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#two rhetorical analysis

comradekatara · 1 year

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I can see your whole history in your eyes. You were born with nothing. So you've had to struggle and connive and claw your way to power. But true power, the divine right to rule, is something you're born with. The fact is, they don't know which one of us is going to be sitting on that throne and which of us is going to be bowing down. But I know, and you know.

while azula’s speech to long feng in this scene is indisputably iconic and powerful, it is also blatantly wrong. azula cites “the divine right to rule” as her prerogative to take the earth kingdom throne over long feng in their vie for power, but the divinity of the monarchy is a hollow justification for the existence of any given monarchy in the first place, not some ontological imperative that demands certain families seize and maintain power. centuries ago, azula’s ancestors claimed power over the fire nation, and her belief system is the product of the rhetoric they created after the fact to justify their power and influence over the state, and some time later, sozin’s imperialist doctrine that it is also the fire nation’s prerogative to colonize other states beyond their accepted borders. what makes this moment so effective is that azula truly believes the imperialist rhetoric she spouts in this intimidating monologue, as it was the creed she was born into – but as we are plainly shown throughout the show, her belief system is wrong, and she possesses no inherent, divine superiority over others. her facade of power, strength, and domination ultimately guards an empty myth, a lie that nearly destroyed the entire world.

BUT.

out of context, her words are not entirely wrong.

you've had to struggle and connive and claw your way to power

but true power

the divine right to rule

is something you're born with

unlike in our world, wherein the existence of divine power(s) cannot ever be truly proven, the spirit world not only demonstrably exists, but is eminently accessible. only because of aang’s century-long stasis in the iceberg was there ever any doubt of the avatar’s return, reducing the spiritual/cultural/political/global significance of the avatar to a myth, and plunging the world into unrest, chaos, and despair. but the world of avatar itself spans a vast history, in which aang’s era is merely a blip. he is but one reincarnation is the vast line of avatars, the bridge between the human and spirit worlds, the bringer of balance, chosen by the spirits. if anyone has an ontological, divinely-necessitated influence over the world, it is not the fire nation royal family: it is, quite plainly, the avatar.

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tacroyy · 1 year

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things i have had to say to my middle schoolers this week:

• “do not google image search sexy golfers during class”

• “i understand being mad about denmark owning greenland but you’re gonna need to go yell at denmark about it, not me”

• “you can’t knit during the test.” “why not?” “you might be knitting the answers to a friend using certain stitches or something.” “ooh that’s a great idea.” “… i’m emailing your other teachers.” “noo wait i haven’t even figured out how i’d do it yet!”

• “the things you say need to sound less like a threat”

• “but why do you think sour patch kids represent the failure of the american dream?”

• “actually, fun fact, most adults think this” followed by a chorus of unhappy groans from the miscreants

• “i’m sorry my cat ate part of your homework”

• “did you just say that this is too complicated? about history? bad news”

• “you cannot use your friend as a fidget during school”

• “did you just dab? in 2023? retro!” (they then proceeded to t-pose and floss so i just put my head down)

#a kid made me write all these down after I said the threat one #this was about two weeks worth to be fair #sigh. I don’t get paid enough #I can’t stress enough to you that this is 100% true #the sexy golfers became an equality thing. they got mad it was all women #(it was boys searching it)#I was proud but also they were supposed to be doing rhetorical analysis #which… it kind of was #anyway.#original flavor

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grymmdark · 3 months

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i have to write an essay for english class, but i find all the texts we were given to not be interesting in the way which we have to analyze it. like i dont give a shit about the rhetorical devices the author used.

and i do find some of these texts interesting and do think analyzing them could be interesting too, but more in terms of the context in which they were written and who wrote them, not in terms of them using parallelism or allusion to emphasize something.

#grymms spectacular fucking posts #two of the texts are mlks speech on the vietnam war and a modest proposal.#those could be very intriguing to analyze #but were not really doing analysis were just pointing out very basic rhetorical devices and saying why the author mightve used them #doing work i dont wanna do when i actually feel challenged by it or like im learnign something is one thing. doing work i dont wanna do tha #i get nothing but a grade out of is basically impossible #ad the worst part is if i dont do it everyone acts like im just being lazy or not doing it to piss them off. like no. if i try to force mys #lf to do it itll cause me severe emotional pain

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fairuzfan · 4 months

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AMAZING article about what it means to participate in anti-Zionism work both online and in person.

If your anti-zionism does not in any way acknowledge that it is a way of thought and practice led by and for Palestinians, then you need to reevaluate your "anti-zionism" label.

Some passages that felt especially relevant to tumblr:

If we accept, as those with even the most rudimentary understanding of history do, that zionism is an ongoing process of settler-colonialism, then the undoing of zionism requires anti-zionism, which should be understood as a process of decolonisation. Anti-zionism as a decolonial ideology then becomes rightly situated as an indigenous liberation movement. The resulting implication is two-fold. First, decolonial organising requires that we extract ourselves from the limitations of existing structures of power and knowledge and imagine a new, just world. Second, this understanding clarifies that the caretakers of anti-zionist thought are indigenous communities resisting colonial erasure, and it is from this analysis that the strategies, modes, and goals of decolonial praxis should flow. In simpler terms: Palestinians committed to decolonisation, not Western-based NGOs, are the primary authors of anti-zionist thought. We write this as a Palestinian and a Palestinian-American who live and work in Palestine, and have seen the impact of so-called ‘Western values’ and how the centring of the ‘human rights’ paradigm disrupts real decolonial efforts in Palestine and abroad. This is carried out in favour of maintaining the status quo and gaining proximity to power, using our slogans emptied of Palestinian historical analysis.

Anti-zionist organising is not a new notion, but until now the use of the term in organising circles has been mired with misunderstandings, vague definitions, or minimised outright. Some have incorrectly described anti-zionism as amounting to activities or thought limited to critiques of the present Israeli government – this is a dangerous misrepresentation. Understanding anti-zionism as decolonisation requires the articulation of a political movement with material, articulated goals: the restitution of ancestral territories and upholding the inviolable principle of indigenous repatriation and through the right of return, coupled with the deconstruction of zionist structures and the reconstitution of governing frameworks that are conceived, directed, and implemented by Palestinians. Anti-zionism illuminates the necessity to return power to the indigenous community and the need for frameworks of justice and accountability for the settler communities that have waged a bloody, unrelenting hundred-year war on the people of Palestine. It means that anti-zionism is much more than a slogan.

[...]

While our collective imaginations have not fully articulated what a liberated and decolonised Palestine looks like, the rough contours have been laid out repeatedly. Ask any Palestinian refugee displaced from Haifa, the lands of Sheikh Muwannis, or Deir Yassin – they will tell that a decolonised Palestine is, at a minimum, the right of Palestinians’ return to an autonomous political unit from the river to the sea. When self-proclaimed ‘anti-zionists’ use rhetoric like ‘Israel-Palestine’ – or worse, ‘Palestine-Israel’ – we wonder: where do you think ‘Israel’ exists? On which land does it lay, if not Palestine? This is nothing more than an attempt to legitimise a colonial state; the name you are looking for is Palestine – no hyphen required. At a minimum, anti-zionist formations should cut out language that forces upon Palestinians and non-Palestinian allies the violence of colonial theft.

[...]

The common choice to centre the Oslo Accords, international humanitarian law, and the human rights paradigm over socio-historical Palestinian realities not only limits our analysis and political interventions; it restricts our imagination of what kind of future Palestinians deserve, sidelining questions of decolonization to convince us that it is the new, bad settlers in the West Bank who are the source of violence. Legitimate settlers, who reside within the bounds of Palestinian geographies stolen in 1948 like Tel Aviv and West Jerusalem, are different within this narrative. Like Breaking the Silence, they can be enlightened by learning the error of colonial violence carried out in service of the bad settlers. They can supposedly even be our solidarity partners – all without having to sacrifice a crumb of colonial privilege or denounce pre-1967 zionist violence in any of its cruel manifestations. As a result of this course of thought, solidarity organisations often showcase particular Israelis – those who renounce state violence in service of the bad settlers and their ongoing colonisation of the West Bank – in roles as professionals and peacemakers, positioning them on an equal intellectual, moral, or class footing with Palestinians. There is no recognition of the inherent imbalance of power between these Israelis and the Palestinians they purport to be in solidarity with – stripping away their settler status. The settler is taken out of the historical-political context which afforded them privileged status on stolen land, and is given the power to delineate the Palestinian experience. This is part of the historical occlusion of the zionist narrative, overlooking the context of settler-colonialism to read the settler as an individual, and omitting their class status as a settler.

It is essential to note that Palestinians have never rejected Jewish indigeneity in Palestine. However, the liberation movement has differentiated between zionist settlers and Jewish natives. Palestinians have established a clear and rational framework for this distinction, like in the Thawabet, the National Charter of Palestine from 1968. Article 6 states, ‘The Jews who had normally resided in Palestine until the beginning of the Zionist invasion will be considered Palestinians.’ When individuals misread ‘decolonisation’ as ‘the mass killing or expulsion of Jews,’ it is often a reflection of their own entanglement in colonialism or a result of zionist propaganda. Perpetuating this rhetoric is a deliberate misinterpretation of Palestinian thought, which has maintained this position over a century of indigenous organising. Even after 100 years of enduring ethnic cleansing, whole communities bombed and entire family lines erased, Palestinians have never, as a collective, called for the mass killing of Jews or Israelis. Anti-zionism cannot shy away from employing the historical-political definitions of ‘settler’ and ‘indigenous’ in their discourse to confront ahistorical readings of Palestinian decolonial thought and zionist propaganda.

[...]

In the context of the United States, the most threatening zionist institutions are the entrenched political parties which function to maintain the status quo of the American empire, not Hillel groups on university campuses or even Christian zionist churches. While the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) and the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) engage in forms of violence that suppress Palestinian liberation and must not be minimised, it is crucial to recognise that the most consequential institutions in the context of settler-colonialism are not exclusively Jewish in their orientation or representation: the Republican and Democratic Party in the United States do arguably more to manufacture public consent for the slaughtering of Palestinians than the ADL and AIPAC combined. Even the Progressive Caucus and the majority of ‘The Squad’ are guilty of this.

Leila Shomali and Lara Kilani

#palestine #i should add this to my list #amazing article everyone should read it

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telomeke · 3 months

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THE SIGN EPISODE 7 – NAGARUDA AND THE VISUALS OF SEX

The coming together of the naga and the garuda in The Sign was long foretold (since Tharn has the power of clairvoyance, and the series already showed us his sexually-charged premonition of Phaya and him coupling in the shower, in Episode 4).

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 19.47

This post isn't about narrative analysis or the significance of any plot development though; I'm just noting down some of the visual details resounding rhetorically in the scene where Phaya and Tharn finally give in to the swelling sexual tension and get it on. 👀

The prelude (foreplay?) to their first sexual encounter (at least in this lifetime) was by the pool in Phaya's home. And the subtitles also tell us that the background music is echoing their fated bond through time:

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 13.04

‌

By the pool of Phaya's house though, Tharn is already part-way in the water (his comfort zone) even as Phaya offers him liquid refreshment:

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 13.21

While the pool may represent the naga (and his watery origins), the glowing lights on the trees and statuary in the background are symbolic of the garuda (given his alignment with the sun, flames and light). There is a respectful distance between these symbolic elements, even as there is still a respectful distance between garuda Phaya and naga Tharn.

But the lights are reflected in the water, and Phaya and Tharn have already exchanged colors (Phaya is in a murky sea-green top whose color reflects the naga's homeland, while Tharn is wearing a saffron t-shirt that calls to mind the warm glow of the fiery garuda). So we know that in this scene they are already inextricably in each other's business.

When they give in to their primal urges though, we start to see the various naga and garuda elements become more enmeshed and overlapping, even as the two breach their boundaries and unite physically.

They start things off in the shower, and the water is unmistakably a reference to the naga's overflowing passions.

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5]

But all around them are candle flames, a sign of the fiery lust overpowering garuda Phaya for his fated lover Tharn:

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 18.53

Even as water (symbolic of the naga) showers down upon them both, we see orbs of light (a reference to the garuda) flickering and overlapping the action. (I only recently found out that this out-of-focus effect with the lighting is called bokeh – a term of Japanese origin – from this super-excellent breakdown of the parallels between PhayaTharn's imagined and actual lovemaking by @wen-kexing-apologist, linked here; please do read it for more information on the lighting and its significance. 👍🤩)

Now a bit more about the lighting color though: many have noted that when Phaya and Tharn interact on a more elemental level, the lighting seems to turn very pink.

In my opinion, their previous encounters where more primal instincts held sway (e.g., at Ep.2 [4/4] 10.36 and Ep.4[3‌/4] 15.51) were actually lit with an interplay of blue light (calling out to the marine colors of the naga's homeland) and red light (a nod at the fiery garuda's alignment with the sun and flame). And the lighting was blue and red in the main, and only turned pinkish on occasion when the hues overlapped, just as moments of sporadic intimacy happened only randomly between the star-crossed but still separate Phaya and Tharn.

However, here in PhayaTharn's sex scene, we're not seeing separate blue and red lighting dancing around – the two colors have been blended, just as Phaya and Tharn's lovemaking has united them physically.

And technically the color is not pink. When blue and red light come together, we get magenta lighting, and that truly is the blended hue that bathes the conjoined PhayaTharn (nagaruda), as their bodies come together as one. The separate blues and reds are nowhere to be seen now:

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 19.56

So The Sign then ends this sequence with an illuminated little flourish, at the climax of the scene (and presumably that of PhayaTharn's lovemaking too). As the naga writhes ecstatically on a bed of aquamarine, the garuda tenses and thrusts, and we see a brilliant flare of light, his elemental life-force, flash above the curve of his naked rear:

(top) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 20.04; (bottom) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 20.05

As always, the props, art direction and lighting have come together to tell a visual story in The Sign, and here they've strongly echoed the passionate and emotionally authentic coupling between Phaya and Tharn, fearlessly brought to life by Billy and Babe. 💖👍 I thoroughly enjoyed this scene, and not just for the reasons one might think. 🤩

‌

#the sign #the sign the series #naga and garuda #billy patchanon #babe tanatat #billybabe #phayatharn #nagaruda #nagaruda sex #tw: sex

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dancingdonatello · 1 year

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donnie x gender neutral reader

“In order to date me, you must pass a simple test.” Donnie held the paper vertically in two hands right in front of his chest.

You were in his lab, surrounded by his entire family who were spectating. It was nerve wracking, how they all smirked and eyed you up. It was as if they knew something you didn’t.

But you had studied. You had spent several hours reviewing math equations, practicing chemical equations, and of course, memorizing as much of Pi as you could. As long as you didn’t have to write a rhetorical analysis, you should be able to manage a low C.

Donnie cleared his throat, setting an egg timer at the desk you were sitting at. “You have an hour.” He set the paper in front of you along with a #2 pencil.

You looked down at the test and paused. You picked up the paper and flipped it over. Blank. You flipped it back over. There was only a single question, in all caps and italicized.

WHAT IS DONATELLO’S FAVORITE COLOR?

a) purple

b) blue

c) orange

d) red

Your first thought was that this was a trick but the more you tried to think about it, the more jumbled your thoughts became.

Leo saw your face and walked over, leaning over your shoulder to look at the test. “What?! Don, are you serious? This is way too easy!”

Raph and Mikey joined his side to look. Mikey gasped. “No… this is psychological torture.”

Donnie snorted, no doubt seeing the sweat beginning to form on your forehead. He said nothing.

His brothers were not helping you at all. Mikey was too loud, yelling, “Wait! Let me go get my pom poms!” before returning with thrmand shaking them in front of you. It was very distracting.

Then Leo was basically breathing down your neck to be able to watch every movement you made towards the paper. He’d hum and groan in disapproval each time you hovered over a color.

And lastly, Raph was trying to be encouraging, muttering advice next to you. But none of it made sense. You listened to him for a moment before you realized he was talking about pizza and car insurance.

You were full on sweating at this point and you had to pull at the collar of your shirt to catch a breeze. Which there were none. You were dying.

“Donnie, babe, can you please give me a hint?”

Donnie rose an eyebrow, not looking up from his phone. “Pet names are dating privileges, which you don’t have as last time I checked, you haven’t turned in your test yet. Also, no talking. There are tests still out.”

You buried your face into your hands. You really had to focus. Purple, blue, orange or red. It was easy. It had to be easy. But what if it was a trick? Or what if it was a trick to make you think it was a trick?

He had told you that Splinter had called them colors to remember them. Or something like that. If it was true, he could’ve held a grudge against the color purple because of that. But what if he became attached to it? He had really wanted that purple jacket the Purple Dragons had after all. But maybe… Oh, you were definitely going to have a headache after this.

You took a deep breath and picked up your pencil. You circled your answer.

“Oooh… are you sure about that, bud?” Leo tsked judgmentally, making you second guess yourself. You stood up and trudged over to Donnie. You shakily handed him the paper.

“Hmmm….” Donnie read it over. “Wow. Perfect score. 1/1.”

You gasped and Mikey jumped onto your back with a cheer. “You did it!”

“But—” your blood ran cold. “—you forgot to put your name. Unfortunately, that means I’ll have to take a point off. And of course, that also means you got a 0/1.”

You almost fell to your knees.

“But!” Donnie said again, holding up a finger. “There is extra credit available.”

“What is it?!”

The next day at school, while Donnie was hidden around a corner with his camera out and recording, you stuck your leg out and tripped Kendra.

#rise donatello x reader #donnie x reader #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt fanfiction #donatello x reader #rottmnt #rottmnt x gender neutral reader #rottmnt x gn reader

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probablyasocialecologist · 5 months

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Palestine brings to legal analysis an unmasking force: It unveils and reminds us of the ongoing colonial condition that underpins Western legal institutions. In Palestine, there are two categories: mournable civilians and savage human-animals. Palestine helps us rediscover that these categories remain racialized along colonial lines in the 21st century: the first is reserved for Israelis, the latter for Palestinians. As Isaac Herzog, Israel’s supposed liberal President, asserts: “It’s an entire nation out there that is responsible. This rhetoric about civilians not aware, not involved, it’s absolutely not true.”

The Harvard Law Review Refused to Run This Piece About Genocide in Gaza

#palestine #israel #genocide #zionism

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olderthannetfic · 4 months

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As someone who's been wondering why there've been so many senseless, needless arguments online about a hypothetical derth of purity in fiction and how it affects people negatively (it doesn't), now learning from several friends who are teachers (with the oldest being a uni professor) that Gen Z (27-11 yo) and Gen Alpha can't read, have poor media literacy, and soley seek fiction to reaffirm their own worldviews without curiosity and with judgement (and a lot of it). I say this as someone who is Gen Z. I'm only 26 years old, but I'm also a TA right now while I'm in grad school. it's not just the middle school and high school students. College students who should be able to do simple literary analysis cannot. Sure these issues (puritanical thinking, absent/poor parenting, lackluster curriculum, etc) have always existed, but with this in mind, it absolutely makes sense why there's so much dumb discourse over things in media that anyone with sense could separate from reality. Even simple things that you learn in elementary school at 6 years old, like "just because the story is focalized through a specific character, doesn't mean they're correct/the protagonist≠morally righteous/you're not always supposed to agree with the POV character or main characters." Maybe it really is the case that, sure some people are being deliberately obtuse, but there are also others who probably don't know.

I've seen it explained to people in fandom and on tumblr with popular series people have read or seen. No, you're not supposed to think Light Yagami is a good guy or a hero. "L is the straightforward hero in Death Note the whole time" isn't clever. It's the main text. No, you're not supposed to agree with Eren Jaeger or military fascists. "SNK is pro military and pro genocide" is just inaccurate. All the characters exhibiting those traits are killed to signal the flaws in their rhetoric. It's actually really unambiguous in that regard, not at all subtle. No, x shoujo/YA fantasy/Ya romance isn't advocating for middle school or high school girls to date men in their mid-20s. Teen girls have always fantasized about adults they find attractive, and these stories (made for and marketed to teen girls) fulfills that desire while protecting them from the possibility of that reality (an adult returning their feelings). No, it's not weird that mythological gods (but I see people mostly complaining about Greek and Egyptian ones) are related. It's purposeful. They're all related concepts and personifications of nature, which is all connected. Get over yourselves. No, it's not weird that gothic stories have incest in them. It was a common practice among aristocracy and nobility all around them world (so, not just a "white people thing"), and it typically symbolizes the decay as social norms. If you feel discomfort, then the story was successful.

On the one hand, sure. It's purity culture, ignorance, misogyny, etc. On the other hand, do the people who harp on about these actually know how to interpret stories? I'm often told "They can't read" as an explanation by others. I'm starting to think it's true, and I don't know how to combat that as someone who may be an educator down the road myself while also being involved in fandom.

I'd say it's about 50/50 the usual The Kids These Days scaremongering and a genuine shift.

Reading comprehension can be taught. I was taught to analyze passages in school. Students have to be open to learning, but it's not like some critical language thing you need to absorb before the age of two: a college student who's actually interested in getting better can perfectly well do so, possibly with some help or possibly just with experience.

Plenty of it is anxiety about being wrong and immoral and hurting people too. It's fundie thinking where listening and engaging means capitulating. Lots of people do slowly get over this. Many will calm down about it if they ever get the anxiety meds they so desperately need. Some would probably benefit from ceasing to self harm via social media doomscrolling or exclusively consuming attention span-destroying, FOMO-inducing garbage.

...I say as I answer tumblr asks instead of getting out of bed to start my New Year's resolutions.

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katiapostsss · 2 months

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. . 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 sam monroe

. . .

🎬//

ˢʸⁿᵒᵖˢⁱˢ : ⁱ ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉⁿᵍˡⁱˢʰ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ

ʷᵉʳᵉ ʷᵒʳᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃˢˢˡᵉ ⁱ

ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ.

ᶜ ʰ ᵃ ʳ ᵃ ᶜ ᵗ ᵉ ʳ ˢ :

ˢᵃᵐ ᵐᵒⁿʳᵒᵉ x

ᵍⁿ! ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

warnings! : swearing

mentions of sex

request here (hope u like it ❤️)

〰️

in the week you had been going to your new school, all you had managed to acquire were some classic high-school bullies with bleach-blond hair and flaky mascara, and a newfound hatred for learning.

sure, academics always sort of annoyed you. there were times it frustrated you to the point of tears, exhaustion, everything the average student went through, but 7 days of california education and you felt you could throw yourself off a cliff and not think twice about it. especially when it came to your peers.

of course, you knew probably more than anyone else that dressing the way you dressed would always get you the number-one topic in gossip for maybe a month or two in a new school. people really seemed to love discussing and nit-picking at your band shirts and baggy jeans, your fishnets, your darkly-painted waterline and eyes and the black dye streaked through with pink of your hair, your layered necklaces, pierced ears and face... basically your whole existence. it was something you'd experienced every time you moved. but here, it was so much worse.

before, it was snarky remarks in shabby hallways on your way to class or in the gym while you warmed up with a few of your friends. now, it was direct bullying. it was back-handed compliments from the same girls every guy swooned over, or just verbal attacks. no filter, nothing. undeviating retorts made to push you to the edge. and it was working.

still, you did not dare do anything about it. you refused to let yourself even think about petty revenge or stupid karma. fighting your way through high-school would not get you into princeton or yale, and while you were smart, a history of hallway-brawls would only deter that. it was why you kept low, why you still tried even though giving up seemed like a much more tempting alternative.

and it was why you would give your all to the end-of-the-term test in english.

"y/n, dear." mrs. schulzter stepped in front of the door you were just about to walk through after your other classmates, blocking your way. you nearly groaned, already knowing what she was making you stay behind for. "about the exam— is monday a good day for you to take it?"

everyone in your ELA class was already done with it. your teacher had offered a week of going over it in class so that you'd be at least a bit ready. but no one can truly come to understand logical fallacies, rhetorical appeals, the elements of literature, and literary analysis in 4 classes. you were by no means ready. to say that to your english teacher would be an embarrassment, though.

"yes, of course!" you chirped in reply, studying the way her slick-back bun glistened in the light with too much hairgel. it wasn't that you hated her, no. in fact, she was your favorite teacher. almost all of your other professors gave you two days to study and offered sorry excuses for notes before you had to take their tests, so of course you were grateful. she also taught your favorite subject. you just hated the school she taught at.

you watched her steadily smile, then turning to her desk and rummaging through the contents of an already-open drawer. as if she had prepared for this exact conversation. you shifted on your feet, anxious, and nearly visibly gawked at the binder she emerged with. it was the width of perhaps two thumbs, so wide you briefly wondered if you'd even be able to push through it in a day. when she circled back to you, she almost seemed to read your face for the horror on it.

"it's not as bad as it looks. i promise." the weight of the binder when mrs. schulzter dumped it into your arms said otherwise. you almost doubled over against the effort.

"right," you rasped, suddenly uncomfortable. she pursed her lips, looking at you a moment, and then turning back to her desk and seating herself in the chair.

"i also recommend asking around for notes you can study off of. i'm sure there are many who are willing to help," she spoke as she grabbed some papers and began scrawling things you couldn't see from where you stood, wincing to remember the snarky remarks and comments you'd probably have to face again if you seriously wanted said notes.... but.

suddenly cheery, you perked up, grinning happily. "sure! thanks, mrs. schulzter." and you were out the door, leaving a busy english teacher in your wake.

---

through the hubbub of loitering people and intertwined voices, was sam monroe. it was stupid, honestly, the crush you'd acquired on him just by staring at the back of his head in ELA or watching him in your periphery during PE. 7 days, and you were smitten.

it wasn't just the fact that he had a similar style to your own, or the fact that he never bothered you. he was handsome. genuinely good-looking. of course, the way sam dressed was partly the reason you were so drawn to him—you hadn't seen many guys like him before—but his face was also set so perfectly, so symmetrically. how he didn't already have a girlfriend—don't ask how you knew that—you would never know.

the fact that you liked him was not the only reason you were seeking him out to ask for his english notes, though, but because you had no one else to go to. not really. everyone in your english class you didn't know too well or didn't want to know at all. you figured sam had gone through the same shit you had been through in the past week with the same people who had been bothering you, so you just assumed he'd be different.

gathering your thoughts, you slipped into that unbothered version of yourself you didn't quite know and gripped the binder, finally trekking the remaining distance between your two figures. up close... sam shut his locker, turning to walk the other way and making direct eye-contact with you.

"hi," you near-squeaked, squirming beneath his vision. "i was just wondering if you had the engli—"

and then, he pushed past you.

it was that quick. sam was there, and then he wasn't, easing away from you and into the crowd of students as if you were mere air particles before him. you gawked, mouth agape, throat constricting, eyes widening, frozen.

---

in math—your least favorite subject save for science—you had time to think. think about your interaction with sam—or lack thereof. think yourself into delusion. you dumbed it down to the possibility that he was just really really eager to get to his next class, or that he was having a bad day, or that—

then came lunch, which always racked your nerves. it wasn't just because of the embarrassment that you had to sit at the end of the table of the calculus club or that the food was shit, it was just the feeling of being so congested, stuck in a room full of students you had only known for a week and very little actually kind people. it was suffocating. but today...

earlier, you had been considering actually going up to brooke daliah and asking for her notes instead. you were desperate at that point. but then she had asked if you wanted to sit at her lunch table during passing period, and it seemed genuine, until her many friends had laughed into their hands or giggled openly. it was getting to be a joke, how much they cared.

it didn't really matter, though, because you wouldn't be sitting at their table anyways. hadn't even considered it. instead, you made a beeline towards the tables in the back.

sam was sitting with one of the few people you'd ever seen him around. liam. his friend, most likely. he dressed sort of similar to him, acted almost the same from what you gathered, save for the fact that he was significantly bolder. they were laughing together, and you almost paused in your tracks to savor that smile on sam's face. the same smile that dropped almost instantly when you stepped closer, letting him know you weren't staying by standing at the edge of the table.

"hi," you spoke, your voice much more confident than how you truly felt. liam straightened, looking between you two, though you kept your eyes on sam, who stared up at you with an expression that suggested he was surprised.

"yea?" he asked, his head cocking ever so slightly to the left. you gripped the tray so hard you were worried it'd break, rings occasionally clacking against the plastic.

"i was gonna ask in the morning if you have the notes for the english test i was supposed to take a week ago. i need to borrow some—"

"i don't." your cold and stark demeanor instantly dropped for a second, mouth opening and closing like a fish searching for air, except, you were searching for a reply. "threw them out a while ago." he shifted, seemingly... nervous.

"oh—.."

"can't ask anyone else?" liam cut in, and then laughed. laughed. your hands flexed against the tray as your eyes strayed from him to sam. "too shy or something?"

"excuse m—?"

"he's not gonna help you just because you wear fishnets and band shirts, darling. you know how weird that sounds? ask someone else if you're not the little weakling they say you are."

red. red clouded your vision. you almost forgot to gather any semblance of maturity to respond. that nickname, the way he spoke to you. like you were crazy for even considering it. you looked to sam, like maybe he'd help you out, but you were stupid for thinking that, too. because he just blinked... catching your eye again, something faltered in his own.

you could've just left there. but you were petty. so, you straightened further with the last of your dignity and bit back at liam. "y'know what? the only action you get is your own hand, and i've been able to gather that in 7 days, so i wouldn't be talking much if i were you. either way, to call me weak when you look like you'd pass out if you did get any action is just comical, liam. so really, stick to the drama kid regime." you had no idea what possessed you to say that by the time you were out the lunch doors and far from any english notes or stupidly handsome faces.

---

now, gathering your things from your locker shortly after school had ended, you had not just one math class, bored out of your mind to think, but a whole weekend. though, it didn't take 2 days alone to decide you hated sam monroe and his minion and you would for the rest of your life.

it might've been stupid, sure. you could see why getting so riled up over english notes would be dumb, but you truly liked him, truly thought him to be different. not only were you surprised when he didn't care much for you, but you got... angry. did he not understand? were you the weird girl they deemed you to be?

even though you hated your new school, you couldn't hate your mom for hauling you to california if it was because she wanted to be nearer to your grandparents after your father's death. you honestly believed her when she promised you'd actually be staying this time, too. but a part of you wanted to hate her. it was selfish and petty, you knew that. but in some strange way, it could make sense why.

shutting your locker door closed, you made to turn around and walk out of the school, eager for the coming weekend, but instead, you collided with a chest. you were already halfway through an absentminded apology when you realized who you had bumped into. sam stood in front of you, shifting on his feet. though you were quite tall for the average girl—5'8—he still managed to tower over you. your lips twisted into a scowl, eyes involuntarily rolling.

"oh. it's you. are you here to tell me i'm weak again? cause that's saying a lot if i could use you and your little minion as a pair of fucking skis," you bit out, staring daggers directly at him. for some reason—one you didn't want to think too much of—the look of pain on his face that faltered after one second made you want to take the words back, even though they had been building up in your throat since lunch. he tilted his head to the side, eyes falling to what he held in his extended hand. your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, but you realized before he could even explain exactly what he was holding.

"i'm guessing that means you don't want the english notes?" you basically choked on air, your lips parted in shock, eyes blowing wide. heat clouded your face, so blaring and distracting you barely even remembered who you were in that moment, for you had just disrespected him when he was willing to help you with something you genuinely needed. something inside you shriveled up and died, and you guessed it was that newfound confidence that came with hatred. how you had managed to embarrass yourself three times in front of him in the span of one school day, you'd never understand.

"oh— uh—" you cleared your throat, straightening. "i didn't—"

"it's fine," he shrugged with one shoulder, shifting on his feet yet again. carefully, slowly, you grabbed the binder from his hands, your own shaking, and opened it up to make sure this wasn't some prank. he was being genuine, it seemed.

"you— you said you didn't have these." you met his eyes again, shutting the notes and tucking it under one arm. sam shoved his hands in his pockets, looking away. he seemed almost... nervous. the thought made you crumble in on yourself.

"yea, uhm— liam can be a bitch sometimes." he licked his lips free of dryness, and you hated yourself for studying that small movement, how your cheeks no doubt grew even redder than they already were. your knees were weak with loitering embarrassment.

"i've gathered," was your only response, your eyes straying away for a moment. he looked back at you once again.

"i just didn't want him thinking—"

you nodded, showing him he didn't have to continue what he was saying. it was quiet a moment, and so awkward you wanted nothing more than to disappear from his sight.

"uh— sorry about him, by the way," sam finally gave into the quiet, his hand rubbing at the nape of his neck. it was so strange, how nice he was being when he had just ignored you in the morning. the remembrance of that moment by his locker made you briefly consider asking him about it, but you only muttered a quick, "it's ok."

"uhm, thanks for these," you spoke a moment later, the only thing you could think to say that would cover up the silence. you held up the notes again and sam nodded. "i'll give these back on monday, when i have the test." you dropped them again, and he backed away.

"alright. good luck, it's harder than it looks." and he was gone.

---

the whole weekend was spent studying, studying some more, and then studying even more. sam's notes were a big help, as were the material mrs. schulzter gave you, which you barely even managed to push through. occasionally, little doodles or quotes would appear throughout his many pages of english work, all funny enough to draw a smile or a laugh out of you despite yourself.

your interaction with sam refused to leave your mind, no matter how much you burrowed yourself in words and books and more words. it was probably the most awkward moment of your life. you had quite literally dissed him and he had just handed you what would help you pass this test anyways. to say you felt bad was an understatement.

but as you stepped into the english classroom during free period on monday to finally take the test, almost every thought other than what you had studied so thoroughly left your mind.

sam wasn't lying. the test was horrible. it took almost all of the 1 hour you had to complete it, and even after turning it in, a sour taste was left in your mouth, accompanied by doubts and worries that you had failed.

the only advantage you had on your side was the fact that you had so fervently went over the material. other than that, you were on your own. upon stepping out of the classroom, nerves still racking your body, you made a plan to hand sam his notes back during passing period.

and so, as soon as the bell rang, announcing the last class of the day, you were beelining towards his locker. he never came. you waited only a few minutes, until you were almost certain you'd be late to PE if you waited any longer. at least there, you'd be able to see if sam came to school at all.

apparently, he hadn't. sitting atop the bleachers, you only managed to catch sight of liam, who's presence repulsed you beyond compare. when ms. cotter announced the third day of the volleyball unit, you sat especially close to him so she'd pair you two together. your plan worked, because soon enough, you were on one side of the net, standing beside him and a few other people you barely even knew.

"liam," you hissed, keeping your eyes on the ball that flew between the two teams. your ponytail swung as it bounced to you, quickly setting it over the net again. you didn't spare even a glance towards the boy beside you.

"what?" he panted, pivoting even when he didn't need to.

"where's sam?" you asked, watching the middle left beside you attempt to spike and only get blocked by the person across from you. you quickly bumped it back.

"why do you care," liam sneered, and upon looking quickly to him to see if he'd set the ball flying right at him, you realized he was staring intently in your direction. you smiled cruelly at him when it hit him directly in the forehead, making him stumble back.

"i need to give him back his english notes." his scowl was one of fury. you grabbed the ball that had rolled to your feet and passed it over to the other team so they could serve.

"he's watching over his brother. sick or somethin'," liam replied, rubbing at the red spot on his head. you hummed, getting back into position and bending your knees.

the game went on. eventually, your team lost, and you took the break that commenced as an opportunity to ask more about sam. you swiped up your water bottle from beside your backpack on the benches, seeking out liam once again and ambling over to him. he was seated on the floor, sipping from his own water.

"what's his address?" you demanded, stopping before him and leaning your weight onto one leg. liam's brown eyes narrowed when he glanced up at you, hands flexing against the plastic in his hands.

"whose, sam's?"

"no, the gym teacher's. yes, sam's." despite yourself, you slumped into a sit a good distance from him, your temple resting against the wall. he scowled, studying you for a moment and looking away.

"you're weird as hell, y'know that?" was his lame response. you huffed a humorless laugh, shaking your head and staring out at the playing teams.

"can't call me weird when you've been called weird yourself."

liam hummed an agreement, shrugging his shoulders. "okay, but why should i tell you, anyways?"

"because he needs his notes?" you scoffed.

"no, why should i tell you after what you said to me?" liam rolled his eyes, looking away. your heart stuttered in your chest. he had a point. what you had said to him at that lunch table... you shook your head.

"i won't regret what i said until you regret what you said."

finally, you felt his eyes bore into the side of your face, and you resisted the urge to squirm. silence rushed over the two of you, and when liam grunted and struggled to a stand, you briefly let defeat draw you into its arms.

but then, before he could make a move to walk away, he uttered sam's house number and street, and quickly shuffled to the other side of the room, getting ready for the next rotation. you lifted your head from where it rested on the wall, humming a surprise. after you had quite literally told him no one would ever love him enough to have sex with him, you doubted he would tell you, and then was left to wonder why he did. you knew you wouldn't if he came up to you and asked you where you're friend lived. but now, you had sam's address, and already, it was engraved into your mind.

---

"hi! is sam home?"

for this occasion, you had taken out your bridge, snake and eyebrow piercings, leaving only your earrings in, slicked your hair back into a ponytail, and dressed in a white, floral sundress you had found at the back of your older sister's closet. you had also gotten rid of the black eyeliner and the heavy glam, opting for simple mascara, blush, and concealer. it was so... unlike you. you knew his parents wouldn't be home, but you would feel out of place in his beautiful house if you had kept to your usual style. in your hands, you gripped his binder, anxiously toying with the feel.

the little boy in front of you—who you assumed was his brother—looked strangely at you. he didn't even utter a hello back, keeping his eyes on yours as he called out into the house.

"sam!" something inside you cringed as you pushed your wispy bangs out of your eyes and quickly straightened your back. "your girlfriend's here!"

the smile you were fighting to keep on your face instantly dropped. "oh— no— that's not— we're—"

"sam!!" the little boy yelled louder, making you shrivel in on yourself. you considered turning on your heel and bolting down the street, and you were so close to doing so, when footsteps sounded above his head, and sam appeared at the top of the stairs over his brother's shoulder. your face ignited with burning, hot red heat, eyes still wide with horror.

the boy cocked his head, squinting his eyes. he sniffled, the sound wet with sickness. "my mom says no girls are allowed in the house because the last time sam had one over, they made a ba—"

"okay, ryan." suddenly, sam was at his side, pushing him from the door and further from where you stood, choking on air at his words. "that's enough. go play with your trucks." happily, his brother—ryan—turned and ran down the hall, nearly tripping and falling.

"sorry— about him," sam rasped, grabbing the edge of the door and opening it wider. his dyed, blue-black hair glinted in the light. "that— that was a while ago..." you searched for breath as you nodded, eyes still blown wide.

"no— that's fine—" was what came out of your throat, even though you felt like throwing up your lunch then and there. he stared at you, taking you in as you recovered, racking your brain. you barely even registered the look in his eyes as they ran over your body, the sound of him clearing his throat being what pulled you from your embarrassment.

"uhm— come in." sam motioned for you to step inside, which you quickly shook your head at, eyes closing for a moment as you felt the heat slowly die from your cheeks.

"i'm— actually just here to—" you extended the hand holding his notes out, which his eyes automatically fell to, feet shifting below him. "—deliver this."

sam bit the inside of his lip, hesitantly reaching out to grab it from your hands. without something to squeeze on, your fingers shook as you rested your arms by your side again.

"oh, okay. thanks." silence. again. god, could this get any more awkward? pursing your lips, you nodded once, slowly backing away.

"yea, sure. i'll see ya around—"

"wait— how— how did you do on the test?" your feet paused below you, mind yelling at you to run away despite his attempts to keep you there. wait— he was attempting to keep you there? why else would he just randomly ask about your stupid english exam? he certainly didn't care what you got, right?

"uh— i don't know yet. mrs. schulzter said i'd get my grade back on wednesday, so i won't know until then." you pivoted back to fully face him once again, eyes on a stray rock at your feet.

"how do you... think— you did?" sam asked anyways, eyes assessing your closed body language. why was this so embarrassing?

"well... it was pretty hard— so maybe an A- or something." your shoulder lifted in a shrug, eyes finally meeting his despite yourself. "what— what did you get?"

"a B+," sam looked away, face scrunching in what you could only guess was embarrassment. you were briefly surprised, which made your heart sink in guilt.

"cool."

silence. your shoulders were hunched over, closing in on your chest. if he didn't realize you were getting increasingly uncomfortable, you didn't know what would.

"you uhm— look good today." sam shrugged, eyes only shortly meeting yours before straying away, and you were briefly grateful they had, because your face ignited once again in a flurry of heat and redness. "i've never really seen you without—"

"thank you— i just decided— y'know..."

"yea.."

more quiet.

"are you sure you don't wanna come in?" he finally asked, eyes meeting your down-turned face, still blooming with blush. "i just got the new limp bizkit ablum..."

how—? your eyes widened in surprise, head jerking up to meet his gaze, which was staring intently at you.

"how did you know i like limp bizkit?"

you watched his face contort into that of embarrassment and surprise, nose scrunching slightly. your heart squeezed in your chest. "i— uh— saw you with their shirt a couple days ago..."

you really, really didn't want to feed into your delusions— but now, he was giving you a reason to do so! he had remembered a band tee you had worn last thursday— there was absolutely no way he didn't feel.. nothing.

"oh— okay, then." quickly, sam stepped out of the way, allowing you into his house. upon stepping inside, you banished every invading thought from your mind and focused on the beauty of the area. it truly was really pretty. down the hall, you could vaguely hear ryan laughing and chatting with no one but himself. you were... you were in sam monroe's house. it was so.. strange. you felt out of place despite having altered almost everything about your usual style. like you just weren't made for extravagant buildings.

you turned back to sam, but he was already motioning for you to follow him up the steps. you quickly did, taking in every minor detail you knew you didn't need to. he led you through slim corridors, finally stopping at a door that was quite jacked up, dents all over it, handle slightly bent. sam pushed it open, allowing you inside. it was...

you gawked, eyes blowing wide even though his room was just as you imagined it to be. band posters varying from slipknot to papa roach to my chemical romance pasted on the walls, dark bedsheets, clothes strung across the floor that he aimlessly kicked at as you scanned the scenery. now, you were in sam monroe's room. that didn't even register, though, every ounce of trepidation or awkwardness leaving your body.

"woah— i like your room!" you grinned, shutting the door behind you. you barely even noticed his eyes, lit up upon seeing your awe.

"thanks," he spoke back, his face remaining neutral as he shuffled his feet. you ambled to his desk, which held records and vinyls and CDs you could barely even sift through. there was a CD left open on a folder in the center, and upon closing it, you realized it was said limp bizkit album. you gasped, scanning the tracks and the cover, flipping it over in your hands at least 5 times.

"i didn't think you—" you turned to him, holding it up, eyes still wide. almost immediately, a smile bloomed on his lips, and you forgot all about the band or the album or anything about music at all. he even laughed. laughed.

"you thought i was lying so i could get you to come in?" sam huffed, eyes crinkling with the coming of that grin. you smiled yourself, because it was so.. contagious. surprising.

"no— i just—" sam shook his head, piercings glinting in the light. "i—" you choked out, laughing as well. "i didn't mean it like that— i promise—"

"hope so." suddenly, he was walking up to you, then walking past you, flipping open his radio and motioning for you to put the CD in with that stupid grin still loitering on his lips.

you struggled to move your legs, somehow having been glued in place, but managed to trek the short distance and push it into the spinner. he shut the top and clicked the on button, and music blasted into the room. you hummed, sitting on his bed and closing your eyes as you listened in.

it was good. though... you expected no less from limp bizkit because... well, they were limp bizkit. everything they made you absolutely adored, and although you never felt any calling towards playing in bands or anything, they often made you seriously consider it. you imagined sam had already listened to it, even though your eyes were closed. at some point, you felt the mattress sink beside you, his knee slightly bumping against yours. it all felt like a fever dream, listening to one of your favorite band's newest album you had been searching relentlessly for with the guy you had liked for only 7 days... well, now 9.

occasionally, your head would bob to the beat, your brows furrowing in concentration. one song bled into another, and on what you guessed was the 4th song, sam's voice rang through the music.

"i don't think it's their best work—"

"what!" your eyes flew open, immediately meeting his. he pursed his lips, shrugging.

"i mean— c'mon. this one just doesn't compare to results may vary. the songs on there are too good.."

"are we listening to the same album— or?.." he huffed a laugh, looking at his lap. "results may vary was good— but this shit is gonna change history!"

"results may vary already did—" sam countered, narrowing his eyes at you. you threw your arms out at your sides, giving him an incredulous look.

"this is fucking gold. gold cobra. gold. how do you not—" sam cocked his head, another smile enveloping his lips. "i mean— if you're not gonna appreciate all that limp bizkit quite obviously put into this album— then what's the point! they seriously did not disappoint, and as soon as i get the vinyl version, i will use it and i will never stop using it and listening to this so every time you come over— you'll learn to be grateful—"

"you're a nerd." he laughed, shaking his head. you paused in your words, brows knitting together as your eyes finally met his once again.

"i am not—"

"i've never seen anyone get so defensive over an album. you're a nerd." sam laughed again. and laughed. and laughed. you scrunched your nose in anger, shoving his arm and sending him a look.

"limp bizkit isn't a joke!" you countered. he only continued his laughing, and you couldn't help but smile, because god.. he was so pretty when he laughed. "i don't see what's funny."

"you're smiling too," he argued, cocking his head. you attempted at twisting your lips into a scowl, but your poker face was shit, and you ended up grinning even further.

"it— i..." you tried. failed. sam huffed a laugh, studying your face. somehow, he had leaned in so close you could make out light freckles dotting his cheeks. now seemed like the worst of times to ask, but you were growing bold, and your tongue moved according to its own agenda.

"why did you ignore me that morning?"

immediately, the mood in the room changed. sam sucked in a breath. you heard it, saw the way he gulped down air, his adam's apple bobbing. it made you swallow, too. something passed in his eyes, a look of uncomfortableness. when he looked away, staying quiet, you were sure you fucked up. certain. he wasn't gonna answer, and you would make yet another fool of yourself around him. embarrassment. it clouded your chest, weighed down your legs and your arms, killed what was left of your dignity as you watched him play with the rings on his fingers. you ruined it. you ruined the moment. the moment you had been dreaming about.

"oh my god— i'm so—"

"don't apologize. i'm sorry." hope gave your heart wings and ripped them off once he left you wondering exactly why. "i guess i was just.. nervous. and— i saw you— and i didn't know what to do, so i just.. left. i didn't want to embarrass myself or anything in case i did something stupid— or said something stupid. i didn't want to hurt you. i didn't mean it."

your eyes grew wide, a breath stuttering in your chest. "nervous?"

finally, he looked at you. finally, you asked.

"why— why were you—"

you were cut off before you could finish that sentence, his lips on yours so fast that you barely had time to register what was happening. this— your first kiss. it was so stupid. your first kiss ever. you had no idea what to do, or why he was doing it. alone in your room, late at night, you had fantasized about something like this happening, and now? you didn't know how to move your lips, or where to put your hands. you almost forgot to close your eyes, only remembering when his own fluttered shut. fluttered. your heart was throbbing in your chest. you could hear it in your ears, in the silence that commenced. could he hear it too? it lasted 3 seconds. you counted. after those 3 seconds ended, he pulled away until your noses just barely grazed each other. and stared.

you were freaking out. you were freaking out. one kiss, and you felt everything inside of you light on fire, warning you to get the fuck out of there. but you wanted more. sam stared, his breath fanning across your own. there was something so... so... you couldn't find the right word. the music in the background was barely even there anymore.

"y/n—"

and then you were up and bolting out the door.

---

sam was standing at his locker.

it was passing period. right after free block. you were suddenly back on that friday afternoon, gathering yourself to go ask him for stupid english notes, so nervous you were practically forcing air down your throat.

you had been ignoring him.

it wasn't because the kiss was bad. no. it was so great. it was better than you had ever imagined. you didn't even know why you left and completely avoided him up until 2 days later, now wednesday, but you had. perhaps it was because you feared he had somehow guessed at your inexperience. if you could tell he was definitely experienced himself, then who was to say he couldn't tell you weren't? it embarrassed you.

you were also terrified it'd leave to sex. you were too young. you had decided against it a while ago. it honestly scared you, losing your virginity to someone with the possibility of losing them. you knew... something in you knew, that if you said anything against it in that moment, he'd stop. but it still worried you.

since you had started avoiding him, he had tried coming up to you in class, after class, before class, on your way home, at your home... he even tried to stop you from leaving that fateful day in his room, but you had been doing a good job of ridding him from your life.

but, in those two days you had to think, you decided you did want him in your life. he would be the one who you'd lose your virginity to, if it came down to it. he'd be the one you'd call your first boyfriend.

steadying your breath, you walked up to sam. he was rummaging through his locker. you tapped on his shoulder.

when he turned around and met your eyes, his own lighting with what you knew was hope, everything you planned to say scattered and exited your mind like there was a fire exploding in your skull. maybe there was. quiet. he studied you, brows furrowed in confusion, face lit with happiness, but you couldn't bring yourself to explain why you had come up to him. so instead, you shoved the paper you were holding like a lifeline into his chest, his hands coming to quickly grab it, and turned on your heel, walking the other way.

sam contemplated going after you, but the page you had forced into his grip called to him. seeing you ignited hope he had since rid himself of. hope that you had decided to stop ignoring him. maybe— he wouldn't get excited over something that would probably not happen considering how fast you fled just now. so, he pulled the paper from his chest, eyes leaving your retreating figure and landing on the contents.

your english test. a 100%. an A+. written below the grade, in handwriting that fit your personality so well, were words that made that hope reignite. made him believe there was something. made him smile. 'i guess your english notes were worth the hassle i went through to get'.

i hope you like the plot i added to it cause idk how i feel abt it 😭

#sam monroe #life as a house #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #hayden christensen #hayden #fanfic #star wars #star wars anakin #fandom #awake 2007

96 notes · View notes

borzoilover69 · 19 days

Note

do you have any posts that kinda expand on jake as a character? i want to like him in theory, but i just dont Get him, you know? its kinda like that with me for all the alphas but its the most for jake.

Oh my gosh yes!! Yes i do!! Heres some i recommend rather than me typing at length points more articulately said before or by someone else. Please please PLEAAASE message me again after you’ve read some of these and tell me if your opinions changed and what you think you get abt him!!

Jake English writing guide - expansion on his mannerisms. : a rhetoric of shit hes said that made me side eye him.

Jake english: a fandom analysis : long discussion i had with two friends abt jake

Facade, dirk and jake: small but to the point

Jake english is a jackass, not an infant.

Why tony artreactor likes jake

Harlenglishes: “when you fuck up its ok! if i fuck up its the worst thing in the entire world.”

Not required but recommended:

His ass was not being serious with these comments man. : the caliborn jake convo is my fave out of these.

Alpha kids and why i like them : personal opinion alert

Other than that i asked my friend @tipsygnostalgy their opinion on jake and they gave these wise words (roughly paraphrased)

“for me jakes appeal is fundamentally about whether humanity can overcome their own insecurities in terms of engagement with others and grow to accept true love in this essay ill be pushing him into the neongenesisangelion shinji ikari role and analyzing him thr—

Kidding, but listen. The first sentence is the crux of it. He constructs personas (believing in himself but the facade version of it) and relies on hope ketamine (believing in others) because its easier to do than to confronting the reality that he doesnt know who he is or whether he likes that person at all. This doesnt mean he lacks a self; he cant fully break but he cant fully give either. he exists in this weird limbo state where he chooses neither to be completely passive (actually letting someone walk all over him) nor completely active (refusing it outright) demonstrated best by the way in which he "breaks up" with dirk i.e. he doesnt.

He doesnt like the status quo but also doesnt believe in himself to fix it proper and i think that signifies how a lot of people make decisions when youre in this weird passive middle area. the world fucking sucks but what can you do about it, youre just one guy. No business knowing how to do that. On the other hand the way he plays people should be studied.

the jane crocker patented question of "Does he know?" is what he asks himself every night and its so utterly interesting that hes not sure of the answer”

#homestuck #hom3stuck #jake english #borzoi talks #asks #borzoi meta #homestuck meta

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tlbodine · 2 months

Text

How to Close-Read Anything to Learn From It

This year, I'm sharing a series of close reads with my Patrons. Join to participate in discussion, read my analysis, and hopefully we can all learn together from some masterful texts. This month we're talking about Eric LaRocca's novella We Can Never Leave This Place. Join here: https://www.patreon.com/tlbodine

But I also wanted to share my methodology here, because close reading is a skill you can use to improve your writing and learn from a text. You know how everyone says you need to read to become a better writer? Well. Here's one method of studying to learn from the masters. I'm not saying this is the ONLY way, but it's one I've gotten a lot of value from!

Step one: Grab a text. Ideally this should be one you enjoy, because you'll have to read through it multiple times. You can level up later by analyzing a book you hate.

Step two: Read the whole thing at least twice -- the first time to absorb the story, and the second time to start analyzing.

Step three: Begin the analysis.

You will want a notebook or something handy to start taking notes.

1 - Observe the structural elements. How long is it? How many chapters? How long is each chapter? How many scenes are there? How many plot events? Are there multiple scenes per chapter or just one? In any given scene, how much time is spent on dialogue, action, description? If you have a spare copy of the book and some colored highlighters, you might want to try highlighting different elements to see it visually.

2 - Write down everything that happens in the story. Try to write a 1-2 page synopsis of the entire book. This will help you keep things in place in your mind as you explore the story, and will also help you hone your skills of synopsis-writing for your own work. You may as well practice while you can!

3 - Write down each character, their role in the story, and their arc. What do they want? How do they change over the course of the story? How do they impact the events of the plot?

4 - What are recurring themes and motifs? How are those reflected in the language? How does the writing work on a line level? Are there poetic and rhetorical devices used? How do the writing techniques support what's going on with the story overall?

Finally, once you've written down all of these elements, what takeaways and conclusions can you draw? What works together? What seems to fall short? What would you do differently? What can you adopt for your own writing?

Practice this process. Internalize it. Learn from each thing you read. And then apply the same process to your own work when editing and polishing -- that's how you develop an objective editorial standard for your writing that will help you skill up.

#writing advice #writing tips #close reads #story analysis #reading comprehension #media criticism #long post

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oliveroctavius · 7 months

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Doesn't the decision to get involved with Sam Bullit prove Gwen was a bad person?

Hey, I've been looking for an excuse to post about this. The Sam Bullit arc isn't really about Gwen (though it certainly reveals some things about her character). The Sam Bullit arc is about racist dogwhistles and why they work.

ASM #92 pg 19: "I will bring law and order to the people of this great city! I will show no mercy to the anarchists and all others who would destroy our way of life!"

Bullit's platform is not openly white supremacist in the sense that it doesn't overtly mention race. He talks about laws and safety in a way meant to appeal to rich white voters. The true meaning should be clear to anyone with any political awareness (who are those others and what is our way of life?), so why does this rhetoric attract "otherwise rational" people?

ASM #91 pg 6: "I want to volunteer to help you--in your campaign for DA. Because--I want you to bring Spider-Man to justice!" "We need strength--strength to punish those who mock the law! I will use such strength to bring Spider-Man and others like him to justice! I will not betray your trust."

Gwen makes her decision to back Bullit on the way home from her father's funeral. There's a very real phenomenon of tough-on-crime bills named after (white) murder victims. The grief of families who feel like justice hasn't been served is a powerful tool to push harsh laws while smothering any criticism as "disrespectful" to the victims. What’s in a Name? An Empirical Analysis of Apostrophe Laws, 2020.

Bullit showed up at George Stacy's funeral with this exact goal in mind, and when Spider-Man "kidnaps" Gwen later, he leverages the media obsession with white girls in danger for his cause. Gwen is a pawn, but she did offer her help first. Her desire for closure is very human and her short-sighted reactionary faith in "the law" is very white.

Oddly absent from your "proven bad person" takeaway is J. Jonah Jameson. The Bugle lends Bullit a platform to make Gwen's personal tragedy a political talking point. JJJ has the ~Black best friend~ excuse and everything, and he still blows past red flags like crazy.

ASM #91 pg 7: "Maybe they were better days than now! At least we had law and order then." "Yeah--and lynch mobs, and bread lines, and Uncle Toms..." "Come off it, Robbie! What's wrong with a man standing for law and order, anyway?" "Maybe it just depends on whose law--and what kind of order you're talkin' about, man!"

(Another point of this arc: marginalized groups learn to recognize dogwhistles pretty quickly for survival reasons. If they tell you something is a dogwhistle and you don't see it yet, look closer.)

ASM #92 pg 9: "Parker's story just served to open Jameson's eyes--but I've kept a dossier on you. I haven't been city editor all these years for nothing! I know where your support comes from. I know about the lunatic hate groups who are backing you. I know what you really mean by law and order!"

Late in the campaign, the Bugle switches sides. This scene tends to be described as JJJ giving the racists what-for, but the moment is truly Robbie's. (Note that it took Peter getting roughed up for Jameson to take this seriously!) JJJ can yell at Bullit all he likes without consequences, but Robbie is kidnapped and threatened by white supremacists in retaliation. It's Robbie's determination to speak up that eventually puts Bullit out of the running for good.

The Bullit arc isn't there to sort characters by Bad Person and Good Person. Neither Gwen nor JJJ have to personally hate black people for their self-centered sense of safety to be weaponized by a racist agenda. This is a Stan Lee PSA about masked bigotry and how it might appeal to you even if you consider yourself a Good Person.

But for some ~mysterious~ reason, Gwen's brief agreement and Jameson's brief rejection are the only parts of these two issues I ever see brought up, with Robbie's major role not mentioned at all. Some ideas fit more neatly than others into smug ship-war quote tweets and anon asks, it seems.

#olivertxt #comics #reductionist takes from people who clearly do not care about this arc have been getting under my skin for ages #gwen stacy #robbie robertson #jjj #/ racism

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