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stanknotstark · 3 years

Text

Research and Dating (No They Aren’t Connected)

“So, if you could kidnap me really publicly that would be great.”

“...why?”

“I kinda forgot about this research essay due tomorrow? And like, my prof knows I’m a hero- I even brought my laptop so I can write it in your cell. Is the wifi password still the same?”

It’s Thursday at 8 P.M. and your essay is due in 4 hours. It wasn’t that you had procrastinated it’s because-nope, ya, you procrastinated. Now you were freaking out about it when the glorious idea came to you.

There were, of course, perks of being frenemies with Loki. You have visited his his base of operations before, his ‘evil lair’, been thrown into one of his cells and ‘suffered’ until he got bored of the Avengers searching for you like chickens with their heads cut off and made theatrics by showing up to them with you in his hands and ‘failing’ to keep you away from the Avengers saving you.

In all actuality, you had sat in a golden cell but Loki had sat right outside the cell with a chair and read while eating an apple. You couldn’t read the title of the book so you asked him what it was about and Loki had been a little hesitant but fell into your pure curiosity and explained what he had been reading. You’re sure he liked your curious mind as you started asking more questions and challenged the ideas the book gave. It lead to a long discussion of morals, and death, and at one point whether apples or pears were better. It was fun is what you’re trying to say.

That’s how your friendship blossomed.

So, you call up Loki, yes he has a cell phone, and ask him without explanation at first, “So could you, like, kidnap me but publicly?”

You can hear the cogs turning in Loki’s head at your request. “Why?” He asks in a smooth voice, betraying no emotion.

“I kinda forgot about this research essay due tonight? And, like, my professor knows I’m a hero. I’ll even bring my laptop so I can write in your cell, the wifi password is still the same right?” You ask Loki.

Loki sighs over the phone, you can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose with closed eyes.

“Yes. Fine. Be at Madison Square Garden in 15 minutes.” The god says and hangs up.

You smile and pump a fist at your best friend’s save.

You’re at Madison Square Garden in record time and Loki makes his entrance a show.

You’re sitting down outside the stadium when Loki materializes from green clouds of magic that open a portal then float into the air as if they’re a sign that’s flashing the words ‘Loki is here!’ in the night sky of NYC. When he sees you he rolls his eyes but people start paying attention so you play along with his ruse.

“Loki! What mischief do you plan to get up to today? It doesn’t matter, I need to bring you in!” You yell at him, almost laughing at how stupid this all seems, and push civilians back behind you.

Loki chuckles darkly, “You. You are my mischief today, your poor Avengers will never find you. You will become my slave.” Loki says with a voice that is dark but his eyes light up with amusement.

By now hundreds of people have stopped their night to watch you and Loki, phones out and recording everything.

You smile sardonically at Loki, “Not if I-”

Loki grabs you and pulls you and teleports. When you’re at his base you sigh and pat him on the arm as he pulls from you.

“Thanks, I owe you big time Lokes.”

Loki frowns at the nick name you chose. “Please refrain from calling me that or I shall teleport you to your professor and have you face the repercussions of procrastination.” Loki threatens.

You chuckle, roll your eyes, and head to the cell. It’s just in case someone actually does pop in to ‘save’ you.

When you’ve settled in the cell Loki raises the golden barriers and magics a chair near to settle with you.

“What do they have you writing about now?” Loki asks.

You had asked him for help writing other essays because Loki has an eloquent way of speaking. You felt it made you sound smarter and because you spent consistent time with the god you had fallen into talking like him sometimes.

“It’s for my disability class, the sociology class?” You ask Loki if he remembers you telling him about it, at his nod you smile, “Ya, so basically we’re to argue whether we feel prostitution should be legal or not in America considering how much it helps the disabled.”

You laugh at Loki’s frown.

“Which side do you argue for?” Loki asks with a small squint as if trying to determine the side before you tell him.

“I believe it should be legal but have restrictions and rules. If in the wrong hands it could be really bad but at the same time if it’s in good hands it could be really good. It’s a risk but we won’t know how well it’ll work if we never try, you know?” You say with a pondering look. Loki purses his lips but nods at you.

Loki magics a book into his hands and lets you start writing away. The whole thing is very comforting to you. Sound wise, you can hear Loki let out puffs of breath when he finds something amusing in his book, Then, there’s the rhythmic tapping of your keyboard as you write. Other than that you just enjoy being with the god, even if you aren’t interacting with each other.

You’ve been harboring a crush on him for awhile but have always kept it hidden. You value his friendship too much to do anything that could jeopardize it. Not to mention, Loki hadn’t shown anything on if he likes you or not. He occasionally flirts with you in battle but that’s about it. So, you feel you know he isn’t attracted to you like that.

“Loki what’s another word for great?” You mutter.

“Glorious, grand, impressive?” The god supplies you with choices.

You hum but don’t say anything and continue typing. After you finish your paragraph you look at Loki who glances at you.

“Thanks.”

Loki smirks at his book, “Anything for you, darling.” Loki says in a low voice while reading his book.

See, the nick names had started early on. At first they had confused you but when you had been in battle and helping Tony, Loki had called Tony ‘sweetheart’ so you reasoned Loki just had a thing for nicknames. That doesn’t stop the jolt in your stomach when he does call you sweet names like that though.

You shake yourself out of your reverie and continue writing. You’re like one, maybe two, paragraphs from being done. You try your best to elongate time to hang out with Loki more but when you finish your essay you don’t have any other excuse.

That’s why, when you finish and close your laptop with a small ‘click’ and Loki stands and asks if you would like to spend time at his apartment, you’re shocked.

You stand looking at Loki with wide eyes.

Loki takes this as an answer and coughs a little, bringing a hand up to rub at his face, he’s trying to hide his embarrassment.

“I am sorry, I crossed a boundary, it won’t happen again.”

“No!” You yell, nearly dropping your laptop as you reach towards Loki. You scramble to hold it to your chest again and look at him, shyly pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I would love to. I was shocked, I always figured I’d be the first to ask.”

Loki looks at you a little doubtfully but sees the truth in your answer and smirks. Instead of replying he waves a hand and the barriers disappear then he holds his hand out to you. You gladly take it and suddenly you’re both standing in a tidy apartment.

It’s very modern and looks costly. The furniture is all contemporary and different shades of white, brown, and gray, with the occasional splash of emerald green in throw blankets and decorative pillows. You don’t really notice but Loki still holds your hand.

Loki pulls you by his hand towards his kitchen and puts a kettle of water on on the heating stove top.

“Tea? Or are you more of a coffee person?” Loki asks you with a glance as he pulls out his tea. You finally realize Loki has yet to let go of your hand but you’re not going to complain.

“I love both, but tea will be good for now.” You say lightly, glancing down at your clasped hands when Loki isn’t looking. A small blush heats up your cheeks and you let a stupid smile cross your lips.

You and Loki settle against his bar, still holding hands, while you wait for the water to heat in the kettle.

“I never had the chance to ask but why are you studying psychology and sociology? I figured a superhero’s salary would be quite enough to live comfortably? Don’t tell me they under pay you.” Loki asks, his tone laced with a threat when he says the last part.

You chuckle. “No, it pays well enough, enough to pay my way through school. I want to help people though, that’s what makes me truly happy. So, naturally, psychology and sociology were natural choices because they help me understand people, the way they think, how they tick, so I can better help them.” You explain.

You look up at Loki who looks at you with an unreadable emotion on his face. Loki then brings a hand up, tucks a rogue lock behind your ear and keeps his hand there. “You are too precious for this world.” He whispers as he looks at you. You feel you cheeks heat up and can’t keep eye contact with Loki.

Loki clears his throat and drops his hand from your face, looking away from you as well. However, he doesn’t stop holding your hand. You feel your hand become clammy from nerves and hope this doesn’t gross out Loki. At the thought your hand twitches in his and Loki merely squeezes your hand.

“What other hobbies do you favor, seeing as they obviously kept you preoccupied enough to procrastinate your paper?” Loki asks.

You smile at the ground because you realize Loki is trying to better know you.

You look up at Loki again, who is already looking at you. “Well, surprisingly enough research and reading are my main hobbies.”

“Oh?”

“I love learning so I read up on whatever subject pulls at my attention at the moment.”

“And what draws at your attention right now?” Loki asks curious.

You flush and look at the ground, kicking it softly with the toe of your shoe. You mutter the answer.

Loki chuckles, brings his free hand up to tilt your face till you look at him. “Say that one more time, where I can hear it darling.”

“Norse mythology.” You say softly, embarrassed.

Loki’s eyebrows lift in shock. The look on his face showing that he did not expect that answer at all.

Thankfully the kettle begins whistling and causes the moment to be broken and forgotten.

Loki makes a cup of tea for the both of you and you both move to his living room, seated on his couch. You’re both sitting close enough to touch at the legs but don’t hold hands anymore. You set your mug on the coffee table in front of you, too hot to hold. Loki however basks in the heat of his cup, his hands wrapped around the mug as if he has just come in from a blizzard.

“I have plenty of texts you may borrow if you want to learn about the true mythology.” Loki offers, looking at you calculatingly.

You had hoped Loki would drop the subject seeing as your research was drawn from your want to learn more about Loki than actual Norse mythology.

Whatever, shoot your shot, right?

“I’d much rather hear your tales than anyone else’s.” You say, your hands picking at your jeans with nerves.

Loki hums with a small smile as he takes a sip of his tea. “Of course, darling. There is no better way to learn than from the source of such tales.” Loki says smugly.

You feel a smile break over your lips as you look at Loki who basks in his arrogance.

“I better watch out, stroking your ego,” You say, Loki raising a brow at your mischievous smirk, “Otherwise you might start sounding like Thor.” You say to knock Loki down a peg. Loki scoffs with a roll of his eyes but you don’t miss the twitch of his lips.

“Do not compare me to my oaf of a brother.” Loki says, finally setting his mug of tea down, resting his hands in his lap. You also don’t miss the twitch of his hands, as if they want to reach out towards you.

There are too many signs that Loki obviously likes you, it’s almost overwhelming, but you keep yourself pulled together before you ask him the question.

“You know, I’m just kind of going out on a limb here, but uh...You ever plan to ask me out, take me on some romantic dinner or something or do I need to give more incentive?” You say, the confidence in your voice a facade because inside you’re freaking out.

Loki keeps a blank face as you look at him. Then, he lets a smirk break out over his lips, glances at his tea but his eyes come back to yours.

“Is that such a good idea? Considering you are still my enemy?” Loki asks.

You grab your tea so you have something to do with your hands, sipping from the earthy, spicy liquid. You let yourself think, letting his question roll off your shoulders and shrug. “I could care less what the Avengers think but we can keep our relationship hidden if that would keep you happy?”

Loki purses his lips, his eyes squinting at you. “They would cage you, would they not? If they knew you were fraternizing with the enemy?”

“Yes, but I have no doubt you’d let them keep me for long.” You smile at Loki who huffs out laughter.

“You truly want me?” Loki asks. You don’t fail to hear the insecurity in his tone.

You set your tea down, grab both of Loki’s hands in yours and look at him, baring all your emotions on your face. “More than you will ever know.”

Loki squeezes your hands with a soft tilt of his lips.

“Then I suppose it is inevitable. Shall we partake in a date tomorrow night, say seven?”

You smile at Loki. “I would love to, Lokes.”

Loki rolls his eyes at the nickname but you know he doesn’t mind it, much.

Needless to say, you were granted an extension of time to turn in your essay while also scoring a date with your crush.

#research and dating (no they aren't connected)#loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #so like i started writing this before my writing had truly developed into what it is now #so the first part might be a bit iffy and stuff #i tried to fix it but i don't think i did so #anyways im not completely upset with how it turned out #reader insert #my writing #prompt

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lyrical-panic · 3 years

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Love Letters

Tenya Iida X Writer!Reader

(This is absolutely a self insert leave me alone)

Requests are open!!

Tenya's morning routine was always the same. He was awoken by his alarm at 6:20 A.M. He went to the bathroom and washed his face. Then he'd get dresses, comb his hair, and go downstairs for breakfast. After he'd eaten, he would brush his teeth, and head to class with his peers.

This system was so ordinary, so methodical, that he almost missed the folded sheet of printer paper on the floor in front of the door.

Probably Mr. Aizawa, he'd thought, stooping to collect the note. His teacher occasionally left notes taped to the class rep's door, asking him to take attendance or start class if Aizawa knew he was going to be late. Still nothing out of the ordinary for Tenya.

When he unfolded the paper, though, he was surprised to see not a message from his teacher, but rather a very sweet note; something that Tenya was not accustomed to getting at all.

I hope it does not alarm you to hear that I adore you. Your unbridled passion for heroics, your eyes; which are oceans of kindness, and your aptitude for helping others. Every little bit of you never once ceases to amaze and enamor me. Though you are a vessel for speed, you choose to walk alongside your friends, instead of tearing off into the future. You build me up and make me feel strong, whether you realize it or not. You make me feel like I'm actually worth something. You keep my head up when I feel as though I'm drowning in a sea of my insecurities.

Perhaps one day I'll have the courage to tell you this in person. For now though, this will suffice.

The letter was not signed off, but rather ended with a red pen sketch of a heart. Tenya's eyes nearly doubled in size. He re read the note several more times to make sure he hadn't imagined the loving words. Who could've possibly written it? He wasn't aware of anyone in his class who harbored these kinds of feelings, much less for him, but he had never been particularly good at reading emotions.

Realizing he was going to be late for breakfast if he dwelled any longer on it, Tenya pocketed the love letter and headed downstairs. The mystery would have to wait until after school. His responsibilities always came first, no matter how often his mind still wandered back to the letter in his pocked, yearning to pull it out and read it yet again, just to make sure he still wasn't dreaming.

. . .

Whoever had written the note was smart, Tenya realized. They had typed it, leaving no room for the possibility that he could recognize the handwriting. The only part that had been done by hand was that little red heart, but a doodle wasn't nearly enough to tell him who the author was.

He turned instead to analyzing the words themselves.They were well chosen, poetic even. The fifty cent words like "unbridled" and "enamored" led him to believe that the author was an experienced writer, or perhaps simply read a lot.

Yaoyorozu was a good contender, she was an eloquent speaker. Kaminari also read a lot, he was good with literature. And there was Tokoyami, who seemed to speak exclusively in poetry. Tenya jotted down his ideas, crafting a short list of his classmates.

"Oh, (L/N) writes a lot," he mused, adding their name to the list. (L/N) actually made a lot of sense.

Oh, but maybe it was just wishful thinking. Perhaps he only read the love letter in (L/N)'s voice being he wanted it to be them.

...or maybe it actually wasn't a bad idea.

(L/N) was always writing. They viewed it as a privilege, a challenge. They leapt at every creative writing assignment they got in English class, and the few stories they had shared were spectacularly inventive and elegantly crafted.

Tenya halted, scanning the message again. It suddenly seemed more and more likely that (L/N) was in fact the author.

He chewed his lip. It was too easy. Too convenient. Too perfect. How could someone he already cared for so deeply send him something like this? It was too good to be true. Besides, it was only one note. How could be possibly-

"What if they write more?" Tenya suddenly said out loud, his train of thought coming to a screeching halt. "I'd have a better line up to analyze. I could also ask Present Mic for the short stories assignments he's grading so I can pass them back. I could probably be able to look over at least a few of them and see if I recognize the writing."

A man on a mission, Tenya resigned himself to waiting until the next day to see if another note appeared, and to ask Present Mic about the stories.

Too anxious and oddly excited, he hardly got any sleep.

. . .

Sure enough the next morning, there was a new note. Tenya all but flew out of bed and scrambled to unfold it.

I find myself caught in a storm of uncertainty all too often. I'm tossed from wave to wave in an ocean of fear. You are my rock. You hold me fast and secure in this ever-changing and frightening world. You are safe. You are my home.

You are my everything.

Tenya unconsciously read the letter in (L/N)'s voice again. He felt his heart beat harder at the thought of them penning these beautiful words.

"You don't know that it's them," he scolded himself, unwillingly placing the new note on his desk next to the old one. He tore himself away from them to retreat into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

The new message did offer one new clue already, though. It used the same ocean metaphor as the first one. It was a comparison the author seemed to favor. Maybe he could find it in their other works.

He had to get his hands on those short story assignments before he lost his damn mind.

. . .

Tenya felt slightly uneasy about telling Present Mic he wanted the stories to pass back, even though he was technically telling the truth. He was eventually going to pass them back. When he was done looking through them.

A lie of omission is still a lie, that annoying voice in his head insisted, but he pretended he couldn't hear it, pushing it down. It wouldn't do any harm, he rationalized. And he had to know.

Tenya flipped through the papers, looking for (L/N)'s first. It was a desperate wish that they were the author of the anonymous notes, but it also seemed to make just enough sense to justify thumbing through their assignment.

There. (L/N) always went above the beyond with creative writing, and the five pages of neatly typed text was a testament to that. It was the longest assignment in the stack by two pages.

Wait.... typed?

It was probably a coincidence. After all, (L/N) hadn't been the only student who'd opted to type their story. Tenya was too convinced already that they had sent him those letters for him to entertain the idea that it was simply just a coincidence.

He skimmed the story quickly before class started. He found himself impressed, not for the first time with (L/N)'s abilities as a writer. Each word was carefully selected to craft perfect sentences and immaculate paragraphs full of feeling and vibrant imagery.

He stopped suddenly a page in as the protagonist compared their anguish to a stormy sea, heavy waves tossing them to and fro.

There it is again.

The sentiments from the letters, which Tenya had all but seared into his brain, echoed that of what he was reading now. The vocabulary, the imagery, the deep feelings evoked by each sentence, and even the fact that it was typed.

It had to be them. It had to be (Y/N). It was just too perfect.

. . .

(Y/N) sat a few seats ahead and to the right of Tenya, so he spent quite a bit of class time staring unabashedly at the back of their head. They were scribbling madly on a sheet of lined paper. Lecture notes? Short story?.... Love letter?

People often say that opposites attract. Tenya was just realizing how true that was as he sat in class, half listening to the lesson, half watching (Y/N). He was all angles and sternness, whereas they were flexible and soft. Perhaps it didn't always show physically on their features, but in their mannerisms, and even in their writing, they were stunning curves, twists and turns. With them, you didn't always know where you were going, but it was an adventure all the same. They were a warm, comforting feeling. They felt like home.

An idea bloomed in Tenya's mind, a delectably wonderful way for him to show (Y/N) that he reciprocated their feelings. Having a difficult time smothering his smile, Tenya fished through his school bag for a sheet of lined paper.

. . .

You frowned thoughtfully at your paper, lips pursed. You tapped your pencil against your dorm room desk as you considered your next words.

This was the hardest, part, but still the most fun. The first draft. You could change whatever wording or dialogue you wanted while you were typing it up, nut you still needed a good base. You still had to carefully choose every word that you wanted to use to move your audience.

Tenya Iida

You grinned giddily just thinking of him. He had given almost no indication these past two days that he'd gotten your letters, but you could tell. His eyes had darted around, scrutinizing everyone they landed on. It had felt a bit like being dissected when his gaze had fallen upon you.

There's no way he knows, you had reasoned, giving him a tight smile in return. He's just trying to sus me out. For all he knows, it could be literally anyone.

You had ridden that wave of shaky confidence in your anonymity, all the way to that moment, where you turned around in your desk chair, intending to grab your phone, only for your eyes to fall upon a folded up piece of paper next to your door.

You felt an anxious lurch in your gut as you shakily picked it up. "If this is Iida telling me to never speak to him again I'm going to cry."

You unfolded the message, fully expected the worst, and praying to whatever god was or wasn't out there that you were wrong and that Iida wasn't completely creeped out and now hated you.

You remind me of the ocean waves you write about so often. You're a crescendo of carefully chosen words, actions, and kind thoughts. You're soft yet strong, never backing down from a fight or a friend in need. Your determination and drive impress me to no ends, and make me want to impress you as well.

You've cast a spell on me for quite some time now, but your hold over me was only strengthened by the heartfelt messages you sent me. I'm beyond happy that you share my feelings.

The letter wasn't signed, but it was written in what was distinctly Iida's penmanship. He had ended his message the same way you had ended yours; with a hand-drawn heart.

"Oh my god," you whispered, paper crinkling as your grip tightened around it. You read it again. Then again. And then again. "Damnit, he's right. I do use the stormy sea metaphor a lot."

Note still clenched in your hand, you sped-walked to Iida's dorm room, heart thundering in your chest. The thought that Iida; sensible, respectful Iida would have feelings for a disaster like you was a little discombobulating to say the least, so you were determined to hear it straight from the horses mouth.

You rapped on his door, foot tapping impatiently. The few seconds it took for Iida to answer dragged on for what felt like an eternity. When he finally did open the door, a pleasantly surprised look crossed his face upon seeing you.

You held up his note. "Hi. Um, so."

Iida chuckled, cheeks reddening. He gestured you in as he stepped back to his desk, where he produced the letters you had sent. "So."

"Y-you're not messing with me, right?" you asked nervously. "'Cause if you are I'm going to kick you."

"Trust me, everything I wrote is 100% true." He smiled earnestly. "And you...?

"I think those letters are the most honest I've ever been about my feelings ever." you admitted, shifting your weight from foot to foot. A wry smile played on the edges of your lips. "I was drafting you another one, but you just had to go and find me out and ruin it."

"You can still give it to me," Iida said hopefully, palming the back of his neck with his hand, flustered.

You laughed a little, your own cheeks warming up. You twisted the hem of your shirt. "Uh, can I hug you?"

"O-of course!"

You wrapped your arms around Iida's torso, resting your head on his chest, listening to the drumming of his heart. He slowly followed suit, snaking his arms around your shoulders. He let out a contented sigh, relaxing into your touch. He was so warm. He was a cozy fire in the dark of winter, a blissful reprise from a cold and harsh world.

You pursed your lips, stifling a snicker. I've gotta write that down.

#bnha #mha #tenya #iida #tenya iida #tenya iida x reader #tenya x reader #iida x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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tigerkirby215 · 4 years

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Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything subclass Tier List

(Artwork from Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything. Posted by @robmichel_art on Twitter. Copyright Wizards of the Coast.)

I was going to make some comparison posts between the UAs and the full release of Tasha’s but other more qualified people are doing that, so instead in my continued effort to pretend that this account is for more than just me satisfy my character building obsession I decided to make a little tier list ranking the subclasses from Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything from my least favorite to my favorite.

This list is going to be comparing the subclasses from Tasha’s to each-other, but is also going to be comparing the subclasses to the other available subclasses for the class they’re from. So even if I really like a subclass it’ll lose points if the class already had better options. I’m not going to talk about any of the reprinted classes from Eberron or Ravnica but I will talk about the reprinted Theros subclasses (Eloquence Bard / Glory Paladin) as for many people this will be their first time seeing them.

Also it goes without saying but this is just my opinion! So sorry if you really like the next class you’re about to see because it’s at the bottom of my tier list!

F TIER

Psi Warrior (Fighter)

Well something had to be the worst. Truthfully I really wasn’t interested in the Psi Warrior during UA but wow its full release leaves a lot to be desired.

First let’s get the obvious out of the way: “Worse Battlemaster LUL!” It is laughable how bad this subclass is when compared to Battlemaster. BM gets to give itself advantage, give allies advantage, move allies, fear enemies, grapple enemies, give enemies disadvantage... and by comparison Psi Warriors get to do a little more damage or reduce a bit of incoming damage.

The fact that this subclass requires Intelligence confuses me to no end. They changed both Rune Knight and Soul Knife to not require intelligence (even though Rogues are kinda expected to have good Intelligence to help with skill checks) but Psi Warrior still needs INT? It amazes me that Battlemaster, Rune Knight, and Echo Knight are all SAD (single ability dependent) yet Psi Warrior of all subclasses is the one they consider too strong if you can min-max.

The biggest problem with this class by far is the Psionic Energy Die. Having your main class resource only come back after a Long Rest is insulting. (It’s the problem that Samurai Fighter has had since it was printed and it’s really sad that Wizards of the Coast didn’t learn from that.) While Battlemaster gets bigger die that have more effects which come back on a short rest Psi Warrior can only recharge one die per short rest. Honestly this subclass would be so much better if you regained Psionic Energy Die when using Second Wind (as well as having a dedicated action for it) so at least then you could have more than one die per short rest.

The only good level in this subclass is level 7, entirely because you get to Fly when you Dash. I mean, sure the UA Dragon Monk can also do that but at least this is in the official rules. Everything else that this subclass gets is weak: Telekinetic Thrust lets you do what Battlemasters were doing at level 3, Guarded Mind is just bad (Monk? Never heard of ‘em!), Bulwark of Force is mediocre at best (I know like 3 people who actually understand how cover works in 5e), and Telekinetic Master is a laughably weak capstone. Your capstone as a Fighter is a situational 5th level spell that takes away your ability to attack? Meanwhile actual spellcasters are casting 9th level spells, and other martials are doing upwards of 50 damage per turn.

At first I was largely indifferent to the Psi Warrior but after reading over all its abilities its laughable how bad it is. It at least surpasses Purple Dragon Knight in terms of mediocrity (ironic considering that the two of them are beside each-other on D&D Beyond) but it’s the only true stinker of Tasha’s, and it gets the honor of being the second weakest Fighter subclass and the weakest subclass in this book.

D TIER

Aberrant Mind (Sorcerer)

This is the best subclass to play if your only desire is to cast spells, and I mean that in the worst possible way. While every other Sorcerer has a defined class role Aberrant Mind feels like the most generic milk-toast subclass that you pick simply because you didn’t know what to play. While Clockwork Soul defends, Divine Soul heals, Draconic Bloodline blasts, Shadow Magic sneaks, Storm Sorcerer evades, and Wild Magic does memes Aberrant Mind’s only major strengths come online at level 14+.

Telepathy at level 1 is a joke when compared to the other Sorcerers. CS can negate advantage, DS gets Super Bless on top of access to the Cleric spell list, DB gets free Mage Armor, SM gets super Darkvision and the Half Orc racial trail, SS gets goddamn flight, and WM gets to kill the party at level 1 with a level 3 fireball. Meanwhile AM gets the Message cantrip with a longer range.

Psionic Sorcery is okay. Getting cheaper* (citation needed) spells that you can Subtle Spell for free is alright. The subclass spell list is good and seeing as you can sub out the spell to take better ones if needed you can really get some useful magic for your kit.

SPELLS TO LOOK AT AS AN ABBERANT MIND SORCERER

LEVEL 1

Dissonant Whispers is honestly a really good spell to have, but Arms of Hadar is a bit situational. If willing you can swap it out with: the utility Divination spells (Detect Magic / Identity - remember that Sorcerers can’t Ritual cast so it might be better for someone else to take these), Hex, Sleep, or Tasha’s Hideous Laughter.

LEVEL 2

Gift of Gab from Acquisitions Incorporated is either going to be a complete joke of a spell or the most useful spell in your arsenal. Hold Person is the most obvious choice from second level. Tasha’s Mind Whip is a great single-target damage spell with some added utility, and is almost objectively better than Mind Spike because it doesn’t require Concentration.

LEVEL 3

Both Hunger of Hadar and Sending are great spells, and there really aren’t a lot of Divination / Enchantment spells at third level. The only one I can really recommend is Tongues if you need the utility.

LEVEL 4

Evard’s Black Tentacles and Summon Aberration are both extremely strong spells, but if you want to replace them for some reason: Arcane Eye is essentially just a better familiar, Confusion is a great AoE disruption spell, and Locate Creature can be useful in a pinch.

LEVEL 5

Honestly the spell list really opens up at 5th level. Just about any choice is good, so look on D&D Beyond to see what to take. If you know me I’m going to recommend Synaptic Static.

Psychic Defenses, like with Psi Warrior, seems to have been taped onto the class because WoTC realized how weak it was so they just threw more situational garbage into its kit to compensate.

Revelation in Flesh is pretty much the only good ability you get. And granted there’s some insane utility with this ability. Not-quite-Blindsense, fly speed (best one), swim speed (worst one), and the folding ability that I’m sure will result in some interesting stories on Reddit. Warping Implosion is also a great escape-utility ability but like it’s your 18th level capstone of course it was going to be good.

If I was going to play in a level 20 one shot I’d perhaps roll up a level 20 Aberrant Mind. (Or more like a level 18 Aberrant Mind with 2 levels in Warlock because Sorcerer’s level 20 capstone sucks lol.) But unless I knew the campaign was going to at least level 15 I wouldn’t even bother.

Oath of the Watchers (Paladin)

It was boring in UA and it’s boring now. I feel bad that I have so little to say about Oath of the Watchers, especially after writing massive paragraphs about Psi Warrior and Aberrant Mind. But Oath of the Watchers feels like the worst parts of Arcana Cleric to me. Only difference is that while Arcana Cleric gets Wizard spells you get Moonbeam and help with Initiative. This subclass feels more campaign-specific than PHB Ranger and that’s really saying something.

Swarmkeeper (Ranger)

It’s certainly the most unique Ranger, both in terms of concept and in terms of abilities. It actually has a lot of utility with a good spell list and the Gathered Swarm feature providing a lot of great utility to a martial character. The thing is that in all honesty this subclass is kinda boring until level 15. And the other big problem is that the fantasy and roleplay that this subclass provides is so strange. When you think “Ranger” do you think master of the hunt, traveling through multiple dimensions and slaying powerful foes from the shadows with a tamed beast at their side? Or do you think “hurr durr bugzzz”?

This subclass feels like the one you pick when you've played literally every other subclass available, or when you get them from a random character generator. Ironically enough I do actually have a friend who made a Swarmkeeper for a one-shot I ran back when this subclass was in UA. But the fact that they made the character just to test UA shows just the type of characters that will be made with this subclass.

Way of Mercy (Monk)

You either love it or you’re completely indifferent, is what I have found the general opinion of Way of Mercy to be. Guess which camp I’m in. This subclass literally just feels like a Cleric with mobility whose healing comes back on a short rest. Time will see how OP “I can heal every turn and get my Cure Wounds back on a Short Rest” not-Cleric will be, but until then the subclass is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin. For the people who wanted to play a healing Monk I’m happy for them.

Path of the Beast (Barbarian)

If I can sum up Path of the Beast in one word it’s “underwhelming.” Form of the Beast gives you three above-average weapons to choose from, Bestial Soul gives you some movement buffs, Infectious Fury lets you do some decent crowd control or damage spiking, and Call the Hunt lets you buff your party.

The thing is... you’re fighting against “resist all damage” (Totem Warrior), “protect your allies with your JoJo Stand” (Ancestral Guardian), “smite with the wrath of God” (Zealot), or “shoot lightning out of your goddamn chest.” (Storm Herald.) It’s not a bad subclass and honestly compared to some of the existing Barbarians (Beserker, Battlerager, and honestly Storm Herald is bad too) it’s pretty strong. But it’s just so, so boring.

I need to preface this by saying that Barbarian is probably my least favorite class in 5e and for what it’s worth I’m certainly more interested in playing Path of the Beast than say Battlerager, but I can’t help but feel that this subclass just lets you hit things better as the class that does nothing other than hit things. The only real positive I see to this subclass is the flavor, which absolutely carries it above the likes of Totem Warrior and Zealot. (Both of which I think are objectively stronger than Beast Barbarian.)

Clockwork Soul (Sorcerer)

It been mostly unchanged from playtest even though as I stated Clockwork Soul was one of the subclasses I was a little worried about. But even then the subclass just feels so boring to me. It seems like this subclass is entirely designed to be the “no fun allowed” character who just says “No U” to everything the DM does. Don’t get me wrong it’s certainly a strong defensive subclass but I feel like if you want to play a defensive spellcaster you’re more likely to play an Abjuration Wizard or a Cleric in general.

And the lore just doesn’t really click for me? I can understand how you’d have dragon blood magic, shadow soul magic, and celestial infusion magic. But how the heck do you get a Clockwork Soul? I know Mechanus is a thing in D&D but I feel like for the average normie this won’t make any sense.

Also RIP in piss Heat Metal from the subclass spell list. Here’s my suggestion for spells if you want to play a CSS:

LEVEL 1 - Absorb Elements, Armor of Agathys, Featherfall, Mage Armor, Shield

LEVEL 2 (Aid and Lesser Restoration are good but Aid chews through your spell slots) - Enhance Ability, Enlarge / Reduce

LEVEL 3 - Blink, Counterspell, Fly, Gaseous Form, Haste, Slow

LEVEL 4 (Tasha’s Summoning Spells are good but Freedom of Movement is highly situational) - Banishment, Polymorph

LEVEL 5 - Animate Objects, Passwall

C TIER

College of Creation (Bard)

It has a lot of interesting abilities. Performance of Creation in particular is arguably one of the strongest abilities for someone who knows the equipment page well in the PHB. The problem is just that unless you have a very specific build in mind I don’t really know why you’d play the College of Creation? It feels like a Conjuration Wizard... but it’s a Bard. Perhaps the biggest irony is how much stronger this subclass feels when compared to the Conjuration Wizard, but you really have to be in the mood to play a conjurer.

Oath of Glory (Paladin)

Having some experience playing this subclass in a one-shot (Theros yay!): it’s very hit-or-miss. The spell list is amazing, the Channel Divinities are mediocre at best, the aura is garbage (10 foot +10 movement aura LUL), Glorious Defense is insane, and Living Legend is a capstone ability so of course it’s going to be good.

I think the main reason you’ll pick this subclass is for their subclass spells. And don’t get me wrong: Guiding Bolt and Haste are crazy good. But considering that Paladins usually want to blow everything on Smites?

When I played this character it was a 9 level dip into Paladin with a 3 level dip into Warlock. I didn’t use a melee weapon and opted for Eldritch Blast spamming. And that’s essentially this subclass as a whole: it wants you to be a spellcaster, which is great if you multiclass into a spellcaster (Aura of Protection is always good) but it feels bad as an actual Paladin.

The new Fighting Style that lets you get some cantrips as a Paladin might make this subclass better, but you’re still stuck being a half caster. Can’t escape the feeling that an actual caster would be better.

Path of Wild Magic (Barbarian)

It’s fun, is all I can really say. The subclass is built almost entirely around the Wild Surge table you get at level 3 and all the effects are strong. (Thankfully none of them are OP like in UA.) Unstable Backlash means that with luck you should eventually get a good Wild Magic effect.

The use of a d3 for Bolstering Magic is still a crime. It should just be a d4, with the spell slot restoration thing being “reroll on a 4.” (Or better yet: “roll a d4 and take half the roll, rounded up.” I still think having an RNG chance to get back a Haste or Fireball is a bit too strong.)

B TIER

Fey Wanderer (Ranger)

All I can say is thank god this subclass got better. It went from a weird pseudo-Paladin to a subclass with its own identity and theme. The only ability that’s really weak currently is Dreadful Strikes since it encourages you to spread out your damage for no particular reason. Horizon Walker had a similar problem but you could still focus damage as Horizon Walker. And you were doing more than a d4 of extra damage.

But beyond that this subclass is great! The subclass spell list is very strong. Otherworldly Glamour gives you some utility as a party face. Beguiling Twist... is honestly a little hit-or-miss. But it’s made up for by Fey Reinforcements and Misty Wanderer. Having a non-concentration summoning spell along with near-unlimited Misty Step is so insanely powerful to keep out of harm and to keep your DPS up.

Fey Wanderer seems really good at a lot of the things a Ranger wants to do. It’s a good skill monkey (being good at Charisma which other Rangers usually aren’t), a good damage dealer, a strong defensive support, a great single-unit summoner, and incredibly slippery and mobile. I don’t know if it’s enough to make me play the class (Ranger’s flavor is still iffy for me overall) but it’s definitely on my list for subclasses to try someday!

Order of the Scribes (Wizard)

Order of the Scribes is the best default Wizard, which is its biggest strength and its largest weakness. Getting a free colored pen is fun and flavorful, being able to get all your spells back if you lose your spellbook is insanely useful, always having an Arcane Focus is great, being able to replace the damage type of your spells is MASSIVE, getting to cast a Ritual Spell with its normal casting time is situationally fantastic.

Getting what essentially amounts to a free familiar is amazing. Getting what essentially amounts to a free spell slot (to upcast a second level spell) is great, and is honestly worth multiclassinging into for a lot of classes. Being able to negate incoming damage as a Wizard (IE squishy d6 hit die baby) is huge, even if you lose a lot of spells in the process. (I assure you by level 14 you’re going to have some useless spells that you’re never going to cast.)

But the problem with Order of the Scribes is that it has to compete with Divination, Evocation, Chronurgy, and War Wizard. If you have any specific build you want to go for then the specific schooled subclasses are better. But if you “just want to cast spells or whatever” Order of the Scribes is a lot of fun.

I actually have a character who’d fit Order of the Scribes very well, it’s just that Chronurgy feels so much more fun even if it doesn’t fit him as well. And that’s literally the exact problem with Order of the Scribes summed up in one anecdote.

Peace Domain (Cleric)

You may be forgiven for thinking this subclass is just a Life Cleric that doesn’t wear Heavy Armor, but the Emboldening Bond and the upgrades it gets are incredibly useful. Protective Bond in particular is such a massive power boost to the tanks of your party, giving them mobility and letting them take damage for squishy allies.

Peace Domain is by far the best party buffing spellcaster. They make everyone else amazing, and while that may not be fun for everyone I’m a garbage Yuumi main so it’s right up my alley.

Circle of Wildfire (Druid)

“iT dOeSn’T hAvE fIrEbAlL aNyMoRe It’S bAd BeCaUsE nO fIrEbAlL” oh get over your Fireball fetish Reddit. Circle of Wildfire is carried pretty much entirely by its flavor. It’s such a unique take on a Druid it’s impossible not to find at least some build to make with this subclass.

That’s not to say that it’s a bad subclass! The summon feels weak but you get two of them per short rest. Having a powerful subclass feature tied to short rests is really nice as a spellcaster. All your other features are very useful and flavorful, though my one complaint is that Cauterizing Flames is hard to use in Theater of the Mind.

It’s just a very fun and unique subclass that offers a unique flavor to Druids that they don’t normally have. I’m sure a lot of players will be motivated to try a Druid just to take a crack at this class. Hopefully they realize that only you can prevent forest fires.

A TIER

Phantom (Rogue)

I’m actually surprised how much I like this class to be honest. I made a Phantom Rogue once as a joke for a one-shot and to my surprise the subclass is actually very powerful and fun! It surprisingly just feels like a better Rogue, but considering how strong Rogues are normally that’s all the better for Phantom Rogue. You can easily fill any skill proficiencies your party needs thanks to Whispers of the Dead, and Wails from the Grave really lets you increase your DPS.

Tokens of the Departed got a major boost from UA since it now lets you use Wails from the Grave more, but the flavor of being able to ask the souls of the dead for information is also great. Ghost Walk is just insanely useful in general, and Death’s Friend lets you do double Sneak Attack damage every turn! Imagine how much damage you’d do with a crit!

The flavor is the one thing that I think hurts this subclass, as it’s really hard to make essentially an undead Rogue without immediately being labeled as an edgelord. But if a party ever needs a Rogue to do all the things that a Rogue does this character is perfect!

I’m personally awaiting the day to bring back Bill, the Undead Kobold Detective.

Way of the Astral Self (Monk)

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JoJo subclass. I like JoJo. This subclass was overpowered in UA but the final release manages to capture the same feeling without being broken. Let’s go over the features one by one:

Arms of the Astral Self gives you a JoJo stand rush against everyone close to you, letting you recreate the flavor of JooJ without breaking action economy too much. But being able to prioritize Wisdom is huge to keep your Stunning Strike DC high while still getting good attack damage. But it’s still not OP since Dexterity is tied to your AC. It’s perhaps a little strong for multiclass builds (you can use your spellcasting modifier to attack) but multiclassing into Monk has always been kinda iffy, and Shillelagh has existed since the PHB was released. It should also be said that having Reach weapons as a Monk is huge, since you don’t have to get the Mobile feat to do hit-and-run.

Visage of the Astral Self is a nice social feature for a subclass that doesn’t normally get social features. Body of the Astral Self gives you more defense and offense. And Awakened Astral Self just further increases your defense and offense.

Excluding weeb shit this subclass just has awesome flavor. I’m actually planning on playing this subclass soon. (I’m playing a Cleric / Monk multiclass and I’m only level 2 in Monk currently.) I’m surprised myself that my first Astral Self character isn’t a fucking JoJo OC, considering that I already have a grand total of about 5 JoJo OCs.

Twilight Domain (Cleric)

Twilight domain also surprised me with how interesting it is. I don’t really have much to say other than it has a good mix of defensive, offensive, and utility abilities. Your subclass spell list is very strong for the most part. Eyes of Night and Vigilant Blessing are both just generally useful. Twilight Sanctuary isn’t insane but it’s consistent and it’s nice. Steps of Night is very strong and has a nice aesthetic. And Twilight Shroud is a good boost to your Channel Divinity.

The honest truth is that Twilight Domain feels kinda weak by comparison to some of the other Clerics. It’s no Forge, Grave, Life, or even Order Domain is all I can say. The fact that all your features only work in the dark is iffy if you don’t have shadows to sulk in. But along with just generally having good abilities the flavor is really what carries this subclass.

Here’s a meme:

Armorer (Artificer)

Artificer is one of my favorite classes so it’s no surprise that a new Artificer subclass excites me. Armorer fills a niche that I think Artificer didn’t have, and surprisingly it’s not the “tank” archetype. Armorer is still a good tank but the Infiltrator armor also gives you an option to play the subclass at range.

What I like is that Armorer is a subclass that doesn’t have a summon and puts more focus on your infusions. Armor Modifications is such a great feature that really brings the customization to Artificer. It truly lets you make your character your own instead of focusing on concrete class features. It doesn’t surpass Warlock Invocations for customizability, but it’s still great to get two personal magic items of your choice.

Yeah this subclass is going to be used a lot for min-maxing. Giving Wizards easy access to Heavy Armor is a little scary. But really if a Wizard wants to take a 3 level dip just for armor and the Guidance cantrip let them. Let the squishy boys have some AC for once.

Circle of Stars (Druid)

Full disclosure: I’ve been wanting to make a Stars Druid after the Rise of the Mountain expansion came to Legends of Runeterra. My first Druid had Telepathy (I took the Telepathic feat as a joke since I had a floating ability score) and it helped me realize how crazy a Druid with telepathy was for espionage. After seeing The Trickster celestial card from LoR I felt the artwork hit all three of my qualifiers for a character: class I want to play, great theme, and furry.

(Artwork by Kudos Productions. Made for Riot Games.)

My personal interest in this subclass aside: it has such a wonderful aesthetic that’s perfect for any character who wants an astral connection. The features are also great: Guiding Bolt is a strong spell to have as is Guidance, and having reactionary Bardic Inspirations is nice for a spellcaster.

But of course the main feature of Starry Form lets you still play the game normally while also benefitting from your Wild Shapes. Stars Druid is probably the second best Wildshape Druid despite not actually Wildshaping. Free Bonus Action attacks is huge, extra healing is always helpful, help with concentration (and Flight later) is really swell, and resisting all damage while not-Wildshaped is very helpful and lets you play as a pseudo Frontliner.

Stars Druid just does so many nice things and I think it’s a great subclass that can fit into any team comp. Druids are already insanely useful (arguably one of the strongest classes in 5e) so to have one that can do so much is massive.

Soulknife (Rogue)

Much like Phantom Rogue this subclass feels just really good in general. You can boost your skill checks and also add not-Bardic Inspiration to your attack rolls to do more guaranteed damage. However this subclass is by far the best Rogue for infiltration. Yes: even better than Assassin. (Though I’d perhaps suggest learning how to use a Disguise Kit.) 1 mile telepathy, teleportation, and invisibility all seem to be built for infiltration. If you have a DM who likes infiltration, espionage, and other encounters that don’t involve combat then Soulknife is by far the best subclass on offer.

But of course you aren’t picking Soulknife just to sneak around! The Psychic Blades are easily the most useful feature not just for Rogues, but for many builds! Having an unlimited supply of thrown weapon suddenly makes a lot more builds viable. My dreams of a ranged Paladin or ranged Barbarian are somewhat crushed by RAW, but there are still some niches that can be filled with unlimited throwing weapons.

Fun fact: you can’t do extra Rage damage with thrown weapons, but you can use Reckless Attack on thrown Finesse weapons. What’s more interesting is that you can’t use Divine Smite on thrown weapons, but you can use Improved Divine Smite on thrown weapons. But of course you can always talk to your DM to see what their final ruling is.

Rune Knight (Fighter)

You can become Giant which makes my stupid furry ass horny for Volibear and Nasus.

I mean I’ve gotta be honest like 75% of the reason I’m hyped for Rune Knight is to become a giant. But the runes are also very strong, giving the subclass some Battlemaster-esque gimmicks that have a bit more magical flavor than the other martials. I also really like that the subclass gets boosts to their skills, allowing you to help out of combat as a Fighter.

There isn’t much I can specifically praise about Rune Knight because the whole subclass is fantastic. It’s a very good mix of defense, offense, and utility both in and out of combat.

The Fathomless (Warlock)

Sheeyutu Nagakabouros. Nagakabouros-shee-shok.

Having played a Fathomless Warlock in UA I can safely say: it’s a good subclass. Having a consistent source of Bonus Action damage is nice, and being able to use it defensively is also great. Extra spells known as a Warlock is nice (and Evard’s Black Tentacles is a great spell!) And a teleport with a mile distance is rather crazy.

So much of the subclass is built around the tentacle which is great because the tentacle is such a great Bonus Action damage source. I really wish I had more to say but the power of this subclass starts and ends at how great having what amounts to an extra Eldritch Blast as a Bonus Action every turn is.

S TIER

College of Eloquence (Bard)

Yup. One of the best subclasses in this book was also in Theros. It helps that my favorite D&D character of all time was a College of Eloquence Bard.

This subclass got so much better since UA. Reliable Talent for Charisma checks at level 3 is fucking nuts! And on top of that Unsettling Words is a great way to soften enemies up for devastating spells. Universal Speech at 6th level pretty much singlehandedly enables the “peaceful” route with a lot of enemies, allowing you to talk your way out of problems.

But this bard is the king of inspiration! Unfailing Inspiration fixes the biggest problem with the Bard class, and Infectious Inspiration multiplies your Bardic Inspiration to a ridiculous degree. This Bard is just so reliably fantastic at Bard things, all while still being a full spellcaster that can make it harder for enemies to deal with spellcasters. It doesn’t get anything special from its subclass but you only got 3 features from your subclass as a Bard anyways. Baseline Bards are amazing and the insurance on your features from this subclass makes it all the better.

The Genie (Warlock)

If the fact that I stick Warlock levels into literally every build didn’t prove it I really like Warlocks, and Genie Warlock is easily the best Warlock subclass. Period. I actually have a post in the works where I go in-depth as to why Genie Warlock is so good. But in short:

Being able to choose between four subclass spell lists is crazy good. Like ridiculously good. A single level in this subclass gives you a Bag of Holding, a (single person) Leomund’s Tiny Hut, and a damage boost to all your attacks every turn!

6th level gives you damage resistance which is always good, but I seriously can not stress how ridiculous non-concentration Flight is for a Warlock. Your spell selection and spell slots are already so limited, and this subclass lets you get all the utility of flight pretty much whenever you please. Just think about how strong Aaracokra are and then consider that this is basically the Aaracokra’s only racial trait.

Sanctuary Vessel lets you upgrade your Leomund’s Tiny Hut power to affect the whole party. By this point you can indeed Long Rest in the lamp, and I need to stress how less suspicious a lone lamp is to a giant bubble of magical force. You could easily hide the lamp somewhere and (if the party is traveling light) be practically undetectable.

Oh and Limited Wish? So you know how the best feature of the Bard is their Magical Secrets? What if you got to choose (practically) any spell of 6th level or lower whenever you please? The only “problem” with Limited Wish is that you have to know every spell that you can pick from, but whenever “too much choice” is a problem in a game of infinite choices you know it’s a good feature.

Genie Warlocks do everything that Warlocks want to do so well. More damage on all your attacks to maximize the value of cantrip spamming, mobility to keep safe without spending spell slots, more high level spells, and giving the party a safe place to rest and recharge. I played a full Genie Warlock and absolutely loved it. I highly recommend this subclass to anyone who wants to play a Warlock. It’s just so versatile and useful I’m sure anyone can find a way to enjoy playing it.

#Tasha's Cauldron of Everything #ranking #tier list #dnd #dnd 5e

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probablypretentiousposts · 3 years

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10/02/2021

This is just a test to see if I can actually still type what I’m thinking, and to see how scattered my thoughts have become. It’s nice to see that my keyboard typing skills seem to be fairly decent, despite not having used a keyboard since living in Milwaukee, almost 3 years ago now. It will probably have several grammatical errors, and won’t follow a clear format. Certainly, my “paragraphs” will be more vague nods to what could be paragraphs, if I were paying attention or actually trying to… try. Ah, how eloquent. My ability to articulate what I’d like to say has deteriorated extensively while living in Sault Sainte Marie.

Today has been a waste of my time and mental capacity. I woke up and couldn’t get myself moving. They weather has been dreary all day and I can’t seem to bring myself to doing much when the weather is like this. It’s humid, cold outside, but for some reason still muggy and warm in the house. I haven’t felt like myself in ages. I miss who I was. I seem to be reverting back to the type of person I was back when I was a teenager, albeit more informed and aware of my own biases. Coulter is the only redeeming thing about living in Sault Sainte Marie. I always thought I would be able to live anywhere, but after years of my adulthood spent finding exactly the type of environment and people I like to be around, I realized I no longer have the type of mental resiliency against frustrating people that I used to possess… the type of resiliency I had to form to deal with people when I was a teenager going to a private school full of spoiled, wealthy kids, but even that place had several people in it that I could turn to. I know I’ve drunkenly complained about this time and time again to Coulter and mom on the phone, but since there is no progression on anything getting any better, I continue to be frustrated. How to make the situation better is excessively frustrating by itself. In order for me to not feel fatigued and trapped in this place, I need proof that there are some likeminded individuals living here. In order to do that, I need to go out and actually talk to people. However, each time I do so, it works instead in the opposite manner, proving to me once again that Coulter and I are outsiders that do not belong in an environment like this.

What a bouncing mess of a… whatever you would call this. My thoughts run all over the place; one thought leading to a million other things and finally landing on some slightly adjacent, but seemingly random concept. I also feel like my ADHD has become significantly worse, but I always feel so guilty for taking medicine for it; especially because it makes me more talkative, also known as more annoying or unable to shut the fuck up. I often become paralyzed when trying to accomplish things, because, “What if there was a more efficient way to accomplish these tasks?”

Sit and think about how to more efficiently tackle your “to do” list.

Maybe you should make a physical list and rearrange it after you can visually see all your tasks

No, that will be a waste of paper. I can do it in my head

But you aren’t accomplishing anything like that so clearly you can’t.

I always used to be able to do this.

Well, you’re unable to remember anything anymore. You have to write things down.

I’m. wasting. Time. I’m wasting paper. I’m wasting energy. I’m a waste. Oh, God. Here I go again. I’m doing fine if I don’t think about anything that’s actually bothering me. But everything bothers me. The way the carpet smells despite my attempts to deep clean it, how uncomfortable the couch is, how long it takes me to wash my hair, how long it takes my hair to dry once its washed, they way it looks if it air dries instead of me blow drying it, how my skin hasn’t looked good in years and I can’t tell if it’s because of this place or because of aging, not being certain about how well the cats actually get along, the way the soil is here, all of the mosquitoes that never let me enjoy the outdoors here the way I was able to back home, my inability to see in dim lighting and the fact that the natural light in this house is horrible, the way the house never feels clean no matter how much I scrub every inch of it, not being able to put my plants where I want them because the new cat will chew on them, having a lawn and garden to take care of, that won’t be mine in less than two years, but still putting so much money and time into it because I want it to look nice, not having any idea of what I look like because my body dysmorphia seems to have gotten worse, every effort I make feeling futile, feeling old and still feeling immature at the same time, how petrified I am of large expenses, how I want to go back to college but I can’t bring myself to talk to anyone about it, my fear of failure, politics, the future of humanity, my pessimism, how my attempts at positivity always feel like I’m being a hypocritical liar, being so fucking afraid of every god damn thing except for the things I should be afraid of, and the fact that this list is endless.

Am I annoying all of my friends back home? Do I not talk to them enough? How can I talk with them when there’s nothing going on in my life, and therefore there’s nothing to say? I’d like to call them but no one talks on the phone anymore, and they are busy. I wouldn’t want to call at an inconvenient time and setting up a time to talk seems like an inconvenience itself. I can’t bring up all of this because it’s not fair to them to burden them with all of this. How are they supposed to respond to this shit, as a friend? Say, “I’m here for you if you need anything,” knowing full well I’ll never reach out to them because I don’t want to ruin the time I have with them or bog down their day? If I post this I’m just doing it for attention and unfairly making people feel like they should reach out, even though, as I’ve stated before, if they reach out I won’t be able to talk about anything because I don’t want to burden them. They all have had so much happen in their lives, they are busy and actually being responsible adults. If I don’t post this I’m just being a dumb child ranting in a diary and, once again, accomplishing nothing.

I’m fatigued, all the time. I just want to rest.

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tvandenneagram · 4 years

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Hamilton Enneagram types

I know that this is mainly a TV blog, but I have loved Hamilton ever since it came out and wanted to type the characters since the ‘film’ came out this week 😊

Alexander Hamilton - 3w4 - 1w2 - 7w8

gif credit

Hamilton is the archetypal 3, he is obsessed with raising his station and finding success. Hamilton works tirelessly and never ‘takes a break’ which causes problems with his loved ones. He is fixated on creating a legacy and does not want to go back to the poverty of which he came from. Hamilton is assertive and takes every opportunity he has to succeed. He advises Burr that you get nothing if you wait for it and encourages him to stand up for his beliefs. Towards the end of the musical, he has lost his son and his career, making him more unhealthy. During this time he is withdrawn, listless and shows little motivation (disintegrating to 9).

Key lyrics:

“Hey yo, I'm just like my country I'm young, scrappy, and hungry. And I'm not throwing away my shot”

“I probably shouldn't brag, but dag, I amaze and astonish”

“Will you relish being a poor man’s wife. Unable to provide for your life?”

“As a kid in the Caribbean I wished for a war. I knew that I was poor. I knew it was the only way to rise up! ... If they tell my story I am either gonna die on the battlefield in glory or rise up!”

Eliza (about Hamilton): “You and your words obsessed with your legacy. Your sentences border on senseless. And you are paranoid in every paragraph how they perceive you”

Aaron Burr - 9w1 - 3w2 - 5w6

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Burr always keeps his stances on different issues ‘close to his chest’ because he doesn’t want to say something that can be used against him. He does have values and feelings, he just isn’t open with his feelings and doesn’t say anything to keep the peace. In the later part of the play, Burr begins to show his ambition more openly and begins to campaign for president. He starts to take more initiative and tries to be more like Hamilton and take what he wants rather than ‘waiting for it’. As Burr gets into the lower levels of health, he becomes paranoid like a 6 as we can see in “The Room Where It Happens.” When Hamilton supports Jefferson for the presidency, Burr becomes vengeful and challenges Hamilton to a duel. He does not understand why Hamilton would support his enemy over his friend, when all Burr is trying to do is take Hamilton’s advice. Burr is ultimately very jealous of Hamilton, as he believes that Hamilton gets everything he wants by taking it. Burr’s style of lying in wait directly contrasts Hamilton’s more assertive nature and deep down he wishes he was more like Hamilton.

Key Lyrics:

“I'm not standing still, I am lying in wait”

“Talk less. Smile more. Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for”

“What is it like in his shoes? Hamilton doesn't hesitate. He exhibits no restraint. He takes and he takes and he takes and he keeps winning anyway.”

“I’ll keep all my plans close to my chest (wait for it, wait for it). I’ll wait here and see which way the wind will blow. I’m taking my time watching the afterbirth of the nation, watching the tension grow”

“I am slow to anger, but I toe the line as I reckon with the effects of your life on mine”

“I wanna be in the room where it happens”

Eliza Schuyler - 9w1 - 2w1 - 6w7

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Eliza is kind-hearted, caring and naive. She is shy, but she is fiercely loyal to her loved ones. She has a tendency to go with the flow and is very easily influenced. Eliza is deeply trusting and tends to take what Hamilton says at face value. It seems that she is naive to Hamilton’s intentions to raise his station and to his later affair. She is helpless when it comes to Hamilton and hangs on his every word. Eliza wants Hamilton to give her more attention and show her more affection. She wants to show him that there is more to life than creating a legacy. Eliza is very forgiving and when their son dies, she shows Hamilton the ultimate compassion by forgiving him. In her later life she becomes more of an activist and speaks out against slavery as well as establishing an orphanage to help children.

Key lyrics:

“I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight”

“I'm erasing myself from the narrative. Let future historians wonder how Eliza reacted when you broke her heart”

“We don’t need a legacy. We don’t need money. If I could grant you peace of mind. If you could let me inside your heart…”

“I stop wasting time on tears I live another fifty years It’s not enough”

Angelica (about Eliza): “I know my sister like I know my own mind. You will never find anyone as trusting or as kind”

Angelica (about Eliza): “ If I tell her that I love him she’d be silently resigned. He’d be mine. She would say, “I’m fine”. She’d be lying.”

Company: “Forgiveness. Can you imagine?”

Angelica Schuyler: 6w7 - 1w2 - 2w3

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Angelica was very hard to type, we were stuck between 1 and 6 because she is very, very compliant. One of her defining characteristics is her self-sacrificing nature and devotion to her sister. Angelica values duty and tries to do what is right for her family. When she meets Hamilton, she is able to correctly deduce that he wants to be with her because of her family’s social status. Despite feeling an instant attraction to him, she sets him up with Eliza instead because (as the oldest) she has to fulfill her father’s expectations and marry into society. Angelica is also extremely loyal to Eliza and her family, as most of her actions are in service to them. When she returns from London, she reacts aggressively to Hamilton as he betrayed Eliza.

Key Lyrics:

“I’m a girl in a world in which my only job is to marry rich. My father has no sons so I’m the one who has to social climb for one”

“He’s after me cos I’m a Schuyler sister. That elevates his status, I’d have to be naive to set that aside”

“In a letter I received from you two weeks ago I noticed a comma in the middle of a phrase. It changed the meaning. Did you intend this?”

“Some men say that I’m intense or I’m insane. You want a revolution? I want a revelation - so listen to my declaration”

“And when I meet Thomas Jefferson Imma compel him to include women in the sequel”

George Washington - 1w9 - 6w7 - 3w2

Washington has very strong principles which manifest in his efforts for the revolution. He has a tendency to dwell on his past mistakes and feels deep shame over them. Washington takes Hamilton under his wing and wants to show him the wisdom that he has learned throughout his life. He remains true to his convictions and fights for what he believes in. Washington abdicates his presidency because he knows that it is the right thing for the nation. He understands that for the nation to move forward there needs to be different leaders and viewpoints. Washington wants his address to inform of the wisdom he gained from leading the country and help advise America’s future leaders.

Key lyrics:

“I made every mistake. I felt the shame rise in me and even now I lie awake knowing history has its eyes on me”

“Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder”

“Pick up a pen, start writing. I wanna talk about what I have learned. The hard-won wisdom I have earned”

“Can I be real a second? For just a millisecond? Let down my guard and tell the people how I feel a second? Now I’m the model of a modern major general the venerated Virginian veteran whose men are all lining up, to put me up on a pedestal, writin’ letters to relatives, embellishin’ my elegance and eloquence”

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anuspastor · 3 years

Note

For the ask: 💜☕️😳👶👀⭐️🎲💊💬✏️ (sorry that there are ten, i just want to know everything sjflksdjlfjs)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK! <33333 (small yet medium-long penis) 💜 - top 3 favorite lines (they’re all gonna be derived from Romance Campaign just saying lhjfk;f)

1) “Your mouth was filled with shit water,” Nick whispered, and was gone with the cans. Like, come on klafkalfka'fka'f

2) Even so, to Ellis he looked like the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, and he felt like he fell in love all over again. I am out here supporting helplessly in love mechanics alkfa;kfalkfa’

3) “Oh, Aah’m faahn. Great actshully. Poopin’ in nature brings out the best in a person.” He grinned at her, taking delight in her disgusted face. Okay, so this is a spoiler from the upcoming chapter (13) of RC, but it perfectly encapsulates my personality of a 5 year old kak;aflaf'lkaf'

☕️ - favorite passage The gambler was suddenly confronted by all the efficient defenses he’d built over the years—they were there to serve as his fortress, to keep him safe. They’ve been set for others and meant for others. They’ve been built with deliberate care and reinforced by a steel-cold exterior.

But what could he do now that that same exterior was cracking—melting under Ellis’ heat? Should he try to desperately fix it back together or give up entirely? In this life you had to have an edge, but what was Nick to do now that Ellis took that same edge, putting it against his throat and trusting him to do the right thing? Could it hurt to trust just as fiercely and let himself love and be loved without malicious intents?

😳 - your scariest line

Years later Nick would thank whatever tingle ran down his spine at that moment because when he turned, Ellis was on the ground, his work shoes the only thing visible. (it’s either this or revealing the wall of flies)

👶 - advice for new writers

Oh, oh oh! I love this one, as I am pretty conscious of the progress I've made. So, to be honest, I could be considered a beginning author myself: I started writing January of last year. I have had tried writing two years prior, but it wasn't anything I'd managed to keep up. So, my advice is -- read. Read books, read articles, take a moment to look at how a paragraph is structured in a book; it will all help you express yourself more smoothly. I'd also say avoid putting too many metaphors, but there are certain styles where it works out very well (nudges at YOUR style, cheeks). Also, if you ever read any of those "writer tips" online, please, do not follow them letter for letter -- they are meant to guide, not take over. Also -- strong verbs. I hope this helped!

👀 - favorite response to one of your works

Oh, man aklfaklfa;kfa;kfa; First of all, I love all responses to my works, but you, cheeks, have made some of the most eloquent and heart-melting comments on my works. Yet, there is one that makes me scream every time I hear it -- I have Nick and Ellis' dynamic down. I'm always self-conscious of the fact that I might write Nick too soft or too caring (especially in my embarrassing first chaps), but to be honest, the man deserves it. As you have said stressful situations bring out the best, worst and most secret in a person. Also he's still an asshole, just a little less so.

⭐️- how do you get your inspiration?

Well, honestly? Over fixating on small everyday details (memories of my grandma covering me with a blanket in the cold mornings, a news article with explicit photos of exploded legs, conversations I might overhear etc.) But also, books. Even if it's a different language I'd still find a phrase that's just so... well, inspirational! It wakes a certain vibe within me. I try to translate it in my head and it comes out bad, yet just the feeling it gives me is already enough to make me start writing. Because, I do have a pretty hard vibe to pinpoint lmaooo

🎲 - your favorite chapter/part from a multiparty series

Ok, so, cheeks your writing is supreme and all chapters make me go through the 7 gates of the willy wonka factory, but chapter 4... it tore me in ham slices and sewed me back together. I cannot recommend people read this fic enough, even if you're not part of that fandom or are not familiar of those characters (like me) -- it's SO worth it.

ortbitoclasst's Heavy Rain

Oh, but also, the first chapter of Sono Qui. It's a Nicolo and Yusuf fic, set in their first battle together and it's so beautifully written!

💊 - what is something that you wish you knew before you started writing?

To not take all that writing advice you find on the internet so seriously, first of all, but also that I can and will learn everything and that it's all gonna be alright. I always feared that I wouldn't know how to continue to the next chapter or that I wouldn't be able to give the exact description of an atmosphere or object that I had in my head. Not to worry, it all comes into place. Just never stop writing.

💬 - describe one of your completed works in three words

LMAOOO I only have one (1) complete work, which is Butt Scratch. But hmmmmm: warm, relaxing, drum.

✏️ - favorite part about writing

I guess it’s just... giving myself a present? There are many amazing works and AU’s, and prompts and alternatives out there, yet none will ever come as close as my head cannons or how I see characters. I write a story that I love and just amaze myself every time with the things I can think of. I just love thinking of something while I'm riding my bike and just being so breathless as I stop immediately to type it on my phone with shaky fingers. I love the adrenaline it gives me when I'm chasing after a thread of words -- words that might disappear and be lost if I do not type fast enough. I love how a single string of words, a paragraph, a page full of indescribable babbling makes my cheeks red and my body bouncing in excitement. I just love it, man aklfklafl;akfk

Man, this was so fun aklfaf;kaf;kaf. Thank you again for asking, cheekers. I love you.

#hope i havent missed anything #nsksosjskoskahsk

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helpinghanikan · 4 years

Text

Stay outside the Line

X-men x Reader

Sum: Just because a mutation is a gift, doesn’t mean it’s not a curse.

an: the mutation is anyone within certain distance of the reader will start to die. Could not think of an eloquent way to say that.

Charles Xavier:

Sitting just within the shadow of one of the massive trees you lean back into the sun. The breeze is comfortable, and the grass is soft. If it weren’t for you company it’d be too easy to lean back and nap right there and then.

Although you’d never know the touch of his hand you were still connected to your man. A long stretch of twine, twenty-one feet exactly, is tied around your wrist. The other end was connected to Charles. Tied in the same fashion around your wrist but holding the string between his fingers. Without even meaning to he was caressing it; thumb rubbing up and down the length while the other hand held his book.

Closest you would get as physical contact from Charles was mirroring his movements. Running your own thumb over your other hand, not looking down lest your break the illusion.

---------------------

Erik Lehnsherr:

At first he was just another face staring at you behind bullet proof glass. Both he and the other guy were talking to your host, mouths moving but nothing coming through on your end. Had it been a year or even a few months early you would have sat on your bed with knees to the chest. Wait for them to leave before being comfortable again.

Now you just keep reading, barely glancing without interest to the glass.

“What have you done to be locked in here?” The tall man’s voice could be mistaken for God’s by how it comes down from above. The speakers placed so you’d never be able to pretend like you didn’t hear anything.

‘Accidentally killed a bus load of people.’ Was the answer but you wouldn’t say it.

“It’s safer for everyone. They’ll make sure I won’t hurt anyone while I’m in here.” You say instead, nodding to your host.

“Did they tell you that after they locked the door?” He asks.

Supposedly you weren’t in a prison. The incident on the bus was labeled a ‘possible gas leak of unknown substances’. You being the only survivor was sent to this facility to help with the trauma, and to find out how the same incident happened in the hospital.

You had yet to stare at him right on. His gentle knocking “You don’t belong here, you will never belong here. We can help you, We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

There was nothing else to do with your life but to agree. You wouldn’t be able to leave on your own. But the moment you’re out, how could they ever get you back in?

---------------------

Raven/ Mystique:

Over time you’ve learned how to push the poison deeper inside of you. Spending most days imaging it as a physical type of sand that covered you head to toe. Pressing and forcing that down into your shoes. Walking on it and keeping from spreading any further then a foot from your own body.

Even with that amount of work there was still times that it slipped. When Pressure in your head and behind your eyes starts to push out, and a migraine seems preferable, you have to make a quick exit.

Most people understand and don’t look twice when you run from the room. Others will give each other looks but only verbally ask what’s up in a whisper later on in the night. Then there was the few that understood but still followed. How do you tell the woman that you love to fuck off for a night? Probably in much nicer words, but for now you make an exit from the mansion, Raven keeping her distance but following anyway.

“Get to the trees, little faster!” She almost yells the encouragement.

“Please, Raven, Please stay back!” You yelled, both hands holding your head.

It’d be romantic to think that you made it thanks to Raven’s encouragement. Whatever length of your nails, they dug into your scalp. The pressure was the definition of insanity at this point, stepping into the tree line and screaming without a sound.

Thank whoever was up there that Raven knew better then to comfort you. Staying far enough away that the released poison never touched her. The poison obeyed it’s own laws and stayed within the twenty feet. In the dark of the night green grass turns brown and trees creak instead of scream as they die. Only one of said trees was small enough to be completely overtaken by it.

You’re still drawing blood from your own head when that tree falls.

---------------------

Peter Maximoff:

The best way to describe Peter is like a kitten who just learned it could climb things. Try as you might to explain that it’s not a good idea to climb the drapes it will never listen. It will keep trying to climb no matter how many times you pull it away and tell it “no”.

It’s not until there’s crashing in the middle of the night and few meows of pain that the little idiot will learn. This it the same situation you were in with Peter. No matter how many times you tell him to not get too close he always breaks the rule. Thinking that he is faster then the poison to run close enough to give a peck or a little slap on the backside before making it into the safe zone.

Little kisses and touches were always nice, but it was playing with fire. Eventually he got too cocky, assuming he was faster than poison that tries too hard to protect you. He started to slow down to make the kisses longer and touches more frequent. When that didn’t come with real repercussions, he started going even slower. When his hand lingers too long on your back the repercussions hits him full force.

It was hard enough to see the symptoms when you were younger. But as an adult, watching your man clutch his throat and fall to his knees was so much worse. With his head bowed you wouldn’t see the blood until he’d completely fall on his side, something that no one wanted to happen. Without thinking to you reached down to him, both hands open trying to do anything you can.

You name is yelled from across the lawn. An overly harsh shout from your mentor who had never honestly yelled at you before. “Back away!”

Charles could see the fear and shock in your eyes. But he also had the rest of his students to think about. ‘You have to go, now.’ The whisper in your mind is a world away from the panicked shouts, but it might have been better if he had just yelled at you.

---------------------

Hank McCoy:

You had to be used to secluded rooms by now; at least this one was less like a cell and more like a square fish bowl. The stool in the center and the little slot on the side were the only things giving off prison vibes.

For most of the afternoon Hank has been focused on either his desk or a microscope or a computer. Every time he moves from one to another you look from your book, wait a few seconds to see whether he was looking at you, then return to the paragraph that you now had to restart.

There was no one to blame but yourself for this problem. Hank had told you it was going to be boring, when he would have results he’d get you himself. Instead you went with him. “Not like I’m doing anything anyway,” You had said, telling him to wait a few minutes to step into your little security fish box.

“It’s good enough for a trial run.” He says, probably to himself.

The liquid he holds up is the same shade of blue as his fur. Over the past few weeks it has changed from several different colors. At one point it looked like blood, like the same color as the blood you had given him. The he had held within a smaller containment field. Even the smallest part of you gave off at least a little poison.

“That’ll fix it? Or least tone it down?” You ask.

“Supposedly, I used my original idea and added some new things. Last time it didn’t go as well.” He says, slightly looking down at himself. He had meant it to come off as a joke, instead he says it with some sadness underlining it.

“Well with new stuff it must have improved, hand it over.” You move next to the little slot by the door.

“Considering last time, I’m gonna test it on something else, first. Make sure it doesn’t do the same thing again.” Hank says.

“What else are you going to test it on?”

“Not you,” He says shutting it in the desk. “If I make you any worse that box probably won’t hold it.”

It’s hard to pout and leave the room when you can’t leave the room. Instead just crossing your arms and pouting.

---------------------

Jean Gray:

Over a mile separates you and your woman. Hours spent in your little cabin in the corner of the estate, mostly sleeping, mostly hiding. This time it was pretending to sleep. Acting like the monstrous thunder and lightning outside wasn’t a window away from being in your room.

The rest of the students were in the school itself. Having their thicker walls and each other to protect against the storm. The professor had offered you to stay inside the mansion during storms like this. But that safety would be in the basement, two floors below another living thing. Without any windows and set up with a less comfortable bed and none of your decorations. At least in the cabin you’d die around your things and the outside if the storm got in.

‘Hey’ Jean always had a way to find you. Mostly in your mind. ‘How are you doing?’

“If I die do you think my mutation will leave with me?” You ask the darkness.

‘Don’t say that. It’s just a storm, nothing we don’t live with.’ Her soft laugh travels with her words. It warms the cabin and keeps away the lightening for the briefest of moments. ‘Do you want to come inside?”

“No, I’m all snuggled up. I don’t think I’d make it to the mansion anyway.”

Although the darkness gives nothing there’s a soft weight on your shoulder. A matching feel covering the extension of your back. Knees without a body pressed into the back of yours, arms and no being lay over your body. Their fingers in your hair. You were alone, but Jean make sure to be with you.

---------------------

Logan/ Wolverine:

Being around Logan was like being in another world. One where you were born without the poison smell and didn’t have to struggle to remember what another person felt like. First time you felt his hand on your shoulder it was like being slapped.

“It’s like swallowing pennies. I can taste it, but nothing is coming out.” Logan had described it to you. His healing faster than the damage your poison could give.

On the off chance that Logan is injured in your company, it’s very likely the poison would take advantage of that moment. But that didn’t stop you either of you. It was a possibility that was best not thought about.

Instead you stay your course. Turning the school girl crush into a relationship through raw stubbornness and the ability to get drunk on someone into a two party affair.

---------------------

Kurt Wagner:

You were two people with the same want of seclusion but for different reasons. Just happening to catch a glance of each other when having the same idea of a hiding spot.

Back then you were still new to the estate, being allowed to read and work away from others. Catching a glance of anyone and your scrambling to gather your books, coming off as more then just rude when you yell at them to stay back.

Kurt was the one you didn’t have time to yell at to get away. A flash of blue, books in your arms, and he’s gone. Only a few times did he stay long enough for you to catch a better look at him. A face, blue skin and a tail that hung down from the branch he had been sitting on. That time he was far enough away to not be in danger, had you waved at him he would be. But only if he misread and took it as an invitation to come closer.

It took weeks but you finally had the courage to wave. Just a small one that he returned. A small relationship made through small gestures.

#X-men #charles xavier x reader #erik lehnsherr x reader #raven x reader #kurt wagner x reader #jean gray x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #mystique x reader #peter maximof x reader #mutant reader #dangerous mutation #x-men imagine

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morlock-holmes · 5 years

Link

I wanted to go back to this article because Hannah Gadsby’s bit really hit me where I live.

So here's a thought experiment: What if you, the men, looked to traditional feminine traits and tried incorporating them into your masculinity?

Women are always being encouraged to stir masculine traits into their feminine recipe. We are told to “be bolder!” “Speak up in meetings.” “Exaggerate your skills.” All that Lean In sort of crap. So perhaps it's time for you, the men, to be more ladylike. How about you scale back on your confidence? How about you try not to act in every situation? What if you tried to refrain from sharing your opinions or co-opting other people's ideas? How about yielding to people walking in the opposite direction? Or even just attempting to see them?

How about you try pretending that you're the least powerful person in any room, and that no matter how hard you work you'll never be the most powerful. Walk around like that for a couple weeks. And then call your mother.

What I really want straight cis men to understand is that Gadsby doesn’t actually want you to do any of this.

I just can’t emphasize that enough, I really want everybody to hear it, because I didn’t hear it early enough.

Her little thought experiment here describes, to an uncanny degree, my self-talk and conscious behavior through my 20s and up to a couple of years ago. I would get onto a bus and really consciously wonder, “Am I spreading my legs too far apart?” I’d always try to yield to other people. I tried to make my body language as small and compact as possible, taking up as little space as I could.

I mean... I feel inadequate typing that last paragraph because Gadsby did a much more eloquent job of expressing my self-talk for a huge chunk of my life then I think I really could.

When somebody bumps into me my first instinct is still to apologize, because, come on, if I was on the ball I would have known better than to be in the way of where somebody else was going.

Spoiler alert: This led to me feeling small, isolated, ignored and alone.

(Obviously, that’s not Gadsby’s fault; she wasn’t big when I was learning this shit, it’s just she comes from a long tradition of people saying similar things.)

And so I started talking to people about it, cautiously, a few friends, a few strangers on the internet who seemed like they might understand.

And, really, people were all sympathetic. People who were right-wingers or apostates from Social Justice land shared some of my bitterness, people who were a little less politically clued in were confused about why I would act like that but were at least sort of open to imagining that I must have heard a lot of bad messages, and people who were still basically happy to claim the title SJW had no idea why I would act like that.

I can’t emphasize this enough, and I don’t think it’s been well-publicized. They didn’t get mad that I criticized their advice, they got confused that I would even think it existed in the first place.

I’ve had conversations that went like that Spongebob meme where Man Ray tries to return Patrick’s wallet:

“Men are too aggressive and overbearing, and they need to take up less space and be quieter and listen more.”

“Yup.”

“And I’m a man”

“Yup”

“So then if follows that I should be trying hard to be quiet, timid, and take up less space.”

“I can’t see where you’d get that idea from.”

It still makes me want to scream.

The kind of people who are deep into this kind of politics, who really like Gadsby and share gifsets or whatever are going to be the people who are least likely to understand why you’d imagine this as actual life advice.

If someone tells you, “Go jump in a lake!” you can either get defensive and angry, or maybe you can be magnanimous and think about what you did that made them so angry.

But it would be downright surreal if you turned on your heels, strode off towards the nearest lake, and jumped in. People would have trouble understanding why you did it.

Gadsby, and everyone like her, are telling you to go jump in a lake.

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vierafication · 4 years

Text

Last night around 4 am, I reblogged a certain post about "villainous rp" and added my own two cents to what had been discussed within it- mostly just venting about behavior I'd seen in the past. I didn't think much of it until I saw the next day it had been reblogged, and reblogged again, and again, by some folks who seemed pretty unhappy about what I'd said. I was told I needed to get a life, that I clearly can't separate IC and OOC, that maybe I shouldn't be writing at all. That hurt. I was irritated, then, feeling like I'd had words shoved in my mouth, like I was being purposefully misinterpreted. I typed up a clarification post explaining my previous points and pressed send, but it was seemingly ignored.

I talked with @damankjol about it later. He's the best, if you didn't know. And he rp's villains! I don't think he's a sociopath! He's very empathic and honest and understanding and cool, and he helped me realize that people weren't just angry at me, they were genuinely hurt by what I'd written. I went back and reread what I posted, as well as the responses, with a more critical eye. And... yeah. What I typed up wasn't clean, organized, or coordinated. I was venting and the tone that came off was irritated and rude. While not my intention, what I wrote sounded pretty fucking disrespectful and downright mean. And, frankly, my intentions don't matter, anyway, since I wasn't able to convey them properly. I just put some angry bullshit up on tumblr way too late at night, and I didn't expect anybody to even look at it, let alone reblog it- but I should have. Tumblr is a public platform and I should have approached my post the same way I'd approach any other one during the normal hours of the day. Thinking critically is always key, but audience is too- a vent post is a vent post, but I should have thought before I vented about a topic other people were sensitive to, and properly indicate specifics instead of vague generalizations. So, yes, I really wanted to apologize to anyone who that post hurt. I’m genuinely sorry. I should not have generalized like that. It wasn't even my intention in the first place. I was disrespectful and now that I think about it, incredibly hypocritical to boot. So yeah. I really am sorry. I respect @damankjol and @miqojak a lot as writers, and it would never be my intention to tear them down. Or anybody else, for that matter- rp only works when you rp with others, after all.

Once again, I'm sorry, and I hope you won't hate me for eternity or anything. Storytime and critical analysis under the cut.

One of my first, and worst, experiences in the ffxiv rp community was a good couple years ago. I was describing my character to a “friend,” and that character happened to be Lionnet Blodoint, my Ishgardian chirurgeon. Lionnet was not a good person by a long shot, to begin with, and from his time serving during the Dragonsong War, he’d developed quite a bit of PTSD relating to any and all things draconic. He hated dragons. He didn’t even like Au Ra. “Wow,” said the so-called friend at the time. “Your character is a nazi.”

“What? No!” I exclaimed. I tried to explain that he was NOT a nazi, he was just a traditionalist Ishgardian who hated dragons because they had been, at one point in time, absolutely hell-bent on destroying his home and everything he knew. I thought it was a pretty reasonable character trait to hate, or at least fear, dragons after serving in the Dragonsong War. The core of how I’d planned to develop him would be overcoming or at least coming to terms with his trauma, and no longer seeing it in every dragon or Au Ra he met. “No,” they said. “Your character is terribly written. They’re awful and nobody would ever want to rp with them. They’re boring because they’re so full of negative traits. They’re racist and thus, a nazi. And you are just as bad, because you’re defending them! You’re a nazi too!”

So yeah, they are NOT my friend anymore. But that whole convo really stuck with me, and I was afraid to bring out Lio afterwards- it took me another year before I actually began to use him in rp. And he turned out wonderful! His story became one of my favorite rp character stories of all time, and he had great relationship development and a happy ending. He’s still around, canonically, but I have a different main toon now.

So it shocks me that what that person told me about Lio is more or less the same as what I wrote in that post. I’m honestly dumbfounded at how I could just casually type that up and post it, when it draws so many parallels to the way I was bullied back then. So yeah. Huge hypocrisy right there. I swore to never act like that. And to an extent, I suppose I have. But that post I made was pretty fucking close- just directed at a vaguely generalized audience instead of a singular person and character. Maybe that’s actually worse. And I am sorry. I guess because it wasn’t directed at anyone but the void (even the op’s url doesn’t exist anymore), I just didn’t think about it. Which sounds like a lame-ass excuse, but... it’s true. I just wasn’t thinking. I was just venting. It’s really fucking with me that I could’ve hurt somebody so much completely unintentionally, to be honest.

So, what did I say- or, to be more clear, what was I attempting to say? What was my intention, and what wasn’t? I’m going to go over that now, more for my benefit than anyone else’s. Please note that I am not trying to make excuses or shove any blame elsewhere. I am just trying to clarify what I meant and address the issues that made my post so negative, for my own sake.

To begin, I’m gonna link this post by @lilac-memorials. It goes into detail about the trouble with “villain” discourse, and addresses a number of issues from a much more unbiased standpoint, far more eloquently than I could. Also, it seems to reference (the worse) parts of my posts at some points, or maybe I’m just paranoid. Regardless, it’s a much better post than the trainwreck that was the original one, and I agree with every bit of it. It also addresses the difference between a “villain” and an “antagonist,” which is something I attempted to go into but failed miserably.

Anyhoo. My post began with this paragraph:

Seriously. I do not trust anyone who refers to themselves as a “villain” rper. A character can take an antagonistic role in another character’s story arc, that’s fine, that works. It goes back to the “everyone is the hero of their own story” sorta thing. But playing a villain, only as a villain… what’s the point in that? It’s just someone roleplaying as an evil asshole that expects to be treated as stronger than other characters, expects to be feared. It reads like some twisted power fantasy. It doesn’t sound fun and it sure isn’t fun for the people rping with you. Like dude, calm down.

To begin with, yes, I am indeed a little distrustful of people who label their characters first and foremost as villains, before anything else. I am more suspicious of engaging in rp with them than I am with other types of characters, because I have seen some pretty crappy villains out and about and I just don’t wanna deal with that. Next, I go on to try to draw the line between a villain and an antagonist, and how I am much less suspicious of “antagonistic” characters than straight-up “villain” characters. “But playing a villain, only as a villain... what’s the point in that?” I ask. Very rudely. Insinuating that their is no point whatsoever in playing a villain. Which I didn’t intend to. But honestly, I don’t know how else that would’ve translated- I don’t know what I was thinking. I go on to describe this “villain” as somebody who is an evil asshole with a power fantasy, and how it ruins fun for anybody. Which can be read very easily as saying “all villains are like this.” No, they are not! I was describing the bad type of villain rper. The rper who “plays a villain, only as a villain,” and not as a character. Do you get what I mean now? The controlling, toxic, power-hungry rper that plays a villain as an outlet to be further controlling, toxic, and power-hungry, moreso than they ever could in reality. We all know that type of person exists. We’ve met them, somewhere. Sometimes they aren’t playing the villain at all, anyway. They’re playing the hero, or somebody else entirely. But here, I am just venting about that type of person. They are what my post is about. The key line should’ve been “playing a villain, only as a villain,” but it was shoved into a passive-aggressive question addressing self-worth instead of a proper sentence describing the difference between a well-written villain and a badly-written villain. And thus the post begins as if it had been rudely addressed to all villain rpers everywhere, labeling them as the evil asshole with a power fantasy, instead.

Next is: Anyway hot take but maybe the reason people kept trying to “redeem” and “change” OP’s character is because their character is boring af!

Yeahhhh, that one’s just mean. And, given the first paragraph, easily able to seen as an attack saying that if you are a villain rper, your character is boring af. They’re not! The op’s post is a little much, to be honest, and I guess I thought I was feeling spicy at 4 am. Now I think I must’ve just been being mean. Aurelia explains what’s wrong with the initial post here, though, instead of trying and failing to poke fun at it in that special pseudo-mean tumblr way like I did.

Lastly, Like, honestly! Play a character as a foil to another, play to fucked up ideas about morality, play an antagonist arc to a protagonist character, play a character who makes bad decisions. But don’t play a “villain.” Don’t play a character whose core personality traits are simply being cruel/evil. Don’t play a character whose sole focus is to kill npcs, be scary, and lord over other players’ characters. Don’t play a character who never develops or changes, and doesn’t facilitate change in other characters. Just don’t be an asshole edgelord. Don’t be flat and one dimensional. Don’t use rp to live out your fucked up power fantasy. Get therapy instead.

Honestly, I think this is the most clear part of my entire post, and also the worst, at the end there. I just am listing off behaviors that this figurative “bad villain rper” exhibits, and what offsets them. Play a villain that’s complex, had depth, nuance! I’m saying don’t play the “villain,” and then listing off what this specific hypothetical villain is. The opposite of deep and nuanced. The “bad villain rper” type the whole post is a vent about.

Then comes the dreaded “ Don’t use rp to live out your fucked up power fantasy. Get therapy instead. “ The villainous power fantasy. No, I do not think everyone who rp’s villains is like this. Yes, I believe there are people like this, who are INCREDIBLY few and far between, and if they solely use rp as an outlet to harass others both ICly and OOCly, that is bad! And maybe they should get help! And even, then, that was only half-serious! But therapy is a serious subject and I should have known better, and done better. Did all of that come off as intended? Hell no! Instead, it was the final nail in the coffin.

So! That’s what I was trying to say. Badly-written villains are a pain. If I had written up a post like I am now, with this long-ass thing, actually trying to be eloquent and clear. Not 4 am word vomit. This 4 am word vomit instead has gotten me to be read and interpreted as:

-being completely unable to separate character and player to the point where i think every villain’s player is a Real Life Bad Person and/or needs mental help

-saying all villains are boring because they’re not heroes, and thus are incapable of being complex and nuanced

-saying people who play dark/antagonistic characters are, in general, living out their fucked up power fantasy through them

-thinking that villainous characters are incredibly boring and just plain terrible

No! None of that is what I think! Absolutely none! I’m not going to go in and refute each of those claims, because, like I said, I’m not trying to make excuses here. But I WILL end this thing with what I do think of villainous characters and their players:

They’re fucking great, okay? A good story is made a gazillion times better by having a good villain in it, be the story a book, a movie, or an rp scenario. Well-written villain rpers are a TREASURE, and need to be appreciated! It is often harder to find rp with antagonistic toons, to begin with, and their players may find themselves getting shit on more often than others, which should absolutely not be the case. Characters that are complex and deep and nuanced are great no matter what their alignment is.

There ARE some pretty shitty villain rpers out there, too. And, in my own personal experience, they tend to be much more obnoxious than shitty hero rpers. A badly written hero will ruin a villain’s rp. A badly written villain may well try to ruin everybody around them’s rp.

Badly written villains suck. They’re the worst. And they make things worse for those that dedicate a lot of time and effort to crafting complex and cleverly written, compelling villains! Badly written villains are something I can and will complain about, just as well-written villains are something that I can and will praise. But I’ll try not to complain or vent on this platform anymore, to start.

And I do NOT blend IC and OOC. That’s the rper’s taboo! I will critique others who do it, though, which ironically is what I was sort of trying to do- complain about those specific villain players who do that. But anyway. If you’ve read this far, good for you! This has been way too long.

And. Please. If I do say or do something that hurts you in the future, regardless of what type of post it is, talk to me! Tell me what’s up! Thank you!

#THIS IS A LONG ASS POST U HAVE BEEN WARNED #u dont need to read all of the rest if u dont want to #in fact u dont need to read it at all if u don't know what post im referring to anyway

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thefinalcinderella · 5 years

Text

Tsurune Book 2 Chapter 3-Bow-Crazy (Part 2)

*wheeze* *wheeze* It’s finally out...after more than a month...of being with irl stuff...

After finishing this part, I feel like Tsujimine fits the mold of “underdog school in sports anime” more than Kazemai, even though they have more members. It would be cool to get a story from their point of view.

Also, I recently started reading Beastars since it’s getting an anime and I’m amazed that the mangaka somehow made a deer more attractive to me than 90% of hot bishounen out there...

Glossary here

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. An ukeita is a hole set up on the wall for archers to string their bows. They show up in the anime a lot

2. Biku is “ an unconscious and abrupt contraction in kai”

3. The word used here, en ( 縁) is a difficult concept to describe in English. It’s not as grand as “fate” and “destiny” but more like a connection or a bond between people, e.g. the red string of fate. Something like a lucky encounter or a coincidence, divinely preordained. So basically Nikaidou think that Minato was lucky enough to meet Saionji and Shuu, and be enrolled into a high school with its own kyudojo and a kind, helpful advisor.

4. A zabuton, according to Wikipedia, is a cushion for sitting. In sumo, the audience throws zabuton at the ring when a yokozuna is defeated by a weaker one.

5. A yokozuna is the highest rank in sumo.

6. Minato says sorry but it’s slurred since his cheeks were being pulled. I couldn’t express that in English without making it really cringy so I will leave it alone for now

7. An uchidake is the inner face of a bow

8. This paragraph made me wonder what exactly Masa-san studied in university. Anyways tebanasu is 手離す and hanasu is 話す. And kogoru is 凝る. Apparently kogoru is actually an accepted origin for kokoro.

9. Heki-ryuu is a school of kyudo. Don’t ask me what their specialty is, but apparently some of its branches still exist today.

Previous | Next

Nikaidou chased the flowing clouds with his eyes. The sunlight would be intense today as well.

A non-portable target was set up in a corner of the schoolyard, and there were two tatami mats placed behind it for whenever someone missed. They would have liked the shooting line to be in the shade if at all possible, but as they were limited to the area they could use, they could not expect too much.

Tsujimine High School did not have a kyudojo.

They had been practicing in the gym until last year, but with the new school year, they have been banned from using it. As there were many clubs that used the gym, such as the basketball, volleyball, table tennis, and badminton clubs, the kyudo club, which had never won, was told to refrain from using it. They also borrowed a public kyudojo for practice, but they only went there about once a month because of their bad location, which meant a one-way trip there by car took two hours.

All the third-years, other than those participating in the tournament, had retired, and currently there were twenty-two members. Since their advisor was only nominal and almost never showed up, in the absence of a coach, the form of upperclassmen teaching their juniors continued for generations. Even Higuchi and Aragaki, detached from the real world, could not accept to being driven from the gym in their last year of high school. At any rate, they had to earn results that could be clearly seen with the eyes. Words such as, "Let's do our best," had no efficacy whatsoever.

There was only one thing to obtain.

"Victory" at the national tournament.

Nikaidou smiled and turned his sharp gaze towards Fuwa.

"The regional tournament the other day. We were defeated by Shuu-kun's Kirisaki, but I feel super great for defeating Kazemai, where Minato-chan and Seiya-chan are."

"You sure hate your fellow middle school schoolmates a lot. And they're your kouhai?"

"No way, I love them. I have no interest in almost any of the Kirisaki guys, but Shuu-kun and Minato-chan are special."

"I'd like to avoid your special in particular."

"Same. Even I might not like my special. You understand well, Koushirou."

Fuwa pulled on the edge of Nikaidou's hood, which he had pulled over his head.

"More importantly, why the hell are you wearing a hoodie in this stupidly hot weather?"

"This white hoodie is a UV cut type for summer. You don't want to get a half-baked sunburn, right?"

"Are you a girl?"

"I look like a girl to you, Fuwa? Your eyesight is amazing."

"You're twisting words all on your own. If you hate getting a sunburn, then put up a parasol."

"Aah, a parasol might be good, actually. There are only two girls here, this kyudo club. I guess if you aren't fanciful enough, you won't join."

"Well, I guess it'll be creepy to see a corpse rolling around."

Beneath the shade of a tree, Higuchi was sleeping while lying face down. If someone who didn't know him saw him, he really would look like a corpse.

"Higuchi-senpai, you should at least lie down on the picnic sheet."

"Nnn, got it!"

The sloth-like Higuchi quietly got up and curled up on the sheet. He was like a rechargeable battery with a small capacity, quickly exhausted. He seemed to be especially bad with sunlight, and he needed to diligently take naps.

On the contrary, there was another man who vigorously did muscle training whenever he had spare time. He was always moving his body, and his love of muscles knew no bounds.

"Conscious breathing is strongly inhaling with the assistance of the serratus posterior superior muscle, the pectoralis minor muscle, the trapezius muscle, and the levator scapulae muscle, adding the rectus abominable muscle, oblique abdominal muscle, and serratus posterior inferior muscle, and strongly exhaling. Breathing is closely connected with muscle action. Ooh, it's the very mystery of the body!"

"…Kuro-chan sure is knowledgeable."

"Oh, just leave it all to me. This is love too, it is."

Good grief. Even my backhanded compliment didn't get through to him.

Seeing Nikaidou getting guilelessly brushed off, Fuwa's mouth slackened.

Aragaki arrived late. During this period, third-years could not devote their undivided attention to club activities because of teacher interviews and the like after school.

"Aragaki-senpai, I will help you string your bow."

Aragaki raised his hand in a gesture of thanks, and then Fuwa held the top part of his bow, the urahazu. Normally, an ukeita (1) that was installed on the wall of a kyudojo would be used, but in their case someone else would hold up the bow for it to be stringed.

After he finished preparing his equipment, he finally took off his mask. He always used masks of the same brand, and his spare was also flawless. It seemed that it didn't hurt his ears, the texture was nice, and it made him look like he had a small face—all things that he refused to compromise on, but Nikaidou and Fuwa couldn't tell the difference between it and a special bargain sale brand.

Nikaidou took out his phone and recorded everyone's shooting forms.

Aragaki was glued to his own image. From Nikaidou's point of view, there couldn't have been much difference between his face yesterday and today, but Aragaki was immersed in delight every time he saw his own profile.

Nikaidou himself also had a video of his shooting taken by Fuwa.

"Thanks, Fuwa."

"The other day, I was on a trip and I took the opportunity to stop by Shigeyuki-san's kyudojo, but it was closed. Was the practice day changed?"

"Yeah, apparently he's busy with work."

Even as he was saying that, he put away his phone in his bag after he confirmed that everything was saved.

Fuwa was watching him as he did so.

Nikaidou passed through the automatic doors.

As soon as he entered, he was met with a large aqua terrarium.

Without looking at the colourful fish swimming in the miniature garden tank, he searched for his familiar favourite. The dark, ugly fish that always stayed still in the shade of a rock. He didn't know its name. It did not move, as if it was stuck there, and its form could not be identified unless one went all the way around to the side of the tank, so it made little sense for it to be an aquarium fish. It was irresistibly lovely how it did not care at all about the intentions of humans.

After he announced his name at the reception desk, he climbed the stairs, not using the elevator at all.

The hospital room was on the fifth floor.

At the destination to which he climbed step by step, there was a room.

"Shigeyuki-san."

"Hey, Eisuke. You're visiting a lot."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling especially good today. Since no matter what, you got a twenty-shot kaichuu at the regional tournament. I'm so proud to have such an excellent nephew."

"It looks like your shots, since I've always been watching you shoot, Shigeyuki-san."

"Is your eloquence like me too? How strange, I'm supposed to be a quiet man."

Nikaidou Shigeyuki was Nikaidou's uncle.

He was an archer with a muscular body and whose specialty was extremely sharp shots. His love of kyudo grew so intense that he even constructed a kyudojo on the premises of his own home, and a lot of neighbourhood children came to play there. Nikaidou was also one of those children.

The hand-crafted kyudojo, with space for two people to shoot, had its range become a vegetable plot, with different kinds of vegetables planted in it for every season, and many insects, such as butterflies, gathered there. The sight of an arrow flying above all of that was idyllic, more like something from the leisurely and quiet life of a mountain hermit than a strict discipline. But, Nikaidou thought that if he really was a mountain hermit, he wouldn't have gotten sick. Stress and pressure were major factors for the damage to his internal organs.

After they had chatted for a while, Nikaidou took out his phone from his bag.

"It's the usual thing, but please do it for me again."

"Oh, I wonder if everyone has improved? Ooh, Fuwa-kun has a great hanare. The pushing of his left hand is also good. I think he should lower his left shoulder just a little. Higuchi-kun's kai is as long as ever. It is rare even for hanshi-level masters to maintain it that long, but as long as he doesn't get motare or biku (2) then it can stay as it is. And then…"

Shigeyuki was the shadow coach of Tsujimine High School.

The Tsujimine High School Kyudo Club had an advisor, but no coach. For that reason, Nikaidou turned to Shigeyuki. He was currently hospitalized, but readily accepted Nikaidou's request.

Shigeyuki spoke.

"Eisuke, you seem to want to master the way to use your right hand at hanare."

"I don't think my technique can be imitated by the high schoolers over there."

"'Kakehodoki' is making a grinding noise at your right thumb and then shooting the arrow, but there are many archers who don't do that."

"Is that so? I thought it was something everyone did if they were skilled."

"It depends on the shape of the yugake, and there is a wide variety of shooting techniques. It's not like my knowledge is absolute. Fujiwara-kun, who does shoumen uchiokoshi, is not made to do kakehodoki, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Fujiwara-kun truly is Saionji-sensei's best disciple. And besides, the left hand is essential for hitting the target, after all. To begin with, you should learn the correct way of using your left hand."

"Okay. Thank you, Shigeyuki-san. I'll pass it all on to everyone."

Nikaidou loved talking about kyudo with Shigeyuki. On the other hand, he also felt uncomfortable about it, because he did not genuinely love kyudo.

Sometimes, he wondered why he was doing kyudo. He started in fourth grade, and now it was his eighth year doing it. In middle school, he had accomplished winning the individual competitions, but honestly speaking, he had been shooting while thinking, I want to quit, I want to quit. The time of it being incredibly enjoyable and him being happy about winning had already passed. On the other hand, he also did not want to go even farther with it.

He had seen his limit.

Always hitting, never missing—that was only aiming for the absurd.

Even professional archers couldn't make a living from kyudo. Almost all kyudo teachers were volunteers.

He wanted to shut up those who said ridiculous things like, your wishes will come true if you want them strongly enough. Things like not putting in enough effort or putting in effort in a different direction were the objections of winners, and the great majority died without ever being able reach the heights. They were insensitive words from someone who did not notice the heaps of corpses that were rolling at their feet, and spat on them.

He wanted to be free of it all soon.

He wanted to put an end to his archer life.

But despite all that, the biggest reason for why he hadn't quit yet was the existence of Shuu and Minato.

Fujiwara Shuu even had Saionji as his master. He probably had the power of his family and money. It wasn't bad to utilize what he had to the fullest extent, and in fact it was what he should do. However, Minato was different. Even though he was supposed to be a commoner and an average person like himself, why was he the only one who was blessed?

What Nikaidou didn't have and Minato did was "chance." (3) What other people would call the love of a god. Something that couldn't be obtained with effort.

The love of the god of archery? How laughable.

Shigeyuki-san, just watch me. I'll end my career with victory.

I'll strike an arrow back at them.

Minato held the leash and headed for the main street.

It had been a long time since he walked Bear in the evening. Bear cheerily walked ahead.

Ultimately, Minato took a break from club activities. After returning home, he had himself examined at Seiya's father's hospital, and brought Bear along with him. He would have ridden his bike, but gripping the handlebars made his left wrist hurt from the strain. It seemed that he had no choice but to obey his orders until he was completely healed.

He left it to Bear to lead him forward. Honeybees and flower chafer beetles gathered at the white flowers blooming in the buckwheat fields, and white-tailed skimmer dragonflies flew back and forth by the waterside. When he went on a path lined by spotted bellflowers, he came to a place with a good view.

There was a new shop. Enticed by the delicious smells of homemade bread, Minato opened the shop's door. He was told by a shop assistant that since not only locals, but also trekkers and cyclists who drop in, it was common for things to sell out in the early hours.

When he left the shop, Minato was holding cinnamon rolls, its hallmark product. Drawn in by the sales message of "they go amazing with coffee," he bought them before he knew what he was doing.

What should I do with these?

There probably isn't an opportunity for me to give them to him.

Ever since Masa-san took up the job of being the coach for the Kazemai High School Kyudo Club, there had been no opportunities for the two of us to shoot together at the Yata no Mori Kyudojo. He doesn't drink coffee during the practices at school, so even if he was in Yata no Mori, he would definitely turn them away. And my pocket money is tight this month, so I really am a hopeless idiot.

"Bear, what should I do? Is it better even just to go and watch practice? But I can't really concentrate on it…"

For Minato, the kyudojo was a place where his mind felt at ease. And yet, seeing the unfamiliar pairing of Masa-san and Shuu made him feel irritated.

Their levels were so different that it was like looking at something unreal. The sound of the flying arrow sent out from that gifted body was sharp, and it could only be thought of as something done by an inhabitant of another world. Even for the things that Minato couldn't easily improve at no matter how many times he was told to, Shuu could clear them extremely easily. After all, even for those who taught, there was probably worth in teaching people like Shuu, who picked things up quickly.

Minato sat down on the ground. He stroked Bear's thin eyebrows, and he licked Minato's hand. That naturally led to him rubbing Bear's head and back. Bear had always comforted him like this since a long time ago, but perhaps sensing something on this day, he stood up all of a sudden.

"Bear?" a voice came from behind.

"…You surprised me. Why are you in a place like this, Onogi?"

Kaito took out his earphones.

"Shouldn't I be the one surprised? I was wondering if Seiya was here. I'm heading home from club. My mom dragged me here to buy some bread filled with red bean paste, which is limited to one per customer, for Nanao's house."

"Then, Seiya will be home soon."

"Narumiya, you came when you were told not to, and didn't when you were told you could come. What exactly do you want to do? Didn't they talk about how useful it is for you just now? Simply watching practice is also valuable."

"I know that."

"You know, so what's up with you?"

"…I hate having my own lack of skill spelled out for me when the current Shuu is right before me."

"Hah, so stupid. I can't believe you're letting this rare opportunity get away for that kind of reason. Ultimately, you still have no excuse. Why do you think Tommy-sensei invited Fujiwara?"

"Wasn't it a request from Shuu? Ryouhei invited him too."

"Did you already forget what you yourself said? Didn't you say that watching skilled people shoot is one way to gain knowledge? Since Kazemai doesn't have cutthroat battles to become regulars like at a powerhouse school, so we lack the enthusiasm to 'absolutely get better.' There's no air of tension from being overwhelmed by a skilled guy. Isn't Tommy-sensei trying to fire us up by showing us Fujiwara's shooting from up close?"

Indeed, Shuu never lost focus at any time.

Even in practice matches, he showed his relentless strength. He maintained his unashamed attitude of being the one to stand above all high school archers for three hundred and sixty-five days.

"Could it be that the reason why Tommy-sensei said that he couldn't praise us even if we all got kaichuu was—"

"Because our minds were 'slackening.' And, we settled the reasons for why we lost with 'it can't be helped.' Seiya and the others were also talking about that during today's practice. They were saying that even if we didn't intend to, somewhere in our minds, we might have been thinking something along the lines of 'we don't really have to win this regional tournament by overextending ourselves.' Isn't that attitude putting down the other archers who are shooting their bows seriously? Well, you felt angry, unlike us."

Minato bit his lip, and then pressed the package from the bakery into Kaito's hand.

"Sorry. Take this."

"What? Isn't this all of it?"

"I didn't put it in a backpack, and I'm carrying something in my hand even though I'm walking Bear, so it's a bother. Well then, I'm going home now."

Minato broke into a run without waiting for Kaito's response.

"That guy, why did he buy this even though he's not eating it…?"

Kaito's muttering, as he held the bag of bread, did not reach anyone's ears.

It was the last day of Shuu's practice at Kazemai High School.

Minato showed up at the kyudojo for the first time in a week. Seiya, Kaito, Nanao, and Ryouhei were practicing while commenting on each other's shooting forms.

Shuu and Masa-san were shooting in a two-person tachi. The two, who were tall and had similar builds, worked together smoothly as though they were old friends. Masa-san raised his bow, parted it, and released his arrow as though tracing Shuu's movements. The tsurune resounded loudly. No ordinary person could imitate the both of them, who shot right through the center of their targets. It was most likely a state only those who had fully honed their skills could reach. It was a beautiful dance of only two people.

Minato was the only one not wearing kyudogi there. Even though he felt like quickly leaving as soon as possible from the loneliness of being left by himself, on the other hand, he also wanted to stay.

The archers he admired were here.

Even being reproached for watching them was no different from being told to stop breathing.

When Shuu finished zasha, he approached Minato, who was standing in the corner.

"Minato, are you going to shoot today?"

"No, I still didn't get permission."

"I see, that's a shame. This is my last day here, but I learned a lot from being shown Masa-san's shooting. Saionji-sensei never talked a lot, but I realized that we were instructed with a good deal of meaning put in."

"That's good to hear. I'm really sorry for being completely useless… I'll be going to the hospital from now on. See you another time, Shuu."

Shuu moved his face closer to Minato's shoulder, who had looked away.

"Don't show it on your face so readily. It'll make it too hard to see you off."

"What do you mean?"

"Seiya's father is examining you, right? It's fine, you can shoot once you've healed. Let's shoot together next time we meet."

"…Yeah. You really are cool, Shuu. You're like a samurai."

Shuu opened his eyes wide.

"…Of course I am," he said, then lightly bumped Minato's right hand while it was hanging by his side with his fist.

Now that he was taking a break from club, the days passed in a blink of an eye.

They had just entered the suspension period of club activities that took place before exams, and because he thoroughly did the practice that did not involve using a bow when he had hayake, it became his specialty.

On the day the end of term finals was over, Minato was at Seiya's family's orthopedic surgery clinic. A sumo wrestling match was showing on the television in the waiting room. In it, there was a scene of zabuton (4) flying after the match was over. A young boy, seeing that, spoke to a man sitting next to him who looked like his grandfather.

"Grandpa, why's everyone throwing their zabuton?"

"That's because the stronger wrestler won by using a technique used by the weaker wrestler, so the people watching that got angry."

"Huh, why are they angry even though he won?"

"Sumo is a martial art, after all. The wrestlers are too proud to win by cowardly methods, of course, but also by cheap techniques. Even if they get hurt, if they don't show the true power of a yokozuna (5) when standing in the ring, then wouldn't that be rude to their opponents?"

Minato secretly kept the two's conversation to his heart.

In the examination room, the doctor, Seiya's father, spoke.

"Does it really not hurt anymore? I don't want to get scolded by Seiya if I don't find out you're lying."

"It is true. I wouldn't do anything like lying since I of course also don't want to drag this out."

"It was worth it for me to ask Tommy-sensei to have you take a break until you are fully healed, since you would probably not be able to endure watching kyudo without being able to shoot, Minato-kun. Though, in the beginning, Coach Takigawa seemed to have thought that it would be good for you to study by observing, at least. Alright, your examination is finished."

When Minato returned home, he threw himself down on his bed in his second-floor bedroom. He raised his left hand high above his head and tried moving his wrist. There was no more pain.

The sumo conversation he had listened to in the clinic's waiting room not long ago had something in it that could be related to kyudo. If it was someone who never did kyudo, they might think it was great as long as your hitting rate was good. However, it was different for archers. They would feel irritated at seeing a person resolutely hitting with a messy shooting form.

What Seiya's father had said was unexpected. Masa-san had not said anything like that at all to him. He would have obediently accepted it a little if he had heard that.

Minato shouted on top of his bed.

"Masa-san's an idiot! That shitty dirty old geezer——!"

Even if he denounced his master in a nook of the countryside, he keenly felt the insignificance of his own ability, and it only felt all the more futile.

A sound poured down on him when he closed his eyes.

A cold and tender melody.

He wanted to hear it by his side rather than in his memories.

His phone that had rolled to his pillow was ringing. Perhaps Seiya had heard his roar just now. When he looked, he saw that the sender was Masa-san. The text read, (look outside your window).

He got up and saw Masa-san holding a bow and quiver below the window. From the design of the bow cover and other things, they were without a doubt Minato's. Minato rushed down the stairs and opened the door.

"First of all, I guess I should say, good evening."

"What, um, why are you here, Masa-san?"

"I was adjusting everyone's equipment today. Though when I planned on doing it for Minato as well and stopped by, I heard a distant howling from somewhere. 'Masa-san's an idiot!' or something like that."

"Oh. …So-sorry."

Masa-san lightly pinched Minato's cheeks and pulled them.

"You're half right, but don't shout that while your window is open, since it's embarrassing."

"…I'm so sorry." (6)

Minato led Masa-san through the front door.

"My dad still isn't home yet. Should we go upstairs?"

"No, here is fine. More importantly, try gripping your bow."

Masa-san took out the bow from the bow case.

"You have relatively large hands, so I put in a piece of paper about as thick as a postcard for the grip to try to make it a bit thicker. It's a semi-cylindrical shape, but there's also a way to slightly raise the right side of the uchidake (7) so your fingertips will reach the corners more easily. I had everyone else do it by themselves, but to celebrate you recovering from your injury, I did yours myself."

Minato received his bow with a new grip.

The original leather grip wrapping (nigirikawa) was used for a long time and became slippery, but this new leather felt good to the touch. Though it was easier to grip it when it was thin, thanks to its raised height, the fitting of his little finger was good as well.

"It feels great. Thank you, Masa-san."

"Your arrows were also the length of those used by beginners, so I had them shortened a little at the kyudo equipment store. Even a slightly lighter one would decrease the burden on your wrist. I also took the opportunity to expose your arrow feathers to steam and straighten them."

"You knew my yazuka really well."

"Well, it might not seem like it, but I am your master after all."

Masa-san grinned.

It felt like it had been a long time since he saw Masa-san smile like that. His heart hurt a little.

"Masa-san, I want to try shooting."

"Do you want to go to Yata no Mori?"

Minato got the backpack he used for kyudo, and got into the passenger seat of Masa-san's car.

The stars were twinkling above the mountains. From the slightly open windows came the lively sounds of insects carried on the wind. The frogs rejoicing in the rainy season made up the background chorus. The stretching lights illuminated the streets at night. Their distant destination was covered in darkness, but there was a road in the range where the lights reached.

A road that appeared by moving forward.

Minato tugged at his seatbelt for no particular reason, and Masa-san gave him a sidelong glance.

"Does your seatbelt feel uncomfortable?"

"No, that feels fine. Um, Masa-san. I'm sorry for calling you a shitty old geezer the other day and just now…"

"Were you worrying about those kinds of things?"

"It's not just that."

"You still have other insults for me? Since we have the time, I'll listen to them."

"Masa-san, I'm happy that you became the coach for Kazemai, but I'm also not."

"Why is that?"

Minato exhaled loudly.

"…Because I can't keep you to myself."

When the car stopped at a red light, Masa-san ruffled Minato's hair.

"You really are just a little kid after all."

"Don't call me a little kid! And don't mess up my hair!"

"Alright, alright."

"The light turned green, you know!"

As Minato was fixing his tousled hair, the car began moving again.

"It's just the story from when I was in high school, but because I couldn't do what Grandpa told me to do very well at all, so I had other teachers take a look at me. Even so, whenever I went to get taught by other teachers, Grandpa would always get in a bad mood. I couldn't understand why, but now I can understand his feelings."

"What kind of feelings?"

"The feeling of 'don't you meddle with my student.'"

"Huh?"

"I know that your hitting rate will increase if you improved your right hand. However, even though we were working hard on correcting your left hand first in order to not harm your left wrist, some outsider had the nerve to tell you to do something uncalled for. Even though he never saw you everyday, what could he understand from only seeing you shoot one or two arrows?"

Sorry, Minato murmured in his mind.

"But, didn't you make Shuu touch your belly?"

"If anyone else heard only that, I would sound like a pervert, wouldn't I? Did you want to touch it too, Minato?"

"I'm not a pervert, so I'm fine."

"To begin with, you have too many weak spots! Your thinking is too naïve! Your range of behavior is strangely wide, you act way too recklessly, you're an airhead—I can see why Seiya got so overprotective of you."

"There's no need to go that far…"

"Because of that, I was waiting for you to say something, but I should have been the one to act. I suppose a coach who can't even manage his athlete's health is less than third-rate——?"

Masa-san put his left hand to his temple to cover his eyes.

Minato grabbed that hand with the wristwatch and brushed up the strands of hair hanging by his cheek, driven by the urge to look into those hidden eyes. But, he quietly swallowed.

"My master will always and forever be Masa-san. I want to listen to your tsurune forever——. Please take care of me from now on, Master."

"I should be the one saying you shouldn't be too hard on me."

Their mouths loosened.

"I sort of feel more relaxed when I talk with you, Masa-san."

"Oh, since ancient times, conversation has been a kind of therapy. There are various theories on how words came to be, but with 'o' standing for big, and 'ko' standing for small, o and ko have lingered in people's ears and became 'oto' and 'koto'. 'Oto' doesn't have any meanings such as an idea or concept, and 'koto' does. The origin of kokoro (heart, mind) is 'kokoru—kogoru (to congeal, to stiffen)'. Kokoro meant something heavy in the first place. 'Hanasu (to talk)' was to release a stiffened heart, let go of it (tebanasu)." (8)

"It seems like the 'hanare' of kyudo is also connected to that."

At the Yata no Mori Kyudojo, the blue hydrangea flowers were in full bloom. His heart danced at reuniting with Fuu the owl. Fuu, perched on his shoulder, tilted its head as usual.

Minato and Masa-san stood side-by-side before the targets. Minato lightly drew the bow in his hands, making a bang sound.

"I think that I was acting proud because I've been doing kyudo for a bit longer than everyone else. Not being able to shoot well because my wrist hurt was just an excuse for me to say. If I'm standing at that place, I must not make excuses for myself, not to mention for the people who are watching me."

"Do you have an answer for what is the responsibility of your own ochi?"

"Yeah. It's rare for a beginner to be an ochi. As a senpai, it is my duty to show the 'way of the bow.' I have the role of lighting the way from behind, so that everyone would not go the wrong way."

"A good answer. I learned something as well."

Masa-san smiled.

"I won't overstretch myself and copy Shuu, and I'll commit myself to strengthen my left hand like you said. And then, I want you to tell me how to do dantian breathing once more."

"Well, when you thinly exhale at 'kai,' I believe that you can personally feel the useless power in the shoulders going away, and force being applied to your abdomen. Your dantian is fulfilled when you exhale eighty to ninety percent of your breath rather than all of it. The moment that leads to the time of hanare from nobiai is called 'yagoro' in Heki-ryuu, (9) and there is a good practice for remembering that timing, but these days you might get scolded by the other archers for being noisy."

"Oh, could you be talking about 'yagoe'?"

"Yes, shouting 'aiiee!' or 'yaa!' or something like that when you're releasing your arrow. Fujiwara was talking about Saionji-sensei also teaching it to you guys in the past."

"Yeah, we practiced producing our yagoe."

"Hanare is not done when you completely exhaled at kai, but at a good time when you are able to let out a yagoe."

"Can I try shooting together with you, Masa-san?"

"Yes, of course."

Minato stood in front of Masa-san.

The two simultaneously spread their feet, parted their bows, and lifted them. They slowly spread their chests.

Words were not necessary when a person becomes one with their bow. The long breaths that occurred over and over and the back that bended as it was stretched. Letting go of the unorganized words, the "feelings," packed in one's chest, abandoning one's body to sensation to the point of outrageousness, and waiting for the moment to fly off.

The two's yagoe dashed into the night sky.

When they finished after who knows how many rounds, Minato opened his backpack.

"Masa-san, here's something to drink."

"Oh, is that a new brand of canned coffee? Thanks. That's right, I also have something to eat."

What Masa-san took out was a bag from the bakery Minato went to the other day, and it did not contain cinnamon rolls, but homemade oyaki.

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#tsurune #tsurune translation

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amethystblack · 5 years

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How are you so good at using words? Currently I can’t graphs so exact being I’m trying to say, But I think you’re quite eloquent?

i will admit i don’t think i can quite parse that second sentence after i assume autocorrect or whatever other unholy entity has gotten its hands on it...but i’ll assume that that isn’t what you’re asking about.

so you’re not the first to say that about me, so i assume you’re not alone in thinking so. i don’t pretend to be a linguistic expert or anything, but i can take some shots at the matter.

when i was a wee bab who didnt even know what video games were, i definitely wanted to be an author when i grew up. i’m sure i didn’t make for an eloquent child, so i assume i must’ve learned something somewhere between then and early adulthood when i was still interested in novel-writing. given that it was a focus for so long, i imagine that i spent a fair amount of time and energy learning and practicing how to write better in various ways.

...which is exactly why it’s difficult for me to offer specific advice on how to improve. i learned many of the basics so long ago, and have passively practiced them so much since that i don’t think about them anymore. i know sometimes i’ll write something and it will feel weird to me, so i’ll rephrase it, but i couldn’t tell you exactly why it feels weird. it’s probably a natural understanding from practice and comfort, similar to how a seasoned artist can recognize if some of the anatomy in a drawing is off. because i do so much of that without consciously recognizing the reasons, i can’t pass them on as explicitly as i’d like.

but the fact that i was interested in creative writing could tell you where to look if you want to improve. writing advice is dumped all over the internet in spades, and specifically i think you’d benefit most from learning prose. prose will focus on the structure of specific sentences rather than overarching plots.

in most prose you have to be brief, and brevity requires careful choosing of each and every syllable. it teaches how to consider phonemes and meter individually, and how to embellish the flow of sentences for the meaning you want to give.

an analyst might notice how the former sentence in the above paragraph repeats several letters as if to subtly emphasize the rhythmic and self-referential value of such prose. and for the latter, i could have split that sentence into two...“prose teaches us how to consider phonemes and meter individually. it also shows how to embellish the flow of sentences for the meaning you want to give.”but that doesn’t sound nearly as nice, does it? i didn’t really do either of those things consciously or with the intent of pointing them out, but i recognize that they’re probably elements i learned to work with a while ago, so i may as well make the example, ne?like that, you can also learn to work out why something sounds good or bad to you.

here are some other things i’m aware that i do think about when writing, casually or otherwise:

sentence flow, as shown above

alliteration, assonance, consonance, as shown above, and when its appropriate

balancing redundancy vs clarity

-liquids and plosives in a word, aka how harsh it sounds based on what consonants are in it

caps and punctuation (and lack thereof) carry a lot of meaning online especially. so does meme culture language and other general modern distortions of english. helpful for lightening up.

i am often deleting and rephrasing parts of my posts to make them shorter. even then i still type this much... as you can see the ‘brevity’ part is my weakness.

redundancy in subjects unclear emphasis and sentence starts

rearrange sentences to flow with the given subject better, and remove unnecessary things

also a little formatting can go a long way online. just imagine trying to read this as a paragraph...

i’m sure there’s a lot more but that’s what comes to mind immediately. hopefully those things and other prose-writing advice is enough to help you or anyone else who wants to improve in that regard well enough. frankly editing advice is probably also a worthy thing to look at for similar reasons.

also, i hope it will go without too much saying, the necessary role practice has in all this too.

now to consider deleting half of everything typed above for the sake of not talking too much...

#Anonymous

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rewrite-the-wrongs · 4 years

Text

introductions / howdy, pardner

My first short story was about a fishboy and his human best friend. They battled a mutant piranha (whose name I think may have been Mutant Piranha, such was the monumental daring of my creative endeavor) and his army, who were out to destroy a mountain that held a whole planet together. The boys won singlehandedly, because scale was apparently a bit of a mystery to me.

This was the second grade. My teacher--who held me every day as I cried for weeks, confused and miserable and stranded in the throes of my parents’ divorce--understood before I did that I create to a ploddingly slow and steady drumbeat. A sentence is always so much more in my head than I’m able to let out, at first; I have to pore over it again and again, fleshing and flourishing (and often correcting) it, the same way I often have to reread paragraphs or pages or whole books to truly capture their meaning. In a word processor, this back-and-forth is as easily said as it is done; on double-wide ruled paper with dashed-line handwriting guides, the task is magnitudes more time-consuming, especially for somebody as messy as I am. So, while nearly everybody else played at recess on the sandlot and the jungle gym around us, a select few stragglers laid our reading folders on our laps and finished our stories.

My villain, that dastardly Mutant Piranha, found himself in prison at the story’s close. Awaiting trial, I guess; I never ventured that far ahead, seeing the big fishy bastard for a coward. “When no one was looking, he stabbed himself.” That’s the last line, stuck in my memory, not for its own sake, but for my poor teacher’s horrified face as she read my final draft there on the playground.

A mom volunteered to type up the class’ stories and get them printed and bound. For years afterward I reread that collection, always proud to have written the second-longest piece therein. I felt the weight of the pages, inhaled the tiny but acrid breeze that came from rapidly leafing through them. Knew it was a whole smattering of worlds inside, that one of those worlds was wholly mine, and I had the power to show it to people however I wished. Yes, I thought, I want this.

I’ve been introduced to writing many times over, by many people. Don’t get me wrong--I nightowled the first several chapters to many half-baked novel concepts all through my youth. But teachers have a way of showing a thing to you from new angles.

The first person to impact me as such was a high school teacher who was essentially given carte-blanche to construct a creative writing workshop in the English curriculum. The first semester was structured--you practiced poems, short fiction, humor and essay writing, drama, the gamut. Every semester after, the carte-blanche was passed on: A single assignment due a week, each a single draft of a poem or a minimum of two pages’ worth of prose. Forty-five minutes a day to work, and of course free time at home. By the time I graduated, I’d finagled my schedule such that I was spending two periods a day in the computer lab, and several hours after school every day working the literary arts magazine before I went home to get the rest of my homework out of the way and write some more..

My next big influence came in the form of a pair of writers who taught fiction at my university, a married couple. One had me print stories and literally, physically cut them up section-by-section as a method of reworking chronologies. Told me stories happened like engines or clocks or programs--pieces that meshed differently depending on how they were put together, rules that held each other in place. The other showed boundless confidence in me, listened happily to some older students who recommended I be brought on board for a national arts mag. They both encouraged me toward grad school, but toward the end of my junior year I began to stumble, and by senior year I was, to be frank, a drunken asshole. Time I could be bothered to set aside for writing began to dwindle. I limped through the editorship with the help of my extremely talented, utterly more-than-worthy successor--and come to think of it, I’ve never truly thanked her. Maybe I’ll send her that message, now that I’m feeling more myself.

On feeling more myself:

That drunken rage was brought on by a myriad list of factors, the primary ones being 1) I am the child of recovering alcoholics, and our inherited family trauma runs deep, 2) An assault that will likely be mentioned no further from hereon in, as I have reached a solid level of catharsis about it, 3) Some toxic-ass relationship issues, and 4) I was a massive egg and had no idea (or, really, I had some idea, just not the language or understanding or even the proper empathy to eloquently and effectively explore it).

I had a recent relapse with drinking, technically--a mimosa at Christmas breakfast at my partner’s parents’ home--but I’m not honestly sure I can call it a legitimate relapse. I’m not in any official self-help group, I’ve never engaged in the twelve steps or a professional rehabilitation. I had a very wonderful therapist for a few years but reached a point at which I could not pay her any longer and we parted ways--I miss her dearly, as she truly became my friend and confidante; she was the first person I came out to, and very well-equipped to handle it, lucky for me--but I’m still on behavioral medication. That tiny smidgen of alcohol pushed my antidepressants right out of my brain, and I became terribly anxious and angry and sad all at once, and briefly lashed out during a conversation with my partner behind closed doors. Not nearly the lashing out I’ve released in the now-distant past--more on that maybe-never, but who knows, as I am obviously a chronic over-sharer.

Frankly, I don’t deserve my partner. She endured my past abuses, told me to my face I had to be better, and found it in herself to wait for me to grow. She’s endlessly and tirelessly supportive of me. She sat with me to help me maintain the nerve to start this blog tonight. I came out to her as a trans woman just under a year ago, now, and I’m happier than ever, and we communicate better than ever. Our relationship is, bar-none, the healthiest and stablest and happiest I’ve ever been in.

So, naturally, I apologized fairly quickly at Christmas, and continuing where I’d left off at two and a half years, decided I’m still solid without booze.

If we’re all being honest, though (and I’m doing my best to be one hundred percent honest, here, though I will absolutely be censoring names because no shit), I still smoke way too much fuckin’ weed. High as balls, right now. 420 blaze it, all day erryday, bruh. That self-medicated ADHD life. I should be on Adderall and not antidepressants, probably, but it’s been a while since an appointment and psychiatrists are expensive, so I’m at where I’m at for now. Sativas help a lot. It helps with the dysphoria, too.

I don’t have a legal diagnosis for gender dysphoria, but tell that to my extreme urge to both be in and have a vagina. I’m making little changes--my hair, an outfit at a time, no longer policing how I walk or run or how much emphasis I put on S sounds. If I manage to come out to my parents sometime soon--and it feels like that moment is closer every day--maybe I’ll tell y’all my real, full chosen name. For right now, call me Easy.

Anyhow. My goals here are pretty simple:

1) Share words, both those by people I like/admire/sometimes know! and occasionally words I’ve made that I like. See the above screenshot from my notes app. Steal some words if you want, but if you manage to make money off some of mine, holler at ya gurl’s Venmo, yeah?

2) Discuss words, how they work, and how we create them, use them, engage with them, and ultimately make art of them. I am not a professional linguist, but I went to undergrad for creative writing, so, hey, I’ll have opinions and do my best to back them up with ideas from people smarter than I am.

3) Books! Read them, revisit them, quote them, talk about them, sometimes maybe even review them, if I’m feeling particularly bold. No writer can exist in a vacuum, and any writer who insists they don’t like to read is either a) dyslexic and prefers audiobooks or b) in serious need of switching to a communications major (no shade, but also definitely a little shade @corporate journalism).

5) I added this last, but I feel it’s less important than 4 and does not deserve bookend status, and I am verbose but incredibly lazy, so here I am, fucking with the system. Anyway: Art! Music! Video games! I fucking love them. I’ll talk about them, sometimes, too. Maybe I’ll finally do some of the ekphrastic work I’ve felt rattling around in my brain for a while now. Jade Cocoon 2′s Water Wormhole Forest, looking right the fuck at you.

6) Ah, shit, I did it again. Oh well. Last-but-not-last: This is obviously, in some ways, a diary, or a massive personal essay. I will sometimes discuss people, places, or experiences that have informed my work just the same as other people’s art has.

4) Be an unabashed and open Trans woman. TERFs, transphobes, ill-informed biological essentialists not permitted. Come at me and my girldick and prepare to be dunked on and subsequently shown the door via a swift and painful steel-toed kick in the ass. Everybody who doesn’t suck, if I screw up on any matter of socio-ethics or respect for diversity, please feel free to correct me.

Punk’s dead, but we’re a generation of motherfucking necromancers. Be gay, do crime, fight the patriarchy, and fart when you gotta. May the Great Old Ones select you to ascend to a higher plane and learn the terrible truths of existence.

Much love--

Easy

#writers #writing #creative writing #trans #trans woman #fuck TERFs #writing about writing #writer #my writing #diary

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ciaossu-imagines · 5 years

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Ask prompt 13, numbers 11, 15,16, 25?

Oh, these were some interesting numbers, my lovely anon! Thanks for the interest!

11) what aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

Haha - do you know me? I judge my own writing hella harshly and honestly, I feel my writing has gone downhill in the last couple years. But in terms of from when I first started writing, back in my like preteen years?? Umm...I guess I’ve learned to better develop characters. Though I won’t say it was a bad thing, back then I did write a lot more wish-fulfillment or mary-sue type fiction (both fanfiction and original fiction) and used characters more like chess pieces or pawns than treating them as characters in their own right. Now I have the opposite but unfortunate habit - every character has to be developed and have their own little stories, even the most obscure of characters!

15) why did you start writing?

Honestly, there wasn’t much of a reason. I had an idea for a story so I picked up a pencil and paper and started writing it because it seemed fun and because I could.

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

Hmm...there was this one original fiction I worked on a while back but just kind of abandoned and in it were these two brothers, Finn and Killian. Finn was the younger and kind of tagged along with Killian and his friends and was sort of annoying and the brothers fought often, as brothers would. Anyway, the story was a supernatural/fantasy novel so obviously bad shit happens and I really enjoyed writing the relationship between those two, seeing the way it developed and the twists and turns that faced them and got really attached to the both of them (which was a problem since authors should never have favourites or play favourites among characters and that was part of the reason I stopped writing that particular novel - I had only planned to take a break from it). Anyways, I still love both of those characters and I kind of wonder sometimes what their fictional lives would’ve ended up like if I’d ever bother to actually finish their story.

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

The graveyard was empty now, bare of the mourners that had filled the space not even an hour ago. They’d left just as quickly as they’d come. There was probably some stupid relation there between the act of mourning and life itself. Timoteo would’ve seen it and explained it out eloquently, found humour in the situation. Xanxus could almost hear his voice now, almost as if the old man was still sitting right next to him instead of buried under six feet of dirt beneath his feet. His hand tightened around the neck of the bottle he held, bringing it to his mouth and gulping the amber liquid inside, ignoring the burn, needing the oblivion it would bring him. Funny...he’d always thought he’d enjoy this moment. He thought he’d love nothing more than to see that old bastard dead and in the ground, had once even laughed and claimed he’d piss on the old kooks grave. Now though? Now it just made him feel angry and sad and just a little bit loss. It just left him cold and empty, standing in front of a stone marker remembering a life that wasn’t anymore.

....

It’s actually the one of the few fully finished paragraph in the story at the moment, haha. I started a fic about Timoteo’s death and how it affected Xanxus but never fully finished it because I’m really lazy.

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musicrunsthroughmysoul · 5 years

Text

I don’t speak in class and yet here I am saying this anyway (sorry for the really overt reference...bye)

I didn’t mean to do this, but, since I’ve been sick and laying in bed a lot because I haven’t really had the energy to do anything, I started reading interviews with and articles about Pearl Jam. A couple of them I remembered I’d already read, but I kept reading, anyway, because I forgot some of the things they mentioned and how they said them. So, somehow, after I finished reading all the interviews/articles I felt like reading, I decided to watch the “Jeremy” video again. And, afterward, I started having some serious, analytical thoughts about it, so I opened up OneNote on my phone and started taking notes. Only, these notes weren’t just notes. And then they weren’t just about “Jeremy.” So that’s why I’m writing this now, even though in my head I already wrote this post and I wrote it completely differently than the way I’m writing it now. Bummer. Thoughts are only good once, I guess.

So, the reason I’m writing this, after the context above, is because, after writing down some of my critique ideas about “Jeremy,” I ended up going off on a tangent and critiquing Pearl Jam, instead. And the thing is, awhile back I talked about wanting to write a gender critique of Pearl Jam, right? I did. I said so a couple times at least. But I haven’t really touched the article since I first had the idea for it, and maybe one other time, very briefly. I definitely did not intend to come back to that article now, and I have no idea where these thoughts came from precisely. But I wrote them down, nonetheless, and now…well, now I have anxiety. So I needed to write, of course.

I just find it interesting how I planned to write the critique of Pearl Jam, and, in my head, it was going to be mostly positive. It really was. And maybe that’s because the topic is fairly narrowed down – gender – but I really had it in my head that it would be a positive critique. Well…I guess I didn’t account for getting sick and having all this seemingly-extra time on my hands and these thoughts that are most likely not influenced by my illness but I suppose it’s possible they are. But hey, I’ve thought them so far, so there’s some validity in that, at least.

Anyway, long story short, this critique I suddenly started writing ideas down for that ended up not being related to “Jeremy” at all became a critique of the band. Gender was definitely a topic I centered most of my ideas around, as well as philanthropy and social issues (now that was directly related to my piece about “Jeremy”), and so, to explain further, I think I came to this topic when I started writing about subverting expectations. And basically I concluded in a fairly short space with only a few ideas to support this idea, that Pearl Jam do not and have not inherently subverted any expectations. So…it became a negative critique. In other words.

And honestly, hence the anxiety, I guess I’m struggling with that right now. Since I became such a big fan a few months ago, I recognize now that I was participating in the very thing I’ve been so annoyed about: ultimate, blind fandom. Of course, a lot of the fandom I’ve been annoyed about involves sexualizing the musicians which I have not been doing, but blind fandom – I mean, they’re in a similar space, I think. So now that I feel like I’ve regained my sight, I also feel disappointed in my own actions, let alone theirs. (And, anyway, their actions have nothing to do with me. I’ve simply critiqued theirs to the point where I feel less good about all the respect I previously amassed upon them.)

Now, before anyone gets up in arms over this, I’m not sharing any of my critique here tonight or probably for a long time in the future. I just needed to write about this to document my struggle with it. And it is a struggle, which maybe you don’t believe. But I typically don’t start liking something or someone, become obsessed with it, critique it, realize the error of my affections, and then immediately get over it. That’s definitely not what happens, and that’s not what is going to happen here. To start with, I didn’t become obsessed with Pearl Jam when I started listening to them. In fact, I listened to their first three albums for an entire year before I started watching live performances and became interested in them as a group/as people. So, basically, I think it’s fair to say I was wary. I was wary for the same, low-key reasons I mentioned just a few months ago, for example, when I tried identifying their personality types – I judged them based on my own bias. But the thing about that is, and not to alienate anybody (or myself?) but my first impressions tend to be pretty dead-on. Whatever I feel based on the way someone comes off a lot of the time ends up ringing true in the end. Which is to say, I feel whatever I do about someone, I warm up to them and think I was stupid not to have given them a chance earlier, and then we come full circle and whatever it was I didn’t like about them from the beginning ends up ending my connection to them. And I’m not saying that to be like, ‘Haha, look at me, I can identify people and their true nature really well from the very start and it sucks for all of you people who can’t…’ because, like…well, no, because if that were true, I wouldn’t end up giving them a chance. But sometimes I do, and look where it’s gotten me! So I don’t actually always learn my lesson with that.

So here’s me not learning my lesson…again.

However, I do think it’s important to say that, no matter how my critique ends up turning out (be it positive or more on the negative side of things), I still respect the music. While I may not learn my lesson about trusting my gut instinct about someone or something from the very start and ending up down a rabbit hole of ‘everything depends on my respect for this person/group’ in particular, probably, I still have this blessed ability to respect the art and be able to put all of my admiration and energy into respecting that. As an artist, myself, I absolutely believe that art is sacred. Not everything art has to say is sacred, but the act of creating and sharing that art is THE MOST sacred thing. Not to get all preachy, but I really do feel that’s true.

Even though, sometimes, I will admit I have moments where I’m listening to their music and I think ‘Hm, um…you know what? This…this actually…really isn’t that good…’ And I never know if I think that because of my mood – because I’m feeling particularly antagonistic/critical (about the music or, perhaps, more specifically about/because of the band) – or because there is some little justifiable reason for the thought, but other times I obviously rock tf out and I feel the music very deeply and appreciate its existence. Still, whatever I feel about it, I still respect it. But the fact of the matter is that my respect for the music and my respect for the people who make it is not intertwined. I know it is for a lot of people, and hey, maybe it is for me right now (hence the struggle), but that’s not how it is for me all the time, and I absolutely appreciate that. When the artists let me down, the great thing is that the art is always there for me. I can always depend on the art. And I always want that, because, a lot of the time, that’s how I fucking stay alive. That’s how I decide to keep living. So yeah, I fucking respect the art. But I don’t inherently owe my respect to the people who make it. That’s just a lucky bonus that sometimes happens.

The thing is, back to my “please don’t kill me, fellow Pearl Jam fans,” I don’t not respect them. I respect their philanthropy efforts a WHOLE HELL of a lot. For one thing, when I became a fan, I did NOT expect to respect that so much, but that’s really something that they’ve been about since their inception, so there’s no reason in relation to that for me to say, ‘Nah, fuck these guys, they’re not doing enough’ or ‘They’re not doing anything that’s actually making a difference.’ Not that I think anyone – fan or not – would actually say or think that, but I’M JUST SAYING…I'm not saying that. At least not exactly. I recognize that, as a band who already does a great service by sharing their music with the world, they’re not, by any means, obligated to support other/outside and often political issues. Like, especially me, I believe wholeheartedly that art is political. And it may be a lot more obvious with a band like Pearl Jam, but still, I think that should say even more that they’re not required to be political otherwise. And yet, they are! And they’ve done AMAZING, INCREDIBLE things for people and their community (which I happen to sort of be part of) and issues that are really important to them. So I’m not discounting or discrediting that at all, for a second. All I’ll say about my critique is that, from just some of the ideas I ended up writing down, I realized that I’m disappointed there is not more to admire. And yeah, I did just say in this same paragraph and then disprove that “they’re not doing enough,” but well…in some ways – just some ways! – that is true. In issues unrelated to the things I’ve already mentioned/that most PJ fans already know about, and things I’m specifically educated in/about, I’m thinking there is veracity in that. And that’s all I will say until I post my actual critique, which I do plan on doing, but possibly not until the far future because I want to be as thoughtful and resourceful in my critique as I possibly can be. This…this is really just me writing about my reaction to the realization. But this isn’t at all the realization, itself. At least not fully formed and eloquently stated with sources and evidence to support my idea. :) I definitely admit that.

#personal post #Paler Jam #HI I'M GETTING YOUR ATTENTION ON PURPOSE. DO NOT REB/OG THIS OKAY? DO NOT.#THANKS FOR RESPECTING THAT

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just-layzing-around · 6 years

Text

Musings from a muddled mind

I’ve been thinking about writing this blog for quite a long time, and avoiding it for just as long. There are three reasons with which I come up to explain my reticence.

First is the concussion from which I’ve been recovering for over four months. I’m still not myself. Words escape me on occasion. I cannot read or write for long without experiencing a sensation of tightness behind my eyes, and, pushed too long, a heavy, uncomfortable sensation in my brain. Dizziness the next morning. I’m so much better and most of the time, I recognize and celebrate that fact. But I also fight lingering frustration and disbelief - that it could last this long, that it happened at all, that it will ever get better. So, that’s reason number one.

Number two hearkens back to my days at TWM, and more specifically, my weekly column. On rare occasion, the article wrote itself. Most weeks, it was a painful exercise in coming up with a topic and a position to take. This time, I know exactly what I plan to write but the actual act of sitting down to the task makes it feel like responsibility instead of pleasure, and I have been avoiding much of the former and reveling in the latter. ‘Write’ or wrong, that’s reason number two.

Third, this blog is going to be a list of my thoughts, recollections and reflections on a motley assortment of topics I’m afraid is going to come out as a judgmental diatribe. Maybe it will. Maybe it is. I hope not, but I also recognize my tendency to be a critical individual. It’s not my favourite personality trait but it’s definitely a dominant one. But not writing doesn’t change what I think, it just hides it from the light others may shine on it by reading and commenting on my words.

So, despite all the aforementioned, it seems this blog has begun.

Roads. It almost seemed I could tell the difference from the moment we crossed the border, although I’m sure that’s not truly the case. But the roads felt and looked different. They were often narrower and the speed limits were higher. I commented many times, especially once we were into Nebraska and south, that the States must not believe in wasting space on shoulders. And unlike what I am used to in Saskatchewan, where highways pass through towns on the outskirts, and generally only businesses line the roadway, we often cruised right through residential areas going 55 mph, just steps from people’s front doors.

Land - as in terrain. What a surprise when we drove hours and hours through hills and valleys, on twisting roads (with no shoulders, remember!) with no view of the horizon. Where were the central plains we thought we were going to see? The children’s song, The Bear Went Over the Mountain, often entered my mind. When I could take my mind off the idea of crashing, it was truly beautiful.

Stranger in a strange land. In the first number of days after crossing the border and travelling south, I could not shake an overwhelming sense of surrealism. Everything felt like it was happening in a dream; it could not be real that we were alone, together, in a country of complete strangers, away from everyone and everything that we know. I didn’t cry saying goodbye to my family or friends; it took hearing Alabama’s song Roll On 18-Wheeler on a lonely and desolate stretch of Oklahoma to do that.

Land - as in ownership. Also titled, Fences. This paragraph is more about Texas than elsewhere, perhaps only because this is the place we have seen and explored the most. Everyone’s land is fenced. We drove hours and hours from north Texas to our mid-Texas location, and I’m not sure we saw a piece of rural land not fenced. Snowmobilers would not last a mile down here!

Hospitable - or not? Never, ever, anywhere, have I seen so many ‘Private Property - Keep Off’ signs. My favourite? A big “WELCOME!” sign, hanging directly above one that read, “Trespassers Will Be Shot”. I’d take a picture if I wasn’t more afraid of the latter than sure of the former!

But friendly. From store clerks to strangers, we have been treated very kindly. Employees in particular are friendly and talkative - even the teenagers greet us with a smile and a short conversation. I have not been called ‘ma’am’ so many times in my entire life as I have in one month in the States.

Hard habit to break. There is next to no recycling in Texas. We have seen a few containers for aluminum cans, mainly in the state parks. Everything goes in the garbage: glass, cardboard, plastic, booze containers - everything. For weeks, out of habit, we rinsed our bottles and cans before we put them in the trash. Now, we just shake our heads and stuff them in the bag. It feels so wrong.

Man’s best friend. Dogs rule Texas. They are everywhere: in every home, yard and vehicle. Those are the good ones, because they are contained. Then there are the ones who either broke loose or roam free with their owner’s permission, or lack of concern. They bark incessantly. They run at us when we’re out for a walk, and they chase us if we (as in Robin) happen to be on a bike, of which they are little acquainted, because no one seems to ride one around here. It is sad to say, but dogs have ruined our enjoyment of the area around our park. At first, we felt safe confined to a few streets close to our park. Then I was chased by a dog when out alone one day; now, I won’t walk without Robin. And the dog spray I bought him for his birthday. And the extra ‘protection’ he carries in his pocket. How ironic: as I typed this, a woman walked by with two small dogs on leashes, and a very large dog, unleashed. As Robin said it so eloquently, “What’s with the fucking loose dogs around this place?”

Disparity. The great divide in wealth has struck me twice on this trip: first, going through Oklahoma, and next, right here by our park. In Oklahoma, it was the nearly-deserted towns with abandoned homes and businesses that caught my attention. Yet, a mile or two outside town would be a very attractive, well-maintained home and yard. It seemed a strange contrast. Stranger by far, though, is the area around our park. Imagine the homes right along the river, very much like what you’d see on Spadina in Saskatoon, for instance. Million dollar properties and up, they are large, nicely landscaped, sometimes fenced (and usually posted ‘Private Property’!) and strangely deserted. But only about a block off the water, the climate changes dramatically. Words can hardly describe the neglected, trashed homes and yards heaped with garbage, broken-down vehicles and abandoned debris of indeterminate origin. This state of affairs goes on for multiple streets, both long and wide. This would also be the area Robin has been chased by a number of dogs; we have since and long passed determined it to be out of bounds for both of us. After being here a month, I still have not decided whether it is extreme poverty or extreme belief in personal freedom that leads people to live like that. My deepest prayer is that I will never have to find out.

Hill Country. Or, Terrain, part two. I am in love. I could live in this part of Texas forever. Something about it reaches a part of my soul that just sings when I look at and walk through the trees and rocks. I want to go back to the trails we’ve hiked, and climb them again and again. I want to take a picnic and spend the day sitting on jagged outcroppings, overlooking the beauty of the valley below. I want to sit by the river and watch the fish jump, and giggle my ass off. I found out yesterday that this area is called the Llano Uprising, and it was formed by volcanic action millions of years ago. Some of the rock I touched came from deep beneath the surface of the earth. I’m amazed and in love with that reality. Hill Country, I will return; I promise both you and me.

#justlayzingaround

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