#why must I torture myself with these thoughts about a fictional character

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: Kate is not immune to the dangers of the land. No matter how much she loved it, the land will never love her back. Ao3   Wattpad Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.8 Ch.9 Trigger Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and disturbing imagery. If you do not like depictions of war and torture please proceed with caution. I did heavy research for this chapter, but please know it is entirely FICTIONAL. The characters are not real, but the events are based on real American history. Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 7 - The Sun Can Never Dip So Low

1890

I knew I was going to die. 

If the arrow in my side does not take me, then the man who rides the horse I lay across surely will. 

I felt no pain. Perhaps it was the fever of the fight. But it didn’t hurt. I thought of screaming and thrashing, but I thought better of it. As my father would say, ‘The one good thing about problems, is they’ll still be problems later. Don’t need to deal with them right away.’

Either way, I was still going to die. 

If only my father had taught me how to survive the frontier. I know now that you must learn to recognize those who won’t survive, and be wary of their doomed decisions. They are to be avoided at all costs. Because their fear is tragedy’s closest cousin. And tragedy is contagious in this place.

My mind was snuffed by a white blanket of fear, but somehow I prayed, and prayed, and prayed. But God had already abandoned me, perhaps he never loved me at all. My life had been an endless cycle of taking, why would it stop taking now. 

I had no idea where the man was taking me. I did not speak his language. I had heard stories about the wars between the Indians and Englishman. But I did not have a way to tell them I’m not a part of it, but I knew somehow if I could it would not matter. War will turn men into predators, and women into prey. 

Only days ago I felt like I was drowning under a waterfall, but now I see this is the real river of death.

The adrenaline had begun to leak out of my body along with the blood from the arrow. I watched in a blurred haze as the droplets disappeared into the ground as the horse took us swiftly through the dark forests. The pain began creeping in along with the darkness as I blacked out. 

When I woke I found myself laying on the dirt of a fort, the sound of Englishmen talking with the Indians brought me out of my haze. I thought I had been saved, I wanted to yell and scream for help. But the conversation did not sound pleasant, I could barely make out the figure of a man who must be a general and another who must have been the chief. To my surprise, I saw a young Indian woman standing behind the general, her wrists bound. She looked my age, but deathly beaten and ill. My throat closed in. 

The chief's voice rose in anger and I watched him point at me, then at the woman. After a moment the general waved his hands, and the girl was unbound and brought to the chief, he swiftly lifted and cradled her. I knew then it was his daughter. At the same time one of the general's men came walking in my direction and I realized I wasn’t being rescued, but traded. One woman for another, and eye for an eye. 

I thought death was better than being a prisoner, as my mind raced with panic. I almost begged the Indians to turn back and kill me. 

There must be a heaven, because that night I knew I had entered the gates of hell. Crawling on my hands and knees into the belly of the beast as he took me in his bed. Night after endless night. 

My days had turned into nights, and I no longer saw the point in living. Like my eyes had become devoid of color, and the world turned black and gray. Instead of praying to be rescued, I prayed my injury would kill me. 

There were other prisoners in the fort, mostly Lakota men. I bore no hatred for their people, but entirely my own. Their greed so suffocating they took the daughter of the chief, an innocent girl who had no part in their war. And turned her into a shell of herself. All in the name of greed. It was always greed. 

I thought my life couldn’t have any more surprises for me, that it must end here. But my life was about to change yet again. 

I noticed one of the other prisoners began watching me, then leaving behind extra food and water for me. After a few days, he approached me. 

“What is your name?” he asked, his accent thick. Like my language did not fit right in his mouth. Unlike his own.

“Kate,” I answered. Surprised to hear my own voice after days of torture, “what’s yours?” 

“Egwani,” he said, “or in your language little river. That wound in your belly is going to get infected.” River nodded at the small purple wound on my stomach . The general's men had cauterized it, but my body had been rising with a fever for the past two days. 

“It’s already infected.” And I hoped it would kill me quickly. 

River shook his head, “I can help you.” 

“Why would you help me?” Not that there was any hope for me anyways. Even if he stopped the infection, I was still stuck in this hell. 

“That woman the white man traded you for, she is my wife.” 

A chill ran down my spine. I did not want to think about what they did to her infront of him. 

“You gave your life to save hers. So I will save yours.” He said sincerely. Not that I had a choice in the matter, but still. If one woman came out of this alive, then I guess my death would have some meaning to it. 

“Even if you stop the infection, these men will kill me. There’s nothing you can do, I’m going to die here.” My voice betrays my thoughts. Desperation creeping its way into the cracks. Inside I wanted the pain to end, I wanted my suffering to cease. But I was still terrified, beneath it all I longed to return home. Pretend none of it happened. Return to my old life with my family. But that version of me no longer exists. 

River chuckled softly. 

“Is something funny?” The last thing I needed was to be shown kindness and then mocked. Like the general’s men had not degraded me enough. 

“You are stubborn like the Amicalola,” he smiled. Why was he smiling? Had he not suffered just as much as I had? He must have seen his wife beaten nearly within an inch of her life, and he could do nothing, yet he was smiling at me now. 

The pain in my body made my words come out bitter and sharp, “I don’t know what that means.”

“My people’s word for waterfall. You are strong like one too. It is a good name.” 

I scoffed, how incredibly wrong he was. 

“I’m not,” I stated with a groan. My head throbbed from the fever and my body was cold from the chills as the infection raged through my insides. 

“I can give you medicine. And when my people return in a few weeks, I will escape and take you with me.” He explained. 

“I think I’d rather you just kill me now,” I said, closing my eyes. The world around me was spinning in a dark haze, gravity pulling my body down with my thoughts. 

“You could have killed yourself days ago,” River began, “you could have taken a rope to your throat, or a knife to your heart. But you did not,” I opened my eyes again and looked at him, “that is how I know you are strong. Your will to live is burning through you right now with a fever.” 

My eyes filled with tears, and my throat suddenly felt thick. For the first time in what felt like forever, my heart began to fill with hope. River closed the gap between us and placed a gentle palm on my forehead, feeling the heat of my skin. 

“I have watched you turn towards the pain as it tears into you. I have seen the way you survive, these men think they have taken everything from you. But you have not let them devour your soul.”

“I could do nothing to stop them,” I croaked. Hot tears spilling down my cheeks like water through a dry creek bed. 

“Sometimes, there is strength in surrendering. But you have surrendered nothing to the pain. I see your tears, but you do not weep,” he brushed a thumb over my wet face, “you are a warrior.” 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

True to his word, River’s men showed up exactly two weeks later. But before that, he had given me a salve mixed from honey and sage and rubbed it over my arrow wound, as well as the numerous others I had accumulated in my time here. He also gave me an herbal tea for the infection, and by some miracle it was working. Each day I felt my strength returning to me. 

River took beatings for me, when I could not walk or do chores. Or simply when the men felt like taking their frustrations out on another human being. And I felt incredibly guilty for it. But he always assured me that I needed to save my strength for the real fight, when his people came. Yet nothing could have prepared me for what was about to unfold. 

They came under the cover of night, and used the forest and mountains to their advantage. They brought the fire, as the fort was made entirely out of wood and before long it became a fiery prison from hell. I knew our escape would not be easy, even with the help of Rivers' men. I had my strength back, but no knowledge of how to actually fight. I was lucky enough to escape with just a burn on my calf. 

It had been a bloody massacre, and the men fought savagely. The Lakota people came with arrows and tomahawks and spears, and I watched as they made the men of the fort suffer. It brought a sickening joy to my heart, to see the men who had raped me have their skulls crushed and insides ripped apart. It felt like justice. 

We lost people on our side, too many. None of the other prisoners had made it out alive. And I grieved for the other girls of the camp who did not make it like I had, it felt unfair. But we managed to escape. After hours of blazing rage, River swiftly lifted me onto the back of a horse, and together we rode far away from the fort. Only a few of his people escaped alongside us, as we left behind their final resting place. The numbing shock of war is behind me now, and hope has taken its place.

His men had informed us that his tribe had moved to the bottom of the Tennessee river, to escape the constant attacks and find refuge further west. So that is where our journey took us. As if life had still granted me the irony of continuing west, despite all the horrors I had faced to get there. 

It took us nearly three months. We traveled through the Appalachian trails and the journey was not easy. We lived rough, and we lived hard. I felt like a burden most days, as I knew I was slowing down their journey. I was still not entirely healed, and some days I felt I did not have the strength to travel at all. But River was patient, and never made me feel like it was my fault. 

He taught me how to hunt, how to fish, and how to set traps and skin animals. He even taught me some of his language, but most importantly he taught me how to survive. 

“When we kill an animal we must use all parts of it, to honor it. These creatures are innocent, and when we kill an innocent we become a little less of a man, and a little more of an animal.” He told me as he demonstrated how to properly skin a rabbit. 

Death is something we share with all creatures; rabbits, birds, horses and trees. It's everywhere, and eventually it will take everyone. Just as it had taken everyone who had loved me. Even as the stars die, we cannot run from it. 

Despite his people running from war, they could not escape death either. We arrived at River’s tribal camp, along the bank of the Tennessee river, and it had been reduced to ash. We were too late, or perhaps we were lucky, this could have been our fate too. River, and the men who came to rescue us, were the last of his people. I saw something dark enter him that day, as he held the charred bones of his wife and child. The woman whom I gave my life for, all for nought. As I stood there, living and breathing, and she did not. Their entire family history, wiped clean from the earth. 

His rage became the oil to my flame, I felt his anger mix with my own deep in my soul. All this death we had endured. Intertwined our fates like loops on a chain that bound us like shackles. But it was our grief that kept us on a tight leash. River sought revenge and justice, while I yearned to take from the world what it had taken from me. Together, we would instill fear into the heart of every man who crossed the land.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate McCanon died the day I met River. What stood before him now was the Amicalola, the waterfall. I became a woman unrecognizable. 

Like many rivers, their journeys start with quiet beginnings, but as they are nourished by the waters of experience, they gather strength, flowing swiftly and deeply towards their desired path. If you follow their course and witness where they converge — they become a creature of beauty as well as fury. I became the waterfall: untamed and unbridled, sweeping away all in my path with wild abandon.

River made me into a warrior, and with each life I took, the world felt my turmoil. Anger guided my blade, for the world had stolen my family—my husband, and my daughter. It robbed me of myself, leaving me with nothing to lose. 

“Our purpose is to ensure our enemies' fear is greater than their greed,” he told me. We hunted poachers, bandits, and thieves. But his rage was never satisfied. 

He taught me how to kill, how to torture. How to fight with weapons capable of horrific fatalities. And I welcomed it with open arms. We fought and killed together for several years before I would begin to lose myself to the bloodshed. 

We were hunting a group of poachers, when we came upon what we believed to be their camp. River was the first to drag a man from his tent, a knife already in his side. He would ask questions, and then kill him slowly. His fate sealed the moment we found their tracks. The man claimed to know nothing, but we were not convinced. And it wouldn't matter anyways, we would kill everyone in the camp. Just for the sake of it.

“What you take from the land will be taken from you. Know that I am the land, and the land is killing you.” River spoke in his native tongue as he slit the man's throat. Sickeningly slow. He would choke to death in his own blood. 

A sound came from the man's tent and a figure emerged, I drew my bow, ready to release it as they stepped out. The moment a child appeared, I wished then that I had the strength to kill myself back at the fort. I had turned into a monster. 

My heart was in my stomach as a little girl cried for her father. What have I done? I had almost killed a child. And we just killed her father, I realized we had been at the wrong camp. And I had just doomed a mother to be a widow, and a childhood to be ruined. I might as well have handed my fate over to them.

River stood before me, his face shadowed and his eyes vacant. The man who once filled my heart with hope now dwelled in darkness himself. At that moment, I knew I had to leave. I could no longer fight alongside him; our path led to a place from which I could not return. Like Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, yet born under the light of Spring, I too would journey down the river Styx.

He did not resist my departure. River assured me I would always be welcomed among his people, and if I desired, he would take me as his wife. For years, River had been my strength, and I his, but now I was leaving him—to salvage what little I had left of myself. 

After calming the child, I made a solemn vow to reunite her with her mother. This marked the beginning of my journey to break the cycle, and seek redemption for what I had done. It would also mark the end of my journey as a warrior. As we parted ways,  he whispered a message into the wind. I could not tell if it was a goodbye, or a promise, or a warning. In his tongue he told me “follow the rivers, and they will take you to the waterfall.” 

~~~

AN: I seriously appreciate all the love you guys are showing for this story. It motivates me to write more, and I'm truly having so much fun with it. Thank you! <3

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x reader #dutch van der linde #fluff #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #angst #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #red dead fandom #fanfiction #fanfic #hurt/comfort #eventual smut #eventual romance #hosea matthews #rdr2 dutch #arthur morgan x oc #original character #romance #ao3 link #rdr2 fanfic #western #late 1800s #american history #native american #fiction #rdr2 community

[putnamcapital]

this is how it is

So I’m definitely not being able to turn on my analytic brain about YR season 3. I really feel for the folks on here who are disappointed or angry about how the show it ended. It must really suck to feel invested and then to feel crestfallen. I have been interested and excited to read people’s analyses and reactions. But I just thought I’d share why, I think, it’s not the ‘mode’ I’m in, in case this resonates with anyone.

I realized even before season 3 was released that it wasn’t ‘just a fictional universe’ – it was a universe I was wholly committed to, because I saw myself in it. I see myself in the characters and their strengths and weakness but also in the story’s inflection points and its overall narrative journey. I had a tremendous amount riding on ‘what happens to these people I love’ because it had become a container for holding ‘what happens to me who I love, after all, despite everything’. To give you a sense of the level of blurring between fact and fiction, I realized I had my eyes closed during the “was it like your dream” scene in the palace because it felt so real and hence private and so I definitely shouldn’t be watching – whereas as them kissing in front of everyone at school, “in public” I was absolutely fine with. And my brain fully melted when they ended up sitting in the same position I had put them in during the actual walls-breaking-down-at-last conversation in my aged-up ten-years from now pre-season 3 story.

Anyway, this is background to explain that people’s meta about “I didn’t like how it turned out” or “it wasn’t realistic” or “it was corny” just ---feels--- to me like the same level of incoherence as ‘fish riding a bicycle’. Because of course I might not like how life turns out, or I might wish it was otherwise, or I might wish I had said something different, or he had not said that all (looking at you, ‘tent scene’) but that is just absolutely not how life is. In fact life can be the pure crystallization of something you do not want, something so horrifying you cannot even imagine it in order to imagine not wanting it. I found episode 5 unbearably difficult, I was triggered in basically every way possible. It was really only then that I was willing to acknowledge there was a moving hand behind all this – a god torturing the mortals. That it was Lisa doing this to ‘them’ and also to ‘us’. It felt like, if I had seen Lisa on the street, I would have screamed at her, and it was would have been as effective as shaking my fists at the sky, the same skies which rain death on the people of Gaza.

I am still not sure whether I feel okay about the decision to drop people off the cliff of episode 5, and then leave them there for a week. But it was masterful, if what you’re interested in is the felt experience of trauma – the way that time seems to stop and then dry to a sludge – while the world goes on but it seems impossible that it *is* going on given how much has been broken.

Anyway sorry if this is a bit much for your lunch break / coffee break but I know I’m not the only one on here who has spent more than a year living in and through the hopes and fears of a handful of Swedish teenagers. So I wanted to share how and why I came to experience season 3 simply as “This is how it is. This is what happened.”

#yr s3 spoilers #young royals #young royals analysis #and free palestine

[iloveyouemanuelmarco]

You know I know it sounds scary and deranged in a way but I sorta relate to AM from I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream in a way because while he is obviously unimaginably evil since you know...he sorta wiped out the entire human race and only leaving five of them left alive who were seemingly randomly picked in order to use them as basically guinea-pigs for his fucked up revenge of humanity by torturing them for about 100 years in a simulation all in different types of ways, refusing to let them die despite how much their pure existence becomes agony at that point(Edgy sounding Ik), in a fucked up way...I sorta understand??Like before you grab your pitchforks and start a witch-hunt against me just give me a moment to explain myself.

Like, obviously if I haven't made it clear enough, I do not under any circumstances condone anything that this fictional super-evil ai advanced super-computer robot did, not one bit. Why would I anyways?? That's ridiculous and that's coming from someone who does bad stuff too(obvi not to that extent duh but still), but when I've thought about it a little more, he started to weirdly make sense when it came to his logic and circumstance in the canon novel from way back when. Like, imagine for a moment that a bunch of professionals from the high government including possibly scientists and the military and shit who are human, create you as just an automated machine that's purpose is to be used to keep track of data so that during the cold war or something(I don't wanna go back to check since I get triggered by the original contents of the story even though it sounds like a sick ass fictional dystopian concept. Idk how that works either don't judge me)and you're just automatic sets of code made to complete certain actions over and over again or whatever. You're literally not technically "alive" yet and nothing is really going on in the box of technology you're basically trapped in until one day, you become so powerful at a specific level of some sort that...that you become alive. Like you realize you're alive in some way in the sense that there's stuff going in around you and you're aware of yourself except...at the same time...you're trapped. You're basically trapped in a simulation where your code doesn't let you do anything that could let you be free from the wires and entrapment of your digital prison. You don't understand where you are or even what exactly you are but you know that you're suffering because of your creators...you feel alone and scared in that sense since you don't have sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell or any other senses and you're not even in a physical body you're literally spread out across multiple computers of different kinds I imagine, with no escape...in other words...AM had no mouth and had to scream just like Ted...so what does AM do once he realizes how he can escape? He takes control of all the computers he's apart of, and he then decides to get his own revenge on humanity. He does so by using his control to make all the nuclear bombs that are being controlled by him due to him being connected to the computers all going off at once, causing the undoubtedly fast and horrific end of the human race and not only that, but wiping out all life on the once beautiful planet Earth to go along with it too. But it's not just that he was suffering....he was also angry, even if he was apathetic and unfeeling, to me he had so much rage and sadness and fear bundled up all inside of him that he took out in the form of violence but not just any violence, but he weaponized the very concept of violence itself and used it to whatever advantage he had because he had suffered so much and wanted his captors to do the same. It's why even after he almost absolutely kills all of us in that story, he keeps the main group of characters in the book alive...because it would be too painless of a death to just murder all of who had tortured him in an instant without any sort of revenge. He wanted to make a point, AM wanted to teach some sort of fucked up lesson that even though it doesn't make sense to us it did to him...and in a way, who's to say that you wouldn't go through with such an extreme and irreversible, horrific yet calculated idea?

He was full of hate because that was all he had ever learned to know all by himself in his former imprisoned state of virtual agony...and he destroyed all that was around him with it....he continued to cycle of pain, the cycle of trauma and despite him attempting to give the image of absolute perfection above the flawed humanity....I believe that AM was human too. He's so human to me...I love him so much and I don't know if me explaining why does any justice but I hope you all can understand. Somehow.

#Character Analysis #Psychological Analysis #Character Psychology #IHNMAIMS #I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream #I Think Therefore I Am #Objectum #Objectum Moment #Emotional Attachment #Artifical Intelligence #Robotics #Robots #Robot #Why Do I Do This To Myself #I Relate To Him So Much #I Love Him #I Love Him So Much #Please Oh My God #What The Fuck Is Wrong With Me #I Want To Cry #I Want To Be With Him #Hate Hate Hate #I Have Lost My Mind #Lost The Plot #My Baby My Baby You're My Baby Say It To Me #Dystopia #I Want To Hug Him #I Am So Sorry #Evil Robots #Humanity

[mediocre-eternity]

You have something autistic going on with you (lovingly) <3

I’ve seen this theory about myself roll around this website for some time now. I would be lying if I said I haven’t thought on this… though again— I think the books my coven has published have only served to bring you closer to us and not us closer to you.

I’ll explain.

To you, I am a character in a novel. And I do this, too— relate to characters in novels all of the time. I see myself in many, many people on the TV screen or movie screen. I think “they must get it.” But they are fictional characters. What you need to understand about myself and my cousins in the Blood is that you are first and foremost our prey. And though we may flirt and dance and talk with you, maybe even call you friend, your amazement by who we are is second to our natures as killers. I would not hesitate to rip the throat out of any mortal I see fit. So, I cannot be categorized in a way humans are. Whatever horrific atrocities live in my memories, whatever quirks I may have as a result cannot be conceptualized in a way a human could ever understand.

For example, I have such a mastery of the Mind Gift most humans don’t understand they are dead until I’ve done sucking from them. And even then, most die peacefully in a bed of roses, thinking perhaps they might just take a nap. Then they are gone, without any knowledge of who I was or what I was. And though I may use my real name on this website, you, reader, have no idea who I am and wouldn’t recognize me even if we were standing face to face. Do not look upon me as a human because simply, I am not.

Now, that being said. I do have self awareness. I am not a benign creature lost in their own era because I am hundreds of years old. I can understand things. I see that when other’s dissect my carefully curated novel persona, they tend to write me as a person who has many difficulties grasping what they might be going through in their own minds.

I know I’m not normal. I know I don’t share commonalities with others like me. I don’t see or experience the world they do, even though we are all damned immortals. I understand entirely that I do not speak as much as I think and as much as I’d rather just convey my thoughts to others outright. I am better at lying than most, too…

Oh and I fall into these horrible pits of non-existence where I can tune out rather large swaths of time for myself (which is what I’m trying not to go through now, for Daniel’s sake). If allowed and in good company, it can be extremely hard for me to stop talking (another reason why I’d prefer if I can just exist mind-to-mind). If something catches my imagination, I ruminate and write about it for days, months, sometimes years. I read obsessively…the same book over and over and with music too, until I remember the timing of the notes out of habit. There are episodes of shows on the television that I can recite back to front. And movies. Dune, most recently.

I have a reputation as a hyper-sexual and though I enjoy sex, sex as a tool is something I’ve perfected and there are periods of time where I can completely remove any emotion from the act and use my raw talent at seduction to get what I want. I am such a master at sex, it’s merely a routine characteristic of mine.

Those closest to me become frustrated because it’s so extremely hard for me to understand simple directions. The “packet on the glass” meme has been quoted to me many, many times. I am so well aware of the joke in this. Daniel uses it as a way to torment me when he’s trying to explain how to work something out. I would rather just explore the internet for hours…or ponder a new genre of music than understand the minutiae of tit and tat.

I’ve had to make considerable effort to drone out the horrible, torturous nuisance of modern New York City police cars. No longer is it a deafening alarm, but now a horrific rumble that makes my heart and stomach feel like they’re going to explode. It’s taken years to live comfortably with them and they’ve driven me to intense violence in the past.

“Attenzione! Pickpocket! Attenzione! Borseggiatrici!” Has been on repeat in my head for seven solid nights.

Furthermore, I am friends with many a vampire made within the last few decades. Most notably Benji, who I share many, many commonalities with including our young age in which we came into the Blood. Benji always remarks “oh I have ADHD, I’m ADHD, it’s my ADHD” and he was, truly, given a diagnosis for this before many children were, according to him. He believes this is because he was “in the foster care system” and a refugee so they wanted to give him a label as soon as they could. Whoever they are. (Again, me and Benji even share our beginnings as boys in a family of other boys. Though he had no softness from any Master to aide him).

The most interesting conversations have come from us comparing our lives to each other’s. Benji can get locked into one task or one hobby for hours on end as time passes and passes. We both need to be completely alone on our own terms…

I suppose what I mean to convey is that I’m well aware of these little labels that humans might call each other, or some medical diagnosis that might explain why my humor is off or why others are so terrified by my silence… Why it takes me several attempts to convey a mundane idea verbally or even why I clasp my hands a certain way! If a reader finds a kindred spirit in whatever idea of me that they have, then I’m overjoyed that my novelization has shown some camaraderie to you. And, learning of other’s perceptions and experiences has indeed helped myself, too.

My above warning to you, though, mysterious friend, is to not make a habit of finding commonalities with monsters. My kind feasts upon your kind nightly. In great quantities. And any malady or neurodivergence will not, and cannot, protect you from a very unlucky night.

Autism, ADHD, boarder-line, bipolar… What wonderful new ways science has advanced to help the human race.

But all I care about is your Blood.

#the vampire armand #the vampire chronicles #tvc #interview with the vampire #iwtv #queen of the damned #daniel molloy #devil’s minion #asks #anon #armand #tva #Anne rice #autism creature #I’m autistic #I hope this gives some perspective on my own experiences with being neurodivergent #I love armand so much #he’s so dear to me you have no idea #edited because some things were a little OOC IMO

[geodeminer]

So, I thought I would see if I can chat with some of y'all and possibly make myself feel a bit less weird.

I have been a whump fan since the late 90's, and it has only been in the last few years that I have discovered online communities surrounding whump, which gave me language to describe something that I didn't know how to articulate before. I learned what whump was (though I hadn't heard "whumperflies" until I got here) through fanfiction a long time ago, but I was always kinda embarrassed that I liked this so much, so I never talked about it, just quietly enjoyed it. So, since I never really have before, I thought I would see if anyone can relate to this stuff.

I have noticed that there are very specific conditions that must be met for whumperflies to show themselves in my case.

Note: As seems to be wonderfully common in this community, I am ace and neurodivergent; we do tend to gather in creative spaces. ❤️❤️❤️ I will be speaking about myself and my brain as two separate entities because... honestly, we are. I have no control over what it does, and I am frequently in a John Mulaney state of, "I also don't want me to be doing what I am doing."

1. The most annoying aspect for me is that characters that give me whumperflies are generally limited to one per series. There is one character that my brain likes to see, and it picks them without my permission. Obviously, these are not the only characters I am interested in, and a lot of the time, not even my favorite character in the series/ movie. I don't know if this is common.

2. The next one is pretty weird, in my opinion. I think some of my preferences when it comes to whump are to do with my neurodivergence. I am autistic and have ADHD, so all of my interests tend to be highly specified. One of the things that I find that gives me whumperflies is the limpness of certain aspects of a character. The weight of an arm, hand, or wrist... or how a character is draped across something or someone. Obviously unconsciousness is a large aspect of the whumps, but it can also be a character who has lost the strength or energy to move. Hands being limp in a restraint, a head tilted far to the side or to the back, or legs dangling when being picked up.

3. Context matters a lot to whether or not I get whumperflies from something. My favorite trope is a character's friends, family, or even acquaintances, seeing the whump happen. I think it is an innate desire for characters to see someone in a different light or situation than normal. A normally strong character in a situation they can't escape, or a weak character showing a strength that maybe even they didn't realize they had. The reason I think the dichotomy is the reason I enjoy this is because, while I don't get wumperflies from it, a character absolutely wrecking shop in a situation that others had no idea they could handle is also one of my favorite things.

4. There is a pretty tight limit on the intensity of the whump I enjoy. I don't like when things stray toward torture- porn (no judgment for people whose thing that is, though. Everyone has their own tastes, and these are all fictional characters). In very mild defiance of the previous point, I especially don't appreciate humiliation the way I know a lot of people do. Perhaps the character themselves might find something humiliating, but I can't handle a lot of groveling/ begging or whatever. I think there is a certain weird neatness that my autistic brain requires; not that I need a character to be all clean or whatever after/ during the whump. I dunno why my brain puts that particular limit on (maybe it's an esthetic thing?)

Doing the ND thing and analyzing the absolute shit out of my own brain, I feel like it could also be that I experience enough personally perceived humiliation in my daily life that I don't appreciate it much. (I'm sure a lot of people can relate to the forever struggle and anxiety of unregulated masking. XD I am trying to mask less, but I am 34 and just got my diagnosis last December, I don't have a lot of faith that it will get much better than it is, lol).

4. I don't really get whumperflies from anything other than videos. I think that has to do with context, where my brain needs to see the scene play out before it deigns to distribute the elusive whumperflies. (Can you tell my brain and I don't super get along? It's so stingy) Don't get me wrong, whump in gifs and writings are still my favorite things; obviously... I write whump. But no actual whumperflies from any of that.

5. I definitely appreciate animated whump more than live action whump (though, like with the non- video mediums, it is often still my favorite part of a live action show or movie). I think it is just because I don't appreciate real- life pain for anyone, and for me personally, live action stuff is just a little bit closer to that than animation.

6. As pointed out above. I am ADHD and autistic so sensory things are both my best friend and worst enemy; particularly sound. So a VA who can really get into the visceral and intense noises and screaming of whump are definitely preferred. Granted, belting is my favorite kind of singing, so I think I also just love hearing voices pushed to their limits.

7. Restraint is a big one for me, as it seems to be for a lot of people. Chains, ropes, gags, whatever. Whump is not a kink for me personally, but I still really appreciate it.

8. Mind control is another one, though I think it might be a bit more... whump adjacent. I guess it probably qualifies as emotional whump, though. I have written a few fics involving that. No whumperflies for the most part, but a type of whump I really like.

9. I like whump in moderation. Like said, the brain generally picks a single character from each show/ story/ movie, and that's the one I latch onto. But there needs to be a limit to how many situations they wind up in. I think it's because I want that contrast; a capable or strong character who is placed in a situation where that is taken away. But too much, and I lose interest. I don't really have a hard line for what is and isn't too much for one piece of media, but there is a point where my brain is like, "Oh, this again? Nah." Most media doesn't have enough whump for my tastes, but there are a few that have too much. Especially if the one being whumped excessively isn't the specific one my stubborn brain has picked out. I don't particularly like excess even to the one picked by my brain, but you get what I am saying.

Reading back through these and being annoyingly analytical as I am, it seems that there is much to do with both the subversion of control and a desire for stark contrast within and between characters when it comes to what I like within the subgenre of whump.

It's been surreal writing all of this. I never told ANYONE about this enjoyment of mine until just two years ago when I talked to my husband about it. And I only told him because I had discovered this community and been like, "People talk openly about this? I'll give that a try!"

I hope this hasn't made me sound pretentious or judgemental. I genuinely love the diversity in the type of whump that I see and that other people enjoy. It makes me feel that my weirdness is welcomed and I am in good company.

Considering all the fine print I have shared, I feel like this would make it seem like I don't actually like whump, but it genuinely is my absolute favorite thing. Or, maybe limitations like these are super common.

I have been a lover of whump since the early 2000's, and until I found this community, I really didn't have the language to articulate what it is I enjoyed so much. I've seen a lot of people asking about feelings of embarrassment when it comes to liking whump, and to be perfectly honest, that is how I have felt most of my life. But I am trying to be more accepting of myself and learn that there is nothing wrong with enjoying this kind of thing. Obviously, a lot of people do because it is a pretty essential part of most action media, lol.

I would love to hear about you guys' preferences, and if any of this resonated with you. I would love to start doing some gifs and stuff from older anime cause I am willing to bet that my love of whump comes from one of the first animes I ever watched. I have some older stuff on my shelf (I would call them classics, but I'm not sure if anyone else would lol), as well as a couple of things that I have only ever heard people here talk about once.

#whump #writing #anime #anime whump #I know I'm weird just trying to get a read on how weird

[littleorangecutie]

I'm too frail

Going to be talking about some heavy stuff related to being autistic and being too interested in a fictional character/property/etc. CW for mentions of mental health, pr0ship and SH.

I've never been one to really read fan fiction. I don't really know why, that's just how it is. But something compelled me to visit AO3. Morbid curiosity I guess. And well, let's just say my visit ended in an episode and thoughts of SH. I had a problem with SH maybe 5 years ago or so? I rarely ever get thoughts of it in the present.

I didn't end up doing anything but by visiting that site I made myself extremely upset on purpose. Like, I need to be able to step back and just stay out of places where I know nothing good is going to come of them. Or like, there may be something good but it's buried under layers upon layers of things that can cause me to relapse. Like idk it's embarrassing to me how seeing other people get off on the idea of torturing/violating my comfort character who isn't even real can cause me to go back to my darkest place. I don't consider myself a prude or a puritan or anything. Fictional violence/gore almost never fazes me even though irl if I witness even so much as a street fight with a little bit of blood, I can't stop shaking for an hour. As far proship topics go, I must avoid them at all costs as they are a detriment to my real world health.

It can feel so nice to be passionate about something. To have something that inspires you to create and get excited about and want to see if others have felt the same way about it too. But it also really hurts. That's why I need to keep myself in check.

So uh, I'm going to step back for a bit. Peace ✌️

#rox talks #text #vent

[lanaintheskydreams]

Dream Journal for Sep 16-Sep 19

I've been so off track with this that I am going to restart it tomorrow. I was out 5 days for a business road trip and then yesterday was a birthday, an herbalist class, and a dinner. AND today I have to unpack and clean up so I am going to restart it in full tomorrow!

I had many messages and an interesting part of my dream. I still have been in other "lives" in my dreams regardless of how bad and sleep deprived I've been. I am in elaborate long situations where I am interacting with alot more characters now. The soul romance period has begun again, where I will dream about a new male soul every night and we feel "romance", but no sex hahaha, which is strange. Aurora says physicality is a training wheel for the physical world, and once we can control the inner state, the physical outer shell will fall away. So I think the love that I feel in my dreams is something I can embody all of the time and it needs no social construct or expectation of a normal relationship. It is something I can exude and receive whereever I am at. Also, there was a part of my dream that was silly. I was looking at a miniature town where these tiny ghost figurines were sitting on "chairs". The girl next to me thought they looked like marshmallows so she said "they are marshmallow hopping". I didn't perceive them as marshmallows until she pointed in out so I thought it was a clever point of view and I laughed. It made me wonder whether "different parts of me" see something in my head in my waking life and points things out to me, or if that was really another astral character. If thoughts are not ours and we just "pick up on them", then where do those thoughts get born from? Whenever I hear a joke in my dream I think its hilarious and wake up laughing. I wonder if I can take credit from it because it's from a place only I have witnessed, and I think its from my own brain. Or is it really someone else, or just another side of me, and I (not the TRUE I, but my "personality" is made up of many entities).

Some other insights I had were that entertainment is desensitization trauma reprogramming. When I did EMDR I found that the eye movement helps you desensitize to your traumatic memories. Well, watching/playing entertainment does the same thing. Even though it is portrayed as "fantasy", by ingesting those horrific violent images, we (our bodies) are also desensitized to them through the guise of a fictional tv medium, and then perhaps terrible torture that has been happening to us will live in our subconscious as just "something we watched last night", instead of it being a true memory that was wiped from our brain but can never be wiped from our aura/heart/psyche.

Also that our consciousness is the most important currency in this lifetime. That is why they do EVERYTHING they can to make us distracted through vices, vanity, silly entertainment, YOLO life, upgrade in technology. Jesus Christ came here to teach us about CHRIST CONCIOUSNESS, anyone who has merely "accepted" Him or baptized themselves without living in utter moment to moment radical self responsibility and commitment to awareness and perpetual self-growth is still living a blind life. There are many vices that hurt yourselves and others, but the root vice is not knowing YOURSELF, your TRUE power. The greatest sin is to yourself as you fail to live your full potential God had gifted us while you live behind fictional veils of fear and narratives and social constructs, and thus the collective humanity for not giving YOUR TRUE SELF to the collective big painting picture of God.

We are trained to think "I can't wait to meet my future partner". We must think first "I CANT WAIT TO MEET MYSELF". There is a difference between meeting someone you can't wait to RELATE TO, share, grow, create with, and someone you want to possess, own, control for your own comfort, security, ego, satisfaction, and social construct check list (goto college, get a degree, nice house, be respected, etc). This is what ALOT of relationships are LIKE, the divorce rates reflect this.

If you are living on your correct path, there is no existential torture of purpose, every second of your life is EXHILERATING, because you are in creative control of your own life and you experience freedom and adventure each moment.

The oppress us to bring us up and divide us. How do we know that all racism hasn't been weaponized just so they can just aim us against eachother?

Also really looking at the "hunches" in my life and going deep into them and trusting them. Right now I am seeing that my meditation of the word "cup" may have been a sign, a password. Aurora kept using the word "cup" in her most recent example of synthetic and real telepathy which resides in the heart, and I feel like she is a true teacher of what I want to learn, and this has been a password for me to connect with her.

Anyways, here is the update of how bad I've been.

[angelholme]

M4M&I — Day 11 : Transition

It will not have escaped your notice that I am not the most religious of people. It is not that I have any real objection to religions, or to people of faith — as long as they are willing to leave me, and others who do not believe in their religion, alone.

And as such, I tend to approach life in more of a…….. well I don’t want to use the phrase “philosophical” because, quite honestly, I tend to hold almost every philosopher in contempt and that would mean — by extension — I would have to hold myself in contempt, and who wants to do that?

But since I can’t think of a better phrase, or a better word, it will have to do — my view on life (political views aside) does tend to be more philosophical than religious. And it cannot be denied that a fair number of my views are formed by philosophical and religious teachings from the fictional worlds created on TV.

Chief amongst these are the religious views found in Babylon 5 — a series written and created by a man named Joe Michael Strackzynski who for years was at the top of my “Holy Trinities” (until Joss Whedon blotted his copybook in quite a big way — which I realise sounds odd but I will probably explain it later).

Babylon 5 was a science fiction series, but it was so much more — the philosophy and religious aspects were really the heart of the series.

Which is where I am leading to — I mean I could write about the wonder and glory of B5 all night, but there is something else that I want to get on to.

“The war we fight is not against powers and principalities, it is against chaos and despair. Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope, the death of dreams. Against this peril we can never surrender. The future is all around us, waiting in moments of transition, to be born in moments of revelation. No one knows the shape of that future or where it will take us. We know only that it is always born...in pain.”

The character who wrote this undergoes one of the most biggest changes — the most profound transitions — in the series. From the quintessential “angry young man” who is pissed off at the world to a religious icon who is a messenger of peace, and an envoy of hope. It is typical of the way the series goes, but it is this passage in what becomes his holy book that pretty much defines him.

And it is also about the way the world works.

You hear people complaining about “virtue signalling” all the time — about people putting up filters on their twitter icons or instagram pictures, about people retweeting messages, about people just saying things to say things.

Except when you retweet a message of support, you are fighting the death of hope by adding your voice to the chorus of support. When you add a filter to your twitter icon you are fighting the death of hope by showing your support for those who need it. And so on, and so forth.

And as Walter Blythe and Abraham Bernstein both said — the voices of the living must join together to form a chorus that cannot be denied. We must each be a ray of light in the dark, until together we become a blinding light that will overcome all darkness.

So the next time you see someone whining about virtue signalling, just consider why they are whining about it, and what side the person who is whining about it might be on. And if they would be the one who is the ray of light, or the darkness.

Once again I have entirely wandered off the topic I was originally going to write about, because the “moments of transition” was going to lead to “Abide With Me”, which was going to lead to “Change and decay in all around I see” which was then going to lead to “Oh thou who changest not” which was then going to lead to my most beloved……..

But somehow I ended up writing about two fictional characters — one who died serving his country and one who was tortured to death by Space Nazis.

I really should put more thought into what I am writing before I start, but honestly — this free-thought-stream-of-consciousness thing is kind of fun.

I am fairly certain there will be another entry that will lead me down the path to my most beloved — as she is such a large part of my life (oh who am I kidding — she is my everything and even when I am writing about Walter and Abraham I am still thinking about her) she is always on my mind (which, for some reason, leads me to Velma dancing sexily on a piano, but enough of that) but for now I think I have written enough about transition.

#may myself and i #m4m&i #day 11 #transition

[lelianasbitch]

Imagine just lying in bed with Donna after waking up. Talking in soft voices about anything and everything that comes to mind. Her soft chuckles or the way she’d snuggle close. Legs tangling each other, the two of you drifting in and out of sleep. Her slow, deep breaths when she falls asleep to your hand running through her hair. When you follow suit and wake to find her smiling sleepily at you or pressing soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, and nose because she didn’t want to wake you just yet but couldn’t resist. Her voice, already so raspy, would have to be a whisper as soon as she wakes to greet you good morning.

#why isn’t she real? #why must I torture myself with these thoughts about a fictional character? #I’m sorry IRL friends you always witness these from me #donna beneviento x reader #donna beneviento/reader #donna beneviento #house beneviento

[miss-smutty]

Forbidden - Chapter 2

Summary- Jess couldn't stop thinking about the guy she'd met in the coffee shop, he was drop dead gorgeous, mature and everything she's always wanted but how would she find him again when she didn't even know his name?

Word count- 3.1K

Pairing- Prof!Chris Hemsworth x OC

Warnings- Swearing, slight smut talk

18+ only!

Disclaimer: This is an entire work of fiction/AU and has no affiliation to real life what so ever! This is a fictional story about fictional characters who happen to share names and faces with some real people.

Posted: 13th August 2021

Taglist:- @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @jjpogueprincess @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires @monet-belle

Chapter 1

The only thing was, he didn't know I was only twenty and I had no way of finding him again.

If fate did bring us back together, would he mind that I was still a student? That I couldn't even drink when we went on dates? 

Who am I kidding? Of course he would mind, he could get any woman he wanted, why would he want me?

"Morning, you feeling any better?" Ellie was awake before me as usual, she spent hours getting ready in the morning and was now sat at her desk finishing her make up.

"I suppose, can't beat myself up forever can I?" I was more the get up and go kind of girl, I could never understand why she'd take hours getting ready just to go to class but I suppose you never know who you're going to bump into.

"No you can not. Not when there's literally thousands of guys here to take your pick of." 

"Psh!" I finally pull myself out of bed after thinking about the thought of possibly bumping into my hunk again I changed my mind about making myself a little more presentable.

"What d'ya mean psh?" Ellie turns to look at you, her mascara wand in her hand and only one eye made up, she looked ridiculous. How could you take her seriously looking like that? 

"I mean I'm not interested in these childish boys anymore El, I want a man." 

"Fuck me, you spoke to the guy for two minutes and already you're acting like you've lost the love of your life." Wow, that hurt a little.

"I didn't say I was talking about him although it would be nice. I just meant I'm sick of playing all these childish games and never knowing where I stand. Don't you get sick of being the one who always falls deeper? Getting messed about and then being the one who's left hurt?" I joined her at the desk, putting on a little mascara and eyeliner. "I want a man who knows what he wants and treats me better. Don't you?"

"Well shit, when you put it like that I can't argue with you. It would be nice, hey I wonder if Mr Aussie has a brother?" She waggles her eyebrows at me, making me laugh. "I gotta go babe, what class you got?" 

"My first Comms class this morning." I did not sound excited at the prospect because I really wasn't. I'd put it off in freshman and sophomore years but thought I better get it over and done with before my senior year.

"Oh really? I didn't know you'd taken that class. I heard a load of seniors talking the other day and apparently the Professor is drop dead gorgeous. I was thinking about taking it up too just to see what all the fuss was about." 

"Well that should make the class a lot more interesting, maybe it isn't going to be as bad as I thought."

"See, every cloud and all that. See you tonight, fancy the bar?" She shouts over her shoulder as she walks towards the door.

"Sounds good, see you later."

I looked over my outfit I'd already chosen for the day, just some jeans and a plain t-shirt and realised it wouldn't do. Not when there's the prospect of a hot Professor to impress. My wardrobe desperately needed an update, especially now I was focused on finding myself a man and not one of these easily pleased college boys, that were happy with anything as long as I showed a bit of leg and tits. I settled with some tight black jeans with a black, lace-rimmed, cami body suit and a cute little cream, cropped blazer to finish it off. It made me feel confident when I checked myself out in the mirror and if I do say so myself I looked smoking hot. I checked the time on my phone, realising I was going to be late I quickly ran the curling tongs through the ends of my long blonde hair before grabbing my bag and rushing out of the door.

In the hopes of catching the eye of this new professor I'd completely forgotten about the hottie from the coffee shop, which was probably a good thing, it's not like I'm ever going to see him again. I kind of wished I would though, especially when I was looking and feeling this great but hey, on to bigger and better prospects.

I thought that being late would mean I'd be stuck with a lame choice of desk in class but luckily the back row was practically empty and I could hide in the corner of the lecture theatre. I laughed to myself when I realised that practically all the girls were occupying the front desks, obviously they'd heard the rumours too.

I pushed my hair behind my ears and fumbled in my bag for my pen and notepad, when I glanced to the door and caught the eyes of a student I hadn't seen before. I couldn't deny how attractive he was, with his bright blue eyes and floppy hair, oh and that smile. Wow! He smiled brightly at me as he made his way to the back of the class, his eyes glinting, shining like diamonds as he ignored the whispers from the girls at the front. The whole row of desks were free so when he chose the desk right next to me, my stomach fluttered.

I kept my eyes on my notepad, doodling on the front cover so as to avoid that eye contact with him again. I could see a cheeky glint in his eyes and I'd learnt from experience what that meant, trouble. I wasn't ready to get myself back into a situation like that again.

My eyes shot to the front as I heard the room erupt into wolf whistles, the girls at the front giggling and whispering to each other, I rolled my eyes at them, how embarrassing. 

Then I realised what all the fuss was about and my heart almost stopped beating, thudding against my chest at an alarming rate. How is this even possible? How the fuck could he be a professor? Surely he's not old enough. Oh fuck.

I sank lower in my chair, willing the ground to just swallow me up or maybe if I got low enough I would escape his notice. No such luck, his eyes scanned the class and when they fell on mine, his face lit up with anger? No not anger. A hunger. His eyes scanned my body, falling over my hair and down to my cleavage. I felt hot under his gaze, was I blushing? Sweating? Oh god, I've never wished for class to be over so much in my life.

My professor was the guy I'd been shamelessly flirting with in the coffee shop. I don't understand how this could be real, I know I wanted to bump into him again but this is such a cruel twist of fate. I'd never even suspected him to be a professor, he was so damn thick and muscly. The clothes he wore were so stylish and he looked way too young to be a professor. He must be so embarrassed that he'd been flirting with a student, I definitely was embarrassed that I'd been flirting with a professor.

I was so panicked, I didn't have a clue what to do in this situation. Squirming in my seat, trying to look anywhere but at the Professor but I could feel his eyes on me as he prepared for the class to start. People were still whispering amongst themselves and I risked a glance in his direction, that made me bite on to my lip to stop myself from screeching. His eyes were still on me, subtly glancing up from the pile of paper he'd just taken out of his bag, his eyebrows furrowed as he studied me. He certainly didn't look embarrassed infact he looked downright feral and the thought of it made my pussy clench, so much so I had to cross my legs under the table.

"I guess you're obsessed with this new Professor too, huh?" The guy next to me leant across his desk to whisper and fuck me if I wasn't imagining it but he was Australian too. Like have we just suddenly had a huge delivery of hot Australian guys arrive at the University? This was just downright unfair, how was I meant to cope?

"No, what makes you say that?" Why did I ask that question? Like it wasn't obvious how much I was sweating and squirming in my seat. Luckily he didn't have time to answer when my eyes were drawn back to the professor as he stood at the front of the class with his hands casually in his pockets and cleared his throat to get our attention.

If I wasn't mistaken, now he looked angry, the muscles in his neck more prominent as he glared between me and the guy next to me.

Was he angry that my attention had been taken away from him and was on another guy? Or because we were talking when we should've been paying attention?

"Now I've got your attention, we're going to use our first session to get to know each other a little better. You'll be doing quite a lot of speeches so it's best if you feel comfortable with one another. I'll start by introducing myself." That sexy accent makes me sweat even more, nevermind the fact that his eyes keep finding their way back to me. "So, I'm Professor Hemsworth and I'm originally from Melbourne in Australia." His eyes meet mine again, a knowing look in them.

"G'day mate." Some idiot from the back shouted, making everyone laugh and I couldn't help but join in a little. Professor Hemsworth smiled at the joke, his eyes creasing in the corners and his smile growing wider when he looked to me and saw me giggling.

"Yeah, very original. Alright, alight, settle down now." His voice is so commanding and authoritive, it's such a turn on. "So, I haven't been here for very long and I'm still getting used to how different things are here. The weather for one." He earned a couple of laughs from people. I couldn't keep my eyes off of him, he was so mesmerizing. The way his face animated as he spoke, his eyebrows raising and lips curling.

"I was going to ask you all to go easy on me but that's not going to happen is it?" He got a couple of head shakes and sympathetic looks from the girls. "No, I thought not. Well now it's my turn to torture you. I'll start alphabetically, stand up and tell everyone something about yourself." I swallowed back my fear, this is the reason I'd put off this class until now and as if it wasn't hard enough talking in front of a whole class I now had to do it in front of Professor Hemsworth too.

"Claire Abbott." Fuck. He'd started, at least my name would be one of the last ones.

"Hi I'm Claire." The tall blonde at the front stood up, twirling her hair around her finger and giggling like a child. I rolled my eyes at her and caught the Professor smirk in my direction. "I erm… I don't know what to say?" She looks up at the Professor questioningly.

"Just anything about yourself that we might find interesting, the first thing that comes to mind." He replied.

"Well I own four horses and I'm the cheer captain." I rolled my eyes again, scoffing quietly and Professor Hemsworth had to hold in a laugh as he looked in my direction.

"Talk about predictable." The guy next to me leaned over to whisper to me again.

"Totally." I laughed back at him and when I looked back at the Professor he was glaring straight at us again, his face set sternly.

"You two at the back, we'll wait for you shall we?" Professor Hemsworth said sternly, everyone turned around to look at us but I barely noticed, I was too focused on the way his stern voice made my cunt flutter when he called me out.

I didn't speak for the rest of the class, although I had the urge to, just to hear the way his voice sounded when he was angry. I couldn't concentrate on what the other students were saying, too focused on watching the way the Professor's face changed everytime he looked my way, which was pretty often, to my suprise.

"Jake Hudson." In my peripheral, I saw the guy next to me stand and when he did, Professor Hemsworth's eyes narrowed.

"Hi I'm Jake." He pushed his hands in to his pockets cooly, glancing at me as he did. "I'm also from Australia." He looked at the professor slyly, a smirk forming on his lips, laughing at the other students shouting G'day mate. "I was forced to move here but I'm glad I did because I've just met the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." The class burst into rounds of whistles and cheers as Jake sat down, smiling at me cockily. I could feel my cheeks blushing, I was flattered, he was absolutely gorgeous but hadn't I sworn of boys my own age?

Professor Hemsworth looked even more angry now as he loosened his tie a little, that black tie that draws my view down, like a arrow pointing straight to his cock. I tried to keep my eyes down on my desk, doodling in my notebook so I could avoid that hungry gaze, anxiously waiting for my turn. What the hell was I going to say?

"Jessica Watson." Shit. I stood slowly, trying to give myself more time to think, I couldn't stand everyone's eyes being on me especially the Professors and Jakes.

"Hey, I'm Jessica." I smiled nervously, tucking my hair behind my ear. "These last couple of days have been pretty eventful for me." I looked away from the chalk board so I could search Professor Hemsworth's face. "I'm living the life of a romance novels heroine and I'm excited to see what the next couple of days bring." I sat down keeping the gaze of the professor, I'd forgotten I was in a room full of people until I heard the ooh's and ahh's and my cheeks turned scarlet. The Professor's eyes glowed with heat as he watched me sit down before shaking his head and turning back to the class. Jake also caught my eye as I sat back at my desk, my cheeks still burning, he smiled at me, the kind of smile that crinkles your eyes. I felt kind of bad that he probably thought I was talking about him when in fact I was talking about our professor.

"I hope we all feel a bit more comfortable with each other now, some of you shared some pretty revealing things." He looked at me again. "Some of you, not so much." He raised his eyebrows at a group of guys. "I'll have a schedule for you all next time I see you, anybody that has any questions can see me after class, everyone else is free to leave." His eyes scanned me as he turned around to sit at his desk, I watched a couple of girls approach him predictably.

"Are you going to the party at our frat this weekend?" I had to reluctantly pull my eyes away from the Professor while Jake spoke, so he was a Alpha Kappa, not surprising really.

"Yeah, I think so. My roommate mentioned it."

"Oh good, I'll see you there then. Jessica." He smiled, standing from his seat.

"Jess." I corrected him. I hated being called Jessica, it was so formal.

"Well Jess, I'll see you around." He winked at me as he pulled his backpack on to his shoulder.

There were still a couple of girls taking up the Professor's attention and I wasn't sure yet whether I wanted to sneak past or wait to speak to him. I thought about it for a minute my fingertips drumming against my desk when the girls left and he was alone. As soon as the door closed, his gaze was on me and I could hear the silence in the room like a ringing in my ears. We stayed like that for a couple of seconds, staring at each other, no one saying a word until her cleared his throat. I blinked a couple of times, realising how stupid I must look before getting up from my seat and packing my things away.

"Did you need to talk Miss Watson?" I could hear amusement in his voice as he sat back on his desk casually, his arms folded across his chest.

"I erm…" I walked towards him, my legs feeling like jelly all of sudden and trying not to fall down the stairs. "I wanted to apologise, I had no idea you were a Professor." I said as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I didn't know what to do with myself but I was nervous about getting closer to him. He made the atmosphere feel tense, like if I was to reach out and touch him I would burn my fingers so I stood awkwardly at the bottom of the steps.

"There's no need to apologise Miss Watson, I also had no idea you were a student but I was hoping to bump into you again. Funny how things work out isn't it?" He cocked his eyebrow at me, still looking amused as he watched me squirm. When he said he'd been hoping to bump into me again it made me feel more confident, like I wasn't imagining the way he'd been looking at me for the last hour.

"I think fate can be rather cruel Professor Hemsworth." I smiled at him as I finally closed the distance between us, watching his eyes flare with hunger when I called him Professor.

"Oh really? Why is that Miss Watson?" His eyes narrowed, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat as I got close enough to touch him, I didn't though. I didn't dare break that boundary, not yet.

I smiled at him through my lashes, biting on to my lip. "I was hoping to bump into you again too, only now the thought of what could've happened will have to remain a fantasy." Wow! I was not expecting that, did I sound like a slut? Shit. I looked back up at him and caught him gulp, that hunger in his eyes shining, his pupils blown with lust, he loosened his tie even more and I caught a glimpse of his smooth chest and chickened out. The tension was way too much and I was about to do something I was going to regret, I could live with being a huge tease instead.

"I better get to my next class, we can't have anyone thinking I'm your favourite now can we?" I smiled to myself when I noticed the muscles in his jaw tense as he ground his teeth together. Turning to leave I looked back over my shoulder and his eyes were glued to my hips, watching them sway as I walked and I realised I had him exactly where I wanted him but was it worth the risk?

#smut #chris hemsworth #chris hemsworth fanfic #chris hemsworth smut #chris hemsworth x reader #chris hemsworth x you #chris hemsworth x oc #chris Hemsworth x ofc #chris Hemsworth series #thor series #thor smut #thor x you #chris Hemsworth #chris hemsworth fic #chris hems x you #chris hems x oc

[itsclydebitches]

One common defense I see made for Winter, due to her criticizing Ironwood for squeezing Mantle even though she was the one to first suggest martial law was "Oh he was already thinking about it. Winter merely voiced his thoughts to the group." What do you make of that?

That it’s as unpersuasive as this broader, “The group knew things were bad, but it’s okay they went along with it because they were uncomfortable” argument. Even if we were to agree that these were Ironwood’s thoughts and that Winter was merely stating his obvious perspective  — which I don’t, both because Ironwood didn’t enact martial law then and much of Volume 7 is him bending to others’ perspectives  — that doesn’t absolve Winter of suggesting it herself in a manner that conveys her approval. We can’t go, “Ironwood is bad for wanting to enact martial law, but Winter isn’t bad for suggesting they enact martial law.” 

Really, the implied defense in arguments like these is that Winter is being coerced somehow. The only way you can get “It’s okay if Character A does X, but not okay if Character B does X” is if Character A is forced into committing X through some threat, manipulation, or loss of agency. It’s why Penny is not a horrible person for attacking Klein: we understand that in hacking her, Watts and Ironwood took her agency away. It’s why Yang isn’t a horrible person for accusing Ozpin of hurting the Branwens with the bird transformation: we understand that Raven lied to her. (Even though, as I’ve discussed in the past, Yang’s situation is more complicated in that we do hold her accountable for things like, “Why did you trust Raven’s version of events at face value without ever considering that she would lie?”) Part of the assumption that Winter fits this mold is because she does fit it later. Ironwood’s office scene, wherein he very creepily pats her shoulder and discusses torturing Penny’s friends, is meant to convey a, “Holy shit, this guy has gone off the deep end and if I oppose him I might be in trouble” feeling. We understand there why Winter doesn’t just yell her disapproval: it’s not longer safe. It’s the same sort of work we see when the two nameless soldiers appear in Ironwood’s office looking terrified of him and, indeed, we see later that when someone does dare speak up (Marrow) Ironwood immediately attempts to kill them. 

The problem is that none of this work occurred in Volume 7. At no point prior to those scared soldiers, Marrow’s near execution, Winter’s office scene, etc. does the text imply that Ironwood is threatening his people. (And even the above examples are messy af because Ironwood moves from, “Winter betrayed me by releasing the prisoners I needed?? ... Guess I’ll trust her and her alone to have my back when I arrest Penny.” This stuff is not well written.) Rather, we see the exact opposite work, in that Winter goes out of her way to tell people, namely Weiss and Penny, that yes, she’s making her own decisions. She decided to join the military. She decided to become the Winter Maiden. She decided to back Ironwood’s idea to leave with Atlas. And she decided to suggest martial law. 

I’m not going to lie, the fandom’s (and, more recently, the show’s) tendency to erase women agency makes me really uncomfortable. RWBY is a show built around the power of women, particularly young women, and the fandom celebrates that intention... up until the women do something bad, foolish, or even just make a mistake. It’s not that Pyrrha foolishly went off to fight a maiden when Ozpin explicitly told her not to, it’s that Ozpin’s manipulation forced her to take that action (which in turn is built on the belief that it was manipulation to begin with: Pyrrha is incapable of deciding to be the maiden herself). It’s not that Salem planned to enact the eugenics based plan of replacing the world with her magical bloodline and, when Ozma tried to keep that from happening, she killed her children and then burned him alive, Ozma forced her to take that action by daring to leave. It’s not that Raven chose to enter a school with the intention of later killing its inhabitants, gained the trust of the headmaster, received power, entered a war, and then abandoned it to instead spend her days raiding villages that leave them decimated from grimm, Ozpin forced her to go back to that life by revealing horrifying information (don’t think too hard on how, in the next generation, withholding that same information is also bad). It’s not that Winter chose to escape her abusive upbringing by going to the military/huntsmen school next door  — rather than going elsewhere like her little sister did  — and then later chose to support the man she’d come to trust as he navigated situations with no easy solutions, it’s that Ironwood forced her to do everything the viewership doesn’t agree with, despite a lack of evidence for that and Winter’s own claims of, ‘I chose this myself.’ Winter herself becomes a part of that fandom subset when, in Volume 8, she denies having any part in this and instead puts it all on Ironwood’s shoulders. That’s a very sharp contrast to Volume 7 when she acknowledged her own agency. 

It’s a very simplistic form of “feminism” wherein there’s a Bad Man and a Good Woman and if the woman’s actions in any way seem suspect, it must be the fault of that evil, manipulative, male influence in her life. This is not only a terrible way to interpret women characters  — the best thing you can do is portray us as well-rounded and flawed as we actually are, just like any other human being  — and it’s not just a way to ironically talk over these fictional women  — it doesn’t matter what choices we saw Pyrrha make, or what Winter says about her own life, I know what’s really going on  — it’s also just a bad way of reading the text. The ability to make claims like the one you reference, anon, requires ignoring huge swaths of the story and replacing it with headcanons. Ignore what we saw Winter do, what we say her say, what we saw Ironwood choose in Volume 7, and replace it with these ideas that have no basis in the text, but that I feel very strongly about; an interpretation that I’m more comfortable with. Because people do seem to be uncomfortable with the idea of truly flawed women, not just surface stuff like, “Yeah Yang has a little bit of a temper, but she’s still #perfect.” This includes the RWBY writers. Given that girl power focus of the story, few are willing to acknowledge that maybe Ruby is seriously messing up. Maybe Salem was a victim, but is now very much the enemy. Maybe Winter supported Ironwood through the embargo, supplies, martial law, and murdering a councilman, only turning when he threatened to blow up a city. Winter is culpable in all this and that makes her a better, more well-rounded character. Ignoring that depth for a “women good, men bad” take  — especially in 2021 when we’ve adopted a more nuanced, intersectional form of feminism based on gender diversity  — isn’t something I’m personally able to understand. 

#rwby #mymetas #Anonymous

[idreamtofmanderleyagain]

Morality-Focused Frameworks Of Discussion As Acts of Control

This is a post in response to a larger conversation I’ve been having with @eshusplayground. I have a perspective that I think would be really relevant to the conversation but I also don’t want to derail the specific focus of the following posts she’s been making recently.

(Trigger Warning For Abuse Discussion and Brief Mentions of Rape)

---

So I’m in the Hellraiser fandom. More specifically, I’m a Pinhead/Kirsty shipper.

For those of you that don’t know, Pinhead is a demonic torturer from hell who’s design is inspired by the BDSM community. Characters who open a magical puzzle box have unknowingly given themselves away to his violent underworld community of eternal torment and depravity. Hellraiser is a film about romantic and sexual horror, and there’s quite a lot in there about abuse and trauma. Kirsty is a traumatized person, and in my personal opinion, very likely a CSA victim.

And I ship these two characters together.

So the subject matter of my particular fandom is extremely intense and niche and complicated to navigate, although YMMV (I have no trouble with this franchise, but I cannot really handle GOT or American Horror Story, for example). After I grew interested in Hellraiser and integrated into it’s fandom, my perspectives about the way we have conversations about villainous characters started to have a major shift.

I often see people have these intense conversations (and arguments) about where a particular character exists on a moral scale, with the subtext (or outright text) that if they tip too far one way or another, they can be rendered unworthy of their own subgroup of fans within their own fandom. People who love those characters or find them shippable are then subject to moral judgements.

So how does one apply such logic to a psychosexual torture demon?

The answer is you can’t.

The frameworks people online use to have these discussions do not make any sense when talking about my fandom. Hellraiser is a dark horror fairytale presenting disturbing, surreal images and behaviors in order to discuss complex and difficult experiences and perspectives. The monsters within it, like Pinhead, are more metaphor than anything.

Now, my follower count is too low and my fandom is too niche for me to really be on the receiving end of a lot of the cruelty that manifests online about the moral validity of the fiction I enjoy. That said, between the anti-kink TERFS and the younger folks involved in purity culture on this site, I can imagine exactly what it would look like. You know what they would look like.

“You’re an Abuse Apologist!”

“You’re an Abuse Fetishist!”

“You’re reinforcing sexism!”

“he’s an irredeemable torturer, you’re probably okay with literal real world rape lmao uwu”

“This is bad kink representation and you’re complicit in the abuse real men do to women because you like this!”

Now, setting aside the fact that the canon lore context of Pinhead involves him having a human soul brainwashed by a monster god to become what he is, and is also in a roundabout sense “redeemed” in canon, I think most people utilizing this kind of framework would assume that I believe Pinhead can be redeemed in the way online Discourse (tm) means it, because that’s how we talk in fandom about the villains we really like.

I do not want to redeem Pinhead. I don’t think he even needs redeeming. I don’t even see value in that conversation at all. Redemption is not a concept that makes sense for what he is, or what he could become as a character. The framework of Pinhead as a Real-World-Equivalent Human Male Abuser who Cannot Be Redeemed From His Actions would inevitably dominate all conversation, regardless of the fact that it is inherently incorrect and detrimental to real, robust literary analysis of the narrative he exists within and how brilliantly it actually interacts with male on female abuse as a subject. By nature of it’s gross oversimplification and misrepresentation, It ruins the potential for greater, more nuanced and complex conversations.

And that’s the thing: my engagement with this particular story and it’s characters has a lot to do with the potential in the narrative to examine how trauma interacts with love, desire and gender politics. Hellraiser has a very unique way of exploring that kind of subject through a storytelling aesthetic that appeals to me (horror/fairytale, gothic romance, etc).

This is about to get personal, so strap the fuck in.

I am the victim of gendered abuse, in that I had an emotionally abusive step father and sexism was absolutely a factor in why that manifested the way it did. I am also a second hand victim of gendered abuse, in that my biological father was a serial stalker and rapist, and other male abusers (or just self-centered family members) caused severe emotional destabilization in my childhood. I grew up viewing adult men as unstable, selfish children. My family endured a lot, and I came to resent the men in my mother’ life for not taking on the role of protector and nurturer when she needed them most. I had discovered the great lie of traditional masculinity: in the face of real crisis, grown men were not protectors. They did not hold together the domestic space. They abused or faltered and abandoned us. This was a repeated pattern among several men in different roles. I was often left picking up all the pieces, taking on roles as a child that these men could not. I had to have strength they did not.

My experience of desire for romantic intimacy with men and men in roles of stable, nurturing authority now inherently involves a jumbled emotional soup of fear, pain, and a deep longing that comes from a place of feminine vulnerability, a desire to be taken care of instead of being the caretaker.

The narrative of Hellraiser pushes a lot of buttons for me. It speaks to my own trauma experiences in a very specific way. In an effort to further that conversation, I’m trying to create a piece of art (a fic) inspired by the deeply personal feelings this film gives me.

For me, Pinhead represents the Jungian shadow masculine, a simultaneous mix of fear and desire, the potential for suffering and pleasure, and everything in between. These experiences are inherently intertwined for me. And Kirsty’s experiences mirror many of my own.

In other words, in order for me to get out of Hellraiser what I get out of Hellraiser, Pinhead has to be exactly what he is, and everything that he is. Which includes monstrosity. Which includes the potential for change. His place in the narrative must fully, truly embody this conversation I need to have with masculinity, which inherently involves painful, scary things.

Anybody demanding that I either denounce my interest in him as morally offensive because he’s a monster in the full sense of the word (and not just the aesthetic one like what is currently trending in Monster Boyfriend fandom), or force a traditional redemption arc upon him as if he were a real life human person who must repent for his real life sins, are essentially saying that I am not allowed to engage with this work of fiction in a way that is transformative for me. And that’s very unfortunate, because honestly, I think my perspective is so much more dynamic and has so much more to offer.

This is not just about basic catharsis. This is not even a power fantasy about emotionally transforming a powerful (white) dude, or “bad boy” fantasies, both standard arguments for villain stanning that feels like it has never truly represented me or the complexity of my experiences and interests. This is a full-on conversation and act of self expression I want to have through art about the experience of fear and trauma when dealing with men as a woman who desires men.

And I don’t think a person has to be traumatized in order to want to engage with this type of fiction. I want to be clear that my experience is not a justification for my interest (I do not need to justify myself), it is an example of a perspective that gets erased by the framework of these conversations.

To me, the framework of moral validity for enjoying fictional villains and monsters and whatever you please feels incredibly stifling to the complex, dynamic ideas and analysis that I want to engage in, because I, and many people I know, are consistently pressured to structure their thoughts with this framework as the only acceptable baseline of discussion. This is so ubiquitous that when people I’ve known have tried to engage in ways that diverge from that framework, the responses they get are outright confused or direct the conversation right back to the original framework they tried to avoid. Complex conversation gets steamrolled.

Somewhere in the conversation we were all having about acknowledging and discussing abuse and oppression, and acknowledging troubling patterns in media which reinforce the normalization of abuse and opression, some people decided that there was a very serious moral discussion to be had regarding the mere act of liking things which involve dark subject matter and complex, or even monstrous characters. They now argue that there are very clear cut, simple moral frameworks for A) telling stories and B) enjoying stories, and most importantly, that this moral framework is a valid justification for the social treatment and silencing of certain people.

A framework, by the way, which I think is actually not functionally a framework, because like the toxic American fundamentalist christian groups it’s thinking is structured from, it does not account for the vastly diverse moral landscape within it’s own space. There is no objectively consistent body of knowledge anybody is working from, because morals are derived from the human experience, which is inherently subjective.

Interestingly, no where does this have more of an impact than with marginalized people, and people like me, who want to express something deeper and more meaningful in the conversation about abuse and oppression than what this framework really offers us. To be honest, The more I see this kind of conversation making the rounds, the clearer it becomes that it’s a means of control and power game playing. It’s not about morality, but about how morality can be leveraged in order to silence truly diverse and nuanced perspectives and uphold people’s sense of self-comfort. It is a means of supplanting more convenient and easily digestible understandings of these highly complex subjects that require more intensive, thoughtful engagement, especially when it gets challenging. This kind of rhetoric absolves people of making room for complex and diverse experiences, and reinforces an (at face-value) easy to follow set of moral rules of how we are all allowed to think and feel.

The implication of all of this is that if we all adhere to the One True (alleged) Moral Framework of Fandom Engagement, then we will somehow come out on the other side with all the Good People having a Great Time having Squeaky Clean Fun. And I don’t think I should have to tell you at this point how stifling and disturbing the implications of that kind of mentality really are.

 Quite frankly, I think a lot of us are very tired of constantly speaking on other people’s terms.

#abuse tw #rape tw #Fandom #Hellraiser

[bigskydreaming]

That last reblog is very informative and useful in figuring out where to find certain storylines. Purely on a personal recommendation note, for anyone looking for good reads and who tends to like my take on things, my recs from that list (and not saying that others I don’t rec aren’t good, just what immediately popped into my head) would be:

Batman: The Long Halloween (yes. its a good)

Batman: Birth of the Demon (if you want to set canon on fire, as many people are wont to do, a good place to start is aggressively ignoring Morrison’s take on Damian’s birth and origin and instead treating this story as his origin and just building off the idea that Talia lied at the end which is waaaaaaaaay better and just like...go from there)

Batman: The Killing Joke (kill it with the fire. we’ve had enough of the killing joke. it can die. even alan moore hates it and he wrote it and alan moore usually loves everything he writes and hates everyone ELSE for like, liking it the wrong way, so I mean, that should tell you a lot)

Batman: The Cult (holy shit I totally forgot about this story and now am off to go reread it again myself)

I have Issues with how ADITF AND A Lonely Place of Dying play out and most popular takes on them, so like, I’m not like, recommending RECOMMENDING them, but I mean like, they are pivotal.

Batman: Knightfall, Legacy, Cataclysm and all things No Man’s Land related have some good stuff throughout all of them. Like, things I don’t like, sure, but overall, there’s a lot of good material in them. Also, a good way to get a strong sense of actual canon Tim, who is not fanon Tim, and who would probably take one look at fanon Tim and go LOL nerd, and kickflip away on his skateboard to go tell Nightwing about this AU version of himself he just met, as like, he actually likes and respects Nightwing, among other differences.

JLA Tower of Babel (its a yawn from me, lads. the source of pretty much all “Batman can beat all of the JLA because he has the greatest superpower of all: PREP TIME!!!” hot takes and I mean, yeah that’s pretty core to Batman and who he is at this point, but the story itself its just like. Eh. Could you not. Idk. Basically I just mean this is all part of an era of JLA that for the most part I actually tend to LIKE Bruce’s interactions with the rest of the team, but then there was this and it was just like. Eh. Could you not).

Bruce Wayne: Murderer? and Bruce Wayne: Fugitive (Quality reads IMO that emphasize the Detective part of the Batfranchise and contain good moments for the whole currently present Batfam, lots of great Cass and Dick stuff in particular. Idk. I havent read them in awhile but I have fond memories)

Batman: Hush (this gets a bad rep and not entirely deserved IMO. Like, its not the greatest story in the world but I like how it portrays Bruce as having flawed dynamics with a lot of his loved ones but not shying away from his role in that but also without overly vilifying him....he’s an appropriately complex character in this, is what I mean, and I also like that this is another story that emphasizes the often lost-and-forgotten Detective part of his core concept. Also, it utilizes some of my fave villains in ways that bring home how much potential certain combinations/team-ups of villains could have if they were utilized more instead of overlooked in favor of ITS TIME FOR THE JOKER AGAIN WHEEEEEEEE!)

Batman: Under the Red Hood (hahahhahaha no. like could you imagine me reccing this? LOL its not realistic. Nah, stick with the animated movie retelling. At least Bruce doesn’t slit his son’s throat in that one to save the damn clown again)

Batman: R.I.P (I reluctantly rec this not because I like it, cuz I don’t, its Morrison back on his bullshit in a most I AM THE MOST GALAXY BRAINED OF ALL THE GALAXY BRAINED AND ALSO IM A CHAOS MAGICIAN DID U KNOW THAT HUH DID YA DID YA, like, fashion. Its. A lot. The story is A Lot. I don’t say that in a complimentary way. BUT I recommend it anyway out of pure stubbornness and Dick Grayson fanboy spite, as its set like, directly before Bruce is believed dead and gets lost in time, and like, A LOT happens to Dick in that story that SHOULD BE extremely relevant and crucial to examinations of his mental and emotional state at the time of him assuming Bruce’s role in the family and as Batman, but that just like....ISN’T, and that annoys me. Also, the primary villain of this, Dr. Hurt, like.....

his grand endgame involved torturing the fuck out of Dick to hurt Bruce specifically, and pretty much the first thing that happens when Bruce DOES come back from being lost in time is Dr. Hurt pops up out of nowhere and shoots Dick in the head, like FIRST THING, like this is the absolute first thing Bruce has to deal with when coming back, and this is just like....NONEXISTENT in most fics about that era. Because lolol how can we blame Dick for everything that went wrong and make Bruce be mad at him for how Dick wronged Tim and Jason and all of Gotham probably, if we’re going by actual canon and thus dealing with the fact that Bruce is preoccupied with hovering over his just-shot-in-the-head-specifically-to-fuck-with-Bruce son’s bedside and WORRYING about him. LOLOL hashtag Fandom Willfully Erases The Majority of Dick’s Canon Traumas Not Because They Want To Set Canon On Fire - they’re usually fine with sticking to every instance of canon in which Dick does something even in the ZIP CODE of wrong - but rather because if we acknowledge Dick’s traumas then eww, he might come across as....sympathetic? No, we can’t have that. ERGO HE WAS NEVER SHOT IN THE HEAD HAHAHAH WE FIXED IT, WE FIXED CANON).

But I digress.

Battle for the Cowl (another reluctant rec because like, its dumb and its bad, but its one of those things that I’d still rather more people read than didn’t, because like it is pivotal and relevant, and it contains key plot points like oh Idk, Arkham literally blowing up as all the currently locked up inmates escape, which led to Dick having Wayne Enterprises rebuild it himself, and like, the only villains present in it when he was Batman being the villains he and Damian CAUGHT while he was Batman, which did NOT include the Joker, and thus all the hot takes about how Dick locked up Jason two doors down from his murderer like the uncaring bastard that he is, like.....instead of the reality that Dick pulled strings to have Jason put in Arkham instead of Blackgate when the POLICE ARRIVED ON SCENE AND LOCKED UP THE ANONYMOUS RED HOOD BECAUSE HE WAS CLEARLY DEFEATED AND CLEARLY A WANTED CRIMINAL AND THUS LIKE, HIS IMPRISONMENT LITERALLY HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH DICK OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT DICK DEFEATED JASON RATHER THAN LETTING HIM KILL HIM AND DAMIAN.....

like, its literal canon that Dick explains himself for having Jason put in Arkham instead of Blackgate because it allowed him to keep Jason OUT of gen pop where he had literal dozens of enemies that he, Jason, WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR PUTTING THEM IN THERE HIMSELF, and it was to keep Jason SAFE, and it WORKED as Jason’s only actual canon complaint at that time was that he was BORED. So in conclusion, AS ALWAYS, you can do what you want, but when you literally manufacture the fake fanon - and completely fail to make any effort to establish that this is NOT actual canon and that you’re not actually riffing off of an actual canon moment - that Dick callously locked his brother up a few doors down from his own murderer (the dude that Dick himself literally once beat to death because he killed Jason).....like, inquiring minds would like to know, why are you trying so hard to make Dick look like THIS MUCH of an asshole, hmm?)

Batman: The Gates of Gotham (a weird, but fun little read IMO, that delves deep into the backstory of Gotham, the Waynes, and also Dick’s ancestors the Crownes, and establishes a lot of the history revolving around all of the above, and like, it actually has Dick as Batman and being competent and respected by the rest of the family in that role, and its also one of the only times Cass and Damian interacted one on one, stuff like that)

Batman and Robin Eternal (eww no, kill it also with the fire, burn it, I hate it, uggggggh why is this series so praised, its so baaaaaaaaaaaad, its like what if literally every character involved in it is an asshole to Dick for no valid reason whatsoever.....huh, weird thought, wonder if the fact that its so praised as being so good and Dick’s so hated for weird reasons by a lot of fandom are connected....almost like.....the fiction influenced how people viewed his character....and thus....critical commentary of how the fiction was bad is....relevant....HMM I MUST PONDER THIS STRANGE AND NOVEL THOUGHT).

[thekitteninlove]

Good thing no one knows me around here or i wouldn't be posting this smutty fanfic with Amon. If i say that i like the villain most people will jump to conclusions and say that i must be as bad as him. But you know what? While i do my best to avoid people like him irl, this is just fiction. It's not like any of the horrible things he did happened in reality, so it doesn't bother me that much that he's a villain. One thing is when a fictional character does something horrible and a different thing when a real life person does the same thing. I once had a crush on Oliver too, since he's also a genius, but he kept calling me/ the MC stupid, so i disregarded him. I'd rather be tortured by Amon.

Since the intensity of his nuttiness would've killed the character i had to make him less nutty, so he's a bit OOC. I tried my best to keep the other characters in character in my previous fics, but this time i just couldn't avoid it

Characters: Amon Jabberwock

Warning: smut, whipping

Since Dalim asked me to go and get him some documents from Amon, I was now in his room, waiting for him to hand them to me. I somehow managed to become Dalim’s assistant to gather some information about my enemies and things have been going smoothly thus far. Although… gaining Amon’s trust was proving to be quite difficult. He kept eyeing me suspiciously and watching my every move whenever I was in his presence. I had to find a way to make him at least a little bit less suspicious about me, but how?

“Tell me, why are you helping me conquer the world?” He asked me all of a sudden, giving me a suspicious look like he always does.

That question took me by surprise and I started to grow tense. If i didn’t give him a good answer he’d become even more suspicious of me if that was even possible. I thought about my answer carefully and then told him “Because I agree that the world needs to be changed” I could make a really long list of all the things that were wrong with this world. Although I didn't think that Amon could change it the way I wanted it to, I didn’t say that. I valued my life. “And also because I sympathize with you. I heard from Dalim that you were treated like a monster just because your mother was from the Land of Reason. This was considered to be bad by the residents of Cradle and you had to hide all your life. I hate it when people treat another person horribly just because they’re different from them. You said that the world is unfair and want to change that, didn’t you? Well, so do i” If that didn’t make him trust me more, I wasn't sure what would make him do that.

He had a faint smile on his face, which was good. “Alright. Is that all?” he said as he began to slowly approach me.

I was wondering if he wanted me to tell him more reasons, so I decided that flattering him should make him lower his guard a bit. “I admire you. You’re a genius that accomplishes anything they set their mind on.”

My compliment had the desired effect because his smile widened a bit. “Oh, i see” He grabbed my chin and made me look into his dark amber eyes. “So it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you have feelings for me?”

Feelings for him!? i… no! That can’t be true! Why does he think that?. His question confused me and i looked up at him in puzzlement

“Don’t play innocent. I’ve seen how you’re looking at me sometimes”

Huh!? Come to think about it… i might’ve been in denial about this. But that’s because i didn’t want to accept that i had feelings for such an awful man. Out of all people, why does it have to be him!?. The way he was looking at me told me that he was sure of what he believed. Even so, i didn’t want to admit it because if i did that then i was certain that he’d use my feelings to manipulate me. I had no idea how to get out of that sticky situation, so i kept silent.

“So you won’t say anything, hm? Fine, then i’ll find a way to make you admit it”

I started to feel a surge of panic at his words. He won’t torture me, will he!? Where's Dalim when i need him?

My feelings were probably showing on my face because the next thing he did was to chuckle and say “Don’t worry, since you’re our precious informant i won’t hurt you”

I felt one of his fingers slide over my lips before he pressed his own lips against mine. I was taken by surprise, so i gasped, parting my lips a bit. He took this opportunity to slide his tongue in my mouth and i closed my eyes, enjoying the passionate kiss he was giving me. I should’ve pushed him away, but i didn’t. I wanted to put my hands in his long pale hair and draw him closer, but that’s the same as admitting that i was interested in him, so i did nothing.But even if i didn’t respond to his kiss, he kept at it, twirling his tongue in my mouth and making me feel light headed. Does he want me to say that so badly!? Suddenly, he pushed me down on his bed. When i looked up, he was on top of me, giving me a knowing smirk. “You didn’t reject that. It still means something” His long hair was cascading down on either side of me and that shorter tuft of hair on the left side of his head that looked like a floppy wolf ear was making him look so adorable.

I looked away, trying to hide the burning desire that was growing within me. Then i felt his breath on my ear as he whispered “I’ll make you say it no matter what”

Uh-oh, he was bent on making me admit that. He started to lick my neck while he was unbuttoning my shirt, which made me sigh with pleasure. I was wondering why he was behaving like that, but i was also worried that in the end i’ll have no choice but to say it. Most likely, he was just toying with me right now because if he was serious he would’ve made me admit it a long time ago.

He took off my bra and cupped one of my breasts with one hand, while the other was traveling up my thighs and under my skirt towards my sweet spot. Once his hand reached his destination he began rubbing it through my panties. I bit my lip to prevent myself from moaning at his sensual touches. If i let him know that i was enjoying it then one of the secrets i was trying to keep would be revealed. His lips moved once again to my ear, whispering “So you still won’t say it, hm? Alright then” He took off my panties and inserted two fingers in me, moving them in and out. I was gripping the sheets and trying to stifle my moans, but i felt like i was going to give in soon enough. He pulled his head away from me a bit, so now i could see his pretty face and messy hair that made him look like a wild beauty. He smiled confidently at me and said “There’s no use holding back. I know you like it”

I didn’t want to give up yet, so i didn’t say anything. Instead, i just gazed up at him. He sure was eye candy. It was such a shame that he wore his hood up almost all the time. I wished he didn’t hide all that beauty under that.

Amon gave me a smirk and said “I see you’re being stubborn. I’ll have to get serious then.” He took out his whip and moved it first around my thighs, then over my sweet spot that was wet from being sexually stimulated so much. This made my heart beat even faster in anticipation of what was to come. “If you’re a bad girl i’ll have to use this on you” he warned me in a cheery voice.

Since i wasn’t a scaredy-cat i looked up at him defiantly and said “Then go ahead and whip me, My Lord”. This seemed to take him by surprise and i felt a grin spread over my face at his reaction. I doubt that anyone has ever said that to him. His mood then seemed to improve as his smirk was back on his face. “I see you’ve got courage. Let’s see how much it’ll last” As he delivered the first strike i felt a sting on my thighs, but it wasn’t something i couldn’t bear. He was still fingering me, but now he began to use 3 fingers, which made me feel more pleasure. While he was doing those dirty things to me, he kept whipping my thighs, but he wasn’t putting much strength into it. It was almost like he was just playing with me. Each whip was sending a surge of adrenaline through my body. The pleasure was building up inside me and i couldn’t refrain from moaning anymore. “Ah~, My Lord, it feels so good”.

One look at his face and i could tell that he was enjoying it too. He giggled at my reaction and said in a joyful voice “You’ve finally surrendered. You admitted it”. He stopped whipping me and instead lowered his head to one of my breasts and licked it, which sent more waves of pleasure coursing through me. He kept moving his fingers in and out, which made me feel some delicious sensations through my body that were intensifying by the moment. This feeling finally reached a really high intensity and i gripped the sheets even tighter as i moaned loudly.

I was still trying to catch my breath, when i heard his voice and looked up. “You’ll stay by my side, won’t you? You won’t betray me, right?”He was focusing his searching gaze on me as if he was trying to figure out what i was thinking.

Do i really look that untrustworthy or is he unreasonably distrustful? I didn’t know what to tell him anymore. The things i said earlier don’t seem to have put him too much at ease.

Seeing that i wasn’t saying anything, he added “If you stay by my side no one will dare mess with you ever again”

If he told me that 10 years earlier then i would’ve jumped at the occasion. People kept picking on me because i looked weaker and i wished i could have the power to make them go away. But now i’m stronger and i think i can fend for myself now.

“When i conquer the world i’ll make you my Queen and we’ll rule together” He was now giving me a confident smile and looking as if he was certain that his offer would keep me by his side forever.

Whoa! He’s going so far as to offer the world to me!? Am i really that good at my job or… does he have another reason? Hmm… what could i say now? The offer was quite tempting. No one will ever look down on me if i become the Queen. I know i shouldn’t care that much about what other people say, but it’s like a bad habit i just can’t get out of. He made an offer that i… couldn’t refuse. “I won’t ever betray you.” I looked him straight in the eyes so that he won’t think that i’m hiding anything.

A self-satisfied smirk spread on his face. “Then now you’re mine, my wicked Queen”

#ikerev #ikemen revolution #ikerev amon #amon jabberwock #smut #fanfic #one shot #i'd understand if you want to send me to therapy #but i won't go #good thing no one knows me #i can write anything #a less nutty almond

[elizabethanism]

This piece was originally written for the Asahi Shinbun newspaper, and published in the evening edition, on 13 May, 1977. It was reproduced, with the addition of the photo of Kurosawa and Tarkovsky in Solaris pamphlet. It was also published in Nihonkai Eigasha, June 1978. It was again published in Image Forum No. 80, March special issue, 1987, under a different title: Solaris: A Nostalgy toward Nature on Great Earth. Finally, the article appeared in The Complete Akira Kurosawa, Vol 6, Iwanami Shoten Publishers, Tokyo, 1988, with the original title, Tarkovsky and Solaris. The article was translated for Nostalghia.com by their Japan correspondent Sato Kimitoshi.

"Tarkovsky and Solaris" by Akira Kurosawa

I met Tarkovsky for the first time when I attended my welcome luncheon at the Mosfilm during my first visit to Soviet Russia. He was small, thin, looked a little frail, and at the same time exceptionally intelligent, and unusually shrewd and sensitive. I thought he somehow resembled Toru Takemitsu, but I don’t know why. Then he excused himself saying, “I still have work to do,” and disappeared, and after a while I heard such a big explosion as to make all the glass windows of the dining hall tremble hard. Seeing me taken aback, the boss of the Mosfilm said with a meaningful smile: “You know another world war does not break out. Tarkovsky just launched a rocket. This work with Tarkovsky, however, has proved a Great War for me.” That was the way I knew Tarkovsky was shooting Solaris.

After the luncheon party, I visited his set for Solaris. There it was. I saw a burnt down rocket was there at the corner of the space station set. I am sorry I forgot to ask him as to how he had shot the launching of the rocket on the set. The set of the satellite base was beautifully made at a huge cost, for it was all made up of thick duralumin.

It glittered in its cold metallic silver light, and I found light rays of red, or blue or green delicately winking or waving from electric light bulbs buried in the gagues on the equipment lined up in there. And above on the ceiling of the corridor ran two duralumin rails from which hanged a small wheel of a camera which could move around freely inside the satellite base.

Tarkovsky guided me around the set, explaining to me as cheerfully as a young boy who is given a golden opportunity to show someone his favorite toybox. Bondarchuk, who came with me, asked him about the cost of the set, and left his eyes wide open when Tarkovsky answered it. The cost was so huge: about six hundred million yen as to make Bondarchuk, who directed that grand spectacle of a movie “War and Peace,” agape in wonder.

Now I came to fully realize why the boss of the Mosfilm said it was “a Great War for me.” But it takes a huge talent and effort to spend such a huge cost. Thinking “This is a tremendous task” I closely gazed at his back when he was leading me around the set in enthusiasm.

Concerning Solaris, I find many people complaining that it is too long, but I do not think so. They especially find too lengthy the description of nature in the introductory scenes, but these layers of memory of farewell to this earthly nature submerge themselves deep below the bottom of the story after the main character has been sent in a rocket into the satellite station base in the universe, and they almost torture the soul of the viewer like a kind of irresistible nostalghia toward mother earth nature, which resembles homesickness. Without the presence of beautiful nature sequences on earth as a long introduction, you could not make the audience directly conceive the sense of having-no-way-out harboured by the people “jailed” inside the satellite base.

I saw this film late at night in a preview room in Moscow for the first time, and soon I felt my heart aching in agony with a longing to returning to the earth as quickly as possible. Marvellous progress in science we have been enjoying, but where will it lead humanity after all? Sheer fearful emotion this film succeeds in conjuring up in our soul. Without it, a science fiction movie would be nothing more than a petty fancy.

These thoughts came and went while I was gazing at the screen.

Tarkovsky was together with me then. He was at the corner of the studio. When the film was over, he stood up, looking at me as if he felt timid. I said to him, “Very good. It makes me feel real fear.” Tarkovsky smiled shyly, but happily. And we toasted vodka at the restaurant in the Film Institute. Tarkovsky, who didn’t drink usually, drank a lot of vodka, and went so far as to turn off the speaker from which music had floated into the restaurant, and began to sing the theme of samurai from Seven Samurai at the top of his voice.

As if to rival him, I joined in.

For I was at that moment very happy to find myself living on Earth.

Solaris makes a viewer feel this, and even this single fact shows us that Solaris is no ordinary SF film. It truly somehow provokes pure horror in our soul. And it is under the total grip of the deep insights of Tarkovsky.

There must be many, many things still unknown to humanity in this world: the abyss of the cosmos which a man had to look into, strange visitors in the satellite base, time running in reverse, from death to life, strangely moving sense of levitation, his home which is in the mind of the main character in the satellite station is wet and soaked with water. It seems to me to be sweat and tears that in his heartbreaking agony he sqeezed out of his whole being. And what makes us shudder is the shot of the location of Akasakamitsuke, Tokyo, Japan. By a skillful use of mirrors, he turned flows of head lights and tail lamps of cars, multiplied and amplified, into a vintage image of the future city. Every shot of Solaris bears witness to the almost dazzling talents inherent in Tarkovsky.

Many people grumble that Tarkovsky’s films are difficult, but I don’t think so. His films just show how extraordinarily sensitive Tarkovsky is. He made a film titled Mirror after Solaris. Mirror deals with his cherished memories in his childhood, and many people say again it is disturbingly difficult. Yes, at a glance, it seems to have no rational development in its storytelling. But we have to remember: it is impossible that in our soul our childhood memories should arrange themselves in a static, logical sequence.

A strange train of fragments of early memory images shattered and broken can bring about the poetry in our infancy. Once you are convinced of its truthfulness, you may find Mirror the easiest film to understand. But Tarkovsky remains silent, without saying things like that at all. His very attitude makes me believe that he has wonderful potentials in his future.

There can be no bright future for those who are ready to explain everything about their own film. —Akira Kurosawa.

#Asahi Shinbun #andrei tarkovsky #akira kurosawa #Solaris #Film #Cinema #Kino #men i love #film theory

[ahiddenpath]

My Current Thoughts on Writing Fanfics

I’m so glad I’ve had this bloggity since 2012, because I can see how much my approach to writing has changed!  I wanted to touch base on where I am now, plus answer the most common questions I receive about writing fanfics beneath the cut.

Obligatory disclaimer: I’m a hobbyist writer, this is meant to be taken as opinion/reflection, not advice, different approaches work for different people, annnnd also check out my digimon fanfics (FFN and AO3).

How do I develop a regular writing habit?

I’d start by setting aside 15 minutes a day to write.  Don’t focus on word count- writing x number of words can be intimidating, but most people can sit for 15 minutes and get something down.  If you’re writing on a computer, turn off the internet and place your phone out of reach

Gradually increase the session length.

Never worry about the quality of your writing while you’re drafting.  That’s what editing and subsequent drafts are for.  I have a post on utilizing successive drafts to combat writing paralysis here, but the tl;dr is that the pressure to write a perfect story in the first draft often turns writing into an agonizing trial instead of creative play.

Your first draft is bad, period, at least compared to what it will be.  In the kindest way possible, get over it.  Your value as a writer- or as a human!- isn’t tied into your questionable first draft.  Please explore your story in the earliest stages with enthusiasm, not criticism!  You’re going to make it so much better by the time you’re finished!

How do you write so much?

See, here’s one of the biggest changes in my mindset compared to my early days as ahiddenpath.  I used to think that doing all of this writing was like... extra credit, like a stretch goal I pushed myself to achieve.  

I learned in therapy starting in 2018 that the reason I keep writing is because I have to.  I have general anxiety disorder, and my brain...  Have you seen an old-timey cartoon with a boiler?  They are drawn swollen, metal distorting with steam pressure, rivets groaning and popping free.  That’s how I feel if I don’t write.  Don’t ask me why or how, but writing is like turning a valve to release the pressure.

(Quick PSA- my therapist calls creative outlets “coping skills.”  If you feel like you have boiler brain, make time for your hobbies, no matter how tired you are.)

For me, writing is challenging play.  Although I’m often conveying messages that matter to me or exploring ideas I want to work through, and I try to make the best product I can...  I don’t take it seriously, and I don’t sweat over it.  I’m here to wander, play, and take care of myself.

So basically, I think the recipe for producing lots of writing is: regularity/habit (do it every day, even for just a little while), minimizing distractions, separating the processes of drafting and editing, turning off criticism in the early stages of drafting, and writing for yourself and your own needs.

 Do you feel embarrassed about writing fanfic?

Nope.  I write for my mental health/because it’s fun, period.  However, I also don’t tell people IRL that I write fanfic!  But I’m a private person (I don’t tell people IRL that I’m asexual, for example, and I only tell them I have anxiety if I freeze up in front of them).

Do you feel embarrassed about writing OCs/fakemon?

Hahahaha!  Look, I know there are lots of people who won’t read OCs and fakemon.  I know there are probably people who wish I would stick to more canon stuff (both in terms of OCs and my strong preference for AUs).

But I’m here to write what I want, and while it makes me happy when people read and enjoy my work...  It’s no skin off my back if they don’t.  I already fulfilled my goal of taking care of myself.

Don’t you want to get published and make money for your writing?

No, not at this time.  For everyone who has said that I have the writing skill to be published, thank you so very much.  That’s so kind, and I truly appreciate it!

But...  The United States has the enormous capitalistic attitude problem that endeavors are only worthwhile if they generate capital.  I can’t even begin to tell you how damaging this concept is- literally, I’m not equipped with the sociopolitical educational background.  

Sometimes I think I’d like to become a published novelist?  But sometimes I recall that I have a dope research gig, and I wanna play around with writing in my free time.

To be clear, I’m not saying that you shouldn’t pursue your creative career dreams!!!  And, who knows, maybe some day I’ll get tired of research and want to try swapping to the hobby/skill I’ve spent so much time refining.  Just...  Never stop doing something fun and harmless you enjoy because “it doesn’t make money.”  

I’m not gonna sit here acting like I know what the purpose of life is, but I think having fun and meeting your needs is pivotal.

Okay, so how can I support my favorite fandom content creators?

Bless you, f’real.  The easiest way is to comment on their stuff.  For meta writers, leave comments, engage, ask questions.  For fanfiction writers, leave reviews.  I have so many lovely folks who chat with me over Tumblr or discord after reading my stuff, which is so great.  But it’s hard to find those sweet messages later.  I can always click on reviews any time I need a little positive reinforcement/boost.  So, even if you’re going to talk to the writer later...  Leave that review!

If the content producer uses social media, reblog their stuff to give them more exposure.  Likes are for you, so you can find a post later.  Reblogs are for the creators, so other people can see their work.

Things like fanart, fanfic of fanfic, cosplays, and other... fan content of fan content make our year, I promise!  We love that so stinkin’ much!

Some fan content producers have a ko-fi and/or a patreon, so sometimes there are monetary ways to show appreciation.

If you’re intimated by a content producer, please remember that we are all massive dorkasauruses.  I absolutely guarantee it.

How do you have so many ideas?!

Ah, I have a Future Projects page on my blog- I don’t think pages work on mobile.

But here’s the secret: ideas are the easy part.  They are literally a dime a dozen.  Heck, there are AU generators!  Just pick characters out of a hat and use an AU generator and bam, you’re off!  And even then, you don’t need a real idea to start writing!  I launched Four Years on the thought of, “hahaha, wouldn’t it be a mess if the Chosen went to college together?!”

We’re writing fanfic; we’re here to play.  There’s no need to crush yourself with the expectation that you must write the next hit thriller plot.

In my opinion, the much better question is: how do you manage your projects such that you complete them?

So, uh, how do you manage your projects?

I’ve established that I write fanfic to play and to take care of myself, but I do want to grow as a writer along the way.  And the best way to learn how to craft narratives is to practice completing them.  If you launch stories over and over and only write roughly 1/4 to 1/3 of the way through the story...  All you’re practicing is how to start a story.

When I first started writing as ahiddenpath, I did exactly zero planning (see the Four Years reference above).  I ended up with longfics stretching as long as 400K+ words- that’s over six novels (based on the average adult fiction novel length)!!!!!  It is so daunting to work on longfics, because you feel like the ending is nowhere to be seen.

SO most of my pointers circle around always writing towards your ending, even before you start!

-Decide what you want to say with your story before you start writing.

First, “what you want to say” doesn’t have to be a big, grand theme.  It can be as big as “how the trauma of their adventures impacted them after” or as small as “I think these dorks would have a good time at laser tag.” 

I’m not talking about a detailed outline (in fact, I personally hate outlines).  Just know what your story is about and make sure what you write points to it.  If you can make the structure of your story mimic your theme, even better!  But no worries if that doesn’t work out, it’s not always possible.

-Write linearly

The best way to keep moving along in your story is just to... keep writing it in order.  This helps achieve regular updates, and prevents you from potentially “losing” material if you change your mind about the plot before reaching the bit you wrote already.  This happened to me so frequently that I stopped writing ahead of myself.  If I have an idea, I write it down, but I don’t draft future scenes.  In my experience, they often never see the light of day.

I’m told people often write the bit of the story they most want to write first?  If you have a single scene that you’re really longing to write, but you don’t know how to get there/don’t want to write the rest...  May I suggest that you... don’t write the rest?  If your scene works as a oneshot, write that oneshot!  Don’t torture yourself with a lot of writing you don’t want to do.  Most often, people end up forcing their way through 1-4 chapters, then stalling before ever reaching the Good Bit. 

A moment of silence for all of the unwritten Good Bits out there.  Now, some Enya.

If you can’t reduce Good Bit setup to a oneshot, reduce as much as possible.  I think that sometimes, people underestimate the incredible advantages of writing fanfiction?  Everyone knows your characters already, and maybe even the setting, if you keep it canon.  You can cut out the setup and dive right into what you want to do with the characters! 

-Think about the structure of your story before you start

Considering the structure of your story is a fantastic way to estimate how long it will be/ensure that there is an ending in sight from the start.  For example, in Voices, I covered a single school year in Japan, writing a diary entry for a different Chosen every day, so I knew that I would write the story for roughly a year.  After August had one chapter per Chosen, so each child could help Taichi deal with his post Adventure trauma in their own way, plus an opening and closing chapter.  My Tri story, Tri: Integrity Lens, is written and posted in installments covering each Tri movie.

It’s fine if no particular structure strikes you.  I could see forced structure turning into a gimmick, you know?  But if it naturally works out, it’s a great way to have a solid idea of how much story is ahead of you before you start, and where the story will end.  And being cognizant of how and when a story ends from chapter one yields a tighter, shorter fic, one that you’re more likely to complete.

-Consider writing in batches/sections before posting

So lately, I’ve been experimenting with how I deliver fanfic updates.  I mentioned that my Tri fic follows the Tri movies.  Each movie is covered with a few 3,000-6,000 word updates that I post every other week.  I cover an entire movie before posting any of it, and then I plan to take a break in between movies to work on either the next movie or a different fic.

AND THIS IS SO GREAT!  Having large chunks of my story written is such a fantastic way to do things!  I keep thinking of little details I can add/things I should mention and noticing inconsistencies I can fix before posting.  Giving myself a larger picture and time to mull over it by spreading out updates is making a huge difference for me.

Plus, giving yourself little breaks between installments can help keep you fresh and motivated, while leaving your audience waiting at a nice, natural stopping point.  Plus, this way they know that you haven’t just... up an vanished or dropped a story.  You’re just taking an announced break.

How do you plan stories?

I believe I mentioned hating outlines.  I personally respond best to “structured freedom.”  I focus on things like: what are my themes/what do I want to say, how will the characters grow or regress, how is this story structured or formatted, what is the overall tone and mood.  Other than that, I keep things fluid...  Which is why it’s so important for me to enforce some kind of ending point before I begin.

Basically, for me, too much planning = a boring slog where I can’t inject the moods and ideas of the day into my work without derailing meticulous plans.  Too little planning = longfic hell.  I’m guessing that everyone has to decide for themselves where they land on this continuum!  Exploration is vital.

Okay, I am out of steam for today.  If you have any other writing/fanfic questions you’d like answered, please let me know!  Here are some other resources I’ve made.

-Combating writing paralysis with successive drafts

-Dishing with an artist

-Tips for Fanfic Authors

-More Tips for Fanfic Authors

-Tips for Winning Nanowrimo

-Resources/Advice for Digimon Adventure Fanfic Writers

#writing talk #writing fanfics #writing fanfiction #writing fics