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redgoldsparks · 7 months

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I wrote a 12 page epilogue to my 2019 comic "Harry Potter and The Problematic Author" because I found, in 2023, that I had more to say. You can also find this comic on my website, and I have PDF copies available on etsy. I may sell print copies at some point in the future.

instagram / patreon / portfolio / etsy / my book / redbubble

Full transcript below the cut.

PAGE 1

Part one: Ruddy Owls!

I was in fourth grade when the first Harry Potter Book was released in the US.

Panel 1: Sometimes our teacher would read it aloud in class. “Mr and Mrs Dursley of number 4 Privat Drive were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

Panel 2: I was 11 years old when Harry Potter finally broke through my dyslexia and turned me into a reader.

Panel 3: Every night in the summer before sixth grade I waited for the owl carrying my Hogwarts Letter. I cried when it didn’t come. “I have to go to Muggle school!”

PAGE 2

Part Two: Hats

I dedicated myself to being a fan.

Panel 1: I began collecting Harry Potter News article.

Panel 2: I asked my relatives to mail me ones from their local papers. I filled a thick binder with clippings.

Panel 3: I wrote my own trivia quiz

Panel 4: and participated in the one held annually at the county fair. “Next contestant!”

Panel 5: I usually got into one of. the top five spots. I won boxes of candy, posters, stationary, and once a baseball cap. (Hat reads: I survived the battle of Hogwarts).

Panel 6: In high school I sewed a black velvet cape and knitted many stripped scarves.

PAGE 3

Part Three: Double Trouble

Watching the last film in 2011 felt like the final note of my childhood.

Panel 1: I remember driving home from the midnight showing thinking about the end of 13 years of waiting; wondering what would define the next chapter of my life.

Panel 2: That same month I heard of something called Pottermore. “Okay, so there’s a sorting quiz… I already know my house! Patronus assignment? Mine’s a barn owl. Duh!"

Panel 3: You can read the books again but with GIFs? Why?

Panel 4: I lived in a place with very slow and limited internet at the time. Pottermore sounded inaccessible, but also boring. I never joined.

Panel 5: "I’ll just read the actual books again, thanks."

PAGE 4

Part Four: Sweets

In 2016, a series of short stories titled "History of Magic in North America” were released on Pottermore to pave the way for the first Fantastic Beasts Film. These stories display an extreme ignorance of American history, culture, and geography, but the worst parts are the casual misuse of indigenous beliefs and stories. Fans and critics immediately spoke up against this appropriation. Some of the most quoted voices included Nambe Pueblo scholar Dr. Debbie Reese who runs the site “American Indians In Children’s Literature”; Navajo writer Brian Young; Johnnie Jae (Otoe-Missouria and Choctaw), founder of A Tribe Called Geek; Dr Adrienne Keene (Cherokee Nation), a Professor at Brown University who runs the blog “Native Appropriations”, and writers N.K. Jemison and Paula Young Lee.

PAGE 5

Rowling is famous for responding to fans directly on twitter, yet she did not respond to anyone calling out the damaging aspects of “Magic in North America.” Her representatives refused to comment for March 9 2016 article in the Guardian. She has never apologized. All of this, plus the casting of Johnny Depp and the specific declarations of support by JKR, Warner Brothers, and director David Yates left a sour taste in my mouth.

For further thoughts on the new films read The Crimes of Grindelwald is a Mess by Alanna Bennett for Buzzfeed News, November 16, 2018.

PAGE 6

Excerpt from Colonialism in Wizarding American: JK Rowling’s History of Magic in North America Through an Indigenous Lens by Allison Mills, MFA, MAS/MLIS (Cree and Settler French Canadian)

Although Rowling is certainly not the first white author to misstep in her treatment of Indigenous cultures, she has an unprecedented level of visibility and fame, […] One of the most glaring problems with Rowling’s story is her treatment of the many Indigenous nations in North America as one monolithic group. […It] flattens out the diversity of languages, belief systems, and cultures that exist in Indigenous communities, allowing stereotyping to persist. […] It continues a long history of colonial texts which ignore that Indigenous peoples still exist. […] In the Wizarding world, as in the real world, Indigenous histories have been over-written and our cultures erased.

from The Looking Glass: New Perspectives in Children’s Literature Volumn 19, Issue 1

PAGE 7

Part 5: Music

Panel 1: Also in 2016 I discovered two podcasts which radically altered my experience of being an HP fan. The first was Witch Please created by two Canadian feminist literary scholars Hannah McGregor and Marcelle Kosman.

Panel 2: “If it’s not in the text it doesn’t count!” “Close reading ONLY!”

Panel 3: They talk about Harry Potter at the level you’d expect in a college class with particular focus on gender, race, class, and the troubling fatphobia, fear of othered and queer coded bodies, violence against women, white feminism, gaslighting and failed pedagogy in the books. They bring up these issues not because they hate the series, but because they LOVE it.

PAGE 8

These passionate, joyful conversations went off like fireworks in my mind. I had never taken a feminist class before. I gained a whole new vocabulary to talk about the books- and the world.

PAGE 9

Panel 1: The second podcast I started that year was Harry Potter and the Sacred Text, created by two graduates of the Harvard Divinity School, Vanessa Zoltan and Casper Ter Kuile.

Panel 2: They read one chapter per episode through a theme such as love, control, curiosity, shame, responsibility, hospitality, destruction, or mystery. Like Witch Please, they are interested only in the information on the page, not thoughts from the author. The delights and failures of the text are examined in the context of the present day, and new meanings constantly arise.

PAGE 10

What does it mean to treat a text as sacred?

Trusting that the more time we give to it, the more blessings it has to give us.

Reading the text repeatedly with concentrated attention. Our effort is part of what makes it sacred. The text is not in and of itself sacred, but is made so by rigorously engaging in the ritual of reading.

Experiencing it in community.

“To me, the goal of treating the text as sacred is that we learn to treat each other as sacred.” -Vanessa Zoltan

PAGE 11

Part 6: Tooth and Claw

In October 2017, Rowling liked a tweet linking to an article arguing that trans women should be kept out of women’s bathrooms because of cisgender women’s fears. In March 2018, she liked a tweet about the problem of misogyny in the UK Labour Party which included the line “Men in dresses get brosocialist solidarity I never had.” The author of the tweet had previously posted many blatantly anti-trans statements.

Rowlings publicist claimed she had liked the posted by accident in a “clumsy and middle-aged moment.” Yet, in September 2018 she liked a link posted by Janice Turner to her column in the Times UK titled “Trans Rapists Are A Danger In Women’s Jails.”

Screencaps of these tweets can be found in the article “The Mysterious Case of JK Rowling and her Transphobic Twitter History”, January 10 2019 by Gwendolyn Smith (a trans journalist), LGBTQNation.com

PAGE 12

Excerpt from: Is JK Rowling Transphobic? A Trans Woman Investigates by Katelyn Burns

Ultimately, the answer is yes, she is transphobic […] I think it’s fair that she receives criticism from trans people, especially given her advocacy on behalf of queer people in general, but also because she has a huge platform. Many people look up to her for creating a singular piece of popular culture that holds deep meaning for fans from different walks of life, and she has a responsibility to handle that platform wisely. (Published on them.us March 28, 2018)

PAGE 13

Part 7: Home

At age 30, I’m still not over Harry Potter.

Panel 1: I’ve recently found a local bar that does HP trivia nights. “Poppy or Pomona?” “Poppy!”

Panel 2: I currently own an annual pass to Universal Studios so I can visit Hogsmeade.

Panel 3: I love talking to kids who are reading the books for the first time. “Who’s your favorite character?” “Ginny!”

Panel 4: And I’m planning a relisten to the audio books to next year to help me get through the election cycle. “Jim Dale, I’m going to need you more than ever…”

Spoiler from 2023: I did not do this. By mid-2020 JKR had posted her transphobic essay; we were in covid; I never visited Universal Studios again.

PAGE 14

But I do want to learn from her mistakes. I never want to repeat “Magic in North America.” As I write, I will do my research. I will consult experts and compensate them. If a reader from a different culture/background than me speaks up about my work, I will listen and apologize. I KNOW I WILL MAKE MISTAKES. But I will own up to them and I will do better.

PAGE 15

Excerpt from Diversity Is Not Enough: Race, Power and Publishing by Daniel José Older

We can love a thing and still critique it. In fact, that’s the only way to really love a thing. Let’s be critical lovers and loving critics and open ourselves to the truth about where we are and where we’ve been. Instead of holding tight to the same old, failed patriarchies, let’s walk a new road, speak new languages. Today, let’s imagine a literature, a literary world, that carries this struggle for equity in its very essence, so that tomorrow it can cease to be necessary, and disappear. (Buzzfeed, April 14, 2017)

PAGE 16

Harry Potter is flawed, & JK Rowling is problematic. But the books helped me learn a lot:

*One of the greatest dangers facing the modern world is the rise of fascism

*The government cannot be trusted

*Read and think critically

*Question the news: who paid the journalist? Who owns the paper?

*Trust and support your friends through good times and bad

*Organize for resistance

*Educate and share resources with peers

*The revolution must be diverse and intersectional

* We are only as strong as we are united

*The weapon we have is love

MK 2019

PAGE 17

PART 8: EPILOGUE

In 2021 I removed a Harry Potter patch I sewed to my book bag over a decade ago. I took 15 pieces of Harry Potter fanart off my walls. I got rid of my paperback book set, 2 board games, and 8 t-shirt. [images: a Hogwarts a patch with loose threads, a pair of scissors and a seam ripper]

Panel 1: Maia holding up a shirt with the Deathly Hallows logo on it. Maia thinks: “Damn, this really used to be my entire personality.”

Panel 2: The t-shirt gets thrown into the Goodwill box.

PAGE 18

I wrote my zine wrestling with JKR’s legacy in 2019, after her dismissive and racist reaction to indigenous fans and critics of “Magic in North America” and after she had liked a couple transphobic tweets. Since then, she has gotten so much worse.

A Brief Timeline (mostly from this Vox article)

June 2020- JKR posts a 3600 word essay making her anti-trans position clear

August 2020- The Robert F Kennedy Human Rights Org issues a statement about her transphobia, JKR doubles down on her position and returns an award they gave her

December 2020- JKR claims 90% of HP fans secretly agree with her anti-trans views

December 2021- JKR mocks Scottish Police for recognizing transgender identities

March 2022- JKR criticizes gender-inclusive language and legislation

December 2022- JKR retweets trans youtuber Jessie Earl’s critical review of Hogwarts Legacy, starting an onslaught of transphobic harassment towards Earl

December 2022- JKR removes her support from an Edinburgh center for survivors of sexual violence with a trans-inclusive policy and funds her own center which explicitly excludes trans sexual assault survivors

January 2023- JKR tweets “Deeply amused by those telling me I’ve lost their admiration due to disrespect I show violent, duplicitous rapists.” It got nearly 300K likes

March 2023- One the podcast “The Witch Trials of JK Rowling”, hosted by a former Westboro Baptist Church Member, JKR compares the trans rights movement to Death Eaters.

PAGE 19

What are The Witch Trials of JK Rowling?

Panel 1: Maia speaking. “It’s a 7 episode documentary style podcast hosted by Megan Phelps-Roper. Nearly every episode contains interviews with JKR as well as critics, journalists, historians, protestors and fans.

Panel 2: Maia speaking. “In episode 1, JKR speaks more candidly than she has previously about being in an abusive marriage. Her ex-husband hit her, stalked her, broke into her house overlapping with the time she was writing the first three HP books.”

Panel 3: Maia speaking. “What she went through genuinely sounds horrific. I have a lot of sympathy for the kind of life-long traumas those experiences leave.”

PAGE 20

HOWEVER.

It is clear from reading the June 2020 essay on her blog and listening to the podcast, that JKR still to this day feels unsafe. Despite her wealth and privilege she moves through the world with the mindset of a victim. And the group of people she finds most threatening are trans women.

Or rather, she is afraid that allowing trans women in women’s spaces invites the possibility of male predators entering those spaces.

Here’s a direct quote: The problem is male violence. All a predator wants is access and to open the doors of changing rooms, rape centers, domestic violence centers [...] to any male who says “I’m a woman and I have a right to be here” will constitute a risk to women and girls. - from The Witch Trials episode 4 as transcribed by therowlinglibrary.com, March 2023

Image: A stem of Belladonna with flowers and berries.

PAGE 21

Let me introduce here the term: TRANSMISOGYNY. The intersection of transphobia and misogyny, this term was coined by Julia Serano in 2007. Scout Tran, on tiktok as Queersneverdie said: “Transmisogyny occurs in people who have been previously hurt by traditional misogyny. Who have been driven to hate men or at the very least to be scared of men. They will sometimes take out that rage on trans women. (March 2023)

JKR claims to care for trans women and understand they are extremely vulnerable to assault and violence. In her 2020 Essay she wrote: “I want trans women to be safe. At the same time, I do not want to make natal girls and women less safe.”

So she cares about trans women… just less than cis women, and she’s willing to throw all trans women under the bus because of her unfounded, prejudice fears.

PAGE 22

Panel 1: Maia speaking. “JKR claims to have seen data that proves trans women have presented physical threats to other women in intimate spaces, but never cites sources. She also uses “producer of the large gametes” as a definition of “woman”.

What about transmen and nonbinary folks?

Panel 2: Maia leaning on a stack of all seven HP books, the first four Cormorant Strike books and The Casual Vacancy, gesturing to a series of quotes with a tired and disgusted expression.

I’m concerned about the huge explosion of young women wishing to transition and also about the increasing numbers who seem to be detransitioning. * [...] If I’d been born 30 years later, I too might have tried to transition. The allure of escaping womanhood would have been huge. -June 10 2020 essay

I don’t believe a 14 year old can truly understand what the loss of their fertility is.

-Witch Trials episode 4

I haven’t yet found a study that hasn’t found that the majority of young people experiencing gender dysphoria grow out of it*. -Witch Trials episode 7

*No sources cited

PAGE 23

It’s hard to over emphasize how fixated JKR has become on these topics. As of the date I’m writing this, 14 out of her 20 most recent tweets (70%) are in some way anti-trans. She tweets against Mermaids (a UK based trans youth charity), against trans athletes, against gender neutral bathrooms, and in support of LBG Alliance- a UK org that denies trans rights while upholding gay rights. Here are some gems from her archive:

“People who menstruate.” I’m sure there used to be a word for those people. Someone help me out. Wumben? Wimpund? Woomud? -June 2020

War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength. The Penised Individual Who Raped You Is a Woman. - December 2021

And in response to someone asking “How do you sleep at night knowing you lost a whole audience?”

I read my most recent royalty cheques and find the pain goes away pretty quickly. -October 2022

PAGE 24

Hashtag Ruthless Productions a queer nerd podcast company created a great guide on ethical engagement with HP. Image: the two hosts of Hashtag Ruthless productions, Jessie (They/she) and Lark (he/him).

Stop buying all official HP Products: books, movies, games, toys, etc, Universal Studios tickets, food, merch.* Boycott any new TV series or movies. Instead: buy the books and DVDs used. If you still want to wear HP merch, buy fan-made. Engage only with fan content: fic, podcasts, fanart, wizard rock, etc. Show transphobia is bad for business. None of this will change JKR’s mind. But the Fantastic Beast series was canceled and after record Pottermore sales in 2020, they fell in 2022 by 40%.

*She gets a portion of ALL tickets. In 2019, this was her largest income source. Read the full guide: hashtagruthless.com/resourceguide

PAGE 25

As late as 2019, I was still reading JKR’s murder mystery series. But by the fourth book my experience began to sour.

Panel 1: Maia holding a copy of Lethal White. “The only gay character in this book is a government official who gropes his staff?”

Panel 2: “The only genderqueer character is misgendered and portrayed as a whiny faker?”

Panel 3: “The only Muslim character is disowned by his family over gay rumors?”

Panel 4: “Even the women aren’t portrayed very well…”

Panel 5: “Why is the main female character defined by the rape in her past?”

Panel 6: “Wait, what happens in the rest of this series…?” Maia scrolls on eir phone.

Panel 7: “Is the series heading towards an employee/boss relationship?”

Panel 8: “And has a man wearing women’s clothes to commit assault?”

Panel 9: “Yeah, I’m done. I’m never reading a new JKR book ever again.”

PAGE 26

And as for JKR herself?

As tempting as it might be to tweet your frustrations at her, I don’t recommend it. In 2021, she tweeted, “Hundreds of trans activists have threatened to beat, rape, assassinate and bomb me.” Getting hate online feeds her sense of victimhood and she waves it as proof of her moral high ground. Instead I suggest you block her on twitter, then delete twitter, go to the library and try to find a new book that feels magical.

Stack of books: In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan, The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater, Gifts by Ursula K Le Guin, Deep Wizardry by Diane Duane, A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik and Gideon the Ninth by Tamsin Muir.

PAGE 27

In “Emergent Strategy” adrienne maree brown writes: You do not have the right to traumatize abusive people, to attack them, personally or publicly, or to sabotage anyone else’s health. The behaviors of abuse are also survival-based, learned behaviors rooted in pain. If you can look through the lens of compassion, you will find hurt and trauma there. If you are the abused party, healing that hurt is not your responsibility and exacerbating that pain is not your justified right.

PAGE 28

Seeing anyone over age 12 wearing HP merch now makes me uncomfortable. Are they ignorant or actively a TERF? I hate wondering how much money JKR has probably poured into anti-trans legislation… This zine is a culmination of my slow breakup with a story that once brought me joy. Now it just makes me angry, tired and sad.

Image: Candle in a fancy holder burned down to less than an inch.

Maia Kobabe, 2023

#harry potter #harry potter and the problematic author #jk rowling #transphobia #jk rowling transphobic

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ms-demeanor · 6 months

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It's really hard to take my classes seriously when it is so staggeringly obvious that a lot of the professors don't take them seriously.

It's possible to get at least 95% in my C# class without ever opening the book or doing any of the actual programming exercises. The whole thing is based on quiz scores and you can take the quizzes an unlimited number of times and it shows you the correct answers after every attempt and then asks you the exact same questions - it doesn't even scramble up the multiple choice options between attempts. My professor isn't even using their own material. All the lectures were recorded by a different professor, who also wrote the quizzes.

The last assignment my art teacher graded was turned in over 2 months ago. It was still summer when I did that assignment. We only have 13 students in the class and it's not like the professor is reading essays or writing long comments on the work. They have only graded *checks notes* two of the eight assignments we've turned in. All of the lectures were filmed in 2020, as has been the case with lectures in nearly all of my online classes (programming lectures were filmed in 2018, and I don't know if that's better or worse).

These professors are more checked out than the students and it's tremendously demotivating.

A huge number of my classes have had quizzes and exams where all the questions were pulled verbatim from the textbook with no references to lectures. The answers can all be found on "study" sites because the professors didn't even bother to reword them. One of my classes was a political science class in winter of 2022 that asked "how many US presidents have been impeached?" And the "correct" answer was 2.

I hope my school just sucks. I really hope it isn't like this everywhere. Not even all of my classes are like this, but probably 60% of them are like this and it is making me nuts.

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dalishious · 5 months

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A BioWare Guide on How to Murder a Fanbase

I have been a Dragon Age super-fan for almost fourteen years, now. I have played every game, with every DLC. I have read every novel, lore book, and every comic — yes, even the terrible ones that are better off forgotten. I have seen the anime film, the animated series, and the web mini-series. I have enjoyed all of these pieces of the franchise over and over, more times than I can count. So, make no mistake: the negativity you’re about to hear comes from a place of love for this fantasy world, developed by many creative people over the years. I would love nothing more than to see the resurrection of passion in the Dragon Age fandom again. But the unfortunate truth is, that resurrection is only needed because BioWare took the fandom out back and shot it in the first place.

In December 2018, three years after the release of Dragon Age: Inquisition’s Trespasser epilogue DLC, BioWare first announced the then-untitled next Dragon Age game with a teaser trailer. At this point, most fans were anticipating this would mean within the next couple years, we would see the game. This assumption was based on the fact that Dragon Age: Inquisition was first announced in 2012, and released in 2014, with an extra year of development added last minute.

There have been dribbles of extra content since then, adding to the franchise. This was enough to keep some fans still breathing and interested. 2020’s Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights was a lovely anthology. 2020’s Dragon Age: Blue Wraith and 2021’s Dark Fortress were wonderful comics tying up the story started in Knight Errant. And 2022’s Dragon Age: Absolution was a well-animated series with an interesting cast of characters and story. But all these still left the fandom with a major question: What was going on with the next game? It was untypical of BioWare to be so secretive, in comparison to how they handled sharing information of the past games in the franchise. The only form of updates fans still have to go on is mostly just concept art and short stories, hinting that something must be in production. But why was the wait so long?

In 2015, the first version of the next Dragon Age began with a clear vision, clear scope of practice, and a reportedly happy developer team. Most gloriously in my book, there was no multi-player… but this did not align with the Electronic Arts typical money-mad schemes. EA’s push for “games as a service” meant they wanted to monetize all their games as much as possible, and therefore, they wanted them to be a live service — as Anthem demonstrated, that meant sacrificing things that are staples of good RPGs, like narrative and character choice. So in 2017, version one of the next Dragon Age was scrapped and replaced. This new version would have, in total or to at least some degree, an online portion of play.

There is one part of Schreier’s article, “The Past and Present of Dragon Age 4,” that really sticks out to me, regarding this:

“One person close to the game told me this week that Morrison’s critical path, or main story, would be designed for single-player and that goal of the multiplayer elements would be to keep people engaged so that they would actually stick with post-launch content.”

The idea of splitting up components of a game into single-player and multi-player is a terrible idea, because it means that there would be a large bulk of content only accessible through online gaming; something many fans, like myself, are repulsed by. Even if I did enjoy it, I spent most of my life growing up with either no internet or shoddy internet incapable of playing online games. I know many rural people who are still in that position, losing more and more of their favourite gaming pastimes because they are locked out of the ability to play them. It is a disservice to hide content behind a wall like this, especially in a world that is so lore-heavy like Dragon Age. The news of multi-player in Dragon Age understandably upset many, and this is when I first noticed a large drop off in excitement over the next game.

However, in 2021, the failure of Anthem (multi-player) and success of Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order (single-player) led the executives at EA to bend to the wishes of BioWare leadership and allow them to go back to the drawing board yet again on the next Dragon Age. This meant removing all multi-player content!

While I am very happy that there will reportedly be no multi-player in Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, I can’t help but feel bitter and a little disgusted over the ridiculous development time spent on something no one but EA wanted in the first place. If it weren’t for this foolishness, Dragon Age: Dreadwolf would be in our hands right now. Instead, it’s been in development hell for nearly nine years and counting. Nine years is a long time to expect fans to carry a torch for you through radio silence, but it’s no wonder BioWare has shared barely anything about the next game; it’s been in flux for so long, they likely haven’t had anything concrete to show.

BioWare hurt its reputation even more when the news broke that the studio very suddenly laid off 50 people who were working on Dragon Age: Dreadwolf. This is pretty damning on its own, but BioWare took it a step further. Former developer Jon Renish shared a statement revealing that the studio was only willing to offer laid-off employees two weeks of severance per year of service, and denied health benefits. The denial of health benefits in particular is a pretty wild move for a studio with a reputation for “stress casualties”. The latest news on this is that BioWare has still so far refused to negotiate better severance packages, leading to a lawsuit. The lawsuit originally had 15 former employees, but this dropped due to the fear of not being able to afford to pay their bills. So now, while EA sits on $400 million net income, the laid-off employees are struggling to buy holiday presents for their children. These horrid business practices are not to be ignored when accounting for a lack of faith in a studio. What kind of monsters reward workers who make your games special with vaguely reasoned lay-offs?

The latest news on the Dragon Age: Dreadwolf front from BioWare came early this month, December 2023, with a trailer… announcing a trailer that will come next summer… that will announce the release of the game. Supposedly. Maybe. We’ll see. But by this time, BioWare is something of a laughing stock of their own fandom. Reactions to the video released with a pretty map graphic and a few rendered locations were, from what I personally observed, mostly sardonic in nature. People have commented on the vapourware nature of the game, and like all vapourware, that leads to disintegrating trust.

Despite all this, people like Mary Kirby, (one of the veteran Dragon Age writers who was a victim of the layoffs,) said, “it’s bittersweet that Dreadwolf is my last DA game, but I still hope you all love it as much as I do,” encouraging fans to still support the game when it eventually is released. But after every misstep BioWare has taken, that’s a tough sell now. Fans are finicky, RPG fans more so than others, one could argue. We have our favourites, and many of us stick to those favourites for life over our appreciation for the artistry — but that relationship between studio and fan should go both ways. EA and BioWare has betrayed that relationship, and it will take a hell of a lot to build it back up again, now.

[This piece is also available on Medium!]

#dragon age #dadw #dragon age dreadwolf #bioware #game development #meta #releasing this into the wild and running away

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yonpote · 4 months

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ok heres how i split up the dnp eras (loosely based on dan's timeline in his interview w anthony)

2009-2011: the Sillies era :3 dan refered to it as being a dumb teen just posting cuz he was bored, which is like, thats what all of youtube culture was at this time. they met and like fell in love or whatever you know the lore dont you. phil moved from his parents home to his first apartment in manchester, and dan technically moved to uni but really he moved into phil's apartment to take advantage of his washing machine and ps1 and. yknow. other stuff. they officially moved in together in 2011 yippee hooray, the phanchester apartment holds a special place in my heart

2012-2013: THE SHIFT. they started getting Serious about youtube as a career, doing more stuff w the radio, superamazingproject started in 2011 but THE SHIFT is very easy to observe when you compare the first season of sap to the last season. ALSO. they were NOT A DOUBLE ACT AND NOT GAY 🙄. it could also be called the No Homo era lmao idk this is when a lot of shitty things were happening wrt leaked information, harassment of their families, and just generally becoming more in the spotlight especially while still in the closet being a horrible experience. but also, they moved to london and got cool opportunities with radio stuff and were starting to actually make a living on this shit.

2014-2016: Peak Dan And Phil™ Era. at the height of their popularity. they realized oh shit, we ARE a double act and not only does everyone enjoy us best as a double act, WE enjoy working together. tabinof, tatinof, dapgo, still doing the radio every month up until they start touring, 7 second challenge app, gamingmas, what the hell DIDNT they do during this time period (what they didnt do was uhh take care of themselves and not overwork and not blur their work and personal lives so much to the point where they felt like the whole apartment was a film set.)

2017-2018: Gay Softlaunch Era (aka post-baking aka glass closet) the baby steps toward authenticity, moved to the double apartment to separate work and life, ii's whole theme, dan talking abt depression, phil getting the quiff, both of them being gay as hell in every way other than saying it explicitly. important things of note: TRUTH BOMBS dropped, Interactive Introverts happened, still uploading gaming vids and honestly by the end you could feel their fatigue. and then they hiatused dapg.

2019-2022: ok these four years each feel like whole eras in themselves, but also theres an overarching theme. THE GAY ERA.

2019: im gonna futher split this year in half. first half- dad left to buy milk so other dad is taking care of us. rough six months for dannies im sure. important phil thing of note- he changed his film set from his "bedroom" to a fairly basic but cute shelf backdrop. honestly prob didnt wanna keep pretending that was his bedroom considering.... second half- DAN AND PHIL GAY. dan uploads his magnum opus. phil comes out via tweet. they go to japan and its really gay and it's The Trip to japan for them like yes they first went in 2015 and again in 2023, but Japhan 2.0 Was The One. what does this mean? proposal? anniversary? idk exactly but it was gay as hell dude and theyve talked about that trip with such love in their hearts.

2020: Phandemic (sorry that was bad) but also where tf is dan again? even with the big C-word happening, it was business as usual for phil, regular vids but make em gayer, caught a pigeon nbd, and end of the year introduces the Stereo app show Phil and Phriends where he's had chats with pj, louise, his brother, seth everman?????, and finally. dan reappears. they reveal that they bought and FULLY PLANNED a house together and are ready to move!

2021: they don't move house for another like six months! basically their house was (and is??) still being worked on AND they were in lockdown AND turns out at the end of last year, they were kicked from their Life apartment and were now living in the Work apartment so you can imagine what all of this can do to their psyche and lowkey they were getting sick of each other like it wasnt just bordering on phivorce it was nearly Phurder. Phidow. but to fill the time so that DOESNT happen, my favorite fucking thing ever happens: Lockdown Lads (and all the other names). the first taste of what a dnp podcast would sound like, with the added bonus of chaotic listener interaction. oh yeah also dan wrote a mental health guide book whatever (IM KIDDING I REALLY LIKE YWGTTN I WROTE LIKE TWO REVIEWS ON IT NOW) and they finally become Homosexual Homeowners. theres quite a bit more dnp content this year, dan being on phils channel a bit more, the phodcasts, dan's gay and not proud special.... oh yeah and hometown showdown i guess AND TEXT VIDEO 2!!! my favorite and my namesake!!!!!!!

2022: Prophecy Year..... but they didnt get married. dan returns with another longass video to say: hey i hate being a youtuber and also youtube majorly fucked me over. but also fuck that im gonna do a weird talk show and ALSO GO ON TOUR WITH THIS APOCALYPSE THEME! phil actually... slows down this year. more dan uploads than phil somehow??? but also Dan Is Leaving me is posted and i go completely insane and become the deranged individual you see today. WHICH FINALLY LEADS US TOOOOOO

2023-present: The Unhinged Era. dan's tour was a huge Emotional success for him but uh not without its hiccups due to management and all that and i think he and phil finally realize. Fuck It Who Cares. dan flies back to england FROM AUSTRALIA to make sure he can be with his future ex-husband on his birthday. CAKE HEART EMOJI. YELLOW PLAID SHACKET. they go on a gamer date and post a picture of playing footsies in a cab. THE PHUDE HAPPENS. they go to japan again and while this one will never be The One it was still a well earned holiday this time with bryony! and they took a bunch of very cute film camera pictures.... THIS IS ALL JUST THE FIRST HALF OF 2023 BTW. in phil news, he talks about going to therapy and figuring out how to manage his anxiety!!!! he changes his hair again!! he hires an editor, phan is his otp, he teases about the gaming channel a couple of times but so many of us already dropped any hope of that returning- OH WAIT WHAT THE FUCK?!!!? HUH!??!? they returned, and more chaotic than ever before. the gayness upped to the max, the Weirdness on full speed, the Horniness at Very Scary Levels Oh God Stop Talking About Dogging, phil can swear uncensored now???? and this energy has continued into today...

#the shift #softlaunch #myrambles #phan

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prokopetz · 1 year

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I just realised that Nicolas Cage has appeared in at least one movie released in every year since 1986.

In 2018–2019 he appeared in fourteen films (including eight direct-to-video productions and three voice roles) in a two-year span.

I don't think I'd ever really thought about any potential relationship between the pace of his filming schedule and why his performances are Like That, but upon consideration, well.

#media #movies #nicolas cage

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joongtreasure · 2 months

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Cupcakes and Kisses

Mingi x Fem Reader (ft. ATEEZ members) Word count: 6.6k Genre: high school au, jock Mingi, kissing booth au Note/s: Based on the film Kissing Booth (2018). This was in my drafts since 2021? + Mention of Changbin of Stray Kids <3 hehe Photo credits: 1, 2, 3

High school—it's the period for the most embarrassing moments of your life. Not only was it the time for raging hormones and puberty, but also a time for wrong decisions.

And today was no exception.

Today was the last day of the pitch for the spring carnival at KQ Prep. The student council required every club in the school to set up a booth for the event. Or else, no extra funding for club activities.

You were the vice president of the culinary and baking club, or as others would like to call it, the foodies. It's not that bad or insulting, to be honest (depending on you if you take it to heart). It is certainly not for your best friend, Jung Wooyoung, who was also the president of the club.

You and Wooyoung were like a tandem, a buy-one-get-one-free deal. In many ways, you and Wooyoung fill each other up: you were the shy and patient one, while Wooyoung was the confident and loud one. There was never a boring moment with him, but that doesn't mean all moments with him were good. Like right now...

Wooyoung, with a firm grip on your school blazer sleeve, dragged you across the hallway, whining, "It's a good idea!"

You, on the other hand, tried to pull away, saying, "No, it's not!"

Wooyoung grumbled. "The water sports are doing a toss and dunk booth! We have to beat their sorry asses!"

"You just want to beat Changbin!" You tried to pull away again but Wooyoung's grip was so firm that your school shoes were starting to skid against the school floor. "How is a kissing booth by us any better?!"

"It will be a hit!"

"It spreads germs!"

"We'll provide sanitation and mints!"

"We could be sued for public indecency!"

Wooyoung sighed and let go of your hand. "Oh, come on, live a little, Y/N."

You shrugged. "Can't we just make a bunch of food for the carnival? I know everyone will be hungry."

Wooyoung gave you a pointed look. "Everyone is going to sell food and trinkets at the carnival."

"Well," you jutted your chin out in confidence, "we could do, uh, well, an apple bobbing competition?"

Wooyoung scowled at you. "That's boring." He sighed. "Look, the majority of the officers already agreed to the kissing booth, Y/N. Except you."

"That's because you implied that San will be in the lineup of kissers," you stated. "Even though you haven't even asked him yet."

"That's because he and I think alike. Trust me, he would agree."

You pouted. "And trust me, the food will sell."

Wooyoung smiled and patted your head. "Oh, sure, you do that," he said before turning around and scurrying towards the student council's office.

You sighed.

-----

You slumped on the empty front steps of the school, sporting a frown on your face. Wooyoung was taking so long in the meeting. You hoped the kissing booth was rejected by the student council.

The doors of the school opened, the sound of the creaking metal startling you out of your thoughts. You looked back to see Song Mingi, the star of KQ Prep's basketball team, exiting the building and looking fresh out of a shower. He probably just finished practice.

You looked away before he could catch you staring. Mingi was one of those guys who looked straight out of a movie—tall, handsome, athletic, always wears a varsity jacket, drives a Jeep, and center of the school's attention. But it would be foolish to think that he's arrogant and proud like the trope. He's one of the sweetest and nicest people you ever met.

You had a few classes with him. You could say that the interaction between the two of you is funny. He could be playful yet gentle and respectful at the same time. And in time, you also found yourself liking him like the entire student body.

Unbeknownst to you, as soon as Mingi saw you alone on the steps, he smiled and slightly hurried down. "Hey, Y/N," Mingi greeted, plopping beside you on the warm pavement.

You internally freaked when you saw Mingi next to you. The loose shirt, the sweet scent of his shampoo, and the dopey grin were too much for your poor heart.

"You had a club meeting today?" Mingi asked.

"Not really," you responded. "I'm waiting for Wooyoung to finish his pitch for the spring carnival."

Mingi nodded. "And what will your club be doing?"

You groaned. "Don't remind me. It's embarrassing."

Mingi chuckled. "Why? It can't be that bad."

You sighed before muttering, "it's a kissing booth."

Mingi's eyes widened in surprise. "That's... interesting."

"It's all Wooyoung's idea," you shrugged. "Nothing better than to capitalize on teen hormones, right?"

"Right," Mingi said monotonously.

Seeing his somewhat dry response, you slumped. "I told you it was an embarrassing idea."

"No, I mean, yes—I mean," Mingi stuttered a response. "It was just unexpected, that's all." Mingi somewhat looked conflicted, but he still smiled softly at you. "Is it alright for me to ask if," he paused.

"If what?"

"If you—I mean, would you be joining?" Mingi asked.

You blinked in thought. "What do you mean?"

Mingi studied your confused expression before shaking his head. "Nevermind," he said, standing up.

You groaned. "Great, now you got me curious."

"It's nothing." Mingi laughed. "But, hey, if teen hormones bring you the money, then, why not?" He said, making you laugh as well. "Got a ride home?"

"Yeah," you smiled, "I'm riding with Wooyoung."

Mingi nodded. "Alright, I'll see you around then, Y/N."

You blushed. "Yeah, see you," you said as Mingi continued his way down the steps.

"Hey," he turned to you one last time, flashing you his oh-so-perfect smile. "You look cute as always, Y/N," he said before heading towards the parking lot. You swore you could've melted right on the front steps that day.

-----

It was no surprise the council approved the kissing booth idea. You totally blame Wooyoung. The boy could probably smooth talk himself out of jail if the situation calls for it.

Your club already started building the podium and mini stage for the booth in the school courtyard because there wasn't room in the Home Economics classroom. The weather was too perfect to ignore by anyone who had free period at the time.

"I'm going to get more paint," Wooyoung said to you before jogging towards the doors and into the building.

You were left alone with a few of your members, who were engaged in a hushed conversation while you minded your own business.

You took a peak at the guys playing at the basketball court. It's no surprise that Mingi and his friends were playing. They always do during free period. They must really love the sport.

It is also no surprise that they have a few spectators as well. It's the only time you would ever find Mingi and his friends setting their blazers aside, donning only their school shirts that accentuated their build so heavenly. Not that you were staring…

Speaking of, Yunho and Mingi laughed among themselves as Yunho tried to shoot the ball. Mingi effectively blocked him with his hand, however the ball bounced out of the court. It bounced until it was rolling over the pavement and stopped right where you were painting. You were able to grab the ball before it could barrel into the newly painted podium.

Seeing where the ball ended, Mingi ran towards you. "Hey," he greeted as he picked up the ball and crouched down next to you, "it's looking great. What's it for?" He asked, referring to the podium.

"It's for this week's carnival," you answered with a sigh.

"Right," Mingi chuckled awkwardly. "Umm," he paused, "so what will you be doing while," he drifted off, evidently conflicted as he pondered over his words carefully.

You looked at him funny. "While...?"

"While, you know," Mingi shrugged, "while people are kissing."

"I'll just man the booth," you said nonchalantly. "I'll leave it to Wooyoung and the others to facilitate the germ spreading."

Mingi laughed, looking somewhat happy and relieved at the same time. "Still haven't warmed up to the idea, I see."

"Never."

Mingi grinned. His face morphed into embarrassment as Yunho called for him from a few meters away. "Are we going to play, or are you too busy mingling, Mingi?"

Mingi rolled his eyes before smiling at you. "I gotta go. I'll see you around, Y/N."

You waved at him as he stood up and went back to his friends. You chuckled at the sight of Yunho giving Mingi a headlock and basically hauling him back to court. The boys laughed between themselves before returning to their game with their other friends.

You were feeling blissful, like how you always felt whenever you and Mingi talked to each other. You truly liked the guy. However, the blissful feeling was short-lived as a wild Wooyoung plopped down next to you. "What was that?!" He asked.

You blinked curiously at him. "What was what?" You looked at the spot you were previously painting. "I'm almost done. I didn't miss a spot as far as I could tell."

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. "I wasn't referring to the podium. I was referring to you and Mingi!" He exclaimed.

You looked at him funny. "It was just a friendly conversation."

"Friendly?" Wooyoung sighed exasperatedly. "Oh no no no, honey, you didn't see what I see. The guy is into you!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Wooyoung," you shook your head. "We have always talked like that. He's just super nice—"

"Na-ah! Again, you didn't see what I see," Wooyoung replied. All of a sudden, Wooyoung's face broke into excitement. He started slapping your arm, making you groan not in pain but in annoyance. "I just thought of the most brilliant idea EVER."

You frowned, not liking where this was going. "What?"

-----

"This is worse than you pitching the kissing booth idea to the council."

"Oh, come on," Wooyoung said as he kept pushing you towards the gym where the basketball team was training. "I will be of service to you forever if you manage to get him."

It was already past class hours when Wooyoung dragged you into putting his idea into action. He said you guys should have a meeting about the spring carnival after class. But alas, he deceived you again. That sly fox, you thought.

Wooyoung faced you towards him. "Alright, your uniform is clean, no evidence of your lunch anywhere," you rolled your eyes as Wooyoung checked you up and down. Wooyoung scrutinized your face before smiling triumphantly. "No booger or drool in sight too," he said.

"You—!" You exclaimed, but Wooyoung turned you around again and shoved you closer toward the gym doors. Sighing, you walked toward it, and right when you were directly in front of the entrance, you looked back at him. "How is this the most brilliant idea you ever had, again?"

Wooyoung shrugged. "The plan here is simple: talk to Mingi and his friends into joining our lineup of kissers so we can get more people to come to our booth."

"I don't want to use him, Woo."

"The man's too soft for you," Wooyoung smiled. "He will do whatever you want, I guarantee."

You gave him the most innocent look you could ever muster in an attempt to change his mind. But Wooyoung just shooed you with his hand and raised his eyebrows pointedly. With a defeated sigh, you opened the doors and entered.

The basketball team was in the midst of a practice game. You immediately spotted Mingi, running while dribbling the ball across the court. When he managed to outrun his opponent, he immediately made his shot, the ball flying through the air and into the hoop. You stared at him, awed as he was in his element.

A bunch of squeals echoed in the gym. There was an audience watching with excited grins and squeals near the team's benches. It was an open practice after all. Sighing, you sat awkwardly at the side.

The coach blew his whistle, signaling that training was over. The players rejoiced and immediately jogged to their bags scattered on the benches. There were a few girls who called for Mingi, but he only smiled sheepishly and went to his gym bag.

"Hey, Mingi," Yeosang, his friend and teammate, spoke between his breaths. "Isn't that your friend?"

Mingi looked at wherever Yeosang was pointing. And true enough, you were there at the edge of the bleachers, awkwardly twiddling with your fingers.

"Yeah," Mingi said, dumbfounded at the thought of you watching their training.

"I think she's looking for you," Yunho, Mingi's best friend, said. He shook his head in amusement, eyeing Yeosang knowingly as Mingi started wiping his sweat and combing his hair deliberately to the back. Mingi hastily gathered his things before approaching you.

"Hey," he greeted with a smile.

You stood up awkwardly. There was something about a wet-haired Mingi in a basketball jersey that had you tongue-tied for a moment. "Uhh, hi, umm, Mingi."

"Were you waiting for me?"

"Umm, yeah, can I talk to you about something?"

"Sure, have a seat," Mingi said as he sat a bleacher apart from you, not wanting you to smell his sweaty state. "What's up?"

"Well, our club is hosting a kissing booth for the spring carnival," you slightly frowned at your awkward self. "Umm, but I think you already knew that."

Mingi chuckled and nodded amusingly. "Yeah, you might have mentioned it once or twice," he joked.

You let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I did, didn't I? But, well, you see, Wooyoung asked me to ask you about something."

Mingi nodded again, urging you to go on.

You sighed nervously. "Can you," you cleared your throat, "can you be—wait, I must emphasize that it was Wooyoung's idea."

"It was Wooyoung's idea," Mingi repeated. "Got it. Crystal clear. Now, what's up with Wooyoung's idea?"

You sighed defeatedly. Well, here goes nothing, you thought. "Can you be one of the kissers for our kissing booth?"

Mingi's eyes turned wide. "What?"

Your lips formed a thin line. "Umm, can you be one of the kissers for our kissing booth?" You repeated, less confident this time.

Mingi blinked unbelievably. "Why me?"

You sighed. "Well, Wooyoung was hoping your friends too. He said that having the players of the basketball team would bring revenue to the booth."

"Oh."

You frowned. "I'm sorry, I told Wooyoung you might be uncomfortable with it, but he insisted that I should still ask you."

"Why would I be uncomfortable with it?"

"I don't know," you shrugged. You were busy playing with the ends of your school blazer as the conversation pursued. "I guess, I didn't pin you to be the type to openly kiss strangers, or show public displays of affection."

"Maybe," Mingi side-smiled, "maybe not. Or, maybe it depends on the person."

"Oh," you muttered, "sorry. I didn't know."

Mingi then leaned on his knees, getting a better view of your slightly flustered face. "Do you want me to be a kisser?"

"What?" You stared at him blankly. "Well, Wooyoung said—"

"I mean, do YOU want me to be a kisser?" Mingi emphasized, "You as in Y/N L/N, and not Jung Wooyoung?"

You didn't reply immediately, pondering over what his question meant. "Why are you asking me?"

"I don't know," Mingi said. "I feel like I should listen to you."

Why, though? This conversation was going nowhere and it was making you more nervous than before. Not to mention Mingi's inquisitive gaze that had you looking anywhere but him.

Do you actually want him to, though? I mean, the kissing booth opens so many opportunities, but you were uncomfortable with the thought of him... the thought of him kissing...

"No," you said.

Mingi smiled, nodding at your answer, which confused you. "Then I won't," he sat properly again against the bleacher, letting his intense gaze turn into a soft one. "I won't join then."

"What? Why?" You were dumbfounded.

"Just tell Wooyoung I'm busy or something," he said. "But I will try to talk to my friends, though. Emphasis on the word 'try.'"

"W-Would you have joined if I said yes?" You probed, but Mingi already stood up as if the conversation was already over, smirking at your confused look.

"Do you have a ride home?" He asked.

"Umm, yeah, Wooyoung's right outside," you answered.

"Well, then, I'll see you around." Mingi smiled at you for the last time before exiting the gym.

You sat back on the bleachers. Though your stance was already relaxed due to the conversation being over, your mind still couldn't wrap around what just happened in the conversation. Would he have agreed if I said yes?

The doors of the gym creaked as someone entered. It was Mingi again. He approached you with a different glint in his eye this time. What now?

"Hey," Mingi greeted. "Could you hold this for a moment?" Before you could ask, he put the object he was referring to in your hand. It was a set of keys—car keys, in particular. "Don't lose it, okay? I'll be quick, I swear." And just like that, he left again.

You stared at the keys in your palm. You really like Mingi, but he was seriously giving you a whiplash at the moment.

Your phone buzzed in your blazer pocket, indicating that you received a text message. You pulled it out to see a text from Wooyoung.

There's an emergency at home. Had to pick up Kyungmin from our grandma's house. Go get your man!

-----

You walked back and forth in the hallway, in front of the boy's locker room. You didn't know why Mingi left these keys with you, but you figured you had to return them to him before you leave for the bus stop. You couldn't just leave it somewhere and message him about it. Someone could steal it. Or worse, someone could steal his car.

Just in time, Mingi exited the locker room, fresh out of the shower and now sporting a big hoodie and sweats. "Hey," Mingi smiled.

"Hey, you gave these to me for some reason," you jiggled the car keys before placing them on his palm.

"Right," Mingi chuckled. "Shall we?"

You stared at him. "Shall we what?"

"Wooyoung already left, didn't he?"

"How did you know?"

Mingi chuckled. "The hallway was empty when I left," he shrugged, putting his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, "I figured he went somewhere."

"Ah, yeah, he said he had an emergency at home," you responded, following Mingi outside the school.

Truth be told, Mingi met Wooyoung in the hallway.

---

Mingi smiled as he saw Wooyoung in the hallway. "Hey," he greeted. "Sorry, I don't think I can join. I think I have to visit my grandma that day."

Wooyoung slumped. "Oh, okay. Where's Y/N?"

"She'll be right out, I guess," Mingi replied. "See ya—"

"You like her, don't you?" Wooyoung asked.

"Uhh," Mingi blushed. "I-well, I, umm—"

"Yup, you like her," Wooyoung smirked. "Why won't you ask her out then?"

Mingi sighed. "I don't think she's interested in me in that way."

Wooyoung scoffed. "Believe me, she does." He started walking away. "I'll be taking my leave. Hope you get the guts to ask her out."

Mingi sighed again when suddenly he remembered, "Hey, aren't you her ride home?"

Wooyoung turned around and started walking backward with a smirk. "Am I?" He waggled his eyebrows before disappearing in the hallway.

Mingi grinned and shook his head in amusement before rushing back inside the gym to leave you his car keys.

-----

Mingi glanced momentarily at you with a smile. He would have to apologize in the future for using your kindness like that. But he hoped that doing this would drive him to ask you confidently out on a date.

Mingi opened the school doors wide enough for the both of you and waited until you were completely outside before closing it.

"Come on, I'll give you a ride," Mingi offered.

"Oh, no thank you," you hastily refused, "I'll take the bus."

Mingi shook his head. "I'm not taking no for an answer. We live a few blocks away, anyway, so it's really convenient."

"But I don't want to impose," you sighed.

"You're not, Y/N," Mingi said. "And you won't. Like ever."

You sighed again. "But—"

Mingi shook his head then snatched your school bag. "If you ever want to see this bag again, you're going to have to catch me," and with that, Mingi ran towards the parking lot.

"Hey, no fair!" You followed him, pouting as the distance between the two of you widened. Damn his athletic build.

You chased after him, groaning in annoyance when Mingi reached his car and wiggled your bag as if to spite you. But you both found yourselves laughing as soon as you almost barreled into him and he caught you before you both could barrel into his jeep.

"Come on, Y/N, it's really not a bother," Mingi said, opening the passenger door.

You sighed. "Fine," you huffed as you grabbed your bag and settled in his passenger seat. "Just this once," you told him.

"Oh, don't count on it," Mingi said, winking at you before closing your door. You swore he would be the death of you.

As Mingi drove his jeep out of the school lot, you both fell into a casual conversation. "So why don't you want me to be a kisser?" Mingu asked.

You narrowed your eyes at his teasing expression. "Oh, stop smiling. I don't want anyone to be part of that"

"I guess, you didn't have much say on the idea?"

You slumped against the car seat with a soft 'yeah.'

Mingi looked at you momentarily before focusing on the road. "What was your idea?"

"Nothing special." You smiled. "I was thinking of just baking cupcakes or pastries."

"I think that's a great idea."

"Yeah, right," you muttered sarcastically.

"No, I swear. I think your baking's great," Mingi stressed.

"How would you know?"

"Because I bought and ate a lot from last year's fundraiser." Mingi smiled and chuckled, almost as if he could smell and taste your fresh batch just by thinking about it. "Especially those cupcakes. I swear, they're good."

"Huh, no wonder the cupcakes sold out easily," you chuckled. "We had an influencer."

"Or," Mingi drawled, "your baking is just that good." He smiled, switching his gaze back and forth between the road and you.

"Said no one ever," you shot back teasingly.

"I just said like seconds ago that they're good." Mingi shook his head in disbelief. "You don't take compliments very well."

"Maybe because I don't usually get them," you retorted.

"Ahh, all the reason for me to compliment you more then."

You looked at him before turning away upon seeing his smirk. "Oh, stop it," you said jokingly, but your heart felt like it was ramming against the seatbelt of his car.

The car slowed down to a stop just right in front of your house. You were about to thank him when Mingi suddenly exited the car. He rushed to your side before opening the car door.

"Thanks for the ride," you said. "You didn't have to do that."

"I don't mind," he replied, following you to the front door.

"And you didn't have to walk me to the door." You chuckled. "It's literally like a few steps away from the fence."

"But I want to, though." Mingi shrugged and put his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie.

You both arrived at the front door. You were too busy finding your keys to notice that he was lingering to stay with you longer. As you opened your front door, you finally noticed his awkward stature. "D-Do you want to have dinner with us?"

"Oh," Mingi snapped out of it. "Uhh, maybe next time. My mom's waiting for me at home."

You nodded in understanding.

"Y/N," Mingi sighed. "Do you want to...?"

"What?"

"I mean, umm," Mingi scratched his head awkwardly. "Do you—do you have any of those cupcakes lying around?"

"Oh, could you wait here for a minute?" You smiled before disappearing into your home.

Mingi palmed his face in frustration, muttering 'stupid' and 'dumbass' to himself. He pulled himself together when he heard your footsteps nearing.

You came out again with a small box in hand. "I baked them last night but they're still good," you said, handing out the box of cupcakes to Mingi.

"Thanks," Mingi grinned sheepishly nonetheless. "I'll give some to my mom."

"You better," you smiled.

"Thanks again, Y/N. I'll see you at school," Mingi started walking backward with a soft smile.

"See you," you waved at him. "Thanks for the ride."

Mingi winked at you before hopping into his jeep. As soon as Mingi's jeep disappeared into the night, you slumped against your front door and tried to calm your blushing self.

-----

It was the day of the dreaded carnival. The field where your school held the said carnival was almost in full swing, the lights and excitement gradually increasing as time passed by.

Your club has been there since early morning to finalize everything for the booth. Despite your judgment against the club's concept, you still had to do it for the sake of the team.

Although, you had convinced Wooyoung to sell baked goods nonetheless. Your point was to remind the audience that you were still the culinary and baking club of the school. Thankfully, he agreed.

So, here you were, setting up a separate table for different baked goods beside the registration.

Wooyoung surprised you with an arm around your shoulder and a big grin. "I can already feel wads of money in our laps." He dramatically inhaled for effect. "I mean, look at our lineup so far."

You begrudgingly looked at the people readying themselves on the mini-stage.

Leave it to Wooyoung to invite people from the top of the high school food chain. Everybody likes Wooyoung anyway. At least there were a few friendly faces—school mascot San, street dancer Seonghwa, up-and-coming celebrity Jongho, and... student council president Hongjoong?

"How did you get him?" You almost giggled at Hongjoong's icy demeanor just standing in the middle of the lineup.

"Oh, he owes me," Wooyoung said nonchalantly. When you gave him a look, he just replied, "Don't ask."

You shook your head as if to shake the idea of Hongjoong in Wooyoung's debt. It's an amusing sight, though.

"So where's your pretty boy's friends?"

You shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen them ever since."

You knew it was too good to be true. Your moment with Mingi lasted only a day as you haven't seen him for the rest of the week. Not even on free period. And when you had a class together, he looked like he was about to doze off and fall from his desk. You didn't want to be a bother.

"Oh, wait, nevermind. Here they come."

You immediately glanced up to see Mingi, Yunho, and Yeosang walking toward your booth. You could feel the crowd starting to buzz upon seeing the star players approach the kissing booth. Your gaze landed on Mingi who sported a plain oversized shirt and ripped jeans. So simple yet so handsome.

"Hey," Mingi greeted with a smile, never looking away from your gaze.

"H-Hey, how have you been?" You tried to keep your blush at bay.

"Well—"

"We're so glad to be here, Y/N. Mingi really convinced us to be here," Yeosang smiled in a—teasing?—manner, which you responded to with an awkward chuckle.

"Yeah," Yunho chimed in. "Mingi really, really wanted us to join your kissing booth." Yunho smiled widely at Mingi, who only rolled his eyes.

"That's great, great news!" Wooyoung rejoiced. He quickly winked at you before ushering Mingi's friends to the lineup.

When you and Mingi were the only ones left, you smiled sheepishly. "I hope it wasn't much of a trouble convincing your friends."

"Don't worry, Y/N, it wasn't." Lie(-ish). Yunho and Yeosang complained a lot and made Mingi do whatever they liked for the past few days. From doing their homework to washing their cars, they were relentless. He hadn't gotten any proper sleep because of it. But, it wasn't really much of a trouble since he was doing it for you. Well, your club. But mostly for you.

Mingi stared at the table of baked goods in front of you. "I see you convinced Wooyoung to continue with your idea." He smiled.

"He still listens anyway." You chuckled. "Do you want one?"

"Definitely. I'll take a—"

Before Mingi could finish, Wooyoung appeared and dragged you away from Mingi. "Sorry, Mingi! We're about to start now!" He yelled, but not before freezing on the spot as an idea popped into his head.

Wooyoung went back to Mingi with you in tow. "Actually, can you do us a favor and man the table? I need Y/N for the register."

You clicked your tongue and were about to protest when Mingi immediately said, "Sure."

You looked at him curiously. "Really?"

"I don't see why not," Mingi smiled.

Deep inside, Wooyoung was popping confetti. Wooyoung thanked Mingi before going to the center of the mini-stage. You placed yourself at the registration table as Wooyoung shouted, "And the kissing booth is officially open!"

----

You thought you could handle the smooch-fest behind you. But... you thought wrong. The amount of kissing and hooting was too much for your poor heart. Thank the heavens the registration continued to pile up and you had to put your sole focus there. Well, not entirely.

You would sometimes peek at Mingi who had his own long line to attend to. Mingi manning the food table seemed to generate a longer line than the kissing booth, which made you chuckle softly before turning your attention back to the registration.

It wasn't long before Mingi managed to sell everything on the table and he approached you with the funds he generated. You dumbfoundedly accepted and stared at the small lunchbox where he put the money.

"I hope I did well, Ms. Y/N." Mingi smiled.

"You did, Mingi," you replied. "Thank you so much for helping us."

Mingi shrugged. "It was no problem." He looked at his watch. "Well, I have to do something for the time being. Will you still be here later?"

You nodded. "I'm here 'til it closes."

"I'll see you then." Mingi winked before disappearing into the carnival crowd.

-----

If you were being honest, the rest of the afternoon felt slow despite the buzz around your booth. With Mingi gone, it suddenly felt boring. You didn't show it though. You still wanted to be presentable to the carnival-goers.

As night rolled in, the excitement started to die down. The crowd dissipated until only a few people were passing by the booths. The kissing booth was more successful than you thought, thanks to Wooyoung and his lineup of volunteers.

As Wooyoung set aside the podiums, you counted all the money you had raised from the kissing booth and food table. You were halfway done when Wooyoung finished packing up and stood beside you. "So, how much did we earn?" He asked.

"I'm not done counting," you said. "But, we already have enough to win the student council's favor and have some extra funds for our own," you happily gleamed.

"Yes! Let's get drunk and party!" Wooyoung cheered.

You glared at him. "You're joking, right?"

Wooyoung forced a smile and patted your head. "Of course, I'm joking," he said, though his tone didn't sound as sincere as you had hoped.

You tutted before turning back to the money in your hands. For a moment, Wooyoung was quietly watching you count the bills. Then, all of a sudden, he spoke, "Oh, would you look at the time, it's getting late. Gottagohomenowbye," before scurrying away.

You looked up confused, your eyes following his seemingly excited figure before landing on a tall one that was walking towards the booth. You tried to hide your fluster as Song Mingi stopped in front of the registration counter with a smile. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," you smiled sheepishly. You can't help but notice the oversized windbreaker that he is now sporting. "Umm, we've closed already."

"I know," Mingi said, "I just came here again to talk to you."

"Oh, what about?"

Mingi scratched the side of his head. "Uhh," he mustered, "nothing in particular. What are you doing?"

"I'm just counting all our earnings," you referred to the bills in your hand. "Thanks again to you and your friends. I think you were the ones who attracted the crowd, Yunho and Yeosang especially."

Mingi scoffed. "If the crowd knew how weird they are, they wouldn't be lining up at all."

"And you're not?" You teased.

Mingi raised an eyebrow. "Who wanted me to join your lineup again?"

You rolled your eyes. "That was Wooyoung, not me."

"Sure, okay," Mingi shrugged with a smirk.

You shook your head, wanting to wipe that smirk off his pretty face. You turned back to your money and jotted down the numbers under the last person to register. "Weren't you interested in our lineup of kissers? I can't thank you enough for helping us and being here and all."

Mingi leaned over the counter and crossed his arms. "No, not at all," he answered as he watched you work.

You looked at him and chuckled. "So you just came to watch your friends make out with a bunch of people, then?"

"Well, I did to maybe get some material for blackmail," Mingi chuckled then cleared his throat, "but I was also waiting for someone."

"Oh," you said. You sounded so dry that you wanted to beat yourself up for seeming affected. "Who?"

"For you, actually," Mingi answered without a hitch, making you blush madly. "I—uh—also got you something." He placed a small chick plushie on the counter.

You smiled uncontrollably as you grabbed and squeezed its fluffy material. "Where did you get this?" You happily asked.

"The claw machines rented by the robotics club," Mingi sighed. "My talent is limited to basketball I guess, since I only got one."

"It's cute," you chuckled. "What is this for anyway?"

"I figured a gift is better than $5 for a..." Mingi trailed off, unsure of how you would react.

Your face morphed from happy to surprise upon realizing what he meant. You looked him in the eyes to see whether he was joking or not, but eventually, you avoided his intense gaze. And you suddenly realized how close he was as he continued to lean over the counter, waiting for your response. "Stop that," you mumbled, "please."

"Stop what?"

"That," you said, not looking at him as you pushed him gently away from the counter. "Stop messing with me."

Mingi sighed as he stood properly, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. "I'm not messing with you, Y/N. I," he paused, plucking up the courage, "I want to kiss you—no, I want to ask you out first because I like you a lot."

You bit your lip anxiously. He wouldn't mess with you, right? You continued to stare at your feet. You can't bear to see if he was joking or not.

Mingi leaned over the counter again in an attempt to see your face. "I can see that you're holding yourself back. What's stopping you?"

You sighed, meeting his eyes for a moment before looking back down. "You're Song Mingi—"

"Nope, don't start. I don't wanna hear that bullshit. Give me a logical one like, I don't know, you don't like me back?" Mingi said sternly. His deep voice made the hairs on your nape stand. "I can date whomever I want. And that's you, Y/N. I like you for who you are. You're sweet and kind to everyone. You're one of the smartest people I know. You even stand up to your best friend for what you think is right."

You bit your lip again in a fluster, still too shy to make your move.

Mingi sighed. "If you don't like me back, it's alright, Y/N. I'm not going to be mad." He smiled softly. "I'm sorry for bombarding you with these things. You don't have to answer when you're uncomfortable." He moved to walk away, but you instantly grabbed the lining of his jacket to stop him.

"No, I—" you gripped the material nervously. "I like you too, Mingi. I—" You paused again, not knowing how to say your problem.

Mingi's eyes widened in surprise but waited for you to finish.

"I like you, Mingi. I—" you gulped. "And I also want to kiss you."

"But?" Mingi asked. "I feel like there's going to be a 'but' there."

You looked down at the counter. "But, I don't know how."

"I'm sorry." He smiled apologetically. "We don't have to kiss right now. We can just have dinner for now—"

"But I want to," you blurted out, which you immediately apologized for nonstop.

For a moment, you thought Mingi was going to laugh at you. You guessed that most of the people your age had already gotten their first kiss. Heck, your club's booth was a testament to that. So you were utterly embarrassed by your confession.

However, Mingi did no such thing. "Move over," he said. You didn't know what he meant until he climbed over the counter. You almost tripped backward when he jumped down right in front of you. He caught you just when you were about to stumble.

"What are you doing?" You mused.

"Can't you tell?" Mingi teased as he held your face tenderly. "I'm trying to kiss you properly."

You shook your head in disbelief and amusement. This guy is really sleek.

"C-Can I kiss you, Y/N?" Mingi asked. He rubbed his thumb against your cheek, comforting you.

You were extremely flustered by the warmth, not to mention the anticipation of what he was about to do, so all you could do at the moment was nod silently at his question.

Mingi smiled. You thought your heart was going to explode as Mingi came closer. You thought he was going to kiss you on the lips right away, but he planted a soft kiss on your forehead first. Then on your nose. You had to refrain from giggling, given the soft moment. Then he slowly came closer to your lips. You closed your eyes when you felt it against yours.

You couldn't explain it, but you felt warm and fuzzy inside despite your heartbeat ramming against your chest. The air felt soft yet exciting at the same time. It was definitely more than what you had imagined it to be.

You slid your hand against his chest and rested it behind his neck. His hands softly slid against your waist and pulled you closer. You could faintly hear Mingi humming in delight. And a few moments later, you both stopped to gaze at each other.

Although, you still had trouble maintaining eye contact with his intense ones. And Mingi just chuckled lightly at the sight. "You still don't want me to be a kisser?"

"No, I—" you pouted and Mingi just laughed.

"Don't worry, you're the only one I want to kiss," he murmured before kissing your forehead. "Dinner?"

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awkward-sultana · 2 years

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Ophelia (2018) + Queen Gertrude’s light blue gown with silver embellishments

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henricavyll · 1 year

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Wes Anderson’s “Isle of Dogs” is like no other stop-motion film, so it makes sense that its animation process was like no other. Instead of CGI, the movie’s art department made thousands of characters by hand. “[It’s] probably the most ambitious stop-motion film certainly I’ve ever worked on,” says the movie’s head puppet master, Andy Gent. “There’s always a lot of detail … When you create miniatures they have to be absolutely working miniature versions of real life.” Gent says Anderson zoned it on every little thing and made sure miniature buttons, zips, and watch dials all had the details of their real-life counterparts. For instance, Gent says the original script called for a minute-and-a-half sushi preparation sequence. It took seven months to shoot. In the film, a chef slices up fish, which involved magnetizing the already cut silicon pieces to resemble a whole fish. Then, when the knife slices through it, it would open up to the internal pieces, Gent says. It took a lot of planning, testing with paper cutouts and plasticine, molding, plus hand painting to ensure the shot was exactly right, he continues. Occasionally, a sudden change can derail hours of work, like when the team had built multiple gloves for the chef’s hands in the sushi cutting scene, only for Anderson to change his mind about jump cuts. “We’d plan for one eventuality and then it changed around, which often happens. You’d be like, ‘Well why do we need to do this? Why are those the rules?'” Gent says. “It took three animators because it broke quite a few people to get through the shot. Seven months later we end up with one minute of animation.” ─ Variety

ISLE OF DOGS (2018) dir. Wes Anderson | Making of the Sushi Scene

#isle of dogs #isleofdogsedit #filmedit #animationedit #userlenie #userangela #wes anderson #food #sushi #*isleofdogs #~

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netherfeildren · 1 year

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Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .1

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Summary: What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the love of your life?

-OR-

A Joel infidelity AU

Content Warnings: Discussions of alcoholism and parent death.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hi, everyone. Welcome to the new story.

Disclaimer to begin with. Joel is married in this, but it is, and always has been, a marriage of convenience. There has never been any sort of emotional or physical intimacy between him and his wife apart from when Sarah was conceived.

Like always, I promise there will be a happy ending, and that there will be lots of other fun :) stuff to make up for the occasional tears.

I appreciate you all so much. Happy (lol I guess) reading. xx

Art is The pain that keeps on giving, Noelia Towers, (2018-2019). Title of the story comes from this film.

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

The first time you’d fucked, it was like you’d never been touched by a man before. The first time he’d looked at you, like you’d never been seen, in the entirety of your existence, prior to that moment. Every other time after that, every touch, every look, was the same – a rebirth of sorts. And a devastation. Something not to be understood or conceptualized, only experienced.

Taking that into account, it’s no surprise that things unfolded as they did – ended as they did.

“Please, please, come with us,” Gerri drags the vowels out and hits you with the puppy dog eyes. You shake your head at her, smiling, packing up your supplies from tonight’s lesson. “It’s going to be so fun, I promise. Tommy’s sister-in-law hates my guts, I know, what-fucking-ever, but my sister and her girlfriend will be there, and my best friend’s planning on coming too. And there’s an extra bedroom, it’ll be perfect, I swear.”

“Yeah, I remember the sister-in-law from Easter.” Of course you remember her from that day. Gerri had invited you to their family barbecue, and the woman had pitched a fit that Tommy’s girlfriend, somehow posed as an insult, had dared invite someone without asking her permission first. It was also the first time you’d met him. And he was, by far and large, the reason you’d stayed away and evaded all subsequent invitations since then. Even if his wife had unapologetically said to your face that she found it crazy that people still party crashed, no matter that that hadn’t been what you’d meant to do, hadn’t known you were party crashing. She’d also thrown away the bunny cake you’d stayed up the entire night before making. No gluten in the house or something, even though the hamburger and hot dog buns had all been regular.

“Oh my fucking God, Easter. Don’t even remind me. I know, I know.” She gives you a pointed look and you huff a laugh at her. “But that was months ago. Her and Joel were on the outs then, or… had just gotten back together… I can’t ever keep up. And well… they’re still on the outs now–” She scrunches up her face into the cutest little frown. You love Gerri so much. From the first moment she’d shown up for your Tuesday night ceramics class at the community college, she’d immediately decided that not only were you going to propel her into the upper echelons of the great sculptors of the world, the greater Austin area – her words, not yours, but she’d also immediately decided that you were going to be friends, and no, you did not have a choice in the matter.

“But they’re always on the outs. And things haven’t been as bad recently – according to Tommy. But honestly the fuck does he know about all that anyways. My poor baby is so clueless – but still, please, please please,” she begs, pouts your name over and over again. “Please, come with us?” She brings her clasped hands up under her chin in a pleading gesture, hits you with the puppy dog eyes again.

You were so grateful for her. Despite your recalcitrance, it’d always been hard for you to make friends. A byproduct of who your mother was, being an only child, a largely solitary upbringing, et cetera, et cetera. You’d needed Gerri’s tenacious spark and kindness to pull you out of your shell. She wanted you to join her, her boyfriend Tommy, and their friends and family at a house they’d rented on Lake Austin for the weekend as a sort of end of summer farewell. And you did – you wanted to go, bunny cake murdering sister-in-law and all, but there was the issue of him.

You were… there was not a single phrase for what it was your mind turned into when that man and his name and his face invaded your psyche. So you’d done your best to avoid him in your mind and in real life, at all costs. He was – he was not something you were capable of considering.

“I’m not sure if I can, Ger–” you say slowly, wracking your brain for an excuse. “There was– one of the other teachers at the elementary school–” Your day job, when you weren’t teaching night class ceramics, was as an elementary school art teacher, “Asked if I’d cover for them on Friday – summer school.” Stupid excuse, you roll your eyes at yourself.

“Oh, shut up. The summer camp classes end early – you told me that last time! You could drive up after.” She sidles up to you now, rests her curly haired head on your shoulder. “Please, you’ve said no to everything I’ve invited you to since Easter. You aren’t avoiding me because of the shitshow that was, are you?”

“No, of course not.” Yes, yes you were. Just not for the reason she thought. “I would just hate to impose–”

“You wouldn’t! I swear you wouldn’t be!”

“You all already have your plan, and I–”

“No! No. My sister’s the one renting the house, and she said I could invite whoever I wanted. So, no one can say anything,” she sticks her tongue out, rolling her eyes. “And Joel said I should invite you too. I’m pretty sure he still feels badly about last time also.” Fucking hell, you did not want him feeling bad for you. At all. Ever. You did not want him ever thinking about you ever, ever, ever.

You stand over the kitchen trash bin, staring at your destroyed cake. Your grandmother used to make it every Easter. Four separate cake loaves all cut into the shapes for a face, two big pointy ears, and a cute little bow tie, with a pineapple filling, and all covered in little flakes of coconut and your homemade vanilla frosting. You used jelly beans to make the eyes and nose and dark frosting out of a piping bag for the whiskers and mouth. It was your favorite cake, one of your favorite memories, one of the only good ones.

“Fucking Christ, she did not throw it away. Please, don’t tell me that’s the cake you brought.” Large hand gently placed between the wings of your shoulder blades to peer around you, not touching, but still there, still very close, and yes, that’s it, you’ve gotta get the fuck out of there now, away from this man.

“Oh, no. It’s okay – I– I mean– I should’ve asked before. I didn’t know you all were gluten free. I should’ve asked…”

“What? Glu–” he frowns. You knew his wife, Eva, had made that up. You step away from him, from his large warm palm that feels like it’s burning through your clothes and skin. He was really, really and truly the most unfairly gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He fucking terrified you. “Oh, yeah. The gluten.” He went along with the lie, passing the offending palm over his mouth, the wiry scruff of his beard rasping softly against what you imagined to be work roughened skin. He’d said he was a contractor.

Gerri had invited you to her boyfriend's brother’s house for the Easter holiday. It was the first invitation to something you’d gotten since you’d moved to Austin six months ago, and you’d been so, so happy that she’d asked, had felt so sad you’d not have anyone to share your cake with. You’d planned to take it to work with you to leave in the teacher’s lounge for everyone to share. The thought had made the back of your eyes pinch, for some reason.

“It’s alright. I actually need to head out. Could you let Gerri know? I– I’m–” you couldn’t think of a lie, and he was staring at you like he knew you had no real excuse – like he knew you were uncomfortable and out of place and were just looking for an excuse to leave. Embarrassment burned in your cheeks.

“Don’t go, please. Stay for a while longer. I’m – fuck– I apologize about the cake–”

“No, no– really it’s–” you held out a staying hand, but he’d cut off your false appeasement.

“Please, stay.” He’d taken a step forward, closer to your retreating form, and you’d felt almost faint, dizzy at the image of him stepping closer to you. He was so tall, huge really, broad chest, thick arms, dark, lush curls and a scruffy jaw, a peek of chest hair covering the tantalizing golden skin at the opened button of his shirt. Sexy, deep Southern twang. The loveliest, warmest eyes you think you’d ever probably seen. You were going to try and mix the exact color of them when you got home, even though you knew you shouldn’t. You hadn’t been interested in a man in months, maybe longer, couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a crush, an anything on anyone, and now this man. Suddenly, blindingly, out of fucking nowhere – so damn attractive. Your eyes had fluttered shut for a second and you’d swallowed, trying to regain your balance – you’d known him for all of two hours and he already made you feel unbalanced. You needed to leave.

“Really, Joel,” his name on your tongue almost had a taste, “It’s okay.”

“He– He did?” you stutter. “He shouldn’t feel bad – he has nothing to feel bad about, it was nothing.” Lie – lie, lie, lie. Meeting him that day had been – it had been everything. You’d thought about it, him, for months afterwards. The sight of him with his three year old daughter, Sarah, the sweetest little thing you’d ever seen. Helping her hunt for the Easter eggs he’d hidden around their backyard, letting her crack the bright confetti filled shells over his head. His excitement for her when she’d finally found the basket he’d made up for her. He was a good father.

“Yeah, and Tommy said he’d like to see you again too. And I told my sister about you, and she thinks all my pottery’s fucking amazing, by the way, and she wants to meet you too, and she’s even thinking of enrolling in the class next semester so really, really you’re obligated to come.” Fucking menace – she smiles sweetly.

“Oh, fine. Fine, fine. I’ll come.” You’re putting away the last of your tools. “I’ll drive up Friday afternoon when I’m done at the school.”

Immediate hopping squeals, and this is why you love her. She’s so happy, so open and silly, friendly and funny. All the things opposite to your restrained quiet, shy to the point of aggravation, sometimes. You didn’t want your constant refusals to alienate her. You could see him again, it would be fine. You’d met him once for Christ’s sake. It meant nothing. It had probably been nothing that day, heat exhaustion or a stomach ache or something. Nothing to fawn and stress over. You’d just be polite, cordial, keep your distance – especially from his wife. You did not, did not want to provoke her greater dislike. You’d keep your unwanted baking to yourself this time. It would all be fine. You wanted these people to like you, if you were being honest. A little desperately. Gerri and Tommy, her sister you hadn’t yet met – you wanted to be part of their group, one of their friends. They were all so kind, welcoming and fun, you couldn’t ruin this for yourself.

Gerri had spilled the beans on the marriage over one afternoon of too many Mexican martini’s, an Austin specialty, and chips and salsa. They’d gotten married three years ago after Eva had gotten unexpectedly pregnant. Joel was traditional, he’d asked and eventually she’d agreed. They were both older than you, he’d just turned forty recently, and you guessed it’d made sense for them, at the time, but she’d left them soon after Sarah had been born. The marriage, the baby, hadn’t been in her plans, too much for her, Gerri said. They’d been separated for about a year and a half until she’d come back. They seemed to be trying to work it out now. Gerri claimed they were both miserable. You’d only met them the once – well, you’d seen Joel a few weeks ago, from a distance, when Tommy’d come to drop something off for Gerri before class, sitting in their truck. You don’t think he’d seen you – but you thought that their misery was very obviously apparent in that way that was easily recognizable to someone who, at one point, had existed in a house made only of misery. It breaks your heart for them all, in different ways, to recognize that singular brand of dissatisfaction that comes with living in a home where no happiness resided with you.

But the reality of his marriage made you all the more terrified of him. To ever see him again. You wanted no part of that. Didn’t even want to exist in the same vicinity as someone who was experiencing something of that nature. You’d had enough of unhappy marriages and painful households in your own childhood. You never wanted to deal with that again.

You’d read once that infidelity was a hereditary trait. Studies had shown that if you’d had a parent or even a sibling, someone in your household during your development, who’d been unfaithful, you were then more likely to also be unfaithful yourself. Something about that sort of childhood trauma inciting a propensity in the offspring to find it difficult to later on trust romantic partners, to incite trust themselves. Trust issues, emotional unavailability, baggage, blah, blah. Sometimes nature versus nurture was a real bitch, in your opinion.

But as much as you wanted to call bullshit, the thought, the possibility of that being true, filled you with such an intense fear — debilitating, paralyzing, life altering. You found yourself with an immense inability to trust yourself, more than anything. Your greatest fear, the thing that scared you the most in all the world, was that you would be the perpetrator, that you would be the one to commit that sin. That you’d lose control, self awareness, morality, yourself. It wasn’t something your mind could even come to terms with, the possibility of hurting another person that way, betraying them in that manner. It seemed like the worst possible thing in the entire world that you could ever do to someone. After all, you’d watched your mother do it to your father, over and over again, your entire life, up until the point that she’d up and left the both of you. For many years, after her fateful abandoning, you’d watched him drink himself into a stupor and then into a grave. Years of waiting for her to come back, in love with a ghost or a figment of his imagination, for the woman he’d made her out to be, within the ever forgiving and naive confines of his love, had never existed. Something you could see, even through the lenses of your child eyes.

She was an eternally flawed woman. Selfish, vain, manipulative, deceitful, but there was good in her too. She was eccentric and beautiful, and she could be kind, so funny, and immensely intelligent, her mind and wit, always sharp as a whip. It was, you thought, what made her so talented at deceiving others, at getting her way. She outsmarted everyone she came into contact with. But she was also weak and self serving, had never met anyone, in all her life, who she loved more than she loved herself. Not even you. Sometimes, you thought, especially not you. For you were the living reminder of all she’d lost and been forced to give up. It was a difficult, complicated, painful relationship you had with her, even now, all these years later.

After she’d left, she’d kept in contact with you sparingly. The occasional call or birthday card. It had taken her three years to feel like seeing you again after she’d left when you were ten. The pains and awkwardness of puberty long started, endured on your own, before she’d even had the foresight to remember she had a daughter who might need her. It was an exceedingly painful and lonely time for a young girl to survive on her own, but you bore it, as you did the entirety of the fallout that came with her leaving.

Your father was another story entirely. He’d fallen to pieces, completely, the day she’d left and had never had the strength of will to ever pull himself together again. It was a strange sort of existence the two of you had lived in those years, keeping each other company. Physically, he was there, but he was never present, never sentient. He drowned, for years and years, in a sea of pain and liquor, and he never resurfaced. You watched him sink, a young girl incapable of comprehending or acting in a way that could’ve helped him, as much as you wanted to or even tried, all of it was futile. Eventually he hit the bottom of the ocean and died there, and you were left more alone than ever.

You remember there’d only been four people, in total, at his funeral. You and two men from the shithole bar he liked to lose himself at every week and the priest. It was a terribly painful thing to live through on your own. Humiliating in a very specific and acute way, for some reason. To know that this sad, pathetic specimen of a human being had had a hand in creating you, to know that he was your father and that you loved him, despite his weakness, his vices, his lack of care for you, you loved him. And you felt interminably sorry for the creature he’d been turned into at the hands of an uncaring and poisonous love. You hadn’t been able to tell her for ten months, after he’d been dead in the ground, that he’d passed. She’d not called, didn’t like giving you her number, said she was too busy to have to worry about you calling her at all hours of the day, as if you’d asked her for a single thing in the decade since she’d left.

And you loved your mother, even after it all, you did, but it was a poignantly devastating moment, the day you realized she was not just your mother, but her own person, as well. The day that childlike naivety, unconscious self centeredness, was cast away to realize that she was savagely flawed and human, and that she did bad things that hurt good people. And still, and still she was your mother and you loved her. Your greatest influence, the hand that shaped you, and you loved her despite everything. It was only that, after the rose tinted glasses had been ripped away, and she was only then herself, nothing more – pedestal forsaken – she was just a flawed woman who sometimes made mistakes, made the wrong choices, hurt you and your father and fractured your family. That was a hard thing to come to terms with as a young girl.

You realized now, with the lifetime of experience she’d inherited to you, that motherhood built a pedestal and a grave, all at once, over and over again. A woman could vacillate between being the Madonna and the whore, and the cycle was inescapable and destructive and enticing, all at the same time. It was something that one could try to avoid or run away from, but many times, it caught up to most, hooked its claws in you and dragged you away from the things you would’ve wanted or done otherwise. You realized this was what had happened to her. She’d never been built for motherhood, for the responsibility of raising a child, so she’d desecrated the altar of it, taken a sledgehammer to it and freed herself in the only way she saw she could, collateral damage be damned.

And so you’d isolated yourself, for the thought of doing the same thing to someone that you might have loved or someone that loved you, was soul destroying. And that was the saddest part of this whole overly cliché tragedy – that you were sure that, at a certain point in her life, she’d loved your father, as well. Perhaps not enough, not enough to change who she was, what she really wanted, but she had loved him in her own way, nevertheless.

Parallel to the tragedy was the ironic reality that in some very safely guarded part of you, you longed so, so desperately for your own chance at a happy family, love, children. How could you not? When you’d never experienced it for yourself during your own childhood. Always having to make your own meals, get yourself ready for school, alone at ten years old, walking to the bus unaccompanied, no one ever waiting for you, expecting you, watching over you. Alone, alone, always alone. How could you not want to build your own normal, loving, happy family for yourself? You wanted it very badly.

But there was also no part of you that felt, in the most vital ways, capable of showing your underbelly in such a vulnerable way. You had always been too sensitive, a weeper from a long line of weepers, and the second thing you were most terrified of, after turning into your own mother, was being left again, abandoned to another derelict and lonely childhood. So your aloneness suited you, for now. At least, in terms of your romantic life. Your isolation kept you safe, guarded from those that would savage the sensitive and salted battleground that was your heart.

That, however, did not mean that you were immune to wanting, to the disease of yearning, of desire, and so you found it most unfortunate, cosmically laughable and cruel, that it would be this man, this married, beautiful, entirely unattainable man, that would have reminded you of that desire again, after it had lain dormant for so long: Joel.

Joel tried to think of you only in the moments when he was feeling particularly strong. It was a challenge he’d set for himself from that day, all those months ago, when you’d appeared at his house on Easter. Like a fucking angel or a creature out of a fairy book. Soft and luminous and so fucking pretty. No, Joel tried very, very hard not to think of you.

He failed often, though. He’d not forgotten you since that day. Had tried to fish, as subtly as possible, through Tommy, for information. See if he’d heard anything about you from Gerri. Any new details or gossip about the pretty little art teacher. Tommy was a terrible goddamn gossip, like a clucking hen. And Joel knew, he knew empirically, that thinking of you was wrong. That he had a wife that he needed to be respectful of, even if she was never respectful of him, fucking her coworker – or had been… still was — he couldn’t keep track anymore – didn’t really care, if he was being honest. But you, you were the one small, private thing he kept for himself. The thought of you, the image of you in his mind, you were only for his moments of great necessity. You’d been so sweet that afternoon, walking into his home with your bunny cake. That fucking cake haunted him – the look in your eyes as he watched you stand over the trashcan staring at it. He’d been so scared you’d start crying, that he’d have to comfort you, that he’d be able to take you into his arms. He’d been terrified of what would become of him if he’d gotten the opportunity to feel you like that. But no, you’d left. Made up some weak excuse he knew you could see he didn’t buy, and had quietly left, not even saying goodbye to the others. He’d had a terrible one-sided argument with Eva that night. Told her she’d been unnecessarily rude and cruel, doing that to a complete stranger who was just trying to be nice. She hadn’t batted a single eyelash, all his frustration going in one ear and out the other.

He could, to a certain degree, understand where her behavior came from. He knew she was unhappy, he knew she hated their life together. That it was nothing like what she’d ever envisioned for herself, and so she acted out sometimes. At his age, he found now, that you couldn’t ever really fault a person for not being what they’d never been meant to be. He understood this, had accepted that his marriage would never be of the happy or intimate sort. That Eva had never wanted to be a mother, but had felt trapped by circumstance. He dealt with it. Or ignored it. Avoided looking directly at the ugly reality of it, more like. He had Sarah and work and Tommy, and now that his brother was with Gerri things had gotten a little better, happier for the family. She was a good addition – kind and spunky. She was good for his brother, and he was happy for them.

But the day he’d met you – it had made a savage claw of want gouge through his entrails. He’d not remembered the last time he’d wanted something the way he did when he watched you walk out into the backyard long hair shimmering in the sun, and a nervous flush sweeping over the apples of your cheeks. And even if he’d been unattached, free to pursue you like he liked to dream about sometimes, you were so young – much too young and pretty for an old, washed up, has-been like him. But he could imagine it, like he’d said, only when he was feeling particularly strong. Or maybe particularly weak. He couldn’t keep track of which was safer anymore. When the years and work and responsibilities and grief and loneliness surged up too high and overwhelming for him to bear, he liked to think of you in that little yellow sundress. Wonder what it’d be like to be a younger man, to have met you first. A bad, selfish, terrible thought to have. But just in the quiet privacy of his mind, when he needed a small something to make him feel just a little better – he liked to think of you.

The only other time he’d seen you, once when Tommy’d had to drop something for Gerri at the college, he’d insisted on tagging along. Hoping he’d maybe be lucky enough to get a glimpse of you, and oh, he’d been so, so rewarded. You’d been carrying a stack of supplies from your car into the building, one of those spiky things women wore twisted in your hair to keep it up, wisps of your long, heavy locks escaping the knot, and a little, red, spaghetti strapped top. The thin of it on your shoulder had slipped off the delicate wing of your clavicle as you balanced everything you’d carried in your arms and tried to kick your car door closed at the same time. It’d taken everything in him, all the self control he possessed, not to sprint over to you and offer to help you, to fall to his knees at your feet. You’d blown a strand of your hair out of your face, the cutest expression of frustration scrunching your brow. His gut had twisted almost painfully with yearning. He hadn’t even known he was capable of fucking yearning, but he sure as hell did now. He felt it sharply, piercingly, like a knife to the gut. He’d met you once for Christ’s sake, seen you in person only twice, but you plagued him, you plagued him.

He knew it was probably partially a symptom of how alone he was. Lonely to his very core. His marriage had never been a real one, no closeness, no intimacy. A byproduct born of one drunken night, and Joel’s need to do the right thing, give his child a stable home with two parents and all the love he could give her. And Sarah, Sarah was the greatest gift that he’d ever been given. This perfect little person that he still, three years later, could not believe had come from a piece of him.

He’d told Eva that he’d do whatever she wanted, would accept whatever she’d chosen when she’d first realized she was pregnant. She’d refused the alternative route vehemently, and so he’d never suggested it again. If he was being honest, he’d been happy when he’d found out, in some small way. The situation wasn’t ideal, of course, they’d been veritable strangers at that point, but he’d been thirty seven, at the time, and he liked the idea of children. Eva was attractive and intelligent. He’d proposed immediately, gone out and gotten a ring and gotten down on one knee. He’d naively thought that perhaps, eventually, with time, they might grow closer. That idea was squashed quickly. She’d made it clear that she’d never wanted to marry him, but she also didn’t want to go at it alone, knew he was responsible and reliable, and so she’d accepted. And perhaps, he should have tried harder to win her over afterwards, but if he was being as honest as he could be, he wasn’t very interested either, didn’t really mind the lack of intimacy with her. They just weren’t a good match.

She’d left a few months after she’d given birth. Ran off with some guy she’d met – only a note left saying she couldn’t do it anymore. He hadn’t tried to go after her, hadn’t tried to bring her back or look for her. A better man probably would have, would have fought for his wife, for the mother of his child. But he’d never loved her, not even close, and so he’d taken care of his baby girl, had tried to be everything she needed and worked as hard as he could so that she’d never want for anything. Eva had come back after about a year and a half – her affair had run its course, and she’d said she wanted to try again with Sarah, that she’d made a mistake, wanted to be part of her daughter’s life. Of course he’d let her come back. He wanted Sarah to have a mother that was present, to have everything a child should have. And afterall, it was no hardship for him personally. She didn’t want a relationship with him, only Sarah. And so they’d settled into this strange agreement of co-parents slash roommates who just happened to be married. Eva liked to keep pretenses up, so they did the occasional family thing together. Especially now that Tommy was with Gerri, she liked to pretend at the double date thing, occasionally. Even though Eva couldn’t stand the poor girl. It was a pieced together sort of life, but it was better than what some had, and Sarah had her mother. He couldn’t complain.

But he did like to imagine a sort of alternative sometimes – something different, less lonely. He could tell she was going to leave again soon, more unsatisfied and frustrated and restless than ever. He couldn’t even find it in himself to resent her for it, it only hurt him for Sarah’s sake, for he didn’t think she’d be coming back this time.

It hadn’t been such a bad idea to come after all, you think, as you lounge on the dock by the lake. The sun is strong but not burning – warm and soothing. It feels like there are ghost fingers stroking all along the bare skin of your arms and legs. Gerri had made a pitcher of sangria and you were slightly tipsy off it now. A light weight, through and through.

The house they’d rented was gorgeous. All exposed wood and big glass windows right on the lakefront. Gerri’s sister was a doctor – a spine surgeon or something really fancy. She’d rented the house and invited all of you – no chance for Joel’s wife to be pissed off that you’d tagged along.

There were large boxes of the loveliest white hydrangeas along one side of the dock. The sweet scent of them drifting around you as you lounged on the chair you’d planted yourself in with your sangria. Yes, this was a good idea. You’d managed to evade Joel and his wife in the hours you’d been here. Gerri and Tommy were great as always and her sister and her partner were so nice. You’d talked about the pottery class, she wanted to pick up a new hobby, trying out the whole work-life-balance thing, and she’d thought pottery’d be a good fit for her. She was planning on signing up for the next semester.

You’re slightly dozing now. The warm sun and sweet alcohol making you languorous and drowsy and all fizzy on the inside. You think you might be able to hear the breeze sliding through each individual blade of grass on the bank, whistling over the surface of the water, and you can’t stop picturing his arms in your mind, but you’re pretending to ignore that, or pretending the bulging, mouth-watering muscles, prominent veins running under the surface of his tan skin, dusted with a light coating of golden brown hair belonged to someone who was not him. He has the largest hands you’ve ever seen, and you wonder what one of them wrapped around your throat would feel like. Bad, inappropriate thoughts.

You have one arm slung above your head, resting at the crown of your scalp to partially shield the sensitive skin there from the strong sun when you feel a sudden piercing pain, right to the center of your palm. You shriek, jolting violently, glass of sangria falling and shattering on the deck and stumbling up out of your chair, sending it flying back topside. A wasp buzzes menacingly around you, and you shriek again, cracked and painful. The thing had stung you right in the center of your tender palm. You hear the quick paced steps of someone approaching, too distracted trying to evade the horrible thing when you hear Joel’s voice. “Stay still, it’s okay. I’ll get it.”

Your hand really, really hurts. You stop your swatting and feel the back of your eyes pinch, hot tears pooling in the corners. Not only is the sting incredibly painful, but you really hate bees, wasps, all the ugly mean things that buzz and sting. You can feel the slight tremble of your frame begin to take over as you try to patiently wait for him to get rid of it.

He comes closer, “It’s okay, he’s gone. Did it get you? C’mere, lemme see.”

You clutch the injured hand to your chest, try and scoot away from him shaking your head, but you get too near to the edge, and his hand shoots out to cup your elbow, other hand coming to circle your waist and turn you so you’re standing in the center, and he’s closer to the edge.

“No, no, it’s okay. It got you, lemme see it–” he gently circles his big rough palm on the thin of your wrist, and now you’re really shaking.

“It’s o–okay,” you hitch, you feel a tear slide down your cheek. Fucking embarrassing. “I’m okay, really. It’s nothing.” You try and pull your limb out of his grasp, but he pulls you closer. He says your name then, not necessarily sharply, but in the way of a rubber band snapping against your skin, a slightly jarring crack followed by a tingle, something that reverberates through your entire body.

Then gentle: “Just come here,” and coaxing. How could anyone ever say no to a voice like that. So deep, so patient. “Lemme see, it’s okay. No, don’t be scared. Lemme see, open your hand for me, sweetheart. I’ll be gentle, it’s okay,” his soothing voice over and over. Coaxing you into capitulation, into following his orders. He smooths his rough thumb gently, gently over the sides of your palm, coaxing your fingers to uncurl and let him see the hurt. “Oh, it’s alright. None of that trembling, sweet girl.” And then he brings your hand up to his hot, wet mouth and presses his lips to the wound, gently sucking. You can feel the wet of his tongue pass over it once, slowly sucking the venom out of your palm. You feel everything below your belly button go hot and liquid at the feel of his tongue on your skin. Oh, God, you want to feel that mouth everywhere, between your legs.

You think you let a jagged whimper claw its way out your throat, for his eyes flit to yours, a flash of heat igniting them. He pulls his mouth away, turns to spit, thumb gently brushing over the tender inside of your wrist. He says your name so softly. “That’s better. You’re okay. No tears.”

His large hands completely engulf yours. His fingers are thick and long, his nails clipped short and neat. Beautiful, masculine hands. Working hands. He doesn’t wear a ring. “We can get a clove of garlic on this,” he’s still cradling your limb, “Heard that’s good for stings.”

This is bad, bad, bad, bad. Not part of your plan to stay away from him at all. He’s staring at your cradled hand, his gaze trained on the way his own palm dwarfs yours. You feel his touch tighten for just a second, he brings his eyes back to yours, and you watch as a swallow passes through the strong column of his throat.

He called you sweetheart.

There are so many reasons why you know he’s dangerous to you, why you should stay away from him: his kindness, how competent he is — the way it seems like, no matter what in life could ever present itself to him, he’d be able to take it in, take care of it, fix it. He could handle anything. How fucking gorgeous he is, his hands, his face, his body, the dark curls, the slightest hint of silver threads beginning to appear through them, the deep dark eyes, but most of all, more than any other reason, the way he says your name — like the worst thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and also the loveliest. So soft and deep and soothing. A voice that could get a person to do anything, capitulate to anything, commit any crime.

And what was it about wanting something you should not want, could never have, that made you want it all the more? Rebellion of the highest order calls your name.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. He still has you clutched in his grasp, is staring at you almost in shock. You try to pull away and his grip tightens for one second, like he can’t bear the thought of letting you go, and then releases you, lets you pull your injured hand back into your chest.

“Alright?”

And you’re so disoriented by him, by his touch that you instinctively reply: “Yes. Are you?”

He looks confused for a second, shakes his head a little and then laughs, “Yeah – yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart.” He shouldn’t be calling you that, but it sounds so lovely coming out of his mouth. You’ll tell him to stop next time. It’s okay. Next time he says it you’ll tell him not to call you that anymore. Embarrassment burns your cheeks.

You shake your head, “Sorry, I–”

“It’s alright. No need to apologize. Let’s get you inside. Get somethin’ on that hand.”

You take a step back from him, and he matches it with one step of his own forward, like he isn’t planning on letting you run away. It makes the speed of your heart kick up a notch, a hummingbird fluttering within the confines of your chest. “No, really, it’s okay. I’ll ice it or something. I’m fine, honestly. Thank you for– for your help.” You feel like you’re blinking a hundred times a minute, the sun suddenly scorching, when just a moment ago it had been soft and warm.

You need to get away from him.

“Rubbin’ a garlic clove on it’s good for stings. There’s some in the kitchen, I’ll get it for you.” He reaches a hand out as if to take hold of you again, and you take two more steps away. This time he does not follow, you see the muscle of his jaw flutter.

“Really, Joel. It’s okay.” You feel like you’ve said these words to him before, like all your short acquaintanceship has consisted of, is you apologizing and running away, bowing out before it gets too scary or complicated or threatening. He probably thinks you’re an idiot. “Th– thank you for your help. I’m just gonna –” you hitch your thumb back towards the house, “I’m just going to go back inside. Sorry.”

He only nods, frozen on the dock as you walk away from him.

Chapter .2

Netherfeildren Masterlist

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