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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year

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Episode 4: Can Words Be Violence?

Person on TikTok: “Let me explain why misgendering is an act of violence.”

Person at rally: “We’re here today not because we don’t know how to take a joke, we’re here because we’re concerned that the jokes are taking lives.”

Person in classroom: “We don’t want you to speak here. Your remarks are violence. They’re threats. You cannot be speaking here. Thank you very much.”

Pro-life activist: It’s a baby. What if someone is raped and she gave birth and she decided to kill her three-year-old child?” (phone kicked out of her hand)

So that's backwards, pernicious, dangerous, and stupid, and it comes as a result in some ways of a good thing. The good thing is that violence over the long term has been on a steady decline. We're nearing a spike now thanks to the Woke. But prior to this, for a long term, violence has been on the decline. For a lot of people in the United States, they don't really have that much experience with actual violence. And that's a good thing. I don't want people to have experience with violence, but that leads them to labeling something like language as violence.

Language is not violence. And we don't want to minimize what real violence is. When someone puts their hands on somebody else and refuses to take them off, when someone physically rapes someone, or assaults someone, or punches someone, or sets them on fire, or shoots them…that is a very, very serious thing. Words are not violence. Silence is not violence. Violence is violence. It's a very serious thing and it needs to be kept distinct from that.

The cure, especially for political violence, is to talk. The options that we have as human beings, if we have completely different ideas about how public policy should be, are to communicate with each other, and to reach some sort of consensus, either through politics or in the academy. That's what should be going on. It should be a dialog.

The worst thing you could possibly do is shut down that dialogue, refuse to allow that dialogue, because then all you've done is you've opened it up for the only other option, which is violence. You're actually creating violence by labeling words as violence and by trying to stifle freedom of speech or stop someone else who has an idea from talking. You're actually making it more likely that there will be real violence. And real violence, like I just said, is a very distinct and different thing from words. And that should never be forgotten.

This mentality could only take root in locations devoid of significant amounts of violence. They don't talk about "yOuR wOrDs aRe vIoLeNcE" in Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador or Colombia where the homicide rate is over 5%, nor even in the most violent parts of first world cities. Because they have actual violence to contend with.

"wOrDs aRe vIoLeNcE" only works where people are completely unaccustomed to the reality of actual violence. Someone espousing this slogan is therefore reliably one of the most privileged, entitled people who has ever lived in the history of the entire planet. They don't know more about the world than you do just because they use a lot of fancy academic jargon - most of them know much less since they've never actually lived in the world. And don't really understand the platitudes they're regurgitating anyway.

People know that words are not violence. They know this whole thing doesn't make sense. People need to have the courage to stop playing along with this nonsense simply because it's coming out of a crying, mewling, screaming - mentally ill, usually - infantalized adult who's pretending to be a victim.

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lemonhemlock · 1 year

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I don't get why any team green supporter would want the "Aemond is the father" theory to be true. It would only serve to undermine team green and shit on Alicent. I've seen many team black people that like this theory and their reasons are: "it's an good ironic twist since Alicent hated Rhaenyra's bastards", "it would highlight team green's hypocrisy, "see, the bastard argument doesn't matter, etc." Basically, they want to use it as "gotcha."

I think this theory only serves to prop up team black and will ruin team green's depiction even more. And no, I'm not a "Helaemond anti." I'm fine if they want to make it romantic instead of platonic, but I'd hate it if they make the kids Aemond's.

i don't know what to tell you anon since i already have a ton of posts in my backlog cataloging those very points so i'm going to redirect you to my helaemond tag. although some stuff might be found under the anon wars tag or inbox antagonism as i got besieged at one point

i'm just going to say that the greens being hypocritical in one regard isn't the end of the world. i don't know why people are so against this, they're not meant to be perfect angels. and they're getting much worse as the story progresses. also this changes nothing for the actual plot.

the bastardy argument absolutely does still matter, because it's a different thing entirely to have plausible bastards you can pass off as trueborn. we all know that if cersei had fathered those children with stannis (lol), we'd be having a different conversation. how would this amount to a gotcha moment for rhaenyra? she doesn't know shit and can't prove shit. meanwhile her children are looking like harwin strong's clones. aegon has got himself very properly targaryen-looking kids.

there's no DNA testing, but people aren't stupid either. those working in agriculture and animal husbandry have been manipulating genetics for thousands of years to get better crops and food without studying chromosomes under the microscope. sure, their understanding was limited, but it's reasonable to assume they would, at the very least, realise that a Rhaenyra-Laenor marriage could not produce Strong features and find it Pretty Sus

but, you know, what actually really bothers us is that no matter how often we explain these things, it gets ignored and unaddressed. so people just regurgitate the same talking points again and again. it's hard to believe people are not doing it in bad faith at this point. not saying that's your intention, anon, but go to any helaemond account and you'll see that we've been over this already. many times. it's really like talking to a wall. and we still get "i don't understand why some people like this idea" type of questions even though there's a lot of ink spilled on the topic already

and these different asks from different anons:

Anonymous asked: I think people get so riled up about Helaemond and for what 😭 it’s a shipper theory. There are minuscule hints in season one, but like you said, the show could very well never do anything with them. That’s it! Why is it always such a big thing lmao

bingo. this is what it amounts to. the show's framing is there, it's implied as a possibility, yes, it's subtext, for the millionth time, we get it. why would any green sympathizer be interested in this? because they'd find exploring those particular themes interesting in a fictional setting. whether it be angst or longing or star-crossed lovers or dreadful secrets that eat you alive and consume you from within.

there are a hundred of different flavours to any ship. you may not like every one but do you even have to? people who hate this theory talk about it more than people who actually like this theory. is that normal?

Anonymous asked: You don’t have to answer, I know you’re done with ship asks, it just confuses me how people on all ends of the spectrum cry about how others are self inserting or wildly changing a ship. F&B barely gives the main characters a ton of attention, ships even less so. Why argue over something that gets one-two pages? It doesn’t seem worthwhile to me. The show is liable to change plenty of things, as we’ve already seen. The rhaenicent dynamic is so different from the book. The idea of them changing other things is incomprehensible? And “making up characterization/personalities/etc”- doesn’t everyone do this? Isn’t this the purpose of fanfic? I feel like I’m in an alternate universe sometimes where the idea of someone developing a side character is not only normal, it’s encouraged. Fandoms do it all the time.

hey there, i'm not ~done with shipping asks, as this is my blog at the end of the day and i can be as annoying as i want. :)) i see both sides of this issue.

one the one hand, it's sometimes baffling how much of a difference there is between the actual presentation within a text / on screen and the fanon interpretations. i think like there is a conversation here and it is sometimes indicative of some other issues. it's not always just innocent, self-aware changes made for fun, sometimes it's also a question of media literacy or personal / societal prejudices at play here.

a personal example from my reading experiences was the fact that i used to encounter a lot of fics where alicent was depicted as this awful mother who hates her children and sees them as tools. i would get so tired of seeing this take (which i consider bullshit for a number of reasons) that it was kind of a frustrating situation, since it seemed that was the (undeserved) way she was being portrayed all over the fandom. it would bother me bc it's also something so prevailing in society today, to demonise women who are trying their best as bad mothers and place the burden of child-rearing on them. for example, people would look at the scene of a distressed alicent trying to calm a continuously crying helaena and would claim that the baby hates her because she is such a horrible mother to her. anyway. many such examples. you can look up my opinions on lucemond, for instance. :))

on the other hand, most fics imply some sort of changes somewhere, whether they're a fix-it, canon divergence, a freaking coffee shop AU, a crackship or characters acting OOC. it's completely normal AND harmless at the end of the day. so, as long as people mind their own business and are not being arseholes to each other, to each their own. the people who want to make these changes should be free to write without getting hate for it and the people who are frustrated by interpretations they dislike can rant about it in their own spaces and that should be that.

it truly becomes an issue when people don't mind others boundaries' anymore, become so hateful with others and resort to name-calling, morality high-horsing and other forms of online harassment and bullying. for example, there are many people who write fics i don't care for or have takes i strongly disagree with, but i've never in my life went to their inboxes to disparage them, send them hate, dictate what they should post, leave comments on their fics, deride their artwork, tell them to kys or any such things. at the end of the day it's about having some basic manners, you know? it's ok to not like stuff and feel frustrated about it, but do you have to make it everyone else's problem? can you not just convey your displeasure in a more considerate way?

Anonymous asked: putting aside that self inserts in fic are as old as time and will never stop being a thing so it’s silly to complain (aemond/ofc has more fic on ao3 than alysmond, helaemond, aegond and daemond combined) I think people throw around that insult the same way they used to make fun of people for even writing fic. like it’s so silly and fangirly and dumb. But what most people are doing with literally any aemond ship is finding a dynamic they enjoy/find interesting and running with it. they expand on the characters because they have to, f&b is so sparsely drawn and the show had to cram 2 decades into 10 episodes. there simply isn’t a lot of source material. so using that as a foundation and crafting more rounded characters isn’t a crime, it’s simply fandom? i don’t relate to having prophetic dreams and marrying my alcoholic brother any more than i relate to being a hot goth milf who can do blood magick. both can be expanded on and played with because that’s what you do when you enjoy media!

this was in reference to a caustic anon that was accusing me of self-inserting into helaena. :)) OP is making some fair points here, i don't have much to add but thought it interesting as a general commentary on fandom

Anonymous asked: Even if you were engaging in ship wars and stoking flames (which you really aren’t, I don’t think any of your personal discussions have been inflammatory) it’s your blog. People can block and unfollow if they dislike the content? I can’t imagine asking someone to confirm more to what I want to see on their blog, as a fan.

yes, thank you, this was sent to me because i sometimes get requests from people asking me not to post something in favour of something else. this particular instance was because i answered other helaemond asks at the time.

is it fair? idk! some of those requests are worded v politely, so i'm not upset by them or anything, but, at the same time, shouldn't this blog be something that caters to me first and foremost? not to toot my own horn, but i should be my first customer in this regard. why else would i post if i don't enjoy doing it? i don't get paid for doing this, it's my own free time involved. if i have a day where i want to post shipping asks instead of something else, why not? if i have a day when i don't want to or can't muster up a coherent answer, i feel like it should be equally fine?

another thing that people don't realise - some might not like a topic or me talking about shipping wars for the 234th time this week, but others do. otherwise i wouldn't be getting so many messages about this. so, by trying to please 1 or 2 people, i might end up displeasing others. is that a good trade-off? this is why i don't even want to start considering my blog in those terms. "pleasing" everyone is an impossible objective, so i might as well just write about things if i enjoy them and not if i don't want to.

similarly, you're never going to find an account that caters 100% to your tastes, so i feel like trying to make it so by putting pressure on other people to post what you specifically want is an endeavour doomed to failure from the start. your first reaction when seeing something you're not interested in should be to scroll past, not to feel the urge to make people aware that you experienced a minor inconvenience and should, therefore, be accommodated accordingly.

#ask #anon #helaemond #found some free time so compiling some asks #i don't always have the time or energy to answer straight up #so you'll have to eat what i feed you!!!!#*cackles*#shipping wars #anti hotd fandom

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uraharashouten · 7 months

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No offense meant but I really think youre wrong about AI

AI in the context of art and writing HAS to take sources from other people. Online AI generators cant operate without stealing from other creators, and is being used to minimize the work actual artists and writers do. All tech is AN AI but a computer or website isnt going to steal your work, assimilate it and spit it back out for someone else without your knowledge, consent or input. AI in general has ethical issues when implemented into society. And honestly not all progress is good progress. The current AI tech is bad regardless of hows its used and is very different than just being a computer program, its only purpose is to mix up artistic input and spit it out for others benefit

The fact is, even if artists get a say, its tech that fundamentally tries to bypass the hard work and ACTUAL technical aspects of art to mimic it. Maybe it can move forward in the future but its not a good idea to say that the way its being used is the only problem. New tech isn’t automatically bad or good, how people use it does matter. Comparing the real world use of this tech to steal from artists to fictional characters who happen to be artificial creations isn’t ok. You can choose not to have negative consequences in a fictional world, but not in reality. And just because something works out okay in a story doesn't mean its a good idea. Artificial life is itself an entire ethical debate thats gone on for decades and cant be boiled down to good or bad.

It's always nice to know people are reading this blog. Thanks for your thoughtful input.

I was being a bit tongue-in-cheek with the reference to fictional characters, but how AI is applied to real-world creative enterprises is indeed a significant issue. One major problem has been around the data sets used to train various AI models, and those being used to generate 'art' are only one facet of the problem. Take, just for one example, AI used to sift resumes—if the training data favors a particular demographic bias, guess which ones get filtered out a priori? Ethical questions around use and application of AI abound. Use of artificial intelligence is a complex and nuanced issue.

The damage has been done with the most popular tools, such as ChatGPT and DALL-E, but it would be possible for artists and writers to consent to using their works to train AI tools, in which case, there'd be no stealing. (I personally would be intrigued to see what would happen if this blog were used to train an AI, so I'd consent to that.) But if we begin to rely broadly on the AI to generate art, where does that leave artists? Where does that leave innovation and originality? If everything is a mélange and regurgitated hodgepodge that looks good enough, where does that leave our expectations? Our aspirations? That doesn't sound like human flourishing to me.

Now, before we get all high and mighty about how original we are, let me point out that humans have always loved to copy one another. In a sense, all art is derivative; that's why we have archetypes and tropes. We influence one another, but we'll only ever be similar, not identical, and that's part of the beauty of creativity. I can write someone else's characters (thank you Kubo Tite) but I will never exactly replicate perfectly the way the creator did it. And that's a beautiful thing. Likewise, an artifical intelligence won't duplicate an original; it'll just take inspiration from it, in the same way a human would. But it might do that faster and cheaper, if not better. And that's part of the problem. But... we will need to grapple with all this as a society, because it's not going away.

Finally: the real reason for that post? If you've read this far, you deserve to know. I understand that the PSA that's been going around is an attempt to establish a new cultural norm for how artificially-generated content is regarded... by using fear of being replaced by AI to justify ostracizing anyone who uses any form of it, as determined subjectively. And frankly, anything that uses fear, uncertainty and doubt to create in-groups and out-groups in the RPC—or frankly, anywhere else— just rubs me the wrong way.

#[[ look at me bein' problematic on main today ]]#[[ out of lollipops ]]

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randomclam24 · 7 months

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I made an attempt to oblige the uploaders on germ theory on BitChute, but then I inevitably realized the act of actually getting to solid arguments one way or another in this shit-flinging was actually beyond the pale.

I remember, at some point, I made the statement that the way lefties expect people to make sense according to *their* thoughts, like the women that will divorce-rape you because they get the "ick", that expectation has nothing to do with the amount of effort applied.

So? Then I look at something in reality, and I realize there really *isn't* any merit in going beyond the pale of their expectations, because all these people are doing anyway is what comes down to repeated ad hominem arguments based in strawmen fallacies that they're making simply because they "have" their theory concluded in their minds in advance. If this is what is considered getting the job done intellectually, it's no wonder nothing ever gets done anymore in the workforce either. No, our problem runs *deeper* than the dropout crisis. Men don't know how to work. Our sense of satisfaction comes from this sense of being "right", which exists on essentially a virtual plane that doesn't exist.

If we had a solid argument in all that, the uploader would still be full of shit.

The current standings on the science are that it doesn't matter whether you're of the establishment or not: everyone, *everyone* finishes their argument by painting in broad strokes that every disease is categorized as *their* label, with no proof - with anti-germ-theory conspiracy theorists, it's awkwardly that they're "toxins" or "venom", which makes *no* sense because that awkwardness gives people the "ick", so to speak, setting off an entire tirade of pro-establishment wall-of-text. The scientific establishment itself has it established so that every disease, when you simply look it up, will be categorized as bacteria because it is made default. So on both ends, no effort or actualization is involved. The scientific method be damned. We're not living in a first-world country - when you step outside the bounds of what they'll teach you within standardized curriculum, it's like venturing outside your whitewashed neighborhood into what Kanye has dubbed "the Black Mass". "Astronauts Gone Wild" is thereby par for the course and then some, as you see these people catching things on fire flipping cars over every now and then for no reason or stimulus other than that some headcanon of the value of the ad hominem strawmen described got violated, and they're very angry. In reality, life doesn't have the intrinsic value to get all uppity about it. The average IQ is only 100, in the end. So aside from regurgitation-level understanding of what your curriculum teaches you at face value, what, you can play with Tinker Toys?

So basically - especially when they're lodged in a bureaucratic position in an institution that's deemed "too big to fail", humans aren't worth their salt - so you should not pay taxes. But this laziness doesn't even require the existence of an institution in the first place. The sense that they are right in a way that morally removes them from the fault of the flock suffices, so that the uploader will no longer feel the need to build their theory from the ground up to qualify it. You *might* find the meat of the argument in there, but there's no push toward it.

How it goes "Please prove that diseases etc. are either venom/toxin or bacteria"

"*Sorry*, I was already on course to just sit here and keep flapping my gums for another few hours until *another* set of tangents crop up" ( - then, for people that I actually am there with in person, then they finish and look around like everything's resolved, and I have to make my question from zero again, and then maybe they're like "*oh!*")

I don't know how to diagnose this except from what I heard from a Christian book, that people of modernity have lost their touch of what it means to be in an intimate environment - they seek after attraction after attraction like tourists

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xsadcorebenji · 2 years

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an undying will

to run out and scream “THE WORLD IS A FUCK”

for someone with a constant stream of consciousness

i Never remember myself

and everything i remember is wrong

maybe memories are just emotions

how is it that I constantly think and forget myself over and over again

then i revisit myself and pretend i discovered something new

then it’s not,

just records of me realizing the same things over and over again,

“yeah well you can’t run away from yourself, can you?”

a voice just sparked in my head with this.

did i spend my entire life running?

where am i even going then?

man.

it’s hard to think like people ever remember me in a good light

saw something about the will to be hated being the key to happiness

didn’t actually parse through

but could probably summarize considering same regurgitated philosophies that become pop nuggets

(an aside; therapist also reads a lot of pop psychology books and argues against them but takes the tidbits relevant)

i want to disturb an entire city by screaming “WORLD IS A FUCK”

what’s a harsher truth;

someone actively reads anything you put out and remains silent?

or no one hears you.

you can run everywhere and scream as much as you want but no one ever hears you

and it’s frustrating because didn’t i come to this void because i figured no one would even notice

yet am i craving notice?

wish we can power drill the crook of our arms and bleed out all of the “human condition”

what good is a thinking mind when i don’t understand or know anything at all?

right now I’m frustrated because I can’t remember something and I feel like i forgot something important

and I read something I said awhile back and wonder

why i talk to people at all?

feels like communicating with anyone is just active harm you cause anyone

because ultimately you never know how they’ll react and

i was thinking about TV Ratings earlier

how it doesn’t really exist so the boundaries of what content people grow with are muddled

you talk and the silence is deafening because

it’s a perfect reflection of an active form of ignoring

and I just realized

have I always relied on feedback loops?

is that why i buried myself in academia for so long?

it’s like the only place where i can say anything and there’s someone impressed by whatever i say

and why

why does it feel awful without the feedback loop?

think about the pocket journal i used to walk around and jot everything down with

and thinking about one time working in the restaurant i spent a certain amount of the dead time just furiously scribbling into my pocket journal about these thoughts of Lacan, society, panopticons, and mirrors

and I write it all just to share online later, back then i received feedback through a “like” by someone who claimed romantic feelings towards me (but isn’t it just limerence after all?)

read a tidbit where

I think I was studying memory because I wanted to figure out if there were ways to practice having better short term or long term memory

read somewhere once how

if you want to remember something don’t take a picture of it

if you take a picture of it you’ll like forget because the brain sort of just sets off a response that “oh I don’t have to use anything to remember”

and then

i Write and share thoughts and opinions

then i reread something I said or wrote and think why the fuck is this something I already felt or thought or anything?

and it’s frustrating like what’s the nugget in my brain that screams “I’m self conscious I am not truly myself I am performing a version of me for a specific person because I want their attention”

i finally get it; when i got properly diagnosed for borderline i got frustrated at the concept of “unstable sense of self”

i used to think,

“I don’t understand how this applies to me i always like the same shit”

but this is it; this is the instability

and as i write this realization another follows

“YOU WILL SURELY FORGET YOU REALIZED AND RECOGNIZED THE INSTABILITY”

and haha what else can i do but bring this up in therapy to investigate

(again reliance on feedback loops)

i actually got really tired of myself recently that’s sort of why im floating here

the voice in my head; “Who do you even write this for? Any practical person would simply use a journal”

and i open journals and it just

gets worse, and sometimes it’s nicer to

sleep on a park bench knowing you’re looking directly at blank canvases and voids

“a life alone”

“a world abroad”

i get frustrated when people only like me for the novelty of me but run away and try to find new people to adore the novelty of me

as i slowly weep myself into rest

another qualm

what’s scarier?

someone sees you and watches you but doesn’t interact

or no one even saw you at all?

and whenever we imagine a “someone” don’t we just naturally attribute what that someone may be like?

so when the “wrong” person sees you, you reject them,

then a repeat hamster wheel

little hamsters big adventures, my best friend

when the “right” person sees you, you overcompensate for loneliness

and then when it fails it’s nothing but an awful feedback loop

and i really wish i knew how to read others at all,

and maybe sometimes i wish this was all a solipsist nightmare because i accidentally wormhole and read stuff i typed to anyone and i scream

“shut up, shut up, shut up, you ruined it; you weren’t paying attention”

and

the real irony is, really thinking what you perceived as heinous harm on others isn’t even real, like none of these fucking people you cared so much for actually care or even remember

so you laugh in relief and sadness

and

you have all this awareness and realizations

then you’ll slumber

forget it all again, misremember reiterate remember

and now im watching myself on screen in a home video, and it’s me crying while wearing a child made paper mask for my favorite ninja turtle, Michelangelo

and then i think again, “why I am I only 17-24 whenever i exist at all while im dreaming?”

and is there

Just a disconnect and maybe the real me died horrendously at 24, due to an accident in a life aboard

unaware

here I am always

can’t ever sleep well,

and I really wanna scream “world is a fuck”

#personal

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

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I mean, I don’t believe in the predictive power of dreams, obviously, but still, it’s a deeply unsettling thing to find. I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke and slipped it into the archives. - Episode 11, Dreamer

Jon stares down at the paper in his hands.

He’s had many an unkind thought towards Gertrude, his predecessor, the woman responsible for this mess and the current bane of his existence. She’s been the topic of most of his grumbling as he sorts through piles of nonsense and decaying cardboard boxes. He’s got no love lost for her, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy she’s dead. Or, specifically, to have a statement apparently predicting it through the medium of some prophetic dream. Ridiculous. He wants to feel detached, unaffected, but he can’t help the sickly sense of dread that creeps up his spine and lingers in his throat.

It was your face and the expression upon it was far more fearful than any I had seen in eight years of wandering this twilight city.

Jon doesn’t know Antonio Blake and has no reason to believe him. But he’s known something’s wrong for a long time now.

He’s never admitted it aloud, never within his assistant’s hearing range, but he can feel it, as foolish as that sounds. This miasma of wrong, of being watched, of becoming...something else, that happens every time he records a statement. Despite the academic detachment he aspires to, he does attempt to empathize with each statement-giver and get into their mindset. But what he’s doing here...it’s different. He can visualize it so perfectly, the terror in their words sticking in his throat and setting his own heart pounding, as if he were the one experiencing it and not just regurgitating it to an ancient recorder. He’s always had an ‘overactive imagination,’ as his grandmother would say, but this is relentless in its manifestation. The fear is real, not imagined. Each statement draws him further and further away from the safety he used to cling to, where the only real cases were few and far between and the most sinister things lurking out there in the world were books and the monsters within them.

And as much as he wants to linger on the false accounts and take comfort in tearing them apart, his hands automatically seek the real ones, the right ones. It’s frightening, the ease with which he finds them nowadays. Perhaps he’s a better archivist than he thinks.

She died and you’ll be next, something whispers to him. He’s being dramatic, as he’s wont to do, but it feels true. Every statement that doesn’t record correctly, every follow-up he has to qualify with an ‘I would dismiss this, but-’ is starting to add up. His nights have become restless. He often lies awake regretting that he ever took this job, that he left the relative safety of research for a position he’s not sure how to fill, his only reassurance Elias’s occasional emails that he’s ‘moving in the right direction,’ whatever that means.

Jon assumed he’d be more removed from the dangerous aspects of the job that research entailed- following up, going to locations, field work. And it’s true, he has assistants to do that for him now. Dependable, for the most part. And while he should feel safe in his tiny office with nothing but dust and paper and cobwebs (good lord, the cobwebs) he feels more unsettled and exposed than ever. He once joked he’d die of old age before getting the archives in order. But now a stroke sounds much more pleasant than whatever happened to Gertrude. If it’s true.

Perhaps it’s a joke, he thinks. Planted by one of the others, designed specifically to unsettle him. Well, it worked.

It wouldn’t be surprising. He’s...not had the best start. The promotion was a surprise, but not wholly unexpected; he knew he’d been on Elias’s radar, though he wasn’t expecting it quite so soon. He’s young and unfortunately, it shows. The way he stutters through department meetings, talking about digitization while the others, all of whom have at least a decade on him, shoot pitying looks. He stays later and later, the desire to show some sort of progress even as he discovers more mess by the day. The permanent scowl that now graces his features becomes his armor as he walks the halls and feels himself becoming the uptight, unlikable curmudgeon everyone believes him to be. The one time I measure up to expectations, he can’t help thinking.

A joke. There’s a comfort in that. At least it’s familiar.

But it didn’t record to the laptop, his traitorous mind supplies. It's a bit sad he would prefer it to be a mundane attempt at bullying rather than a real expression of the supernatural, but he supposes it’s par for the course. There were many nights as a child he wished for the same thing, for that boy to go back to taking his lunch money and the occasional beating or two instead of…still, he dismisses it from his mind. You don’t know there’s a correlation. Follow up. Disprove it.

He’s interrupted from his musings by a knock on the door and the vague outline of Martin through the frosted glass. “Come in,” he calls, attempting to inject some irritation in his voice to cover up the shakiness. “Did you need something?”

“Ah, I finished my write up for the Herbert case, was wondering if you had anything else for me?”

His hand hovers over the statement on his desk. He opens his mouth but then closes it, thinking better.

“Can you send Tim in, actually?”

______

“Sorry boss, I couldn’t find anything on this Antonio Blake fellow- well, at least with the details he provided, which were next to none. Proper spooky, though.”

Of his assistants, he trusts Tim the most with this sort of thing.

On a surface level, it wouldn’t make sense to some. Tim can be loud and gregarious: the typical, charming extrovert. But he’s not unkind and he’s a hell of a researcher, especially when something grabs his interest. He digs into statements and doesn’t let go- not unlike Sasha, though he’s a bit better at empathizing and handling things...sensitively. Easily attuned to Jon’s moods, Tim’s always been willing to lend an ear whenever he gets too in his head about cases, helping him talk things through or on several memorable occasions, go down the rabbit hole with him. He’d taken the statement from his hands with an easy smile, though his face grew serious with the nervous look Jon shot him.

And if Tim couldn’t find anything, well. Maybe it was a prank after all.

He sort of wanted it to be true, frightening as the implications were. Because then it would mean this terrible, heavy feeling on his shoulders was real, and not just the byproduct of his own mediocrity. He doesn’t want to be scared, he doesn’t want to be in danger, but at least it would provide a real reason for panic, and not just his own inability to measure up. He doesn’t want to prove them all right, collapsing under the stress of a job poorly done and so easily crumbling at a stupid, made-up statement, targeted as it may be.

“A joke, then.” Jon says, rubbing a hand at his temples, trying not to let the hurt seep into his voice. Tim makes a commiserating noise.

“You know how people are, the institute isn’t exactly popular. You remember last Halloween, when-”

“Yes, I don’t need a reminder.” Jon sighs. He’d rather not relive that day, stressful as it was. “But that wasn’t quite what I was thinking.”

Tim stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Jon continues, attempting to make his hands busy as he pointlessly shuffles papers.

“It’s rather pointed, isn’t it? I doubt someone off the street would create such a detailed account of the death of an...archivist as opposed to the usual ghostly drivel.”

A look of pity flickers in Tim’s eyes and Jon has to turn away. “I don’t really think anyone here would-”

“Really? You don’t?” Jon lets out a mirthless laugh, rubbing a hand across his face as he stares down at his desk. “I’m not blind. Or deaf.” The derisive snorts if he goes off on ‘needless tangents,’ how Rosie pretends to be busy whenever he approaches Elias’s office, the way his name badge still reads ‘researcher’ after months of asking for a new one. He’s basically become a pariah.

“Jon, did someone say something to you?” The words are carefully chosen and he’s leaning forward now, making as if to stand up and god forbid, do something comforting. It’s not that Jon doesn’t want the comfort; he craves it more than anything. But he’s gone without for so long he doesn’t trust himself not to break at the gentlest of touches. Being on the receiving end of Tim’s protective streak is nothing new, but he shouldn’t need his assistant looking out for him like he’s some sort of helpless infant.

He snorts derisively instead, covering up the insecurity and hurt with a sardonic, self-effacing smile. The kind he knows Tim hates. “They don’t need to. I’ve walked in on conversations, I’ve seen the way people go quiet, the looks they give me-”

“Hey,” Tim’s voice is low, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. Jon wonders how he looks, if Tim’s going this soft. “Don’t listen to them, alright? You inherited a mess, we all did- but we’re doing our best, yeah? Study and record, like Elias said.” Jon doesn’t dodge the hand that finally lands on shoulder, and he’ll deny to anyone that he leaned into it.

“Study and record.” He repeats listlessly, slumping back down into his seat. He’s let himself get too worked up, acting like a child instead of a boss. He’s not sure when he started wearing his heart on his sleeve, but Tim’s always been good at reading him. Though he’d rather people think him an arrogant ass than the seething mess of insecurity he truly is.

“Atta boy.” The pat to his shoulder is purposefully light, devoid of Tim’s usually friendly force that sends him stumbling forward. “Now get out of here at a normal time, alright? We can grab lunch tomorrow. Just the two of us, if you like.”

Jon makes a noncommittal grunt, though the thought is nice. He entertains the idea for just a moment, remembering their occasional outings back in research. Tomorrow he’ll make his excuses. He hasn’t been much of a friend as of late, and he’s not sure he deserves the kindness of company.

“And if there’s anyone that needs a stern talking to from me, I-” Tim wags a finger and Jon rolls his eyes, ignoring the pang of warmth the words send through his chest.

“Don’t, please. It’s fine.” It isn’t. “But...thank you, Tim.”

“Course.” A wink and a sloppy salute to lighten the mood, and Jon feels the tension in his posture ease minutely as Tim shuts the door behind him.

He lets out a breath and reaches for the tape recorder. He’s wasted too much time already.

Be careful. There is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.

Good luck.

He fights a shiver as the man’s voice leaves him and the last vestiges of that twilight world fade back to his dimly-lit office. In his follow up, he tries to play it off as a joke. A bit of hazing for the new boss. And yet the uneasiness still creeps into his voice, and he ends another tape on a stilted, half-believed note.

If this is genuine…

Jon prays that it isn’t.

And like most of his prayers, it goes unheard and unanswered.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32165071

reblogs > likes

#tma #the magnus archives #my writing #jonathan sims #tim stoker #season one jon feels #with added tim #in which rye has feelings about jon 'dismissing' statements and thinking it could be a joke and TRUSTING TIM #what else is new #reblogs appreciated <3 #a light bit of #jontim

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opalesense · 3 years

Text

more than friends

kaeya & gn!reader

2k words • ~15 min. read

summary: feeling down in the dumps on a lonely valentine’s day evening, you are met with a pleasant surprise from your close friend, kaeya.

warnings: just pure lovesick fluff!! shy kaeya my beloved... <3

notes: i defrosted this draft from valentine’s day aahhh hope you like it!! ;^; p.s. shoutout if you can spot his canon voice lines in this hehehe

SITTING WITH MY BACK ON THE FOUNTAIN WALL and watching the rotating blades of the windmills in Mondstadt was not how I expected to spend my evening on Valentine's Day.

To be honest, Valentine's Day was never that big of a deal to me. For the past few years, I always considered Valentine's Day to be a day where vendors could get a boost of profit by exploiting the gift-giving aspect of the holiday and selling their wares to cheesy couples who wouldn't know any better. Why was there a dedicated day to be sweet to your significant other? Couldn't special gifts be given at any other time of the year?

Despite my indifference to Valentine's Day, I couldn't help but feel a little lonely this year. My back purposely faced the couples of Mondstadt who would walk by now and then on their way to their dates and instead I had windmills to accompany me along with a book to pass the time. I figured my evening stroll outside wouldn't make me feel so disappointed in myself, but I was proven sorely wrong. I couldn't even look at other people today without feeling sorry for myself.

"[Y/N]?" a familiar voice drew closer behind me, interrupting my lament and startling me. "What are you doing here all alone?"

I turned my head to see my close friend and neighbor Kaeya approaching me, carrying a small leather pack along with his sheathed sword on his waist. I realized he probably finished his shift at the Knights of Favonius headquarters and was just about to head home. The sight of him eased some of my worries knowing that despite my usual solitude, at least I would talk to one person today. "Just reading a book," I held up the cover of my book for him to see. He gave a small nod to the title as I put it back down into my lap. "How did you even spot me here?"

"I can see you from my office," he pointed at a window on the wall of the headquarters, "You chose quite an odd spot for reading, dear friend. You must be uncomfortable on the ground like that.”

I nervously laughed, not wanting to admit that I sat behind this fountain to avoid looking at how much fun everyone else was having. My gaze turned to the sky, a vibrant orange that now began fading into a shadow of dark blue sprinkled with stars. Dusk was approaching. “I suppose it is getting a little late for reading, now that I think about it. I think I might head home now."

"Allow me to accompany you on your walk home. I’m headed that way, after all," he quickly offered as I began to prop myself up to my feet. He held out his hand to help me on my way up, the sudden physical contact sending a shiver down my spine. As clearly touch deprived as I was, my hand quickly pulled away once I was standing and dusted off my clothes, which were wrinkled from sitting for so long today.

"You are too kind, Kaeya," I grinned, earning a grin back from him. Maybe this is my loneliness speaking for me, but I swear that smile might have made my heart skip a beat. Although I may have had a crush on Kaeya for the past few months, there was no way I’d ever let those thoughts resurface now. I've done a good job of repressing the feelings for so long, whether I was around him or not. At least, I thought I did.

As we walked, it suddenly dawned on me that the feelings never truly went away. They were persistent for months, despite being suppressed. He was my closest friend for quite some time now. So maybe it was a sign that it was meant to be...

Chills ran down my spine at this realization. And once the truth had settled in, the feelings I thought I had managed to stow away suddenly flooded my mind in a storm of emotion. The more we talked during the walk home, the more eager my heart was to open up and let the thought of him fill the cavernous, lonely void inside. My eyes nervously turned to our feet, which stepped together in perfect sync. My attention darted to the hand at his side, which I ached to touch once more. The more I tried to fight this longing, to forget about it and keep it isolated, the more it fought back in an effort to stay alive.

"[Y/N]?" his sultry voice snapped me out of my delusion. Do NOT let your emotions take control of you, I scolded myself.

"Sorry," I shuffled my feet towards his figure, which had stopped a few meters away. The world seemed to stop when I was lost in thought, and with each step I took towards him, the world slowly resumed from where I mentally left it.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, now concerned. "You know you can talk to me."

"No, no. I'm fine," I gripped my book, fighting the urge to break in front of him. "I'm just a little lost in my thoughts."

"Well then, what's on your mind?"

"Kaeya, you won't make fun of me if I’m being honest with you right?" I started to speak without thinking. No, no, no! What are you about to say?!

"What makes you think I would? C’mon, [Y/N]. We joke around a lot but you know I'm good with secrets."

What are you doing?! Don’t fall under pressure like this!

"Well... I’ve felt quite lonely today. A little part in me hurts to see so many people enjoying Valentine's Day, knowing fully well that I live alone and spend most of my days alone... I guess what I’m trying to say is that it was very kind of you to go out of your way to talk to me today, Kaeya. It means a lot more to me than you know."

The silence that followed that regurgitation of thoughts was lethal. Kaeya didn't even stop. We just kept walking. I ignored the instant regret that pounded the walls in my head.

"So you didn't have any plans today?" he asked, as if he had just ignored everything I told him.

"Not at all. I was taking a stroll to find a good reading spot for today but seeing so many couples together... I guess it was like pouring salt into the wound. That's why I was sitting turned away from everything, if that answers your question from earlier."

Now you've just told him too much. If he didn't already think you were sad and lonely before, he definitely thinks so now.

"You shouldn't isolate yourself like that, [Y/N]. We could've– forget it, actually," he chuckled and rested his hand on the back of his neck as we finally approached our residential complex.

"Hey, spit it out!" I nudged him with my elbow, "I poured out my thoughts for you, don't get all shy now. It's your turn."

We stopped at my front door, exchanging small chuckles. The space between us was killing me. If only I could get enveloped by his warm embrace now... No!

"How about I tell you later? Meet me here in around ten minutes."

"What?!" I scoffed, "Now you’re just toying with me."

"Ten minutes," he gave me one last grin and a short wave before jogging away towards his own house. I shook my head as I turned the key to my door, feeling the slamming of my heart against my ribs and the sloppy mix of awe, nervousness, and regret boiling in my stomach. His smile was frozen inside my mind like a photograph capturing a memory. It hurt to like him this much.

A knock on my door ten minutes later pulled me away from tending to my plants on my balcony. I set the watering can down and rushed to the door, straightening out my clothes once more before opening it. Contrary to my expectations, Kaeya stood in the doorway with a shy grin, his hands obviously hiding something behind his back.

"I thought you were joking when you said ten minutes," I scoffed and crossed my arms, looking up at him to meet a pair of soft eyes.

"Still don't have plans for tonight?" his eyebrows raised with the question.

"No. What, are you about to take me out on a date or something?" I said in jest. He chuckled and uncrossed his arms behind his back with slight hesitation before revealing a dainty bouquet of calla lilies tied with a silver ribbon. My jaw dropped slightly in shock with the sight of the charming white petals.

"I am, actually," his voice was gentler and sweeter than usual. "These are for you."

He motioned for me to take the bouquet, which I gladly accepted. The subtle fragrance reminded me of his own scent, which made me smile. I secretly wished my entire house would smell like this unforgettable aroma – this unforgettable man.

"[Y/N]," his words were laced with hesitation, "I have been waiting weeks to tell you this but... you are constantly on my mind. Whenever I see you my heart jumps and..."

He chuckled with nervousness. That grin never fails to make my chest light up.

"...and I know you're not going to believe me because you say I smooth talk everyone, but I promise you, [Y/N]. I know you see that I’m nervous right now – that doesn't happen to me with anyone else. This feeling hasn't gone away for months.” Instant regret suddenly painted his face, which I quickly took notice of. I stepped closer to him and lifted my hand to gently cup his warm, blushing cheek. It was my way of telling him to keep talking without interrupting him.

"[Y/N]..." he blushed more at the touch and sighed, "you are so special to me and... I’ll get straight to the point. I want to be more than friends. I really mean it.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited eagerly for my response. I was no longer thinking properly. My heart had taken over my mind, and for once, it was for my benefit.

"Kaeya," my voice cracked with a million emotions at once, "you have no clue how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that. I am so in love with you it makes me sick," I admitted lightheartedly.

He laughed with relief, taking another step closer to me and shrinking the space between us. He lifted his hand to grab mine and intertwined our fingers together. The mood shifted from nerve wrecking intensity to reassurance and gentleness the instant our palms met. He caressed my hand with his gloved thumb for reassurance, chasing all my troubles away. "I promise I will never let you feel alone ever again."

We stood there staring into each other's eyes for a few moments, exchanging so many mutual emotions in mere seconds. A blush began to creep up my face as well when he gave my hand a squeeze accompanied with a proud smile.

"Well, now that we're both blushing messes in love with each other, how about we finally go out tonight?" Our friendly dynamic finally returned to clear the thickness in the air once he broke the silence. "I have to admit, I was feeling a little lonely myself and was just going to drink at the tavern with some of the other Knights tonight.”

"Not anymore, I hope?"

"Definitely not. I’d rather spend the evening holding your hand and taking a stroll through the city so everyone knows I’m finally yours."

This man sure knows how to say the right thing. I glanced at the bouquet in my arms, partly to hide my reddened face but also to ask, "Could I put these in a vase first? They're beautiful, by the way. I really love calla lilies.”

"Oh yes, of course. But they’re not as beautiful as you, cutie," Kaeya said with no reluctance.

There's the flirty Kaeya that I know.

I let out a shy laugh as he let go of my hand, the loss of touch making me pout. As I turned to put the flowers away, he leaned on the doorframe and let out a deep breath.

"Well, I'll be here. Don't make me wait too long, now."

#kaeya #kaeya x reader #genshin impact #mine #boom #genshin impact x reader

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 3 years

Text

Tues 15 June ‘21

Venice MP filming is underway, romantic canalside walks and gondola ride are a GO, as seen in pap pics and many (many) videos from fans gathered on site! I’m sure they appreciated all the little sheer polo showing off Harry’s tits, who doesn’t love a good hiddies moment huh? GQ probably did too; they already wrote a whole article about the outfit Harry wore yesterday! But even they can’t say anything better about those shorts than that they look “presentable” LMAO. TAKE THAT corduroy shorts! What about those fans though? Well, they are certainly bringing us plenty of videos- Harry handing co-star David up out of a boat like a sweet gentleman, aww, Harry skipping about between shots, Harry with a lil purse, Harry just trying to live his life and like go eat food when not working, etc etc... maybe folks could take a few steps back? Looks like Harry is really getting hounded through the tiny Venetian streets and on set, by pretty large crowds, to the extent of disrupting filming, oh no. Harry signed a picture for a nearby school-- “stay outrageous”, again dating it (June ‘21) but possibly by the end of the day he was wishing people would not be quite so outrageous.

Meanwhile the antis stuck at home are frothing at the mouth trying to convince larries (or maybe themselves?) that we now ship David and Harry- uh sorry sweaty but having the ability to understand that holding hands for cameras does not have to mean that people are really fucking is actually a pretty major core component of the whole larrie thing?! But good luck with that! It makes sense that seeing Harry acting lovey dovey with someone that they know he isn’t actually sleeping with would throw them in a tizzy though, after all their whole identity is based on denying that’s a thing that’s possible... poor things, baby’s first cognitive dissonance! It can really make you question things huh, and that’s always rough.

But they’re not the only ones with things to say about Harry! Superstar of stage and screen Mandy Patinkin posted video of himself and his wife getting four minutes’ worth of lightning round pop culture trivia questions wrong, but he nails one of em- asked what a Harry song (WS) is about, he remains silent. Well done, that’s just what Harry would have said! And Selma Hayek told a story about Harry coming to her house where her pet owl (who Harry was enthralled with and wanted to hang out with him) regurgitated an owl pellet in his hair! LOL poor Harry; naturally she said he handled it very well and was very sweet. Yes, it’s possible Harry’s interactions with her were because she’s in Marvel’s Eternals; it’s also possible he was at her house because her husband is the head of the company that owns Gucci, or for some other reason entirely.

Liam’s Lonely Bug NFTs went on sale today!! Liam was excited and happy and all over the internet posting and chatting and watching it all happen. The auctions are still open for most of them so final news on that tomorrow! Today was just Liam being hype about it- “Fandom is working its magic thank you!” he said when his request to get LB trending got it up there worldwide in like half an hour, he said more interactive content will be added to the NFTs as time goes on, that Louis cooking was “very funny”, when asked to describe his NFT collection in one word he chose “liberating,” and his hair guy reposted comments Liam has been making in the discord talking about maybe going blond with a “hmmm”. Oooh? He did a long live talking about everything, patching in the other Lonely Bug creators and quite a few other NFT people (enough that at one point Liam jokes that there are enough of them to dress up as the band to satisfy commenters asking for 1D stuff). Anyway one of them compares this NFT to ‘the original Nirvana recordings’ hmmm I mean… that is another thing that is rare I guess yes, but that’s very specific and random sir? “I know for some of you this NFT world is slightly different than what you’re used to from me,” said Liam, “but your support so far has been amazing (as always!)”

And not only that- another new Liam song coming?! We haven’t even got the one yet! (or maybe this is the same one..?) Anyway, school pal S-X (Liam hyped his music a couple weeks ago) talked about him in an interview, saying "Liam is a good friend of mine and we've got stuff coming soon. I don't want to say too much as you know how those One Direction fans get [HEYYYY… oh wait yeah he’s totally right]- when I mention him I can't even open my Twitter. But we've got a song coming and it's a smash. It's sooner than you think and that's all I can say." OH RILLY?? INTERESTING! I was just eyeing him for the artist showcase Liam said he was gonna do on veeps but OKAY! He also said "We're both from Wolverhampton and I was in college with him at the same time, and going from that to global stardom at 17 is not normal for any person. To have toured the world, done stadium tours and everything, he is one of the most famous people in the world. So he will go through scrutiny from the media and whatever, but I can tell you he is one of the nicest people, one of the most genuine people I've ever met. He's a real good friend of mine."

And speaking of unexpected songs; another Zayn demo leak was posted! This time he’s singing You with Ellie Goulding; the song ended up being released by Troye Sivan.

And Anne Marie posted “rehearsals for #OURSONG live! I just love this song so much. I also miss your face @niallhoran” with a picture of them singing away; apparently she’s referring to the recording of the acoustic version which is out on Friday. Niall posted a picture of the Danish football player who collapsed during play the other day giving a thumbs up from the hospital; indeed it is very good to see that he’s all right.

#harry styles #liam payne #zayn #niall horan #my policeman filming #my policeman spoilers #leaving aside the thing antis can't seem to grasp which is that we don't ship harry and louis at all #shipping and thinking people are queer are literally NOT THE SAME THING #but I neither think harry and david are fucking nor ship them so that's that on that #15 jun 21

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elwenyere · 3 years

Note

can you write some protective Steve when they run into a bad ex of Tony's at an event? that would be amazing, I love your fics so much, thank you :D

Thank you so much for this lovely ask, Anon! I got so many great prompts for this event (and I am such a slow writer) that I decided to roll them together into a little mash-up. So this fic is inspired by four amazing asks:

- stevetony roommates who are pining after each other :) - protective Steve when they run into a bad ex of Tony's at an event - dialogue prompt: "I really want to kiss you right now." :))) - dialogue prompt - "kiss me, you fool" + stevetony? ty! :))

I really hope that the generous prompters (and all you other lovely readers) enjoy the results!!!

CW: This fic includes non-consensual drug use and an episode of attempted non-con (not in the Steve/Tony pairing). The furthest that attempt proceeds is an unwanted touch on the arm, but please be very careful with yourselves, and if that content is potentially triggering, the full fic on AO3 contains a note about which section you can skip to avoid direct representation.

Running Through My Head

Tags: Steve/Tony, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Attempted Rape/Non-Con (not in the main pairing), Protective Steve Rogers, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Alternate Universe - College/University

Words: 4.6k words

Rating: Mature

“I’m going to make a fool of myself,” Steve muttered, staring at his reflection in the mirror with an expression that could only be described as morose.

Well, morose and hot, Tony allowed. But the “hot” part kind of went without saying at this point: it was the unspoken subtext of every sentence his brain generated about Steve Rogers. “This is my (hot) roommate, Steve.” “Where’s Steve? Oh, he’s at football practice (being hot).” Or, if it was a day ending in “y,” “stop looking so judgy (and hot), Rogers. I already told you: I ate dinner yesterday.”

Frankly, it was a sign of how dire Tony’s situation had become that he’d noticed “morose” before “hot” — identifying the sad little wrinkle in the middle of Steve’s forehead even before he checked out how criminally good Steve’s ass was managing to look in a pair of second-hand jeans. Being attracted to your roommate was bad enough without starting to feel anxious about whether he was dreading going to this party with you. Or maybe worrying about him a tiny bit when he took a hard hit during that afternoon’s game and came up holding his wrist awkwardly. Or maybe one time — just one time — dealing with that worry by paying a small fortune on Ebay for a set of his favorite, discontinued colored pencils so that you could pretend you accidentally found them at GoodWill.

Or okay, fine: maybe Tony was completely fucked.

It had taken a while for him to admit the extent of the damage, because it was the opposite of the problem he’d expected to have when the two of them had gotten thrown into living together senior year. Before that August, Steve and Tony hadn’t really moved in the same circles. Steve had lived in a cheap, off-campus apartment for the first three years of college with two fellow athletes, Bucky and Sam, and Tony had stayed in the dorm rooms with his best friend Rhodey — largely in an effort to choose the living situation that would irritate his father the most. But then Bucky and Sam had gone from the occasional hook-up to what Steve (not at all adorably) called “going steady,” and Rhodey had been selected for a cadet exchange program in Germany. And so just at the moment when Steve had decided to move out and give his best friends more privacy, Tony found himself down a roommate.

Initially, when Natasha — one of the few friends Tony and Steve had had in common before this year — had suggested they could help each other out, Tony had reminded her that Steve would never go for it, because Steve Rogers thought Tony Stark was an irresponsible, conceited, grade-A floozy. Tony knew this, because the first time he’d run into Steve his freshman year, Tony had been at a house party letting some truly terrible people do body shots off his stomach, and Steve had been frowning at him with a look that seemed to say, “you’re making more bad decisions in this single minute than I will make in my entire life.”

But then the worst of Tony’s bad decisions — a blonde, abusive cheater of an ex-boyfriend named Tiberius Stone — had started dropping hints about Tony giving up his room on campus and moving downtown to live near the college’s wealthier set, and suddenly Steve had started looking like a safe option.

So much for that theory, Tony thought ruefully, his stomach doing an utterly unforgivable somersault when Steve’s eyes caught his in the mirror.

“You’ll be fine, Rogers,” he said out loud, his voice draped in the off-hand tone he’d been carefully knitting together for months. “Everybody’s going to be at least three drinks in by the time we get there, so their world is going to be shrouded in the forgiving haze of those horrible Pink Panty Droppers that Barton always insists on making. Besides, you’re coming in on the wings of glory. No one’s going to be able to see anything other than the star quarterback, recently returned victorious from the field of the state, national, regional championship — or the Nestlé Hot Pockets Bowl — or whatever it was you won today.”

It had been the big rivalry game against Liberty University, of course, and Tony had been in the stands the whole time. But he was glad he didn’t voice that embarrassing addition aloud, because Steve’s expression had somehow grown even more moody as he spoke.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Steve replied finally, so softly that Tony wasn’t sure whether the words were meant for him or not.

“Hey, losers,” Natasha said, popping her head in the doorway. “Clint’s already texting me photos of ‘the Leaning Tower of Pizza,’ so if we want to get there before he’s puking in the bushes and singing ‘Single Ladies’ to regurgitated pepperoni, we better get this show on the road.”

She left to go rally the rest of their caravan (how she’d managed to coax Bruce Banner away from his textbooks and houseplants every Friday that fall Tony didn’t know and didn’t care to learn), and Tony heard Steve take a deep breath, as if he were readying himself for battle.

“You don’t have to come, you know,” Tony said, ignoring the part of his mind that was already shriveling at the possibility that Steve would take the out. “I know big parties aren’t really your thing. If you’d rather just catch up with Sam and Bucky —”

“I’m where I want to be,” Steve replied firmly, and when he turned to look at Tony there was a determination in his eyes that almost made Tony’s knees buckle on the spot.

Pull yourself together, Tony told himself firmly. You can make it through one party without ruining this.

Read the Rest on AO3

#stony #stevetony #stony fanfiction #anon asks #thanks anon #college au #mutual pining #protective steve #sorry this took a really long time #author is extremely slow

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 4 years

Text

helping heart

request: hi so i have chronic migraines, which means at least once a month (sometimes more) i get a migraine that is so bad that my vision is blurred and sometimes i even puke. and so i just got over one and i was wondering if you could write a mgg fic where he helps the reader through one? cause that would be great :) thank you!!

word count: 1,607 reading time aprox: 6 mins

masterlist

My brain pulsated at an inhuman rate, thumping against the walls of my skull. Waves of agony spasmed throughout my head, reverberating through the soft muscle that resided in it. I forcibly shut my eyes, shielding them from any source of light, despite me already cornered in a dark room.

I sat in Matthew’s trailer waiting for him to finish a few of his scenes. But what I didn’t know was that I would have to push through an oncoming migraine alone. I shuddered in the white fluffy blanket that was wrapped around me, it smelled of pumpkin spice and Matthew’s worn out cologne. A buzz coming from the fridge invaded my sensitive ears, making the entire experience more intolerable.

I feebly pulled the covers over my head, drowning myself in my own darkness. An inaudible whimper escaped my lips, a reflex from the oscillating intensity of my migraine. I curled up in the fetal position, feeling my stomach begin to cramp up. I felt the bile begin to build up like plaque in the back of my esophagus, threatening to spill over any moment.

Suddenly the door opened, letting light protrude from the outside. Matthew’s soothing voice met my ears, amused at the high pitched voice cracks in between his words. Despite my relief at his presence, my body continued to throb at an agonizing rhythm.

“Okay thanks again BJ- no, yeah I’ll- I’ll see you in a few, bye” He laughed, sending chills down my spine from the volume at which he spoke. Usually I would have no problem with the gregarious ferocity of his voice, but my circumstances limited me to a shrill feeling in my eardrums. “Huh...why is this-” He flipped on the light switch, eliciting a groan from me.

“Matthew can you turn that back off please?” I meekly requested, shutting my eyes tighter than they already were. I flipped around on my stomach, stuffing my face into the pillow under me.

“Hey baby- migraines again?” He asked, shuffling closer to where I was after he had dimmed the lights. “Do you need anything?” He asked, kneeling down beside me; his voice came out like a whisper: soft and pacified.

A muffled ‘no’ slipped passed my lips while the cushions I laid on sunk, indicating that Matthew had sat himself at my feet. He ran his fingers up and down the side of my ankle in a tender manner, humming a calming melody in the process.

“How was filming?” I croaked, feeling the muscles in my throat tense up at the utterance of my words while I turned around to face him.. My voice was raspy with phlegm from not speaking all day, earning a concerned look from Matthew.

“It was pretty okay. I have a few more scenes to shoot and I’m done for the day” He declared, reaching his arms out to invite me into his embrace. I gracefully accepted his offer, fitting perfectly into the vast space of his arms. I breathed in his scent, basking in the instant gratification I received from the warmth that embodied him.

“What else did you do today?” I wrapped my arms around his waist, looking up at him from below his shoulder. My head rested perfectly against his chest as I inquired about his daily adventures.

“I got brunch with AJ, bothered Aubrey [Plaza] a little bit, and antagonized a toddler. You know all the normal things” He confessed, earning a stifled laugh from me.

“Sounds like your day was eventful” I replied, nuzzling my head into his blazer. I felt the cotton fibers brush against my cheeks, sending a tickling sensation down my nose. He placed a longing kiss to the top of my head, using his hand to brush away the tangled hair that had accumulated when I was resting.

“Yeah it was…” He whispered, muffling his voice in my hair. “But it would’ve been better with you” He sweetly confessed, placing a finger under my chin to pull me into a chaste kiss. “See...already much better” He joked after he pulled away.

A faint blush made its way to the apples of my cheeks, shaking my head in wonder at how this man still made me feel nervous after two years of putting up with him. My fingertips hovered over the crevice of his neck, feeling the individual spikes of stubble graze my skin.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” He asked once again, caressing my cheek with his thumb.

Before I could nod and reassure him, a wave of nausea washed over me causing the contents in my stomach to be regurgitated. I pushed myself off of Matthew forcefully, sprinting to the small bathroom in his trailer. I struggled to pull my hair out of my face as my stomach acid burned the layering skin of my throat. I choked and wheezed, feeling my body weaken at the sudden expulsion of liquid. I hadn’t even realized that Matthew stood behind me propping my hair up into a ponytail until he had laid a consoling hand on the small of my back.

I groaned in pain, tears trailing down my cheeks as I shut down entirely. I prayed for the ache to stop, hoping that my migraine would end up in the toilet just as my lunch did. Saliva dripped down my chin, making the scene an unattractive mess. Matthew handed me a paper towel afterwards, letting me clean myself off while he waited by the door.

Once I finished, I opened the door with an embarrassed grimace. My eyes were still sunken and grim because of all the crying that I did, my cheeks flushed alongside it. I whimpered, falling into Matthew’s arms while he whispered positive affirmations.

“Let me take care of you bubs” He declared, swooping me up bridal style and carrying me to the bed in the back of his trailer. He set me down, bringing a few fluffy blankets to adjust my comfort. He kissed my forehead before leaving the small room to fetch something.

I trailed my hands along the soft sheets of his bed, letting each fiber in my body focus on the warmth that the covers provided me rather than the discomfort that flooded my body. I was still dizzy from my trip to the bathroom, my vision a bit too wonky and disoriented for my liking.

With the sound of shuffling feet, Matthew made his way back to the bedroom with a hot cup of tea and a heated eye mask. “I thought this would help alleviate the pain a little bit” He smiled sheepishly, causing my heart to inflate at the small sentiment.

I kissed his cheek as a sign of gratitude, immediately grabbing the heated eye mask out of his hands. He laughed at my haste, sitting down next to me at the edge of the bed.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“I have all that I need here” I professed, leaning my head against his hip. “Come cuddle” I demanded, making grabby hands at him. He playfully groaned in response, curling up next to me as he pulled me to his chest. He peppered kisses on the top of my head, exhaling in reprieve as he finally was able to share a moment with the woman he loved.

“You know what Y/N?”

“What is it?” I beckoned, my mouth muffled in his shirt.

“At least you weren’t throwing up because you’re pregnant” He teased, pushing a few stray hairs off my forehead.

“Is that something you’re interested in? Getting pregnant?” I implied, nudging him jokingly. His throat vibrated against my head while he laughed, a few straggled coughs escaping his lips at my suggestion.

Silence engulfed the room, leaving the both of us in each other's arms. The feeling of security I felt in Matthew’s arms was inexplicable, reveling in the fact that I was able to be beside this man. Love radiated from the both of us as we were grateful for each other's company.

“I wouldn’t mind” He spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence. I hummed against his chest in confusion, looking up at him to proceed. “I wouldn’t mind if we had a little kid to have around” He confessed, pressing his lips on my forehead.

“Weren’t you just yelling at a toddler before you got in here” I quipped.

“To be completely fair, I think the guy was sent in to replace me on the show” He laughed.

“Well if that was ever the case, then you’d have more time to spend if we ever had a little one to take care of” I replied, diverting the conversation back to the subject we were tip-toeing around earlier.

“That would be really nice” He cherished the idea while I pictured a world where Matthew was a dad and where I was lucky enough to start a life with him.

“I’m so lucky to have you Y/N”

“Well I’m even luckier to have someone take care of me even if I almost got puke all over their wardrobe” I teased, nuzzling into him further. “But I love you so much goobs”

“Did you just call me goob-”

“Shut up, I literally professed my love to you and all you do is complain?”

He chuckled, pulling me in closer to him, wrapping the covers around the both of us, creating a perfect environment for slumber. Both of our breathing steadied, letting the heaviness of our eyes take control. With the last few conscious huffs of air, Matthew whispered a few words that explained all that he felt.

“I love you even more”

taglist: @rexorangecouny @howdycharlie @linthebinbag @honeymilk-4

cute lil fluffy one since i’ve been so angsty

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sherwoodknights · 3 years

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Me?? Over-analysing The Scarlet Pimpernel??? Its more likely than you think

So, surprise surprise, I was rereading the scarlet pimpernel in hopes of getting any tiny bit of inspiration for The Lady Of The League, and instead, I, of course decided to over-analyse it and came up with a lil theory about our very own Sir Percival Blakeney, Baronet.

Bear in mind that this is just a nerd rambling, I'm probably very wrong-

Also idk how much of a "theory" this is. It's more of a "my brain worked overtime and wouldn't let me rest until I wrote this down and forced it upon my mutuals and followers"

So it's well established within the canon of the Scarlet Pimpernel that Percy stops any suspicion of him being the Pimpernel by hiding himself behind the facade of a brainless, foppish idiot. Which is a very important point, as it's how he manages to keep himself safe for so long.

Even more important is the fact that everyone believes it. His act works, and practically everyone in England remains convinced that Percy Blakeney is just an idiot who managed to marry 'the cleverest woman in Europe' somehow.

But clearly, Percy isn't the idiot he pretends to be. He is, of course, the titular Pimpernel, who is intelligent enough to rescue countless aristocrats from death, to plan escapes very quickly, and just to generally outwit Chauvelin and the French constantly. This is common knowledge to pimpernel fans, of course, so why is Jess basically regurgitating the whole first novel?

Because I have a question:

Why does everyone in England genuinely believe that Percy is a completely incompetent fop?

It's something that I don't think many people really think about. The explanation we are offered in the book is that for the purpose of hiding any association with the Pimpernel and his League, Percy goes out of his way to play the idiot. And that's a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. I know I accepted it unquestionably during my earliest experience with the Scarlet Pimpernel.

But I personally think that it's deeper than this. And that's where my dumb, over-thinking analysis fandom brain kicked in, and started to construct this idea.

So let's start with what we know about Percy Blakeney from the book. Throughout his introduction in chapter 6, titled 'An Exquisite of `92', a point is made of the way he is perceived by English society.

"He, the sleepiest, dullest, most British Britisher to ever set a pretty woman yawning"

"the 'cleverest woman in Europe' had linked her fate to that 'demmed idiot' Blakeney"

"Every one knew that he was hopelessly stupid"

"But then Blakeney was really too stupid to notice the ridicule"

Each is a direct quote from the chapter. So clearly, there is a certain way that he is seen by everyone. And he accepts it. More than this, he plays himself into this view they have, for the sake of his own ends.

But nobody ever explains where this image of Percy comes from, and why it is practically just a fact that he is remarkably stupid.

The book is set in 1792, and the revolution began in 1789. The mass execution of aristocrats didn't come straight away, and Percy and his friends certainly weren't lying in wait for all of this to happen. So at most, Percy has been rescuing people for some time more than a year, and has been married to Marguerite for around a full year of that time. So for Percy to be so well-known by England, he's probably been known to them for longer than he's been Pimpernel-ing.

So why do they believe that he's so incompetent? Surely, if he was as clever as the reader knows he truly is, people would notice if he suddenly turned into a brainless fool for no reason.

Unless they never considered that he was intelligent in the first place.

Which is a weird thought, right? When we clearly know that he is clever. But then it starts to make more sense if you start to consider his history, specifically his mother and what happened to her.

"Although lately he had been so prominent a figure in fashionable English society, he had spent most of his early life abroad. His father, the late Sir Algernon Blakeney, had had the terrible misfortune of seeing an idolised young wife become hopelessly insane after two years of happily married life. Percy had just been born when the late Lady Blakeney fell a pray to the terrible malady which in those days was looked upon as hopelessly incurable and nothing short of a curse of God upon the entire family. Sir Algernon took his afflicted wife abroad, and there presumably Percy was educated, and grew up between an imbecile mother and a distracted father, until he attained his majority. The death of his parents following close upon one another left him a free man, and as Sir Algernon had led a forcibly simple and retired life, the large Blakeney fortune had increased tenfold."

So, there's a lot to unpack here. But the basics come down to the fact that just after Percy was born, an unnamed illness affected his mother's mind, and his father took the family out of England to some unnamed place, which is where Percy would then grow up.

And this is where things started to form for me. We don't know how quiet this whole thing was kept, but it does seem to be told to us as though it was common knowledge, and later on in the book, when Marguerite comes across a portrait of Percy's mother in his study, we find out that she knows what happened to her as well. And then another line from Percy's introduction in chapter 6 jumped out to me on rereading it.

"but then that was scarcely to be wondered at, seeing that all the Blakeneys, for generations, had been notoriously dull and that his mother had died an imbecile."

This tells us that Percy is already at a disadvantage if he wishes to be seen as intelligent.

He has to contend with the fact that his family is know to be dull, and bland, and boring people, and on top of that, he also has to contend with the fact that at least some people know that his mother lost her mind, for one reason or another.

And then you start to consider Percy himself. He was raised and educated abroad. He was more than likely raised by paid servants and hired hands who knew very little of the expectations of an English society gentleman, and his parents, who did know what was expected, were unavailable and occupied by the goings-on.

So that's what we have to consider: Percy was inexperienced in an upper-class English society. He probably had very little idea of what to expect from others, and what others, in turn, would expect from him. And then, when his parents died, he suddenly found himself inheriting a title, and lands with an estate, and a place in this society he had never known.

So when he inevitably returns, what can he do? He won't know many people, and therefore, he won't have many people to learn from. He will be the outsider, the boy who didn't grow up in England, the one who doesn't know how to fit in.

So it starts to come together.

We're told that after his parents passed away, he travelled abroad a lot. But he more than likely would have returned to England at least once, to see his estate, to acquaint himself with a world he will now have to navigate and live in. And when he does, the image of Sir Percy Blakeney that England has begins to form.

There is already the image of the previous members of the Blakeney family, who are known for being "notoriously dull"

There is the whole history of Percy growing up with an "imbecile mother"

And now, he returns to England and joins society with no idea what to do

And so the image forms.

They label him as this fool, as this brainless fop who knows more about fashion than he does about the world. And because he has no way of knowing how to show them that he is in fact intelligent, he accepts it. He takes the role they have given him to play, and he lives it.

Because when he is Percy Blakeney, the idiot who will laugh at everything, who will lead England in its fashion, he is accepted, and he has a place.

And then, enter the revolution. Percy finds himself wanting to do something, and he becomes the famous Scarlet Pimpernel. And he realises that this image of him can be used to protect his life, and that of his most loyal friends and followers in the League.

So I propose the theory to you; Percy did not become the brainless fop to hide himself. Instead, he, in his unseen cleverness, used what people knew and expected of him to deflect suspicion.

And that's why it worked so perfectly. Because in order to hide in plain sight, he didn't have to change a thing about himself.

~~~~

So there we have it! A long, probably very useless rant that will probably never help anyone, but if you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed my take!

Once again, this is just an idea I had about Percy, I'm not claiming it to be canon, I'm probably looking way too deep into this, but I thought I'd share it with y'all

#the scarlet pimpernel #scarlet pimpernel musical #Percy Blakeney #The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel #long post #theory time #ig?? idk #is this meta?#Idk whether this counts as meta #I have ✨obsession problems✨#Sorry Percy bro #You probably didn't need me to deep dive into ur life my man #but here i am anyway

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litafficionado · 3 years

Text

Four Questions with Garielle Lutz:

I’m extremely beholden to Garielle who took the time to respond to my silly, garbled, childish, intrusive questions. You can purchase her latest book Worsted here and here, among many other sites. --------- Q. You've attributed the resuscitation of your literary career in quite considerable measure to your teacher and editor Gordon Lish. It seems like you guys are particularly close, even as you seem to have largely confined yourself to Pittsburgh(mostly driven by your erstwhile teaching career but also by your liking the city over time). How does it feel to hear someone like Gordon speak so highly of you, “I think there’s more truth in one sentence of my student [Lutz] than in all of [Philip] Roth. Lutz gives [herself] away. “The speaking subject gives herself away,” says Julia Kristeva. I thoroughly believe that. What you see in Lutz, [her] lavish gift, is [her] refusal to relax [her] determination to uncover and uncover. It is, by my lights, quite wonderful, quite terrific.[…]Lutz is entirely the real thing?” Does one feel vindicated? How do you navigate the waters of self-effacement and self-indulgence as a writer and as a person? A. I haven’t had a literary career before or after studying with Gordon Lish. I don’t think one finds one’s way to him in hopes of launching a career. Anyone with vulgar ambition along those lines would have been shown the door pretty quick. I would never presume to be close to Gordon or to feel that I am part of his life other than in my role as a student. He dwells in another realm entirely. I attended his classes and tried to grasp, to the best of my abilities, the things he was saying about how to get from one word to the next. He also talked about how to free a word from the constricting range of its permissible behaviors, how to drain it of every sepsis of received meaning, until there is nothing left of the word but the skeleton of its former self, just the lank, gawky letters sticking out this way and that, and then how to fill the thing up again, to the point of overspilling, but this time with something that would never have been allowed to belong in there before, and then see whether the word, now close to bursting, can hold up and maybe have a new kind of say. I’m always surprised and relieved whenever Gordon says anything approving about anything I write. I think that for a lot of his students, his opinion is the only one that counts.

Q. You've said, "A typical day goes like this: noon, afternoon, evening, night, additional night, even more night, furtherest night, then bedtime, though I don’t have a bed or furniture of any kind.” Have you always been a lychnobite, sensing the overwhelming superabundance of life after the sunset or is it a relatively recent development facilitated by your retirement from teaching? Do you consider yourself in any way to be a minimalist? Does your room bear any resemblance with a sparsely lit opium den where all exchanges happen at the floor level?

A. I think the pandemic has had a lot to do with it. Lately I’ve been up until five, sometimes six. But I’ve always found mornings the harshest and ugliest part of the day (maybe it’s just because of the place where I live, but I never open the blinds anyway). There can be something awfully scolding about a sunrise the older you get Evening seems to extend every form of leniency, and in the dead of night, expectations go way down, which is where they maybe ought to stay. I do spend all of my time on the floor, but my apartment doesn’t bear any resemblance to an opium den. It’s more like a crawlspace or the back of a dollar-store stockroom.

Q. Even with your reputation of being a page-hugger than a typical page-turner, how do you decide which books to read apart from your line of work? Do you try to keep it largely in the familiar territory, like exploring the oeuvre of a time-tested writer? How does one unshackle oneself from this constant niggling that one ought to read so many books? Here's Ben Marcus: “When I was in graduate school, there was this sort of cautionary adage going around by the poet Francis Ponge that we can only write what we’ve already read and one way to hear that is you’re just sort of doomed to kind of regurgitate everything you’ve read and so if you’re just reading all the popular books, the books everyone else is reading, in some sense you’re maybe unwittingly confining yourself to a particular literary practice that’s gonna look pretty familiar. I remember at the time thinking, okay well if that’s true, if I’m just fated to that, then I’m gonna read things that no one else is reading. I loved to just go to the library and pretty randomly grab books, because I think for a little while, and I’m kinda glad this passed, but I really just had this feeling that a writer just consumes language and just sort of spits it out. So it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t have to be a great novel for it to be worth-reading. And I still read very little fiction in the end compared to non-fiction, essays, works of philosophy, science. And the other sort of dirty secret is: I don’t finish a lot of books. I just don’t care enough. I only finish a book if I have to or if I really want to. And, often, I’ll stop reading a book three pages from the end. I think that as writers, we probably feel a lot of pressure about what kind of a reader to be, what kind of a writer to be in, and we feel this shame, like “I haven’t read DH Lawrence, I’m such an asshole.” You begin to feel like you’ve these deficiencies and you gotta make them up and you never will and a lot of it is just kinda tyrannical. Of course, obviously, we must be naturally motivated to read and read and read and read but I guess I just started to notice that…I got a lot of my ideas by just reading…e.g. a gardening book…like the weird way a sentence was structured.” Then there's Moyra Davey: “Woolf famously said of reading: “The only advice … is to take no advice, … follow your instincts, … use your reason.” A similar thought was voiced by her elder contemporary Oscar Wilde, who did not believe in recommending books, only in de-recommending them. Later, Jorge Luis Borges echoed the same sentiment by discouraging “systematic bibliographies” in favor of “adulterous” reading. More recently, Gregg Bordowitz has promoted “promiscuous” reading in which you impulsively allow an “imposter” book to overrule any reading trajectory you might have set for yourself, simply because, for instance, a friend tells you in conversation that he is reading it and is excited by it. This evokes for me that most potent kind of reading — reading as flirtation with or eavesdropping on someone you love or desire, someone who figures in your fantasy life.”“What to read?” is a recurring dilemma in my life. The question always conjures up an image: a woman at home, half-dressed, moving restlessly from room to room, picking up a book, reading a page or two and no sooner feeling her mind drift, telling herself, “You should be reading something else, you should be doing something else.” The image also has a mise-en-scène: overstuffed, disorderly shelves of dusty and yellowing books, many of them unread; books in piles around the bed or faced down on a table; work prints of photographs, also with a faint covering of dust, taped to the walls of the studio; a pile of bills; a sink full of dishes. She is trying to concentrate on the page in front of her but a distracting blip in her head travels from one desultory scene to the next, each one competing for her attention. It is not just a question of which book will absorb her, for there are plenty that will do that, but rather, which book, in a nearly cosmic sense, will choose her, redeem her. Often what is at stake, should she want to spell it out, is the idea that something is missing, as in: what is the crucial bit of urgently needed knowledge that will save her, at least for this day? She has the idea that if she can simply plug into the right book then all will be calm, still, and right with the world. […] Must reading be tied to productivity to be truly satisfying […] Or is it the opposite, that it can only really gratify if it is a total escape? What is it that gives us a sense of sustenance and completion? Are we on some level always striving to attain that blissful state of un-agendaed reading remembered from childhood? What does it mean to spend a good part of one’s life absorbed in books? Given that our time is limited, the problem of reading becomes one of exclusion. Why pick one book over the hundreds, perhaps thousands on our bookshelves, the further millions in libraries and stores? For in settling on any book we are implicitly saying no to countless others. This conflict is aptly conjured up by essayist Lynne Sharon Schwartz as she reflects on “the many books (the many acts) I cannot in all decency leave unread (undone) — or can I?”” What way out do you suggest? Do you deem it worthwhile to eschew any shred of obligation and be propelled in any direction naturally? Like you said you found grammar books and lexicons more engaging and enjoyable than the novels.

A. I seem to remember that in some magazine or another, James Wolcott once said “Read at whim.” That has always sounded like the best advice. And I assume it means to feel free to ditch any book that disappoints. Like Ben Marcus, I’ve had experiences of abandoning a book just a few pages from the end, but I often don’t make it that far in most things anymore. I came from a long line of nonreaders, so I’ve never felt any guilt about passing up books or writers that so many people seem to talk about a lot, and I don’t expect other people to like what I like. Some books I’ll start about halfway in and then see whether I might want to work my way back to the beginning. Others I’ll start at the very end and inch my way toward the front, one sentence at a time, and see how far I can go that way. I seem to remember that in The Pleasure of the Text, Roland Barthes recommends “cruising” a text, and maybe something like that is what I’m doing at least some of the time, if I understand what he means. And every now and then I’ll read a book straightforwardly for an hour and afterward wonder whether the time might have been better spent staring off into space. Too many books these days seem ungiving. It’s the ungivingness that disappoints the most. A lot of contemporary fiction has the gleam and sparkle of a trend feature in a glossy magazine, and I can appreciate the craft and the savvy that go into something like that, but I am drawn more toward stories and books that demand being read slowly and closely, pulse by pulse, the kind of fiction where everything--what little might be left of an entire blighted life--can pivot on the peal of a single syllable. Q. I'd like to ask you so many questions. But let this be the last one for matters of convenience. Also, in a capitalistic world, one's enshrouded with guilt for taking one's time without being remunerative in any way. Among the books and films that you recently encountered, which ones do you think deserve rereads/rewatches? A. I used to feel like the woman you’ve described so movingly above, someone who questions her choice of books almost to the brink of despair. At my age, though, I no longer have a program for reading, a syllabus or a checklist, and I’m okay with knowing there’s a lot I’ll never get around to. I’m happy being a rereader of a few inexhaustible books and chancing upon occasional fresh treasure. The one book that has shaken me the most in the longest time is Anna DeForest’s A History of Present Illness, which will be out next August. It’s a blisteringly truthful novel written with moral grace and unsettling brilliance and an awing mastery of language. A couple of recent books I have read in manuscript, books that totally knocked me out with their originality and uncanny command of the word, are Greg Gerke’s In the Suavity of the Rock (a novel) and David Nutt’s Summertime in the Emergency Room (a short-story collection). I haven’t watched many movies in the past few months, and the ones I watched aren’t ones I’ll probably be rewatching anytime soon.

#Garielle Lutz #lit #Worsted #Moyra Davey #Ben Marcus #Gordon Lish #Anna DeForest #A History of Present Illness #Greg Gerke #In the Suavity of the Rock #David Nutt #Summertime in the Emergency Room

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impaladolan · 3 years

Text

Capture - Grayson Dolan [8/-]

summary: y/n is quick to plot revenge.. but does she get away with it..?

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, and smut :)

a/n: i seriously love you

Anonymous said:

Ooohoohohoh I’m excited for her to steal his Rolex haha omg maybe she wears it and doesn’t give him it back when he asks for it OMG u know what would be cute!! if one day she goes snooping in his bedroom and tries on his chain necklace n rings and he walks out the shower n he’s like ummmm ok ily

Anonymous said:

i want y/n to ride gray’s thigh in his office, like he’s just got in still fully in his suite w his gun on his belt and she just walks in and strips 👀👀

Anonymous said:

I have an idea hehe!! WhYi f y/n gets drunk like she f inds alcohol in graysons office or kitchen or something and shes being really bratty but it’s so cute and she’s giving him nose kissies and hugging up and telling him stuff and he’s just listening and loving her

Relaxation.

That's how you'd explain the certain state of euphoria I'm embezzled within. Young love is a treacherous trap that can either end in favor, or be torn to shreds in only mere moments. To feel so passionate and fervently invested in someone you've only ever known and loved is such a thrill, and you could never forget those memories embedded in your mind.

Like right now, laying in bed while the sun's first shine leaks through the window and gleams down upon the two of us, nuzzled under the covers. His leg was wrapped over mine and his arms hung loosely around my hips, sheltering me from ever possibly leaving his grasp. I was the first to wake, but I dared not to move an inch.

The world around me was motionless, so peaceful and calm. Nothing could bother or disrupt the atmosphere around me. Everything felt so perfect, embraced by the one I love and the man I admire. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could ever unsettle me in this moment.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself...

A darkness warped over my newly sunken eyes, shielding the world around me. I called out his name, but nothing came out. The warmth I once felt upon my body, vanished into the air and seemed like it'd never return. The world became cold and useless, all the positivity and tranquility that once surrounded me was blown away and now, I sit in darkness;

All by myself.

Him.

It seemed too early in the morning to be awake at such an hour, but you had crashed shortly after making it back to your room last night. You were so mortified and embarrassed, for all those men to see you so vulnerable and being punished. Though, the crazy inside you kind of liked it, but still, it pushed boundaries.

Initially, you had wanted to sleep in all day, and hopefully never leave your room ever again. Although, today's forecast decided otherwise. A ground shaking rumble of thunder made you awaken and the shoestring lighting bolts strung across the darkened sky had drawn you in. Since you essentially have no concept of time, whatsoever, you had to believe it was early in the morning, unless you really had slept in all day...

It's been presumably an hour or so since you first fluttered your eyes open. By now, you had plotted a sickening revenge to his outrageous acts he had committed only a day ago. Of course, you had created horribly ill plans that even you could never pull off. Such as vandalizing his expensive vehicles or even trashing the entire house. You had even gone as far as to planning an "accidental" fire in the kitchen.

But something inside you had put a halt to those thoughts.

Other than not wanting to be known as a malicious arsonist, you had some sort of pull towards him— but what that pull was, you couldn't figure out. The phrase; " Darling, I may be a stranger to you, but you're no stranger to me," has been left in your mind ever since the words first left his mouth. You couldn't possibly help but wonder what that even meant. You felt like you've known him from a past life somehow, and that could potentially explain the affection you have towards him. All of that aside, you have to remember that he isn't who your brain morphs him in to be. He's a felon who's abducted you and has pulled you away from society and everything you've ever been a part of.

For some reason, that's hard for you to mentally consider.

Aside from criminalizing yourself too by creating a fire or becoming a vandalizer, the best option is to state your assertiveness and trespass the "laws" that he has forbidden you ro break. Unlike yesterday's escapades of you ruining the dining room table, today you were up for higher anticipated endeavours. You had it all planned out and you knew what you'd do in order to complete your vengeances.

And he's not going to be very happy...

The atmosphere above and around you still rumbles with the loud, crackling thunder and the strikes of lightning flooding certain increments of light through the surrounding windows pave your path to the daunting door. You were still dressed in the white shirt that could barely pass as acceptable in the public eye, and your feet were frozen at the first touch of the wooden floor. You kept on like you have done in the previous times you have left your room for mischievous reasons. You silently open the door, leaving it wide open as you crept out of your assigned room and into the hallway. You knew that the very first place you would go would be the kitchen. No, you aren't creating a fire or any of the sort, but you were going to raid the fridge and have your fill with what it has to offer.

You walk straight past the opening and right into the glorious establishment of cookware, like it was your very own home and you were just up for a midnight snack. In all honesty, you could get used to living here.

If only it weren't forced onto you, that is.

Your fingertips soon collide with the long, frigid handle of the refrigerator door and pull it wide open, marveling at the large display of different beverages and foods strategically set up. Of course, it was mainly veggies and several healthy-looking meal options. Which didn't surprise you whatsoever.

He has a nice physique for a reason...

You couldn't find anything that made your stomach growl with hunger, until you opened up the freezer drawer and spotted a nice looking ice cream container. Still, it looked healthy and it'd make you all the more frozen, but it would manage to subside your aching sweet tooth for now. You pop open the lid and fish around the drawers for a utensil. With a content sigh, you plunge a huge spoonful of the solid liquid and empty it into your mouth, savoring every last flavor like it would be the last time you'd ever eat the sugary treat again. It was delicious, the absolute best ice cream you've ever devoured in the entirety of your life.

You almost ate half the jar until you decided you were parched and needed a nice drink to soothe your throat. Luckily this time you were familiar with where the glasses were kept and already had your hand wrapped around a large wine glass that was a little bit higher up than the rest of the glassware. You set it down quietly, trailing your eyes upon the clean and prim counter.

A tall, fancy upscale bottle of what looked to be whiskey was settled in the corner, nicely organized with the other alcoholic beverages that were of the same importance.

Now, you weren't exactly a "drink-whiskey-out-of-a-wine-glass" type of gal, but as they say; desperate times call for desperate measures— and you were on the search of something to loosen you up a bit, and that was that.

You brought the glass over to where you had stationed your cup, not even flinching when you uncork the liquor and pour its contents out. With improper proportioning of the said liquid, you put the whiskey back how it was.

"Fuck, here we go." You inaudibly groan to yourself, just knowing that you'll regret every decision you've made in the near future. Raising up the plum-full glass, you tip it back into your mouth and down a whole gulp.

Nasty.

It's definitely an acquired taste, but the barely detectable taste of vanilla made it hardly feasible. You dared to not put the glass down until you were finished with it and had that sour taste submitted through your fiery throat.

The least you could say was that it's pretty smooth, but not something you'd drink in your free time.

In your head, you knew you'd feel a bit wonky, considering your nearly empty stomach and your abstinence from alcohol for the last month or so. It'd be easy to feel the side effects and overall feel much better, like you were aiming for.

Once you drained the glass of every last drop, you held your breath and rushed to the sink. The overwhelming want to just regurgitate what you ingested had drawn upon you, but you refrained from doing so. Waiting out the sickly feeling, you run a bit of cold water over your hand and press it against your forehead for a moment. Everything became hot, even with the freezing temperatures, you felt like breaking a sweat.

All just the side effects of alcohol, I'm sure.

Within the passing minutes, the faintness flew away and the sounds of the thunderstorm filled your ears. A large banging of the clouds above frightened you and you knocked over the glass you had just rested your lips on.

You didn't even feel bad about all the shattered pieces on the floor, it actually brought a smile to your face and you were ready to begin the fully planned extravaganza.

First stop; his room.

You skipped back the hallway, still quiet but not as careful as before. You weren't afraid of any consequences and whatever he was going to do to you wouldn't be too harsh. It's not like he's embarrassed you enough already anyway.

You easily find his door, pushing the handle down as slow as possible, just in case he was asleep in his room. His door didn't creak as you opened it, and nor did his floorboards as you walked straight into his marvelous bedroom. It was extravagant, but yet it still felt homely. You check the bed, no sign of him or anyone for the matter. He probably at a meeting, or something.

Not that you care..

You continue your stroll, glancing around his room for anything that could spark your immediate attention, considerably his desk. It held a lot of his more—fashionably inclined belongings. Such as his masculine jewelry and expensive watches. There was even a small, purple ring that reminded you of something you had worn a long time ago. You brush that off, it brings up sore wounds from a time where you were a lot happier and everything was simpler.

I wish I could say that now..

You began to pick up the neatly placed objects, slipping a couple of heavy necklaces around your neck and the large rings upon your fingers. You laugh at the size difference of your hand and how they barely stay on your fingers.

The stationary mirror attached to the desk caught your eyes, and you begin to make funny faces at it. Which sends you into a hushed giggle fest that makes you double over in your seat. Still caught up in your laughter, you take off all of the rings, just leaving a couple on the desk and tossing a few over to his bed. You do the same with the necklaces, except for the two that you threw into one of the drawers.

That’s when your eyes caught the nice watches, stuffed in clear pouches with the brand labeled across them. Rolex is the first you saw, and the first one you picked up. You weren’t thinking clearly. Hence the reason you tore it out of it’s protective packaging and brought it up above your head, throwing it down to the ground and watching the tiny glass fragments splatter everywhere.

It’s not like he can’t buy a new one, right?

Feeling content and a little less frustrated, you left the messy scene and followed your footsteps back into the hallway. He didn't seem to hear you, so the determination to find out his name came across your mind and you became dead set on finding it, so you basically sprinted into his ominous office and delved into his comfy chair without care.

Your motor skills were altered and it seemed to take for ever to lift yourself out of the chair and tap on the computer keyboard for it to wake up. While it began its process of turning on, you led your hand down to the drawers and pulled at them. And that’s when you found the very first locked up thing in this house.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing in here darling?” His alluring voice blasted through your ears and made you leap upward. “It’s not been a day and you’re already back to being a brat?” You couldn’t see what he looked like, but his silhouette looked suited and enticing.

Very enticing, actually...

“M’trying to find out your name, Daddy.” You spoke before you could think, crossing your arms over your chest while your lips form a pout. His body leaves from the doorway, and you’re barely able to see him as he strides over towards you. Suddenly, a light flips on and you’re met with his beautiful frame, a smile daunting his face as he looks down at your innocence.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He moves closer, wrapping his hand under your chin while his other has his blazer hung on his finger and thrown towards his back. He looks cute in a smile, until it forms into a confused frown.

“Have you been drinking, Y/N?” Your eyes widen and you quickly nod. You knew you’d be in trouble with him anyway, so might as well be honest now. “I c-couldn’t sleep and I- I just wanted a sip of somethin’.” You shrug, looking downward as you give him an okayish explanation.

“You know what helps me sleep?” He lets your chin go, dropping his jacket and beginning to roll up his dress-shirt’s sleeves. You shake your head, chewing your bottom lip as you take in his appearance. “A nice cocksucking does.” Thunder crackles loudly outside as his husky voice deepens and makes a cool wind run down your spine.

“Then let me help you..” You wrap your arms around his neck, twisting him around and forcefully pushing him down in the chair you were once sitting in. You were about to fall to your knees to “help” him, but he pulls your hips towards him and sets you on his lap. You replace your hands around his neck, sinking your fingertips into his hair and massaging the silky softness of it. He sweetly sighs, readjusting the leg you were sat upon.

And that’s when you feel the sensation you’ve been craving for however long you’ve been here.. you think..

“M’hm, do that again..” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. He actually obliges, his brows furrowed as he watches your face contort. “Like riding my thigh, huh?” He asks as he placed his large hands around your waist. You nod, moving your hips in the same direction. You eyes shut, your head falling back a little as you smoothly move against his muscled thigh.

It felt so good, everything felt so good actually. He somehow looked so much more attractive, the beard dotting his face and his hair styled nicely. Even what he was wearing had you wanting more.

You open your eyes for a moment, watching his pleased expression as he watches you needingly thrust yourself upon his warm, clothed thigh. He even steadily lifted his knee in the correct places, aiding in the pleasure that him alone could bring you. Your eyesight seemed foggy but visible enough to see the gun at his waist side, and you almost froze when you saw it. Even in your intoxicated state of mind, you knew that just the weapon could possibly help you escape and make it back to your own home.

You didn't think it through thoroughly..

You lean in, your lips next to his ear as you practically collapse upon him, though your movements to further yourself towards releasing didn't halt. You slipped your left hand down to his waist band, sensually gliding it over his tented groin. He shutters under your touch, clearing his throat as his heads falls back slightly. As quick as your body would let you, you grab for the handle of the gun and raise it up towards his forehead, stopping all your movements and gaining his attention.

"Y/N—" He starts, gliding his hands up your bare thighs.

"Don't fucking move, or I'll— I'll shoot you." You sounded clear as day in your head, but your words became slurred as they left your mouth, and he smirked at your innocence. Just as quickly as you pulled the gun, he took it away.

He grabbed the barrel and snatched it from your grip, placing it back into its holster at his side. You yelp as he grabs your wrists, twisting them around your back and slamming you into the table with an evil chuckle. "Better keep those hands pretty little hands to yourself, princess. You're too innocent to commit murder anyway." He continues his hoarse chuckles, licking a stripe up his hand before striking your slick pussy. "D-Ahh!" You hiccup, pressing your legs as close together as you can.

“Better fuckin’ pray that you can walk tomorrow, darling...”

to be continued...

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tempural · 3 years

Photo

FIRST SET OF GORL SCOUTS FOR GORL SCOUT DAY!! My latest drawing of Liv, and some of the first ones!

An essay under the cut:

The current state of my girl Scout has taken many years to simmer. Before becoming invested in Liv, I was unfortunately struggling to write girl characters. The media I consumed as a kid informed my storytelling vocabulary, and I must admit that much of the stories I consumed as a babby excluded girl characters. Ed Edd n Eddy, BatMAN, SpiderMAN, x-MEN, hell, video games like TF2 have ONLY male classes! The only female characters in TF2 are Scout's voiceless/faceless mom, the late addition of Pauling, and the Admin's disembodied voice. Mainstream media tends to feed us men as the default/leading characters with so many varying designs and personalities. Women are rarely written with much depth in comparison, and rarely have designs that go beyond ‘cute/hot girl’ or ‘hag’. I recall reading writing advice for men that suggested that if one was having trouble writing women, they should think of her as a male character. It’s a little silly how mainstream media tends to think of female characters as “the other”, barely humans!

Female characters that fall under the “schoolgirl” trope often exist just to be fragile babies or objects of sexual desire (or both at the same time!), and are rarely written with complex wants or sexual autonomy. See: the Aerosmith video “Crazy” where Liv Tyler (the song singer’s at-the-time 17 year old daughter) plays a schoolgirl, gets upskirted, is ogled by a gas station attendant, pole-dances, has a lil’ pillowfight with her friend, and strips naked for skinny-dipping. There’s nothing inherently seedy about the video’s subject. Of course teenagers go on road trips and do “crazy” things! But I find it extremely repetitive and boring to constantly regurgitate the sexy schoolgirl trope in which men (both the director, viewers, and characters in the video) are openly lusting after young girls.

Even media that seeks to subvert that trope still play more on the lust of men rather than the desires of girls. See: Hard Candy. Elliot Page plays a 14 year old girl who lures child predators by playing on the innocent schoolgirl trope, then plays up the sexy schoolgirl trope to trap them into torture and murder. In this case the girl is “in control” -- yet she isn’t. Her personal wants are dictated by the desires of men, and the entire concept is predicated on the girl posturing as prey for sexual predators.. I really enjoy the movie, but it’s a very straightforward take and something in me wants a little bit more twists and turns. There just doesn’t seem to be a world, even in media fantasy, where girls have desires but are not the object of desire.

The earliest form of a girl Scout/Liv that I have are these designs for what I labeled as the “Japanese Groupie” from 2013. It plays upon the same concept as Hard Candy although I hadn’t seen the movie yet at the time: She lures in sexual predators, and chops off their peepees. She’s mistaken as a child, though she’s actually 35, and plays up her short stature and babyface for her trap. She’s also mistaken as Japanese, although she’s Chinese, and she also plays that up because westerners are more enamoured with Japanese pop culture. I still think the concept is fine, but too much impetus for the story is given to the predators, and too much of it plays on the viewer being aware of the identity stereotypes (while people still lack self-awareness in real life: people still mistake me for a child, or mistake me as Japanese)! Not enough story is moved by the girl! I want MORE.

The Scout-Chan SFM is the greatest piece of art in the history of TF2. When I re-engaged with the game in 2018, I was SHAKEN when I discovered it, and had to tell everyone I knew about it!! This is the POV I’m talking about, lads and ladettes! I was enamoured!! The SFM perfectly captured what I liked about the Scout and Spy dynamic! Scout has a crush on Spy, and Spy doesn’t do anything about it (but helps Scout fight crime at night?!!). I love the Sukeban Boy design design for Scout, the whole pun with Sailor Scouts is fun, and I grew up with Sailor Moon so it hit my nostalgia prostate button real good. Most importantly for me, the SFM never shows Scout and Spy in a ”relationship”. They remain distant, but close. I love that.

I had to spread the word of Scout-Chan the only way I knew how. I drew a couple of comics and sketches inspired by the SFM! But they were obviously tinged with my own tastes and perhaps experiences.

My ideas got very off-topic from the original zombie-slayer Scout-Chan, and I wanted to make my own Scout that was a girl. On the way, I drew variations that became other girl Scouts with their own personalities (but always the same face and body! My Scouts are infinite, indistinguishable, and disposable!). I eventually settled on basically the same outfit as my boy Scout, Ollie, with a ponytail that was in between the hairstyle of my 2013 dickchopper OC and Scout-chan. She was to be named Liv, partially because it’s a feminine form of the name Oliver, and partially because of the aforementioned Liv Tyler moment. There’s some interplay with how strange it is for Steven Tyler to cast his own daughter as a sexy model, and how many people compare the Scout and Spy relationship to a fatherly one, with all of that being tossed into a dumpster fire and coming out as a reversal of older-creepy-man into younger-girl-who-creeps-on-her-mentor-figure.

#GORLSCOUTYEARBOOKZINE #femscout #tf2 #tf2 scout #scoutspy #liv

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mayfriend-archive · 3 years

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Totally understand if you're not up for it and fully recognize the ronald mcdonald dom/sub anon vibes which is an AMAZING post btw but like...now i'm curious, what the hell did Lord of the Flies anon DO that got him blocked for the discourse? like...i just can't wrap my head around high school lit being...uh...that inflammatory i guess?

Okay so, I'll start by saying I've had a new anon from apparently the same anon saying they are NOT the person I blocked, just a rando making the same points, but I'll answer your question anyway just to set out why this person in particular got blocked, out of the several thousand who reblogged/commented on that very successful addition to the LoTF post I made.

First off, I added the 'real life Lord of the Flies' story because I thought it was a good story. I had read about it only a couple days beforehand in Humankind and, after reading out the entire chapter to my parents who weren't very interested, I was excited that there was not only a post where it would be relevant to post, but that I wouldn't be hijacking it, as it was already rejecting the widespread interpretation taught in many schools, that humanity is inherently savage.

When making the addition, I a) did not think it would get more than a couple reblogs, because the post was already at 50k notes and I figured anyone that might be interested would already have seen it, and b) I did not know the very specific context that prompted William Golding to write the book; all I knew was that he had been a teacher at a public school (basically, the poshest schools in the country - think Eton, Harrow, very 'old money' places that pump out Conservative politicians by the bucket-load 🤢) who hated his job and the boys he taught (which, valid), and new information I'd been given in Humankind - that Golding had said to his wife one day, "Wouldn't it be a good idea to write a story about some boys on an island, showing how they would really behave?" - which had no mention of The Coral Island by R. M. Ballantyne, which I have since learned was the text that Golding loathed enough to write an entire novel in refutation of - and included what I considered a very telling letter from Golding to his publisher, in which Golding wrote of his belief that 'even if we start with a clean slate, our nature compels us to make a muck of it.' Another Golding quote that I believe portrays his belief in humanity's 'innate savagery' is that "man produces evil as a bee produces honey."

Obviously, the author of a book putting forward the case for humanity's inherent goodness was going to oppose Golding's hypothesis; Bregman not only noted Golding's literary accomplishments and beliefs, but his personal life.

When I began delving into the author's life, I learned what an unhappy individual he'd been. An alcoholic. Prone to depression. A man who, as a teacher, once divided his pupils into gangs and encouraged them to attack each other. "I have always understood the Nazis," Golding confessed, "because I am of that sort by nature." (Humankind by Rutger Bregman, p. 24-25)

I have bolded the part about him as a teacher, because it is incredibly relevant to the original post that I commented on, which begins with a comic of a teacher locking her class in to see them 'recreate' Lord of the Flies, something which the follow up comments before mine staunchly reject as both misunderstanding the point of the book, and the fact that it took the kids in Lord of the Flies a significant amount of time without adult supervision to go 'savage'. This misreading of the text is widespread enough that when Golding won the Nobel Prize for Lord of the Flies, the Swedish Nobel committee wrote that his book 'illuminate[s] the human condition in the world of today'. Whether or not they misread it is beyond my expertise - they do at least mention the factors of the outside world neglected by many when analysing the book, but still seem to believe it says something about human nature as a whole rather than just, to quote thedarkbutbeige 'British kids being rat bastards' - but Golding quite happily took his Nobel prize on this basis. Which, in fairness, I would too. It's a fucking Nobel prize.

It was with this knowledge, and this knowledge alone, that I stated in my now very, very widely read comment that Golding 'wrote the book to be a dick', in response to the tags of the person I reblogged from. As I said, I now know that Golding did not write the book (solely) because he hated the kids he taught, but as a response to The Coral Island and the general idea that clearly the British were inherently civilsed, whilst the people they colonised and enslaved were inherently savage. So. That's the background.

The anon - or rather, the person I thought was anon - was the sole exception out of dozens of replies, who instead of telling me about The Coral Island politely decided it was time to go ALL CAPS and regurgitate points already made by thespaceshipoftheseus, and implied that the only reason that the real life Tongan castaways didn't go all Lord of the Flies was because they weren't British. Not because they weren't surrounded by violence like the boys in Lord of the Flies, or there wasn't a World War ongoing, or that they weren't the upper, upper, upper crust of a class-obsessed society like Britain - but because they weren't British. A complete inversion of the concept that Golding was trying to get across - now, instead of all of humanity being equally prone to savagery in the right conditions, it was solely nationality that determined it. As in, the British were inherently savage, but nobody else was.

I, trying for humour, made the terrible mistake of replying to them.

I won't lie, I was absolutely blown away that this was real life. What I think they were trying to do was be that Cool Tumblr Person who, after somebody's been shitty on a post, goes to their blog and sees something Damning in their about/description. In an ideal world, I imagine I'd have gone nuts or done something Unforgiveable. In what I can only call the rant that followed, they stated several times that I needed to go back to high school to get some 'proper literary analysis' skills and that the story of the Tongan castaways was completely unrelated to the point at hand which. I mean, I disagree, considering that I made the addition, but I couldn't get my head around how commenting on a post that was already rejecting the thesis that the 'point' of Lord of the Flies was that humanity was inherently savage and was, in fact, about how kids - British or otherwise - learn how to function from the adults around them, and that traumatised, terrified children aren't going to create a mini-Utopia, and put forward a real life example of how without the key additions of an ongoing world war, a colonial Empire and the subsequent mindset of thinking you are 'inherently civilised' and therefore can't do anything wrong, actually, people just want to take care of each other.

A friend has since asked me why I even have 'england' in my description. To be honest, it's a timezone thing - I talk to a lot of people online who don't share my timezone, and it generally makes me feel like if I don't reply immediately because it's 3am, they have the tools to see that I'm not in their timezone and not just ignoring them. I did consider changing it to 'british' or 'uk' after it was... 'used against me', I guess, simply because I didn't want to deal with it, but you know what. No. Not gonna do that. I am from England, and I have never hid that fact. I have a tag called 'uk politics', during Eurovision I refer to the UK's act as 'us' (even if I really, really don't want to. Because James Newman slaughtered that song and it was downright embarrassing), I regularly post stuff in my personal tag about where I live (and mostly complain about this piece of shit government). If people really think my nationality makes every point I make null and void, then they don't have to follow me or interact with my posts; tumblr is big, and I am one medium-small blog very easily passed over.

I did reply to them, trying to explain the above, but their next response really just doubled down. Because I used the word British instead of English - foolishly because the posts above mine focused on Britishness, and also because although Golding was English and taught English kids, the pro-Imperialism author of The Coral Island, R. M. Bannatyne was actually Scottish so, ding ding ding, falls into the 'British' category - they then decided that I was somehow trying to pretend I wasn't English and made all the same points, before ending with this doozy:

At this point, I knew there was nothing to be gained from replying, because if we're whipping out conditions like they're pokemon cards then there's no actual conversation anymore, and I'm not going to start mudslinging like an identity politician. They made up their mind, and I figured there could be no harm in letting them think that they 'won' by blocking them instead of replying.

Until the ask. INNATE ENGLISH SAVAGERY did, I'll admit, make me think it was them, back again. I even thought up a really good response approximately 12 hours after I replied, I was that sure. Until the second message came in, and said they were just someone who came from the post and made the same point by chance. So the saga draws to a close... for now.

It may have been them, it may not have been - the anon feature makes it impossible to be sure, but as the second message I got said, we're in a heatwave. It's too hot to argue. And I've just written a goddamn essay about a book I dislike anyway.

My pasty English ass is going to go melt. If there's Disk Horse, do not tell me. I am Done™

#emily speaks #asks #anon #lord of the flies #this is long. this is so long. why is this so long #i literally got out humankind so i could quote directly. how is this my life

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