting a solid hold on his rubbery feet.

Jett sighed.  Everyone else seemed fine except for these two hanging on in a mechanical chain of panicked parts.  It should be easy enough.  Zip in, zip out, beat that vacuum up.  She never fought a vacuum so large before, and the power it had was enough to give her pause.  Who sent this monstrosity? And for what nefarious purpose?

She didn't have time to pause.  The air cried out around her and quickly she realized the vacuum was powering up.  Her legs were kicking up behind her, forcing her to brace harder against the fence.  She gave out a strained exclamation as the vacuum force pulled her over the fence, her legs pointing right at the direction of the Vac Bot.  Stanley was having a hard time pulling the other robot around the fence, and if they were having trouble, this couple by the bench must have been going through a nightmare of a time.

“Wish me luck!” Jett smiled and let go, not sure if that reached anybot's ears.  Her jet pack revved up as the winds carried her.  She soared over the couple but didn't care.  The Vac Bot's funnel grew larger behind her at such an astonishing rate.  She got this.  She always had this.  She was so sure, as the jet pack's energy burst out of her.  She had this.

She didn't have this, it turned out.

If robots could go pale, the energy would have drained from Jett's face.  She was sure this was enough force, but she hardly moved.  Her jet pack was working, she was sure. She could feel the heat and energy and force screaming behind her, but she barely budged. She wasn't getting any farther away from the sucking gullet trying its best to inhale her. The wind remained relentless around her body, her plated, stylized hair rattling against her face and scalp.  This wasn't just any kind of wind, though.  It was a powerful suction, drawing in all of her energy from her jet pack as it rushed right inside the rubbery throat of the vacuum threat.

“Ah crap ah crap ah crap!” Jett laughed to hide her frustration.  The suction felt strong enough to rip her limbs off as the funnel loomed behind her, growing wider by the second as she slipped further and further back.  She had to be at one hundred percent now.  The heat alone at her backside terrified her.  She was going to fly apart, she thought.  Bolts and springs were going to explode out of her.  It took her everything to jet at full power, and yet she was slipping inside this vacuum's mouth. Her cocky expression and mannerisms were broken in that moment, as she realized just what kind of peril she was in. It seemed as though Jett was better at saving others than herself.

Her hands braced at the sides, feeling the insides of the rubber hose at the back of the funnel's mouth. The suction was incredible, and the winds inside this space roared more intensely than her own jet engine's.  Her fingertips slipped along the hose as she slid deeper, inching backwards and the frame of the world in her view got rounder and smaller.

How embarrassing to be defeated so easily.  She'd owe quite an explanation to the commander.

As if the words were being carried along in the wind, Jett's ears picked up on a transmission.  “Jett, now's your chance!”  The words came from Stanley, then a flash followed.  In that moment she could see Stanley through the inside of the hose.  Other robots held his ankles as he faced toward the mighty Vac Bot, with a full Zapper Cannon in his arms.  A burst of electricity sparked from the cannon and shook the vacuum at its core. It weakened in that moment, with Jett still operating at one hundred percent.

Jett burst out of the funnel, the suction still nipping at her backside, but the vacuum couldn't pull her back.  A familiar beeping and buzzing filled her mind.  She kept focus on her goal despite this.  “Hang on!” she cried out. Without saying another word she yanked the arms of the male robot from his hold, almost shattering the bench.  The female bot clenched to his toes as tight as she could, keeping that chain formed to keep from being pulled apart by the velocity.  With Jett's patented toss, she launched the pair toward a group of androids sheltered by a wall, and they were quick to pull them in.

“J~*buzz*~tt!” was the only thing Jett could make out in her mind as the beeping intensified, then at its most pounding sensation, immediately ceased.  Static filled her vision.  Error messages cascaded across her HUD.  A shock struck at her shoulders, and the ground smacked her in her face as she collided with the curb.  She came to a skidding stop.

She then started to skid back from where she came.  She laid there, rolling and sliding motionless, with steam jetting from her body in all directions, the steam swirling back into the funnel of the Vac Bot.  The whirring had died down but it hadn't stopped.

Her diagnostics kicked in and her vision shortly returned. Steadily, Jett's circuits sparked to life. Jett had taken many a blow by villains in the past, but who knew she would do the most catastrophic damage to herself?  Her fingers ratcheted about and then clenched to the first things they could, that being the same bench the robot couple held to that had nearly been ripped from its bolting.  The metal creaked as Jett was being pulled back toward the vacuum once more, the sense of panic slowly creeping up on her. Still, she deluded herself somehow winning against this hurricane-force suction, and being praised as a hero. Her toes grasped and reached for the ground, and after barely making contact, lifted up and locked toward the back of the vacuum's throat. Both hands clenched to the arm rest of the bench as it heaved and twisted with an incredible strain.  Busted from earlier, it was just a mess of metal now only held down by a couple devastated bolts.

“J-Jett!  Come in!”  Stanley's voice crackled over the static at the back of her mind.

“Yeah, is everyone safe?”

“Yes!  Jett, everyone's safe but you!  What do we do?”

Jett laughed, a bolt ripping from the bench and pinging her in the face.  No wonder this city was always under attack.  No one knew how to tie their own shoes.  “Call for backup, Stanley! Please!” she scolded, a hint of unease in her voice.  The bench stretched with more metallic groaning, her hands slipping to the ends of the armrest.  Her legs kicked up, now feeling her feet barely touching against the rubbery funnel.

The air vibrated around her whole body.  The wind twisted and tugged as the vacuum's power steadily returned after the attack from earlier.  The suction was unbearable now that she could feel her knees grazing the bottom lip of the funnel, her legs locked in the jet-stream of air getting sucked into the back of it.  Another bolt ripped out and flew by her.  Her anchor, what was once the park bench, all but had the appearance of a bulky metal rope at this point.

The funnel lips were entering Jett's peripheral vision.  Another bolt pinged by.  The screeching metal was the final warning that her last lifeline from getting sucked in was about to go.  Her last hope was that gravity would be stronger than the horizontal force for just a moment as she let go of the bench. She dropped down instantly, while the vacuum's suction was quick to slurp her almost entirely into the funnel, with Jett releasing a panicked squeal in response.  Her fingers grasped tightly into the dense rubber of the funnel, and her body smacked against the bottom of the funnel and hose.

She expected the metal bench to rip off and fly towards her.  What she didn't expect was for the high pitched cry to escape her lips as the twisted metal just barely missed her.  What remained of the bench flew out of sight and down the throat of the vacuum.  With that out of the way, all the vacuum had to focus on was sucking her in.

“No no no!” she cried out as the vacuum pulled around her body tighter than ever. Her eyes darted around the funnel, the sense of panic now gripping her by the shoulders much like the suction. She briefly attempted to pull her legs up from out of the throat of the robotic beast, even managing to get her toes hooked over the part where the back of the funnel connected to the main hose.  She thought, in that moment, she had enough purchase to spring her way out of the vacuum's “mouth”.

She leapt but lost even more velocity in the process, ending up worse off than she already was. Instead, her legs just straightened out again in the suction. She even felt her soles smack against the top of the hose, with her legs being slurped right back in, carried by the focused winds.  Jett reached for funnel's lips yet again, but only panicked whimpers came out of her own as they couldn't get any grip.  Like a hand had reached out and grabbed her torso to drag her back, she was sliding deeper into the vacuum's funnel.

Jett's hands slapped, and clawed, and pushed into the thick rubber for any hope to hang on.  Thinking quickly, as quickly as Jett's brain could process, she was able to suppress some of the panic that was overcoming her.  She jutted her arms to the side, locking elbows and bracing the entire length of her arms against the throat of the machine.  She could feel it work as well as it could, and it “working” was enough to make things feel worse.

“Help!” Jett hollered, sure that no one would hear over the roar of the winds and motor deafening her sensors.  She hoped, for just a moment, that she would Stanley in view, and maybe help would be on the way.  It was more robots, for sure, but all as helplessly trying to hang on and keep from being sucked in.

Jett wanted to slap herself if it didn't mean she'd go flying right in.  She was supposed to bring hope to others, and she wouldn't be doing anyone any favors if she were to get sucked in.  She had to get this together and quick.  She could sense a wave of confidence coming on, and focused all her energies into her jet pack for one last attempt. A wide smirk on her face, she thought she was about to tear out of this vacuum and that it would be payback time. She could see herself tearing the vacuum to shreds, saving civilian bots from the rubble while smiling for the cameras.

There was no revving of her engines. No sudden burst of power as she leapt out of the sucking maw.  Just the putter of her engines, and smoke puffing out from her shoulders. Her eyes widened at this, with the rest of her lackadaisical fantasies of escape being sucked away, much like she was about to be.

While braced against the funnel, she was drawn to the center of the hole entering the hose.  Her whole body below her armpits was caught in the slipstream of air rushing down the hose.  She kicked her legs about in a panic but the suction pulled her straight immediately.  She sometimes felt her soles smack against the top of the hose, and tips of her toes poke into the bottom.  They'd just slip right back to pointing back into the darkness.

She clung to the insides of the throat, her eyes closed tightly shut as she focused all her strength into her grip in a last ditch attempt to resist. After much struggle, her arms sparked for a moment and her strength gave, Jett letting out a panicked yelp in response.  It was slow, but steady, that she couldn't brace anymore, with her whole body quickly sliding into the hose.  Knowing she couldn't hang on anymore, the best Jett could do was attempt to clog herself in there.  Arms and legs braced against any direction they could to slow the decent down the throat, a continual string of panicked cries and stutters of “No!” soon following. Jett wanted to cry at this point. Despite how many times she'd fought vacuum suction, it never got any less frightening, and she certainly had never faced a foe this strong before.  Even in moments where she felt secured, the rubber vibrated around her, heaved in, helped push her down, and surely she would slip a bit before bracing again.

From the outside of the vacuum's hose one would be able to see hands and other bracing extremities push in and out through the rubber, but the deeper she went, and certainly those impressions gave the looks she was sliding deeper, it was clear the vacuum was winning. At this point, she was nothing to the world but a bulge in the throat of the vacuum.

EMERGENCY was the word that blinded her vision through her sensors as the world went to static.  She kept fighting, as she always did, while her bracing turned to sliding, which turned to bouncing, down the rest of the vacuum's throat, shrieking all the while, and she landed right in the middle of all the other junk and robotics sucked into the beast.

Rubber surrounded Jett.  She pushed the debris aside and instinctively started punching, but instead, it felt like she was just hitting a rubbery pudding, accommodating every blow.  “Guys, don't give up!” she belted out.  She froze.  Who was going to listen, here?

The stomach undulated around her. Collected parts and robots tossed around, some disappearing down different chutes and sucked into other sections.  Jett was overcome with a feeling of isolation, as if the vacuum was sorting her.  She kept punching.

Her fists did nothing.  A sensation of sinking and constriction came over her know as the walls seemed to be closing in.  Folds in the stretchy stomach kneaded and guided her. She was slipping.  The walls closing in.  Something tugged at her legs and her feet slipped from view.  Her eyes widened and static filled them as her night vision failed to boot up.  She pushed all around her, the rubber constricting her movements more than ever.

She felt the need to gasp for air. She wanted to laugh at that thought while she pushed back against the tightening rubber walls.

The sound of the vacuum's revving motor was the last thing in Jett's sensors before she powered down.

Outside its own belly, the vacuum roared out in victory as it knew it had accomplished the impossible. In its mind, for as much as it could know about winning and victory, the device was content and reached its programming goals.  Its master would be so happy to know the last line of defense was captured.  But that last line wasn't the last, as about fifteen more sentinels had gathered with weaponry all their own, and commenced blasting the vacuum to bits.

Only a day passed before Jett was back up and running.  No new reports of rampaging vacuums had come in during the time it took for Jett's repairs.

The rebooting process was always a pain, but Jett endured.  The wiring and diagnostics surging through her were more than welcomed compared to the darkness she had just experienced.  Jett sighed, comforted with the sleek architecture of home base and the recovery ward.   Stanley was there, greeting her with a smile, and a welcomed comment about the need for a jet-pack upgrade.  The debriefing would be laborious, as it always was, but Jett was confident she'd look pretty cool during the first half.

Jett smiled, “We need to get you a better code-name, Stanley.”

#short story #vacuum peril #robots #androids #vacuum cleaner robots #suction #vacuum #jett

[arcticdementor]

The Christian Century is a magazine for the senescent liberal Protestant Mainline. When I heard earlier this month that it had published an article exposing the presence of white supremacists at farmer’s markets [UPDATE: Sorry, I forgot to post the link to the piece.— RD], I laughed it off as another example of the dingbat left policing the boundaries. It should not surprise anyone that unsavory people enjoy a delicious tomato as well as the next person. If a Communist or a neo-Nazi enjoys locally grown fruits and vegetables, I can congratulate him on his good taste in food while rejecting his politics. This is called being a grown-up. When this controversy arose in 2019 in Bloomington, Indiana, the adult mayor of that city resisted calls by progressives to kick allegedly white supremacist farmers out of the farmer’s market, saying that as long as the accused vendors were following the law, he was not going to play the role of thought police.

It turns out, though, that the article’s author, a vigilant progressive named Rebecca Bratten Weiss, identifies poor old Self as a gateway drug to the Ku Klux Kale:

…

“Polite Christian ethno-nationalism”? Golly. I wonder how the neurotic Bratten Weiss figures that. Then again, there doesn’t have to be logic for these people to make a vicious accusation like that. If they feel it — and they are always sniffing out wrongthinkers — it must be true. Do I even need to point out here that she clearly hasn’t read The Benedict Option?

Judging by her self-description on her website, Bratten Weiss has a rich inner life:

She has spoken at various academic and cultural events on topics ranging from Nietzsche’s aesthetics and Bronte’s feminism, to ecology in literature and vulgarity in religion.

Rebecca recently completed work on The Dirt, an eco-feminist novel exploring the impact of the fracking industry on a dysfunctional Ohio family.

She is also in the process of revising The Peacemakers, a speculative literary sci-fi in which women in a near-future matriarchy control men via advanced AI technology.

She is a member of the George Sandinistas, and one of the founders of the Muse Writers Collective.

…

I had never heard of this unhappy woman until a friend sent me her Christian Century essay last night. Apparently she is a Catholic who has a Patheos blog in which she writes things like this:

How surprising to learn that she used to be an adjunct teacher of English at Franciscan University of Steubenville. And she is some kind of ecumenist, as we learn from this 2019 essay. Excerpts:

Driving home with a load of hay, listening to Johnny Cash, wondering what I could burn as a sacrifice to Hecate, I start thinking that probably not many women on this road, driving truckloads of hay, and listening to Cash, are also contemplating witchcraft. Does this make me necessarily more interesting? Or is it automatically less interesting, because “being interesting” is a motive force for me? Not the only motive force, but maybe it taints everything it touches, so there’s a certain embarrassingly meta quality about all my love, or curiosity, or revenge.

Meta or not, the desire to burn something as a sacrificial offering is real. Thinking about burning is real. I have a truck full of a combustible material, and my truck is driven by combustion. I’m rumbling along on the cusp of a flame.

Bless her heart, I do not doubt it! More:

The internal combustion engine is insufficient for the goddess, however, and I have no intention of burning the hay. The questions about burnt offerings become pragmatic. Like, where to do it? If I start a fire in the back yard the kids will all come gathering around, asking if they can roast marshmallows. But I can’t just go wandering off into the neighbor’s field and start burning things (or can I?).

Then there’s the question of what to burn. Something I value, or something I hate? Which would Hecate prefer?

If I get the answers wrong, who knows, some solid citizen might call and have them send the firetrucks after me, and then it’s pretty awkward if I’d opted to burn, say, the testicles of some Nazi dudes who just happened to be scampering across my backyard at the right time. When I just happened to have my scythe handy. Oops. Now I have this whole conflagration of testicles to explain.

Even if it’s what Hecate wants, the fact is, when you’re castrating Nazis and burning their balls as an offering to ancient Greek goddesses, people tend not to be very understanding. They’re all “oh, the incivility!” Or “this is why Trump keeps winning.”

Now I’m worried that I went too far there, talking about castrating Nazis. Now I’m worried that I’m not interesting or edgy, but instead the kind of person from whom you instinctively back away.

…

Anyway, as is often the case with censorious progressives, the witchy Bratten Weiss misses the irony of her condemning right-wing farmer’s market types for their exclusivity, in an essay in which she appears to claim that farmer’s markets should be zealously defended as a safe space for progressives and fellow travelers. Down with fascist eggplant! In fact, she hates localism itself, if localists are anything other than progressives:

…

Uh oh! People like Bratten Weiss ruin everything. When I wrote Crunchy Cons back in the mid-2000s, I was delighted to draw attention to people like the fundamentalist Christian family in north Texas who raised meat organically because they believed that was the best way to honor God’s Creation. There’s a quote in the book from the patriarch who says how surprised he was to discover that he had more in common with some hippie organic growers than he did with fellow Christian Republicans who lived a more conventional suburban life. Funny, but these folks weren’t threatened by the progressives who shared their love of organic, small-scale agriculture, and neither were the progressive small farmers threatened by them. They found common ground, and even solidarity. I guess Bratten Weiss, who is two tics away from a gran mal seizure, would want to cut the balls off the fundamentalist family’s sons and sacrifice them to a pagan goddess or something.

Bratten Weiss may be a Catholic, but she is definitely a Puritan. I was recently talking with a wealthy conservative white Catholic friend from the South who was explaining to me his discovery of the value of localism. He and his wife bought some land in the historically black part of their town, and are using it to help their black neighbors build community. They let black folks and others use the land for a farmer’s market, and for meetings between black community leaders and the local police, to build closer relationships (he showed me a photo on his smartphone of a recent gathering). He told me that even as relations between the black community and police in other parts of the country have grown worse, they have strengthened in his town, because it turns out that a lot of black people there don’t hate the police; they just want better policing. He talked about a woman black pastor in his town who makes this work of community-building possible. And he talked about long-term plans to restore what was once a thriving commercial sector of black-owned businesses.

My friend said that he has grown disillusioned with national politics, and now focuses on building up localism. This guy is very conservative. I’m guessing that his black woman pastor friend is … not. But they work together because they both want to make the town they share into a better place for them all to live. If Bratten Weiss showed up in their town, she would no doubt do her best to drive these two apart to purify the movement. People like that — and we have them on the Right too — are so exhausting. They are the kind of people from whom you instinctively back away. Unfortunately, they hold a lot of cultural and institutional power right now in America. Which is a big reason that we are in such a mess.

#rod dreher #the american conservative #farmer's markets #bratten weiss

[yaidenpart-blog]

Writing Dark Themes

Some stigma circulates around writers who tackle dark subjects regularly. Those writers tend to be treated a bit, well, like they're gonna pull out the fangs anytime and suck your blood. Today I'll talk about this stigma, approaching dark subjects in fiction in general, and my thoughts on Writing Dark Themes (And Why You Shouldn't Be Ashamed to Do so).

In preparation for this post, I read a dozen analyses, studies, and an absurd amount of psychology articles so I wouldn't show up empty handed and stupid. Though to be honest, the only thing that deep dive resulted in for me is dry eyes and a giant headache. Therefore, while I may build some arguments on top of the things I've researched, I'll use my own experiences to wing a big part of it.

So let's get started.

1. What Draws Us to Dark Subjects

What draws us towards dark themes? To reach a satisfying conclusion I first have to determine what exactly is included in 'dark themes' in this case. I'll mainly talk about the content matter of fiction, not equated to but also not divorced from the literary term 'theme’ describing the underlying meaning of a work. Basically, I'll fudge both together because to me they have always been inseparable in writing.

Since violence and disturbing motifs (such as abuse, gore, disturbing sexual content etc.) traditionally play a prominent role in the horror and thriller genres I'll center my attention on those. Though I'll also take care to explore dark themes in a broad sense applicable to other genres as well.

Various factors play a part in making the dark appealing to us, one being the human desire to peek behind the curtain and rob our fears of their power. By facing them in a safe, controlled environment we can stare right into their yellow eyes and desensitize ourselves. And through that, perhaps, gain the confidence to face these fears in reality as well.

Another one is catharsis. Some folks enjoy disturbing media as a healthy, secure outlet for their forestations. It lets their lizard brains bare their teeth without actually biting anyone, like a puppy play fighting.The public hanging of old, we as a western society used to love so, is now replaced with violent TV and fiction. Just. You know. With the difference of fiction not actually hurting anyone. And hanging making people dead. Yep.

Some people watch horror movies for the adrenaline rush, and write fiction which lets their readers experience the same, as a meta-analysis of the studies about mediated fight (1) confirmed,“Evidence also emerged that sensation seeking is associated with a greater enjoyment of fright and violence, which was consistent with other research [...]”

And of course, there's nothing wrong with any of that. But for me, personally, it has always been for the sake of exploration, of seeking to connect with humanity, to bridge the good things we are and the outright gruesome into a cohesive whole. While still keeping a layer of distance between reality to keep it safe.

So a fear of becoming homeless turns into monster stalking you and blocking the entry of your workplace every morning. Kind of a cheesy example, but you get the gist.

Writing provides us with a channel to explore those fears, to cut them down into pieces and hold against the light.

To understand them.

But that's just me.

Now we've cleared up why we're drawn to it, the question remains: Why should you integrate dark themes into your writing?

2. Benefits to Your Writing

Not to tap into a cliche, but, light doesn't exist without dark. You can't define the one without the glaring contrast of the other as a counterpart.

When you try to write a story that is completely pure, you'll end up with a flat mimicry of reality. Not to say you can't write a positive feel-good story, but it's like with GCI buildings in movies. Without a bit of scratch, they're not convincing. They don't feel real.

Imagine you add a hint of darkness to your story. May that be in the characterization, a breath held too long as your MC has to calm themselves down, a glance too harsh to be gentle from an old person across the street, moments of awkwardness when someone accidentally breaks a topic all present silently agreed to never talk about. Or in basic world building, monotone news voices droning on about crimes, tagged houses, and playgrounds where no child sets a foot on anymore.

Details like these may seem inconsequential, but they can roughen a story up just enough to make it into something raw.

To bring it to life.

Human experience doesn't only consist of roses and love triangles. A writer who keeps that in mind and works it in their stories in a respectful, emphatic way, possess a certain edge. In my opinion.

The key to writing dark themes, especially when you want them to be the focus of your story, is to approach them like peeling onions. Shhh, hear me out, I'll explain.  

Let's tell a story about hmm … a vampire. This is just an example, okay?

So we got a superficial plot of a teenager waking up with bloodlust gnawing at his gumps. Fairly simple. This is the surface layer.

To go deeper we have to peel off another one, we need to look at how he deals with the conflict we created (the vampirism).This is the reaction layer. At first, he freaks out and then resigns himself to starving because he'd rather scratch up his own arms than hurt someone else. His quick acceptance tells us he's both a nice kid and used to being screwed over by life.

When we go to the next layer, we realize why he's used to it. This one I like to call the core, it's what ties the dark theme together with characterization.

The relationship with his parents is strained, they demand nothing but outstanding performances outside inside and out of school while simultaneously neglecting him emotionally and physically. He has to deal with them sucking the life out of him on top of his newly acquired vampirism doing the same. Of course, depending on how you're inclined, you could spin this thread into a dramatic end scene of him cracking under the pressure and sucking their blood out in return, or he spares them after he learned he has a right to companionship and food and munches on squirrels or something. Whichever scenario you prefer.

So you see, the emotional core we've unveiled is is him feeling undeserving of basic human needs. And it affects how he deals with both the vampirism and abuse, one being a simple metaphor for the other.

Every theme has several layers, and once at the core, it's time to rebuild your story and make every element match accordingly. If you want. What matters is you can dig to a real, raw humanity through your dark subject and that's to me, the truly impactful aspect of dark fiction.

But unfortunately, not everyone gets it. You probably made the experience of relatives and friends judging your writing at some point, maybe even when you were just writing 'normal’ stuff. Golly, you think, when they're like this now, how badly would they react once you put all that saucy vampirism in? The thought doesn't bear contemplating.

Why exactly though, are dark themes such a taboo for some people that they get 'concerned' about your mental wellbeing when you preoccupy yourself with them?

3. Why Others Judge but You (still) Shouldn't be Ashamed

People, in general, love simple concepts. Like father, like son. You are what you wear.

The media you consume defines you.

Pushing people into tiny neat boxes is tempting because it's so damned easy. It doesn't require much thought, and as we all know, thinking hurts. So it's no surprise most writers of dark content, especially horror writers, face a certain... judgment. When you consume dark content you're branded as a bit weird, when you create it you might as well be the devil.

That's a bit of an exaggeration, but you get my drift.

Though what to do when someone cocks an eyebrow at your work, besides walking away or telling them to screw off? Well- that's what you got me for. I dived deep into research so you can refute anything people will throw at you with solid facts (should for whatever reason basic common sense not be enough) and maybe quieten some of your own worries.

Most studies and articles I found were more about violent video games (since that seems to be a Hotly Debated Topic™), but I figure it serves a similar service as violent books and movies.

Already 2011 studies which supported the outcome of aggression being a causation of violent media have been rejected by the US Supreme Court in the Brown v EMA (2), stating, “These studies have been rejected by every court to consider them, and with good reason: They do not prove that violent video games cause minors to act aggressively (which would at least be a beginning). Instead, “[n]early all of the research is based on correlation, not evidence of causation, and most of the studies suffer from significant, admitted flaws in methodology.”  

And studies 2016 and more recently have only further affirmed that decision, finding no relation between violent video games and increasing aggression (3) and not supporting any prior studies.

These prior studies had been, well, manipulated is such an ugly word. Let’s go with: primed to fit the desired outcome.

Some actually legit studies analyzed media history from 2005 to 2012 and showed an obvious decline of general social violence in connection to the introduction of more violent media︀ (4), implying violent media serves as a sort of catharsis for the modern western world, stating,”We find no evidence of an increase in crime associated with video games and perhaps a decrease.”

Puh, now we got these dry as desert facts out of the way -

Honesty, writing about dark or disturbing things is not a thing to be ashamed of, watching violent media doesn't turn you violent (assuming you're a person capable of differentiating between fiction and reality) and writing about it certainly doesn't mean you're sick.

We as humans aren’t perfect and pure, so common sense dictates the things we create are neither. Writing about the whole scope of human experiences can only benefit you.

So go on and fly my little bird, further your horizons and write some dark fiction.

That's all I have for you today, I'd love to hear your thoughts and maybe get a discussion going!

See ya in two weeks,

Yaiden Part.

**

Sources:

1.Hoffner C, Levine K. Enjoyment of Mediated Fright and Violence: A Meta-Analysis, MEDIA PSYCHOLOGY, 7, 207–237 Copyright © 2005, Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc.

2.McCarthy R, Coley S, Wagner M, et al. Does playing video games with violent content temporarily increase aggressive inclinations? A pre-registered experimental study. J Exp Soc Psychol.

3.Brown v EMA, 564 US 08-1448 (2011).

4.Cunningham S, Engelstatter B, Ward M. Violent video games and violent crime. Southern Economic Journal

#writing #writing advice #writing tip #writing tips #dark fiction #theme #horror #thriller #writers on tumblr

[novastarlyght]

A while ago, you talked about how much you didn't like pmatga's bad future episode (I can relate). Since you're the best at writing headcanons and potential scenarios, what's your take on what would actually happen if betrayus won? (getting everyones bodies back is an obvious first XD)

brUH I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND THE CAN OF WORMS YOU JUST OPENED BECAUSE GOOD GOLLY GOSH WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN

yeah that’s def first although I actually have this whole completely different scenario imagined for what would happen if Betrayus and his army got the repository (hint: it may or may not involve zombie!bets and a zombie apocalypse) but since technically that isn’t related to what you asked I’ll save that for another post. so okay assuming everyone is brought back to life with no issues….

you know how Bets just kinda lazes around in his castle in the Netherworld and doesn’t really do anything so the ghosts just sorta go about their business as normal although occasionally they have to take orders from him? it’s pretty much the same deal once he takes over the living world. Pac-World becomes a dictatorship with a dictator that doesn’t actually do much overall, although a lot of stuff does absolutely change because let’s face it he wouldn’t want to be in charge if he liked how Stratos and rest of the former government did things. he keeps Stratos prisoner and kills everybody else formerly involved in the Pac-World government.

60% of government funds now go to Bets personally to do with whatever the hell he feels like, 30% goes to his military (which he’s still in charge of) and weapons development (which Dr. B is in charge of) and the last 10% goes to whoever sucks up to him enough to earn it. taxes are super high and things like schools and libraries now become privately owned and operated for profit businesses, because Bets’s government doesn’t fund them (again unless they really suck up to him, then he’ll throw them some extra cash). his administration keeps a close eye on citizens but only to make sure no one’s conspiring against him. otherwise everyone’s allowed to do whatever they want, so it’s not exactly one of those BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU dystopias. instead it’s more of a chaotic and brutal society because there’s only two real laws now: 1) Don’t conspire against your Supreme Ruler and 2) Pay your taxes. rebels and cheapskates are sentenced to death and Bets is your judge, jury and executioner.

nothing’s technically a crime unless it’s against Bets and his regime specifically so personal security becomes top priority for any home or business that doesn’t wanna get ransacked to the Netherworld and back; it’s a violent world now and assaults/robberies are extremely commonplace, and that’s probably the worst part of it. however if you were previously homeless, jobless, or just extremely poor before Bets took you may benefit from the change because under his rule no one is unemployed or without a place to live. sure you might be given a crappy job/living space and have to deal with people constantly trying to break in and steal from you, but you’ll still have a stable income and roof over your head since your Supreme Ruler wants everybody doing SOMETHING to contribute to his empire. good old Bets always barking at everyone to quit slacking off while he does nothing but slack off himself.

‘cause yeah aside from commanding his military and just making the rules he barely does anything. everyone is expected to do whatever he asks of them at all times but as long as they do what he says and suck up to him regularly they’re safe… at least from Bets himself and his forces; he ain’t gonna protect you from anybody else. Buttler is basically his 2nd in command and honestly takes a way more active leadership role, taking up whatever (see: actually a lot of) responsibilities Bets doesn’t feel like handling himself. 

finally Sir C, Spheria and any/all of the other former Freedom Fighters who survived the uprising are now this secret underground rebel group who aim to free Stratos and restore him to power. they’re the most wanted and hunted people on Pac-World by Bets and his armada (Pac most of all if he’s still alive and with them), but they’re hanging in there, though it’s hard to say for how much longer. the Tree of Life, which is what gave them the edge to win the war the first time, is gone now. 

I feel like I should add a drawing or something to this post to make it more interesting than just a gigantic wall of text but I got nothin’ I’m sorry;;;

#pmatga #dipdastardly #asks #texts from last nova #dip-dastardly

[livingthelifemedia]

25 Wine Making Tips

Have you ever wished you had an experienced winemaker looking over your shoulder as you prepared to harvest your first crop of grapes or tested acid levels? How about as you scratched your head over how to clarify a cloudy wine or tried fermenting fresh peach juice? We know what that’s like, so we asked some of our most trusted winemaking authorities to share a few of their personal tricks and tips they use for their own wines. Their combined years of knowledge revealed everything from the practical (pick the ‘jack stems’ out of your grapes) to the tactical (move a heavy carboy with a plant dolly). Help yourself to a few ideas and tackle your next winemaking endeavor like an expert. Grape Growing and Harvesting *Wes Hagen, WineMaker’s “Backyard Vines” columnist and vineyard manager-winemaker at Clos Pepe Vineyards in Lompoc, California.* - *Keep it cool* Harvest grapes cool and never let them get hot or sit in the sun after picking. Use food-grade dry ice to cool down must in the fermenter to extend cold soak. This is also a great idea for grapes picked on a hot day, or grapes that are hot from transport. - *Do the legwork* Spend some time picking ‘jack stems’ out of your must to avoid stemmy or vegetal character. *Blending, Clarifying and Testing* *Dan Mouer, contributor to WineMaker and 27-year winemaker from Richmond, Virginia.* - *Take a taste (or two!)* Don’t be afraid to poke a (sanitized) wine thief into a carboy and draw a sample periodically. Make tasting notes in your cellar book or wine log. Taste it shortly after fermentation, then again routinely as it bulk ages. Then set aside a bit of the bottled stuff for occasional formal taste-tests. Don’t forget to top up your carboy after taking your sample. *John Peragine, contributor to WineMaker and avid home winemaker from Taylorsville, North Carolina.* - *Easy fining (gelatin)* If you’re in a pinch for a fining agent, try unflavored gelatin. Keep in mind, however, that it will have an effect on tannins. *Jack Keller, creator of The Home Winemaking Page (http:winemaking.jackkeller.net ) and WineMaker writer.* - *Easy fining (egg white)* Egg white is one of the best general-purpose clarifying agents. It will also improve a too-tannic wine. Gently beat a separated white with a small amount of unclarified wine and a pinch of salt. Use half a white for each five-gallon (19 L) carboy and use by adding the mixture to the wine and stirring with a long, sterilized rod. Refit the airlock and set aside for at least ten days. - *Easy tannin remedy* Add two or three drops of whole milk per gallon (3.8 L) of wine for overly tannic white wines. The proteins in the milk precipitate the tannins in the wine and the result is a fine coating of lees. - *If you can’t test – taste* If you don’t have an acid test kit to measure and calculate additions to a wine you think is acid-deficient, pour a 380 ml sample and adjust it to taste in measured increments. Multiply the amount added by ten times the number of gallons to be treated. You can also use fractions of a teaspoon and multiply. *David Salaba, wine expert at Keystone Homebrew Supply of Montgomeryville & Bethlehem, Pennsylvania (www.keystonehomebrew.com ) and graduate of UC-Davis. * - *Get a clean juice sample* After thoroughly stirring the must in the open-top fermenter, take a large kitchen strainer and place it on top of the must. Slowly press the strainer into the must with both hands, being careful not to push too fast. A clean puddle of juice will slowly fill the basket – without all of the gunk! You can also use this method for a sample to check the fermentation progress. Just remember that the cap must be broken up and stirred thoroughly or else the ongoing fermentation will change the characteristics of the juice in the cap vs. the juice at the bottom of the fermenter. *Bottling and Aging * *Walt Huber, frequent contributor to WineMaker, and winemaking instructor specializing in sparkling wine from Maineville, Ohio.* - *Prevent overflowing carboys* When racking from one carboy to another, rack the first cup or so into a wine glass. This gives you a small sample to smell and taste while the racking finishes, and also ensures that the receiving carboy doesn’t overflow. All carboys are not exactly the same. If the first one is a little bigger than the second, it won’t overflow. When the racking is complete, use the wine in the glass to top up the receiving carboy. *Wayne Stitzer, winemaking consultant and professional member of the American Wine Society.* - *Keep a library of your wines* Put away a couple bottles of each vintage and variety for future reference and to monitor for aging potential and shelf life. This is also a gauge for improving skills and styles. The only way to know if you are getting better is to have something to compare. This is often overlooked because when a few bottles are produced they tend to all get consumed. *David Salaba, wine expert at Keystone Homebrew Supply of Montgomeryville & Bethlehem, Pennsylvania (www.keystonehomebrew.com ) and graduate of UC-Davis. * - *Label everything (part 1 - chemicals)* Many chemicals and ingredients degrade over time, losing (or even gaining) potency, neither of which can be good for your wine. As soon as you buy a product, take a permanent marker and write the date on the lid and the label, just in case the container gets reused. It takes only a second or two to do, and can help avoid the, “golly, I wonder if this stuff is still good?” or, “What the heck, I’ll use it anyway” syndromes. *Chris Colby, Editor of WineMaker and Brew Your Own magazines.* - *Label everything (part 2 - carboys)* When you first start making wine, you’ll know that the carboy full of red wine is your Cabernet and the carboy full of white contains your Chardonnay. However, a couple years down the road, when you have multiple carboys and jugs filled – it’s easy to lose track of what vessel contains what wine. Tape an index card to each container and note all the relevant information (type of wine, initial Brix and acid, skin contact time, when the wine was fined – and with what agent, oak treatments, when it was racked, etc.). Every time you rack to a new container, transfer the index card as well. *Wine Kits* *Tim Vandergrift, WineMaker’s “Wine Kits” columnist and technical services manager at Winexpert Ltd.* - *Find your fermenter’s fill line* The best way to hit the right volume in your primary fermenter is by filling the carboy up to the neck with cool water. Rack or pour the water into the primary and draw a line with permanent marker at the water level. This will be the fill level. - *Have patience* Just because your wine kit is ready to drink in six weeks doesn’t mean that it’s ready to drink! Try a bottle in three months, another at six, then decide if it’s ready. *Walt Huber, frequent contributor to WineMaker, and winemaking instructor specializing in sparkling wine from Maineville, Ohio.* - *Watch out for water* Always use distilled or reverse osmosis water if you’re adding it to your wine, especially in kits. City, spring and well water may have minerals or chemicals that can cause off flavors. *Temperature and Fermentation* *Jack Keller, creator of The Home Winemaking Page and WineMaker writer.* - *Start a starter* A balanced yeast starter solution begun 20 hours before needed will significantly increase the amount of live cells you start with. Use a cup of water, a teaspoon of sugar and a pinch of yeast nutrient dissolved in it. After four hours, add 1/4 cup of must or orange, apple or grape juice. Add another 1/4 cup of must or juice every four hours. For periods beyond 20 hours, begin with a pint of starter solution instead of a cup. - *Check your calibrations* If you purchase (or are given) a used hydrometer, always calibrate it before using it. Very old hydrometers were calibrated at 4 °C (39 °F). Then calibration changed to 15 °C (59 °F) and stayed that way for half a century. These days, most hydrometers are calibrated to 20 °C (68 °F) at which temperature distilled water should measure a specific gravity of exactly 1.000 (0 °Brix). *Jim Harrington, Harrington Press Winemaking & Homebrew Supplies (www.harringtonpress.com ), Peoria, Illinois.* - *Modify your plastic fermenter* Drill a hole in the lid big enough to fit a #10 stopper where the grommet hole is. This makes stirring, taking readings and sampling much easier than having to remove the lid. *Country Wines* *Alexis Hartung, WineMaker’s “Varietal Focus” columnist and owner of Country Wines winemaking supply (www.countrywines.com ), Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. * - *Freshness is key* It’s best to use ripe fruit but overripe fruit can bear potential problems (bacteria, off-flavors). Also, cut away and discard bruised sections. For fresh, fruity flavors rack the wine three to six weeks after the fermentation stops. - *Choose the right additives* Use potassium metabisulfite, not sodium metabisulfite to avoid a possible salty taste. Also be sure to carefully measure sulfite to be sure you don’t use too much. *Jack Keller, creator of The Home Winemaking Page (http:winemaking.jackkeller.net ) and WineMaker writer.* - *Save your peelings* If you have a peach tree and make lots of pies or freeze peeled wedges, remember that one and a quarter pound of peelings, with sugar, acid blend, etc., makes an excellent gallon of peach wine. Peelings can be frozen in bags until you have enough to make a batch. - *Skip the juicer* Use a paring knife to cut a slit, crosswise to the axis of a lemon, past the center to a depth of about 2/3 through. Place the lemon in a microwave oven with the slit facing up and cook on high for 20 – 25 seconds. Squeeze the juice out through the slit. This method saves a lot of hand strength. *Techniques* *Chris Farley of Northern Brewer homebrew supply (www.northernbrewer.com ), St. Paul, Minnesota * - *Draining your carboys* When you’re emptying a carboy filled with cleaning solution, try inserting a small (one foot length or so) tube while the carboy is upside-down so part of it sticks above the water line. Air will exit out of the tube allowing the liquid to come out fast, which speeds up your cleaning time. *Daniel Goodman, of The Good Brewer homebrew and wine supply, Livermore, California. * - *Storing carboys* After you clean and sanitize your carboy, you can put it up for long-term storage (or short-term if you turn over wine quickly enough) by putting in a pint or two of water and three or four campden tablets. Place a solid stopper on the carboy and turn it upside down (use a carboy holder if you have one). As the tablets dissolve, they create SO2. Since the carboy is upside down it creates a seal so the gas doesn’t escape. When you’re ready, just empty it out and fill – no prep! - *Moving carboys* To move heavy carboys, use a plant dolly like the ones used for large potted plants. They are only a few inches high, which makes it much easier to get them on the dolly and wheel them to wherever you want them. Read the full article

#wine #vineyards