#specifically targeted at a plural friend of ours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her · 3 years

Text

On Education

An excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published.

Previous Excerpt

Next Excerpt

I think every parent struggles with the question of when they should teach their children hard truths. At some point, every child needs to learn about death. They need to learn about hatred. They need to learn about the horrors people will inflict on them for being different. This is something that is as true for ghouls as it is for humans. For most people, it is a fact of life that someone will hate you for existing.

Human-on-human prejudice is still something I don’t fully understand. At least humans have a reason to hate us. I don’t know why they go looking for reasons to hate each other too.

Educating ghouls is a challenge. We need to know about ourselves, of course. We need to know about our kind - our needs, our history, our ways of moving through human society - but we need to learn everything that humans learn too. The more we can fit seamlessly into the human world, the safer we are. You probably don’t know this, what with how much the news loves a story about a ghoul living in secret among humans, their murders exposed to the shock of their friends and acquaintances, but those of us who are brought up among humans don’t get found out very often. It’s the feral children, the big city packs that still hunt most of their food, the all-ghoul communes, that are easier targets for the exterminators. Those of us that are fully integrated are much harder to sniff out, unless we seriously fuck up.

{Editing Note: Don’t say fuck. Even though it’s a really good word}

The best way to make sure a ghoul can pass as human is to start us young. Get us into kindergarten, then elementary school, and keep going all the way through college. There’s nothing better than hands-on training. That’s what my mom did for me, mostly. I was raised in human society, in the human public school system, and I’ve never had a true close call. I’ve never caught the eye of an exterminator, and no human has ever asked me pointed questions about my habits or diet.

For the sake of completeness, I should say that I was in the human public school system for everything except for middle school. It’s not like that’s a great loss, though - everything I’ve heard about middle school sounds like hell. I don’t know how any of you survived going through puberty in front of all your peers.

{Editing Note: I am not talking about ghoul puberty unless I can find a reliable human to tell me what their puberty was like. If I wrote about something that I thought was ghoul-specific but is actually normal I’d die on the spot. I’d call a fucking exterminator on myself.}

Conventional schooling might be the best setup for success, but it’s also the most dangerous route. Kids talk, and that’s as true for us as it is for you. It takes a lot of work to make a child understand that there are some things you can never tell anyone, not even your closest friends, not ever. It’s not a fun burden to grow up carrying either. I’ve known the fear of death for literally longer than I can remember. I’ve known that letting myself be truly honest and vulnerable with any of my classmates would bring it to me and my parents before the day was over {Editing Note: True vulnerability is what I need now, though. I should find a place to talk about my dad}. It’s more loneliness than any child should ever grow up with. I was lucky; I found Scarlet in 4th grade. There are plenty of ghoul children that don’t find each other until high school, if there are even any other ghoul children to be found.

Some parents decide that the risk is too great. They’d rather have alive children than well-adjusted children, so they homeschool them {Editing Note: Okay, that’s way too harsh. Don’t be biased}. I did get to experience this approach for those couple of years when I wasn’t in middle school, and it does have some advantages other than safety. When I was in public school, my mom had to find time after school to teach me about our people. In a homeschool setting, ghoul studies could actually be integrated into our curriculum. It wasn’t completely asocial, either - ghoul parents often use their Society connections to find other ghoul children that are homeschooling so we can learn together. I met my second best friend, Scorpio, because we were homeschooled together.

{Editing Note: My friends are going to read this. I need to make it super clear that Scorpio is the second best friend I made chronologically. I’m not ranking my friends in front of the entire world.}

Scorpio’s a good friend, but he’s also a good case study for the drawbacks of homeschooling. He was homeschooled K through 12 and he is definitely the worst of my friends at passing. He has no idea what’s normal for ghouls vs normal for humans, so he compensates by either saying nothing or saying the most obvious, outlandish lies you could imagine when childhood comes up in conversation. In his defense, those lies are usually pretty funny, and he does connect pretty well with the right kind of people. Scorpio’s got a bunch of very specific subjects that he knows a ton about and loves to talk about. He and Scarlet can go on for hours about literary theory.

{Editing Note: That’s too meandering. I’m just trying to explain why some ghouls homeschool and some don’t - I don’t need to put my weird friends on blast.}

There’s another kind of formal schooling for ghouls that’s much, much rarer - the ghoul private school. The only one I even knew of, St. Raymond’s, was shut down last year by exterminators. Normally I’d tell you to take the lurid details you hear on the news with a healthy pinch of salt, and I still would, but that many rich young ghouls, completely cut off from the rest of humanity… it’s hard to predict what becomes normalized in that kind of echo chamber.

Fortunately, my patron knows more people than I do, so I have more to offer you than grim speculation. According to her, these kinds of places always have a very small student body, rarely breaking a hundred. The lesson content is pretty similar to homeschool - fully integrated ghoul curriculum, plus a few specialized lessons on blending into human society. Out of necessity, they’re almost always boarding schools. It’s easier to keep a low profile if you don’t have a bunch of ghoul kids not used to hiding going to and from the campus every day.

Apparently, it’s that kind of logistical challenge that makes these schools so rare. Aside from all the money you need to run a school in the first place, and how careful you need to be to pass scrutiny from the Board of Education, providing discretely for the needs of that many ghouls is an organizational nightmare. I mean, there’s a reason that ghoul families are so small, a reason why even our extended households rarely do more than scrape the double digits. There’s only so much flesh that can be safely obtained in one area at a time. There aren’t a lot of ghouls that have the resources and the inclination to put one of these schools together.

There is, of course, one more ways that ghouls are educated - the school of hard knocks {Editing Note: That’s such a trivializing way to put it. Have some sensitivity, me}. Given how short our average life expectancy is, it’s inevitable that some ghoul children have to fend for themselves from a very young age. I doubt it comes as a surprise that most of them don’t manage to integrate into human society very well. The lucky ones figure out early on how to kill discreetly, how to hide their nature from observers, and how to vary their hunting patterns enough to avoid the attention of the exterminators. The rest either starve quietly or die violently.

Most of these feral ghouls who survive to be teenagers eventually find each other and form packs. From a pure survival standpoint, this is a bad move. A group of feral teenage ghouls have a much harder time covering their tracks than they would as individuals, but for most, the chance at companionship is too tempting. It’s miserable, being alone in the world. Packs offer most of them the best chance to escape loneliness that they’ll ever get. And for most of them, it ends in a shallow grave within a year. Putting down a pack of feral ghouls is a good headline for an exterminator, and it’s a lot less work than trying to ferret out those of us who’ve figured out how to pass. That isn’t how the majority of ghouls die, but it’s how a plurality of us do.

For those few feral ghouls that survive to adulthood, their lives take one of three paths. Sometimes they find a patron and fall in with a household, and they do their best to heal from the trauma of their childhood. They do their best to find a happy life in human society, just like those of us who were luckier. Sometimes they become true Hunters, living their lives on the outskirts of our Society; still embraced by us, if only at an arm’s length. I’ll talk more about them later.

And sometimes, they become the Lost. Not that ghouls from any walk of life are immune to that fate, but… I’ll get to them later too. You may not have heard of them by that name, but I guarantee you’ve heard of the Lost.

{Editing Note: That’s a really grim note to end the chapter on. I should play with the structure a bit and find a more uplifting note to leave this subject on.}

{Editing Note: Or I could ask Kestrel. I’m sure she’d have ideas on how to better write the section on feral ghouls, and she could help me strike a more authentic tone. But… I don’t want to upset her. She doesn’t like to think about it, and I don’t want to hurt her. Is this important enough? Would she think it’s important enough?}

#my writing #original fiction #not tlt #memoirs of a flesh eater

32 notes · View notes

mypersonmyg · 3 years

Text

crash and learn | myg, kth, jjk

pairing: yoongi x reader ft. maggie x taehyung, dani x jeongguk

genre: fluff, college au, the misery chick au

rating: pg15

wc: 2.3k

warnings: swearing, not really edited

summary: you and yoongi just want some time alone OR maybe jeongguk and taehyung will finally stop crashing your dates

a/n: haha i bet you thought i forgot but i didn’t! its drabble week and i will be posting one every day this week (weekends debatable)...this one is a part of the misery chick universe but also you don’t have to read it to get it because...

this is for my FAVORITE CUTIE MAGGIE @kimtaehyunq!!!! who asked me to write a cute tae and jeongguk request ft herself and yours truly <3 and i think its fun to have one universe with all the members being with one of my friends so,,,maybe more coming?,,,either way i might write another drabble or two to sort of bring this one full circle, maybe not this week but yeah

[drabble masterlist]

[the misery chick]

One date turned to two and two to three, needless to say that months later and Min Yoongi still finds room to swoon for the girl who thought him puffing smoke before the start of the period. The misery chick isn’t gone, but the words are forbidden within a radius of the two of you, more likened to prolonged stares and the occasional glares of those wondering about the developing development of your arms locked and stares stopping on your respective pupils dilated in the glare of the midday sun.

Though those passersby who let Yoongi pass by for too long without a positive step in the direction of his natural charms hold their tongues, the boys that fill the round of the courtyard picnic don’t hesitate to gag into half eaten sandwiches and dribble the purple fizz from the cans perched at their lips.

“This is a little excessive, no?” Taehyung, the least bothered of the present, pipes up. He slurps from a straw that traces the length of his arm, wrapping the sleeve of his half buttoned button up. No one dared ask about his latest purchase, Jeongguk who was slurping from his juice box even eyeing with envy the can perfectly placed atop a tuft of grass, feeding into the straw at Taehyung’s lips. “When you invited us on a picnic I was hoping for a little more ‘we time’ and a little less ‘you time’.”

“To be clear, we didn’t invite you.”

“I like to think it was an open invitation,” Jeongguk shrugs, falling back against the blanket spread beneath you.

Yoongi kisses his teeth, his own position resting against your chest, the perfect avenue for the pass of a grape from your fingers to his lips. He’s too content to bother with the bothersome nature of his uninvited roommates, both found minutes before his departure scavenging the lunch he’d spent the better part of the morning putting together. It was only the delighted pitch of your giggles that stopped him from scolding the two and sending them on their way when they followed you out of the door. He even caught you sneaking a few extra snacks into the basket for the fiends.

“The point is, I will not hesitate to press my face to Yoongi’s because this is supposed to be a date.”

“Press your face? That’s fuckin’ weird can’t you just say kiss?” Taehyung snatches the grape from your hand midair, sending Yoongi a smug smirk when he pops it past his geometric lips humming along with the satisfactory burst of the skin against his tongue.

“No, because it makes you uncomfortable.” You tut, quickly replacing the grape to remedy the pout pulling at Yoongi’s cheeks. “This’ll teach you two to stop crashing our dates!”

Dates is, in fact, plural because the tag along of your spritely comrades has been less and less few and far over the course of just a few weeks. You aren’t blind to the odd trend, not missing the attachment of Jeongguk specifically with each expected visit. Only recently had Taehyung begun to fill the void at Jeongguk’s side, previously partnered with any member of the house available at the time.

What you’ve failed to account for with every impromptu double date is Jeongguk’s wise up with each stand in. He began to worm his way with Hoseok, clear that Yoongi would never turn down his best friend and you would never turn down Jeongguk. He would then try his hand with each member of the house, the worst of them being Jimin who had them sent away without even a morsel of the pizza you and Yoongi planned on sharing that day.

It was that evening that Yoongi stood barefoot in his doorway, scratching at his brows toeing the reason behind Jeongguk’s sudden interest in you to which Jeongguk sputtered and blushed Yoongi out of the door with the assurance that his interest in you still remained platonic despite your commonalities and attraction.

Jeongguk would never disclose the reason for his sudden interest in the almost daily escapades of Yoongi and yourself for fear that the blush painting his cheeks would be due to the teases and pressures of his friends, much the way he heard his hyungs pressuring Yoongi just months ago. He reasons that the position served Yoongi well, his eyes often traveling to the trace of your hand against Yoongi’s and frequent pecks to his forehead, his cheeks, he averts when you ‘press face’.

He wouldn’t dare admit the lift of his heart when you utter a defeated ‘I’ll just call Maggie and Dani, we can all catch a movie or something’ or when you plan ahead, which you’ve been doing more often, and the two meet you at your destination. The assumption of his appearance for the consumption that is often his source of a meal was accurate at the start. Your weekly dinners increasingly put on hold in place of a date with Yoongi, a point that Jeongguk used to his advantage the first night he beat Yoongi to the front seat of his own car while you snickered on the passenger side and Yoongi grumbled his way to the rear.

His tactic had been to spend more time with his friend busied by love’s intoxicating hold, but his routine was struck by the catch of his own wrist in the hold of the bug. It was subtle before all at once, just an insignificant flutter passed off as a change in the weather, allergies. It was the not so subtle jab of Hoseok’s elbow into Jeongguk’s ribs after a particularly festive frolic through the spring festival that hipped him to his blind intentions.

“Dude, you’ve been eying Dani for like three weeks and I’m tired of going on dates with you.” Suffice to say that was the last time Hoseok was glued to his side and Jeongguk only hoped the few feet between him and Dani just ahead provided a gap gaping enough to save her ears from Hoseok’s assail.

It was a constant trial and error leading up to the night just a week ago that conjured Taehyung in stride, far too dressed up for casual with a confident glint in his eye.

“You made the right call, I don’t know why it took you so long to make it, but I’m here now. The doctor is in.” Taehyung surveyed the small span of the restaurant's front entrance that day, confident in his abilities to nudge Jeongguk ever closer to the girl he’s been crazy about for the past few weeks. He found it endearing that the youngest was having a hard time, especially when he was often the target of straying gazes and the not-so-subtle flirtations of all shades.

It didn’t take long for all involved to realize that the doctor inconveniently called in sick from the moment Yoongi showed up with three ladies en route, one familiar from a photo Jeongguk scrounged and the second filled with a familiarity not quite familiar to Taehyung. You were quick to introduce her as Maggie, and Taehyung couldn’t form a sentence coherent enough for the rest of the night.

If it weren’t for the quickened explanation on the drive home, Jeongguk would’ve been a lot less forgiving about his botched date, but here they are two weeks later, both lovestruck idiots jumping with each sound of crumpled grass while you and Yoongi are none the wiser to their intent.

“So, what are we doing tomorrow? Aside from watching you two be all lovey dovey.”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi’s head tilts, eyes squinting in the face of the sun’s rays. “What are you two doing tomorrow? I personally plan on spending the day with my girlfriend, preferably alone at some point.”

“Huh, well there’s this horror marathon at the drive-in tomorrow and I was thinking we could all go!” Taehyung nudges Jeongguk’s leg, the younger immediately onboard with the suggestion.

“Yeah! We could even invite Maggie and Dani so we have someone to talk to when you two inevitably claim the backseat for making out or whatever.”

You eye the two, eyes as wide as fresh puppies and smiles spanning the length of their cheeks. You aren’t completely blind to the trend of the past few weeks, but you haven’t been keen enough an observer to call them out on it until now. You’ve joked with Yoongi in private about your impromptu triple dates, most of the time brushed off with the shift of his lips to your own, too exhausted to think about anything but the moment he finally has you to himself.

You nudge him with your knee, catching his eye with the minute dip of your head and the draw of your brow.

“Ya know, you guys could always just go yourselves. I could give you their numbers,” You don’t miss the exchanged glances and tinted cheeks, Jeongguk’s eyes averting to the opposite end of the grass, one hand lifting to tug at the lobe of his ear. “I know Maggie is really into horror and Dani will def tag along if you ask nicely.”

“Oh...they’re your friends though, I don’t think they’d wanna hang with us.” Taehyung sputters, nearly knocking the can at his side. Yoongi scoffs, head lolling from its place on your thigh.

“You’re kidding right? The way those two act around you is not exactly subtle.”

“What do you mean?” Jeongguk’s body leans forward, pupils doubled in hopeful curiosity.

“I guess you’ll just have to see for yourself.” Yoongi shrugs.

“And there’s no time like the present!” Your hands flag at something beyond the scope of their heads, Jeongguk freezing on the spot, but Taehyung’s neck craning to capture the bodies bounding over and moments later plopping in the convenient spaces between. Maggie squishes herself between you and Jeongguk while Dani takes the spot beside Taehyung.

A panic flashes in both of their eyes when they note the unmatched arrangement of bodies. There was no specification as to who Maggie or Dani harbor unspoken feelings for, or what kind of feelings they are, and the time to question has since vanished.

The group falls to routine, broken conversations and voices piping in, Taehyung notes the lack of attention the girl that has a grip on his bursting appendage has paid in the past twenty minutes. A simple nod of the head or half smile is the only acknowledgement to his thoughtfully witty remarks.

He doesn’t miss the drop of her hand to Jeongguk’s arm when he tells a funny joke, her head thrown back with exaggerated laughter and he fights to send a glare his way but thinks better as Jeongguk is too entranced by Dani who has barely said a word since sitting.

“So, Tae was just telling us about this horror marathon they’re having at the drive-in tomorrow night. He and Guk wanna go.” You fill in once the six of you fall to comfortable silence. You catch Maggie sending a smirk Taehyung’s way, recovering at once when she peeks your gaze out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Yoon and I could use some alone time so I thought you guys might wanna go with them.”

“Horror?” Dani speaks up, gently shifting to shield herself from Jeongguk’s wandering eyes. “That’s cool, but I don’t know that’s not really my thing.”

“That's okay!” Jeongguk startles himself with his words, lowering his voice with a nervous chuckle. “I mean, we don’t have to stay the whole time, I wouldn’t mind leaving early. We could get some food or something.”

“Hey, not all of us are chicken. I wanna stay the whole time,” Maggie pokes her tongue in Dani’s direction, earning the same in return.

“I’m not chicken. There’s just only so much nuclear family, last girl blah blah blah that I can handle.” Dani shrugs, turning her attention to Jeongguk for the first time that he’s aware of, since she arrived. “It’s okay, you guys should just go without me.”

“No, I wanna hang with you. We could go to this new pizza place in town if you’re interested?” Jeongguk is pleased to note that you and Yoongi have gone back to your regularly scheduled program, pretending as if your date hasn’t been crashed for the millionth time. Taehyung and Maggie, on the flip, are watching you two as if they’re already tucked into the boot of a car with popcorn between their fingers.

“Um...I mean, if you really don’t mind. I don’t wanna steal you or them away from the movies.”

“I’ll stay...ya know, Maggie and I. We could stay and watch the movies and you two could go after the first one or two.” Taehyung glances at Maggie whose eyes are already taking him in, flashing away the moment pupils meet.

“Yeah, that’s always an option.” She agrees, flashing you a thumbs up.

“Great!” Four heads snap in your direction, Yoongi is finally sitting upright and you’re all smiles, neatly folding your blanket to pass off. “So it sounds like you guys have a lot of planning to do and we have a lot of kissing to do, so we’ll be seein’ ya!”

“Wait, don’t you guys wanna finish your food?” Maggie gestures to the half eaten meal left resting in the basket.

“No no, you guys have it. I’m actually in the mood for pizza now so we’ll probably grab some on the way home.”

“Okay...bye, I guess.” Dani watches with scrunched brows and Jeongguk and Taehyung send Yoongi the same look he’s been sending for weeks for a completely different reason. He sends them a smirk, arm slung around your shoulders as the two of you leave your date crashers in the dust with potential of their own.

“Have fun!”

#bts scenarios #bts drabbles #taehyung drabble #jeongguk drabble #bts x oc #the misery chick #yoongi x reader #yoongi drabble #taehyung x oc #jeongguk x oc #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook drabble #jungkook x oc

14 notes · View notes

need-a-new-hobby · 4 years

Text

Haunted

Spencer had his leg propped up on the coffee table, crutches just within reaching distance, while he read Fahrenheit 451 when he heard the door unlock. Instinctively, he reached for his gun but paused as he saw a large paper bag walk in with Piper behind it. “You said you were bringing dinner.”

“Takeout isn’t dinner,” Piper scoffed, plopping the keys into a bowl and placing her groceries carefully onto the kitchen countertop. Spencer moved his leg off the table slowly, limping over to the stools next to the countertop, frowning at the green vegetables. “You look like you’ve never seen a vegetable before.”

“I saw Lisbon, didn’t I?” Piper laughed as she set the water to boil on the stove. She moved to tie her hair up, grinning as she took the elastic Spencer offered.

“You know, you always have those bands, you never wear them.” Piper’s smile faded as he blushed. She leaned over the countertop, brushing his lips before turning back to the water. He watched her clean the stalks of spaghetti before sliding it in carefully.

“You know, Rossi makes his own noodles.” Piper smiled.

“I’m gonna tell him you called his handmade carbonara ‘noodles’. Besides, Rossi’s actually Italian.”

“Right. And what are you?”

“I am…trying my best,” she grinned at him before pulling out the cherry tomatoes and sliding them over to Spencer.

“No, I’m— I’m not good at this,” Spencer stammered, pushing the tomatoes back.

“Spencer, you just have to halve them.” She pouted.

“But what if they fly and hit you like last time? No, no thanks.” He leaned away from the countertop.

“Spence, it’s not that hard. Look,” she said, grabbing a chopping board and a knife. “All you have to do is hold the tomato between two fingers, slip the knife between and slice. That’s it.” Piper gently placed his fingers on each side of the small tomato, watching his hands carefully as he sliced through. “See, easy.”

She let Spencer have fun with the tomatoes as she put together a quick marinade for the chicken and started frying. Soon, the smell of food permeated the apartment as Spencer chopped tomatoes and grated cheese, then spotted the onion. Piper still had his back to him as she cooked the spaghetti, coating it with a rich sauce. Spencer grabbed the onion and started peeling. He cut the onion slowly through the middle and kept the cut sides on the board like he’d seen her do a million times. He sliced through the onion, gaining confidence with each slice. His eyebrows furrowed as his teeth dug slightly into his lower lip in concentration. He looked up as Piper yelped, blowing on her finger. Wincing, she ran it under the water, looking back as Spencer mirrored her wince, slicing his finger by accident.

Abandoning her finger, she grabbed his hand and sucked on the wound before ordering him to keep the pressure on it while she searched for the first aid kit. She grabbed a purple band-aid and ran back as she peeled the plastic away, wrapping it tightly around his finger. “You idiot,” Piper muttered as she checked his finger was okay. “Who told you to chop that onion?” Spencer gently grabbed her burnt hand and she winced, eyes flicking up to his. He started dabbing burn ointment on it gently and suddenly, the pain melted away as she watched him blow gently on her hand until she remembered the food. “My pasta!” Piper whipped around, running to the stove to turn the gas off, sighing in relief while Spencer laughed from behind her. She rubbed the ointment into her finger and pulled on a glove before she scooped the vegetables Spencer had so delicately prepared. She tossed it all together before adding a dash of salt, pepper and olive oil. She grabbed two plates from the inner cabinet and served both of them after setting the table and helping Spencer to his seat.

“You know, the word spaghetti is the plural of spaghetto, which comes from the Italian word spago, meaning twine or thin string,” Spencer nodded as he grabbed his fork.

“Italy makes 3 tonnes of this stuff every year,” Piper said as she sat down. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Not really. The average American consumes nearly 9 kg of pasta annually.”

“Huh.” Piper thought as she chewed her mouthful. “Wonder what would happen if we cooked it all at once.” Spencer choked at the thought and Piper laughed as she passed him a glass of water.

“Rossi would drown you with it.” They spent most nights like this. Just eating together and laughing. Sometimes they’d fall silent with the food just being that good. Eventually, it came to an end. Like it always did. She’d clear up the table, then the kitchen while he’d protest to try and help. And then she left, pressing a small kiss to his forehead. That was the worst part. Listening to the apartment quieten. Feeling the apartment become a little colder.

In the morning, Rossi helped Spencer into his car, placing the crutches in the back. Spencer found a warm cup of coffee sitting on his desk with a little sticky note left on the top. He recognised the little doodle of a coffee and the neatly scrawled pun below, ‘Don’t feel depresso, have an espresso.’ He looked over to Piper’s empty desk. Smiling, he lifted the little note, sticking it on his monitor before scrawling his own. He rolled his chair over to her desk, sticking the pun on her monitor. ‘I love you a whole latte.’

Slowly, he grabbed one of his crutches and moved over to Garcia’s lair. She yelped happily and helped him into a seat before returning to her own. “Thanks.”

“Does it hurt?” Penelope asked as she resumed her seat.

“It really only hurts when I think about it, which is pretty much all the time.” Spencer smiled at his cheerful friend before noticing the cookie box. Except Penelope slapped his hands away.

“Get away, you. These are for Hotch.”

“I get shot in the leg and I don't get any cookies,” he pouted until Penelope handed him a lollipop. “You know he's gonna hate the attention.”

“It's cookies, not cake.”

“He's probably gonna pretend like nothing happened, anyway.”

“Well, it doesn't mean we have to.”

“I think maybe we should.”

“I don't roll that way,” Penelope shook her head.

“I've been thinking about it. The entire time I've known Hotch, I don't think I've ever seen him blink.”

“I know. It's weird.”

“Classic alpha male behaviour.”

“Do you think he stared down Foyet?”

“Maybe. If it would save his life.”

“Do you think he stared the whole time, like with each stab?”

“I have no idea.”

“Is he ok?”

“I wouldn't be, but... I'm a blinker,” Spencer said as JJ entered the lair.

“Spence, there you are. Grab your go-bag. We’re going to Louisville.”

“Just after 8:00 this morning, 40-year-old Darrin Call assaulted customers at a pharmacy,” JJ briefed them on the jet as Piper and Derek flipped through the file. “Eyewitnesses saw him walking east on main street minutes after the attack. He hasn’t been seen since then.”

“Do we have footage from the scene?” Piper asked JJ.

“They’ll have it ready for us at the precinct. The governor’s called in all sources for a manhunt. We have 3 confirmed dead, 2 are in critical condition. Our point person in Louisville is Lieutenant Kevin Mitchell.”

“Any other attacks?”

“Um, no, not yet. Call's proven hard to track.”

“He's never had a driver's license, so he's most likely still on foot.”

“Or public transportation,” JJ offered.

“He's not gonna take the bus. His face is everywhere,” Morgan explained.

“Has anyone found a stressor?” Hotch asked.

“He just lost his job. He's worked at a factory since 1990. Made appliances since forever and not a single promotion.” Piper smiled at the sight of Garcia.

“That's a long time to be bitter,” Emily pointed out.

“Or he doesn't care,” Spencer added.

“Not if he's got a family to feed,” Piper contributed.

“Actually, he's of the hermit variety. As far as I can tell, he's got no one. No wife, no kids, no parents.”

“Nothing to live for.” Hotch put the question to the team. “Sprees usually end in suicide. If he's got nothing to live for, why hasn't he ended it?”

“Because he isn't finished yet. We know he has displaced anger. He took it out on the first victim,” Rossi answered.

“Well, the stock boy represents someone. We need to know who.”

“Is he military?”

“Negative.”

��Well, he's lashing out for a reason,” Morgan surmised. “This guy's got anger, endless targets, and a gun, and he's just getting started.”

“Prentiss and Rossi take Call’s address. Morgan and I will see the crime scene. Reid and Bishop go through the security footage. Frame by frame, you understand?” Piper nodded, leaning back in her chair as she watched the plane hit the tarmac.

At the precinct, Piper took Spencer’s 4th cup of coffee, handing it to JJ who was helping with the geographic profile. “All right. We've got checkpoints at the state line on both I-64 and I-65 and within a 20-mile radius of downtown.”

“It's been just under 3 hours with an average walking speed of 2.5 miles per hour, which rounds up to an approximate 8-mile radius,” Spencer calculated. “Did you get anything from the footage?”

“Yeah,” Piper answered, taking a seat next to Spencer. “So, he doesn’t attack anyone until the stock boy touches his arm which made me think that that was the trigger.”

“Like a sensory trigger?”

“Exactly. Especially considering the fact that the stock boy was carrying a knife. Do we know why he was at the pharmacy?”

“What do you—” Spencer asked, looking back at JJ. “Did he not go in to kill?”

“He was unarmed when he entered. The weapon he used was the stock boy’s knife, then the police officer’s gun. He probably went to get…” Piper trailed off in thought before calling Garcia on the answering machine. “Garcia, I need full medical charts on Darrin Call, specifically a list of prescriptions.”

“Hold on, are we saying that this was defensive? We just put his face everywhere,” the lieutenant spoke rapidly, panicking. “People are going to try and stop him themselves.”

“Relax, sir.” JJ’s voice was soothing. “How soon can we have a press conference?”

“We have uh… camera crews ready outside.” JJ nodded, leaving to dial Hotch.

“Hey, Pen, you got those prescriptions for me?” Piper repeated.

“He used to be on thiothixene.”

“He had an antipsychotic prescription?” Piper all but shrieked as she dialled Hotch. “Nothing. Just comes up as busy. Garcia, I need a doctor.”

“Yeah, just give me a… state-appointed psychiatrist Charles Cipolla.”

“Alright, send me an address.” Piper pressed a quick kiss to Spencer’s cheek before he said he’d tell Hotch as soon as he could. Piper weaved through traffic on her way to the office. She pulled off her helmet, racing up the steps, opening the office doors to find 2 bodies mangled on the floor. Her shoulders sagged as she dialled Reid. “I wasn’t fast enough. They’re dead. Let Hotch know and I need forensics here.” Piper sighed as she sagged to the floor in the corridor, letting CSI do their job when they arrived just before Hotch and Morgan along with Mitchell, Prentiss and Rossi.

“Hey, Reid told us what happened. You okay?” Piper nodded, getting up.

“Yeah. I was too late. Couldn’t have been more than 5 minutes.” Hotch entered the small office, repulsed by the figures lain on the floor.

“Yeah, you were,” Hotch shot at her before leaving downstairs. Piper watched helplessly as Emily followed him.

“The pharmacist said he wasn’t on his medication,” Derek updated. “Why would he do that?”

“A lot of trauma patients do it to recover memories,” Piper explained, pulling her eyes away from the stairwell to Derek as Rossi moved to the file drawer, scanning the names.

“Why?”

“Lots of reasons, the main one being you can’t heal from your trauma if you don’t know what happened. In which case, the formative event was probably in Call’s childhood. Other than that, it could be recurring dreams or just plain curiosity.”

“Call’s file is missing.”

“That’s fine. There’s a digital database for all state departments,” Piper solved, moving to the computer.

“What are you doing?”

“All state psychiatrists have a department login. But they don’t disappear when they retire for consultation reasons.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning my login still works.” Piper beamed at Derek. “And if I still have departmental access, then…” she trailed off, gazing expectantly at the printer, pulling out a copy of the file. “I can pull the file. Alright, I’m gonna go back to the precinct, see what I can make of this. Have fun, boys.” She waved before taking the steps two at a time. Back at the precinct, Garcia connected a call between Reid, herself and Hotch.

“Here's the deal. I went back to the beginning for the call, except there is no beginning. Darrin call didn't exist like from 1969 to 1975. There's no birth certificate, no social security, no identity, nothing until he was 6 years old.”

“Guys, if he was abandoned in the 70s, it’s likely his case revolved around something seriously twisted,” Piper thought aloud.

Morgan’s voice flooded the machine. “Garcia, where do the records start?”

“May 1, 1975, a 6-year-old Darrin Call was found roaming in the middle of nowhere and was picked up and was in state care for the first few months.”

“Pen, I’m gonna need state transcripts.”

“That’s the thing my doves. Because he didn't talk, Not for over a year. And once he started talking, he only knew his life as Darrin Call. Little Darrin was never even claimed. But never fear for I’ve got more.”

“This one of your jackpot surprises, Garcia?”

“Oh, for you, sugar, always. So, listen up. Call left Louisville 3 times. Always came back to the same 10-Block radius.”

“Victims are often drawn to the scene of their first trauma,” Piper filled in.

“Part of him wanted to escape, the other part probably struggled to find answers,” Spencer continued.

“In 1985, he was hospitalised and again in '95 for a few months, both at the state facility in Fayette County. That’s all I got for now.”

“Bishop, what about the file? You get anything?” Hotch’s voice was direct, straightforward but colder than usual.

“More like what didn’t we get. His moral complex is severely damaged probably as a result of neglect. Nightmares and chronic insomnia, scars that he doesn’t know when or how he received. His dreams are about falling and running, all pointing to abandonment issues. He’s suffered from blackouts, probably resulting from early trauma. He’s lethargic, explains why he stayed in the same job for so long. Hotch, this guy is gonna be hard to—” The line disconnected. “Hotch?” Piper raised an eyebrow at Spencer who just shrugged. He turned to Lieutenant Mitchell, asking him about unsolved missing children's cases from the 1970s.

“Now, there was a case in Hollow Creek. Kids were dead, though. Found them in pieces.”

“When was this?”

“'75. Nobody talks about it because they never found the guy. You think Call walked away from there?”

“It's possible. Can you get us the files?” The lieutenant came back with two boxes just as the rest of the team filed in.

“Is there a suspect list?” Rossi took a seat while Piper leaned over Spencer’s shoulder reading the police reports.

“It's in here somewhere,” Reid murmured. “He was known as the Hollow Creek killer. 3 bodies were found, some never identified.”

“There's a survivor,” Piper added.

“Call?” Rossi looked up.

“No, a 12-year-old boy named Tommy Phillips,” Spencer explained. “Parents said he'd been missing for 2 weeks, came back a different kid. The family left Louisville after Tommy told police where to find the bodies. He also said the suspect was a white man in his 30s and drove a red pickup truck.”

“The victims had cuts. The stock boy's blade is what set him off in the pharmacy,” Piper pointed out.

“If this is what Call's been running from, it's no wonder he's blocked it out,” JJ sighed as Hotch looked back to the 1975 on the board. Sterner Orphanage.

“Since he's clean now, there's no medication to block his memories and he wants answers,” Emily surmised from her seat.

“Where would he go?”

“To what he knows,” Hotch murmured. “He's beginning to remember. 1975, Sterner Orphanage. It's where he became Darrin Call.” Piper and Emily took a bike while the boys took a single SUV to the orphanage.

“You used to be a state psychiatrist?” Emily murmured into Piper’s ear

“After my PhD,” Piper spoke into the wind. “Worked in the state department for a few years.”

“What changed?” They skidded to a stop outside the orphanage.

“I thought I could do more good making sure people didn’t wind up there in the first place,” Piper said as she took off the helmet and they walked over to Hotch coming back from the ambulance. Piper noticed Derek and Rossi up front talking to witnesses.

“He took a kid this time. Called him Tommy,” Hotch explained.

“As in Tommy Phillips? You think that’s what set him off?” Emily questioned him.

“She thought it was his reflection.”

“Whoever hurt him years ago might have been the same age he is now,” Piper pointed out. “He might have seen the similarity.” They turned to see Lieutenant Mitchell walk up from his vehicle.

“A minivan was stolen one block from here. Call's never driven in his life. You think he's still not running from us?”

“Which way?” Rossi asked.

“Eastbound. I got roadblocks set up everywhere. He's not getting out of this county,” the lieutenant scoffed and Piper motioned Emily to the bike.

“You’re wasting your time,” Hotch murmured.

“He's outnumbered. You think he's gonna just disappear?” The lieutenant’s voice became defensive and Rossi made eye contact with Prentiss and Bishop.

“I think he took the boy for a reason.”

“I don't care why he took him.”

“You should. Call's memory is no longer suppressed,” Hotch explained. “He's reinventing his past, and unless we understand how, we're not gonna find either of them.”

“Well, I'm not gonna just sit around and speculate.”

“Then don't.” Hotch levelled his gaze at the lieutenant who turned to Rossi

“You don't think we should chase him either?”

“We need to get ahead of Call,” Rossi explained, his tone neutral and soothing. Mitchell licked his lips, considering his options, then moved to the vehicle.

“There’s a kid missing, Hotch.” Emily’s voice was laced with warning.

“They don't need the extra manpower.”

“Since when?” Rossi asked softly.

“If we'd studied Foyet's initial crimes, we would have known that a survivor didn't make sense.”

“Hotch, what does he have to do with this?”

“All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet's history, and we didn't, and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. And I'm not making that mistake again.” Hotch led the agents down to the precinct, Derek following behind them.

The precinct was a mess. There were files everywhere as the examined a case more than 30 years old. Hotch divided the group into objectives. While Rossi narrowed down suspect lists, Emily examined victimology. Piper broke down the M.O. with Derek as Spencer gauged the geographic profile of the second unsub. After a solid 20 minutes of working, Hotch brought them together to discuss the details. “There were only 4 suspects in the hollow creek case and they're all dead,” Rossi said grimly.

“The kids were taken in 1973, '74, and '75,” Emily continued.

“All on the way home from school,” Piper interjected.

“Different school districts too,” Spencer added.

“He waited for them to be alone,” Derek pointed out. “That takes patience. He must have had time off in the afternoons.”

“I can’t find a secondary location,” Spencer sighed. “Could be anywhere.”

“He’d need seclusion to do what he did,” Derek added, clapping Reid on the shoulder as Piper answered the phone.

“You’re on speaker, Garcia.”

“I found Tommy. He goes by James Thomas Anderson now.”

“Is he local?”

“One county over. Address and bio are coming...now. Au revoir!” With Hotch and Prentiss leaving for the address, Piper could breathe freely as she sank into a seat next to Spencer while Morgan and JJ left to grab lunch

“That bad, huh?” Spencer noticed and Piper scoffed.

“Look, Spence, you know I love him and I’m here for him. But if he doesn’t talk about what happened to him out there, it’s gonna keep eating at him.” Spencer nodded, discreetly placing a hand on her thigh. “I can’t even imagine what he went through and yeah, therapy sucks but it works.”

“I think he’s afraid that if he talks about it, he won’t be able to focus.” Piper smiled sadly but then noticed Spencer’s far-off look.

“What’s up?”

“How did Tommy and Darrin escape?” Piper was stumped. They started rummaging through the transcripts of the police interview with Tommy. “We know Call was found wandering around a neighbourhood…”

“Reid, the file. It said he had recurring dreams about falling and running. That it was suggestive of abandonment, but who would he have been abandoned by?”

“Tommy. Tommy must have escaped with Darrin. Tommy would’ve been about 12, double Call’s age in 1975.”

“And the reflection,” Piper murmured. “The woman at the orphanage said he was triggered by his reflection.” Suddenly the answering machine rang, and Piper picked up. “Hotch, it’s Call’s father. He’s the Hollow Creek killer.”

“We know. Call wasn't a victim,” Hotch said. “The question is how did the father explain his son just disappeared?”

“Could have said he ran away,” Spencer supplied.

“The mother would have reported him missing,” Hotch refuted.

“Maybe he said the boy died.” Prentiss’s voice came through the monitor.

“No, she'd want a funeral,” Spencer refuted while Piper was deep in thought.

“What if there wasn't one?” Her voice was quiet, and Spencer rubbed circles on her hand under the table.

“Call Garcia,” Hotch directed. “Ask her to check death records from 1969 to 1975 for the mother.” The line disconnected.

“You need a minute?” Piper tried to even her breathing by focusing on Spencer’s circling thumb, sweeping a strand of hair away from her face.

“No. Let’s do this,” she said before stabbing Garcia’s number into the machine and relaying Hotch’s instructions. “What have you got?”

“6 years is a long time, Pipes. I need more parameters.”

“She lived within that 8-mile radius,” Spencer started. “She was married. Most likely in her 20s. He was probably her only kid. The husband drove a red truck.”

“Okay. This could be one. Here we go, Doris Jarvis. Died in childbirth. Had a beautiful baby boy. Was married to Bill Jarvis. He owned a machine shop just outside the city.”

“That could be the secondary location,” Piper noted quietly.

“It closed in 1980. He hasn't done anything since. I guess he laid low. He had a red pickup until 1976 when he bought a black one. I know that because that's what he was driving when he was arrested for DUIs. He was locked up from '77 to '80, And I'm sending his picture now.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” A photo pulled up on Piper’s screen. “Well, that could certainly be Darrin Call's father. Where's Jarvis now?”

“In the same house. 1457 Hitchens Avenue.”

“Alright. Let Hotch know,” Piper said as she got up, squeezing Spencer’s shoulder as she went to grab her vest and mic.

“Be safe, my angels.”

“Always.” Piper fastened the vest outside as she met Derek and Dave. She updated them on the address and started driving. She skidded to a halt just past Hotch’s SUV. She pulled the keys out of the ignition, slipping them into a pocket before she pulled off her helmet. Unhooking her leg from the bike, she approached Emily and the lieutenant as she tied her hair up. “What’s the situation?”

“The kid's in there,” Emily started.

“We've got this,” the lieutenant interjected. “Tactical teams are covering the exits.”

“Call needs a distraction.” Emily reasoned.

“He's focused on the old man.”

“For now. But we're gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out.”

“I've got a team in the back and one on the way. We're going to infiltrate.”

“You do that and someone else dies.”

“Either call or a child murderer... Flip a coin.”

“It doesn't have to end like that,” Piper dissuaded. “We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die.” But just as Piper thought he’d been convinced, Hotch marched past the without a suit jacket or bulletproof vest. “Hotch?” But he kept walking straight towards the house. “Hotch!”

He ignored the yells from Piper and Derek, headed straight inside. He opened the door and walked in; hands palm up as he faced Call. “My name's Aaron.” He ignored the hammering inside his chest as Call raised his gun towards him.

“This is between us and him. You leave us alone.” Darrin’s arm quaked and his father lay seated in his armchair.

“I know what he did to those boys. I know about hollow creek and the cage. And Tommy.”

“You know about Tommy?”

“Let him go. Tommy doesn't need to see this.”

“He should die.” Darrin moved his gun to aim at his father.

“He should. But if you kill him, you have nothing, and I thought you wanted some answers. Go ahead, Darrin, ask him.”

“Why did you do that to those kids?” Darrin whimpered.

“What kids?” The father’s voice snarled, reminiscent of a wolf at prey.

“No! The ones that we buried. Why?”

“You're confused.”

“Jarvis, why didn't you move?”

“This is my home.”

“You sure it's not the view? Darrin, come here.” Darrin moved towards the door, following Hotch’s gaze to the kids in the back of the school next to them. “Come take a look at this. He sits on the porch every day and watches those kids. He can't help himself.” Darrin grunted, moving back to his father as he released his grip on the young boy. Hotch discreetly pushed him out of the doorway while keeping an eye on Darrin Call.

“We...we drove around in that truck.” Darrin panted.

“You made your own son sit in front so the other boys would feel safe?”

“You...you kept them in cages. And burnt their clothes.”

“And when you finished, you'd bury them, and you made him help.”

“And—” Darrin made to continue until Hotch pulled Bill up by the shoulders.

“Get up. Pretend you're a man. You like little boys, don't you? But they can't be too small, 'cause that would be wrong. What was it about them? They make you feel strong, make you feel like a man?”

“You shut up.”

“Is that a yes?” Bill Jarvis stared right back at Hotch’s levelled gaze. Hotch stepped back, addressing Darrin.

“Darrin. Please... Please. We're surrounded here. The police are gonna storm in here any minute. They will not shoot you if you are unarmed. You need to put the gun down now.”

“Don't...don't... Tell me what to do!” Piper and Prentiss heard 3 gunshots ring out and they sprinted out and into the house, only to see Bill Jarvis slumped in his armchair.

“What happened?” Prentiss looked to Hotch.

“I couldn't stop him.” As abruptly as he said the words, he pushed past the team to go outside. Piper stared at the dead body for a moment before following Hotch. The rest of the day blurred past from packing up the precinct to the jet ride to their dispersal from the airport. Derek and Rossi decided that they needed a drink while Emily dropped Hotch and Spencer off.

Meanwhile, JJ and Piper needed a boost, so they showed up to the smell of takeout and the sound of a bassline pumping in Garcia’s apartment. As they entered, they couldn’t help smiling as Penelope danced over to them with two glasses of wine. The three ladies danced to the beat, Penelope and Piper taking turns spinning JJ. But the atmosphere quickly changed with the Penelope crying over how adorable Will was with Henry whilst JJ and Piper built a pillow fort. It is ill-advised, as Piper would tell the boys later, to build a pillow fort whilst drunk. But that didn’t stop them.

15 notes · View notes

symptoms-syndrome · 4 years

Text

Boundaries

I’m creating this post in order to pin it, but I will put it below a readmore so it doesn’t take up your whole screen.

My asks remain open usually, if you would like me to respond to you privately please say so, or message me instead.

I may not answer your ask if:

It seems leading/like you are trying to start discourse for the sake of discourse.

You ask anything along the lines of “is it trauma if“ or something that, directly or indirectly, is trying to get me to diagnose you.

It is a personal question best suited for your therapist, or an overly technical question that is beyond my personal experience. (though I may answer the ask just to tell you this, depending)

It is “soapboxing,“ using my platform to elevate your ideas/opinions

It makes me uncomfortable for any reason, including being graphic, offensive, triggering, or for a personal reason.

I will likely block your blog if:

You are a minor, I do not want to be responsible for a young person's introspection on themselves nor influence them about their mental health.

It is a hateful or discourse blog, regardless of the target. (This may or may not reflect my views on said target, I just don't like that much negativity in my spheres)

It is a “cringe“ or “flop“ account.

You are heavily focused on plurality, systemhood, or similar regardless of origin. By which I mean primarily talk about alters/headmates/etc.

You seem to be a writer/artist or otherwise looking into DID for reasons I find disrespectful.

You will tag my posts in association with neurodiversity and/or "mad pride."

You use it/its pronouns. I have specific traumatic experiences with these pronouns and do not want to misgender you if you use them but also cannot use them for you without triggering myself so I'll just block you instead. This is literally for both our sakes.

You use names outside of your culture, including for introjects. I'm sick of white people using anime characters names when literally no Asian ever has been allowed to use our own names in school.

You otherwise make me uncomfortable. I may or may not answer questions about why I blocked your blog, as oftentimes my reasons are personal. I am a human, not just a mindless content-producer.

I do not have a DNI/DNF, but I will block blogs that make me uncomfortable if you show up in my notes. This is my way of keeping my internet experience comfortable and enjoyable.

I am not a professional, and please don’t use me as any sort of ultimate reference. I am a person diagnosed with DID, who does a fair amount of reading and has lived experience but has not studied psychology in any professional capacity. Unless otherwise sourced, assume my content and posts come from a place of personal experience and are subject to being wrong, as well as not being a "universal" experience.

On a positive note, followers/friends/etc feel free to tag me in things about bees, calico cats, Sonic the Hedgehog, the Legend of Zelda, or anything else you think I'd like looking at! 💜

51 notes · View notes

pensivethinker · 3 years

Text

On being Abnormal

I'm originally from the east coast and grew up in a Spanish-speaking immigrant neighborhood. Having New York City as accessible as it was opened the spectrum of life to me in a way most cities in the world today have a little chance of doing. Growing up among any of the world's cultural capitals automatically confers itself as a massive privilege.

I was always skeptical of how everyone else decided to conduct themselves as a collective. It wasn't so obvious to me that "their" decisions of what constituted normal behavior was exactly enjoyable or even desirable.

Guilt was an emotion I became thoroughly acquainted with, through the gatherings of happy people in poorly lit rooms and loud music. There was something about them that compelled them to distort their bodies in a rhythmic fashion in response to the terrible music. It was clearly something I was lacking, along with the creepy enthusiasm in their faces that crept up when they spoke with other people. Why didn't I enjoy any of it in the ways they did? Why was I completely miserable in these scenarios?

When you're too young to attempt to answer any of these questions on your own you have to deal with the uncomfortable uncertainty and false assumptions that simple sets of connections with limited experience can grant you. There was a mode of conduct and living that existed that both grown-ups and kids my age were appreciating, and that had elicited an aversive reaction in me. Therefore, something was unknowingly wrong with me.

Of course, it would take all of my teenage years and almost half of my 20's of existential doubt to realize that nothing was, or is, in fact, innately wrong with me. It is simply that once in a while, someone will raise a kid who just unexplainably detests cheese, and that's okay. Obviously, a food preference isn't akin to a personality trait, but many people will have spent the entirety of their adult life not having taken in the meaning of this deceptively simple message.

To mistake a norm with an ought, or a prescription from a description, is a common error by virtue of the fact that it arises by instinct. We are still tribal animals that always look to the doings of others for validation. These primal, ancestral genes are still actively engaged in our 21st century genomes. Genes don't keep up with changes in culture and law—these operate under two entirely different timelines.

With that in mind, it's also important to acknowledge that there are endless ways to live a life, and the moment you choose a lifestyle with all the components you find suitable and attractive in pursuing, you limit yourself to everything else it has to offer, by definition. There is no escaping this. Even a "life of variety" can only tolerate so much variability in a limited number of domains before it starts feeling too chaotic for any individual to bear. Furthermore, a life with increasing levels of variety begins to limit itself to the profound experiences and opportunities that a life with increasing levels of focused time spent in specific areas can provide for you, by definition. Therefore you can't spend too much energy worrying about what other people are doing with their lives because eventually the feeling might arise that the grass seems greener on the other side, as it almost always will when you focus too hard on what you don't have instead of what you uniquely do.

On these grounds, I claim that the "norm" is a lazy marker or substitution for making decisions for yourself, unless you know it's what you authentically enjoy. I would also say that the guilt for not enjoying what is considered fun and getting enjoyment out of what is typically considered boring starts to disappear when you realize the norm is not as enthralling as it markets itself to be. Most who grow up enjoying the norm don't give themselves the opportunity to explore the world outside of it. This is the hidden sadness I discovered in pondering this topic.

Now I live in the Midwest, wherein I developed a better idea of what a typical American life has to offer people. To the extent that I've interacted with people thus far, most of those my age by now are either married or in the middle of an intermediate to serious relationship. I get the feeling that everybody here just wants to live a married uni-lingual quiet life in the Midwest and enjoy their baseball and their god in a home with enough backyard space to host a cookout. I also get the impression that people here have an even lesser sense of awareness of other cultures and the richness of different lifestyles than they do in the east coast. It’s another instance of American myopia closely related to our notorious lack of geography knowledge.

Yet, with all of that, it's still nearly unavoidable to occasionally doubt whether I'm doing something wrong and they've got something right. To those who may be reading these words on this secluded and unpopular corner of the internet, who may have grown up feeling as an other and felt the desolating guilt for not having their brains work as theirs do, and not having their interests align as theirs do, and to those who therefore feel like they lack zeal or "spirit" in crowds and prefer the depth of individual interaction, to those who grew up with more social seclusion in school than with a plurality of friends, to those who lack "social proof", to those who were therefore chosen as an easy target for bullying, and to those who unknowingly made you feel guilty for enjoying your own company, I hope these words give you some solace—as I've mentioned before, the doubt only comes about through an automatic response of instinct, and not through evidence of a life wrongly lived.

It's just a response to the numbers: If most people in your class picked "C" and you picked "E", it's hard not to question that. At the very least, you must entertain the possibility that the answer might be "C", but also simultaneously be cognizant of the fact that philosophy teaches us that an argumentum ad populum is in fact a fallacy, and to be cognizant of the notion that instincts aren't sound epistemological instruments.

The positive in being an individual who enjoys the norm and thrives in it with all its benefits and social validation is that you receive the existential comfort that a safety in numbers provides for you—in feeling that you've made the right choice, and that your doubts arise less frequently. The negative in it is that you are less incentivized to think and have the thought ever occur to you that there is a possibility that you may have enjoyed more deeply a path taken elsewhere.

#pensivethinker

1 note · View note

clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 17: The Show Must Go On

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Because tomorrow is no longer guaranteed the gang decides to spend a night at the theatre. In which Cal despises Shakespeare, Garrus and Krom go on an unofficial first date, and Taylor confronts his father.

[READ IT ON AO3]

He’s honestly surprised the director even bothers reaching out to him.

“Given everything your cousin has told me about the problems you have going on right now, I’m sure this isn’t really a surprise. I’ve taken the liberty of filing a personal leave of absence for you.” And Taylor just knows that was the happiest day of Antoni’s life…

“Even though you can’t be in the show, though, you’re still welcome to come Sunday. Hoping that, obviously, things have cleared up on your end by then. Just text me your head count before noon day-of, okay?”

It’s the first real and true good thing to happen without immediate consequence so far. And of course he tries to blow it off, tries to tell everyone he has absolutely no plans to put anyone else at risk just for the selfish sake of seeing a play he’s worked on for months and doesn’t even get to be in.

Not that anyone lets him finish before they straight-up tell him he’s wrong, he’s going, and if all hell breaks loose then they’ll deal with it when it happens.

“But the wards —”

“The wards have proven themselves useless,” Garrus interrupts with no small level of frustration; accepting the vulnerability of his sanctuary hasn’t been easy on the man, “we’re just as exposed here as you would be there. And I refuse to cower in fear. If they were going to attack they would have by now — don’t stop living your life because of what might happen.”

Surprisingly, too, Katherine makes a good point; “We might actually be safer surrounded by all those mundanes. A high fatality rate isn’t what the Elders are after, that much is certain.”

It’s about the only thing any of them are certain of.

So there’s really no way around it.

Sunday morning he tries to take a head count. Doesn’t argue when Vera, despite the dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes, insists that of course she wants to come. She doesn’t say it but its obvious she could use time away from the hospital and her mother’s bedside.

Nik’s phone vibrates on the table and Taylor glances just because he’s nearby. On really good timing the man chooses then to wander out from the bedroom — rubbing his hair vigorously with his towel.

“Kathy said she and Cade are down if we don’t mind.” One look and Taylor regrets it so bad. He’s not certain, but there’s absolutely no way all of his shirts have miraculously shrunk, right?

He totally has to buy them just shy of too tight.

Not that Taylor’s complaining. Nope. No complaining here.

Ryder gives a noncommittal grunt and shrug as he passes. “Your shindig, your choice.”

“I mean they’re our friends, so…”

There’s a pause; a lag in the matrix if you will, between when Nik stops in front of the fridge and actually opens it. Keeps his back turned as he replies, “Then the more the merrier.”

He doesn’t need to be part fae to know what that’s about — but it doesn’t hurt.

The concept of friends is plural and consistent. And just as weird for him as it is for the loner Nik is accustomed to being.

Yesterday was hard and heavy.

Today is no better from a cosmic point of view.

But its softer around the edges; the difference between being stabbed with a wicked sharp dagger and being punched in the face.

Nik all but flops down on the couch beside him; pushes the open guide on reading and interpreting tarot that Taylor’s been pouring over away with a socked foot.

“I was reading that.”

“Oops.” The only unapologetic apology he’s getting, too, so he takes it.

Its been nearly twenty-four hours since his emotional breakdown and in that time he’s learned more about Ryder — and vice versa — than would have been shared on five, six dates tops. Things that wouldn’t come up without specific and out-of-left-field context, too.

Like the fact that Nik is a cheap-ass (this he knew) who has a serious case of the moonlight munchies — two things that mix about as well as oil and water. So it makes sense now why half of the fridge’s sparse contents are signature drink and cocktail add-ons.

Does it justify the fact that a fully grown man is sitting very close to him popping green olives like pieces of candy? Not in the fucking slightest.

But he knows what’s going to happen the second Nik sees his disgust — tries his best to turn away before he’s caught. Only he’s not quick enough and its too late.

“Want one?” Nik asks even though he knows the answer.

He doesn’t have time to deflect because the man picks one up and tosses it — doubles over in laughter when it bounces off Taylor’s cheek, falls to the floor, and rolls under the nearest chair to die alone.

“What are you,” he fake-gags and wipes his cheek angrily, “twelve years old?”

His glare very nearly breaks under the sheer audacity of Ryder’s pouting face. Only nearly because there’s no fucking way he’s kissing that offensive mouth no matter how closely the man leans in. “Aw c’mon Rook — jus’ one kiss!”

“Get away from me! Ew!”

“You know you like me~”

“Wrong! Incorrect! You disgust me!”

And of course they’re joking but he’s maybe a little too loud in his protests. Earns himself a haughty snort and a glare directed at his feet of all things.

“You walk around barefoot and I’m the disgusting one.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Uh, I do — so I win.”

Despite the fact that they had spent the previous hours getting to know not only (truly repulsive) snacking habits but also (much less repulsive, like the opposite of repulsive actually) one another’s mouths, Nik follows the same pattern each time. Roams his eyes over every inch of Taylor’s face like he’s gung-ho on taking the test in his sleep — drags a fingernail feather-light over the scruff on his jawline.

Their first time hadn’t been enough to ward him away and for that Taylor’s pretty fucking grateful. But it left a mark on him. No doubt its the reason why he always takes five whole agonizing seconds between the start and the follow-through.

Like he’s giving Taylor time to pull back; to reject him without consequence.

Maybe one day they’ll laugh about it. A silly habit no longer necessary. Because there’s always a breath hidden in the meeting of mouths that tastes of bitter relief.

Nik is relieved — not once, or twice, but every single time.

Which is more than a little tragic when he gives it a deep thought. He tries not to — really, he does.

Its easy not to think about anything at all when they’re kissing.

So that’s something.

Taylor knows that glamours serve a specific purpose; to disguise the average not-human supernatural person among the average yes-human person.

He’s even come to terms with how easily they fade into the background now. How he can scan a crowd and catch a glimpse of hooves in place of boots or a tail whipping its way behind someone trying to pass by. He considers his largest achievement to be not jumping ten feet in the air at the difficult-to-describe sight of ghosts possessing glamoured bodies.

But he can know and process all of these things and still be almost alarmingly paranoid about the trio of Krom, Garrus, and Ivy waiting in line behind them, right?

Nik grabs his head before he can look back for the umpteenth time; turns it back forward with a grunt. “The only one looking weird here is you, Rook. Everyone else sees regular folk.”

And he knows that, he does. But… “Do you ever stop worrying about it, like, slipping or something?”

“Not my problem if it does.”

“Well yeah, but…” The line shuffles forward and he trails off. Probably better not to give those particular anxieties a life of their own by voicing them aloud.

He doesn’t have to anyway, apparently. Since Taylor finds himself pulled against Nik’s side, feels warm breath tickle in his ear.

“Don’t worry. You still look completely human.”

“For now.”

The performer playing Puck stands in half-costume at the front of the line with a clipboard in hand. He has a whole two-point-five seconds to remember her name — Dana? Debbie? D-something. D-something… fuck there are too many D-something names! — before its their turn to enter the theatre.

Daphne! It comes to him like a holy revelation as she starts to go through the motions — only to notice the name and double-take in surprise.

“Hey Hunter, how’s it going?” Her small-talk is strained but polite. They’ve run lines together and he can vaguely recall being educated on her literal herd of mini dachshunds once, but whatever his ‘cousins’ gave by way of excuse for him pulling out of the show is enough to make her sheepish.

He makes a mental note to corner Garrus for the full story after the show. Especially since ‘cousin’ is a more-or-less accurate term these days.

“Uh, you know,” a one-shouldered shrug, “hanging in there. You excited?”

To her credit as an actress she checks off each body accompanying him, all eight of them, without batting an eye.

“Totally. I’m just glad the actual opening night ain’t until Mardi Gras is over, you know?”

“Director didn’t let you work the beads into your improv then I take it?”

They share a laugh. She waves them inside.

Only when they’re around a corner does Taylor let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Vera gives him a nudge. “You okay?”

“Yeah — was it just me or was that…”

Cal pokes his head in between them. “Awkward as hell? No—it wasn’t just you.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

In less than a week he’s forgotten how to, well, be human. Socialize with humans, talk casually with humans. Its unnerving — not only that but it serves to remind him by the way the Coven and their pet skeleton assassin are still out there.

None of this is even close to being over and he’s already forgotten small talk?

What else might be lost along the way?

“You look like you’re thinkin’ too much about something.”

Taylor’s smile is strained and not enough to ease Nik’s doubts. What did he expect though; that one soulful look from those fathomless eyes, or a touch that sends shivers down his spine, or one of those disarmingly sincere smiles is all it would take to make him forget his worries completely?

If only it were that simple. Not that he’s turning any of those things down — no no, he’s free to keep trying as many times as he’d like.

Its a half-full house on purpose; one full run in front of a crowd before a week of changes to make the final thing as smooth as possible.

And it was supposed to be Taylor’s time to shine; a performance of understudies. He’s told himself there will be other opportunities, that this is for the best given what’s going on. He wanted to come to support his fellow actors — to celebrate in all the work they’ve done over the last few months.

He didn’t think it would be that hard to watch. Then the space goes dark and silence falls in a warm velveteen hush.

The trio of Theseus, Hippolyta, and Philostrate take the stage — a different blocking than what they used at his last rehearsal.

The heels of his palms are pressed hard to stop his tears before Theseus even opens his mouth.

To his left Vera lets out a soft noise; both sad and comforting as her tentative hand on his shoulder turns into slow circular motions on his back. And he knows the heat-leeching palm behind him is Cal. Cal didn’t even want to come — had made it very clear there was once a school play, a bad batch of cafeteria vegetables, and a lifelong aversion to Shakespeare whose details would never again see the light of day. But there he is giving comfort where he can. He’s probably glad for something else to focus on than the stage but he knows Cal by now — knows he does nothing without meaning to do it.

Just when Taylor’s sure he’s going to have to make a mad dash for the doors, however, a familiar hand slides into his. Nik’s focus is still intent on the scene unfolding but he squeezes his fingers and doesn’t seem to care about the tears between their palms.

He’s supposed to be up on that stage. He’s supposed to be sweating under the heat of the lights and praying to the thespian gods that the tape on his mic holds fast. He’s supposed to be giving the performance of his life to an audience of friends and loved ones knowing Kristin was back in New York, that his mother couldn’t make it, and that there was no one watching that was there just for him.

Instead he’s here in the crowd. Instead he’s surrounded by friendship’s concern and holding the hand of the guy who seems to be making it a habit of standing in between him and certain death.

Instead he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

When the lights slide back on for intermission Cadence whirls around in his seat, arm thrown over the back, to practically barrage Krom with questions about artistic representation, choices made and things changed.

It feels a little bit like being back in a college classroom. Not the first time Cade has that effect on people.

“I — I really only helped with small stuff,” the stone troll stammers his protests, “heavy lifting or working on things normal people couldn’t reach.”

“But you’re a writer are you not?”

“An amateur at best…”

But the vampire isn’t having it. “Nonsense, I’ve caught snippets of your work. I only mean —”

“Ugh, just humor the man will you?” Katherine groans, rolls her head back on her own seat with a lighthearted glare between the two.

Nik pulls Taylor’s attention away from their talk with an arm around his shoulder. “How’s it so far? On the other side of the stage.”

“They changed a few things —” — more than a few, and more to do with Oberon than any other character so three guesses who made that call — “— but I honestly just keep counting their steps for the blocking.”

“Nerd,” scoffs the man, and Taylor isn’t exactly going to deny it.

Actually, since they have a second…

Last he knew, being borderline psychic was his thing, not Ryder’s. But Nik’s moved his legs before Taylor even stands and makes him backtrack real quick on that.

“I figured you’d wanna go say hey to them, or whatever,” and though that’s the spoken explanation Taylor can’t stop himself from feeling the real intention behind it.

He just cares.

He ducks his head to hide a flushed smile; murmurs “thanks” and lets his lips linger at the corner of Nik’s mouth as he shimmies into the aisle.

Only when he’s at the door does it occur to him that this thing between them is a recent one, and they’ve not mentioned things like public affection. But judging by the look he throws over his shoulder — catches Ivy hitting the man on the arm repeatedly and the bewildered grin on her undead face?

Its just another thing to tease him over.

Its standard stuff; the small lines by the bathrooms, crew members in their all-black ensembles bustling this and that around. All things he’s familiar with — that he doesn’t bat an eye at.

Then he spares a glance — less than that, actually, calling it a glance is somehow generous — down one of the hallways leading to further seating. The lights are off, the doors no doubt locked. Makes sense for an audience this size.

He doesn’t know why he does. Only knows both suddenly and all at once who he’ll see in the shadows beyond.

Taylor wants so badly to just ignore it. To reach out and knock on the doors to the maze of back rooms and do exactly what he planned on; congratulating his fellow performers.

But he doesn’t.

By now Taylor’s helped Garrus enough in the bottomless pit he calls a storage room to know that fae folk don’t ‘glow.’ They just always look like they do.

Elric, too, looks like he snatched a few moonbeams for himself on his way inside.

The shadows don’t retreat from him but they are withered by his presence; by the aura of him. Had he looked like that in Lamrian, as natural as light itself? Or was he witnessing yet another new facet to his senses brought on by interference of the man who really shouldn’t be here.

When Taylor opens his mouth to speak nothing comes out; a dozen questions all fighting to leap from the tip of his tongue and giving him pause.

Finally he settles on something more akin to an accusation.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He doesn’t mean to wound the fae Lord — but also won’t deny that the recoil of remorse he gets in response isn’t a teeny bit satisfying.

“No, I should not.”

“Glad we agree.” Of course he wants to ask why are you here but he shouldn’t have to.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t. “I caught whispers of this event within your mind. Lines from a script, a dedication — a pride. I wished to see what it truly was. Living Memories are shaped by the person to whom the memories belong.”

And here he had thought he’d be spared of a headache tonight, of all nights.

“I — what I — there’s so much to unpack there,” and nothing amused in his dry laugh either, “so we’ll start with the fact that I didn’t do a—a Living Memory-thing. I don’t even know how.”

“To accept Memories is to offer up your own.”

“Gee, that would have been nice to know.”

“Do not blame yourself —”

“Oh, I’m not. No worries there.”

“I should have explained it to you. Not then; not in such dire times.”

“Then when?”

“Long before now.” Elric’s eyes are like diamonds; diamonds twisted into sharp, construction-grade drills trying to puncture holes straight through him. The intensity is unnerving if he’s being honest.

About as unnerving as getting what he’s pretty sure is a ‘More Proactive Parent’ apology from this guy he literally just met the other night. Not even a guy — a fae.

Elric reaches out as if to touch his hand. The movement is enough — breaks Taylor from his little trance so he can pull back. Pale fingers instead close around air and grieve their mistake.

“I did not like the way things were left in Lamrian, Taylor.”

Taylor — like he has any right to say the name he chose all on his own.

“That’s your problem. But yeah, I can see how refusing to help your own son to save yourself might leave a bad taste in your mouth.”

It’s a very nice burn, high five kind of moment right up until the shadows creep up onto the fae’s expression. “I have the safety of an entire community to put first. Forgive me for prioritizing my life’s work and the many lives under my care over the child who only seems to acknowledge our connection when it suits his insults.”

Damn… nice burn… high five…

“Are you, Taylor?”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “Am I what?”

“Are you acknowledging me as your…?” He leaves it hanging there, juicy bait in murky waters. And Taylor isn’t starving — not quite yet — but he’s definitely not full either.

He glances back to the theatre atrium.

The background noise is quieter down here but soon enough everyone will be heading back to their seats. No doubt the curtain won’t even be fully opened before Nik is bounding out the doors to find him.

“Look, Lord Elric…”

Who acts like the title brings him pain; “Please, call me —”

“— I’m not calling you Dad; or Pop, Father, or any variation thereof —”

“If you would listen as often as you speak. I would ask you to call me Elric.”

Even that feels like a boundary they shouldn’t cross. What good is to come of being friendly, getting to know one another — especially when he’s facing the very likely chance of being dead by Tuesday?

On the other hand, whispers a voice in the back of his head, what’s the harm in getting to know your actual father — especially facing the very likely chance of being dead by Tuesday?

First, how rude can you be? Second, nobody asked you, rude little voice.

But after several dragging moments of internal arguing the voice ends up winning. Still rude though.

“What do you want out of this, Elric? What did you hope to gain from coming here?”

He looks almost affronted. “I wished to… connect with you. You are… my child. A miracle I had not even believed let alone known of.”

My child. Two simple words that ring in his ears unpleasantly.

“My plate’s full enough. I don’t know if I have room for ‘connecting.’”

“Would it not be worth trying?”

Taylor throws his hands up in exasperation. “Maybe! Fuck — maybe… maybe if I wasn’t so scared of dying. Or if I thought I had the time. But whatever the Coven Elders are planning it’s —”

Elric’s eyes widen, but that isn’t what cuts him off. Every hair on his body stands up at the same time. Without a chill, without a touch. It’s a feeling; powerful and consuming and coming from the fae Lord.

“Oh right,” because Elric refused to help and they’d gone to the Elders and that was that, “you don’t know. Yeah, the Coven’s the one who summoned the wraith. It’s a whole thing — I don’t have the time to go into it and I kinda don’t even want to because tonight was supposed to be one last attempt at normal but joke’s on me I guess.”

“You will make the time.”

He’d consider going at him for trying to use what he probably thinks is a tone of fatherly authority on Taylor — if it wasn’t so strikingly familiar. Commanding the wisdom and strength of his years both gone and yet to come. It demands respect, to be heard and the weight of every word understood.

Its the Elric he’d met for the first time in the Beau-Keyes Garden, and its kind of a relief.

Would have been useful yesterday, though.

He sums the encounter up as best he can; keeps throwing looks back over his shoulder as a sort of passive-aggressive-meets-non-confrontational way of saying he’s being held up.

And yes, logically he should be happy Elric is changing his tune no matter the reason. But he’s petty and spiteful and hey, nobody’s perfect.

By the time Taylor finishes Elric is already deep in thought — strings of thought becoming ropes, knots; an intricate web displayed across his entire person with just a look.

Another one of those looks he’s seen in the mirror, actually.

But they’re just thoughts. Not actions. He doesn’t need to be a little psychic to know that.

“No doubt my breath would be a wasted one were I to ask you to return to Lamrian with me.”

Elric means well — but that doesn’t make it any better.

“What, like — leave my friends behind to die and abandon the entire community that doesn’t even know what’s coming for it?”

He doesn’t say anything; doesn’t have to. “And—And what would I do,” continues Taylor, “just hang out with you and your wife, maybe do something productive like learn the pan flute or whatever?”

“This is not a matter to make light of.”

“You’re damn right it isn’t!” Fuck it, he’s shouting and doesn’t care who hears now. “I can’t believe you. Cowering in safety alone is one thing but to try and drag me down with you? That’s messed up; you’re messed up.”

“You do not know of what you speak — of the centuries our kind spend trying to conceive.”

“I’m not one of you.”

“You are, denying it hurts only yourself. By all accounts you are a miracle, Taylor. But children among the fair folk are few and far between. So for you to stand there — to twist my words as though they mean nothing…”

It’s a little hard to keep his composure when Elric’s voice cracks. It doesn’t make any of it okay — not by a long shot — but there’s a wrongness to that tone normally even and cultured sounding choked with emotion.

He even tries to swallow it down. It doesn’t work. “I have seen the cost of bravery. And to see you so passionate — so determined to fight this battle that I am certain was never meant to be yours. It ensnares me in a way you cannot yet understand. Pride overtakes me, yet I am made immobile.

“I have seen enough in my life to know when fighting is parallel to dying. No matter how brief the battle or noble the purpose there are some forces that cannot be overcome.”

He takes Taylor’s hand. Clammy and cold and he tries to hide it but Taylor knows the effects of a panic attack from personal experience that no matter how refined the otherworldly creature is you can’t always hide the tremors in your fingertips.

Like before he feels a tug in his gut. Something hooking into his center of gravity and puling him, or his essence, closer.

Hears the fae clear in his mind; terrified, heartbroken, too much.

I could not bear the sight of you among the casualties. Do not ask it of me. I beg of you.

Over-thinking about the heartbreak in every word, about the things he can’t possibly understand that allow Elric to feel so much and so hard for a person he doesn’t know — it’s not a luxury Taylor can afford right now. And not just because the emotional depth it requires might very well bring him to tears again.

So he squeezes that pale grip tight, the only solidarity he allows himself to muster, then lets go.

“I can’t.”

“Taylor —”

“No, really Elric, I can’t.” He steps back; creates distance between them both physically and on a deeper level. “I wasn’t supposed to be a part of this — I wasn’t. I’m only being targeted because of you; because I’m your son. You know what the Elders called me? They called me an ‘unseen complication.’ And up until right now it’s really bugged me. By all accounts I’ve not made anything complicated except for the lives of my friends.

“But maybe I’m not done yet, you know? Maybe there’s more for me to do. Probably not, let’s be real, but I have to try. Nik— Nik is trying, and he’s never done that before. Kathy and Cade don’t have any stake in this but they keep trying because they’re good people. Cal wants to make this city safer for his brother and Vera… she could have run back to New York at any time but she hasn’t.

“I’m not gonna stand here and say I fully understand what’s going on. But that doesn’t mean I should cut and run. I think its because I don’t know jack-shit that I can do the most good. Or, you know, at least try to.”

He falters at the end; never one to finish strongly in situations like these. Would he like for Elric to stay, to try like the rest and do some good — of course.

But any part of him left hesitant about his involvement is gone now. So he can thank the fae for that at the very least.

Wow, is this what emotional growth feels like? That warm feeling in his chest spreading out to the tips of his fingers and toes, the pride in his actions, the sense of accomplishment however small?

Kristin is going to be so proud of him when she wakes up.

He doesn’t realize he’s waiting for Elric to respond until he inhales deeply. Looks Taylor over with those same eyes somehow changed. Like he’s really seeing him for the first time.

“You are brave — braver than most.”

“No I’m really not. But I’m scared enough to want to do something about it.”

“Very well. Whatever you wish to call it… the quality is an admirable one.”

“You should try it out sometime.”

“Perhaps you can show me how, one day.” But not this day.

That’s it then. The arguing, the impassioned speeches, all of it and Elric still plans on hiding.

Fine. He’s done trying to make the man see reason.

“I’m gonna get back to the show — my company’s worked hard for this and even though I’m not up there, I deserve the chance to see it through.”

Just as resigned as he had been in Lamrian, Elric closes himself off when he tucks his clasped hands in his sleeves. Beautiful embroidery becoming his wall against the world.

Against the terrible things about to happen.

“You will find no time has passed,” he says to Taylor’s surprise, “I had hoped you would return with me. The chance to say farewell to your companions was the least I could offer.”

Implications aside… “Thanks, I guess. I’ll see you around, Elric.”

“Nothing would bring me greater joy.”

He’s halfway down the hall when a definite something comes over him. Is there such a thing as too much emotional growth? It tastes a little bit like he’s downed a shot of vinegar.

It makes him turn back; it knows the other man is still there — watching.

“You risked your life coming here — in person.”

Elric nods. “Yes.”

“All the things you’re staying out of the fight for; your people, Thalissa — if the bloodwraith showed up…”

“I knew the risk.”

“But it’s temporary, so that makes it okay.”

“What it does it make it a risk worth taking.”

“There it is then…” and Taylor almost can’t believe he’s saying this, but — “Come on, there’s a few empty seats in front of us. You can take one of those.”

Maybe he’s spent enough time in the fae’s presence now to understand and see every emotion he expresses. Small flickers and ticks in facial features — and that’s being generous.

Confusion. Contemplation. Understanding. Surprise.

And more than a little heartbreak.

“The longer I stay here the greater the chance of discovery by the creature.”

“Yeah, well you’ve been here a pretty long time already. What’s an extra hour or two?”

“The difference between life and death.”

“A fair point. Counter— you wanted to spend time together, Pop.” He pops his lips on the word. And funnily enough that seems to be what does the job.

There was no reason to doubt Elric’s truthfulness but he’s still relieved when they walk back into the theatre and the curtains are still drawn.

It would be helpful if someone turned around to see them; if they warned the others. But unfortunately (for Garrus) it’s a complete surprise when they greet his return… with company.

“Look who I found at the concession stand.” Taylor throws his arm around Elric’s shoulder and squeezes for the humor of it. Shit he probably should have asked if the man had a glamour.

Well, no one’s staring or screaming yet, so probably a good sign.

The general aura of confusion is broken by Garrus who, impossibly enough, looks more pale than usual. Beside him Krom is halfway reaching out; as if to shield his unspoken crush from Elric’s unseen wrath.

“Hey there, Rook,” Nik’s look of ‘what the literal?’ doesn’t stray from the fae’s ethereal glow, “thought you were goin’ backstage.”

Because this was his fault? “Oh, I was. But then I got to thinking — it’s a friends and family viewing so, you know, why not call my estranged father Elrond?”

“Elric.”

Sigh. “I know. It’s a joke.”

Elric nods. “Ah, I see.” No he doesn’t, but that’s not the point. Actually that he doesn’t is what makes it a little bit funnier.

But Taylor realizes quickly that he’s made a mistake in just assuming this would be okay. Garrus has never been quiet for this long and it makes everyone a little on edge. What happens when the man who always has something to say falls silent?

“You look well, Gallus.”

Garrus flinches violently at the name; at Elric’s attempt to cut through the tension. “That isn’t my name and you know it.”

“It was once.”

“Not anymore.” Garrus looks to Krom in surprise. Its the most intimidating the gentle giant has ever sounded. Though rage literally flickers as flames in Ivy’s cursed eyes she manages to look at him with pride.

It seems Taylor isn’t the only one who’s grown as a person tonight, though. As the discomfort rises to an almost stifling level the Lord bows his head, speaks somber and its enough to make everyone take a breath.

“I wish not to intrude on your time, Garrus,” Garrus who reaches absently for something to ground him and finds it in Krom’s hand clasping his, “only to take what precious moments my child allows me to possess.”

Way to push the blame on Taylor.

Taylor who struggles for something to say; an apology, a get out of here, anything. “I didn’t — I mean I — Garrus if —”

He raises a hand and Taylor’s glad for the opportunity to bite his tongue. Finds relief in the fact that Garrus still manages a smile his way.

“You couldn’t know. And it doesn’t bother me, honestly —” — especially not when he has Krom’s hand to squeeze where the seats separate their thighs — “— as long as my old landlord respects his boundaries, and doesn’t have an ulterior motive.”

“I do not.”

“Pinky swear?”

Elric doesn’t understand and it shows; some kind of power move Garrus relishes in by grinning at the laughter that ripples through them and breaks the tension.

The room grows dark as the company prepares to resume. Taylor awkwardly (and if he’s honest, uncomfortably) ushers Elric into the seat parallel to his a row forward. Close enough to count as ‘spending time together’ while also glad to be a buffer between his fae father and Garrus.

Velvet curtains pull apart with a flourish. Just before the cast begins Taylor manages to lean back and give a real apology to his friend.

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked first.” He whispers.

Garrus places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Really, darling, no big deal here.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky.”

He can’t remember the last time he made any promises so important as pinky promises. But he and Garrus link little fingers and exchange small smiles just in time for Titania to begin her lines.

With a deep breath of courage and only after finding Nik’s hand in the dark he leans again, forward this time, and directs Elric’s attention to the performance.

“Okay, so quick recap. There are four lovers, right, Helena who loves Demetrius, who loves Hermia, who loves Lysander, but the thing is…”

#nightbound #choices nb #playchoices fanfiction #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #katherine nightbound #cal lowell #vera reimonenq #oc: cadence smith #garrus #ivy #krom #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

2 notes · View notes

1813141 · 4 years

Text

Post 3

The impact of the media ownership on surveillance

Introduction:

Any type of platform which impacts the majority of the public to the extent in which the media does is organized and controlled in a certain way. And it is essential for the public who is consuming the information to understand the intentions of those who own the media. The media conglomerates who provide the content the public chooses to surround itself with are controlled by rich powerful individuals that advertise media platforms as an independent public realm when in reality it is controlled financially and editorially by the state. The question at hand is one of many that need to be answered in order for the public to comprehend how ownership of the media censors the information provided to the world and uses the means it has to surveil the public. Through the use of textual and critical discourse analysis, the following report will discuss the impacts of media ownership on surveillance by discussing the regulation and privatisation of the media, the increase of surveillance capitalism through the media and the knowledge economy.

Methods:

After careful consideration, thematic analysis was not used as it would have required qualitative methods with a dialogue nature such as interview transcript to present a pattern or theme. Although the following report is intended to present a sequence of opinions and academic references that would inherently show an understanding of the influences of media ownership on surveillance. The purpose of using critical discourse analysis to evaluate the impacts of the media ownership on surveillance is to trace for instance, the use of concepts pertaining to the knowledge economy such as big data, consumer profiles, and the digital revolution in order to establish discourse. Foucauldian discourse analysis will also be highlighted throughout the discussion as the report tells a tale of the one group of people setting the terms for what can and can’t be said and done by the powerless in a particular situation. The following situation is the control the public has over the surveillance levels extended into our daily lives through the media platforms we use. The power relationships in society are expressed in the hegemonic approach to control over the public through online surveillance.

Discussion:

Can we trust rich powerful individuals who own the media to use it in the public’s interest? The digital revolution has largely shifted the media focus to online platforms that offer a mass media directed at a mass public audience within which citizens are equal and have an equal right to participate and influence the nature of their society through laws, politics, and economy. However, as it is stated by Gillian Doyle, a finance director of a media firm, “the concept of pluralism embraces both diversity of output(content) and diversity of ownership.”. (Doyle 2002, p. 3) The study political economy of communications examines how media ownership facilitate government policies to influence media behaviour and content. (McChesney 2000) Therefore, the lack of diversity of media ownership not only enables the state to shape public opinion but also retains the right to regulate our ability to communicate through surveillance. The regulation of media in the name of national security and the common good and safety of the public has been an access point for nation states to gain far-reaching control over the activities, statements, interactions and personal affairs of the entire public sphere.

An article relating to surveillance capitalism states “Online platforms, in spite of their innocent-sounding name, are a way of optimising the overlap between the domains of social interaction and profit. Capitalism has become focused on expanding the proportion of social life that is open to data collection and data processing: it is as if the social itself has become the new target of capitalism’s expansion.” (Couldry 2016) Media regulation also presents itself in various ways, ranging from accepting cookies on each site and terms and conditions when making an account, purchasing an item or downloading an app. The following data collection mechanisms enable configurations to tap into a surplus of private information that we hand to them by merely pressing a button. Surveillance capitalism relates to information being exploited to predict the behaviour of the public with reference to trends, political stances and public reactions. The following can be seen through the use of surveillance capitalism in the Facebook and Cambridge Analytica election scheme. These actions have also been taken by the UK government in the Investigatory Powers Act, otherwise known as ‘The Snooper’s Charter’ which in turn keeps track of every citizen’s online social media profiles and browser, messaging and call records.

The neo-liberal utopia is one in which meritocratic society in is full play. The following ideology sustains the beliefs of exercising a knowledge economy where data collection is used to reconstruct and reshapes us into building our self in a certain way. The use of quantitative data enables a better understanding of the public’s viewpoint. Therefore, statistics in relations to the natural and social world are seen through the lens of reason and science. This type of data, often referred to as ‘Big Data’, is introduced as a precautionary tool for national security in an article titled ‘Big Data Surveillance’ which states that “There is a second sense in which data collection in the context of big data surveillance is speculative: that of attempting to amass an archive that can be searched and sorted retrospectively. The goal is to collect data about everyone, because one never knows who might end up doing something that needs to be excavated and reconstructed (for example, breaking a law). If the archive is complete, according to this logic, then no matter who the suspect is, a relevant data trail can be reconstructed.”. (Andrejevic and Gates 2014, p. 3)

Contribution:

The specific example that I believe embodies the consequences and impacts of misplaced media ownership on surveillance through big data and surveillance capitalism is the infamous Facebook and Cambridge Analytica election scheme. Cambridge Analytica is a data marketing firm that harvests online information to create microtargeted content that may influence audience behavior. During the Donald Trump United States presidential election campaign, the firm had applications on Facebook that were given special permission to harvest data not just from the person who used or joined the app, but the data would then transfer directly into their entire friend network and extract their friend’s data as well. Such data included status updates, search history and private messages. The scheme only needed to reach a few hundred thousand people to expand into their entire social network which would then scale up to the rest of America. People had no idea that their data was being taken and that they used the data to target voter groups and design targeted messaging to influence opinion. Based on the type of messaging that an individual was susceptible to, they were going to direct that messaging as many times as it takes to influence and shape how they view and think about something. This was a full-service propaganda machine that enabled the unethical use of information with the false pretence of data collection being used for security reasons.

Conclusion:

The digital age has provided new opportunities to any online user. Whether that being staying connected, paving ways for new jobs, entertainment or consumerism. However, as presented in this report, that all comes with the risk of a breach of privacy. We are promised free speech, individualism and self-expression, however we pay for it with the continuous data we blindly provide the media conglomerates. Unless regulation of user privacy is revised, we will be living in a controlled state in which the government is integrated into our personal lives and privacy shall cease to exist.

Word Count: 1,281

References:

Andrejevic, M. and Gates, K., 2014. Big Data Surveillance: Introduction In Surveillance & Society. p.3.

Couldry, N., 2016. The Price Of Connection: 'Surveillance Capitalism'. [online] The Conversation.

Doyle, G., 2002. Media Ownership. London: SAGE Publications.

McChesney, R. W. (2000) ‘The political economy of communication and the future of the field’, Media, Culture & Society, 22(1).

3 notes · View notes

scifigeneration · 5 years

Text

How to build a 'perfect' language

by Bettina Beinhoff

A document in Tengwar, the script of the Elvish languages invented by JRR Tolkien, Dozza, Italy. Luca Lorenzelli via Shutterstock

It’s well known that JRR Tolkien wrote the Lord of the Rings cycle to create people to speak the languages he had invented. But, in the television age, artificially created or invented languages – we call them “conlangs” – have been gaining increasing attention with the popularity of television series such as Star Trek and Game of Thrones, and films such as Avatar.

Fantasy and science fiction are the ideal vehicles for conlangs. Marc Okrand, an American linguist whose core research area is Native American languages, invented Klingon for Star Trek, while Paul Frommer of the University of Southern California created the Na'vi language for Avatar.

The fantasy series Game of Thrones involved several languages, including Dothraki and Valyrian, which were created by David J Peterson, a “conlanger” who has invented languages for several other shows. Most recently, fantasy thriller The City and The City featured the language Illitan, created by Alison Long of Keele University in the UK.

I teach how to construct languages and one question my students usually ask is: “How do I make a perfect language?” I need to warn that it’s impossible to make a language “perfect” – or even “complete”. Rather, an invented language is more likely to be appropriate for the context – convincing and developed just enough to work in the desired environment. But here are a few things to bear in mind.

Who will speak this language and why?

It is very important to be clear about the aims of the language and its (fictional or real) speakers. When conlangs are created for a specific fictional character, the aims and speakers are determined by the story, the author or producer.

youtube

In some cases, fragments or descriptions of the language do exist. This was the case for Illitan, which was described as having “jarring” sounds in the novel The City and The City and there were a few Dothraki expressions in the first Game of Thrones novel. But what if there are no instructions? In a survey I ran a few years ago, many language creators pointed out that a sense of aesthetics and beauty guided them, along with the need to make the conlangs sound natural and a very pragmatic sense of how easily the languages could be pronounced.

There is also a strong link between language and culture, where some languages attract a large fan base because of the culture and community this language represents. A good example is Na’vi, which attracts many learners because of its welcoming community of speakers. In some cases the language itself has developed a strong culture and community, as is the case for Esperanto, which aims to bring people together regardless of their background and supports a strong sense of solidarity.

Start with sounds

The sound system is typically the starting point for language creators. This makes sense, given that sound is usually the first thing that we encounter in a new language. Do we want our conlang to sound harsh, alien or even aggressive? In the Klingon sound system this effect is achieved as follows:

Fricative consonants – like the initial sounds in the words “chair”, “show” and “jump” or the final sound in the Scottish word “loch”.

Plosive consonants – such as “t”, “p” and “k” – ideally produced with a stronger puff of air than is customary in spoken English.

Sounds that are unusual – at least to the ears of English speakers, who are typically the primary target audience. So imagine a consonant that sounds like a “k” that is produced far back in the throat (a sound which exists in Modern Standard Arabic) or a “g” that is produced more like a “gargle” and exists, for example, in Modern Greek and Icelandic.

youtube

These sounds all contribute to Klingon’s alien quality. On the other hand, Tolkien’s Elvish languages of Sindarin and Quenya were developed to sound aesthetically pleasing and – according to Tolkien himself – are intended to sound “of a European kind”. So Tolkien’s Elvish languages have systems which are much closer to those of European languages such as Welsh, Finnish and Old English, all of which influenced Tolkien when creating these languages.

Words and customs

Once we know how our language sounds, we can develop words. Here, the link to the culture of the speakers is important in establishing the most important words and expressions. For example, the Na’vi are deeply connected to nature and this connection is ingrained in their words, metaphors and customs. For example, when the Na'vi kill an animal they speak a prayer to show respect, gratitude and humility.

youtube

In contrast, the Dothraki – nomadic warriors relying on horses – literally say: “Do you ride well?” when asking: “Are you well?”

Grammar

Now we need to put our words together in a sensible way, including expressing tenses and plural forms. We can do this by adding different endings – so, for example, Esperanto uses the verb ending -as to express present tense, -os for past and -is for future, as in amas (love), amos (loved) and amis (will love).

We also need to decide on the word order and sentence structure. English has a typical structure of Subject-Verb-Object, but an alien-sounding conlang like Klingon may use a more unusual structure like Object-Subject-Verb – for example, the book (Object) – my friend (Subject) – reads (Verb).

Writing systems

Writing systems are bound to the culture of the speakers – and not all languages are written. Cultures with purely oral traditions, like the Dothraki, do not write. However, where such writing systems appear, they are often an artistic endeavour in themselves. The most famous example is Tengwar, one of the scripts Tolkien developed for the Elvish languages.

The first article of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in JRR Tolkien’s Tengwar script (transcribed from English). Alatius/Wikimedia Commons

Klingon maintains its alien quality through very spiky characters and Esperanto, developed to be learned easily, contained some symbols which have subsequently been changed as they were too cumbersome.

So, like natural languages, conlangs change and develop (for example, all conlangs regularly acquire new words). What is important, though, is to keep the speaker community active, otherwise only fragments of your conlang may remain, as is the case for Sauron’s Black Speech in the Lord of the Rings. But given what we know about the evil Sauron, perhaps that is just as well.

About The Author:

Bettina Beinhoff is a Senior Lecturer in Applied Linguistics and English Language at Anglia Ruskin University

This article is republished from our content partners over at The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.

#Language #science fiction #Science Fiction and Fantasy #Science

19 notes · View notes

a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan · 5 years

Text

LinkedUniverse Fanfic Ch. 10: Noontime Nightmares (pt. 1)

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name–Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story–I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 12: Noontime Nightmares.

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

That dark forest the Links entered last chapter of my @linkeduniverse fan narrative? Yeah, it’s pretty dark. Part 1 of 2. Word Count: 2418

Nearly all light was blocked by the forest’s dense tree canopy. The heroes were glad they decided to light their lanterns, but even they seemed to not be able to pierce more than a few yards into the darkness. Wild was reminded of a similar forest north of his Hyrule Castle. He hoped they would not encounter the monsters he did there here, too.

The Links spent two uneasy hours walking through the woods. Twilight hadn’t sensed anything strange in his wolf form, but that didn’t sate their feeling they were being watched. Wild still had two arrows nocked on his bow; Warrior instructed him to fire at Twilight’s signal. Warrior was determined to neither get ambushed nor be defeated in one.

“I don’t like this,” Hyrule whispered. Holding his lantern at arm’s length, he still could barely see Legend ahead of him.

“None of us do,” Legend replied. “Unless one of us does. Does anyone like this?”

Time smiled. At least one of them was trying to keep the mood light. “No, I can’t say I’m very fond of this.”

Wind, used to sunny days on the high seas and night sky starlight playing off the water, agreed. “Yeah, not the biggest fan.”

Twilight was put on edge by the suffocating darkness. His heightened senses as a wolf could barely pierce it. It brought to mind the dark cloud that sent the group out of the illusory world of the burning village. That thought unnerved him even more. There was nothing except the faint scent of his friends behind him and darkness ahead.

Three more hours of this? He thought. I almost want something to happen… Wait.

A new scent appeared. It was familiar. The stench of rot and death, a few yards ahead and to the right. Looks like I jinxed it.

The Wolf barked and pointed his head in the direction. With no hesitation, Wild loosed his arrows. The THWIP of the them hitting a target bounced and echoed off the trees. Now fully alert, the others clipped their lanterns of their belts and drew their weapons. Wild nocked two more arrows as Sky moved ahead of him and Twilight.

They walked slowly towards what may be a slain monster. The light of their lanterns fell upon a stag pinned to a tree. It was dead. Two arrows stuck out of its neck; that they expected. What they didn’t anticipate was a massive spear skewering the poor animal through its side. The weapon was long as Time would be tall with Twilight standing on his shoulders, and nearly as thick as a small birch tree. From what was exposed of the head, it seemed to be a jagged, razor sharp rock of some kind. It was shoddily tied together with old ropes.

The stag, pinned to the tree by the spear, seemed to have been dead for a week at least. Flies buzzed around it, and it reeked horribly. Hesitantly approaching it, Sky’s lantern showed it was missing its hind legs. He gagged. He turned back to the group and shook his head as if to say, this isn’t good.

“What the…” Hyrule said as he inched toward the carrion. “What could have done this?”

Wild’s thoughts raced. “Something big. Hinox, maybe?”

“Hinox aren’t that big,” Four said. “Only ten feet, max.”

“Yours, maybe,” Wild replied. “Mine are giants. Five times my height, easy.”

“Oh.”

“What’s a Hinox?” Wind asked. He said it almost as if not wanting an answer.

“Big, muscle-y creatures,” Legend explained. “One-eyed, love bombs…”

“Love bombs?” Wild scoffed. “What kind of Hinox are you guys used to?”

“Something more explosive than yours, apparently.”

Time didn’t like this one bit. “Cut the chatter. We need to be on guard. This thing probably likes prey that stand around and talk.”

“And something tells me we’re the perfect prey,” Hyrule muttered.

Suddenly, Twilight barked again. Following the wolf’s snout, Wild pulled his bow’s string and let two arrows fly. Another THWIP. The heroes warily followed the sound. Their lanterns’ light fell upon a what looked like a fox, again affixed to a tree. The entire font half of its body seemed to have been torn off. This time, a man-sized halberd held it in place. Time pulled it free. He shook off the fox and held the weapon out to the others.

It was finely made, with smooth curves, a polished head, and stained wood. The blacksmith who made it was clearly a skilled one. The materials looked expensive. “This is no traveler’s spear,” Four observed. “This belonged to a knight.”

“So,” Wind ventured, “where’s the knight?”

Warrior looked down at him with one eyebrow raised. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Not really.”

“Figured. Well, it looks like whatever thing is, it’s several yards tall, can use weapons, and has a taste for raw meat.”

“Hm…” Wild put all these pieces together in his head. “I’m definitely thinking a hinox like the ones I’ve seen. Funny, I had to fight one in a forest like this.”

“At least you’ll have experience, then,” Hyrule said. “Plus, you have us now.”

Twilight was still transformed. He was trying to pick up any other scents. As his companions were talking, he picked something faint up. What’s more, he felt a soft rumbling under his paws. Almost like multiple sets of footsteps… He tried to pinpoint where it was coming from, but it was all around them. He looked to the others. They hadn’t noticed any of it. He transformed back.

“Guys, we have company,” he said. “From all directions. Sounds like footsteps and smells… not good. Worse than this carrion.”

“Yep,” Wild confirmed. “Hinox.”

“Is that plural?” Legend asked Twilight.

“Yes.”

“Great.”

Warrior looked to the resident amnesiac. “What can we expect?”

“Five times our size, fat, dim, sometimes armored around the legs. I usually used spears because it’s not safe to get too close to them. They’ll create shockwaves by beating the ground with their hands, and like jumping and crushing people under their rears. Time, pass me that halberd.”

Time handed it over. He was better with a sword anyway. Wild took it and tossed it between his hands, as if checking its balance. He readied it in both hands and took a stab into the darkness. Then he twirled it into one hand, then the next, then back. The hero nodded, evidently pleased with the quality of the weapon. It also gave him an excuse not to use his shield, which he stole from a Stalfos and wasn’t comfortable at all.

“Twilight?” Warrior asked. “How many did you sense?”

“I couldn’t tell for sure. Four or more.”

“Then I’m not sure if we should split up.”

“I should be able to take one myself,” Wild pointed out.

“Right. Pairs for the rest of us, then?”

Before anyone could respond, the footsteps Twilight heard began to become audible to them. A few seconds later, the stench hit them too. Twilight was right, it was coming from all directions. “We’re being surrounded,” Sky said. “We might want to get creative with our weapons.”

“I agree,” Time assented. “If swords aren’t working, don’t hesitate to use anything you need.”

Now the footsteps were growing louder. In a few seconds, the monsters would be upon them. The heroes’ lanterns were infuriatingly dim in the oppressing darkness. Warrior pulled out his Fire Rod. “I can’t take these shadows, we’re sitting ducks!”

He held the Fire Rod aloft and ignited the tip with a layer of flame. The firelight illuminated not four, not five, but nine Hinox less than ten yards away. Wild’s description of them was accurate, the others silently confirmed. The reek of the monsters filled the heroes’ nostrils, forcing them to hold back gags. They readied their weapons. Swords and shields glinted from the fire. “New plan,” Warrior whispered. “One-on-one. Got it? Break.”

In a flash, Wild stowed his halberd and drew his bow. He nocked three arrows and fired them straight into the nearest Hinox’s single eye. The giant monster recoiled with a deafening roar, reached up to its face, and tore the arrows out of its eye. Blood splattered the ground, but the injury didn’t seem to bother the Hinox. It kept moving forward. Wild gaped at it. That usually did some serious damage. Only nine arrows left... Wild thought. Got to conserve them.

The others saw this and stared at the monster. Not many creatures can take three arrows in the eye and keep going. Wild slung his bow over his shoulder and drew his new halberd. He rushed at the Hinox. It stared down at this tiny man sprinting at it, confused by the sight. Most things ran from it. Undeterred, it raised its hand to squish the puny thing. As it was about to bring the three-fingered hand down, Wild jumped to the side. He readied the spear.

The young hero’s feet skidded on the leafy forest floor. Taking a half-second to ground his feet, he stared down his target. Aiming straight at the Hinox’s fat gut, he let loose a flurry of stabs. Again and again, the finely-crafted halberd pierced the monster’s tough skin, sending blood into the air. Wild felt flecks hit his face as he attacked. He worked his fingers furiously, turning the spear slightly with each stab, the axe-like head digging in and tearing flesh as it exited.

The monster roared in either fury or agony, Wild didn’t care. Its entrails torn, it stumbled onto its back with a deafening THUD. Wild ran around to its side and jammed the halberd between the Hinox’s ribs. He used the spear’s handle to vault onto the monster, pounded his boot into its chin, and leapt upward. He twirled the weapon above his hand, secured his grip on it, and spiraled downward.

The halberd’s head bored straight into the Hinox’s eye. After three rotations, Wild righted himself, dug his boot into the monster’s forehead, and jumped to the ground. The roaring stopped. The felled monster ceased its writhing and went limp. Wild cast a look at it to ensure it was dead. Satisfied with his work, he went on to help his friends.

…

By now, Sky was working on his own Hinox. He drew his Beetle and shot it to the side. The flying weapon distracted the brute. It swiped its hands through the air, trying to swat it down. The hero saw a moment to strike. He rushed to the monster’s leg, hoping to cripple it. He raised the Master Sword and made an inward slash. The blade struck the wooden guard the Hinox wore on its leg. It was stuck.

Sky yanked on the handle to free the blade from the wood. One tug didn’t work. Two. Three. The blade came free and Sky stumbled backward. By now, the monster remembered its prey. It turned back around to face Sky. Spotting the puny Hylian, it crouched down. It was preparing to jump. Sky remembered Wild’s words and turned tail.

He was several yards away by the time the Hinox’s enormous behind slammed into the ground. The shockwave still threw him forward. Narrowly dodging a faceplant, Sky managed to get back on his feet. The Hinox was coming for him again. Sky’s eyes darted around the monster, trying to find a weak point. There! he thought. Found one!

The young swordsman spotted what he was looking for. The wooden guards the Hinox was wearing were held in place by some frayed ropes. That was something Sky could work with. He drew his scattershot and filled the its pocket with pellets. He pulled back, aimed for the eye, and let go. He knew it wouldn’t do much to stop the brute, but it would distract it. With the monster blinking away the tiny ammunition, Sky made his move.

Taking off at a sprint, he replaced the scattershot with his sword and ran underneath the Hinox. At just the right moment, he made two deft swipes. The ropes sliced apart and their load fell to the ground. The Hinox was still trying to figure out what was happening when Sky ran back the way he came. He held the Master Sword aloft and charged a skyward strike. Lowering it to his side, he ran under the Hinox and spun on his heel. The charged spin attack sliced clean through the monster’s legs. Sky ran clear before it collapsed in a heap on the ground. It wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

…

The world froze. Wind was holding the Phantom Sword aloft, using its time-stop ability. All sound and breeze stopped as he dashed around the Hinox. He had to make the most of this moment. He took his hookshot out mid-step, held it in his right hand, and readied it. He aimed up and chose his target.

With a squeeze of the trigger, the chained weapon fired out into the stagnant air. It dug itself into the side of the monster’s head. Wind knew it wouldn’t dig deep enough to do any serious damage, but he wasn’t planning on it. He picked up more speed as he sprinted. By now he was directly behind the Hinox.

The hero kicked his feet off the ground into a high leap. At the apex of his jump, he squeezed the trigger on the hookshot again. The chain retracted, shooting Wind into the air. Using the momentum of his leap, he rushed up to the monster’s neck. He raised his sword. A split second from hitting the Hinox, he swung the Phantom Sword.

SWISH! The blade cut straight through the nape of monster’s neck, severing its spinal cord. Wind felt time begin to restart. He planted his feet on the slowly collapsing Hinox’s neck and pushed off into a backflip. He landed on the ground and was just retracting the hookshot’s tip as time resumed fully. The titan collapsed on forest floor. In quite literally no time, the young hero had felled the giant.

The Phantom Sword was exhausting to use without the fairy Ciela’s help, so Wind took a moment to recover his strength. He looked up at the rest of the fight. The others were still working on their Hinox. He could just barely see them through the darkness. He smiled at the sight. The Hinox looked tough, but his friends seemed to be having an easy enough time fighting them. Nice, he thought. Gimme a sec, boys. I’ll be right there.

#linkeduniverse fanfiction #linkeduniverse #my own #my writing #fanfic #Noontime Nightmares

299 notes · View notes

hello123deutschus-blog · 5 years

Text

Learn German Online In 30 Days

How I Learned German in 30 Days

This post is my summary of an experiment that I started in January 2015: learn German in 30 days.

Before I begin, I feel compelled to list some resignations:

"I learned German" means that I can have basic conversations in German, as well as understand German quite well (both written and spoken). I definitely have not learned to speak German perfectly.

I do not claim originality of everything in this text; I have been very inspired by the writings of other language students, such as Barry Farber and Benny Lewis.

My mother tongue is Norwegian. This gave me an advantage, since it is closely related linguistically to German.

If you want to learn a language as quickly as possible, you must continue reading. In addition to giving some general advice and, hopefully, inspiration, I have created some resources that I will share in this text that will help you learn German quickly.

I spent between 30 and 60 minutes a day in my 30-day period, so the time investment was not huge.

Now, let's start.

Five principles of effective language learning

I had the hypothesis that there are five important principles to learn a language effectively. One of the purposes of my experiment was to test if these were good. The five principles are:

Set a clear goal

Speak from day 1

Focus on frequent words

Immerse yourself

Track

Below I will explain exactly how I used these principles to learn German.

1. Set a clear objective

I followed the Key Objectives and Results (OKR) approach to set a goal. My overall goal was to learn as much German as possible in 30 days. More specifically, I wanted to achieve these key results:

Learn the 1000 most frequent German words

Learn 10 German songs by heart

Being able to have basic conversations with my German friends

1 and 2 are good because they are measurable, but the most important key result for me was number 3, which was a bit vague. To make it more tangible, I booked a ticket to Berlin and decided that I should spend the whole weekend with an old friend (German), who spoke only German.

Also, once I decided that I would go ahead with my plan, I basically announced to the whole world that I was going to learn German in 30 days. The purpose of this was purely psychological, since I would have to stick to the plan so as not to seem like a complete idiot. In fact, during my 30-day period, people asked me "how is the German study going?" To which I could always reply "Sehr gut, danke!"

(I also secretly decided that I would record a video in Berlin speaking in German, which I did on the 29th, but I will save you the discomfort of the video that I finally posted on Facebook).

2. Speak from day 1

I think that one of the biggest mistakes you can make when learning a language is to postpone speech until "you're ready." Learning languages is like going to the gym: if you want to build muscles, anything other than exercising is just postponing.

Specifically, what I did to speak from day one was to find friends who spoke German or wanted to learn German. Then I told them that I would be online for 30 minutes to appear. Every day at 8 p.m. and I gave them my own custom URL. I told them that I would love to practice German with them there. I got 5 people to join in total. None of them were native German speakers, although some already spoke fluently (which I thought was very important!), and some were just beginning like me.

In order to remain in our target language (German) and not return to English or Norwegian, I created a cheat sheet containing essential phrases. This sheet prevented me from being blocked and, in general, was incredibly useful in our online conversations.

Following the analogy of "language is a muscle", I also repeated out loud everything I heard or read in German when I was studying on my own. Compared to just "passively" receiving (listening, reading) German, I think this really makes a difference to strengthen those German synapses in your brain.

3. Focus on frequent words

If you are not familiar with Zipf's law, you will be surprised to know that only the 100 most frequent words represent approximately 50% of all words spoken in German films. Take a moment to reflect on this amazing fact. Basically, this means that any other word you hear in a German movie is a word from that list of the top 100. The obvious conclusion? You need to know those words!

Here I found a list of the most frequent words in German subtitles, and created my own GoogleDocs spreadsheet with the 1000 most frequent words. These words represent ~ 75% of all words in German subtitles. My simple task was to complete the "meaning" column for each word before my 30 days have passed. In other words, I had to learn about 30 words per day. I made intensive use of cognates from English and Norwegian to learn them, and exported the words I had learned to Anki once a week to make sure I didn't forget them.

The frequency list is one of the things I did that worked best. It served as a good anchor on which I could focus my learning.

To test my vocabulary in the real world, I sometimes tried to read German newspapers or books, highlighting words I didn't understand. After reading a page or a paragraph, I would count the words I knew versus those I didn't know, and then calculate the proportion of known words / total words in the text. Towards the end of my study period, I registered about 80–85%, cognates or context that helped me overcome the 75% I obtained from the list of the best 1000.

4. Immerse yourself

I changed my language from Facebook to German. We watched many videos of Yabla.

But what worked best for me was my Spotify playlist with 10 German songs.

Once I learned the lyrics of these songs, I could play them every time and be exposed to German every time I could listen to music. I even recorded myself singing and playing these songs on the guitar. Again, I will save you the shame.

It's hard to choose the lyrics of just listening to the songs, so I would study the lyrics separately before trying to memorize something. I used Lingq, which meant I had the lyrics available on my iPhone, and I could easily track what words were new when studying a new song.

5. Keep a record

The My 1000 main words spreadsheet was excellent for knowing approximately how many words I knew at any given time. Since I had the frequency of each word, I could calculate the total "mass" of German I knew, not just the total number of words, which I found quite motivating.

I also kept a simple journal in Evernote that listed my activities by day. In the end there was only one day when I did nothing at all.

I hardly did any grammar study, which I think was a good decision, since I was only 30 days old and had no ambitions to speak perfectly. However, one thing that I would have liked to do to learn German cases is a set of 4 sentences of the type "Man gave the book to the child", a sentence for each gender + plural. Memorizing these four sentences would probably have been much easier than trying to remember a table of cases.

Summary

Once the experiment was over, I would say that I achieved my goal.

I learned the 1000 most frequent words (and probably some more that I didn't track). That's! Either this gave you some inspiration to start your own 30-day language adventure or you think I'm crazy. In any case, let me know what you think of my experiment!

Tags:

Learn German Online Course, German Language Online Course, Learn German Language Online For Beginners, Best Place to Learn German Online, Learn German Online With Certificate, Online German Language Course with Certificate, Learn German Online In 30 Days, Online German Language Websites, Learn German Online Best Site, Learn German Online Quickly, Learn German Online Classes, Learn German Online Advanced, German Language Programs Online

#Learn German Online Course #German Language Online Course #Learn German Language Online For Beginners #Best Place to Learn German Online #Learn German Online With Certificate #Online German Language Course with Certificate #Learn German Online In 30 Days #Online German Language Websites #Learn German Online Best Site #Learn German Online Quickly #Learn German Online Classes #Learn German Online Advanced #German Language Programs Online

1 note · View note

janiedean · 6 years

Note

Hi Janie! So, I admit to a bit of ignorance pertaining the whole “anti”-debacle. I’ve seen anti and anti-anti posts that say the same thing, sometimes it’s about morally offensive things, sometimes about completely unrelated stuff and I can’t make heads nor tails of it, especially since there isn’t really a wealth of actual information? Just rants... *sigh* If it’s possible, do you think you could explain what the problem is? (Does that need to be in plural?) and the „sides“? Thank you! ❤️

anon you asked the question of the century I’m afraid X°D THAT SAID let’s... see if I can make this understandable.

so: the anti debate is... pretty much tied to the whole ‘politics in fandom discourse’ and you can’t separate the two of them sadly. of course I come from the not anti side of fandom so what do I know. anyway, premise:

what happened is that in the last two/three years, whether we liked it or not, the debate in fandom has moved from ‘my ship is better than yours’ to ‘my ship is better than yours because it’s more progressive/woke’, which has gone hand in hand with the political fandom views of any media product, ie ‘you can’t watch that because it lacks representation’ or ‘that show is crap because it’s not woke enough or doesn’t treat that topic well’ and so on, and with a tendency to think that if you ship anything you want it to be canon because it only is worth anything if it becomes such (which imo is bullshit but never mind);

this has moved on to also judging people based on their ships, as in: ‘ship X is wrong because it’s problematic for X reason therefore if you ship it you support X irl and you’re problematic and you need to be stopped’. such as ‘thor/loki is wrong because it’s incest so if you ship thor/loki you’re okay with incest irl and you want to bang your siblings if you have any’, which is a ridiculous notion but this goes also hand in hand with the fact that people have suddenly decided to trash all the psychology that confirmed how violent videogames don’t influence reality and now think that liking something problematic influences you irl because they don’t grasp the difference between fandom and mass-media consumption of a mass-media product;

they also don’t grasp the concept of catharsis through media nor of the really basic concept that most normal people who see themselves in fiction don’t take the entire package but relate to specific things;

keeping THAT in mind:

the whole ‘anti’ thing, as ‘people being opposed to a ship or a trend’ is basically people saying that you cannot ship a thing or be into a problematic character or kink because it says something about you and not about your fictional preferences and actively go around being assholes to people who ship the thing while at the same time gatekeeping/policing their own ships which are of course Purer Than The Others and bringing politics into it, too;

this also goes with a frankly problematic (AND I’M USING THE WORD NON-IRONICALLY) attitude that those people have of equating age gaps with pedophilia always and considering children people older than thirteen/fourteen, which automatically makes them think of people who ship age gaps even in between adults pedophiles (I kid you not a friend who’s over thirty in a rship with a person fifteen years older got told that their rship was pedophilia because their partner was an adult when they were a child at some point in their lives. I mean, IMAGINE THAT.);

to give the to-go example these days because it’s sadly the worst: sw sequel trilogy fandom. rey/kylo has been targeted by antis as the to-go Most Problematic Ship because in order:a) enemies to lovers as a trope which is of course abusive if the good side is a woman (more on that later) b) both are white (so it’s racist to not ship her with the non-white people in the light side *roll eyes*)c) they have a ten years age gap (so it’s pedophilia even if rey’s of age and she kicked his ass more than once)d) he’s not technically good looking so it sets people’s worst instincts offe) these people don’t buy into the fact that people can be redeemed so they decided he’s absolutely Not Redeemable and so onf) it’s an m/f couplenow, rey/lo is admittedly a fairly tame ship as far as problematic goes - it’s honestly your typical enemies to friends to lovers trope that’s been in media since the beginning of time, but according to these ppl it’s The Worst and if you dare being into it you must be a pedophile, racist, misogynist (or internalized misogynist), straight person (because of course only straight ppl ship m/f) - and yes, being straight is a problem but more on that later. but since you can ship her with finn (black) or you could ship finn and poe (black and latino actors) if you’re not into either you’re problematic. too bad that if you ship finn and poe (WHICH I DO) these days it’s... let’s just say I’ve seen a list of ‘problematic f/p writers’ where the reasons for the PROBLEMATIC was that they took a fluff ship and wrote it dubcon. oKAY. also pre tlj fandom was full of block lists for r/eylo shippers where you’d get the name plus ALL REASONS WHY THEY HAD TO BE HARASSED OUT OF FANDOM which you will imagine does not sit well with me since that’s... like... the most fascist thing you could do (NO REALLY BAN LISTS OF PERSONE NON GRATAE WITH REASONS WHY THEY WERE IS A THING THAT HAPPENS IN DICTATORSHIPS AND SOCIETY WHERE EVERYTHING IS CENSORED LIKE BANNED BOOKS) in this circumstance, but hey, if you’re anti-reylo and you’re doing the above you’re just doing the work of the lord because you’re saving people from the Horrible Problematic Ship, and meanwhile I don’t want anything to do with a fandom where people do block lists for how you write your fanfic IN GENERAL. like, concrit is more than welcome but lists? please don’t fucking kid me;

I used r/eylo as an example because it’s the epitome of what anti-shipping ends at, but there’s also sh/eith from voltron which is two guys, with a seven years age gap but both are adults now and were older than 15 when they met, who have the sweetest less problematic relationship ever and people who ship.. the other rival ship decided that it’s pedophilia, SUPPORTS INCEST on the grounds of one of the two tell the other ‘you’re like a brother to me’ SERIOUSLY and that it’s abusive and by shipping it you’re a pedophile. k;

also, this entire thing ties with the fact that these people seem to think that having sex when older than fourteen is somehow bad, which means that if you write someone under the age of 18 (and sometimes NOT EVEN THAT see voltron above) you’re automatically a *pedophile* even if teenagers aren’t children and fictional characters are fictional and never hurt anyone, and that goes hand in hand with the fact that these people seem to largely be against kink;

specifically: ‘bdsm is abusive’ (???), ‘you can’t be a feminist if you like kink’ (OKAY???), ‘if you read/write noncon fanfic you have a problem and you’re terrible’ etc, with a specific subset being against specific kinks that play on a certain angle ie daddy kink and so on which are PEDOPHILIA now, which is again an extremely puritanical way to see the world, not progressive;

at this point we have a situation where a bunch of *antis* specifically target people who are into *problematic* things whether it’s ships, characters, kinks and so on and are going like THINK OF THE CHILDREN half of the time. the children being them, of course.

at this point we have the other discourse we need to have ie about the age and sexuality of the people involved in fandom and why it matters:

now: a lot of fandom is made up of women. it’s statistics. a significant statistical part of the old guard (25+-30+ people ie my generation plus the previous 40+ older generation) is cis women (who can be straight or bi but are attracted to men) who went into fandom writing m/m slash. a significant part of this group is into either problematic ships or kink and such on. but in our understanding of fandom, the key terms were ship and let ship + your kink is not my kink + don’t like don’t read. as in: outside your usual MY SHIP IS BETTER THAN YOURS wank was generally understood that people liked things different than yours and that you had no business being an ass over it, and back in the day warnings were at the beginning - when I went into fandom warnings were not a thing. now there’s warnings everywhere which is GOOD and guess why ao3 was made by... the old guard/old fans, which of course are not very pleased with being told they’re pedophiles or perverts for shipping a thing or, *drum rolls*, that they fetishize gay men by shipping m/m or writing m/m porn, and are fairly vocal about it;

on the other side, this new wave of younger fans who thinks is progressive along with older fans who are assholes/most likely grooming the youngers (because this anti shipping thing is seriously cult-like at this point) calling the old generation all the stuff above and pushing the idea that they want ‘old straight ciswomen out of fandom’ because ‘they have gross ideas and THEY DON’T WANT TO READ OUR GROSS FIC’ and such things. we can also talk for ten years about how the new wave has decided that straight = insult but again, tumblr politics. all goes hand in hand;

so basically the sides are ‘younger fans who thinks they are progressive but are actually being puritan af’ vs ‘older fans who want to do their damned thing’ with some people obviously crossing into the others’s territory;

(and mind that not counting SW, most of the anti drama happens in fandoms for... animated cartoons and the likes - vo/ltron, ste/ven universe and so on, which says a lot about the age discourse, but nvm that);

now, the problem is that by telling some woman older than you that she can’t safely explore her sexual fantasies/kinks in fiction about fake characters you’re basically doing the same thing as policing women’s sexual fantasies that has been going on since the dawn of time, so it’s actually hella misogynist, and the fact that it goes with people saying that you can’t be a feminist who likes kink and that kink is abuse/misogynist... is still policing women’s sexualities, irl and fictionally, and that’s what they’re doing at the end of it;

on top of that, they’re also policing what non-straight, non-female fans who ship problematic stuff do and most of all, there’s the shipping to cope bush of thorns.

about shipping to cope:

now, this entire system had to, at some point, deal with the very true fact that a lot of people who are into problematic stuff/kinks/noncon (not all of them of course) engage with that material to work out their issues - a lot of the time it’s abuse victims writing it to elaborate on their abuse and take control of it and so on and usually... a lot of them aren’t even straight (honestly, almost everyone I know who ships th/ramsay ie noncon torture ship that I personally don’t like myself is... not straight, and a lot of them do ship to cope) and telling them you cannot handle your recovery with whichever system they see fit is... RUDE at best. which is why there’s antis who are like ‘shipping to cope is fine but JUST IF IT’S TO COPE’ which means that in order to be given the green light you have to out yourself and tell people you were abused and other antis who are like ‘SHIPPING TO COPE IS WRONG BECAUSE YOU JUST MAKE IT WORSE’ which is... not a thing that happens to everyone and actually every psychologist worth their salt in the world disagrees (or better: for some people it’s bad to do but for others it’s cathartic, and the latter shouldn’t be not able to do it because the former can’t blacklist or because kids on the internet decided that shipping to cope is bad);

so a lot of antis are actually crossing into the territory of wanting to police how people handle their own experience of abuse (honestly once someone told a friend who explained them from a professional pov the valid of problematic/violent art as a cathartic, healthy way to deal with you shit, and who told them that they were an abuse victim who dealt with it in different ways, to GO ON GOOGLE AND LOOK UP HOW IT WORKS and that person knew shit about it period just to say one) and telling people they can’t process their abuse in THAT way but just in THIS way, feeding into the idea that there’s a right way to process abuse and a wrong way to react to it which in turns becomes good victim vs bad victim;

(and then you wonder why they hate kylo ren... who’s a Bad Victim under the definition of the word but hey whatever)

and this is all thrown under the rug of ‘we need to police problematic attitudes in fandoms’ which is 100% bullshit because if you run into someone specifically problematic you should explain them on a one-on-one basis, not do the witch hunt, and you should never presume to police how people handle their own shit, never mind that 90% of the time the so-called problematic material is consumed by a small percentage of people and you can choose to like, not read it;

and by the way, 90% of the actually problematic fandom trends don’t get called out because it wouldn’t be progressive (I can talk for ages about how it’s really worrying that ppl headcanon characters as X following stereotypes that are actually hurtful for the category in question but since the hc = a minority then it’s always okay) but that’s an entire other problem;

tldr: the anti side, as much as they want to think they’re not doing it, are actively policing the content that other people put online based on supposed ‘moral’ standards which 90% of the time aren’t even true (a 16yo in a relationship with a 20yo is NOT pedophilia period) and even going as far as ‘I’ll press charges to the FBI because X wrote underage fic’ when according to the US law if it’s fictional characters it doesn’t count as such and it only does if real recognizable minors are involved (and in that case it shouldn’t be happening in the first place) and those people might be whoever, and for all they support feminism they also end up being incredibly misogynist.

or, just because I like to use my own experiences as an example: this year I had the horrid idea of replying to a post made obviously by anti people where I told them that straight women writing m/m ie what they’re attracted to of course have more in common with a guy into guys in that sense and not with a lesbian since they’re not attracted to women and that writing m/m wasn’t inherently fetishizing shit. since then I’ve had people:

informing me I MUST have internalized homophobia

assuming shit about my sex life that wasn’t even true including which positions I like in bed (because of course straight women only identify with the gay bottom so they’re capitalizing off that experience when some of us don’t)

assuming I was disgusted at the idea of writing lesbian sex (false, I wrote it when I was in the mood)

informing me that writing fanfic about canonical m/m characters wasn’t activism and I shouldn’t presume I was one for that (I never said I considered it such) but at the same time these people think reporting incest fic to ao3 is... activism, but nvm that

telling me that I was a sad old bitch who needed to find a husband and grow up (I MEAN NOT EVEN IN THE FIFTIES) (I’m 29 btw hardly old) because it was the only way my life could have had sense

informing me that of course I was that horrible since I’m italian and all italians beat their wives (NOT XENOPHOBIC AT ALL)

accusing me of writing torture porn with gay characters to get off (never wrote torture porn once in my life, not with gay characters nor any character)

(most ppl I know into torture porn aren’t straight btw)

telling me that I didn’t understand my own attraction to men

assuming that my parents must have thrown me out of the house at some point, that I had no friends and that I never got laid

and in another occasion I got sent fanart of a ship that I said upset me because I had the gall to tell people to leave the shippers alone but hey what do I know

and a bunch of other stuff I won’t bother you with but that to me sounds hella misogynist (I mean, GO BACK TO THE KITCHEN AND FIND A HUSBAND, srsly?). spoilers: I never write noncon, I’m into a few kinks but most are literally harmless, the wildest thing I’m into writing is... 100% consensual d/s sex, the most problematic thing I’m into is thor/loki and I hadn’t shipped it until I realized that... it was cathartic (ps: no, I don’t think irl incest is okay as a general thing) and for the rest I’m famous for... being the person who almost never kills people in fandom X°D I mean, I got that shit and I laughed about it, but what if they sent it to an abuse victim or someone who actually got kicked out of the house? who knows, but sure af they only seem to care about victims when it’s convenient to them and when the victims agree. *shrug* but the above is absolutely okay if you tell that to a straight cis woman who doesn’t particularly feel like writing f/f sex (which is ANOTHER plot point but never mind that I can’t possibly go into how tumblr has decided that f/f relationships without sex are the Thing Everyone Should Aspire To and everything else is a problem including lesbians having kinky sex). anyway, that was all antis. heck, a round of the shit above was started because an anti-ship blog found an oldass ask related to that wank, so.

tldr: the point is that we’re always talking about the same old dumb fandom war ie my ship is better than yours and my fave is better than yours, but now the arguments aren’t just about ships, are about which one is most moral or pure or non-problematic and if you dare being into anything else for your own reasons in your own life (I forgot friends who’ve been told they abuse their partners because they’re into kink, WHAT A DAY) when the *else* is fictional (ie doesn’t exist) and you don’t even do the thing irl or would want to but just want to explore it fictionally, then you are that problematic thing and so *you* are problematic and guess what, there’s a nice witch hunt starting and -

ops.

HOW SURPRISED I AM.

I mean, it’s 90% wanting to censor people and all of that time it’s useless that they dress it as ‘FIGHTING PEDOPHILES’ because thing is, now that everyone rolls their eyes at it because you think ‘right, real pedophiles or people who ship the wrong voltron ship,’ actual pedophiles have free reign and actually whenever I see a post to report a real one it has very little notes in comparison to OMG REY/LO IS PROBLEMATIC and stuff, and the one time I got linked one I checked because I didn’t trust tumblr and let me tell you I wish I didn’t. anti shipping or being anti kink is just... 90% wanting to be puritans without knowing that you’re a puritan and you’re still policing women’s sexualities and abuse victims’s reactions and you’re not helping anyone.

and you sound like those soccer moms from the 90s who thought playing tekken made their kids violent or that marilyn manson’s music caused the columbine shootings which is a thing that has been disproved since two weeks after it happened. and these people have no idea that media influences you to the point you let it and that fiction is not reality. *shrug* and that was my offer to this contribution, I know I’ll get roasted at this point but I’m beyond giving two fucks at this point. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#social justice calvinist #the discourse TM #the discourse™️#abuse cw #reylo for ts #star wars wank for ts #Anonymous #ask post

27 notes · View notes

lightup0nlight · 4 years

Photo

[Tafseer Juz 30] 114 Surah An-Naas

In Surah An-Naas, we are taught by Allah to seek refuge in Him subhanahu wa ta'ala from the whispers of the shayateen (plural for shaytan). The surah begins:

قُلۡ أَعُوذُ بِرَبِّ ٱلنَّاسِ 🌸 ❝Say: "I seek refuge with (Allah) the Rabb of mankind.❞

مَلِكِ النَّاسِ 🌸 ❝The King / Owner of mankind.❞

إِلَـٰهِ ٱلنَّاسِ 🌸 ❝The Ilaah (God) of mankind.❞

Notice that this surah (which also serves as a du’a) starts with the 3 Names of Allah i.e. Ar-Rabb, Al-Malik, and Al-Ilaah. This is tawassul by virtue of Al-Asmaa Al-Husna of Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala.

What is tawassul? Tawassul in Arabic means seeking to draw close (to Allah) and is used before making supplications to Allah.

Be aware that there are 2 types of tawassul, the correct tawassul according to the shariah, and the forbidden tawassul. Tawassul by virtue of Al-Asmaa Al-Husna is one of the correct ways. Allah says:

❝And (all) the Most Beautiful Names belong to Allah, so call on Him by them...❞ [Al-A'raf 7 : 180]

Examples of tawassul by virtue of Al-Asmaa Al-Husna:

1. When one is seeking Allah’s Forgiveness, then one should begin his supplication by calling on Allah with Al-Ghafoor Ar-Raheem (the Most Forgiving, the Most Merciful).

2. When one is seeking Allah to accept his good deeds, then begin by calling on Allah with Ash-Shakoor (the Most Appreciative), and so on.

مِن شَرِّ ٱلۡوَسۡوَاسِ ٱلۡخَنَّاسِ 🌸 ❝From the evil of the whisperer who is {khannas}.❞

After making tawassul by Allah’s Names, what is it we seek protection from? From the shayateen who gives us was-was, i.e. evil whispers. The shayateen are {khannas}, meaning they come swiftly when we’re heedless of Allah, and run away quickly when we remember Allah; but they will keep coming back continuously. They do not give up.

Ibn ‘Abbas radhi Allahu ‘anhu said that the shaytan perches upon the heart of the son of Adam. So when he becomes absentminded and heedless, shaytan starts to whisper. But when he remembers Allah, then shaytan withdraws.

Rasulullah salla Allahu ‘alayhi wa sallam (ﷺ) said:

❝When shaytan hears the call to prayer (i.e. the adzan), he turns back (to run) while breaking wind (loudly), so as to not hear the call being made; but when the call is finished, he turns around and distracts (the minds of those who are getting ready to pray). And when he hears the iqamah, he runs away again so as to not hear its call; and when it subsides, he comes back and distracts (the minds of those who stand for prayer).❞ [Sahih Muslim 389]

This is the working of the shayateen. They are khannas, swiftly coming and running away and coming again, even to those who are in the midst of doing khayr, in their salah, whispering and suggesting non-related matters to distract people from achieving khushoo’.

ٱلَّذِى يُوَسۡوِسُ فِى صُدُورِ ٱلنَّاسِ 🌸 ❝Who whispers in the chests of mankind.❞

Imam Ibn Al-Qayyim rahimahullah summarized the whispers of shaytan into 6 main types of evil:

1. Shirk 2. Bid’ah 3. Major sins 4. Minor sins 5. Lesser good deeds (i.e. choosing a lesser khayr when there is an option to do a better good deed, eg. watching an Islamic lecture instead of praying salah at its earliest prescribed time) 6. Deeds that are halal but bring no ajr (eg. excessive sleeping, prolonged idle chit-chatting, etc).

To summarize, if shaytan cannot tempt a believer to do shirk, then he will try tempting him to do bid’ah. If he fails to do that, he moves on to tempt him with major sins. If he can’t do that, then he moves on with minor sins, and then towards lesser good deeds. But if he fails in all of these matters, then shaytan will tempt a believer to do halal deeds that bring zero benefit for his dunya and akhirah. Shaytan is content when a believer is engrossed with non-beneficial activities, even if they are halal to do!

How does the was-was of shaytan work? We know so far that the first thing the shayateen does to tempt mankind is through whispers. Imam Ibn Al-Qayyim rahimahullah said that this is the first stage where a person is allured to begin thinking of an act of disobedience. It all begins with just a simple thought.

The second stage is when the person begins to feel in his heart the desire towards that act of disobedience. Shaytan will continue whispering to the person, adorning that act of disobedience, exaggerating the portrayal of its thrill and pleasure, making the person forget all about its consequences in the world - how it would impact his spouse, his family, his community; as well as forgetting the consequences in the realm of barzakh, and in the Hereafter.

When the person is intoxicated with this desire, he moves to the third stage, and that is determination. The person becomes determined to embark on that act of disobedience. It is at this stage that several other shayateen join forces in tempting the person towards that act. Allah subhana wa ta'ala says:

❝See you not that We have sent the shayateen against the disbelievers to push them to do evil?❞ [Maryam 19 : 83]

This is the same for evildoers. Allah subhana wa ta'ala removes His Protection from the person, so the shayateen will come in numbers to tempt and allure him, to a point that he will feel restless, agitated if he doesn’t commit that evil act that he’s intoxicated with.

Until eventually, at the final stage, he is plunged into that act of disobedience. All of this is the process of the was-was of the shayateen.

Know that the pleasure and thrill of any sin is only but a moment, yet its consequences can last a lifetime. If Allah unveils one’s evil deeds, imagine how his marriage is ruined, how he is shunned by his own family and children, or that his reputation among his peers and community is tarnished. And the consequences in the realms of barzakh and akhirah are even more severe than of what he endures in this dunya. All of this begins with a simple whisper!

Imam Ibn Al-Qayyim rahimahullah also said: Sins generate more sins, and one leads to another, until they overpower a man, and he finds it difficult to repent from that. As one of the earlier generations said:

❝One of the punishments of bad deeds is more bad deeds, and one of the rewards of good deeds is more good deeds.❞ [Al-Jawaab Al-Kaafi, p.36]

How do we protect ourselves from the was-was of shayateen? When an evil thought comes to us, seek refuge with Allah subhana wa ta'ala. One may also recite this surah as du’a to Allah. Allah says:

❝And if an evil whisper comes to you from Shaytan, then seek refuge with Allah. Verily, He is All-Hearer, All-Knower.❞ [Al-A’raf 7 : 200]

Secondly, avoid matters and actions that can lead us to heedlessness, such as being engrossed with excessive entertainment (no matter how halal that entertainment may be), excessive laughter, being excessive in anger, sadness, and others.

There's a famous saying that goes: An idle mind is a playground for shaytan. Don't allow ourselves to fall into heedlessness, because when our hearts become heedless, we’re letting an easy way in for shaytan. We let him have a voice, and then we begin to entertain that evil whisper, that evil thought, that evil scheme.

Cut that voice out by immediately remembering Allah. Seek refuge with Him subhana wa ta'ala. Know that we're not alone in that room or that secluded area, in fact, we are never alone anywhere. Turn off that device. Get ourselves out of that space. Immediately channel our thoughts and actions to do khayr - reading the Qur'an, or watch an Islamic reminder on youtube, or any other good deed that will steer us away from disobeying Allah.

مِنَ ٱلۡجِنَّةِ وَٱلنَّاسِ 🌸 ❝Of jinn and men.❞

There are two scholarly opinions regarding this ayah:

1. It refers to the targets / victims of the shayateen. So it means that the shayateen whisper to both jin and mankind. Yes, there are jins who are Muslims and good, and jins who are evil.

2. It refers to the shayateen themselves; meaning there are shayateen from both jin and mankind. There are shayateen from jin that whispers to mankind, and there are also shayateen from mankind who call and suggest their friends and followers to shirk and other acts of disobedience. Allah subhana wa ta'ala says:

❝And so We have appointed for every Prophet enemies - shayateen among mankind and jinn, inspiring one another with adorned speech as a delusion (or by way of deception)...❞ [Al-An’aam 6 : 112]

Every single one of us has an evil companion (i.e. qarin) that beautifies wicked deeds for him. This shaytan will go to any lengths to confuse and confound us. The only person who is safe is the one whom Allah protects.

Abdullah ibn Mas’ud radhi Allahu ‘anhu narrated that Rasulullah ﷺ said: ❝Each one of you has a shaytan-companion from the jinn over him.❞ They asked: ❝Even you, O Rasulullah?❞ The Prophet said: ❝Even me, but Allah helped me against him until he embraced Islam. He does not order me to do anything but good.❞ [Sahih Muslim 2814]

💎 Gem: Explanation of the Different Tawassul in Al-Falaq and An-Naas

Before I end this article, I want to include this amazing observation by Sheikh Abu Bakr Al-Jazaairiy in his Aisar Al-Tafaasir.

In Surah Al-Falaq, we call upon Allah by only one Name, i.e. Rabb Al-Falaq, against four types of evil: 1. From all evil and dangerous people and creatures in general 2. From the evil that comes out in the darkness / at night 3. From the evil of those who practise witchcrafts 4. From the evil of the envier when he envies

But in Surah An-Naas, we call upon Allah by three of His Names, i.e. (1) Rabb An-Naas, (2) Malik An-Naas, (3) Ilaah An-Naas but for only one type of evil - the was-was of shaytan.

This therefore shows that the evil whispers of shaytan are far more dangerous than other types of evil, because the was-was specifically targets the believer’s heart. And when his heart is corrupted, his whole body will be corrupted as well. Rasulullah ﷺ said:

❝Verily, in the body is a piece of flesh which, if sound, the entire body is sound, and if corrupt, the entire body is corrupt. Truly, it is the heart.❞ [Sahih Al-Bukhari 52]

May Allah protect us from all types of evil, especially the was-was of shayateen, ameen.

Alhamdulillah, this ends the tafseer on Surah An-Naas.

Baraka Allahu feekum.

Your sister in Deen, Aida Msr | Light Upon Light _________ References: [1] Ustadz Dr. Firanda Andirja’s tafseer class [2] Tafsir Ibn Kathir [3] Tafsir As-Sa’di [4] Tafsir Al-Furqan, by Ustadz Dr. Abdullah Yasin [5] IslamQA

#Juz Amma

0 notes

5llowance · 4 years

Text

Remember the "sick man of Asia" headline incident back in February in which China expelled 3 WSJ reporters for something that they didn't write? A Twitter thread explores how 3 journalists of Chinese descent react differently to racism via /r/China

Although the incident occurred 5 months ago, I believe it's still relevant because those raised in China and ethnic Chinese who were raised abroad (Like myself as an American born Chinese) have different life experiences. The Twitter user is Yuan Yang is the deputy Beijing bureau chief and China tech correspondent for the Financial Times. These are her words: https://twitter.com/YuanfenYang/status/1230131385874038784

A fascinating dinner between 3 Chinese (ethnic/national) reporters in Beijing has taught me we often seriously misunderstood each others' reactions to racism. We discussed two coronavirus headlines, "Yellow Alert" and "China Is The Real Sick Man Of Asia". My Chinese-national friend said "China Is The Real Sick Man Of Asia" sounded the worst as it reminded her of Chinese films set in the Opium War era, in which Japanese soldiers would scream "You Chinese people are the sick men of Asia", implying the Chinese people were a degenerate race. Whereas "Yellow Alert" was only mildly offensive to her, since Chinese people refer to themselves in Chinese as "yellow" (黄种人). She had only experienced "yellow" as an insult when studying abroad.

For myself (Chinese-British) and my other friend (Chinese-Australian) it was the reverse. We were much more offended by "Yellow Alert", having memories of our physical traits being taunted by our compatriots in school playgrounds filled with white boys. For us, "Sick Man of Asia", was a horrible throwback to colony, & made us think of foreign powers laughing at a Chinese government crippled by invasions, but there was no implication to us that Chinese people were the target.

The difference in reaction was due partly to a grammatical ambiguity in Chinese in which singulars and plurals are not distinguished. "Chinese people are the sick people of Asia" is how "Sick Man of Asia" can sound in its Chinese translation, which in English sounds much more obviously racist. It's also obviously to do with our cultural upbringings. Leaving university in the UK in the early 2010s, "X is the sick man of Y" headlines make me think about the Eurozone crisis, in which everyone and their dog was writing about Spain/Greece/etc as the "sick man" of Europe. My Chinese-national friend was surprised when I told her my colleague Martin Wolf (who has a huge Chinese fan gathering) wrote this headline about Brexit: Britain is once again the sick man of Europe. Of course that's not to imply that you can swap out groups in possibly racist phrases to test the racism, because racism exists as a power relationship between groups. But it gives an idea of what connotations phrases have and why an editor might have approved of "China is the real sick man of Asia."

Finally, given that there is deep insult felt by Chinese people over the "sick man of Asia" headline, and this insult ties back to a specific understanding of that phrase in Chinese, I think that's enough to justify not ever using it in any context. It in no way justifies Beijing's expulsion of 3 excellent WSJ journalists who had nothing to do with the headline. They also happened to have done deep reporting on Beijing's clearly racist, & some might say genocidal, acts in Xinjiang against its Uighur Muslim minority. Here's an English translation of an interesting Chinese article from 2012 on the phrase. Chinese social media was so much more diverse 8 years ago by ChinaSMACK: https://www.chinasmack.com/westerners-never-called-chinese-sick-men-of-asia-reactions

Submitted July 11, 2020 at 06:40PM by JVSP1873 via reddit https://ift.tt/3iTb1AW

#IFTTT #reddit

0 notes

ncfan-1 · 7 years

Text

Gotham 04X06, ‘Hog Day Afternoon’

I cannot begin to describe how much I wish I could watch the next two episodes of Star Wars: Rebels early instead of watching this. This is Gotham.

- We open back at Cherry’s place, and what presumably is gonna be an incredibly awkward conversation between Ed and Lee.

- Ed tries to be nasty, and Lee shoots him down. Brutally. Nice to know somebody hasn’t forgotten about Kristin, or Lee’s baby.

- Lee’s right. Why should she care about what’s happened to Ed?

- I like this Lee. She calls Ed out on all his shit and doesn’t cut him any slack.

- Cut to Sofia and Oswald. Sofia tries to put the moves on Oswald while thunder rumbles outside, and Oswald looks overcome. And Gordon’s watching from the corner, voicing the same refrain, la la la. And apparently he seriously thinks he can run Sofia out of Gotham.

- Sofia makes a friendly wager. She’ll have Oswald in the palm of her hand within a few days; if she fails, she’ll do whatever Gordon wants.

- We cut to crooked cops, a cat, and a man wearing a pig mask. And a butcher’s knife, and blood spray. This episode’s doing great with atmosphere, as it happens. Maybe it’s because of the rain and the gloom, but it’s very atmospheric.

- “No cop would do this to another cop.” Really, Harvey? Do you remember the time nearly nobody tried to stop Zsasz and the Zsaszettes from taking Gordon away? Do you remember the time you held a gun to Gordon’s head? Do you remember the time, just a few episodes ago, when some of your fellow cops beat the tar out of your partner? Harvey seems to have developed the same specific form of amnesia regarding internal conflict among the force as Gordon has regarding death and resurrection.

- Gordon heads over to Oswald to see if he knows why somebody would kill the dead guy. Oswald is wonderfully dismissive.

- We’re back to Professor Pyg singing opera. I don’t know much about his character, but I do know that the opera singing is a thing from the comics, so I guess, yay?

- As Gordon and Bullock threaten a suspect, they find out there were pig heads. As in, plural.

- Sofia’s bailed on Oswald, and Zsasz starts eating form the lunch table. Oswald, not unreasonably, sets Zsasz to figuring out what the heck’s going on.

- Back to Cherry’s place. The only person in this scene I care about is Lee, and Lee is looking at Grundy like she really doesn’t know how happy she’s supposed to be about this. Lee looks ambivalent in general.

- Grundy gets the tar beat out of him. Ed berates him into getting up and fighting. (If the writers are trying to make me at all sympathetic towards Ed, it’s not working. If anything, it’s making me feel even less sympathetic, because Grundy comes across as a developmentally delayed child.)

- Gordon and Bullock are not exactly making friends of their fellow officers. Bullock in particular is really undermining his own authority. Gordon’s name is already mud to his fellow cops, so I don’t suppose his roughing them up and locking one in a car trunk is going to leave him any worse off than he already was.

- Gordon and Bullock head to court—where their informant is supposed to be—only to find two more dead cops with pig heads over their heads.

- Lee tries to get answers out of Grundy. I don’t give a damn about Grundy, but Lee trying to make Grundy understand that Ed doesn’t give a damn about him is still important to me. Mainly because Lee’s talking sense. And Ed tries to get Lee to help him again.

- What kind of deal do Lee and Cherry have?

- Lee appears to have opened a clinic. …Which of course Ed sneaks into.

- Nice to know someone around here is trying to make people’s lives better for them. …And I’m pretty sure Ed’s going to coerce Lee into helping him somehow. Probably by either threatening the lives of her patients or threatening to have her clinic taken away from her somehow. That smile doesn’t bode of good things.

- We switch to Zsasz following Sofia around, taking pictures.

- Bullock points out the obvious—that it’s really weird that the perp knew exactly where the victims would be and when they’d be there. This suggests, if not a cop, then someone who has the time and resources to track these cops all around Gotham and memorize their routes. Plus a lot of dedication. Which, and I think Bullock’s right, suggests that Pyg’s primary motivation is dissatisfaction with the corruption in the police force.

- Hi, Harper! Please don’t die!

- And Pyg’s got another victim lined up.

- Lee isn’t interested in watching Grundy get the tar beat out of him again. Nor am I, honestly.

- I didn’t think Cherry would be so happy about Grundy apparently killing guys who get into the ring with him. Wouldn’t hiding the bodies be a huge hassle, and wouldn’t that risk bringing more heat down on her than she wants?

- And Ed does indeed threaten Lee through the clinic. Asshole.

- It is kind of funny that Lee has to remind him what “blackmail” is, and that he can’t even formulate a threat. Lee treats this with the contempt it deserves.

- Lee is possibly me.

- More good atmosphere in a dark, creepy abandoned building. Helped along by a top-notch score. I can compliment this show when it deserves it, you know.

- And we have our fourth victim, but he’s still alive. Well, not for long. Soon he’s chunks, because somebody sewed a live grenade inside of him and hooked the key to the pig head.

- Gordon wakes up after the explosion tied to a chair. Oh, please tell me he’s gonna get called out on his corruption now!

- Pyg introduces himself.

- Shit, he’s gonna kill Bullock. And worse, he thinks Gordon isn’t dirty!

- Pyg, honey, Gordon is so deeply mired in corruption that he doesn’t even know how to respond properly to it anymore.

- I like this version of Pyg. I do want to know what his “personal” reasons are for hating the GCPD are.

- Harvey’s screaming off-screen.

- Jim proves that once again he doesn’t give a damn about his personal safety, and poor Harvey gets his throat cut. I’m assuming that plot will save him, since the show didn’t remember that people can survive getting their throats cut when it came to poor, dead Alex.

- And offhand, I’d say Ed has probably stolen Lee’s stockpile of antibiotics.

- The differences between Lee, who is driven by guilt, and Ed, who probably has no idea what guilt even feels like anymore, are striking. (And we get no answer as to whether he stole the antibiotics, but I still say he probably did.)

- Sofia is definitely cultivating a name for herself as a villain with good publicity. And is definitely on her way to getting Oswald eating out of her hand.

- @rhavewellyarnbag is definitely right; Gordon’s most meaningful interactions are with men. That scene with Harvey is probably as genuine as he’s capable of being. Up until Gordon started slinging accusations, I kinda expected him to lean over and kiss Harvey on the top of his head.

Of course, Gordon ruins it by showing no sympathy, not even making a stab at empathy, and is instead just stone cold unsympathetic without even trying to understand what would drive someone to do that, so even though one of these guys takes money from a mobster and one of them doesn’t, I feel more sympathy for the former. Hey, Gordon, you’d probably have an easier time trying to clean up the GCPD, if, well… It would help if you weren’t so dirty you reek of chickenshit wherever you go, but it would also help if you could get off your high horse for five seconds. You can’t help your fellow cops clean themselves up if you don’t even try to understand why they’d get dirty. You’re just acting like Barnes at his worst (And you don’t have any of the pathos of Barnes, so you’re significantly less sympathetic than him).

(Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind seeing Barnes again. Maybe he and Pyg could team up.)

- The worst part of it is that it’s not necessary for Harvey to be taking payments from Oswald for Pyg to want to target him. It’s probably not a secret that Harvey has a historically loose relationship with departmental ethics, and it’s probably reasonable to assume that even if he wasn’t taking payments from Oswald, Pyg would see him as the captain who doesn’t stop his subordinates from working for mobsters, one of the wellsprings of police corruption. Isn’t that enough reason to want to kill him?

- We close with Pyg at a pig farm, reciting a creepy rhyme.

#ncfan watches Gotham

14 notes · View notes