Tumgik
#I mean it's already an essay but you get my drift
avelera · 2 years
Text
David Jenkins was a playwright before he was a TV showrunner and it so clearly shows in how OFMD was designed as a stage play. Indeed, our logistical questions around how Stede managed to find his crew with just a dinghy or why distances don't matter only come up because we can see the ocean and the distances thanks to the power of CGI movie magic and wouldn't even ping our collective consciousnesses if this was all happening on a stage as the story in its bones was clearly meant to, in this essay I will...
5K notes · View notes
sadembryhours · 8 months
Text
softened touch ♡ mattheo riddle
synopsis ; [name] takes a nap in the slytherin common room and mattheo keeps them company gender neutral reader, no content warnings
Tumblr media Tumblr media
if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.
naps in the slytherin common room were routine for you. having a free period in the middle of the afternoon, right after lunch? you felt like you were blessed by some kind of angel.
pansy snickers to herself as you let out a little snore, shoving astoria lightly up the stairs. “leave ‘em be,” she says, “nothing can wake [name] now.”
blaise pauses as you turn over, eyes drifting up from his book and watching until you settle again. he’d already placed your notes where they needed to be ; no longer scattered on the table and floor. you’d been pushing yourself, he frowns, studying instead of taking care of yourself.
it’s mattheo who dares to linger the longest. he waves draco and theo away, urging them to leave without him. he was going to wake you — truly, he was — but you looked so peaceful when you weren’t scowling and glaring.
a velvet, evergreen blanket is folded over your body as you twist once more. another snort leaves your lips — mattheo grins at the sound. he crouches in front of your sleeping form before he can talk himself out of it.
delicately, mattheo brushes his pointer finger just under your eye, tracing the curve of your cheeks until he ends at the corner of your lips. your fingers tighten around the blanket as you whine, stretching lightly.
the panic doesn’t catch up to him until your eyes are gazing into his own. mattheo goes to speak but is silenced by your touch. you grab his hand — the one he’d been using to trace shapes into your cheek with — and cup your cheek with his palm.
mattheo’s breath catches in his chest as you smile.
“didn’t mean to wake you,” his whisper bounces around the room. your eyes flutter closed once more before you fight to keep them open. mattheo smiles, “go back to sleep.”
you hum, turning to place a barely-there kiss to the palm of his hand. settling again, your grip on mattheo’s hand tightens. sleepy eyes open to glare his way as he tries to leave.
mattheo grins again, wider this time as he laughs a little. “okay, i won’t leave. let me get more comfortable though, hm?”
his back is leaning against the couch you rest on, your knees pressing into the top of his shoulders. his left hand is slung behind him, intertwined with your own as you snore once again. mattheo is going over his potions essay as the common room slowly bursts to life.
you’re not woken up again until dinner. no one would come near you with a riddle glaring the way he was ; daring them to try and wake you.
3K notes · View notes
alovesongtheywrote · 3 months
Note
hiii girlie!! it’s my birthday HAHA can i please get a nightmare academia part?? thank youuu 🫶
♥ Summary: SORRY I MISSED YOUR BIRTHDAY!! iirc, i got this like. right in the middle of finals season. i am so sorry :( to compensate, i have provided a holiday update!! In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, it's the holiday season and Reid pulls a lil prank.
♥ Warnings: holidays, Wham's Last Christmas
♥ A/N: this is really just a holiday blurb im ngl. happy holiday special ig!! (also. i didn't edit this. my bad lol)
♥ Word Count: 600
Series Masterlist
♥♥♥
The winter seasons were always an interesting time to be a professor.  The campus was decorated with trees and lights.  Fliers advertised Hanukkah and Christmas gatherings.  The students were so stressed and burnt out that they moved through life with a weird sort of festive calm. 
This year, that festive calm had taken on a new feature- your students wouldn’t stop playing Wham’s Last Christmas.  
You had nothing against the song.  All things considered, you liked Wham.  You liked Last Christmas.  It just got a touch annoying when the song played on a constant loop through various shitty phone speakers.  All the time.  Every day.
You weren’t sure what caused it- what earthly force could convince a bunch of college kids to listen to that infernal song so frequently?  What could get them to set Last Christmas to their ringtones?  You were pretty sure most of them hadn’t used ringtones before December.  To put it bluntly- you were confused, tired, and suspicious.  You were also ready to scream.
So you did!
“Holy shit, if I have to hear that fucking song again, I might literally explode.”
Reid looked up at you as you burst into your shared office.  His eyes were wide, as if your pre-loaded rant about Wham’s Last Christmas had caught him off guard.  
If it had, that was honestly on him.  You were only about a week into December, and you had already complained about the thing seventy-six times and counting.  If Spencer didn’t remember that, then his special boy memory powers had clearly failed him.
“Well, you wouldn’t literally explode,” Reid corrected, clearly recovered from his shock, “That’s a common mistake.  You would actually-”
“Reid, stop it before I feed you to the ghost of George Michael.”
He held up his hands in surrender, though a smile played across his lips.  You glared at that little grin as vines of suspicion tangled with the fleshy meat of your brain.
“Did you have something to do with this?”
“Whatever do you mean, Doctor?”
“I mean,” you slammed your hands down on Reid’s desk, “Are you the reason I cannot escape that fucking song?”
He leaned back in his chair, weaving his long, slender fingers together like some fucking anime villain, “And how would I pull that off?”
“Easily.  You’re you, and it’s the perfect crime.  All it would take is the promise of extra credit, and your students would do anything.  You think I haven’t noticed that the student body suddenly loves playing Wham?  Out loud?  Without headphones?”
Spencer’s grin got bigger, “Wow.  I’m sorry that your students have been using technology in a distracting and upsetting manner.  I can’t imagine what that’s like.”
“Spencer Reid, I am going to kill you.  I’m gonna choke you out with Christmas lights.  Seriously.”
He leaned in, “Are you literally going to kill me?”
“Fuck you, Reid.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
You snorted out a laugh, “You wouldn’t survive me, pretty boy.  Now, have you seen the essays my cybercrime class wrote?  They were on my desk.”
“Here-” he said, reaching for one of the desk’s many drawers.  That ended the conversation as the topic drifted to your students and the general category of crime that involved techy-whecy bullshit.  
In the weeks that followed, the volume on Spencer’s prank was turned down.  The students played it less and less, and the campus generally hummed with other holiday themed music until the break hit.  The day after it did, a package arrived on your doorstep.
A lovely vinyl copy of Wham’s Last Christmas.  
You were gonna kill Spencer Reid.
♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife, @80katie, @ms-ks-world, @currentfications, @ilse235, @emagen, @foolishwaitersblog if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know :D
68 notes · View notes
caligvlasaqvarivm · 1 month
Note
You might’ve already got this before, and I’m asking this in genuinely good faith.
Your essay was very interesting, and convinced me of Erikar as a ship reading. I also really enjoyed your dissection of Eridan as a very honest person drawn into destructive behavior. It very much lines up with his status as a Prince of Hope! One who destroys conviction/belief through conviction/belief.
What confused me was your insistence on the hidden hand of the author. Death of the Author and all that, what’s implied in the text can be taken on its own separate from commentary but you seem to be doing an autopsy— the text implies [this] so *Hussie* must have intended for [this] and then tried to cover it up. If they genuinely thought it was a better ending, why not do it? Why the secrecy, why the feints? I think it’s a little conspiracy-brained to insist on a secret “better ending” that we don’t have author’s word or drafts on.
I’m also a little drifted on your frustration with the deaths of the trolls? You write that the theme of Homestuck— a standard coming-of-age story, a reckoning with society and the exit from youth— is undercut by the deaths of the trolls, because that means they *had* to die, in *punishment*. I disagree. Their deaths are tragic, not just.
Homestuck has a lot of methods of revival, the choice to (for the most part) perma-kill some characters (the trolls for one, and then AR, WQ, and WK) is a deliberate choice to make death mean something. If dying doesn’t mean anything, what are the narrative stakes? Murderstuck marks Gamzee as a threat, Eridan as a tragedy. The deaths there are meant. To be sad. To demonstrate that sometimes kids don’t get to grow up, that sometimes the society they live in cuts them down.
Homestuck is a sad story at times! It doesn’t need an ending where everyone gets to live to keep its coming-of-age conclusion.
I hope this made sense. I’m not trying to attack you, I’m just skeptical of some of your points. I hope you go on to do more analysis in the future!
If you want to believe that, go ahead 👍 again, arguing my points on that front would require its own entire essay, lol, so I'm not really planning to do that as the answer to an ask. The only thing I really want to say here is that while Homestuck is often sad, as you say, its underlying tone is unwaveringly hopeful right up until Game Over/the Retcon, and even kind of beyond that. If you prefer a sad story, then you can have a sad story, but it's just not a reading consistent (to me) with the entire rest of what Homestuck is.
For example, the whole narrative grapples with the debate of predestination vs. free will. Do things happen in Homestuck because they have to, or because characters are making choices? But with the introduction of John's retcon powers, it lands firmly in the "free will" side of the debate: the retcon powers outright defy the power of stable time loops - a reflection of how Breath is associated with freedom and choice. This is the optimistic option.
Another thing the narrative grapples with is the realness vs. fakeness of magic. I don't think it's hard to argue that between LE's "evil wizard" status and Godtier!Calliope's wand-induced black hole that the arrow falls firmly in the realm of magic being undeniably real. This is the optimistic option (and yet another narrative element that Eridan is extremely relevant to).
Moreover, even post-Retcon, there are elements that are kept that soften the tragedy already present in the story - for example, the concept of the Ultimate Self, and the implication that all surviving characters will eventually achieve it, takes the edge off all their doomed and dead counterparts, who won't actually be relegated to double death in the dream bubbles, since in a way, they'll live on through their alpha counterparts. It turns those sacrifices from bitter to bittersweet, and serves as a counterpoint to common takes like John being sad that he doesn't know the version of his friends that exist post-Retcon. The inclusion of it in the post-Retcon story, even with its botched delivery, says to me that Homestuck is still intended to be optimistic at its core, even with the extreme Giving Up that Hussie did.
And let's not forget how Calliope gets to come back to life, no strings attached, and that her stated purpose is only to live. Up to the end, the tone is that of HOPE, and I think there's no mistake that HOPE is supposed to be what defeats LE.
As I said in replies on that post, as an artist, I just can't imagine spending literal years, and literally a million words and thousands of images, writing something that's so thematically and tonally consistent, only to hard swerve right at the end, without extenuating circumstances.
And the thing is, there WERE extenuating circumstances, and they're fairly well-documented.
The kickstarter got funded, and while the story is muddled, we know the production of the game was extremely troubled, and Hussie was having difficulty being a project lead for that while also grappling with everything else. Everything else being, of course, an ever-increasing number of irons in the fire - more third-party artists he had to commission and manage, more merchandise he had to be on top of, bigger updates to sate the demands of the fanbase.
Which, speaking of, was infamously one of the most awful and toxic fanbases to ever exist, and one that Hussie has deliberately attempted to distance himself from since. I can't imagine the kind of daily abuse, harassment, callouts, and worse that Hussie had to endure as Homestuck's creator during the fandom's peak years. I don't blame him at all for turning against them.
Therefore, given the way the tone and themes hard swerve, the way several characters get bent entirely out of shape (you're telling me Karkat had several means before him of bringing his dead friends back and WOULDN'T SAY ANYTHING???), the way several plot threads are simply left dangling in the air, and the way some characters reach really weird and unpleasant conclusions (davepeta, gcatavrosprite), I think it's actually LESS reasonable to assume that the ending we got was the original plan. Hussie saw that to do the ending he wanted to do back in act 4, he'd need to write for a year, maybe two years more, and then looked at his mounting stress and pressure, and looked at the fanbase he'd come to hate, and just went "nope." And I can't even really blame him for it, lol. In his position I'd probably do the same.
Also, please don't mistake "the deaths are undone" for "the deaths will not have mattered" - I think there's a reason that the game over timeline characters still exist post-Retcon. Their arcs don't end with their deaths, and their failures are weights on them that must be narratively resolved - I believe that they go on to be the ones to defeat LE, although I have much less evidence to support this. It just makes narrative sense to me - the post-retcon team focuses down the Felt, various Jack Noirs, and the Condesce - the latter of which is their final boss, as the ultimate representation of the shitty society they're doing away with on their path to creating a new one.
Meanwhile, the dead and "irrelevant" versions of the characters, the ones who grappled with and were harmed the most by what LE represents - immaturity, selfishness, and cruelty - go on to band together after death, and defeat him in the bubbles, a culmination of their vengeance for the havoc he wreaked. And with him being destroyed in the bubbles by the dead and irrelevant, symbolically, he will be rendered nothing more than a bad dream for the waking, relevant, and alive.
Thus Gamzee is still an antagonist, although it becomes (Gamzee) and (Equius) who go on to form LE. Those deaths and those failures still matter, they still happen, they still have narrative weight. Even without the Game Over versions of the characters still existing and still being important, the decision to welcome antagonists like Gamzee and Eridan back into the fold is rendered more complex and more significant BECAUSE we've seen how badly they can go.
The speech originally given by post-Retcon Vriska to (Vriska) is also, to me, a weird artifact of this hypothetical original ending - as it exists within the actual comic, it's said by the wrong person to the wrong person - Vriska with her character development reset to a (Vriska) who's had her characterization destroyed in order to make the first Vriska seem more right. I think originally, it would've come from (Karkat) to Meenah, the latter of which being the one whose idea it was to fuck off with the treasure, and who caused the Beforus team's worst problems, and who has a track record of fucking off whenever she's tasked with taking responsibility. Thus, it would serve as a conclusion to Meenah and Karkat's arc, as well as Game Over Sadkat's arc specifically, would convince Vriska to go with him, and would give Meenah some narrative commeuppance, which would kickstart some sort of Beforan troll feelings jam that would rally them together to actually be useful for once in their lives/afterlives and contribute to the LE fight.
Again, if you PREFER the sad ending, I can't stop you, but the reason I'm going in on there being an "original ending" that isn't sad is because the sad ending doesn't make narrative sense. Why is the ultimate self speech coming from a combination of two characters that barely spoke? Why is it triumphant that Meenah and character-development-reset Vriska get to be the big goods in the fight with LE? Why do multiple prophecies suddenly get dropped right at the end when all other prophecies DO come true? Why does Karkat spend so long being sad his friends are dead, and also why is he deliberately set up as the Friends Troll (blood = bonds), and then suddenly not care that multiple methods exist for bringing back his friends? Why bother softening the blow of all the dead/irrelevant alternate selves if they're intended to be fully tragic? Why introduce a mechanic that would let them save whoever they want consequence-free and then not use it to do that? Why does Roxy love wizards so much and then not get to meet the wizard boy? Why is the entire rest of Homestuck so carefully crafted, so narratively satisfying, so thematically and tonally consistent, and then all of it goes to shit right at the end?
So yeah lol this is the SHORT version lol this isnt even the LONG version of this essay
38 notes · View notes
Text
Rivals With Benefits
Tumblr media
Fandom: Gotham
Ed Nygma x Fem!Academic Rival!Reader
Cw: College Au, tall reader, suggestive, no smut tho, Y/n is kinda rude. Ed is a cocky bastard, think like he already was kind a like the Riddler in high school.
Word Count: 4.1k
They had gone back and forth like this for the last week. Each time their little quips and witty comeback became more frequent, their stares more intense, Edward was starting to get the feeling that he had made a mistake. He had underestimated her and now he was paying for that assumption. Now, with every interaction came a little twinge of… worry? Excitement? He didn’t know what it was but it was becoming unbearable. Every time their eyes met, he felt this tug at his stomach, that he couldn’t ignore.
"What are you looking at Nygma?" Y/n asked looking at him coldly, making sure he wasn't cheating off of her.
He raised an eyebrow at the question. Her tone suggested annoyance, but there was still that hint of something else lingering behind her eyes. A secret that he would love to see her keep until she slipped up and told him willingly. “Nothin, thought you could use the help.” He smirked smugly in response hoping to get a rise out of her. He’d make her angry and then he’d see how far he could push her before she broke.
"We both know you're the one who needs the help Nygma," she said fixing her hair, seeing his blood boil for a second.
Her response gave him a little pause. He found his confidence taking a dip as his eyes searched her for some sign of weakness, some hint as to how to get her to lose her temper. But as his eyes drifted across her face, he could no longer deny that twinge in his belly. Every time his eyes met hers, he was reminded that there was something different about her and as each moment of uncomfortable eye contact passed by, the more he wanted to see her face again. “Is that so?” He couldn’t help it, his voice had become low, borderline a growl.
"Yes, as my essay is done and your's isn't," She said bluntly pointing to his blank paper. "Get to work." His face was a picture of cool anger as he stared her down. Her gaze was unwavering, he had to respect her for that. She wasn’t intimidated by his bluster. “Or what?” He asked just as calmly as he could manage.
"Well the essay is due tonight at, 11 so I guess you fail the assignment." Y/n had a slight smirk on her face highlighting her tired features. She looks like she lives off of coffee and spite
Ed took out a folder with an essay showing her that he had finished it. Y/n read his essay without his consent or knowledge. "And it's absolute shit," she said smiling at him condescendingly enjoying the rise she gets out of him.
“Oh, why don’t you do it better then?” He asked with a grin, knowing that the offer would strike a nerve, she would hate having to accept it. He waited for her to reply, his smirk still upon his face. This little contest was the most fun he’d had in a while, and it wasn’t for the simple fact that he was losing. His eyes had started to be drawn to her face even outside of the competition. There was this certain… attractiveness in her boldness.
Y/n gave him her essay. She watched his jaw drop from being so impressed by her work. "Jim was right, she's amazing at this." Ed muttered to himself. Y/n took a swig of her energy drink.
He looked up at her in stunned silence, he had to admit she did a far better job than he did. He could feel her eyes burning into his back and he tried to act like he wasn’t impressed by her work. “That doesn’t mean you weren’t a pain in my ass today!” His attempt at saving face was as flimsy as a wet napkin and he knew she could see right through it.
Y/n took her essay, stood up and patted his shoulder. "Bye, Nygma. Have fun with your C." She said walking out the door to the campus library.
Her casual dismissal left him seething with annoyance. The fact that she had taken her paper before he could even ask left him feeling wronged. He stared after her in rage and he swore he saw that smirk again. The audacity, after seeing him basically fail she now walks away without even showing the slightest consideration for the work he had done.
He clenched one hand into a fist as he tried to control his rage, he only succeeded in digging his fingernails into his flesh. “She doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.” He muttered to himself as he gathered his own things to leave. Ed chased after her not letting her get the last laugh.
She heard his running feet getting closer and closer to her, but she ignored it. Until he grabbed her arm and whirled her around. She tried to fight to get free but quickly realized that strength wise he was in a different league. She stared up at him, her expression one of annoyance, her cheeks were flushed with anger. “Are you fuckin' insane, let me go!” Her tone was sharp with frustration.
"Nygma, get a hold of yourself," she said even though she was as tall as him, doesn't means she's as strong. She tried to twist her arm out of his grip, but nothing she did was enough to free her from his grasp. She stared at him with disdain not fear, though she had to admit a small bit of fear did seep into her stomach as his grip tightened. “I’ve got a hold on myself.” He said with a smirk, his hand slid up her arm as he stepped closer.
"No ya' have a hold on my arm," she said angry at him. Her Brooklyn accent coming out.
He pulled her closer, their faces only just a few inches apart as his other hand crept up towards her waist. She could see the lust in his eyes and feel his breath against her face. His hand brushed against her waist ever so lightly and he leaned in, his lips hovering close to hers, but not touching. She could feel something stirring within her, a heat rising in her core. She looked in his eyes. "Ed.." This was the first time Y/n had ever called him by his first name.
Their eyes met, the tension building between them. It was that moment of truth. All or nothing, he wasn’t going to let her go so easily, not before having a taste. He leaned in a bit closer, his lips just barely touching hers, enough to feel their touch but not enough to actually kiss. He pulled back slightly and looked down at her for a moment before leaning forward again this time a bit more forceful.
She kissed him back passionately. "This is a place of learning we shouldn't be doing this here," Y/n said softly. She was right, this was a place of learning. Perhaps that was why he had been hesitant with her. His mind had been telling him it was wrong and it was, but for some reason, as he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her, the world fell away and he only had eyes for her. The passion that he felt for her was intense and he didn’t want to stop. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private.” His voice was hushed as he whispered into her ear.
"I know a place." Y/n dragged him into an abandoned classroom. "This should work."
It took him a moment to react to her pulling him into the abandoned classroom. He couldn’t help but feel some slight amount of suspicion, but whatever she had in mind he was on board. He looked around the old classroom, seeing the faded chalk markings on the wall. It looked like someone may have used the room for more than studies. “Are you sure we can’t get caught?” He asked with a smirk, not like he cared about the consequences.
"I study in here every day, and no one has found this place." Y/n said, her lips crashing against his.
He pressed her up against the wall of the abandoned classroom, the intensity of their kiss slowly growing. He let himself succumb to her kisses, his heart starting to race at just the touch of her skin. His hand reached up and cupped her jaw, running a thumb along her lips.
"God your good at this, Ed." she said, looking at him in the eyes and unbuttoning his first couple buttons of his shirt and kisses him.
He chuckled at her words, his heart seemed to be racing even more now as the intensity of their kiss grew. His mind slowly becoming foggy, the only thing in his mind now was her lips pressed against his. A moan escaped him as he felt the buttons being undone, his skin shivering in response to her touch.
"Good boy," Y/n said eating up the sounds he made. He groaned quietly as she continued, but he couldn’t help but enjoy it. Her words only heightened the experience for him, his eyes drifted shut as he felt her hand moving to his collar. He leaned into it, allowing her to have more control of the situation, he wasn’t going to complain about it.
"Needy aren't we today, Ed." She teased, leaving a hickey on his collarbone, easy to hide but they will know.
He gasped as he felt her bite down against his collarbone, he knew the mark she left would be easy to hide, but the knowledge of the mark he knew would drive him wild. Her words only made his lips spread into a smug grin as he looked down to her, her eyes seemed to shimmer as the light glimmered in them. “I’m many things… and needy isn’t one of them.” He retorted, his words sounding rather smug with a tinge of arrogance.
"Oh really now darling, I mean if you aren't needy, I could just leave right now..." she teased him, but he liked it.
A small bit of panic rose within him at the thought of her just leaving. He needed that feeling again, he wanted to revel in her kisses again. “No, please don’t.” He said, his words dripping with desperation. He had come this far, he couldn’t just let her leave. "As I thought," She walked towards him slowly.
His eyes followed her body as she approached, he couldn’t help but take in every curve it presented. She knew exactly what he was doing and it only made her smirk wider as he did so. The anticipation in his heart only grew more with each step she took towards him.
She was close enough he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face, and just like that she made her lips touch his again. His eyes drifted shut once more as she resumed her previous position. “I think you're the needy one.” He said, his voice was low and rich. "No, no, no I stand by my point you're very needy, Ed." Y/n said teasingly.
He couldn’t deny her assessment of him, but at the same time he didn’t care in the moment. His mind was clouded by her and he wanted nothing more than to feel her again. “Alright, L/n if you're not needy then why did you drag me here?” He challenged, his voice was bold, but there was no denying the heat in his words.
Y/n smiled at that statement. "Because, I wanted to and do as I please." He looked into her eyes as she spoke. She was right, she could do as she pleased and in this moment he knew exactly what she wanted. Her eyes were locked on his hand as it slid down to her waist, she was waiting to see what he would do next. “Well now.” His tone was low and husky, his eyes were filled with lust towards her. “Since I’m so needy, would you please let me kiss your neck? Would you please let me have a taste of you…” The words slipped out of his mouth and all he could feel was anticipation for her answer.
"Good boy, Yes you may" Y/n said in a sultry tone. She gave a slight moan as she felt his lip on her neck. He moaned quietly against her neck as he kissed her, he was enjoying the sweet sound of her moans. His lips pressed softly against her neck and his tongue ran along it teasingly. He bit down on it, just hard enough to feel it but not enough to draw blood, the sound of her moan only caused him to moan again.
"Well, there's no covering that one." Y/n said, wearing a v-neck sweater she couldn't hide that mark. “You’re damn right there isn’t.” His lips moved up along her neck, kissing it as he went. His body was pressed against hers, his arm around her back as he felt her body against his. He couldn’t control himself any longer, his other hand slid up along her thighs as he pushed her up against the wall of the classroom. “Is this what you wanted?” He whispered into her ear, his breath filling her ear with heat.
"It isn't what I planned but I don't mind" She said smiling, the chalk of her equations getting on her back. His lips moved up to her jaw again before he brought it down to her lips and kissed her deeply, his hand sliding up her body slowly. His teeth grazed her tongue as they kissed and he moaned passionately with each kiss. He let his hand move up to her neck again, his fingers grazing along the neckline of her sweater. “Well, if we are doing unexpected things I have a request…” He trailed off, his voice had a teasing tone with a bit of arrogance mixed in.
"Well ask darling, I'm not a mind reader." She said as he ran his fingers across the marks he left. “Well in that case darling, may I?” He gestured to her sweater. He raised his hand to it as if he was going to slide the sweater off. Her answer would most likely be an obvious yes given their current situation, but maybe she would surprise him. His eyes were on her now, waiting to see what she had to say.
"Maybe I should keep it on and tease you a little." She said, smirking at his blush at her statement. His shirt was almost completely unbuttoned and he didn't even consider wearing an undershirt today.
She must take great satisfaction in knowing that he was now getting flustered at his own actions. He scoffed, though he knew that he had been bested. “Ahh so I’ll have to beg a little, maybe give you a little performance for you to let me have what I want.” His tone was that of arrogance though he couldn’t help but smirk in the process.
"Oh you catch on quick, baby. Beg for it." Y/n said a sadistic look in her eyes. A little bit of cruelity never hurt.
“Ah so this is your game, I have to beg you huh?” He asked with a smirk. “Then I’ll do just that, on my knees just for you.” He dropped to his knees and looked up at her, his cheeks flushed with both shame and the desire that he felt towards her. “Please, I’m begging you to let me have this. Please!” He begged in a hushed voice, his tone mixed with desperation and lust. Y/n bent down and ran her hand under his jaw then forced him to look at her. "More." She liked this it felt good. Her arrogance getting to her head a bit.
She was forcing him to beg now, he felt as if he might just pass out from all the blood that was rushing to his face. He forced himself to beg even more, not wanting her to win. “Please, you have to. I need to, I’m begging you!” He whispered, he knew if she heard him begging like this it would push her to continue this longer. “Please, please, please, please!” He pleaded, trying to put on a desperate tone in his voice. She tilted her head in a questioning manner. "Please, what. What do you want to do Zeeskeit" She looked at him and his blushing face.
“Your sweater, I need to have it.” There was no mistaking his desperation now, his voice trembling slightly. This was a game to her but it was a war for him, every cell in his body wanted that sweater gone and it was up to him to convince her. He waited for her to say something, he didn’t even think about what he would do once he got the sweater off of her. The hunger he felt for her was the priority.
"And what do you want to do after?" She said, knowing that he had no plan but she was enjoying this sight way too much for her own good.
“I’ll figure that out once the sweater is gone.” He said, a smirk growing across his lips as he tried to hide his desperation in his voice. The hunger in his eyes grew as an idea came into his head. “How about I make you a deal?” His tone became more cocky and his eyes shifted around looking for a bargaining chip. Y/n considered it, she was curious about what he would say. "I'm a kind mistress, I'll hear it."
A smirk spread across his face as he saw an opportunity to make this a little interesting. “If I can guess your size, then I can have the sweater, if I’m wrong you can do anything you want to me.” He said, his tone daring her to accept his offer. He was confident that he knew her size well enough, he just wanted to spice this up some more. He was willing to make the game more risky if he had to.
"Alright, take a guess." It was a men's medium, she was almost always too tall for women's clothes.
He narrowed his eyes for a moment and did some quick math in his head. He felt as if he knew her measurements, but maybe this was just him being cocky. “Fine, let’s say a medium, I doubt it’d be anything more.” He said, there was a small bit of challenge to his tone as his smirk grew some more. "Men's or women's?" She asked.
He paused for a moment, he hadn’t considered that he would have to guess that as well. “Fine… men’s medium.” He said confidently, hoping he was right yet again.
"You're correct, I'm guessing because you're also a medium? Am I correct there." She said letting him take off the sweater, handing it to him. Now shivering from the cold air hitting her skin.
He watched as she started to pull the sweater off, his eyes were glued to the movement of the sweater, his body seemed to lean slightly towards her as well out of sheer desperation. There was a small smile on his face. “Correct, now I want a promise out of you though, if I win you do what I want.” He said, he wanted to be sure she would follow through with the terms of the game.
"Alrighty another guessing game, go ahead." She said wondering what his question would be and wondering if she'd allow it.
“What's your double major in?” He asked confidently. The air sent a chill down his spine and he felt his heart rate spike, but the thought of finally getting to see her shoulders made it all worth it. It would be nice if he could keep the sweater but he had a feeling she wasn’t going to give it up that easily. "Alright, but most people get it wrong." She said arms crossed for warmth.
He stared at her before answering, her body was perfect in his eyes. He couldn’t help but have a small smile creep across his lips. “How about… biochem.” He said, knowing that he was probably off the mark by a long shot.
"Ah not biochem, just chemistry." She said leaning against the chalk board. "I'll give you another chance, ask another."
He narrowed his eyes, not sure what to guess at this point. “Alright alright, I’ll ask you this then, how old are you?” He asked, maybe he could win this, but the answer she gave would be crucial.
"Take your guess, Ed." They were both freshman, but she was 19 and he was 18. Their birthdays were a few months apart.
He really wanted this and he was going to put his all into winning this game. He took a wild guess, he tried not to show the panic in his eyes as he threw this out into the abyss. “19.” He said, his heart starting to beat a lot quicker as he waited for her response.
"Yep, so you got my sweater what else do you want?" She says smiling. He was good at this, or really damn lucky.
As soon as the word left her lips his eyes gleamed with joy and he gave a loud shout of excitement. “Yes, yes, yes! I got it! That means I can do whatever I want, right?” He asked with a cocky smirk on his face. His eyes were locked on her now that he won, it was impossible to not notice how beautiful she was after seeing so much of her.
"Yes, darling. I will keep up my end of the deal." She said waiting for him to make his first move. He looked like a child on Rosh Hashana.
He laughed slightly, his eyes looking her up and down as he tried to decide what to do. “Well for starters, I’m not letting go of this sweater, it's mine now.” He smiled as he pulled her slightly closer, her body pressing slightly against his. He thought for a moment and let out a chuckle. “I want to keep the sweater. And, how about… this.” He leaned in and kissed her, his voice was cocky and his tone arrogant.
"I guess I'll have to wear your button up out of this classroom then. I can't go to advanced chem topless." She said and then kissing him back.
He moved his hands up and placed them onto her waist as they continued to kiss, he felt his emotions rush out for just a moment. Everything he felt towards her in that one second was the greatest feeling in the world. He pulled away slightly, a cocky smirk grew across his lips as he noticed her blush. “Oh no no, you couldn’t go topless, that would give everyone too much of a surprise.” He teased in a low tone, his eyes trailed down her body once again.
"Including your roommate." She said knowing that Jim Gordon liked her, it was obvious. Ed, Jim, Y/n, and Y/n's roommate Katya were all familiar with each other. Jim, Ed, and Katya being good friends from Gotham High School.
He looked at her with a smirk, he liked her knowing that Jim was into her. He felt a sense of rivalry towards Jim that made him that much more cocky. “Yeah, him too. Guess I will have to steal you away at your earliest convenience.” He teased, his voice was low, husky and almost growl like. He pulled away from her slightly, but his hands were still on her waist. “What about a date?” He asked, his question accompanied by a smile as he ran his hand down her thigh.
"I'll take it." Y/n's phone rang, it was Jim. She picked it up. "Y/n where are you we have that Lab today?" Y/n's eyes widened completely forgetting about it in the heat of the moment. "Right, give me 5. I was doing things for Biology, tutoring someone." Y/n lied through her teeth.
Ed heard the phone ringing and the look on her face made him smile. He knew as soon as the heat of the moment died down she would have to go, but that only made him want her that much more. He moved his head closer to her ear, his tone lowering once again. “I have to ask, did he sound suspicious of your answer?” He teased, his hand still grazing along her thigh.
"Not for a second." She said. "Give me your button down, you're keeping the sweater." Y/n said grabbing it off of him and buttoning it. She wrote down her number and gave it to Ed. "Call me. I guess we're now rivals with benefits." Y/n said leaving the classroom, and Ed looking stunned.
His eyes were glued to her figure as he thought. “Oh she’s definitely going to be one of the hottest rivals I’ve had.” he whispered to himself.
I hope y'all liked it, um if you want a part 2 just tell me.
53 notes · View notes
blizzardsuplex · 9 months
Text
“like watching art in motion” (an essay on ZSJ and wrestling)
CW: discussions of gatekeeping
I didn’t have internet for over three days, and so in my total boredom I opened up my Microsoft Word and began tinkering with a “casual essay” on my favorite wrestler, Zack Sabre Jr. But I can’t talk about Zack without talking about how I feel about and my experiences with pro wrestling as a whole, so over 3.2k words later, here we are.
(I didn’t mean it to get so long...nor, in truth, get so personal. I’ve been carrying this with me for a long time, though, so I guess it had to come out eventually. Things like that always do.)
Title from a comment I saw on Reddit about Zack in 2016. Content under the cut. Special thanks to @heartsinablender/Izzy, who encouraged me to write and eventually post this in semi-public. :)
~~~~
My absolute earliest memories of professional wrestling are of reading next to my favorite uncle while he watched early to mid-2000s era Smackdown on one of those old, boxy TVs, but my first formative memory related to it is talking to one of my classmates, an enthusiastic prowres fan in the way children can be, on the stands by the soccer field during P.E. I don’t remember how the conversation started, but eventually (as it usually did) it landed on the object of his interest.
“I watch wrestling, sometimes,” I threw out, having at that point probably paid attention to a grand total of less than an hour of WWE. His eyes grew wide, then narrowed.
“Yeah?” he said. “Name ten wrestlers.”
He’d said it in a way that felt final, like he was sure that I wouldn’t be able to answer his challenge. It lit a fire under me, and I said “The Undertaker” as quick as a slap. He was unfazed, however, and all too soon I faltered: “The Great Khali, John Cena, Triple H, Booker T…uh. The Great Khali—“
“You said him twice,” my classmate said smugly. He turned away from me, back to the soccer game.
I don’t remember what I replied to the side of his face or what I did immediately after; it didn’t matter. I’d already failed the test, and no matter how biased its giver was, the fact I’d proven him right sucked.
~~~~
This is an essay about how I feel about the professional wrestler Zack Sabre Jr. This is also, if the above hasn’t clued you in, an essay about my personal history and relationship with professional wrestling. These ideas are not only closely related but intertwined, two vines. As with anything alive, both have their periods of growth and withering, fecundity and barrenness, somewhat independent of each other but in the end—as with any ecosystem—affecting the very same, sometimes in dramatic ways.
But even the strongest vines need something to wrap around if they ever hope to reach the sun. Where did these find their base?—my very body, frail as it is compared to the kinds of people who take up the path of the wrestler. That’s the funny thing about entertainment, I’ve found: the people you watch, whether on stage or in ring or on a screen, seem like invincible titans…as long as you’re watching them. The minute you turn your eyes away, they start to wilt; when you turn your back, they wither. With enough lack of care (in every sense), anyone could tear off the leaves and stems and just leave.
I could leave. I’ve almost left. Certainly I’ve drifted away from it on occasion. But so far I’ve always come back, or maybe more precisely I’ve let those vines wind and wind and wind ‘round me again, and more often than not ZSJ—what he represents to my conception of wrestling—is to blame.
~~~~
After I had tried and failed at the task of naming ten wrestlers, I remember feeling embarrassed. Now—though for a completely different reason—I feel outright ashamed. Now, I know too intimately what eight-year-old me could only barely comprehend: why he had issued that challenge in the first place. I was a girl, and I was an unathletic twig, and I was the most bookish of nerds, and while one or even two of those traits might have been acceptable in a “real fan”…all three of those things? Never. A classic example of gatekeeping—and for a while mentally that one interaction was successful at keeping me out.
But at the time it was “just” embarrassment, and as much as I hate to admit it that feeling followed me even after I began actually watching WWE with my uncle and cousin. Dipping your toes into any new activity or hobby, especially one with the amount of layers pro wrestling does, is daunting enough without the constant fear of somehow being discovered and kicked out of that space before my time, though of course my family wouldn’t do that—or, worse, laughed at, which they might’ve. The fact that my cousin was a year younger than me but, at least at first, knew more than I did didn’t really help: she never gatekept, but how she took every chair shot and dick kick we watched in stride (it was during Christian’s feud with Randy Orton) while I was left scratching my head a bit made me feel, as with my classmate, like a poser.
Well, I didn’t want to be a poser anymore, so I went to that great well of information: the internet. Specifically, I went on TV Tropes (yeah, I know) and read the pages on professional wrestling and WWE; while I was aware that there were other promotions, especially after reading the former—I remember the promotion name Ring of Honor getting a cool! from me—I wasn’t interested in anything but the “basics” at that point. What was a heel, a face, a tweener? What did it mean when someone did a shoot on another? What even was the Attitude Era, and why did people like it so much (a question that to this day I’m not sure I can answer)?
I got those down in a reasonable amount of time. Then, something interesting began to happen: I felt compelled to keep reading more about it. I honestly don’t remember the specifics—which names, memes, and tragedies (always in a WWF/WWE context) my brain absorbed like a sponge. All I know is that, after a couple of months, I ended up quite a bit like a smark. So I did get what I wanted: no longer did I feel like a fake fan, even if it came at the cost of somewhat alienating my cousin (who was beginning to lose interest in wrestling) and my uncle.
That wasn’t the most interesting thing I got out of my wiki walking days, though. Because of my (in truth middling-depth) dive into (a very narrow slice of) the prowres ocean, 12 to 13-year-old me thought I had figured this whole professional wrestling thing out: it was bright, it was flashy, it was written like a soap opera. It was entertaining, sometimes off of sheer cringe-inducing antics and sometimes out of sheer spectacle. What counted as spectacle, meanwhile?—the flippiest of flips, dramatic kickouts, muscled people billed at two whole feet taller than me hollering at each other in the ring. It was violent (but not too much, for the sponsors’ sake) and it was slickly produced and it had the best kind of nonsensical internal logic.
Of course, that is what wrestling is…sometimes. There’s nothing wrong with that, or anything wrong with watching wrestling like that, either. My mistake as a child was putting it in a box, thinking that everything I just said was everything it could and can be. I was lukewarm on the idea of prowres presented more sport-like, didn’t know how it could be entertaining without a writer’s room’s worth of storylines. As for pro wrestling being art, or even just beautiful—those two concepts seemed so far apart that to use the word never even crossed my mind.
~~~~
So stayed my thoughts on it until, when I was maybe 13 or 14, I fell head-first into hipsterdom (in the “wanting to like things before they were cool” sense). It happened with music, it happened with video games, and it happened with wrestling. Though I still watched WWE, I began to look beyond its borders—which is to say I began paying attention to trope examples by wrestlers I wasn’t familiar with. Those entries, along with a few well-placed links to 240p YouTube videos, were how I found my first favorite wrestler…who was, of all people, Chuck Taylor (who I still love, don’t get me wrong).
But wrestling news moves fast—even faster than the editors at early 2010s TV Tropes, and especially those editors who cared about keeping an independent wrestler’s page up to date. I knew that, if I wanted to know more about Chuckie T and his Gentleman’s Club, I would have to look elsewhere.
I found two places: a wrestling forum literally just called Wrestling Forum, and a newish subreddit called /r/squaredcircle. I proceeded to lurk on both, but it was on Reddit a year or so later that I found the post that ended up being the catalyst for my wrestling fandom from that point forward—a mention that Chuck Taylor wrestled at this supposedly really cool promotion called Pro Wrestling Guerrilla during their yearly Battle of Los Angeles, and that the footage of that show was finally out.
I don’t know when I found the time to look for it. When I think back to that Saturday afternoon, navigating with no adblock to a sketchy wrestling stream archive on a desktop already considered ancient, all I remember is how curious I was when—after giving it a couple of minutes to buffer—I finally pressed play.
~~~~
The match, if you want to find it yourself, is the Friends of Low Moral Fiber (Kenny Omega, Chuck Taylor, and Zack Sabre Jr.) versus the Young Bucks and Adam Cole from BOLA 2014 Night 1. Back then, every single one of those names were established or rising players in the independent scene; now, of course, they’ve all been in multiple top-level promotions around the world. For this and several other reasons, I haven’t been able to watch that contest back before, just last year, I found it in its entirety on YouTube. The channel quickly got taken down, but not before I snagged a copy for myself; in fact, I made the effort to get it as soon as I saw it was the real deal. As someone once told me, pro wrestling is one of the most ephemeral of entertainment forms—and also I don’t have the money for both a DVD player and to ship from the US to watch it legitimately.
But I wasn’t thinking about that when I was 14 or 15 years old. At the time, the only person I really knew or cared about in that match was Chuck, and so as the introductions happened I eagerly awaited his time in the ring (even back then, I held the opinion that he was an underrated worker). Instead, his team first fielded the skinny man with the Union Jack jacket, the one who’d gotten right into the other side’s faces. Zack Sabre Jr., I recalled as everyone got into their corners. A cool name, if a little overwrought.
The bell rang. Twenty-four minutes later, I paused the video and spent hours searching that “overwrought” name everywhere, looking for more clips of him, more discussion on him—more of his wrestling.
~~~~
What can I say about Zack Sabre Jr. in the context of wrestling that probably hasn’t already been said a million times? He has an atypical build for a wrestler, especially before his recent bulk up: tall but very lean—or outright skinny if you’re feeling uncharitable. His promo style is one I have seen called “extremely British” and “hilariously unhinged” (which, considering everything happening in the UK, maybe mean the same thing). He has some pretty sick taste in indie entrance themes. And, of course, he is considered one of the best technical wrestlers in the world—maybe of all time, and certainly in this generation.
To me, though, he is (simply, encompassingly) my favorite wrestler, and upon watching that BOLA match back it isn’t necessarily because I was wowed by the smoothness of his technique (though I was) or impressed by his underrated speed (though I was) or even in awe of his flexibility (though I definitely was—and here I shout out Adam Cole for helping make Zack’s first in-ring impression such a memorable one). No; it was because, for the very first time, I realized professional wrestling wasn’t cut and dry, contained within the box I had tried to place it in.
Read what I described my younger self’s conception of prowres to be…or, if you prefer, think back to the height of PG era WWE. To my mind, wrestling was supposed to almost overwhelm, saturate the senses. Wrestling was bright, flashy, melodramatic, violent—loud.
The footage I watched that day was loud, too; even through the shitty speakers and video quality, it was clear that the Reseda faithful knew how to have a good fucking time. But whenever Zack was in the ring, it was quiet—sometimes literally, but I more mean in movement, in intent. He convinced me from the first lock up that he was absolutely focused on how he could twist his body and how he could turn his opponent’s, that he aware of and could manipulate every single joint and muscle and ligament offered to him. He convinced me that it was, at that moment, all he cared about. It was still violence, of course; all his graceful movements were in service of hurting another. But it was an elegant violence, a quiet violence.
Pro wrestling, the profession of machismo and posturing, could be quiet. Who knew? Before I saw Zack wrestle, I didn’t, and nor did I ever consider the logical question to ask after: if it could be quiet—the complete opposite of what I thought it was—what else was it? What else might it become?
Beautiful, maybe?
I didn’t know then and I don’t know now. Whether wrestling is art is a discussion I leave to people with far more time and far more knowledge of aesthetics than I do. What I do know is this: I not only put it in the wrong box, I was wrong to put it in a box. Professional wrestling is no dead thing, no solved problem—it was, and is, alive, and at its best exists as a creative medium with so many possibilities. Sure, we all have our preferences, and prowres has space for loudness, almost deafening; but it has space for the quiet as well.
~~~~
It would be one thing if ZSJ was a flash in the pan, someone who rose in the business just far enough to get a handful of PWG bookings before fizzling out. If that were the case, I suppose I could expound on the point about prowres being ephemeral, say something that would amount to “the world may have moved on from him, but I’ll never forget how he opened my eyes all those years ago”. But that would be both extremely disingenuous and, to be honest, make a worse narrative. That one match made me understand wrestling more; following Zack’s career afterwards made me love it.
A not insignificant part to this is the fact I hitched my cart to a damn good horse—if Zack was good in 2014, he got even better as the years went by. While he was always a joy to see work, once he improved at selling in particular (which I never thought he was horrible at, mind, but watching early tapes back you can tell the difference), his matches went from baseline good to great; who doesn’t enjoy watching ZSJ crumple and ragdoll around the ring these days? Yet another big reason I am genuinely grateful for his wrestling is far beyond him: ZSJ was my passport to the rest of the wrestling world. Through him, I discovered so many promotions, so many other amazing wrestlers. There was PWG, of course—tying Mike Bailey into knots in the finals of a BOLA, making Chris Hero’s finger bleed, going to war with Roderick Strong over the belt. There was him countering Will Ospreay’s top rope move into a triangle choke that one Wrestlemania weekend. It was him who put me on to European wrestling, with WxW and RevPro and everyone else. His fight with Negro Casas was the first time I’d seen a mat-based lucha match. And, of course, without him I wouldn’t have started watching New Japan, and without New Japan I would’ve never seen any of the amazing people that make up the puro and/or joshi scene.
I always, always come back to Zack himself, though, it’s true. And maybe, some might suggest, it’s at least partly out of a mix of nostalgia and novelty—he was the first wrestler I paid attention to that looked different and wrestled different from what I considered the norm. When I’m put in a hyperfocused trance by the quiet of his matches, past and present, perhaps it’s just my subconscious, somehow, paying respect to how he made that young teen feel.
My answer to that is…well, maybe a little. But ZSJ doesn’t coast by on that alone—he is continually improving, continually striving to improve, and I couldn’t be happier that he’s getting his due. And, like with professional wrestling itself, I find happiness in that match from 2014 (almost a decade ago, now!) not only out of a sense of nostalgia, or even its own sake, but because it’s proof of what Zack Sabre Jr. was and has now become.
~~~~
A trio of ZSJ-related anecdotes to round things off:
1.) When I was in late high school, I did a school project on professional wrestling. The local guy I interviewed was honestly pretty gracious, but something he said nagged at me. “Pro wrestling,” he tried to explain to me, even before I said anything about what I watched, “isn’t just like WWE.” I know, I wanted to reply. My favorite wrestler is Zack Sabre Jr. I watch mostly American indies. Why are you assuming that I don’t know that?—but it would have come across indignant, and so I held my tongue.
2.) A few months later, I wrote a post on Facebook on why I liked pro wrestling, inspired by my discovery of Barthes’ essay on it in his Mythologies. My old classmate, the one who gatekept me when we were both eight, saw it—and he not only liked it, not only commented positively on it, but even DMed me. “Who’s your favorite wrestler?” he asked me. “Zack Sabre Jr.,” I said. He then proceeded to approve, saying that he was great in the Cruiserweight Classic; he was then surprised when I said I’d been following his career for a while even before that.
3.) When my older sister and I were in the women’s section of the Tokyo Dome during Wrestle Kingdom 14 Night 1, we ended up sitting next to and chatting with an Australian lady who got into NJPW because of her boyfriend (they both really liked Ospreay). When ZSJ came down to the ring, I heard her say encouragingly to me “that’s your Zack”. I’m not sure if I’d ever say he’s mine, but that was the night, maybe even the moment, that the very beginnings of this essay were born: when I realized how much he’d influenced at least this part of my life. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to jump down fifteen rows of seats and shake his hand, tell him even a little what his performances meant to me.
But that was not the time for that; three years later I still haven’t found the time for it, living where I do. Instead, I ended up, and end up, just sitting in my chair, screaming wordlessly at the top of my lungs, and watching him wrestle.
26 notes · View notes
justabooknerdposts · 2 months
Note
Hey can i request Percy always saying can I ask a dumb question before actually asking something and Annabeth having enough and saying something Percy you are not dumb I don’t know why you have to always bring it up I love you and you’re not dumb and Percy just having self steem issues and being pessimistic but Annabeth being the best girlfriend ever
Hi! Great question and I like this idea, but I'm actually closed to prompts right now--too much going on in life to keep up with them at the moment. However, I kind of already did a scene like this in my story Study Break (follow the link if you want to read the full story), so I'm sharing that scene here!
From Study Break (posted on Fanfiction and A03):
The following Friday found them sitting on opposite ends of the couch in Percy's apartment. Annabeth's legs were tucked up under her and she was chewing on the end of a pen, trying to stay focused on her AP Government textbook, desperate to find any topic that might hold her interest long enough to write an essay about it. Percy had been sitting back with his feet on the coffee table, but now he'd set them on the ground as he hunched over his chemistry homework, nose wrinkled in concentration as he looked from his textbook to his notes and back again, occasionally muttering to himself. The noise of Sally and Paul getting ready to leave and go see a show drifted down the hall, reminding Annabeth that it was once again Friday night and maybe it would be nice to do something besides study. But she glanced at Percy, focused on his work, and decided not to interrupt him. Fighting back a sigh, Annabeth returned her attention to her own homework.
Ten minutes after his parents left, however, Percy swore and threw down his pencil. Annabeth jumped and looked at him as he dumped his chemistry stuff on the floor and cursed again. "I give up. I can't do this."
"What?"
Percy leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. "I can't freaking do this. I don't get it."
"Chemistry?" Annabeth set her own book and pen down and cautiously scooted towards him. "Percy, I can help you. I mean, balancing equations is a pain and all but—"
"It's not just chemistry. Or physics. Or pre-calculus. Or whatever other stupid classes I'm taking." Because his face was still buried in his hands, his voice was muffled as he said, "I hate studying. I'm not—I'm not a good student. And no matter how hard I try, I'm not good enough."
"Percy—"
"I got my SAT scores back again. They went down." His shoulders slumped farther. His voice was almost inaudible as he said, "I don't know why I thought college was an option for me. I really am an idiot for thinking I could do this."
"Hey." Annabeth's voice came out sharper than she intended, but she thought maybe that wasn't a bad thing. "Stop it. Percy, look at me."
When he didn't, she moved until she was right beside him, then, as gently as she could manage, moved his hands away from his face and tugged him upright, though he still wouldn't meet her eyes.
So she took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. She hated seeing the shame etched on his features, especially when she didn't think he had anything to be ashamed of. "Nobody gets to talk about my boyfriend that way. Not even my boyfriend." She kissed him, hard. "Test scores aren't everything. Neither is New Rome. I mean, I know that's what we'd talked about, but if they don't want you, then screw them. We'll figure something else out. I've been researching other places, state schools and community colleges, and there are options."
Percy swallowed. "But I don't want to hold you back from—"
She kissed him again before he could finish that sentence. "No way. You don't get to pull that guilt trip on yourself because it's not true. And you don't have to be good at school to be good enough. Percy, you're—you're one of the best people I've ever met. Plus you're really good at a lot of things. Who cares if standardized tests and homework aren't some of them?"
He lowered his eyes. "I just don't want to let you down."
Annabeth ran her thumbs along the fine, fragile bones beneath his eyes, which wouldn't meet hers. Emotion briefly choked her, but finally she said, "Percy, you have never let me down. And I'm proud of how hard you've been working. You can do this." She kissed him once more, gently this time. "I believe in you."
He nodded, but his shoulders were still slumped, his attitude defeated. An idea crossed Annabeth's mind and she decided to go with it. Standing up from the couch, she held out her hand. "Come on. We're leaving."
Percy looked up then in surprise. "What? To go where?"
"Just trust me. Do you have Riptide?"
He raised an eyebrow, then pulled the pen out of his jeans pocket. "Don't I always?"
"Good." She hauled him off the couch and to the front door, stopping to grab her drakon bone sword, and their sweatshirts, on the way. "Don't forget your key."
Keep reading here
11 notes · View notes
halogalopaghost · 11 months
Text
Blame It On The ADD Babey
read on AO3
When one has ninja for brothers, one learns very quickly that sneaking up on them is a poor choice. It's liable to lead to head injuries, black eyes, misplaced guilt, and/or revenge. Donnie knows this—he knows it well and yet, he is also a ninja, and it's simply too easy to scare Mikey. Besides, this is Donnie’s laboratory and he reserves the right to scare trespassers.
He barely gets the first syllable of an innocuous “Whatcha doin’?” out of his mouth before Mike is screeching and leaps nearly a foot off Donnie’s computer chair.
He throws himself in front of the screen, blocking it with his hands and shell. “Video games!” heresponds forcefully.
Don grabs up a metal scrap from the workbench at his elbow and uses it to rap Mikey's knuckles out of the way. He yelps, then opts to turn the monitor off altogether.
Not before Don was able to recognize the WebDoc site. Immediately, his self-satisfied smirk fell into a worried look toward his brother’s open, startled expression. Last time he had WebDoc open, he was looking for symptoms of blood poisoning and the potential for necrotic tissue. It hadn't come to that but—having WebDoc open was just never good.
“I was just doing some—light bedtime reading,” Mikey rushes, looking anywhere except at his brother. “Y’know, just uh, trying to bore myself to sleep.” He fakes an over-dramatic yawn and reaches for the power button on the CPU under the desk. “I guess it worked, I'll just—”
Donnie raps his knuckles again, getting the same quick yelp and pull back as before. “You gonna tell me what’s up, or do I have to check your search history?”
Mikey’s mouth fell open. “Whoa, you can do that—?”
“Mikey,” he says sternly. He raises the rod of scrap metal threateningly, pointing it at his brother’s throat.
He puts his two-fingered hands up on either side of his face in surrender. “Okay, okay!” His eyes drift a little, not quite meeting Don’s. “Can our brains, like, do the same stuff as a human’s?”
Donnie narrows his eyes. “Do you mean…intelligence-wise?”
He laughs. “Nah bro, I know you’re already way past that. I mean like... hormonally.”
If at all possible, he narrows his eyes even more. “Didn’t Master Splinter give you the talk already? That's kinda above my pay grade, dude.”
Were he warm-blooded, Michelangelo’s face would be the color of Raph’s bandana. “Charles E. Cheese, Donnie! Not like that !”
Donnie splutters. “Then what do you mean?”
“I dunno! Like, dopamine and stuff!”
He’s briefly caught off guard that Mikey even knows what dopamine is, but the question quickly sidetracks his brain. “Hm. Well, I haven't had much access to that kind of data. I’ve done basic blood panels on all of us, so I know we possess relatively ‘human’ blood cells, and our chemical makeup is very similar. But I've never had a chance to do CAT or MRI scans on any of us, and I haven't monitored brain waves at all…I suppose there is room for deviation as we aren't really spliced with human DNA, rather rapidly evolved to a parallel proto-humanoid form due to the ooze—”
“Is this gonna be one of those times where I ask a five word question and you deliver a five thousand word essay?” Mikey sticks a finger in his mouth, making a gagging noise. “Bo-ring.”
This time, Donnie whacks him on the bicep. It's just cathartic to his older-sibling soul. “What are you getting at, you goof?”
Mikey taps his fingers together in front of himself, appearing to think carefully on his next words. Which freaks Donatello out more than the WebDoc page, honestly, because Mikey hardly ever thinks before speaking. He hardly ever thinks before doing anything, really. Maybe he just hardly thinks.
“You ever heard of ADD?” 
Donnie’s brow rises, processing the question like a loading webpage. And wouldn't you know it—404 error, page not found. Blue screen of death. Smoking server rack. “I think” he says slowly, “I've seen it mentioned in passing. Why?”
Mikey takes a deep breath, and Donnie braces for the word onslaught.
 “Well you know how Casey and I were hanging out last week and playing video games, and I told him about that time I got distracted during one of Sensei’s lessons and almost cracked my skull open on Raph’s shell—you remember that time?—and then Casey said I remind him of this cousin he has who’s always getting into trouble because she can't pay attention and kept forgetting stuff she, like, just learned in school, and her grades were bad, and at first her parents though she just wasn't trying hard enough, but then —”
Donatello grabs Mike by either shoulder, shaking him. “Breathe, bro!”
He takes in a deep breath, plastron extending as far as it can go, then lets the pizza-breath sigh out way too close to Donnie’s face. “Anyway, I guess his cousin has ADD or whatever and he said I might too, since I always zone out and goof off. 'Cept now I think he mighta been joking cause saying it out loud sounds stupid.”
Donnie blinks, processing all that. Finally, he points to the monitor. “Mind if I—?”
Mikey shrugs.
Plopping down in his seat, Donnie turns the monitor back on and begins skimming the page. Words like inattentive and fidgety and forgetful zoom past his eyes as he scrolls, and it’s like he just walked into Mikey’s skull and flipped on a light switch; he can finally see how everything works in there.
“Don?”
“Uh-huh—uh, let me do some reading and I'll get back to you in the morning.”
“Oh. Okay. I guess I'll just—uh—see you tomorrow, bro.”
Donnie vaguely hears him shuffle out of the room and over to the living area, but he's already too engrossed in the literature for anything beyond that.
***
Three out of four brothers are halfway into breakfast when Donnie shuffles out of his lab.
“Ey, ‘bout time you joined the land of the livin’,” Raph calls, pulling out Don’s chair for him. “Get any sleep, egghead?”
He stops just short of the table and stares at it with a crazed, haunted look in his eyes.
“Donatello?” Leo asks, sitting up straighter. “What's wrong bro?”
He looks around the table at each of his brothers, finally settling on Michelangelo. “We all have it.”
Mikey looks to his siblings for help, but they just shrug. “Uhh, what do we have?”
Where he stands, Donnie’s eyes start drifting shut, and he sways on his feet. Raph automatically reaches out to stabilize his brother, rolling his eyes.
“What’dya do to him this time, Mikey?”
Mikey puts his hands up defensively. “Hey, how come you always assume it's my fault? You know what Master Splinter says about assuming—”
“Which applies to everyone but you,” Leo cuts in, a hint of a smirk in his tone.
Raph jostles his brother. “Hey, earth to egghead.”
Donatello snaps to attention. “We all have it,” he repeats ominously.
Mikey finally relents and puts down his fork. “What, The Force? I need specifics, dude.”
“ADD. You have it, I have it, Raph has it. Leo’s the only one without it and even then it's borderline —”
Oh no.
“—speaking of which, Raphie’s got oppositional defiant disorder, so that clears some things up.”
“Hey! I do not!” he protests, despite not even knowing what that is.
Donnie plops into his seat. “Leo’s got anxiety apparently.”
Mike groans. “Geez dude, how long were you on WebDoc?”
“Not WebDoc, Michelangelo,” he says very gravely. Mikey feels inclined to scoot away. “Scholarly articles, scientific studies, mommy blogs.” He looks down at his hands. “Apparently I'm self-medicating with coffee, and you’re self-medicating with soda.”
“What the shell is this nutcase on about?” Raph once again looks to Mikey and Leo follows suit, concern spelled across his brow.
“I asked him about ADD last night. Uh, attention definition disorder.”
“Deficit,” Don adds.
“What's that supposed t’mean?”
“Before bed? Come on Mikey, I thought you  knew better.” Leo sighs. 
“Uh, I appreciate the diagnosis, doc. But shouldn't you, like, sleep?”
Donatello turns a long, dead-eyed stare on Mikey, then it hardens into a glower. “Oh sure, go to sleep. If you didn't notice, I'm a little busy having an having an identity crisis and reading the entire DSM!” His volume escalates until he's shouting at the end of the sentence, throwing his arms up for good measure.
Leo looks at Mikey, stunned. “You broke him.”
“Did not!”
Raphael waves his hand in front of Don’s face, watching his bloodshot eyes and the way he’s still muttering. “Way to go chucklehead, you finally turned his brain to turtle soup. Hope you’re happy.”
Donatello has continued to have his own private chat with himself, staring vacantly at the table. “...and Leo needs more vitamin D—oh man, we all need more vitamin D. I'm getting everyone started on a magnesium and vitamin D supplement, maybe caffeine pills or something for Raph—”
“Donnie,” Leo tries.
“Some stim toys, maybe…”
“Don.”
“I wonder if I can get my hands on some adderall…imagine how powerful I'd be without distractions.”
“Dude!” Leo snaps his fingers in front of Donnie’s face, finally getting his attention. “Bro, catch me up here. What does all this mean?”
“It means,” he begins loudly, using both arms to gesture at Mikey, “that Mikey isn't stupid, his brain-mouth barrier is just infantesimally thin! And Raph isn't a rage machine for no reason, he’s rejection-sensitive!”
Raph looks at Donnie with a face that Mikey knows well; it means someone is about to get punched.
“The three of us have virtually no impulse control, it’s just not programmed into our brains. And Leo! You’re actually chronically stressed!”
“We knew that already,” Raph grumbles.
“Yes, but there's a medical explanation— treatments. You could learn to cope better with your extreme emotions. Mikey, we could help you pay more attention, sit still when you want to.”
All three brothers raise their brow at that one.
Leo breaks the silence with a snort. “And what after that, tame the wind? Stop waves from hitting the shore? C’mon, Don, even you aren't a miracle worker.”
“I resent that,” he says, eyes fluttering as he battles his own ability to stay conscious.
“Does this ‘ADD’ mention anything about avoidin’ sleep?” Raph asks snidely.
“Yes actually, apparently it isn't uncommon to enter a state of hyperfocus and completely—”
Leo stands, and the other two coherent brothers follow suit. As one, they hoist Donny up while he continues to babble and cross the lair to deposit him on the couch. Raph throws a blanket over him while Mike flicks the lamp off.
“Sleep tight,” Leo says.
“Did you know—” Donnie mumbles, eyes already closed, and they all groan. “We say ‘sleep tight’ because bed frames used to be made of—” he stops to yawn “—wood and leather straps, which were…pulled taught across the frame to hold the…the…”
Leo lets out a relieved sigh as Donnie’s mouth goes slack and his breathing evens off into sleep.
Raph looks at Mikey over their brother’s sleeping carcass. “Askin’ him before bed? Really bro, we gotta talk about your timing skills.”
He shrugs. “It's the ADD.”
42 notes · View notes
wartakes · 8 months
Text
Ukraine and the Scary New World (OLD ESSAY)
This essay was first posted on March 16th, 2022 - not long after Russia began its invasion of Ukraine and the war that continues at time of posting.
After several weeks of little sleep and much anxiety, this was my attempt at trying to make sense of what had happened so far with Ukraine, as well as trying to contextualize what it meant for the world and for war in general going forward.
(Full essay below the cut).
So. Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past month or so, you’re probably aware some events have transpired – and are still ongoing. But just for the sake of clarity, I’ll elaborate a bit on what I mean by that. On February 24th, 2022, the Russian Federation invaded Ukraine in what appears to be an attempt to topple its government, install a puppet, and drag it by force back into Russia’s “sphere of influence” as part of a blatant war of imperialism and conquest.
There. I think you’re all caught up now.
Many of you know I’ve taken an interest in the Russo-Ukrainian conflict before it boiled over into full-scale war. Hell, I’ve taken an interest in the conflict since long before this current war appeared on the horizon, or before I ever started writing here. I’ve known as I’ve watched events unfold over the past few weeks that I wanted to write something related to what’s happening in Ukraine, but I was unsure what to write – and also was exhausted just keeping up with developments on the war from day to day and feeling overwhelming anger, sadness, dread, etc.
I could just give you an update regarding the situation on the ground in Ukraine, but then I’m really just drifting more into becoming an OSINT guy and that’s not really my thing (besides, whatever I write could be out of date by the time I finally post this essay). I could go back and ruminate on why we are where we are now – and I may very well do that at some point, but I also feel like that isn’t especially useful for anyone at this moment in time. A time and place will come for more reflection on that, but right now I’m trying to think of something more useful in the lane I operate in and for moving us forward.
Instead, I think it’s time I tried to get back to the core of why I started writing these things to begin with, rather than spending too much time just being a typical, run of the mill military analyst. I needed some time to process what was happening and get a handle on it before I could even contemplate getting back to this, but now that I’ve had time to collect myself I think we need to talk about how we on the Left need to think about Ukraine and wars like it going forward – because more are coming. What is going on in Ukraine right now is a major turning point for the entire world, and quite simply put we need to adapt as these changes occur if we want to have any hope of staying relevant and fulfilling our hopes of a better world. The horrific events unfolding in Ukraine need to be an impetus to step up everything I’ve already been advocating for in these essays and other rantings and ravings online, not only if we want to be seen as a credible and believable alternative to the powers that be, but also if we are actually going to be true to any of the principles we allege that we stand for here on the Left.
I should stress going into this that I’m not writing this piece because I think our prospects on the Left are dim when it comes to this area. If anything, I’ve been pleasantly surprised in the aggregate of the response on the Left to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. But being me, I’m not one to sit on my laurels. I’m taking this opportunity to foot stomp what I’ve been saying for a while and encouraging people to keep the momentum we have gained on changing other Leftists’ views regarding international affairs, war, and related errata into something resembling what could be actual, functional policy if and when we ever actually are able to govern.
Learning to Live with Complexity
I’ll be honest: as an expanded war in Ukraine began to look more and more likely several weeks ago, I was dreading what the response on the Left – in particular, the online Left – would look like. I was bracing for a level of posting that had hitherto been unseen in human history. And, for a brief day or two after the initial invasion, I certainly did see some absolutely atomically hot takes come across my dash (it’s a miracle I still have my account with what I wanted to respond with).
That being said, I’ve actually been pleasantly surprised by what the reaction on the whole by the Left in the United States and the West has been. Even if you have legitimate grievances with the United States, NATO, and other Western governments and institutions, it’s pretty easy to see that Russia’s naked violation of Ukraine’s sovereignty and horrific violence committed against its people is inexcusable and indefensible. People seem to be calling this what it is: bad.
Of course, there have still been hold outs. Mostly, its been the usual suspects of apologism for authoritarianism like Glenn Greenwald or the Greyzone crew of Max Blumenthal and Aaron Maté, and various Marxist-Leninist political parties like the Party for Socialism and Liberation (I refuse to link to any of their material on principle but if you feel like taking psychic damage it’s out there to see). These are your typical tankies and campists who have only doubled down on their defense of Russia in the name of “anti-imperialism” (despite the fact we are watching Russia engage in a literal war of empire, even in so far as Russian President Vladimir Putin has described it in speeches leading up to the invasion – barely even attempting to conceal it). There have been others as well, who may not fit neatly into either of those bubbles but are certainly adjacent to them. These voices may not be as numerous as those who oppose Russian aggression, but they remain loud, attract attention, and retain influence.
I’ve always typically been more of the type to say that we should just ignore voices like these. To not even waste time and energy on rebutting them. To an extent, I still believe that in some cases. But I also think to an extent that we can no longer afford to simply ignore them. Not when the rest of us on the left can become lumped in with their horrible positions and they can have an actual impact on how mainstream Leftist organizations try to message on the conflict. Not when they make a mockery out of those of us who stand on the sides of actual victims of imperialism, while they champion the violence being exhibited on those victims. It’s not enough to just ignore them or only say that they are stupid and wrong (they are), but for us to be able to have a coherent response and present an alternative line of thinking for those on the left that isn’t only made up of “you are stupid and wrong.” Quite simply, we need actual policy alternatives.
This presents some uncomfortable realities to deal with for some on the left. I know that for many who still aren’t tankies or campists or whatever, there is a lot of healthy skepticism and hesitancy to advocate strongly for one position or policy or another when it comes to war and diplomacy. Events like the U.S. invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan and more still continue to color many people’s thoughts and affect their outlooks – for better and for worse. I understand that some people see the United States sending arms or other forms of military support and get an immediate, negative response at the front of their brain based on past experiences.
To that, I can only say this: I understand, but we need to learn to live with that. We need to learn to live with complexity.
By learning to live with complexity, I don’t mean that we should simply ignore all the little details when looking like wars like in Ukraine. That would simply be the approach the United States took to many regimes it supported during the Cold War and the Global War on Terror but with a new visage. A return to the reverse-campism of U.S. foreign policy where we just threw weapons and money at any dictator as long as they said they were opposed to Socialism or Communism or supported U.S. counterterrorism operations. Hell, in a few cases during the Cold War we threw money at dictators who still were authoritarian socialists just as long as they weren’t aligned to the Soviet Union– as we saw in places like Somalia, Egypt, Iraq, Yugoslavia, and more.
No, when I say we need to learn to live with complexity, I mean the opposite of ignoring all the little details for the sake of convenience. I mean instead that we should look closer at them. A complex situation should be an invitation for us to dig deeper and learn more about the context and the circumstances, not a repellent for us to either look away or to handwave the intricacies and pretend we see, hear, and say no evil.
The reason I bring this up is I often still see a lot of people working hard to bring up reasons to not support Ukraine. There’s a whole variety of them: not wanting to support the United States; not wanting to support NATO; being wary of the U.S. and NATO causing escalation; not wanting to contributed to violence and war; being (understandably) concerned about Ukrainian far-right nationalism and outright Nazism; etc. etc. The list goes on.
All of these things I can understand and accept to a point. The problem for me is, there is no critical look at the circumstances of the conflict and the reasons for being wary beyond the initial appraisal of what’s going on. There’s no further investigation to what lies below the surface. There is no examination of how widespread the political powerbase of the far-right even is in Ukraine (like the fact that Ukraine’s far-right – even after conflict first started with Russia back in 2014 – have fared horribly in Ukraine’s elections). There’s no interrogation of what alternatives Ukraine has to war that aren’t simply just giving Russia everything it wants and giving up their freedom in the process. There’s no asking of “ok, if Ukraine shouldn’t get weapons from the West, who the fuck else is going to give them arms to defend themselves against Russia?” There are constant knee-jerk reactions based purely on appearances and first-looks based only on the broadest of ideological assumptions that are probed no further. We need to be able to look at a situation in greater depth before we reach judgements and decide upon action – or inaction. Otherwise, we will accomplish nothing of any help worldwide.
Recontextualizing “Critical Support”
When my leftward bent first intensified, I often heard a lot of people throw around the phrase “critical support.” It feels like something I don’t actually see much of anymore, or when I do it feels like it gets thrown around more as a meme than anything else. I think my ultimate point in this essay is we need to reclaim and recontextualize that saying, because quite frankly: you’re never going to find a conflict where you will be able to uncritically support a side – even if they are solidly the one in the right. There will always be baggage, big or small. No one is perfect. No one is blameless. No one is without sin. That’s reality. That’s the world we live in. And yet too many people seem to think that is the case and create a gold standard of the “perfect” recipient of our support that is impossible to meet.
Again: that is not an excuse for us to look the other way at states or groups or whoever we support against aggression when they do wrong – whether it’s one glaring transgression or a number of smaller ones that reach critical mass. But it’s important to keep in mind that more often than not it’s going to be the latter rather than the former. IT’s not going to be big, glaring failings that we can all turn towards and say, “that’s unacceptable”. It’s all the small things. All the little details that someone will bring up in a Twitter post and point to and say “I told you so” about and say that one instance alone is enough to merit the end of any and all support. While big bold red lines for our support do and should exist, those lines are few and far between. Everything else is fuzzier, blurrier, less distinct. If we make everything a red line, we end up doing nothing. We end up retreating into isolationism and ethno-centrism and exceptionalism much in the same way many on the far-right do (yet more evidence in favor of Horseshoe Theory and Red-Brownism). We need to accept that there is no perfect side in a war, while ruminating on how many transgressions we should put up with before it’s a bridge too far. It’s a process.
We need to be able to look at a war or conflict and the parties involved and take in the big picture. We need to take in the circumstances and context, as well as the positive and negative aspects of the players – big and small. We also need to think about them both in the short and long term, think about what potential consequences there may be and how they could possibly be mitigated over time if action is taken. Really, we just need to actually think about this stuff more in general. Just fucking think. Use our brains. Not just see one thing and then immediately make up our minds and proceed to double, triple, quadruple down on our judgement no matter what else we see out of confirmation bias.
We shouldn’t become involved in every war, every conflict, every battle around the world. Not only is that not right, but it’s also not sustainable or doable – as recent experiences have shown. But as I’ve said before, there are wars that are wars of necessity, wars of survival for their people. I’ve grown to dislike the term “just” war, as I think it’s about as useful as the term “good” war (in that it isn’t). There are no “good” wars as all war is bad – but something we are cursed with. There are no “just” wars, as killing and maiming is never a morally and ethically “just” endeavor. The better term is more “necessary” wars; “unavoidable” wars; “justified” (as opposed to “just”) wars. If you’re looking for a justified war, you are not going to find one that fits the bill as much as the current conflict in Ukraine does. You have a large aggressor state launching a full-scale invasion of a smaller state and waging total war on it based upon false pretenses in a blatant violation of its sovereignty and international norms – mirroring in many ways the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003. This is as “just” a war as war ever gets, believe me.
For all of Ukraine’s faults, it is a predominately democratic country. It is a flawed democracy, still in transition. Its people have made an earnest attempt to better their society since the 2014 Revolution of Dignity and have been seeking to separate themselves from a literal imperial power that seeks a veto over their internal decisions and to impose its will upon them by force. Ukraine absolutely has its problems – which will no doubt be multiplied by this war. Problems like corruption, extremism, political infighting. I know I certainly don’t ignore those problems and I will push Ukraine to work on them in the future.
But right now, those other problems just don’t matter as much as supporting them in their fight to just keep existing. As much as the Neo-Nazi Azov Regiment can and should absolutely go fuck themselves, right now I can’t let one band of crazies on the frontline be the only reason to not support a nation of 44 million people trying to defend themselves from being conquered and subjugated and possibly worse. None of the problems Ukraine has can be fixed if Ukraine doesn’t exist anymore. Once we ensure that the people and nation of Ukraine can continue to exist independently, that should be an invitation for us to engage with them as they try to avoid slipping further into destructive paths like reactionism and fascism and nationalism – rather than just immediately write them off now. They have to survive if they’re going to change and to write them off as beyond saving in the state they’re in currently is a disservice to every Ukrainian that has died since 2013 trying to make their country a better place.
If there’s one truism that’s absolutely been born out for me as I’ve delved deeper into adulthood, it’s that doing the right thing is never easy. It’s often not only difficult, but uncomfortable and stressful and anxiety inducing and wracked with doubt. The best possible answer to our problems – one with no negative repercussions and no baggage or downsides or uncomfortable facts to deal with – is never, ever going to exist. We live in a world where we need to find the least-worst options to do good. Just as I think there is no such thing as a utopia, there are no paths we can take to a better world that don’t have something “problematic” associated with them in some way. There are absolutely things we should draw a line in the sand on and say “no further” when it comes to our actions abroad and support to others. But we need to learn that those big, glaring, red lines are the exception, not the norm. The devil is in the details. It’s the little things that add up and matter. We need to learn about where, in the aggregate, we draw the line. About what is acceptable to us, and when it’s too much and we should say no more. We need to be able to identify a situation that is “acceptable” for the time being, as it will never be “perfect”. Ever.
A Scary New World
We are witnessing yet another watershed historical moment unfolding in real time before our eyes in a decade that has already had far too many of those. The Russo-Ukrainian War is a turning point in international relations. We are seeing the collapse of a world order that has endured since the end of the Cold War and something new arising in its place. It’s not clear that that new order is yet. While I still think the risk of a wider war – and certainly nuclear war – is still low (though a valid concern), what we need to be more worried about is an intense period of aggressive competition between states and a return to a more multipolar, unstable world with more conflict in general. The war we’re seeing in Ukraine will not be the last of its kind that we see for some time. I worry that it will be simply the first of many other conflicts like it in the decades to come.
It is on that note, I come to my usual, recurring conclusion that I will continue to beat like the dead horse it is until more people listen. If we want to be true to our ideals and principles – like international solidarity with those who are oppressed and deprived of the basic necessities of life – we cannot afford to be disconnected from the world events that will be unfolding from here on in. We cannot turn a blind eye to them, and we certainly cannot pick sides based only on aesthetics or performative anti-Americanism and anti-Westernism or based on standards of purity that are completely unobtainable outside of fiction.
Though it may be uncomfortable for some, you will often find yourself – by happenstance – on the same side of those you distrust or even hate. You may have to settle for supporting a side that doesn’t 100% line up with your values, but is generally speaking trying to do good and has room for improvement. You may have to support things you otherwise find abhorrent, like the use of military force and supply of arms. These are unfortunate side effects of trying to do the right thing in defense of those being maimed and slaughtered by aggression.
We all became leftists or socialist or whatever you want to call yourself because somewhere, on a fundamental level, we want to do good. We want the world to be a better place for everyone living in it in all aspects. It’s a good and noble thing to want, but there is – unfortunately – no easy way to do that. It means making tough decisions. It means doing things sometimes that you don’t want to do. That should not be an excuse for bad behavior on your part – and especially not for excusing the bad behavior of others. What it should be is an impetus to avoid inaction when lives are on the line and make those tough decisions. It is good that we have firm principles and we should not abandon them, but we need to learn when to pick our rhetorical and ideological battles and know when it’s worth drawing a line in the sand (or not). We need to rediscover what “critical-support” really means and think hard on what the boundaries of that support are.
These are all tough, introspective questions that we need to ask ourselves and I don’t have any hard and fast answers to them right now. Even if I tried to offer you some answers in that vein, no two situations are alike; no two conflicts are alike. These are decisions we’ll need to make on a case-by-case basis as we strive to understand what’s going on in the world beyond our borders. But as that world becomes more chaotic, more violent, more dangerous, these are the conversations we need to have in our own minds and with one another as leftists. These are the issues we need to debate and hash out going forward if we really do earnestly want to make this world a better place. The world is becoming scarier, but we can’t let that frighten us off from trying to make it better.
9 notes · View notes
rhythmicmeow · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
TIMING: Current LOCATION: A General Pet Store PARTIES: Andy @declinlalune & Leticia @rhythmicmeow SUMMARY: Andy and Leticia go to a pet store together, where Leti gets a little dramatic about Andy being a dog person. CONTENT WARNING: None!
The excitement buzzing through Leticia's body wasn't unexpected. The idea of going to a pet store was always an appealing one, though she could write essays about how the catnip that was fresh was better. Writing a shopping list in her mind, she had been reciting it internally while Andy drove. Ask the cashier if the store had pet birds, look at the pet birds, check out the catnip and see if any is good, and maybe buy some cat toys. Inside the store, the list that Leticia had laid out for herself vanished. Sticking closely to Andy's side despite them both being adults and capable of doing their own shopping, Leticia wanted the companionship. She had missed the feeling of going out with friends that she had in California. Missed the phone calls at 2AM with her friend whispering that they had stolen the car keys and could pick her up in five if they wanted to go to the beach and listen to the waves.
This wasn't the same. They weren't kids trying to hide from their parents in the middle of the night, they were adults. But Andy invited her all the same and Leticia had jumped on the invitation. It was nice to feel wanted, even if just in small moments like this.
"What do you still need for him? Her? Uh, the dog?" Leticia asked, hearing the chirping birds and doing her best not to look in that direction. "When did you decide to get a dog anyway? I thought of you as more of a cat person."
Andy hadn’t anticipated just how many things a dog would need. Alex had gotten a good majority of things already, but Puppeye had already gone through three of the toys that they’d gotten her, so Andy was out on another trip to get more. This time, with Leticia in tow. 
It was nice, having somebody to do things with that wasn’t just Alex. Not that she typically minded hanging out with her sister, but it was true that she needed her own friends. With Kaden around, there was a little more separation, too, but he was off doing his own thing and she couldn’t rely entirely on him and she knew that. 
She looked over at Leti as they wandered down one of the many aisles made entirely for dogs. Andy had been grateful for Leticia’s accompaniment, even if she did seem a little different today. More excitable and distracted. 
“Um…” Andy looked into the shopping cart, shuffling a few of the items around. “I’d like to get a few more of those colorful chew toys, just because I think she likes them.” At her question, Andy’s brows rose. “Wait, is that because I’m a lesbian?” She was confused, because she wasn’t sure when she’d given that off at any given point. “I mean…” Andy let out a laugh, “I haven’t ever had a pet, and this is the first. I don’t know what kind of person I am.” She leaned against the cart as she drove it forward, tilting her head to look at Leticia as they walked. “You’re a cat person though, right?” 
"Colorful ones?" Leticia hummed as she looked at the toys. Her eyes drifted toward the end of the aisle where the cap was stocked with a variety of different toys. Cat toys included. "Maybe there are some over that way?" There weren't. She knew there weren't. Andy probably knew too, but it wasn't terrible of her to want to at least check it out, right? Maybe the perfect toy was hidden among different toys in the wrong spot of the store!
The lesbian comment felt like it came out of nowhere, and apparently, it was Leticia's turn to blush. "Oh my god, that's not what I meant." She felt the same frazzled feeling as she did when she thought another one of her friends thought she was straight. Which wasn't an inherently bad thing, but those were not the vibes that Leticia was trying to put out. But it came out of nowhere, and now Leticia was struggling to contain her laughter.
"Andy." She hid her cheeks and mouth behind her hands. For a solid moment, she stood there and tried to breathe. Not wanting to laugh, but not expecting Andy to play as dumb as she was. "I think I'm more of a cat girl personally. You know? Because of the ears? I can't believe you'd choose a dog over me, a cat. The best cat." The first giggles escaped. "Fuck, Andy. I wasn't expecting that."
“Yeah, or like, specific colored ones. I saw a tik tok with a filter over it that showed what dogs like, and it seems like they really like yellow.” She wanted Puppyeye to be comfortable in her new home, and sure, maybe she was going a little overboard, but still. She wanted to do right by the dogs that they found, and until they got more offers with people offering to take them off their hands, they’d be stuck with quite a few until it was all settled. “We can try over there, sure.” No suggestion was a bad suggestion, especially when shopping. Andy hated to do it, no matter what it was for. 
“I got told by…” Were they friends anymore? Andy began to feel the weight of her last interaction with Nicole and Leah and she quickly dismissed it. “Other lesbians, that being a cat person is a lesbian thing. I thought you were making a joke.” Andy watched the blush creep across the bridge of Leticia’s nose and she felt something stir in her chest. She quickly looked away, keeping her expression neutral. 
Leticia’s reaction caught Andy slightly off guard and she looked over her shoulder at her. “What?” She blinked innocently at her friend. And then it was like everything aligned. The cabinet, the constant comments that salt was a no-go for her. “Holy shit. You’re–” She raised her hand to her mouth. “I didn’t know.” It made so much sense and she felt so stupid. She’d been trying so hard not to be invasive that she looked straight through the number of coincidences that led to Leticia being a balam. “You are a cat girl, you’re right.” She tried to imagine Leti with cat ears, but couldn’t quite get there. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Sometimes I’m an idiot, okay?” She let out a laugh of her own and knocked her shoulder with Leticia’s, feeling the blush creeping across the back of her neck. “Listen, I’m not always this clueless, okay?” It was hard to contain her own laughter now and she buried her face into her hands. “God dammit.” 
Yellow wasn't her favorite color, but she could understand the appeal. It was happy and bright, and maybe dogs felt the same way? Especially if it was one of a few choice colors they could see. Leticia hadn't had a problem seeing colors, but did the balam? Did she prefer yellow over other colors? The thoughts floated around for a moment before she remembered a toy the next aisle over they had walked past. "What about that nacho and guacamole dip toy? It came with little stuffed chips you can hide inside the bowl for them!"
The laughter was getting harder to mask, her shoulders bouncing with the sound she was trying to hide. "No, no. I promise it wasn't that." She had been so offended that Andy could be a dog person, she didn't even think of the other implications. She had, at first, just assumed Andy had said it to throw Leticia off. And it had worked to that effect, but it was so much funnier as the context was revealed.
Waving her hand at her face, trying to get some air, the laughter didn't stop. "You didn't-" Leticia looked away from Andy, feeling the tears form with the uncontrolled laughter. "I thought you knew! I thought your... you know, just told you what I was. You didn't know." Andy was covering her face after a few apologies that weren't needed. "You're not an idiot, I assumed you knew." She was adding up all the strange moments where Leticia had been more cat than person, and wondered what Andy had thought of her in those moments. What animal did she think Leticia was? "I thought you were pretending just to get a rise out of me," she confessed, putting a hand on Andy's shoulder and leaning into her friend as she laughed. "And it worked too, I was so offended for a minute there, thinking you casually dismissed cats because that would be too lesbian coded." With a deep breath and a slow release, the laughter lessened. So long as she didn't look at Andy directly.
“Mhmm.” It was hard to talk now, especially while she was trying to stifle her laughter. To anyone else, this may not be that funny, but to Andy, it was hysterical. The idea that she’d been hanging out with Leticia for a few months now and had no clue that she was a balam, despite her abilities telling her exactly that. “Listen, I don’t want to talk about it.” She shook her head and tried to ignore the… not sinking feeling, but something else– something unfamiliar, as Leticia knocked back into her. The proximity was easier to endure like this. There was less on the line. 
“I didn’t. I didn’t know, I had no clue.” Should she even begin to tell Leti that it’d been out of courtesy? That she didn’t want to be invasive? Would that dismiss the idiocy altogether? She inhaled through her nose and rubbed her face. “NO! No, I wasn’t.” She shook her head and finally looked at Leti, devastated by the way the other woman couldn’t even look at her. Was it really that funny? “Leti, please.” She snorted through the plea and she pushed the cart forward. “I wasn’t dismissing anything! I just don’t know what kind of animal person I am, you know?” It was a fair enough explanation, she thought. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the laughter at bay, eyes scanning the number of products on the shelves. “So uh… about the guac?” She looked at Leticia, her expression twisted into something comical. “You’re still laughing, aren’t you?” She couldn’t even see her face, but Andy saw the set of her shoulders. “Come on! It wasn’t even that–” She hadn’t been watching where she was going, and suddenly her cart was crashing into a neighboring display of cat nip toys. 
One of the plastic containers broke, sending the contents all over the floor. “Shit. I’m going to have to buy that now.” Stealing it would be impossible at this point, with all the commotion they were making.
Leticia wished she could look at Andy and tell her that she wasn't still laughing. Anyone else in the store might have heard them giggling like children in the aisle, unable to understand how the situation had created a perfect storm of laughter. "Oh my god, did you just accept me climbing on the bookcase as normal?" Or another kind of animal? The balam stirred in protest at the idea, she was too proud to be reduced to any other kind of animal. Not understanding the humor in the misunderstanding. But Leticia? She still had a hand over her mouth, dampening her laughter as much as she could.
"I'm not still laughing!" She said, between fits of giggles. "I would stop a lot sooner if you stopped too!" Andy tried to explain, once more, that it really wasn't that funny, but Leticia was too far gone to calm down with a few short words like that. "You better be a cat person after this," she teased, before hearing the rattling of the display of cat toys - but it wasn't the crack of plastic that reached Leticia first. It was the sudden aroma that filled the area. The laughter stopped and Leticia stilled. Her hand over her mouth now moving to rub below her nose, trying to force the smell away. But there was too much of it.
Her eyes were locked on the broken pieces of plastic, the aisle and the laughter far from her mind now. Leticia knew that she'd owe Andy an apology after this. Before she could explain, Leticia was on the ground, her face pressed to the cold floor and her eyes locked on the other items that had fallen on the ground. All filthy, but somehow the most interesting things in the store. Her hand darted underneath the display, pulling out more of the catnip from underneath and pushing it toward her face. "You should but three. Four. More."
A lady meandered down the aisle, tossing a cautionary glance their way. Andy had half a mind to tell her to mind her business, but she looked back to Leticia with a raised brow. “I mean, maybe? I feel like this puts so much into context for me now, though.” There were a lot of things about Leti that were more… catlike than any of the other shifter types out there. But Andy had wanted to respect her privacy, and because it hadn’t been blatantly said, she wanted to let her friend have some semblance of secrecy, if it could even be considered as such, especially at this point. 
Andy didn’t even have to look at her reflection to know that the redness from the back of her neck had spread to her cheeks. Her entire face and chest were warm. “Stop it! Leticia, please.” She shook her head desperately, willing for her friend to just let her get away with this one stupid thing for once. But before she could protest any further, Leti quieted down, suddenly dropping onto all fours. 
She stared in shock as Leticia smeared her face against the floor, hand swiping beneath the display. A few different sized cat toys slid from beneath it, but her friend didn’t seem to care about those. No, it was the catnip. “Oh my god.” Andy looked around them hurriedly, dropping into a crouched position next to Leticia. Her hair hung in her face and the redhead couldn’t get a good look at the expression she wore. “Leti?” She tried, this time a little louder. Would Leticia transform because of this? She hoped not. Leticia was mumbling something under her breath and Andy quieted so that she could hear. “Four? Four more? Four more what?” 
Leticia was completely lost on the floor of the store. The cool tiles were soothing like the right side of the pillow. Her pupils were wide, searching for more catnip on the ground and around her, barely hearing Andy’s voice. It was her name, but why wasn’t Andy helping? There were so many cool things under the display. 
Her fingers brushed against a ball that had rolled under the rack, and as it thumped against the back of the rack, it light up. The bright colors caused her to push her head back, her eyes closing while she tried to blink away the irritation, but as soon as her eyes were open again, she was batting at it. “Look.” The ball rolled out toward her feet, and with strange precision considering her condition, she flicked the ball with her foot and rolled it toward her face and hands, where she grabbed it and showed Andy. Proudly, even. The ball itself was in terrible condition, it looked like a discarded toy from an animal who decided it wasn’t as great as Leticia had found it.
Holding it in the air, she tried to push it into Andy’s face. “It’s so pretty, do you like it?” The question of four more what caused Leticia to pull the ball away from her, looking dejected and upset. What sort of question was that? Was it not obvious? She rolled her head back the other way, her cheek back into catnip and her eyes shut as she rotated the side of her head in it. Sharply lifting her head from the ground, she grabbed another plastic container of catnip and held it closely to her chest with the nasty ball she had found. “More,” she repeated, showing what she was holding to Andy, but quickly twisting her body away. “You need to get your own.”
Andy didn’t know what to do. She’d never been in this position before. It wasn’t like Alex went crazy over tennis balls or anything. Andy stood frozen next to Leticia, not quite sure how to get her off of the floor. People were starting to stare now and Andy gave them a tight lipped smile before waving them off. “She lost an earring.” But if they were listening, they would know that wasn’t true. Andy decided not to worry about it, at least for right now. 
The ball that Leticia had swiped from beneath the display lit up, rolling towards her shoe. Before she could pick it up, Leti had already grabbed it. Andy stared at the brunette as she held it out for inspection. It was covered in dust, a half-off price sticker that was torn in half and… gum? She leaned back slightly, grabbing her friend’s wrist lightly, steering the other woman’s hands away from her face. Andy was in awe at how the woman in front of her now did not resemble the woman she’d been upright with moments ago. Her hair was in her face, pieces of catnip hanging out of it, as well as some dust. Her shirt was covered in it, too. 
Before she could make a move to get Leti onto her feet, she was dropping back down onto the ground, her cheek smoothing against the tile. “Leti,” Andy whined, looking up to see if anyone was watching them. Luckily they were alone in the aisle. For now. “I don’t want–” Inhaling sharply through her nose, she looked towards the display. She’d dealt with Alex as a child enough to maybe know how to rectify a semi-temper tantrum, if it could even be considered that. “Listen, Leti?” She swiped at Leti’s arm, dusting away some of the catnip that was stuck to her sleeve. “I’ll buy you all the catnip you’re holding, plus two more– four more packets. Only if you get up though, okay?” So maybe she was a sucker, but the last thing they needed was to get reported to any kind of authorities for public intoxication. “Does that sound okay?” She kept her voice low, moving closer to Leti so that she could help support her into a sitting position. Andy moved some of the hair out of her friend’s face, suppressing a laugh at the expression she wore. After this was done, Andy knew she’d never let her live it down. 
Leticia’s mind was a mess. The fuzziness inside her head felt like it was getting stronger. Or maybe it was fading and her mind wanted more? She wasn’t sure, but she figured that it couldn’t be fog from too much catnip. She clearly needed more. And she had been about to rub her face on the tiles one more time until she heard Andy say she lost an earring. Was she wearing earrings? Her hands came up to her ears and immediately checked to see if anything was missing. No, they were both there. Had Andy lost an earring? Did Andy even have pierced ears? 
Allowing herself to be propped up so she was sitting properly, Leticia looked Andy directly in the eyes before dropping the containers she had in her arms to the ground, more concerned now about Andy’s ears. She moved quickly, grabbing her ears and pulling them out just enough to check for earrings or lack thereof, and deciding she was satisfied with what she saw, she let go. “I’m not missing an earring and you’re not either,” Leticia said in a not-whisper, leaning closer to Andy as if she had caught her friend out in a lie. “Why would you say something like that? Should I check the catnip for it? I can check the catnip for it. And under the display, there are so many cool things under the display I bet I could find an earring. Do you want an earring?” Maybe if she looked hard enough, she’d find a pair underneath there. Maybe not matching, but a set of something.
She had been about to pull herself out of Andy’s grip once more when she heard the promise of four packets. All she needed to do in turn was get off the floor! That would be easy. Maybe she could jump, that would be really impressive, wouldn’t it? To be sprawled on the floor and then jump to her feet without the usual steps between? “That sounds purrfect, actually,” Leticia replied, sticking out her pinky finger and then, forced her pinky finger around Andy’s and nodded her head. “Now it’s a promise, you can’t take it back. I need these.” She grabbed the containers that she dropped, forgetting to grab the additional ones that Andy had bribed her with, and then situated herself to get up. Forgetting her idea to just jump as well. “Do you think they have fish here?” 
Andy hadn’t moved away fast enough. One moment, Leticia was staring into her soul, and the next, her friend was grabbing onto her ears. “Ow.” It didn’t even hurt her, but it left her out of reflex. She craned her neck slightly so that Leticia wouldn’t pull her completely over. She spoke and Andy felt the back of her neck burn with embarrassment. The urge to cover Leticia’s mouth with her hand was strong, but she refrained. Instead, she knelt across from her friend, a dumbfounded expression peeling over her features. “Because.” Because why? Why was Andy so embarrassed about this? Maybe she was afraid– afraid that anyone who knew or could sense Leticia for what she was, would immediately make her a target. Andy pushed the thought from her mind, eager to have some sense of normalcy. Even if this was far from it, at least she could spend more time laughing than throwing concerned looks over her shoulder. 
But Leticia was offering to find her an earring and Andy was shaking her head. “No, you don’t– no.” She let out a laugh, watching Leti as she considered the offer that’d been given to her. Andy hoped that her friend would concede. Andy watched her, wondering if she’d decide it was enough, but she hadn’t anticipated Leticia’s quip. Purrfect. Andy could hear it ringing in her ears now. “You really are a cat.” It came out in a whisper, half-amazed, half-dumbfounded. She didn’t get much time to process, because Leticia’s pinky finger was in her face, then curling around her own. Flustered, Andy nodded. “Yes, okay. I promise.” 
She was careful as she got to her feet, not wanting to tip over Leticia and the catnip canisters she’d collected in her arms. Andy wasn’t sure what to do– would this go away on its own? Was there a remedy? Was it even a good idea to suggest buying them for her as a way to get her out of the store? Any knowledge she had of balams had gotten lost over the years and she tried desperately to comb over memories, hopeful something would come of use for their situation. But Andy didn’t figure that most texts included the bit about catnip, so maybe it was why she was so damn surprised. “Fish? Um…” They probably did. They were at a pet store. “I don’t know. We can check another time, yeah?” Andy focused on Leticia, not knowing whether or not yanking her up by her arms would be all that helpful. Instead, she circled the other woman, supporting her from behind back onto her feet. She steadied the other, hands on Leticia’s shoulders. Leaning in slightly, she motioned to the cash registers at the end of the aisle. “We’re going that way. Do you want to put your stuff into the cart?” Andy’s concern came and went, molding into amusement as she started to dust some of the catnip and dust off of Leti’s shoulders. 
Because? There was a pained expression on Leticia’s face. Why was Andy not answering? What did ‘because’ even mean? She opened her mouth, about to ask for a deeper explanation of what that was all supposed to mean and why was ‘because’ the only answer that had been provided. But somewhere in the confusion, Leticia had fully lost her train of thought. Because why lingered in her mind, but followed by a what? Because why what? Puffing her cheeks, she tried to focus on what was happening, but it was like grasping at smoke. For a moment, it appeared like she had something, and then the next, it was all gone. 
The comment about her being a cat - or the compliment - brought a new grin to Leticia’s face. “Jaguar, remember, she doesn’t like being called other things.” Though, balam was the most correct term, jaguar was less foreign to people. “But I don’t mind cat, cats are cute. Way better than other pets.” Which circled her thoughts right back to Andy getting a dog instead of a cat. Traitor. But she could be bought with catnip, clearly. The traitor thing would have to be saved for another time, if she remembered. “Good, good,” she whispered, nodding her head as if they had made some sort of ritualistic pact that Leticia would hold over Andy until they were dead. “If you want me to get those earrings though, I can still do that! I am an excellent finder.” She might have made her way to her feet with Andy’s help, but the floor wasn’t so bad. 
WIth both hands on the cart, Leticia leaned forward and looked at the dog items inside before dumping the few items that she managed to keep in her arms. “Simon’s gonna love these,” she whispered before attempting to drive the cart. It swerved just slightly, causing Leticia to cling to the sides and stand perfectly still in the aisle before she composed herself, as much as she could, at least. Deflating over the handle of the cart, Leticia crossed her arms inside the child seat and slowly rolled it forward. Her mind was still foggy and her thoughts were mostly of fish, but she managed to keep on track to where Andy pointed. “Do you need more avocados for your dog?” Was that why they had gone there? Sounded right. 
Andy wondered if every balam faced this kind of thing, or if it was just Leticia. She made a mental note to ask Nicole the next time she saw her, whenever that’d be. They’d talked since their last… talk, and things had gone well, or so she hoped. It was surreal to her that she’d managed to befriend not one, but two balams. Maybe three, considering Luis gave her the same hair raising feeling the other two did. Whatever. Not time to speculate. She felt rude in doing so, anyway. She inhaled sharply, blinking at Leti as she corrected the verbage. “Jaguar. Yeah– uh, sorry.” She felt the back of her neck go red again. 
Leticia continued spouting off that she preferred cats and Andy couldn’t even feign surprise. She seemed like more of a cat person, anyway. “Okay, okay.” She hesitated, not reaching out to steady her friend as she grabbed onto the cart. “No, I– I don’t need any. It’s really okay.” She forced down her smile, though it fought to take up pretty much her entire face. 
Andy stood behind Leti as she leaned against the cart. It began to push forward and Andy had half a mind to grab it so it didn’t steer into another display. She wasn’t sure who Simon was, but assumed it was either another balam or a cat. Probably the latter. Andy wasn’t sure if Leti would have kept a whole other balam from her. Or maybe she would have. It was her right. Andy quickly cleaned up some of the mess, dusting with her hands the catnip into a small pile off to the side. At checkout she’d let them know what happened. She looked up to see Leti continuing to push the cart down the aisle. “Avo…” Right, that was why they were here. “Um, yeah. Let’s… go do that. Avocados.” She hurried to Leticia’s side, guiding the cart in the right direction before stealing a glance at Leticia who was seemingly coming down from her catnip high. I should have taken a picture, Andy thought. Then again, Emilio might have found out about it and tried to get it from her. Probably better that there was no evidence. 
7 notes · View notes
writing-for-life · 1 year
Text
The Pitfalls of Lazy Writing in Fan-Fiction
I love fan-fiction. I really do. I occasionally write some myself when I want to totally let loose. I actually write one right now for NaNoWriMo because this year, I just need some breathing space and fun instead of pushing ahead with my WiPs: You can’t pour from an empty cup and all that…
I actually think writing fanfic is good for writers because we can just enjoy the writing process without caring about tropes, and a world has already been built for us. We also don’t need to worry about Mary Sues/Gary Stus and self-insertion of the more obvious kind. It’s just fun, and the audience is generally appreciative because we share a common interest. Last but not least, it can get you out of writer’s block because there are far fewer rules to adhere to (and there’s nothing wrong with occasionally breaking rules, but like Picasso said: “Learn the rules like a pro so you can break them like an artist”).
Having said all of this: If you are publishing your fanfics anywhere, even if it’s just on Tumblr, CARE about your work to at least a basic degree. I honestly believe that fanfic often still has such a bad reputation because many works lack that basic amount of care.
To make this clear: You don’t need to set out to create a masterpiece (what is that even?). Have fun with your writing. Don’t get into your head too much. Don’t censor yourself - there will be people out there who love your writing. Just care. And doing something as simple as getting rid of typos is caring - also for your audience.
Proofread
It doesn’t have to be a massive editing process, that’s not what most fanfic needs. However, if your work is full of typos, bad grammar and sentences that make no sense because they’re half finished or trail off into nothingness, it’s so, so off-putting. It makes me want to stop reading immediately, and that’s a crying shame because your ideas might otherwise be good. We are not talking about writing in a second language – I grew up bilingually and feel perpetually caught in “awkward-sentence-construction-hell” because of it. You might want to consider writing in your mother tongue instead if that’s the case. We are also not talking about the odd typo that slips through – it happens to all of us. I really talk about the fanfics that are absolutely riddled with them. Care – about more than just getting stuff out quickly.
Show, Don’t Tell
Don’t tell all the time. It reads like an instruction manual or an essay. If you are a very young and/or inexperienced writer, and you do not yet know what “Show, don’t tell” means, that’s okay. Look it up, try it out. It’s a process, it takes time. I sometimes still tell, too, even after all these years: It’s often just so much easier and faster. And if you do it sometimes, it’s honestly okay. What I read out there are literal walls of telling though. Practise showing – it will elevate your writing tenfold.
POV and Omniscience
A second person character (the “Y/N” we typically see in self-insertion fanfic) is NOT omniscient (very few exceptions aside, but the fanfics I read on here and elsewhere hardly ever fall into this category). Learn to be consistent with your POV: A second person MC does NOT know what goes on in other characters’ heads. They do NOT feel what everyone else is feeling. They do NOT know what the other person was up to in their absence. If you want to write these things, choose third person omniscient. Otherwise, don’t write them. They’re probably not that important, especially if your fiction is short. Simply leaving them out will improve your flow.
If they **are**important, we move on to…
Figure Out Your Beats
If there aren’t any or they are too far apart, it’s boring. If they come in too quickly, there’s no tension because there’s too much tension, if you get my drift. Even if you’re itching to get to a certain part of your story – pace yourself. If I read “two months ago, she did this, one month ago, she did that, last week…” my eyes start to glaze over. Ask yourself if that info is really necessary. If it is, write it out, build those scenes and split up your work. Learn to be patient, and your audience will become patient with you. Having to wait is good :)
I’m not a particularly patient writer and definitely more of a pantser than a plotter. I usually have strong images/scenes in my head. It’s okay to write them first and connect them later. It’s a different type of creating, but you will figure out your process with time.
Do Some Basic Research
No one expects fanfic to be hyperrealistic, but if it is set in the real world, care about figuring out things you do not yet know. Make an effort to find out how they work. If you don’t, a reader with a bit of life (or any particular) experience will immediately go: “That’s not how it works”. If you, as an example, write about pregnancies and don’t even do the most basic research on how physician appointments work, what happens when (you don’t know the baby’s sex after a couple of weeks), a woman who’s ever been pregnant will immediately go “Yeah, but no”. Writers LIVE for doing research. If research isn’t your thing, write about things you do know and understand. If your characters move in a realistic world, your writing has to reflect that.
Learn to Love Criticism
You read that right.
I obviously don’t mean the bad, troll-kind of criticism that’s just out to hurt you. That’s just gross, and I honestly do not understand how some people can be so mean. But if you are asking for opinions, take that advice. If you feel it doesn’t help your confidence, that’s also okay – then don’t ask for opinions or criticism. Keep in mind though that you won’t learn that way. If you ask for opinions, you need to accept that people will be honest.
And a word to readers/audiences as well:
You are not helping a writer if you say their work is amazing if it isn’t, and you are aware of it. Empathy is great, but just like a true friend tells you the truth, someone who believes in you and wants to see you grow will do the same. You can still enjoy it someone’s work with all its flaws, and you can let them know you do. But if you are ganging up on everyone who offers an opinion in an effort to “protect” your author, you keep them stuck. Stop being tribal - true support means helping people to get better at what they do.
16 notes · View notes
screechthemighty · 1 year
Text
Okay! As joked about, here’s my...essay-thing about Romance-Default Chemistry Brain Worms Ruining Media (as referenced here). It's less an essay and more some barely organized thoughts, but that post did get some traction so here y'all go. 
Now, you may notice I turned off reblogs on this post. That’s because I’ll be going into my opinions on a complex subject matter that also touches on some controversial(TM) areas of fandom, and I’m really not looking to get screamed at or doxxed by randoms. Seriously, I already had one hit post that got me anon hate, I’m not looking to make it two. This is between us, okay? Okay. 
Additional disclaimer: I AM gonna throw some shade at specific ships and fandoms, but I assume you guys read my rules and know the ships I hate but decided to stick around anyway. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
So, What’s Chemistry?
For the sake of this TED Talk Essay Thing, I'm going to define chemistry as "when characters click in a way that makes their interactions especially compelling and interesting to experience." If you watch them interact and think "wow, I'd watch a show with nothing but them", that's chemistry. Note that this does not have to be romantic. Chemistry can come in all flavors: friendship, family, rivals or outright enemies, mentor-mentee (not always the same as family!), Not Romantic Or Platonic But A Secret Third Thing (drift compatible), and of course, romantic. People tend to focus on romantic chemistry as the prime example, but the other examples do exist (otherwise Found Family wouldn't be the trope it is).
Now, chemistry is a tricky thing. It's a combination of a lot of factors (writing, acting, direction to name a few), and if any of those factors don't work, the whole thing is off. (As an example, I personally did not think Deborah Ann Wohl and Charlie Cox had as good chemistry as Charlie Cox and Elodie Yung in Daredevil s2, and it kind of tanked the whole tension of "will Matt go for Karen or Elektra"). Chemistry is also open to interpretation. Some people might disagree with me about the previous Daredevil point, for instance, and some people might, say, interpret platonic chemistry as romantic chemistry. This is just a natural part of the subjective nature of art and in a vacuum, wouldn't be an issue. As mentioned in the original post, the issue becomes when every character interaction is viewed through a romantic lens.
But Wait, We’re Not Just Talking Any Kind of Romance!
Because guess what besties, even the major types of chemistry come with subtypes. I just wanted to clarify that, in this essay, when I talk about romance, I mean a played straight romance. Not a toxic romance or a tragic romance or anything like that. I mean the narrative wants you to believe these people are legit in love and could get married and have babies with little to no hiccups.
I bring this up because a common point of contention in fandom these days is the “well not every relationship has to be sunshine and rainbows! I find messed up romances compelling! Are you saying that there’s no place for explorations of toxic relationship in fiction?” And that’s not what this post is trying to say. I’m not the BIGGEST fan of toxic relationship stories myself, but they’re not my enemy at the moment. My enemy are the stories that try to sell me on happily ever after when the foundation is made of dry sand and swiss cheese. In fact, this is a point we’re going to talk about later, because people conflating the two is part of the bone I have to pick.
How Did This All Get Started
So 100% this isn’t something that has a singular root cause. It’s more like a slow buildup over centuries of storytelling. If I had to point fingers at one trope in particular, it’d definitely be the whole men and women can’t be friends and any relationship between them is just a prelude to romance of some kind. Someone in a reblog of the original post pointed this out before I could, but this has always been a thing and the only thing that changed is that fandom mutated the concept and made it gender-neutral. Now ANYONE’S interactions are just preludes to romance. Original content cemented the idea in our skulls, fandom just kept building the bricks. Circle of life or whatever.
So if this has been a widespread issue, why did I single out YA lit and fanfic? For YA, it’s for three reasons. One: YA is a huge genre even outside of its age range, and therefore extremely influential. Two: It’s what a lot of fandom content creators consume when they’re at their most prolific and before they get into creative fields themselves. Third (most important): YA lit is really bad about flattening all romances into Played Straight Romances. Granted, so are other genres (rom coms and the shitty “well yes they argue like they’re gonna kill each other but they’re in love, don’t you see” trend), but again, I really feel like YA has a stranglehold on modern content creators and fandom in a way that Meg Ryan movies don’t.
As for why I singled out fanfic, well, obviously, fandom creators consume fandom works, so they’re going to influence them and their outlook just as much as traditionally published original works. Also, fanfic has a MASSIVE influence on creative fields now. It’s terrifying to think about, but it’s true. Fanfics are on the regular published as novels (50 Shades, After, the sTeM-iNiSt books that started as R*ylo fic). A hugely popular YA series started its life as in-universe fanfiction in the author’s other novel (Carry On series). We’ve even hit a point where people are writing fictionalized versions of fandom drama and publishing it as YA books. It’s very surreal.
Effects on Fandom
The overall effect of this phenomenon on fandom is that it makes fandom spaces utterly intolerable. I vividly remember being afraid to get into Welcome to Night Vale because 90% of the fan content was about the Cecil/Carlos and I didn’t want to live through that again after too much time in the Supernatural fandom. Turns out, there’s more to WTNV than the ship! Who knew, right?? But if we want to talk specific examples, here’s four.
Muscles Out Any Conversation of Non-Romance Things: If you don’t ship Accepted Fandom Ship(s), good luck finding content. If you write or draw things that aren’t Accepted Fandom Ship(s), good luck getting traction. God help you if you write gen, because nobody’s reading that. (This is me being a lil salty I won’t lie, but that said, people who read my stuff I love youuuuuuuuuuu.) You want to talk about character interactions in a way that doesn’t relate to romance? Have fun, someone’s gonna derail the conversation. It’s intensely annoying.
Misrepresentation of Media to Outsiders: Okay, so, imagine if someone tried to sell the new Interview With The Vampire show to you based purely on the fact that it has two men in love and neglected to mention any of the rest of it because they themselves were solely fixated on LouStat as “omg so cute.”
Yeah. I bet you anything that if I did a blanket poll asking my followers if they’d ever had triggering media sold to them as something softer by Shipper Types, I’d get a lot of horror stories.
Unthinking Consumption of Weirdass Shit: This one is gonna be controversial so let me start by repeating a previous disclaimer: I am not saying every relationship has to be sunshine and rainbows all the time. I am also not saying that there’s ZERO place for certain subject matter in fiction, as long as it is handled with respect. I’m not calling for us to throw the metaphorical baby out with the bathwater. However, if you have Fandom Brain Worms so bad that you look at interactions between a teenager and a grownass adult, or God forbid, siblings, and think “oh they’re so cute they should kiss and be together forever!!” with zero consideration for what the actual ramifications of something like that would be? Stop. S t o p. Get some help.
Ship Wars + Other Dumb Bullshit Arguments: Basically, if every character interaction is viewed through a romantic lens, but a character has chemistry with multiple characters, people start getting weird and argumentative about it. This is more than just annoying, because ship wars can seriously turn into smokescreen for actually, legitimately harmful viewpoints and nastiness. Racism is a big one st*r w*rs fans I mean what.
Additionally, if you combine points two and three (misrepresenting fiction due to your own shipper goggles + unthinking consumption) you get utterly brain dead takes about how a work that is, say, meant to portray a toxic relationship and explore the ramifications of that is actually the most romantic thing ever. It’s exhausting to watch. And this mentality actually leads into some of the ways that Shipper Goggles ruin non-fandom works.
Effects on Fiction
Limits Interesting Stories: This is basically the same thing as “fandom is entirely about ships” except at the source level. If everyone can only view human interaction through a romantic lens, we’re losing the chance to see other types of stories. Now, fortunately, the market isn’t so one-note that we don’t have these kind of stories at ALL (bless the Found Family trope for its resilience fr), but I do still find it telling that a lot of the stories that take off on, say, BookTok are romances or have a heavy romance element.
Removes the Ability to Truly Explore Dark Subject Matter: This one is kind of related to point three in the fandom section, but if the shipper goggles are gonna only show you Played Straight Romantic Chemistry, then you can’t really say you’re actually exploring dark romance. You’re just writing the same plot with extra trauma added for zero reason. As an example: 50 Shades isn’t a genuine exploration of power dynamics and abuse. It’s a kinky romance that acts like the male lead’s flaws are equivalent to not putting the toilet seat down. It’s an easily solved problem and the power of love can fix him or whatever.
Limits Conflict + Interesting Subject Matter: Related to the above point but a different flavor. Also, this one actually has some overlap with how fandom interprets media, so consider this a “both sides of the coin” problem. If you see all chemistry as romantic, and a specific kind of romantic, that means any problems the leads face have to be easily overcome, not a big deal at all. This is BORING. This LIMITS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. This takes away from interesting questions and explorations of how, say, two fundamentally different people could end up together, or how a genuinely shitty person could come to grow and change given the right support and not just a singular moment of “oh I should stop being shitty.” It negates the drama and heartbreak of tragedies, the real world relatability of relationship where they’re not right for each other but stay together regardless, all the epic highs and lows of actual lived romances in favor of...what, he’s mean to her a lot but they still stay together forever? Is that all? Oh, he just dumps his toxic worldviews in thirty seconds and everything is cool now? Oh, he stopped being mean to HER and that’s somehow shorthand for him no longer being a fascist? (D*sney WILL answer for their crimes one day) BORING. YOU’RE ALL BORING. FOOLS! CHARLATANS! Anyways.
Authors Fighting For Their Lives Out Here: As with fanfic, good luck if you write gen fic (unless it’s found family, my beloved). Have fun watching your attempt at a nuanced take get dissected into the dollar store version. Also, I just know there are authors out there trying to write regular-ass siblings who have to live in mortal dread of what certain people might try to read into their works. This is seriously limiting for writers, because like. You don’t WANT those people as your fans. But you know if the siblings look at each other for longer than three seconds, someone’s gonna make it weird! And you can’t control that, but the thought is all-consuming! I seriously hate it here!!
How The Two End Up Devouring Each Other
So, all of this is bad, but the way that fandom and fiction intersect now only make things worse. For starters, fans and creators are more connected than ever, which can influence how things go. For example, say you're a a mid-tier CW show about monster hunting. Keeping those fans satiated is going to be priority #1. This means that fans talking about their wildest dreams for certain characters (say, two characters who honestly shouldn't be speaking anymore because SOMEONE won't go to therapy and is making it everyone's problem) are going to catch the attention of the highers-up. And those fans are going to be pandered to in order to keep viewership numbers high. And that’s going to lead to exactly the kind of writing issues I mentioned above.
Meanwhile, as mentioned, fanfic is becoming hugely influential on the fiction market. This is in no small part due to the fact that a lot of former fanfic writers are now non-fandom writers. That is NOT a bad thing on its own; where it BECOMES a bad thing is when they start bringing their bad fandom habits over with them. That just injects MORE of these mentalities into the fiction spaces. And then on top of that, the market starts replicating these already tainted works because they’re major money makers, and the curse only spreads.
Then fandom gets their hands on them. Then the tropes and shipper goggles mutate and solidify. Then that infects the fiction spaces. The snake eats its own tail.
Well That’s Depressing, Any Suggestions On How To Fix This?
Boosting works that aren’t the usual nonsense (fanfic and traditional fic) helps. Be more thoughtful with how you engage with media and how you discuss it, especially when sensitive topics are involved. Carve out spaces that aren’t so romance-centered and just vibe in there. Remember, the block button is free. Also, like, don’t be afraid to indulge in the occasional crack ship or “what if” AU where [insert bad guy here] isn’t as evil and therefore the ship works more smoothly, but just remember that it’s not canon. “Remember that it’s not canon” should be a rule on this site, honestly. I have to remind myself sometimes.
Anyways, if you’re reading this, I’m about to do the funniest thing ever and post some ship fic, so stick around for that I guess lmao.
13 notes · View notes
gregwambsganss · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
I posted 14,612 times in 2022
That's 11,903 more posts than 2021!
131 posts created (1%)
14,481 posts reblogged (99%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@saipng
@samehorrors
@lastfridgemagnetleft
@gobcore
@greggster
I tagged 6,021 of my posts in 2022
#succession - 5,033 posts
#art - 762 posts
#nicholas braun - 290 posts
#matthew macfadyen - 100 posts
#kieran culkin - 70 posts
#sarah snook - 53 posts
#💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞 - 35 posts
#💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞 - 34 posts
#succession cast - 31 posts
#self reblog - 28 posts
Longest Tag: 95 characters
#greg laid his head in tom’s lap relishing the feeling as tom began playing with his hair again.
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
I’m officially 30 years old!
16 notes - Posted April 29, 2022
#4
Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Succession (TV 2018) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans Characters: Greg Hirsch, Tom Wambsgans Additional Tags: Trans Greg Hirsch, Trans Pregnancy Summary:
Frowning, he watched his reflection in the mirror as he washed his hands. “Just get through this party. You can have a total fucking breakdown later,” Greg told himself firmly. “You just need to get through the next few hours.”
  Somebody opened the bathroom door, and the sounds of Kendall’s party drifted in. Greg wasn’t in any mood to celebrate anything. Not even the news that he and Tom didn’t have to worry about prison anymore. It had all been dwarfed by the same two little lines that brought so many other people so much joy.
17 notes - Posted September 23, 2022
#3
Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Succession (TV 2018) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans Characters: Greg Hirsch, Tom Wambsgans Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Post-Canon, Whump, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary:
How many times had his mother told him not to go outside during a full moon? A werewolf might get you! It had always seemed playful, almost like an inside joke between the two of them. Though he’d always known that werewolves were real, never once did Greg think he’d actually encounter one.
Marianne had never truly believed he would, either.
Or: Greg finds out keeping his secret from Tom is harder than he thought it’d be.
21 notes - Posted March 31, 2022
#2
I think that Tom sees himself as Goncharov, but he is actually more akin to Andrey. He just doesn’t know it yet. The white suit in deal with the devil scene is a direct reference to Andrey’s outfit in the much overlooked café scene in which Andrey and Goncharov are secretly trying to come to an agreement which may spare both of their lives. However, we as the audience already know it is doomed to fail. Tom is unknowingly already holding the gun to Greg’s head, thus making Greg one of the true Goncharovian characters of the story. In this essay I will–
21 notes - Posted November 22, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Last night I had a dream that Nicholas Braun legally changed his name to Cousin Nicholas McGreg. Instead of saying anything about it, he immediately posted an Instagram story where all he said was “Remember everybody, this weekend is Wet Dick Weekend. That means you have to pour a different liquid on your dick every few hours all weekend long. Have fun!” It had the exact same energy as his Toyota Buy A Thon TikTok from like a year ago.
98 notes - Posted February 10, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
5 notes · View notes
officersnickers · 2 years
Note
002 - Norrayemma & OliZack
003 - Don, Gilda, and/or Matilda
@fullscoreshenanigans, this took some time, but here I am! Hope you like my lil essay 😊
NorRayEmma
002 | Send me a ship and I will tell you:
When I started shipping them: I don‘t know the exact date nor year, since I guess my preference for the OT3 ship developt over time. My first fanart of them being romantic partners was made in 2019, so I guess that‘s the year my heart was finally struck by them.
My thoughts: As much as I dig NorEmma, RayEmma or NorRay, only NorRayEmma feels truly perfect and in-canon for me, to say so. Over the course of the manga, it was shown so many times how these three truly belong to each other and which effects it had on two of them when one was missing – not to forget to mention the one who would be alone and with their best friend. So, I don't really want to see them seperated, and imagine them in other relationships is fine, but not my ultimate choice. If it‘s not🤍🧡🖤, I‘m not going, period.
What makes me happy about them: Their interactions. Their discussions. The huge amount of intelligence that is radiating from them whenever they are together. The fondness of their eyes when they see the other two happy and well. Their determination to do everything for their best friends sake, even if it means to give up themselves to guarantee there‘s a future for those they love. The possible tension between them. The concept of them being parts of the whole, only truly perfect when the other two parts are with them. The idea of an one year old child meeting two other babies and instantly deciding to stick with them, forever, from crib to coffin and maybe even beyond. Just, everything.
Should I continue or was that enough for now?
What makes me sad about them: The hardenships they had to face throughout their young lives and how it probably affected them even in their adulthood. For example, Norman‘s declining health due to the experiments in Lambda, that surely never truly go away, even with good medication. Ray‘s mental state is completly in ruins and I fear not all amount of therapy in the human world will ever make him feel not guilty for the things he decided to do for Emma and Norman‘s sake. Not to forget best girl Emma, who can‘t even remember the childhood she spent with her best friends due to the new promise. After all, new memories are wonderful and I‘m glad she found her way back to them. But still, there will always linger a bit of sadness in her, feelings of loss and regret, that will also affect Norman and Ray.
Things done in fanfic that annoys me: Ray being constantly annoyed with Emma and Norman; listen, he‘s sarcastic and sometimes looses his temper, but overall, Ray always takes time to explain things that annoy him, without too much scolding. In some stories, I get the feeling he doesn‘t even like Emma and Norman, the way he acts, or he drank too much edgy juice™ this morning. Also Norman being all bashful around Emma. He‘s certainly not a casanova, but I like to imagine he cooled down over his crush for her and is just as happy as Emma herself to experience new feelings alongside her. That being said, I don‘t really see Emma being either too shy around either of them or drifting into turbo mode when she‘s in the mood. I like her as a complex, more differentiated character and not a child in a teenager's or adult body. She‘s not dumb and she‘s not over the top 24/7.
Things I look for in fanfic: The Trio having a frickin‘ good time, chilling and talking and doing silly stuff together, but also basic stuff like cooking or going on with their lives in the human world. I prefer fanfictions in which they are already young adults, maybe even with jobs, but school or university is fine, too. If the story is spiced up with some drama, whichever kind, I‘m happier than you could imagine.
My wishlist: Wheter it be Emma, Norman or Ray, they all should get a good therapist. Like, a really good one. They deserve it. Norman‘s health becoming better after countless treatments, and not to forget, Ray finding joy again in reading and learning (I bet he would love most fantasy books in the human world, and since the activity would not be affliciated with his survival, I bet he could „waste“ countless hours on this). For Emma, I wished her memories could come back, but I fear they are gone for good :(
And my personaly headcanon – them starting a big family on their own, giving back all the love that they experienced throughout their lives, and see a new generation of „cattle‘s children“ living free and without the horrors of their anchestors.
Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: If the Trio‘s not possible, I would also accept either NorEmma, NorRay or RayEmma, hehe. These ships are almost as good. For Norman, I can‘t really think of another partner, sorry. If they both are older, I could totally see Emma with Oliver (as long as he even like girls), and for Ray, I‘ve got another favourite ship I just like as much as the common NER ones: Ray and Ayshe. Shirai and Demizu probably doesn‘t know what they did to me with that one side comic them discussing their parental figures. They also share the same „my face is too cool to show it fully“-act going on and the thought of Ray and Ayshe making Norman nervous, whenever he interacts with the two of them, is pure comedy gold to me.
My happily ever after for them: They live married in a big house near the countryside, have awesome jobs they love to go to and of course a bunch of children of their own or even adopted, to make their new life just as loud and chaotic and wonderful as life in Grace Field House was for them. Well, at least before everything went downhill real quick.
OliZack
When I started shipping them: Only around a year ago, to be honest. I saw several really adorable pictures with them and yeah, where captivated by childhood friends to lovers. Also their colour combination is just superb.
My thoughts: Why wasn't there more of them in the manga? What impact had the several journeys with Emma and co. on Oliver and Zack‘s relationship? They were always together since they were ten; suddenly, they were apart for months, not knowing what was going on with the other and if they would be safe or see each other again. That‘s the stuff that keeps me awake at night.
What makes me happy about them: They stayed alive throughout Goldy Pond and everything that followed after. It would have been so easy for them to die, for every reason, but no, we shippers were lucky and managed to see them going to the human world. And as I said before, their colour pallets are just wonderful – one pale and white haired in red, the other one darker pigmented in blue. Name a more iconic duo ❤️💙.
What makes me sad about them: Not really seeing much of their friendship in the manga. Did they even talk to each other once? Oliver and Zack defintly deserved more attention and content, even as side characters.
Things done in fanfic that annoys me: I… I have never read any OliverxZack fanfictions to this day, I guess. I could be wrong, though, but it‘s a rare sight. That‘s my complain – there‘s not enough of them.
Things I look for in fanfic: Their past in Goldy Pond, like them being children in a child-unfriendly environment and growing up to the persons they are today. Stuff about the two in the human world and their future would be cute as sugar, too.
My wishlist: To see and read and hear more about them . Asap!
Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: You know what? Whe talked about my OT3 before, why not doubling the joy? How about Oliver, Zack and Paula ending as more as just friends? As mentioned before, Oliver and Emma could surely form a great team (again), and Zack with someone else… maybe some other GP residents? I have never thought about it, to be honest, but ifI should change my mind sooner or later, I will add it!
My happily ever after for them: They live together in the human world in a nice appartment; Oliver‘s a social worker for kids on the streets and Zack became a paramedic. Maybe they got some pets, maybe adopted kids, possibly ones Oliver knew due to his work. They managed to get over the loss of their father figure and friends and become old and grey and live happily ever after.
003 | Give me a character & I will tell you:
Don
How I feel about this character: Oh, sweet summer child (literally, since he was born in July). Don got such a big heart and a lot of passion; in contrast to Norman and Ray, who are mostly cool and calm characters, he‘s a nice change. I just love it when male characters can show their feelings more open, even if it‘s anger or grief. Don‘s development from „guy who is a bit confused but got the right spirit“ to someone who activly became part of the riskiest operations, baffled me as much as delighted me. Not to mention his glow up. Thank you, Demizu!
Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: Hmm, none, really! My headcanon is that he got a hard time in the human world wooing the ladies who have no interest in him (stupid, stupid decision, but it can‘t be helped). Maybe he finds his significant other one day, maybe he learns he‘s happy the way he is. Dunno.
My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: Gilda and Don! Add Ayshe to the mix and I would read a whole series about their adventures. I also like to imagine Violet teaching him a lot of stuff to survive in the demon world on their journeys to Cuvitidala or the Seven Walls, including veeery creative swear words.
My unpopular opinion about this character: He‘s not as dumb as fandom sometimes depicts him. After all, he already knows where southeast is. No, seriously, Don has to be incredible smart, way smarter than he is usually depicted. He survived in Grace Field, of all farms, easily up until his tenth year of live and even beyond. As much as I like goofball-Don, we should never shove his intelligence aside and underestimate the boy.
One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Him punching Norman again. I mean, he deserved it as much as Ray did, possibly in the days after queen Legravalima was killed and they had to rush back to Grace Field. After all Norman was a huge dick to Don and Gilda, lied straight into their faces (again), used poor Hayato and the other Lambda guys as his own personal weapons and made Ayshe suffer (which Don befriended immiatly, as it seemed). Enough for a clap, I think. Additionally, I‘d love to see him grieving more about Conny‘s death. Sure, we had the bonus comics in which it was finally revealed how much he regretted not being to save his little sister, but… How did her death affected Don afterwards? Did he had a trauma through this sudden turn of certainity he had all his life? That‘s the stuff I truly wanted to see.
Favorite friendship for this character: Gilda and Ayshe, but I basically love to see him interactin with everyone. Don radiates a warm, friendly aura, that surely everyone is drawn too.
My crossover ship: I gonna be real with you: I have no crossover ships, that‘s why I won‘t fill this for the following characters. I never really could draw a line between The Promised Neverland and any other series, yet alone including any ships. Sorry!
Gilda
How I feel about this character: She is beauty she is grace, she will blow up the shelter if you don‘t bring back at least one of her siblings back an alive from Goldy Pond. Gilda‘s a powerhouse and way too good for all the stuff she had to went through. I wish I could love her as much as she would deserve it, but TPN got so many characters that gave me brain rot, she kinda falls behind.
Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: Emma and Gilda as romantic shipping is nice, but I prefer their sisterly friendship. Besides that, I can‘t really think of another ship for her (Don‘s her bro and nothing more).
My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: As stated before, her and Don‘s friendship. These two didn‘t shared any similarities at first glance, besides being the only ten year olds in the orphanage, but always sticked together. Their interactions during the whole story were adorable and a nice change from the Full Score Trio ones, since the two were sometimes left in the dark about certain topics and had to find out ugly truths on their own. That surely did strengthen their bond.
My unpopular opinion about this character: She did forgive Norman too easily after he lied about finding Mujika and Sonju „to protect them“. I‘ve got the feeling deep down, Gilda won‘t forgive someone as fast as maybe Don, and making snippy side comments to Norman about his wrong doings would have been hilarious. She managed to frighten Emma and Yuugo after them being reckless again, she could surely could have done this with Norman too.
One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Overall, just depicting more of Gilda, like showing her settling in in the human world or wearing a bunch of adorable outfits (the bonus chapter with Gilda, Anna and Emma was not enough!!).
Favorite friendship for this character: Don, because of all we‘ve seen throughout the manga, and Ayshe, for all the possibilities they could have.
Matilda
How I feel about this character: A Mother‘s Determination was really a wild ride. In around 40 pages I went from „uggh get her away from me“ to „I strongly want to protect her (as well as the other sisters)“. Matilda‘s backstory and character development was touching and I enjoyed learning more about the life in Grace Field. She left a greater impact on me than a side character probably should, but here we are, loving Matilda hours 24/7, again.
Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: Again, I can‘t say any. I know I‘m a terrible person for never providing any shipping ideas here, but at this point, I can‘t really see her with anybody.
My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: The „friendsip“ with Sienna, Jessica and Scarlet as well as her relationship with Isabella. I don‘t know if you can call this friendship, depending on their social status in the headquarters, but I like to imagine they grew fond of each other over time.
My unpopular opinion about this character: That‘s probably not unpopular at all, but I headcanon that she‘s Norman‘s biological mother. Due to her ID and the resulting age, I had a hard time bringing Matilda‘s age in correlation with Norman‘s, but for me, I imagined she had the child when she was barely eightteen years old, so it adds up. For me, at least.
One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Oh, what would I give to witness more of her shenangians under Grandma Sarah and Isabella! The two years until the escapees came back were surely a very interesting time.
Favorite friendship for this character: Probably no real friendship, but I bet she went regulary to Isabella and wanted to hear stories about her child, their development and what kind of person they are. Matilda was the first one crying over her child being alive (and well?), and I‘ve got the feeling she still cared way more about them as she would probably admit.
6 notes · View notes
wild-at-mind · 1 year
Text
https://xtramagazine.com/uncategorized/privilege-conflict-236673 OK I honestly hate this advice column answer, and feel it is leading to some toxic places. I wrote a goddamn essay of a comment which I will put under the cut, just because I think it’s important. Without going into too much detail, this is quite close to home for me. Tumblr keeps giving me ads for xtra magazine but this is the first time I clicked in and I’m going to hide the ads now, I’m not a fan and it’s not for me. My response, which I ended up needing 4 comments for:
1. I find this advice quite troubling, and there are many things that go unaddressed. For example, OP's reason for drifting during the pandemic was a very clear one: they had their first child. If the friend in question is childless, then this becomes the age old question (which disappointingly is not addressed AT ALL by Kai)- how does the friend who newly has children stay connected with their childless friends? If OP is a women, which the friend's comments suggests, she is likely to be doing much more than 50% of the childcare. I have not experienced this conflict in my own life yet but I have seen it discussed many times and both sides have reasonable grievances: the childless friends feel the friend with the new baby never has time for non baby related things any more, a lot of things such as evening events may be totally out for a while, and if meeting up the baby may have to come too a lot of the time which can be disruptive and a big change for the friendship. The friend with the child feels the childless friend doesn't understand the problems of always having to find childcare in order to do things, etc, and feels the childless friend thinks they are turning down too many invitations and it means they no longer want to be friends. Neither's feelings are wrong, but the fact that the child needs care will not change, and it will be a good long time before the child is old enough for childcare needs to not be a factor. This will always affect how much time the new parent has for their friends. Now, I know we don't actually know from this whether the friend has children, it is not mentioned. But from the information we do have, the fact the the OP needs to spend a lot of time doing childcare and this is unchangeable fact should be acknowledged. 2. The main thrust of this advice is that the OP is somehow looking at their conflict  in an overly white way. I understand why Kai wrote it this way, because it's kind of a right wing talking point, that people of colour will manipulate using their race and you can just ignore it. This is of course gross and no one would want to imply this. I do not think the OP wants to imply this and I think OP is already pretty aware of these dynamics. However, reading this you might think that friendships between white people and people of colour (or between a more marginilised and a more privileged person) could never, ever work. Despite the protestations to the contrary, I think this advice encourages an unhealthy amount of eggshell walking.                             The truth is the friend of the OP is hurting, and feels she has not been supported by the OP in her bereavements that happened during the height of the pandemic. Her feelings have gone unexpressed for a long time and have built. In one way the OP can never truly make up for this because she can't go back in time and be there for her friend during those times. Listening to the friend's grievances is difficult for her because they become very emotionally charged. Whether or not OP subconsciously is experiencing this as more difficult because the friend is a woman of colour, the outcome is the same, and OP will not improve anything by being a space for her friend to vent into. I fundamentally do not want the OP to get the impression from the advice given that it would be at all useful for them to attempt this, or that it would be a good thing for social justice or their duty as a white person. 3. I feel that Kai could have suggested something like: maybe the OP asks her friend to write her a letter, expressing all her feelings, and that she will read it and reply, also in a text medium. Sometimes text is easier when emotions run high. I don't know, maybe this is a very privileged suggestion of me or something, but it is clear that the OP crying and the friend shouting is not working for either of them. (Also re: crying- as a former constant crier who is now on the right meds and doesn't any more, I do NOT argue with the idea that my tears could leverage oppression against people of colour, and it doesn't matter what the reason for it is for that to happen, but......involuntary tears are for the most part treated as unprofessional in workplace scenarios, and embarrassing for all in the room. It can really suck, and OP I feel for you on that count. 2nd assurance that I'm well aware there are scenarios where tears from a white person could manipulate racial hatred, including if the tears are involuntary! Good thing I do not do it any more, this is a constant relief to me. Anyway..) The implication that white, middle class people are uncomfortable with yelling and plain speaking in interpersonal conflict is very strange to me. They may be uncomfortable with this in certain scenarios, but trust me my white middle class parents were perfectly fine with yelling at their kids. I don't know the OP's class background, but it sounds like her white parents liked to yell too. I understand the need to emphasise that yelling is not the worst thing that can happen, and that the friend may experience the OP's request for no yelling or swearing as a function of their white privilege. However I STILL don't think this was a boundary that was wrong for OP to try to set. 4. OP, please do not feel that the only 'right' thing in this scenario is for you to continue being friends, your friend is angry about you being out of touch when you needed her, and you will never truly be able to make it right but you must keep trying. This dynamic would be incredibly toxic for both you and your friend. I do think a sincerely expressed apology that expresses the facts without excuses would be a good thing if you haven't already sent one: 'friend, I am sorry I wasn't there for you when you really needed me. I regret this very much and I know you're still hurting. I really care about you and really want you to continue to be in my life.' Stick to the facts and don't self flagellate- despite what columns like this one suggest, people do not really want this. Do it via a text medium as it can be easier if things are becoming very emotional. It's not a solution, your friendship may still not survive in the end, but you will have said the truth of how you feel about your friend. From there, resist any attempt by your friend to bring you into a cylce of you listening to venting and becoming upset. This will not lead ANYWHERE good. You suffering does not help marginilised people.                              Relationships across privilege dynamics always need to have awareness, tact and self reflection from the more privileged person, but I honestly feel that when the 2 people become nothing more than those two roles, one oppressor and one oppress-ee, the friendship cannot survive. The theories your friend is using as a framework are real, but they are about overall dynamics and systems, and things will always be affected by more factors with two individual humans and how they relate to each other.                              Good luck, and my love to both you and your friend.                                
2 notes · View notes
thinkingmoonlignt · 2 years
Text
Bloody Valentine
               I think there are a million things to be upset about first thing in the morning—first and foremost, the fact that I’m actually awake. I feel that the dripping blood decorating my bathroom mirror is probably up there with the things that I should have some type of thoughts about. Probably scared thoughts. I should definitely feel some form of fear right now. It’s hard, though, when the message written out in sloppy loops and coagulating on the mirror that I cleaned not even two days ago, very clearly says:
               You have nice eyes.
               How am I even supposed to take that?
               Is this a cryptic way to say that someone is going to rip out my eyes soon? I should probably call the police. What the fuck are they going to do, though? Whom does this blood even belong to? There’s a lot of questions that I should be asking. Instead, I choose to hop in the shower and avoid the problem entirely. Once I’m out of the shower, I even do my makeup to make the sparkling green in my eyes pop a little more than usual.
               I do have nice eyes.
***
               The second morning is a little more startling than the first; mostly, because I had put the entire incident to the back of my mind under “things that happen when I’m hungover” and chose to clean my mirror and forget it. Today, I’m awake and alert and there’s no left-over alcohol surfing through my bloodstream. So, the message seems a little peculiar. Still, in that same loopy handwriting, it spells out a compliment:
               Your hair is so shiny.
               So, I guess my murderer will be pulling the hair from my head. I mean that sucks, and it sounds kind of painful—but what can you do, I guess? I wipe the mirror and hop in the shower, my mind already drifting to new thoughts of how I’m going to finish this project at work.
               I spend a little extra time on my hair today.
***
               I like your legs.
               What a bold thing to say.
***
               I think your essays are splendid.
               At least someone does.
***
               I think about you all the time.
               Yes, that much is becoming very apparent.
***
               You have an excellent taste in books.
               I’ll recommend you some.
***
               A week later, and the messages are there every single morning. Most of them feel nonsensical, but aside from that they’re harmless. I laugh a little at the bolder ones, because my admirer doesn’t seem to be the outgoing type. Then again, they’re leaving blood messages every morning—that has to say something about their personality.
               Today’s is a little more dialed back than the others. A simple:
               You look nice.
               I shrug it off and take my shower, almost ready to wipe the message away when a thought pops into my head. I stare at the mirror for a long second before walking out of the bathroom and grabbing my favorite pen and a notepad. I write the letters big and clear, making sure that they aren’t too messy and are easy to read.
               How do you know?
               I ask, taping the paper beside the browning message before I walk out of the room to get ready for the day.
               I don’t see the mirror until I get home, but the message has been nicely cleaned up, and a new one decorates the page that I wrote on earlier—this time in pen. My favorite pen’s ink, to be exact. I bristle a little at the thought of someone else touching it, but I guess I was asking for it when I left it sitting under the mirror this morning.
               Because I see you.
               What is that even supposed to mean? “Because I see you?” I ask to no one in particular, a brisk breeze brushing past me being my only response. I glare at the mirror, tearing the paper down and tossing it in an empty drawer. I grab my notepad and write in big bold letters:
               HOW.
               And yes, I add the period.
***
               I get a response the next morning. I set a different pen under the mirror, but when I wake up, my favorite one is setting on the edge of the bathroom counter. The writing very clearly the same ink as the day before. I glower, looking around and raising a middle finger to the air. I don’t know where my admirer may reside, but if they really can see me, I hope they see this.
               The message reads:           
               I’m everywhere.
               I stare at it for a second before grabbing my least favorite pen—the one I left out for them to use—and hold it up to the sky so that whoever may be watching sees that I am very clearly using this pen to write. I proceed to spell out:
               What the fuck does that mean?
               With the same amount of enthusiasm one might have when writing their will. I set the pen back underneath the paper, grab my favorite pen and pack it into my bag, and proceed to get ready for the day.
***
               It means that I’m always watching.
               I stare, and then I write.
               That’s a little creepy, not going to lie.
***
               It is not.
               I roll my eyes.
               It absolutely is.
***
               The next morning there isn’t a new message and I’m left staring at the sloppily scribbled, “It absolutely is,” that I wrote out last night before I went to bed. I glare at the paper, tossing it onto the slowly growing pile in the drawer sitting at the bottom of my bathroom sink. I pull out another piece and write quickly:
               Where did you go?
               Which sounds a lot more desperate than I want it to, so I ball it up and throw it into the trash. I grab a second piece of paper and proceed to write:
               That wasn’t meant to sound mean.
               Which sounds even more pathetic than the last attempt. I repeat this process several more times before settling on a ridiculous:
               Good morning.
               That makes me want to puke.
               I get ready begrudgingly today.
***
               When I get home, I’m almost shocked to see that there is a light on in my bathroom. I never leave my lights on; I have an irrational fear that something is going to catch fire while I’m out. I take a second, pulling out my pepper spray and grabbing a knife from the kitchen before walking slowly towards the offending room. I keep my eyes on every dark corner and small nooks of the apartment, but nothing seems to be out of place.
               When I toe the bathroom door open entirely, my heart stutters slow at the state the room is in. I take a second to look around, trying to piece together whatever this disaster is. All of the papers that I tossed this morning are unraveled and taped to the mirror, lit up by the candle that’s dancing underneath the mirror. Way too close to the loose paper for my comfort. I move the open flame away first, looking at my own messy scribble before turning to face the paper strewn about the wall behind me.
               I know it’s weird.
               I don’t know how to explain.
               I’m a mess.
               But I really like you.
               And I know this is absolutely insane.
               But I think that you like me, too.
               Sorry for disappearing.
               I didn’t want to freak you out.
               Also. Good afternoon.
               I snort at the last piece of paper, smiling despite the entire situation. “You didn’t freak me out.” You should have, is what I don’t say. I pick the paper off the wall carefully, avoiding tearing it as I stack all of them into my little drawer. I pull out the last piece of paper in the notebook and write carefully:
               What’s your name?
               I tape it up, blow out the candle, and get ready for bed.
***
               Wren.
               I smile and look up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to phrase whatever it is that I’m going to say next.
               Okay, Wren. Want to tell me where you’re hiding?
               I put the paper back in its place, pulling my favorite pen from my purse and setting it underneath the mirror. I guess they’ve earned the right to use it. A light breeze kicks on as the AC turns up, brushing past my face just enough to make my skin prickle. I shrug it off and get ready for the day.
***
               Everywhere.
               This gets another eyeroll from me.
               I still don’t know what that means.
***
               The apartment is colder than usual when I get home, but I put it off as having left the AC down on accident. I don’t bother messing with it, instead I make a cup of hot chocolate and make myself comfortable on the couch—intending to get some type of work done before I go to bed tonight. I’m behind on an article and I’m not even sure where to start researching.
               I open an empty word document, moving to take a sip of my drink before I dive into the deep end. As the rim of the mug touches my lips, a clicking noise sounds from my lap. I hold my drink to the side, glancing towards the laptop that seems to be quite literally working on its own.
               Go to the bathroom.
               I stare at the words, noting the breeze resting against my face as the words stop typing themselves. Alrighty then.
               I walk into the bathroom. And like it has been every night for almost two months now, there is a response to the message that I wrote this morning. Big and bold and browning red. So, we’re back to the blood then.
               I want you to see me.
        ��      I look up at the ceiling, “I’m not quite sure what the means, bestie.” I take a sip of my hot chocolate, the whipped cream brushing the top of my lip as I gulp down the bitterly sweet goodness. I watch on as the words smear together to paint a blood background, new words forming from nowhere.
               Now, I know what you’re thinking. Run. Run fast, run hard, and get the hell out of there. But, in the same way that I felt nothing that first morning, I find myself feeling nothing right now. Not fear. Not anxiety. To be entirely honest, the only thing that I do feel is excitement. And I think that might be very telling of the person that I am.
               I’m a ghost.
               I don’t mean to laugh, but I do. “Yeah, I kind of got that from the whole computer typing by itself thing. I thought you wanted me to see you.” No response, the words don’t smear, and nothing is written out on the paper. I wait, and I wait—I stand here until my hot chocolate is gone, and then I decide that nothing else is going to happen tonight. I clean my cup, put my computer away and get ready for bed with a new piece of paper:
               I won’t be scared. Promise.
***
               I wake with a start. The feeling of something creeping up my spine paired with an overwhelming sensation of being watched jerking me from my dreamless slumber. I sit up fast, my head spinning with the quick movement. I just barely catch the glimpse of a fading figure standing at the bottom of my bed—but it’s enough to make me aware of what’s happening.
               “Don’t get shy on me now. If you can write on my mirror with blood, then you can show your face.” I say, sitting up on my knees and leaning down on my hands so that I’m eye level with the disappeared figure. It takes way too many minutes for the person to slowly come back into sight.
               They’re adorable. Short, but taller than me—which isn’t a great feat considering I’m hardly five feet tall—with short curly hair that looks pinkish, and wide eyes that look right through me. I smile at them, sitting up so that I’m only resting on my knees now. “Wren, right?” They nod their head, lips trembling a little as they do. “Don’t be scared. I’m not.” Their eyes are still wide, but now they’re reaching a shaking hand towards me. I smile encouragingly, sitting entirely still so as not to frighten them.
               They rest the palm of their hand on my cheek.
               “I can…I feel you.” They whisper, voice broken and weary. I set my own hand on top of theirs. “I can feel you, too.” I smile at them, and that seems to be their breaking point. Their lips stretch wide, pulling back to show translucent teeth in a dully blinding smile.
               “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” I whisper, leaning my cheek into their palm gently.
1 note · View note