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cherrycheridarling · 3 years

Text

'someday maybe' | t.h.

tom holland x singer!reader

warnings: one swear? fluff and angst? kisses

summary: you're so close to finishing your second album when your manager pushes the deadline, your ex tom helps you write the final track.

{listen to someday by michael bublè and meghan trainor (if you want)}

wc: 2.1k

"Someday maybe when we're old and grey,"

"Yes, yes. I know. You are not being a very helpful manager right now, Noelle." you spoke to your phone as you paced around the living room, "Okay. I'll get working on it. Bye." you huffed and threw your phone against the couch.

Your album was due to be released in two months and you needed one more song to tie it all together. Your manager, Noelle, was pushing you to finish the song so she could start the promo of the album.

You were incredibly grateful for your career, but the pressure weighed down on you everyday. Never ending.

With a final groan you picked up your acoustic guitar and sat on the couch. Picking at the strings, trying to find a melody. You hit record on your voice memo app before strumming away.

"Someday maybe when we're old and grey, we can be in love once more. 'Till then I won't give my love away. Darling, I'm forever only yours." you sang softly.

You and Tom had a joyous relationship. A love that only ever existed in movies and fairytales. The type of love story that gets told for generations and onwards. But alas, all good things must come to an end.

Your breakup was calm, serene and clean. A mutual agreement as if your whole relationship had been a business deal. There were no loose ends or jealous passive aggressive remarks made. Just maturity and respect for one another.

Your pinky still held the promise ring he gave you. A token of appreciation. A reassurance that he'd always be there for you. And he lived up to his word.

Tom walked in and sat across from you, startling you, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Whatcha writing?"

"Need a final song for the album. Sorry for showing up unannounced. I just get better inspiration here, with all the memories, you know?" you timidly looked back down at the guitar.

Tom nodded, "No need to apologize. We gave you a spare key for a reason."

You couldn't stop yourself from spilling the words from your lips, "That was when we were together."

You could hear the awkward silence start to fill the room before he spoke again, "Still our best friend, Y/L/N."

The pain that crossed your features was instant. Being addressed by your last name felt like a stab to the gut. Especially by Tom.

You nodded before playing again, "Can I help you write it?" Tom asked as he sat next to you.

"Dancer, gymnast, actor and now songwriter. How many hidden talents have you got, Holland?" you teased making him laugh.

He shrugged with a smile, "It's kind of like writing a poem, right?"

You pondered on his analogy before slowly nodding, "Yeah, it kind of is. Give it a go."

You began playing the melody and he listened intently for a few moments before singing, "I love seeing you happy. I miss seeing that smile. It's been such a long time. A– Nope. Nope. Nuh-uh. I can't do it." he shook his head aggressively with a loud laugh as you stopped playing.

"No!" you quickly protested, "That was amazing! Don't leave me hanging, c'mon." you nudged him with your shoulder before strumming again.

"Alright, alright." he ran his hands down his face, "And although I don't have you, I know now that I need to?" he paused and gave you a skeptical look before you nodded again, "Somehow make you mine. Mmm."

"Oh, okay. He's giving ad-libs and all. Get it." you nodded as he laughed.

You were so engrossed on Tom actually writing a song with you that you didn't focus on the lyrics he was singing.

"And I won't lie, it's hard seeing you with him 'cause I know he can't hold you like I can." his mood seemed to drop by a thousand as the words left his lips.

"When can we meet this boyfriend of yours?" Harrison flicked your forehead from across the booth.

You, Harrison, Tom and Tuwaine were all sat in the local pub. Pints of beer in front of each of you as loud music and chatting filled your ears.

You shrugged, "He's picking me up, so possibly tonight."

Tuwaine's eyes lit up, "Fina-fucking-lly. I swear you've kept him hidden for years."

"We've only been together for three months, T." you laughed lightly with the group of boys.

And they met him. It wasn't the smoothest of introductions, but an introduction nonetheless.

"Boys, this is Kai. Kai this is Tom, Harrison and Tuwaine." you gestured to the parties as they all shook hands and gave polite greetings.

"So," Harrison started, "What do you do for a living, Kai?"

Kai cleared his throat, "I'm a Senior Resident at Kingston Hospital. Working towards being Head of Pediatrics."

Tuwaine and Harrison both nodded, impressed by his profession. Tom's face remained expressionless as he stared at Kai with cold eyes.

"Do you have any siblings, Kai? Any psycho ex-girlfriends? Any wacky cousins?" Tuwaine joked making everyone laugh. "'Cause Y/N has a lot of wacky cousins."

"We could be in love once more,"

"Hey!" you gasped with a laugh.

Kai pulled you closer to him as he laughed, "No, no wacky cousins or psycho exes, but I do have an older sister and a younger brother."

This game of ask and answer continued on for a few more minutes. Tom didn't say a word, just sipped his beer and burned holes into Kai with his eyes. If looks could kill, Kai would be six feet under.

Kai was a sweetheart, but you two ended ages ago. His work got too much for him and your job had you touring and travelling every second.

You picked up after him with the chorus before diving into your own verse, "I remember that love song. I sang every word wrong, but you didn't mind, no, no."

"I love the things you do. It's how you do the things you love. Well it's not a love song, not a love song. I love the way you get me, but correct me if I'm wrong. This is not a love song, not a love song!" Tom belted the 'Austin & Ally' song from the top of his lungs.

"Your turn!" he pointed the pretend mic in your direction.

You laughed, not knowing any of the lyrics, but still wanting to participate, "I love that you not a licket! And you own a watch and chicken! We got a car!" you sang with full confidence, making Tom burst with laughter.

"Yes! Sing it, darling!" he cheered you on, "Absolutely butchering the lyrics, but sing it!"

"Being stuck inside a car. If it's not a doe, don't kiss it! I can't hear a missing, when there's a shoe inside the ceiling! If you really need to fart, you can lunch on a pig farm! Love song! Love song!" you couldn't even hear the song in the background, your voice overpowering it.

Tom was hunched over from laughing before he came back up and planted a soft kiss on your lips, "You are one hundred percent ridiculous and I love it."

You brought yourself back to reality and sang again, "And I'll admit that I miss you, but only if you do. 'Cause you know that I'm shy. And I can't lie, it's hard seeing you with her. 'Cause I know she can't love you like I can."

Tom's eyes met yours as the words fell from your gentle lips. His mouth was slightly agape as you continued to strum.

"You are absolute rubbish. Imagine coming in eighth. Embarassing." you laughed as you crushed Harrison in a game of Mario Kart.

He shoved you with his shoulder, "You're such a try ha—"

"—It's always the same, Tom! How can I trust you? You follow gorgeous models on Instagram and expect me to trust you?" Nadia's voice cut Harrison's words off.

You looked at him with wide eyes, his expression matching yours.

"Those women that I follow have been my friends for ages. Who I follow on a stupid app shouldn't effect how much you trust me."

You paused the game, cutting off the theme song, "How long have they been fighting like this?"

Harrison sighed, a long groan following, "A few weeks. I think it started when she saw that he liked your Instagram picture?"

You stammered, "M-my post? She got mad about my post?"

Harrison nodded before opening his mouth to speak, but Nadia cut him off again, "And she practically lives here! How do you think it makes me feel seeing my boyfriend play house with a superstar?!"

"Aw, a superstar? I'm flattered." you joked making Harrison stifle a laugh.

"I've been friends with Y/N since we were in nappies!"

"I can't be with you if you're going to be friends with her."

Your laughter abruptly died at her words. Harrison stiffened beside you.

"Y-you can't be serious. You can't make me choose between you and her."

"Why? Because you're gonna choose her?" you could hear her voice crack.

"I-" Tom couldn't make out a sentence for a few moments, "Yeah. I'm gonna choose her."

Your heart fell from it's place, stopping at your feet. Harrison brought a hand to his mouth, "H-he chose you. He chose you!" he whisper shouted before you shushed him.

"Of course. I don't know why I expected anything different. I think I'll be going now." Nadia's footsteps approached the living room.

You and Harrison scrambled to look as if you weren't eavesdropping on their argument/breakup.

Tom followed close behind her, "I'm sorry. I really am."

She nodded, hand on the doorknob, "I know. Goodbye." she stepped out of the house, slamming the front door shut in the process.

Tom let out a breath of relief before turning to you and Harrison who were staring at the Mario Kart home screen with the infamous tune playing.

"You guys are terrible actors."

"'Till then I won't give my love away,"

"I'm forever only yours." the both of you finished the song in unison.

There was a moment of silence before you reached over and ended the voice recording.

"T-that was really good. You can change what I wrote, I know it isn't as good as anything you would've written, but I tried. And it was actually pretty fun and I never knew how difficult songwriting was un—"

"—Kiss me." you cut Tom's rambling off.

His eyes grew wide, "W-wha—"

"—Kiss me, Holland."

He swallowed, a small smile stretching on his lips, "Thank God."

And with that, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. Interlocking like missing puzzle pieces. Moving in sync like waves in the ocean. Soft and sweet, but filled with passion. You could feel his smile against your lips causing you to grin.

His hand came up to pull your face closer into his. Caressing your jaw, fingertips playing with the hairs on the back of your neck. His other hand holding your hip in a tight grip. Pressing the pads of his digits into your flesh, scared that you might slip through his fingers again.

One of your hands was pressed flat against his chest. Steadying yourself, the heat of the kiss threatening to throw you off of your axis. Your other hand tangled itself into Tom's curls. Pulling and tugging lightly causing small groans to fall from Tom's lips. Your fingernails scratching his scalp. Pulling him impossibly closer to you.

"I want my ten pounds." Harrison's voice snapped you and Tom out of your make out session.

Him and Tuwaine stood in the doorway, shit eating grins on their faces.

Tuwaine laughed before placing a ten pound note in Harrison's palm, "You guys couldn't have waited until next month to get back together?"

"You two were betting on us?" Tom laughed at his mates who nodded.

You shook your head with a smile, "Absolute idiots, all of you."

Harrison let out a happy sigh and pocketed the money, "Today was a good day. Had a sick ass shoot. Got ten pounds. And my best friends are finally together again." he waltzed into the kitchen with Tuwaine, leaving you and Tom alone again.

Tom's shy expression met your gleeful one before he spoke, "Someday came a lot sooner than expected, huh?" he chuckled.

You nodded with a laugh, "It certainly did and I am not complaining."

He sent you a wide grin before cupping your face and connecting your lips to his again.

"Darling, I'm forever only yours."

#tom holland #tom holland angst #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x osterfield!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x singer!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #tom holland one shot #tom holland blurb #tom holland headcanon #tom holland series #tom holland fic

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aerinsfables · 3 years

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Never Have I Ever

The Fablehaven gang plays Never Have I Ever. Not really shippy, but will tag for relevant ships.

---

“Never have I ever become an albino courtesy of a revenant,” Seth announced. His face expressed glee as Warren and Tanu each lowered one finger in response. He was down to three fingers left, himself, and Kendra thought he seemed determined to remain in the game.

“Well, never have I ever held Vasilis,” Tanu retorted. The smile dropped off of Seth’s face as he lowered one of his remaining fingers with a quiet ‘nooo’, and Kendra laughed a little as she also lowered one of hers.

“Never have I ever broken my leg by jumping off a roof,” Dale said, which prompted Warren to roll his eyes and lower another finger.

“It’s hard to play this game with people you actually know,” Warren protested. “I was nine at the time, yes it was a stupid choice, thank you for reminding me, now let me think for a minute.” He tapped his chin with the side of his hand and seemed to think for a moment. “Never have I ever… had a body double,” he said as he winked at Kendra, who stuck her tongue out at him and lowered one of her fingers. She had the most points left in the group thus far, so she’d been expecting some targeted statements, but still.

“That’s a cheap shot,” she said as she clicked her tongue in disapproval.

He shrugged. “Hey. There’ve been three of you. It’s not my fault that you’re the only one here who’s experienced that.”

“It’s not as fun as you’d think it is,” she replied.

“My turn,” Vanessa said. “Never have I ever spoken with the Fairy Queen.”

Seth let out a loud, “HA!” and gave Vanessa a high five. Warren applauded. Kendra sighed as she placed another finger down. Bracken followed suit as well. “Clever,” he said, sarcasm laced in his tone.

“Always,” Vanessa responded. “It’s your turn, Kendra.”

Well. Two can play at this game, Kendra thought. And, really, she’d meant for her next statement to be a jibe at Warren and Vanessa anyway.

“Never have I ever been engaged to marry anyone,” she said with confidence.

She’d expected the narrowed eyes from Warren and Vanessa as they each lowered a finger. She’d expected Seth’s guffaws and Tanu and Dale’s smiling eyes.

She had not expected for Bracken to lower one of his fingers, too.

Kendra turned her attention to the young man to her immediate left, who cleared his throat in an obvious - and vain - attempt to move the conversation forward, his face a lovely shade of pink. “Excuse me?” she asked, probably sounding about as shocked as she actually was. She wasn’t the only surprised one, though. Seth shouted, “What?!” at the same time that Warren announced it was story time while positively everyone’s eyes turned to Bracken, whose face flushed a darker shade of pink.

Bracken opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsuccessful at producing any words. “I… it was a long time ago, and an accident,” he said. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“How do you accidentally get engaged to someone?” Dale asked. One eyebrow was pointed upward, and he appeared to be rethinking his entire opinion of the young man in question.

Kendra, for her part, was speechless. She didn’t know what to think. It was most definitely story time indeed.

“I… there was… it was…” Bracken cleared his throat again and scratched the back of his head, his gaze firmly fixed upon the table in front of him. “I was younger then. Still getting used to human socialization, still wandering between the wilderness and civilization. I’d decided to spend some time closer to towns, was low on human currency, and desired to reside inside an inn for a time. There were people in the street who advertised a sword-fighting competition, which offered a cash reward, so I decided I’d participate.”

Still unsure of what to think, Kendra furrowed her eyebrows. Where was this going?

“I’ve… I’m good with swords. The competition wasn’t particularly difficult to win, although the last human I faced that specific day was quite skilled. I digress. I won the contest, was given a large sum of money in a very nice bag, and was also told at that moment that I’d won the hand of the local princess.”

His face burned red. Kendra didn’t know whether to laugh or smack him upside the head. Maybe both? She refrained from reacting for the moment.

Seth, however, was not so well-controlled. He laughed heartily.

“‘The local princess’? When was this?” Warren asked.

“Shhh, he’s still telling the story,” Tanu said. “I want to hear this. Wish we had some popcorn.”

Bracken looked like he was marching toward his death. “A long, long time ago,” he said, “Somewhere in Ireland. Her name was Aoife MacMurrough.”

“So… did you marry her?” Dale asked.

His eyes grew large. “No!” he nearly shouted. He made eye contact with Kendra, who found it awkward to look at him right at that moment, so she diverted her attention to her hands, which still displayed the five points she’d managed to maintain.

“I tried to tell them that I thought this was a competition solely for money, and that I wasn’t interested in marriage, but the king and his vassals wouldn’t take no for an answer. The rules were apparently clear, although they’d somehow flown over my head. I snuck out of town that night and stayed far away from humans for quite a long time after that. I never found out what happened. Of course, I’d also fled to Greece and other countries and did not return to Ireland for a couple hundred years, but that’s a different story.” He reached toward Kendra and lightly touched her shoulder. “I don’t even know what Princess Aoife looked like.”

“How did you not know that you would wind up promised in marriage to a princess?” Vanessa asked, disbelief and disapproval very much evident in her statement. “Did you not listen to the rules? Did the people announcing the competition not make that clear? How is it possible to enter into a contest like that and not know what you’re fighting for?”

Kendra didn’t entirely appreciate the tone of voice Vanessa used, but she was incredibly grateful that her friend had been able to voice even just some of the questions she had on her own mind.

Bracken narrowed his eyes. “I was new to Gaelic, and it was mostly still a spoken language at that point in time,” he replied. “I still don’t know how I missed that bit of information. I blame my empty stomach and longing for a soft bed to sleep in for the night.”

“He was - he was hangry,” Seth said, then rolled off into laughter again. Warren and Tanu joined in a bit as well, the earlier looking up something on his phone.

“It was a poor decision. I know. Go ahead and laugh,” Bracken stated. He once again reached for Kendra. “I’m sorry,” he said in a quiet voice.

Sorry for what? Why should he be sorry? Should she be upset? Did she have a right to be upset? Was she upset? All of those questions and more buzzed about in Kendra’s brain, but she refrained from voicing any of them.

“Wait. Aoife MacMurrough?” Warren asked, his eyes practically bulging out of his head.

“Yes…?” Bracken responded.

Warren chuckled as he read from his phone. “Red Aoife. Married off by Saint Patrick himself. Warrior princess. That Aoife?”

“I don’t know!” Bracken insisted at the same time that Tanu said, “Saint Patrick, huh?”

“Bracken almost married a leprechaun?!” Seth cried out before yet more raucous laughter escaped from his body.

Dale spoke next, after a brief pause to allow for excess joviality from the company who sat around the table.

“Well. That is an odd circumstance,” he said. “I’ve bailed Warren out of quite a few odd circumstances over the years, but never anything like that. Right, Warren?”

Warren laughed. “Nope.”

“Alright then. I think my next move is to say, never have I ever been accidentally engaged to marry someone,” Dale continued. He innocently blinked at Bracken a few times, who looked dumbfounded and then lowered another finger.

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” he asked.

Everyone shook their heads while Kendra finally reacted in laughter. The rest of the table followed after her example.

“Are you upset with me?” he asked her.

Kendra let laughter take over her body for a minute, then wiped a tear from one of her eyes. “Upset?” she asked as more giggles escaped from her lips. “Bracken. You are the only person I know who could have done that.” Giggles. Somehow, this didn’t seem out of character for him. The poor, oblivious unicorn.

“What other secrets are you hiding?!” Seth demanded.

Bracken folded his arms across his chest and refused to entertain that particular train of thought. “Nope. One story is enough for tonight,” he said. “Come on. Surely all of you have made poor decisions in your young lives as well.”

“Sure, but I never wound up promising myself to someone else by accident,” Vanessa shot back.

Bracken only rolled his eyes at that comment. “I believe it was my turn, next, before Dale stole it from me,” he said as he leveled Vanessa with a cool glare. “Never have I ever controlled someone in their sleep.”

Vanessa ran out of fingers at that one. “Very funny.”

“Always,” he retorted, copying her tone of voice from earlier on in the evening.

Kendra opened her mouth to interrupt them before they could launch into one of their infamous arguments, but Tanu beat her to the punch.

“Never have I ever been near Zzyzx,” he said.

Everyone else at the table groaned and lowered a finger, except Dale, who simply smiled. Warren ran out of points, Seth only had one left, Bracken had two, Tanu and Dale were each down to three, and Kendra still held onto four.

“Your turn again, Seth,” Tanu said once the damage had been assessed.

“Never have I ever… um…” he looked at his sister. “Never have I ever written letters to a dragon prince.”

Kendra could feel her face grow warm as she lowered a finger. “Warren and Vanessa are out, so it’s my turn,” she announced.

“A dragon prince?” Bracken asked. This time, his eyebrows were raised in surprise.

“I knew him as Gavin in his human form,” she said with a sigh. “He was actually Navarog.”

If Bracken’s eyes could have grown larger, Kendra was sure that they would have at that statement. “Excuse me?” he asked, in much the same tone as she’d asked him earlier. “I feel that another story time is in order.”

“Nah, we all know that story already,” Warren announced. “You two talk about that one between yourselves later. It’s Kendra’s turn now.”

“But-“

“Never have I ever drank an enlargement potion,” Kendra interrupted.

Bracken narrowed his gaze at her, but dropped the subject. For the moment.

Tanu lowered one finger. “Ouch, Kendra. I feel like I’ve been singled out.”

“Sorry, Tanu,” she replied with a smile.

Bracken huffed. “Never have I ever been duped by a demon dragon,” he stated.

He was astonished to find that everyone except Dale put their fingers down. Seth ran out of points, Tanu had one left, Kendra was down to three, and Dale and Bracken were still at two.

“All of you?!” he asked.

Dale shrugged his shoulders. “I never met the guy,” he said. “They all went adventuring with him.”

“Except me,” Vanessa elaborated. “I probably would’ve caught on if I had been there, though.”

“Let’s not start this up,” Warren said at the same time that Dale announced, “Never have I ever been in prison.”

Just like that, Tanu was out of points, Kendra had two, and Bracken had only one left.

“Never have I ever been trapped in a barn,” Kendra said. Dale laughed and lowered a finger. One left.

“Never have I ever had coffee,” Bracken said.

“Really?” Dale asked as he ran out of points. “Never?”

“Not once,” Bracken replied.

“How-?”

“You were in prison when coffee as a drink was invented, weren’t you?” Kendra laughed.

Bracken’s ears turned pink. “Maybe,” he admitted.

“You’re getting a cup in the morning,” Dale vowed. “I’ll make it for you.”

“Thanks…?” Bracken asked, sounding unsure whether or not he even cared. He turned toward Kendra, who still had two points left. “No coffee for you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t like the smell.”

“Who doesn’t like the smell of coffee?” Dale asked, sounding utterly flabbergasted.

“Kendra,” Seth, Warren, Tanu and Vanessa all replied in unison.

Dale stared straight at Kendra, who laughed when he whispered with so much melodrama that he could only be Warren’s brother, “But. You were my favorite.”

“Hey!” Warren protested. “I’m your favorite!”

“Well, you might be now,” Dale said. His gaze turned back toward Kendra. “How can you not like coffee? Coffee is life.”

“I… I didn’t realize you liked it so much,” Kendra replied.

“The way into Dale’s heart is a healthy serving of coffee every morning,” Vanessa said.

“She makes the best coffee ever,” Dale confirmed. “No other woman will ever take her place.”

Kendra wasn’t sure what was happening. This game was getting ridiculous. Whose turn was it, anyway? She recounted the latest movies and realized that this game was down to just her and Bracken, he only had one point, and it was her turn.

She smirked. “Bracken,” she began.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Never have I ever won a sword-fighting competition,” she announced.

Bracken lowered his pinky, while Kendra waved her two remaining fingers in his face. “I win!” she taunted.

“That’s not fair,” he playfully complained.

“Totally fair,” Warren insisted.

“I lost three points from one story!” he exclaimed.

Seth shrugged. “It be like that sometimes.”

“Kendra survives the night,” Tanu stated. “Now we all know who to target in the next round.”

Vanessa raised her eyebrows in a somewhat threatening manner which made Kendra wonder what other embarrassing material was going to be paraded about that evening. She looked around to find similar expressions on most everyone else’s faces, too, and laughed when she realized that she would be running out of points very quickly. “No repeats from this round,” she said.

“That’s fine with me,” Tanu said. Everyone else nodded and voiced their agreement.

“Great! I’ll go first!” Seth announced. “Never have I ever run away from a fiancée!”

Bracken planted his face into the palm of his hand while everyone at the table enjoyed a solid laugh.

#fablehaven #aerinm writes #warrenessa #brackendra #again this isn't really shippy so don't come at me with protests about how it's not fluffy enough lol #have some nonsense #it's been a while hahahaha

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hercleverboy · 3 years

Text

razljubit

spencer reid x fem! reader

summary ↠ reader and spencer come to terms with the fact that they’ve fallen out of love.

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ arguing, slight hints to sex, falling out of love, a lot of crying

word count ↠ 3.8k

↠ so this is my submission for @railmereid ‘s writing challenge using the prompt “Do you think we could pretend?”. as soon as I saw the prompt I got the idea for this and figured i’d participate! thanks for reading!

“Never feel guilty for starting again.” — Rupi Kaur

Razljubit is the Russian word for the sentimental feeling you have for somone you once loved, but no longer do.

It’s a funny thing, Love. It’s been written about in countless poems, sung about in millions of songs. They tell you about how people can cheat and lie and hurt the people they were supposed to love in the most heart-breaking ways.

But they never sing or write about the most painful scenario.

When two people fall out of love with one another, there isn’t always a reason.

That can sometimes make it worse, the fact that it’s no one’s fault.

Because wouldn’t it just be so much easier if there was someone to blame? Someone to scream and cry and lash out at? Wouldn’t it be easier if one of them had cheated, or spewed words of venom in an argument that they could never take back?

That’s what made it so difficult. There was no blame, no fault. Just a love now lost.

For the last four years, Spencer and Y/N had spent near enough every waking moment together. Being with one another was all they knew and it’s all they wanted to know for the rest of their lives.

There were countless museum trips and blushing giggles exchanged over the tops of coffee cups. With every early morning and every late night, they knew that this had to be forever. This had to be it for them.

When Y/N met Spencer’s mother, it was one of the happiest days of his life. Diana had been having a good day, so Spencer had called up his girlfriend and asked if she’d wanted to finally meet his mother. Of course, she’d been ecstatic that he wanted to share this part of his life with her, as they’d only been dating for six months or so. Immediately, Diana fell in love with her. They spent the entire day talking, with Diana happily showing off pictures from Spencer’s youth from her scrapbook. Once it was time to go, his mother had pulled Y/N into a hug, telling her how thankful she was that she had taken good care of her son. Y/N moved to stand by the door to give Spencer the space to bid his mother goodbye. When Diana pulled her son into her arms, she whispered into his ear the words he’d never forget. “She’s the one, Spencer. Don’t you ever let her go.”

It was only a few weeks after that that Y/N finally met Spencer’s team. They’d quickly figured out that he had a girlfriend, though he’d expressed how he wanted to wait until he was ready to introduce her, and the team didn’t push him. Though, when they met her, they fell in love with her too. Y/N was just that kind of person, magnetic, passionate. To be near her was to love her. The first time they met Y/N, they’d gone to their usual bar for drinks after work, and Spencer had decided that he was ready to introduce his beloved to the team. Sometime later, Y/N excused herself to the toilet. Spencer had turned nervously toward his team, waiting for their impressions. Morgan spoke first, “Pretty Ricky, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were wrapped around her finger.” Emily had chimed in with, “Yeah, Reid. You better marry that girl before someone else does.” Garcia had been the last to speak, already four fruity cocktails in. She’d grasped Spencer by his shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “Okay so Y/N is my new best friend now. You better not break her heart, you hear me?” She’d slurred, to which Spencer had chuckled. “I won’t, Garcia. Not to her. Never her.”

They would dance together in the early hours of the morning, when sleep was so close yet so far out of their reach. The sound of Elvis Presley’s ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You’ would quietly play from the record player in the living room, the pair swaying together to the soft beat. They didn’t exchange much conversation, simply just basking in one another’s warmth, enjoying the feel of being in each other’s arms. Spencer would hold her tightly to his chest, rest his head on top of hers. It was simply bliss.

After spending hours between the sheets, they’d stay up together, his arms around her and her head resting on his chest as she absentmindedly drew shapes across his skin. They’d giggle over silly things, talk about their future; marriage, buying a house that would become their forever home, raising a family together. “I like talking about this. With you.” He’d whisper, looking up at the ceiling. “You do? Why?” She’d question. “Because it grounds me. Reminds me that with all the horrific things I see on a daily basis, there’s still good in this world. There’s still purity in the form of children, happiness and kindness and love —” He’d paused, reaching down to grab one of her hands in his. “It reminds me that this — this is the life I’m fighting for. The chance to come home to you, our kids, and know that everything I do is making the world just that little bit safer for the people I love.” He’d smiled. “If I can do that,” He’d grinned, “then it will have been a pretty good life.”

Their relationship was great, brilliant even, for the most part. Though, some nights were worse than others. “You’re never here!” She’d exclaim, pain in her voice. He’d scoff, crossing his arms as he got defensive like he usually did. “You knew that would be the case when we got together four years ago! Why is it suddenly a problem now?” “Because how are we supposed to build a life together, have a family, if you’re always halfway across the country? Too busy to even call me and tell me you’re still alive!” She’d spit, venom in her words that burned his skin like acid. “Oh, I’m sorry that the serial killer we were hunting down couldn’t spare five minutes for me to give you a call. Perhaps I should ask them next time!”

Eventually, after the dust had settled and with the weight of the words exchanged between them, they’d apologise. “I’m sorry. I know I’m gone a lot and I know it’s tough on you, I should’ve been more considerate.” “No, no. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have yelled like that. I’m sorry.” “It’s okay. I love you.” “I love you too.”

No matter how vicious their fights could be sometimes, they always came from a place of worry. After all, the arguments weren’t the reason they fell out of love.

And for a long time, this life fulfilled them both.

Until the day came that it didn’t.

They’d been together for so many years that all they knew was one another. Y/N was Spencer’s first proper relationship. She’d taught him how to love, how it felt to be loved in return. For four years they knew nothing but waking up together, falling asleep together. They spent so long on late night phone calls when Spencer was away on a case, spent countless mornings in bed just relaying ‘I love you’s over and over. They were both young, in love with the idea of love.

They spent so long being in love that it took them some time to recognise when they’d fallen out of it.

Once they both hit that realisation, however, the relationship didn’t end. Not yet anyway. They both danced around the topic, refusing to accept what they knew to be true. Their mornings were no longer full of loving kisses and gentle touches. Instead, a simple forced smile and awkward laugh with a small “have a good day” as Spencer headed off to work. He’d come home, and they’d eat together in silence. Then she’d go and busy herself with cleaning up while Spencer resumed reading or researching. When bedtime came, he’d lean over and plant a single kiss on her forehead before shuffling further onto his side of the mattress and turning away from her, and she would do the same.

When he was away for cases, he texted sometimes so she at least knew he was still alive. However, gone were the nights spent on the phone, him in his hotel room whispering in a hushed tone how badly he missed her. No more early morning texts that exclaimed his excitement at coming home.

And after months of dancing around the ashes of a love that once burned so bright, it finally came to a head. They could no longer deny the inevitable.

They’d simply fallen out of love.

Each of them berated themselves for allowing this to continue on for so long. really, they were both just afraid of what life would be like without one another. It would be like starting back at square one. They’d had their whole lives mapped out ahead of them, and they just simply didn’t know what the future held for them, if not each other.

This was the girl Spencer had been so sure he’d marry. Now she was going to become a complete stranger.

That was something else that worried them both. Would they be friends after this? Even if things hadn’t worked out for them, would it hurt to see one of them find someone else? Start a life with someone that in a different universe, could’ve been them? Would the reminder of the future they could’ve had together if things had been different painfully jab at them each time they saw one another?

One evening, they stood together in the small kitchen after dinner. They were silent, (conversation didn’t flow like it used to before) and Y/N busied herself with washing the plates. The only interaction the pair had was when Y/N’s fingers would brush Spencer’s as she passed him the plates so he could dry them and place them in the cabinets. Both of their hearts sank at the lack of a spark as their fingertips touched. They felt nothing.

The only thing to break the silence was the sound of the tap running, and when Y/N had washed the final plate and passed it to Spencer, she turned off the running stream and let the silence that had suffocated the couple for months resume.

She stood for a moment, as did he. For the first time in months, neither one left the room. With a deep breath, she turned around to face him, her hands reaching behind her to hold the counter in a grip she was sure she would need to survive this painful conversation.

***

The day that Spencer realised was two months ago.

He and the team had been away on a case, and they’d been gone for an entire week. He had called Y/N once, just to confirm he was on a case and didn’t know when he would be back. No further communication happened between the couple. Oh, how desperately Spencer missed the texts she’d send every day he was away, the phone calls whenever he wasn’t too busy.

Once the case wrapped up, he realised how he didn’t feel the usual excitement as he boarded the jet to come home. He didn’t text her to tell her he was coming home. He felt guilty. He used to be so animated on the jet home, knowing he was going back to her. It even got to the point where he’d annoy the rest of the team with his constant rambles about how thrilled he was to be going home, how much he’d missed his girl.

When had that feeling gone away?

Would it ever come back?

When they landed back at the BAU, instead of heading straight back home like he used to, like he should’ve, he went and sat as his desk for a full two hours, contemplating everything in his head before finally heading home. On his way out of the bullpen, he ignored the looks of concern he got from Hotch and Rossi. The team knew something was seriously wrong, but no one wanted to be the first to overstep and ask what was going on. Stepping through the doors of the apartment, he registered how it no longer felt like coming home. Despite being in the apartment that the pair had bought together, the home he lived in with the woman he was supposed to be madly in love with, he’d never felt further from home before.

In fact, he felt nothing.

It frightened him.

Of course, at first he denied it. The idea that he was falling out of love with her was ridiculous, right? Perhaps this was just another bump in the road of their relationship, one that they’d overcome and come out the other end stronger than ever before. It truly seemed ridiculous. Not even three months earlier, Spencer had been looking at engagement rings, agonising over which one would be perfect for her.

But now? That all seemed so far away. Floating just out of his reach.

He glanced over to the other side of the bed one night, where she laid next to him.

His eyes raked over her frame, sleeping soundly with her back facing him. His heart broke as the realisation hit him like a train.

He didn’t love her anymore.

The day that Y/N realised was two months ago.

Spencer had gotten the call that there was an urgent case and was scrambling around the apartment to grab his things before he was late. Y/N stood in the kitchen staring at a blank space whilst she held her mug of tea in her hands. Spencer popped his head into the kitchen, gaining her attention. She grinned over at him as he walked toward her. He quickly placed a kiss on her lips, murmuring a small ‘Love you’ before turning and leaving.

When she heard the apartment door close behind him, she sighed as she set her mug back down on the countertop. She missed the sparks that used to fly between them every time they kissed, how the touch of his lips used to set her body on fire. Butterflies would soar in her stomach, his touch alone making her weak in the knees. Dread filled her as she noticed how kissing him goodbye had begun to feel more like a chore than a declaration of her love.

She stopped being bothered when he didn’t call her for days while he was away. She used to get pretty upset over it, always paranoid that something bad had happened whenever he didn’t call or text. She wasn’t fazed at how he was coming home hours after she knew the jet had already landed (courtesy of updates from one miss Penelope Garcia.)

Of course, she still cared for him and worried about him, but she didn’t feel that ache in her chest that she used to, the one that could only be soothed by his presence, his arms around her so that she could feel home.

She only began to register what had really happened when the only way she could justify not breaking up with him at that moment was by replaying old memories in her head.

She would fall asleep reliving memories of the first time they met, how beautifully awkward their first date had been, the day he’d asked her to be his— as if the same man wasn’t sleeping centimetres away from her. She was in love with their memories, in love with how happy she’d been for four years, how she thought she’d feel that way forever. She grasped a hold of the warmth that filled her as she remembered the first time he’d kissed her, wanting to cling to that feeling forever.

But now, she only felt cold.

In fact, she felt nothing.

It frightened her.

She glanced over at him one night as they were sat together on the couch. He was sat at the opposite end, his nose deep in his copy of War and Peace.

She knew it then, in that moment, as she watched him push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

She didn’t love him anymore.

***

She gripped the kitchen counter tightly, finally looking up to meet his eyes for the first time in weeks.

Though, something unexpected happened. (After all, they’d never been the most conventional couple.)

He smiled at her, and she effortlessly gave once back. They were the most genuine smiles they’d worn in what felt like a long time. They continued looking at one another, until Spencer broke into a little chuckle. She began to laugh along with him, both of them snickering at the absurdity of the situation they’d created together. It was one of those situations where if they didn’t laugh, they’d likely cry.

Their laughter eventually died down; the silence they’d grown accustom to filling the room again.

Spencer was the first to speak, sighing before clearing his throat. “It’s uh— It’s over, isn’t it?”

Y/N just nodded sadly. “I’m sorry.”

She meant it, too. She was sorry for a lot of things. She was sorry for falling out of love with a man who would’ve once given her the world had she have asked for it, sorry for letting them cling to something that had burned out long ago.

“No, don’t be sorry.” Spencer assured her. “It’s not your fault, and it’s not mine either. It just— happened.”

Spencer looked at her with an unimaginable sadness in his eyes, also laced with the slightest bit of guilt. He opened his arms, inviting her into a hug.

She gladly accepted, putting her arms around his waist, and resting her head on his shoulder. His arms came around her, enveloping her in a warmth that she hadn’t felt in so long.

The feeling made her begin to sob, and Spencer did too, the understanding of what was happening finally hitting them full force. Together they stood in their kitchen, crying on one another’s shoulders. Together, they let go of all the despair they’d been holding onto for so long.

When they finally pulled back, Spencer pressed a kiss to her forehead, a loving gesture he’d always done to show her how much he cared.

She gave a weak smile up at him, wiping her cheeks. “I think I’ll always love you, Spencer.”

His voice quivered as he spoke, struggling not to let it get caught in his throat. “I think I’ll always love you too.”

Whilst they were no longer in love, they still loved and cared for one another deeply.

She took a deep breath before moving back a few paces. “Okay then. I’ll um, I’ll grab some of my things and stay with a friend for tonight. Then I can drop by tomorrow and grab the rest of my things.”

He nodded, feeling an odd mix of relief and grief fill him. Relief, because they finally had let one another go after holding onto something that had faded long ago. And grief, because although the blossoming flowers of their love had withered over the years, they were still a successful couple. They were so very in love once that nothing else had mattered. He grieved for the future they could have had, the children of theirs he would’ve been delighted to raise with her by his side.

But it simply wasn’t meant to be.

Within twenty minutes, Y/N was stood by the door with a suitcase full of her stuff. She looked up at him, an awkwardness settling over them. What were they supposed to say? Was there anything that could be said?

“I, um, I don’t know what I’ll do without you here.” Spencer whispered out, his voice wavering. It was funny, he thought, that he knew so many words in so many languages and yet he couldn’t find one that encompassed everything he wanted to say. “I mean, I’m not sure I remember what my life was like without you in it.”

“I know.” Y/N whispered back, managing still to give him a smile despite everything. “Me either. But we’ll be okay.” She slowly reached up, her arms coming around him and pulling him into a tight hug.

He hugged her back, gripping fistfuls of the back of her jumper as though that would be enough to hold them together, to glue back the pieces of a relationship that had long broken apart.

“Thank you, Spence. For everything you gave me over the last four years. I was so incredibly happy with you.”

He let out a breath as they pulled apart, a sob escaping his lips no matter how hard he’d tried to hold it back. “I was with you too.”

She nodded with a smile, bending down to grab her suitcase, and reaching for the doorknob. Though she didn’t make it far, as Spencer had reached out his own hand, grasping her arm gently.

“Wait—“ He started. She frowned, turning to face him again.

“Do you think we could pretend?” He mumbled, his eyes searching hers. When he caught on to the confusion she held in hers, he elaborated. “Just— just for tonight? Could we pretend that you still love me, and I still love you?”

She shook her head with a sad smile. “We can’t keep holding on to this, Spence. It’ll do much more harm than good if I stay.”

He nodded, because he knew that she was right, though his grip on her arm only tightened. “Please. Just stay for tonight. I’ve slept in the same bed with you nearly every night for the last four years. Please, just one last time?” His voice was thick with emotion, begging and pleading.

How could she refuse him?

She hesitantly nodded, allowing him to grip her hand and take her towards the bedroom they’d called theirs for so long. They climbed in, her head resting on his chest as his arms wove around her.

Because even if they weren’t in love anymore, he was still losing her. Even if they weren’t in love anymore, she was still his best friend.

Spencer worried for how they would navigate a friendship after so many years of being more. Though, he pushed the thoughts from his head, and instead focused on the moment. They could worry about everything else in the morning. But for now, he was going to hold the woman he used to love for what he knew would be the last time.

This was not them just falling out of love, it was them letting one another go. It was moving on to better and greater things that awaited them.

As he drifted off into slumber, he reminded himself that you do not walk back through a closed door. You open a new one and continue on your way.

permanent taglist: @beyonces-breastmilk @pinkdiamond1016 @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @thelovelyrose @averyhotchner @cynbx @calm-and-doctor @reidyoulikeabook @katexrichardson @jemimah-b99 @devilsarchive

spencer reid taglist: @reidtome

#renswritingchallenge #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x fem!reader #mgg #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds

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casually-slips-into-coma · 3 years

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An Essay (sort of) Explaining the Many Grievances I Have With Debbie Gallagher

Once again, Debbie is the fucking worst.

I’ve been wanting to write out my feelings towards her character for a fucking minute now just so that I have a full concise list. Now, I can talk about how Debbie has a constant need for attention, or how her character has become someone unrecognizable in the past few seasons, or how she’s a terrible mother, but what I really want to focus on is the center of my issues with her: her sexuality. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t about to be a homophobic rant or anything. I just think her queer development has been written terribly and that should be addressed.

Too often I see people praising queer characters or relationships based solely on the fact that they are queer, and as a member of the community, I get it. I am also starved for representation. This, however, does not mean I’m going to settle for annoying, poorly written characters.

Why Make Debbie Queer?

The first thing I want to address is why suddenly develop a WLW storyline for her. Given that Debbie started as a little girl on the show, this gives the writers a lot of opportunity to give a character like that interesting storylines because she does not yet have a solid personality. It gives writers the liberty to take her story anywhere they want to without the constraints of established character because she, as a person, is still developing into adulthood. The show runners unfortunately dropped the ball with this.

From season 4 and onwards was when Debbie began showing interest in dating, sex, and romance having just turned the corner to puberty. From then up until season 9, she has shown exclusive interest in men. It isn’t until Alex the welder that Debbie deviates from this path. Alex is portrayed as a stud who confuses Debbie. I am inclined to believe that Debbie was originally attracted to her because she was masculine and therefore close enough to the people Debbie had previous experience with.

This arc was treated very much as Debbie experimenting with her sexuality, something that Alex also ends up realizing after Debbie tells her that having sex with a girl is “not that bad” and “like having sex with yourself” (S9E4). Once this storyline wrapped up (with Debbie shouting “you make me want cock again”) the writers powered through, adamant about Debbie now being a lesbian.

I have two theories as to why they’ve been fighting so hard for her queerness.

1) This was around the time that Cam was leaving Shameless. This obviously didn’t end up happening, but I was under the impression that the writers were freaking out at losing their token gay character and needed to fill that position. When Cam ended up staying, they were stuck with a queer Debbie storyline and decided to just go with it.

2) Shameless was planning on doing a WLW storyline regardless of Cam’s choice to leave and were originally going to give it to Fiona and her lesbian tenant that she had a close relationship and a lot of chemistry with, but Emmy Rossum wanted to move on from Shameless, and so they pivoted and gave the arc to Debbie, a character that was not supposed to be moved in that direction and so her new sexuality seemingly came out of nowhere. Fiona as a bisexual character would have made sense. Debbie still does not.

Shameless’s Awkward Relationship With Bisexuality

One of the biggest issues I have with Debbie is her insistence on being a lesbian. Lesbianism doesn’t come out of nowhere. Bisexuality, however, can. When you grow up being told that you are supposed to feel attraction to men, and you genuinely do feel attraction to men (which Debbie has expressed in past seasons/episodes) it’s easy to ignore your attraction to women and write it off as something that either isn’t a big deal, or something that isn’t there. It’s a lot more confusing than being strictly at one end of the spectrum. It would have been so much more believable if they had simply made Debbie bisexual. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t because the show has a history with bi erasure.

Bisexuality has been treated badly all throughout Shameless, used as a vengeful plot device back in the earlier seasons where Monica was only ever with women when unmedicated. Then in Season 7 when Ian’s boyfriend Caleb cheated on him with a woman (enforcing the stereotype of bisexuals being unfaithful) Ian, possibly acting out of anger or ignorance, said things like “only women are bisexual. When a man says he’s bisexual he’s really just gay”. The only semi positive bisexual representation on the show was Svetlana and Vee when they were in a poly relationship with Kev (though I also think that storyline wasn’t handled as well as it could’ve been).

This fight against the bisexual label in media is not a new one but it is also a harmful stance to take when writing a sexually fluid character. Debbie declaring that she is, in fact, a lesbian after waxing poetic about how Matty had a big dick and Derek had a great body and knew what he was doing is not the way to go.

You could argue that Debbie, like many other queer women, is an unfortunate victim of compulsory heterosexuality, but frankly I don’t think the writers are well versed enough in queer theory for that to be a possibility.

Debbie as The White Feminist

Debbie is the pinnacle of white feminism. It’s an unfortunate thought that has occurred to me a few times throughout the show. She talks a big game as a man hater and someone after the equal treatment of women but she herself participates in a lot of problematic and anti feminist behavior.

For one, she r*ped Matty back in season 5 when he was blacked out and unconscious. This was a point in the story that was glossed over and one where she suffered no repercussions other than Matty no longer wanting to be around her. It was explained in the show that Debbie didn’t realize what she did was wrong until after she was explicitly told so because she was maybe 14 when it happened (not 100% on the age Shameless is very inconsistent about timelines). It was treated as somewhat of a punchline, something that Shameless has unfortunately done more than once when referring to male sexual assault (Mickey’s r*pe, Liam in season 10 ((i think??)) and in this latest season, Carl) but that is a different topic.

There was also the time in which she lied to her boyfriend about being on birth control so she could trap him into a relationship with pregnancy (which also counts as r*pe!!) Good on Derek for getting out of that.

Debbie has also been pro-life in the past. Now I understand this was when Fiona was pressuring her into aborting her pregnancy, and as a pro choicer myself, I believe that Debbie was fully in her right to have bodily autonomy and go through with the pregnancy. This isn’t where the issue lies. It’s when Fiona finds out that she too is pregnant and tells Debbie that she wants an abortion that Debbie accuses her of “killing her baby”. Again, her behavior could be explained by her age given that Debbie was still a young teen during this time.

When her actions as a White Feminist become less excusable is mostly in the latest season. Her relationship with Sandy is one that I’m not really happy with because Debbie doesn’t deserve her.

Recently, it has been revealed that Sandy is actually married to a man and has a son. It’s explained that she was basically married off against her will at the age of 15 to a man twice her age. This implies that the product of the marriage, her son, was most likely conceived through dubious consent (or worse) at the hands of an adult when she was just a kid. Just because Debbie thinks that Sandy’s husband “seems nice” does not give her the right to try and make a victim of grooming feel bad about not wanting to be with her abuser. While I understand that Sandy’s son has no fault in how he came into the world, I’m still gonna side with Sandy when it comes to having to take care of a child she didn’t want and who is most likely a source of trauma for her. It’s not difficult to sympathize with Sandy and see that she’s clearly gone through something fucked up and Debbie, despite claiming to love and support her, AND despite her dumb white feminist arc about wanting equal pay and all that jazz, turns her back on the girls supporting girls aspect of feminism.

This isn’t even mentioning how shitty it was to just leave Franny by herself and assume that one of her siblings would take her to school and pick her up and stuff as if they don’t all have separate lives. She talks a lot about being a good mother but decided to “let off some steam” by fucking off to a gay bar to get loaded on coke and fuck a gay man (which wtf thats not a thing that really happens with casual coke but whatever I guess). Once she realized she fucked up, instead of taking responsibility she decided to paint herself as the victim as well as spew offensive bullshit about how she “probably has AIDS now” because of her sexual encounter with a gay man. No lesbian in their right fucking mind would ever say that because as members of the LGBTQ+ community, you are at least a tiny bit informed as to how devastating and tragic the AIDS crisis was for queer people.

(I also have an issue with how Debbie capitalized on her felony as a sex offender and her sexuality to start her Hot Lesbian Convict business but I think that’s enough said.)

Blame the writers

The show got almost an entirely new cast of writers after season 7 which is why the show feels more like a sitcom with low stakes and no consequences rather than a drama, but if there is a queer writer on the team it’s not very evident. Even the better half of the queer relationship story, Ian and Mickey, I don’t feel has really been done justice since the change in writers. It’s just become painfully obvious that the actress is a straight girl playing a gay character (not to mention I have never seen any chemistry between her and all of her female love interests). I don’t fault Emma Kenney (the actress) for this. I actually really like her as a person and I like the videos she makes about the cast and such, and I think she does her best with the script she’s given. My complaints with Debbie are targeted entirely towards the writers.

This brings me to my final point. I need them to let Debbie be alone. Her whole thing for the second half of the season has been that she clearly has abandonment issues and is afraid of being alone. It’s why she’s so adamant about keeping the house and fighting with Lip about it (I’m actually on Debbie’s side for that one but that’s besides the point). They had her and Sandy break up which leaves Debbie to spiral further into her loneliness. From a writing point of view, it makes sense to take this opportunity to give her an arc in which she can overcome that and feel comfortable with herself so that she can move on as an adult instead of jumping into a new relationship. This is especially true since this is quite literally the last season ever of the show and any character development needs to be wrapped up. Introducing a new character out of nowhere does not give the viewers enough time to actually get invested in the new relationship. It’s also unfair to Debbie’s character because her arc is going to feel incomplete.

Anyway,,,,,,uuuhhhhh,,,,,feel free to add on if u want lmao

#shameless #debbie gallagher #sandy milkovich #lesbian #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #terrible queer rep

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lilydalexf · 4 years

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Syntax6

Syntax6 has 17 stories at Gossamer, but you should visit her website for the complete collection of her fics and to see the cover art that comes with many of the stories (and to find her pro writing!). She's written some of the most beloved casefiles in the fandom. I've recced literally all of them here before. Twice. Big thanks to Syntax6 for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I’m delighted but not surprised because I’ve written and read fanfic for shows even older than XF. Also, I joined the XF fandom relatively late, at the end of 1999, so there were already hundreds of “classic” fics out there, stories that were theoretically superseded or dated by canon developments that came after them, but which nonetheless remained compelling in their own right. That is the beauty of fanfic: it is inspired by its original creators but not bound by them. It’s a world of “what if” and each story gets to run in a new direction, irrespective of the canon and all the other stories spinning off in their own universes. In this way, fanfic becomes almost timeless.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it? What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

(I feel these are similar, at least for me, so I will combine them here.)

First and foremost, I found friends. There was a table full of XF fanfic writers at my wedding. Bugs was my maid of honor. I still talk to someone from XF fandom pretty much every day. Lysandra, Maybe Amanda, Michelle Kiefer, bugs…these are just some of the people who’ve been part of my life for half my existence now. Sometimes I get to have dinner with Audrey Roget or Anjou or MCA. Deb Wells and Sarah Ellen Parsons are part of my pro fic beta team. I have a similar list from the Hunter fandom, terrific people who have enriched my life in numerous ways and I am honored to count as friends.

Second, I learned a lot about writing during my years in XF fandom. I grew up there. Part of this growth experience was simply due to practice. I wrote about 1.2 million words of XF fanfic, which is the equivalent of 15 novels. I made mistakes and learned from them. But another essential part of learning is absorbing different kinds of well-told tales, and XF had these in spades. Some stories were funny. Others were lyrical. Some were short pieces with nary a word wasted while others were sprawling epics that took you on an adventure. The neat thing about XF is that it has space for many different kinds of stories, from hard-core sci-fi to historical romance. You can watch other authors executing these varied pieces and learn from them. You can form critique groups and ask for betas and get direct feedback on how to improve. It’s collaborative and fun, and this can’t be underestimated, generally supportive. The underlying shared love of the original product means that everyone comes into your work predisposed to enjoy it. I am grateful for all the encouragement and the critiques I received over my years in fandom.

Finally, I think a valuable lesson for writers that you can find in fandom, but not in your local author critique group, is how to handle yourself when your work goes public. Not everyone is going to like your work and they will make sure you know it. Some people will like it maybe too much, to the point where they cross boundaries. Learning to disengage yourself from public reaction to your work is a difficult but crucial aspect of being a writer. You control the story. You can’t control reaction to it. It’s frustrating at first, perhaps, but in the end, it’s freeing.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I participated in ATXC, the Haven message boards, and the Scullyfic mailing list/news group. For a number of years, I also ran a fic discussion group with bugs called The Why Incision.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I started reading XF fanfic before I began watching the show. I had watched one season two episode (Soft Light) and then seen bits and pieces of a few others from season four. I’d seen Fight the Future. Basically, I’d seen enough to know which one was Mulder and which one was Scully, and which one believed in aliens. An acquaintance linked me to a rec site for XF fanfic (Gertie’s, maybe?) so that I could see how fic was formatted for the web. I clicked a fic, I think it was one by Lydia Bower dealing with Scully’s cancer arc, and basically did not stop reading. Soon I was printing off 300K of fic to take home with me each night. I could not believe the level of talent in the fandom, and that there were so many excellent writers just giving away their works for free. I wanted to play in this sandbox, too, so I started renting the VHS tapes to catch up on old episodes (see, I am An Old). After a few months, I began writing my own stuff.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had to be dragged kicking and screaming to The X-Files. I’m not a sci-fi person by nature. I think my main objection is that, when done poorly, it feels lazy to me. Who did the thing? A ghost! Maybe an alien? I guess we’ll never know. You can always just shrug and play some spooky music and the “truth will always be out there…” somewhere beyond the story in front of you. You never have to commit to any kind of truth because you can invent some magical power or new kind of alien to change the story. I think, by the bitter end, the XF had devolved into this kind of storytelling. The mytharc made no kind of sense even in its own universe. But for years the XF achieved the best aspects of sci-fi storytelling—narrative flexibility and an apotheosis of our current fears dressed up as a super entertaining yarn.

What eventually sold me on the XF as a show is all of the smart storytelling and the sheer amount of ideas contained within its run. At its best, it’s a brilliant show. You have mediations on good versus evil, the role of government in a free society, is there a God, are we alone in the universe, and what are the elements that make us who we are? If Mulder and Morris Fletcher switch bodies, how do we know it’s really “them”? The tonal shifts from week to week were clever and engaging. For Vince Gilligan, truth was always found in fellow human beings. For Darin Morgan, humans were the biggest monster of all. The show was big enough to contain both these premises, and indeed, was stronger for it. The deep questions, the character quirks, the unsolved mysteries and all that went unsaid in the Mulder-Scully relationship left so much room for fanfic writers to do their own work. As such, the fandom attracted and continues to attract both dabbling writers and those who are serious craftspeople. People who like the mystery and those who like the sci-fi angle. Scientists and true believers. Like the show, it’s big enough for all.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I look at it like an old friend I catch up with once in a while. We’ve been close for so long that there’s no awkwardness—we just get each other! I love seeing people post screen shots and commentary, and I think it’s wonderful that so many writers are still inventing new adventures for Mulder and Scully. That is how the characters live on, and indeed how any of us lives on, through the stories that others tell about us.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I ran the Hunter fandom for about five years, mostly because when I poked my head back in, I found the person in change was a bully who’d shut down everything due to her own waning interest. A person would try to start a topic for discussion, and she’d say, “We’ve already covered that.” Well, yes, in a 30-year-old show, there’s not a lot of new ground…

Most other shows, Hunter included, have smaller fandoms and thus don’t attract the depth of fan talent. I don’t just mean fanfic writers. I mean those who do visual art, fan vids, critiques, etc. The XF fandom has all these in droves, which makes it a rare and special place. But all fandoms have the particular joy of geeking out over favorite scenes and reveling in the meeting of shared minds. It will always look odd to those not contained within it, which brings me to the part of modern fandom I find somewhat uncomfortable…the creators are often in fan-space.

In Hunter, the female lead joins fan groups and participates. This is more common now in the age of social media, where writers, producers, actors, etc., are on the same platforms as the rest of us. Fan and creator interaction used to be highly circumscribed: fans wrote letters and maybe received a signed headshot in return. There were cons where show runners gave panels and took questions from the audience. You could stand in line to meet your favorite star. Now, you can @ your favorite star on Twitter, message her on Facebook or follow him on Instagram. In some ways, this is so fun! In other ways, it blurs in the lines in ways that make me uncomfortable. I think it’s rude, for example, if a fan were to go on a star’s social media and post fanfic there or say, “I thought the episode you wrote was terrible.” But what if it’s fan space and the actor is sitting right there, watching you? Is it rude to post fanfic in front of her, especially if she says it makes her uncomfortable? Is it mean to tell a writer his episode sucked right to his face?

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I own the first seven seasons on DVD and will pull them out from time to time to rewatch old faves. I’ve shown a few episodes over the spring and summer to my ten-year-old daughter, and it’s been fun to see the series through her eyes. We’ve mostly opted for the comedic episodes because there’s enough going on in the real world to give her nightmares. Her favorite so far is Je Souhaite.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I don’t have much bandwidth to read fanfic these days. My job as a mystery/thriller author means I have to keep up with the market so I do most of my reading there right now. I also beta read for some pro-fic friends and betaing a novel will keep you busy.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I read so much back in the day that this answer could go on for pages. Alas, it also hasn’t changed much over the past fifteen years because I haven’t read much since then. But, as we’re talking Golden Oldies today, here are a bunch:

All the Mulders, by Alloway I find this short story both hilarious and haunting. Scully embraces her power in the upside down post-apocalyptic world.

Strangers and the Strange Dead, by Kipler Taut prose and an intriguing 3rd party POV make this story a winner, and that’s before the kicker of an ending, which presaged 1013’s.

Cellphone, by Marasmus Talk about your killer twists! Also one of the cleverest titles coming or going.

Arizona Highways, by Fialka I think this is one of the best-crafted stories to come out of the XF. It’s majestic in scope, full of complex literary structure and theme, and yet the plot moves like a runaway freight train. Both the Mulder and Scully characterizations are handled with tender care.

So, We Kissed, by Alelou What I love about this one is how it grounds Mulder and Scully in the ordinary. Mulder’s terrible secret doesn’t involve a UFO or some CSM-conspiracy. Scully goes to therapy that actually looks like therapy. I guess what I’m saying is that I utterly believe this version of M & S in addition to just enjoying reading about them.

Sore Luck at the Luxor, by Anubis Hot, funny, atmospheric. What’s not to love?

Black Hole Season, by Penumbra Nobody does wordsmithing like Penumbra. I use her in arguments with professional writers when they try to tell me that adverbs and adjectives MUST GO. Just gorgeous, sly, insightful prose.

The Dreaming Sea, by Revely This one reads like a fairytale in all the best ways. Revely creates such loving, beautiful worlds for M & S to live in, and I wish they could stay there always.

Malus Genius, by Plausible Deniability and MaybeAmanda Funny and fun, with great original characters, a sly casefile and some clear-eyed musings on the perils of getting older. This one resonates more and more the older I get. ;)

Riding the Whirlpool, by Pufferdeux I look this one up periodically to prove to people that it exists. Scully gets off on a washing machine while Mulder helps. Yet it’s in character? And kinda works? This one has to be read to be believed.

Bone of Contention (part 1, part 2), by Michelle Kiefer and Kel People used to tell me all the time that casefiles are super easy to write while the poetic vignette is hard. Well, I can’t say which is harder but there much fewer well-done casefiles in the fandom than there are poetic vignettes. This is one of the great ones.

Antidote, by Rachel Howard A fic that manages to be both hot and cold as it imagines Mulder and Scully trying to stay alive in the frosty wilderness while a deadly virus is on the loose. This is an ooooold fic that holds up impressively well given everything that followed it!

Falling Down in Four Acts, by Anubis Anubis was actually a bunch of different writers sharing a single author name. This particular one paints an angry, vivid world for Our Heroes and their compatriots. There is no happy ending here, but I read this once and it stayed with me forever.

The Opposite of Impulse, by Maria Nicole A sweet slice of life on a sunny day. When I imagine a gentler universe for Mulder and Scully, this is the kind of place I’d put them.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Bait and Switch is probably the most sophisticated and tightly plotted. It was late in my fanfic “career” and so it shows the benefits to all that learning. My favorite varies a lot, but I’ll say Universal Invariants because that one was nothing but fun.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I never say never! I don’t have any oldies sitting around, though. Everything I wrote, I posted.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I write casefiles…er, I mean mysteries, under my own name now, Joanna Schaffhausen. My main series with Reed and Ellery consists of a male-female crime solving team, so I get a little bit of my XF kick that way. Their first book, The Vanishing Season, started its life as an XF fanfic back in the day. I had to rewrite it from the ground up to get it published, but if you know both stories, you can spot the similarities.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

The answer any writer will tell you is “everywhere.” Ideas are cheap and they’re all around us—on the news, on the subway, in conversations with friends, from Twitter memes, on a walk through the woods. My mysteries are often rooted in true crime, often more than one of them.

Each idea is like a strand of colored thread, and you have to braid them together into a coherent story. This is the tricky part, determining which threads belong in which story. If the ideas enhance one another or if they just create an ugly tangent.

Mostly, though, stories begin by asking “what if?” What if Scully’s boyfriend Ethan had never been cut from the pilot? What if Scully had moved to Utah after Fight the Future? What if the Lone Gunmen financed their toys by writing a successful comic book starring a thinly veiled Mulder and Scully?

Growing up, I had a sweet old lady for a neighbor. Her name was Doris and she gave me coffee ice cream while we watched Wheel of Fortune together. Every time there was a snow storm, the snow melted in her backyard in a such way that suggested she had numerous bodies buried out there. How’s that for a “what if?”

What's the story behind your pen name?

I’ve had a few of them and honestly can’t tell you where they came from, it’s been so long ago. The “6” part of syntax6 is because I joke that 6 is my lucky number. In eighth grade, my algebra teacher would go around the room in order, asking each student their answer to the previous night’s homework problems. I realized quickly that I didn’t have to do all the problems, just the fifteenth one because my desk was 15th on her list. This worked well until the day she decided to call on kids in random order. When she got to me and asked me the answer to the problem I had not done, I just invented something on the spot. “Uh…six?”

Her: “You mean 0.6, don’t you?”

Me, nodding vigorously: “YES, I DO.”

Her: “Very good. Moving on…”

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My close friends and family have always known, and reactions have varied from mild befuddlement to enthusiastic support. My father voted in the Spookies one year, and you can believe he read the nominated stories before casting his vote. I think the most common reaction was: Why are you doing this for free? Why aren’t you trying to be a paid writer?

Well, having done both now, I can tell you that each kind of writing brings its own rewards. Fanfic is freeing because there is no pressure to make money from it. You can take risks and try new things and not have to worry if it fits into your business plan.

(Posted by Lilydale on September 15, 2020)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #syntax6

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jaydicksummerexchange · 4 years

Text

[ ❤ Works posted so far! ❤ ]

TODAY IS THE DAY!

We have reached 118 Exchange works for 2020! Thank you, thank you to all our fabulous artists and writers who tapped that creative well and let JayDick rain down upon us. And thank you to everyone who has clicked on the link and left kudos and comments for our participants. They worked, so, so hard y’all!

We’ll reveal all of our participants tomorrow, September 5, so get your score cards ready and see how many of your guesses were right!

Here are today’s releases!

A Kiss and a Kingdom by anonymous for TheWayneManner [Fic, Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/ Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Fae & Fairies, Fae!Dick, Shade!Jason, Alternate Universe - Magic, Prince!Dick, Assassination Attempt(s), Diplomacy

Summary: The Fae Kingdom must work together to help their human brethren when a border conflict arises. Fae Prince Dick Grayson chooses Knight Jason Todd to be a human representative for the negotiations because something about Jason draws him in. Little does he know, he and Jason are spinning a spiderweb around themselves filled with romance, intrigue, and enemies.

The Blud is no Haven by anonymous for Fancy_Dragonqueen [ART, Mature, No Warnings Apply, JayDick]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Mafia Dick Grayson, Mob Boss Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson is Not Nightwing, Jason Todd is Not Red Hood, Hooker Jason Todd, Fanart

Summary: Dick Grayson is a policeman. Dick Grayson is a community hero. Dick Grayson has never, in fact, been on the right side of the law.

That one Mafia AU where Dick is Bludhaven's biggest mob boss and Jason is his right-hand (in more ways than one).

Gotham City Pride by anonymous for epistemology [ART, General Audiences, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Digital Art, Fanart, Pride Parades, Asexual Character, Pansexual Character, Is this an AU? Who knows., JayDick Summer Exchange

Summary: ♫ Just two boys, hugging during pride month 'cause they're both gay. ♫

My Thoughts on You by anonymous for Morimaitar [FIC, Teen, No Warnings, JayDick]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Secret Crush, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, First Dates, First Kiss, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Alternate Universe - College/University

Summary: Left alone for the holidays, grumpy and a bit sad, all Dick Grayson wanted was to get a hot drink from his favourite coffee shop near campus. But little did he know that his life would take a much-needed turn when Jason Todd, his longtime crush, starts working as a barista there.

lit the fuse and missed the candle (i love you and despise you) by anonymous for Airdanteine [Fic, Explicit, Creator Chose Not to Use Warnings, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dick Grayson is Catlad | Stray, Break Up, Post-Break Up, Love/Hate, Love to hate to love, Hate SexAvoiding Sex Scenes with Violence and Intimacy Issues Is My Kink, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Past Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Past Dick Grayson/Rose Wilson, Past Dick Grayson/Harley Quinn, Jealous Jason Todd, Slut Shaming

Summary: “You are nothing,” Stray hisses, slashing Jason’s face with his unoccupied hand.

Jason lets him, smiling as the blood drips down his cheek.

“Oh baby,” he says, all low timbre and heat, “I’m everything to you.”

Spyral Teens by anonymous for ZeroMonster [ART, Gen, No Warnings, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: young spies, Brothers, Big Brother Dick, Little Wing - Freeform, Little Brother Jason, Spyral (DCU), AU, Dick Grayson is Agent 37, Batfamily (DCU), Jason in the 1st Dick's outfit for Spyral, sidekick's sidekick

Summary: They are spies. Little spies. Meet Grayson-Lad and Kid Todd!

We Might Fall by anonymous for empires [FIC, Mature, No Warnings, Dick Grayson/ Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Batman Beyond - Freeform, Angst, Difficult Decisions, Retirement, Confessions, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Break Up, Moving On, Developing Relationship, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, how to tag

Summary: Dick and Jason are together but they're not. They love each other but they won't ever admit it. There's too much history. Too much pain. Ideals that could never match. Choices that could only end with them hating one another. But as Jason makes a life-changing decision, Dick is forced to look back on his own life, the events that led him to become who he is today. He is forced to finally look at Jason in a whole new light.

Once Upon a Time.... by anonymous for naol [ART, Teen, No Warnings, JayDick]

Additional Tags: Digital Art, Little Red Riding Hood AU, Kemonomimi

Summary: "What pretty eyes you have.”, This was a fic prompt but a Red Riding Hood AU was too cute not to draw as a treat <3

will i change for good? by Anonymous for 3isme and TheWayneManner [Mature, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fae, Curses, Curse Breaking, Beastmen - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, mysterious magical stranger dick grayson, jason todd is not a changeling, Dick Grayson is a Talon

Summary:

PROMPT 3 for 3isme - Jason runs from the villagers that have hated him his whole life. They think he's a changeling. A child of the fae swapped with a human baby during infancy. He's not. Despite all the odd things that make him different from the others, he knows he's not. But They don't, and they will kill him if

PROMPT 1 for TheWayneManner - A Dark!Au of some sort. Horror and/or gothic elements. Heavy angst. Eerie vibes. NO Rape NO Underage.

Ideas: DarkFae!Dick, Mobster AU, Demon/Angel AU, Siren!Dick AU, Gothic/Horror AU, Dystopian AU, Vampire AU, Prostitute AU, Prison AU, Asylum AU... Really anything that has a dark twist to it, the boys struggling with their inner demons. BONUS: It would be awesome if the fic contained an element of forbidden love with it. Boys against the world kind of vibe.

Ambiguous or sad ending is welcome.

Favored to Win by anonymous for Fancy_Dragonqueen [Explicit, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Knifeplay, Porn With Plot, Alternate Universe - Mob, Bottom Jason Todd, Top Dick Grayson, Begging

Summary: When Jason agreed to throw fights or the mob, he was not expecting this. Jason had definitely Not had 'ass in the air, face on the floor' on tonight's bingo card. But he's not exactly complaining either...

All Washed Out by anonymous for stribirdf (timidGoddes)[FIC, Mature, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Battle for the Cowl, Batkids Age Reversal, Angst and Feels, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Difficult Decisions, Confessions, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Omega Dick Grayson, Alpha Jason Todd, True Mates,

Summary: Batman is dead. He is dead and everything is about to change. Still grieving for his father, Jason Todd, his son and first sidekick, has no choice but to take up the mantle his alpha left behind, continuing the legacy so that the streets of Gotham are always safe. Estranged from the family, Dick Grayson, the son who died, the son who came back all wrong, has decisions to make, ones that could change everything forever. A fire has been struck, one that is bound to spread and no one can

False Alarm by anonymous for Nottak [Teen, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Married LifeSome Humorno capes AU

Summary: One day in the life of Jason Todd, former crime boss, current house husband.

Hush Hush (Don’t Give It Away) by anonymous for solomonara [Mature, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Fluff and Humor, Writer's Block, Author Jason Todd, Secret Identity, Secret Crush, Awkwardness, Walking In On Someone, Realization, Love Confessions

Summary: ‘He was a skater boi. He said 'I'll write a fic for your later boi.'

In which, Dick Grayson really loves reading romantic stories written by a best-selling author who just turns out to be Jason Todd. Awkwardness ensues.

There are a hundred reasons why I'll run (but for you I'll stay) by anonymous for Hedgebelle (Ahaanzel) [Explicit, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Light Angst, First Meetings, Love at First Sight, First Kiss, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Happy Ending

Summary: Jason, the god of the underworld, cannot stand the Olympians who constantly keep making bets about his love life. His only desire is to stay away from everyone and mind his own business. That is, until, one day, Dick walks into his life.

a keeper of secrets for me by Anonymous for anoncitomikolino [Explicit, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dimension Travel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, intersex omega, Alpha Jason Todd, Omega Dick Grayson, in this universe….

Summary: You can have all your dreams if you really believe in something that's true

The Bees - Listening Man

#2020 jaydick exchange #jaydick exchange #jaydick #dickjay

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all-things-are-nothing-to-me · 4 years

Text

An Obituary for Identity Politics

I began writing this text about a couple months before the uprising in response to George Floyd’s death. The uprising, which now has become a global event, has motivated me to share my perspective in this text. My experiences in Minneapolis from the 26th through the 31st of May have furthered my contempt for identity politics and so I have included additional critiques of it based on those experiences.

Rewind back to a time and place where people used pagers and pay phones. When front porches and public parks were the hang-out spots. A time when conflicts were resolved face-to-face and shit-talking came with real life consequences. These were the days before ‘call-out culture’, ‘troll-baiting’, and other internet-dominated social activities. Some say the internet and technological expansion have advanced the fight against oppression. My opinion? The internet is where all potential for social revolt goes to die. In addition to pointless petitions and endless memes, recognition as a rebel can be gained through pity parties and academic loyalty rather than hands-on direct action. While providing an excellent breeding ground for keyboard warriors and pretentious academics, the internet also allows for the stunted development of social skills necessary in navigating face-to-face communication. Conflict resolution takes the form of indefinite internet drama and at most an awkward in-real-life re-construction of judge, jury, and executioner. Face-to-face interaction is almost unnecessary in the techno-society where phones have become a personalized commodity seemingly fused to one’s hand. From a screen with adjustable dimming, a full spectrum of emotional expression can now be digitally represented from a cache of emoticons.

The internet is also a place where the lynch-mob mentality of “call-out culture” encourages people to view one another as one-dimensional beings – only defined by mistakes and imperfections. In the name of ‘social justice’ and ‘outing abusers’, a new statism emerges, utilizing fear and guilt to coerce allyship conformity. And similar to being charged by the State, once condemned on the internet, an individual may never escape that reputation. Instead, any or all personal growth and development remains trivial to the static nature of their past mistakes. Despite personal improvement, a convicted individual is sentenced to forever remain captive by the essence of their online portrayal.

In my experience as a ‘marginalized voice’ I’ve seen identity politics used by activists as a tool of social control aimed at anyone who fits the identity criteria of ‘oppressor’. The traditional power-struggle for equality has turned into an olympic sport for social leverage, inverting the same social hierarchy that should have been destroyed in the first place. Many identity politicians I’ve come across are more interested in exploiting “white guilt” for personal (and even capital) gain than physically confronting any organizational model of white supremacy. I’ve witnessed victimhood used to conceal blatant lies and bullying, motivated by personal revenge. All too often I have seen how identity politics creates a culture where personal experiences are trivialized to the point of passive silence. But this is all old news. Any experienced, self-identifying anarchist has seen or probably experienced some form of being ‘called-out’ or ‘cancelled’. So why do I bring it up? Because I still see this shit happening and I still see so many people lacking the courage to openly confront it.

I don’t expect this text to bring identity politics to a grinding halt. I am merely expressing my hostility for it and its authoritarian, anti-individualist nature. I still see self-proclaimed anarchists fussin’ over ‘white’ dreads (as well as seeing people cut their dreads under social pressure). I still see people justify voting like they did for Obama (this time it’s for Bernie). And I still see ‘allies’ mumbling frustration under their breath, too scared to confront the authoritarianism they see right in front of ‘em.

How many ‘white’ anarchists were called racist (or privileged) and shamed for refusing to vote this past 2020 election?

Imagine what anarchy would look like if people refused to obey the condescending demands of identity politicians. Would people feel more free to explore their lives beyond the narrow limitations of prescribed identity? Would they fearlessly reclaim their power to formulate their own opinions? Is there a joy to be experienced in the hysterical mockery of academic elitism?

Would this text be less valid if it wasn’t written by a queer person of color? What if I was a ‘white’, ‘cis’ ‘male’? Why would it matter?

In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t. Because after all, this isn’t just about identity. This is about anti-authoritarian anarchy. If there is one thing I have seen the most in the past few years, it’s how identity politics moves like a plague, consuming every social space — ironically including anarchist circles. For me, anarchy is about destroying socially assigned identity and all the limitations it imposes upon the imagination. Anarchy is an individualist experience that finds itself held captive by the prison of assigned identity. Rather than destroying that prison along with the society that constructs it, anarchism today has become a cemetery of dead potential, internalized victimhood, and an ideological competition for who is ‘most oppressed’.

Rather than taking aim at identity itself and the apparatus maintaining this paradigm, energy is spent tearing one another down, ignoring the complexity of individual uniqueness, and playing the State’s role of defining each other based on membership to identity categories. Embracing a particular identity only reaffirms that identity’s existence as a ‘universal ‘truth’ – and therefore, by the colonial intentions of assigned identity, the servitude and enslavement of some to others as a universal truth as well.

I refuse to participate in upholding enslavement as a condition of my existence, and therefore these ‘truths’ are nothing more than political works of fiction. They are the products of a well-perfected, socially engineered god-complex that enters the mind like parasitic cordyceps, demanding unquestionable obedience. The atom of mental manipulation is a mind institutionalized by the incarceration of industrial society. Identity politics are the antiquated chains of colonization, polished by those who assign personal value to them. These ‘truths’ are the social constructs of control, keeping the life of rebellion shackled in a cold well of reform. And while many have become comfortable there, I have broken out to explore the infinite unknown terrain of hedonism and anti-political anarchy. ‘Black’, ‘Brown’, or ‘White’ power is the antithesis of freedom; it is the ideological charity work of a civilized, humanist form of rebellion. Identity politics is the sterilization of individuality, rendering it both obedient to the collectivist authority of identity and gullible to the nationalist myth of supremacy.

Ultimately, the ‘human’ is an animal domesticated with labels socially constructed to correspond to a hierarchy of economic status. And though this hierarchy has changed over the years, it is constantly held in place by a relationship of those who make demands and those who obey. No matter how the categories are arranged, the hierarchy represents authoritarianism; the group dominating the individual. What defines a ‘human’ is the degree of obedience and commitment to civilized roles and behaviors required by industrial society. The less cooperative a ‘human’ is, the more likely that ‘human’ will be compared to an animal. The animal is the undesireable being – even for the identity politicians who prefer to adopt the colonizers’ ideological anthropocentrism. Perhaps this explains why there is such little discussion on animal liberation in leftist-anarchist writing. The marginalized voice is more concerned with being portrayed as equal to the civilized colonizer than with the lost connection between their animality and the earth. At the core of leftist politics is the humanist aim for social equality within industrial progress — all while the earth continues to be cut up into nation-states and ravaged for anthropocentric exploitation and expansion.

It is my opinion that as long as one maintains a personal relationship with the ‘human’ identity, similar to ‘white’ or ‘male’ identities, the individual will only continue to reinforce the colonial paradigm of civilized vs savage. And as long as this reinforcement continues, the individual also remains vulnerable to imprisonment within other identity constructs that further suppress feral potential.

I wonder when or if anarchists in general will move beyond the group-mentality of leftism toward individualist insurgency — recognizing confrontation with identity as an act of personal emancipation. Will anarchists one day come to realize that anyone or anything above the individual represents an authority figure – whether it be “The Commune”, the “Movement”, or the cultural governance of identity? Maybe some, but I am sure not all.

The Victimhood Saint

After a 45 minute drive we finally arrive. It’s been a long day of retail theft and this is the last stop. It’s my turn and I plan to walk out with at least $500+ worth of merchandise for online resell. But I’m already gettin’ a bad feeling from this place. Unlike the other locations, this store is much smaller which to me means Loss Prevention will have a visual advantage watching the doors. Bigger places mean the enter and exit doors are spread further apart. In addition, the bigger the store, the more difficult it is to keep track of every shopper through the cameras. I decide to go for it anyways. Never know anything for sure until ya try.

I walk in, grab a cart and begin searching for the specific items I plan to take. I also scan the check out lanes and customer service desk. Two customer service employees busy chatting, check out lanes all blocked off except the one near the entrance and two near the exit. The entrance lane has a worker wiping down carts. One exit lane has a cashier, the lane next to it is totally empty. I take note of it as looking “too easy”, but I decide to refocus on where my items are located in the store. After loading my cart I start my journey to the exit. For anyone who shoplifts for a living, they know this is the exciting part. Every moment up to this point I’ve been just a regular shopper. But now, as I walk toward the exit, I begin to shed the costume of “shopper” and prepare for the criminal experience of “shoplifter”. As my heart starts to pound I feel my nerves initiate a well — developed calming response where I temporarily disassociate from the panic in order to keep my senses sharp and focused. I have to be ready for anything. And I still have to maintain my “regular shopper” face and body language. As I pass through the “too easy” lane everything looks good.

Customer service people are still chatting not paying attention, the one cashier is too busy ringing up someone to notice. I pull out my fake receipt and casually make my way through the first set of exit doors. If I was seen or caught, this is about the moment I would hear someone approach me from behind or feel someone grab my shoulder. Out the second set of doors, all is good. Time to start making my way toward the back of the parking lot – and then it happened...

Anyone who has ever shoplifted long enough knows these dreaded words: “Sir... Sir!”. I hear someone behind me yell out. I pretend to not hear it. Then I hear quick footsteps approach from behind. “Sir, I need to see your receipt” he says as he flashes me his Loss Prevention badge. Fuck. Where did this clean-cut lookin’ hipster see me? Must have been in the clothes area behind me... maybe that lane was a fucking trap? Doesn’t matter. Let go of the cart and walk away. I start to walk away and I hear “No no...sir we have to go back inside and fill out paperwork. Don’t worry you will not be arrested”. Yeah, fill out paperwork with all my information, have my picture taken for their records – fuck that. I continue walking away. Another LP runs out and is on the phone. This guy is on the phone with the police. I instantly realize the first guy was secretly stalling me till the police got there! I break out in full run. I hear them both running close behind me. I cross the street and bolt into a trailer park, zig zag between trailer homes and finally hide out in a steel shed. I force my paniced breathing to quiet deep breaths. I calm down and listen to them searching for me nearby.

Finally after not hearing them anymore I text my accomplices a rough idea of where I am. I come out of the shed, trying to tidy up a couple things that fell inside from when I stormed in there. The cops will be here any second. I see my accomplices car slowly drive by and wave em down. I jump in and lay down and we drive off.

I should have trusted my instinct. This was a bad run. But it could have been worse. Instead of being in jail tonight, I am comfortably here writing this text. But this is the reality of shoplifting – or any crime for that matter. No matter how many times you get away with it, it is important to expect to get caught one day. Be ready for it. And when it happens, study the panic, the emotions, the physical responses... know it all well. So the next time you engage in criminal activity, you have a better understanding of the worst case scenario. For me, this is elementary, and there is no place for victimhood or or an outcry of innocence.

While Covid-19 created the conditions for state repression in the form of “stay-at-home” orders, ironically my opportunity for illegalist fun has expanded! Many businesses are left unattended for weeks at a time, meaning property damage goes longer without being reported. In the midst of the panic, supermarket Loss Prevention and security personnel are focused on the number of items people purchase in each cart without realizing the cartloads of food quietly slipping out the other door.

Before shutting down, many stores like REI, L.L Bean and other places would deactivate their security towers. I am guessing this was due to the high volume of people passing through with purchased merch with hidden tags still attached. Probably to avoid the annoyance of the alarm going off every few seconds, the towers were turned off, leaving open a grand opportunity to simply walk out with security tagged items hassle-free.

The past few weeks got me revisiting old memories of when my understanding of anarchy was that of an activity that only lasted as long as a may day march, a demonstration, or night-time fun. I remember feeling like anarchy was the moment I wore black pants, shoes, gloves and a t-shirt around my face. After these activities it was back to the “real world”. Back to wage-slavery, back to the daily routine of paying rent and penny-pinching my food stamps for groceries. Sure, there was the occasional clandestine activity along with tabling zines at punk shows or radical events. But there was this divide that always created a separation, always treating anarchy like an extra-curricular activity. Sure, my life was committed to rebellion; the very concept of a zine distro before I named it “Warzone Distro” was conceived while wasting company time on the shitter. Despite wage-slaving, my mind was always fixated on understanding how to cut corners and work the least for the most amount of money. I was the worker who handed my extra hours over to others. Half-day at work due to light truck load? Hell yeah, I’m out!

Over time, anarchy as mere extra-curricular activity just wasn’t enough. And what I mean by that is I became less and less tolerable of bosses, wage-slaving, alarm clocks, paying rent, and penny-pinching. I remembered what it was like being a kid and not having to conform to such obligations. I remembered adventuring all day outside from early morning to late at night. Everyday was a new adventure, and everyday I was learning something new about myself. Then, as a responsible adult I was learning something new about myself. I hated adultism, adulting, and the performative role and identity of “adult”. But I wasn’t tryin’ to become a child again. Those days have come and gone. I began to wonder what an anarchist life that transcended the adult/child binary could look like.

Fast forward years later here I am, jobless but no longer penny-pinching, and older but more youthful than I have ever been. Some say I am the worst of all worlds; hedonistic, violent, and childish. Of course, what these words mean and how they are applied to me is subjective to interpretation, but one thing is for certain; I feel far more free than I have ever felt and experienced. And I have a love affair with crime. It is an intimate experience — committing crime with a furious contempt for society and the law. Causing disruption and getting away with it compliments my desires for anarchy moment by moment. Nowadays I adventure all day outside from early morning to late at night. And with every criminal activity I am learning more and more about myself. In addition to accepting the fact that my days of joy-riding the fuck out of life will either end in prison or sudden death, I am learning to appreciate the present more than the past or future.

One thing about crime that I have come to realize is a uniqueness that comes with breaking the law, a sense of individual ability, inability, strengths and weaknesses. All are discovered within the experience of breaking the law. And it is this experience that I intend to expand in order to discover more about myself, becoming ungovernable in an anti-social sense.

I reflect back on my past self imprisoned by the cult of identity-politics. I remember how one reason to glorify victimhood was to gain social attention and portray the (marginalized) identities assigned to me in a positive light. “Look at me! A responsible queer person of color holding down a job as a law-abiding citizen!”. But why? So I could prove how similar I was to all those ‘white’ hard-working class heroes that America needs to uphold its colonial establishment? Another wage-slave to passively, willfully accept the conditions of my enslavement? To become another christian of color pretending there is an imaginary kingdom above for all us hoodlums that just never got a fair chance in life? Fuck all that.

The reasons for white supremacists, homophobes, patriarchs, and patriots to fear people like me is beyond identity politics; I am a sworn enemy of their control and order. The societal castle they seek to build and maintain will always be the target of my sabotage!

I think most people can see and understand that embracing socially assigned identities is not necessary for understanding how society utilizes them as tools for social control. I think it is equally as easy to see how identity as a tool of revolution is limited and in fact has led to internal conflict within many revolutionary projects. But what blows my mind is the fact that for so many, these identities were not immediately rejected as a primal, personal form of rebellion. But to be fair I think it is safe to say that these identities maintained the power they do because they are so frequently used by leftist organizations for moral persuasion. Through victimhood and innocence, identity politics is used as an appeal-to-all method of creating group-think that ultimately encourages an individual to surrender independent thinking to a god-complex of morality and collectivism. I think this also plays a pretty big role in statism and the rejection of illegalist revolt.

I reject the statist, civilized binary of guilt and innocence, and therefore also reject the internalization of victimhood. I have no use for “call-out culture” or an internet lynch-mob against my enemies. On the internet, attempts to gain public support against one enemy only informs and empowers another enemy (the state) to confiscate my responsibility. And guilt and innocence is a legalistic binary that only serves to judge and divide based on moral determination. I despise the State, all its social manifestations, and it’s enforcement of repression against chaos. Therefore I am not a victim; I am a self-declared enemy in a war against it. I don’t expect pity, a pardon or charity from it, nor from its defenders.

It was the day Chicago issued its Stay-At-Home order. My partner-in-crime and I were in my home town visiting my mom. While driving home from getting my mom some groceries I notice someone sitting on a park bench alone. “Big Momma” is her name. I was surprised to see her outside in the cold and not indoors at one of the local shelters. Come to find out the shelters had closed their doors probably related to Covid-19. I started to wonder how many others were outside in the cold...

My partner and I head over to a park that I used to do Food Not Bombs at and to my surprise there are about 20 people set up camp outside a building’s air vent blowing out warm air. We walk over and ask how everyone is doing. Some people, after recognizing me from activist projects years ago, excitedly run over to greet me. They are all the unlucky ones locked out of the shelters at least for that weekend. My partner and I get back in the car and come up with a plan.

A half hour later we are at another grocery store. Unlike other times, getting out of this one with free food is going to be a little difficult. The set-up has changed due to heightened security at the door due to Covid-19 and the fear of looting. But it is still possible to get out with a full cart. We load the bottom of the cart with bottled water, multiple loaves of bread, peanut butter, jelly, over 20 bags of mixed dried fruit, fresh apples and bananas. Were ready. We make our way to the door with me leading. My role is to peer around the corner at two self-check out clerks to make sure they aren’t looking. If they are, I will pull out my phone like I am making a phone call. If not, I keep walking forward. My partner and the cart close behind, the coast is clear. First set of doors... second set of doors... all good. Finally get to the car and unload into the trunk. Success! Next stop is another grocery store, but we won’t be getting food at this one: we’re raiding the men’s and women’s bathrooms for huge rolls of toilet paper. The dispensers can be a little loud opening sometimes, but relatively easy to do with any kind of house key. Two backpacks filled with about three huge rolls each, we are all set.

Back at my moms we clean our hands thoroughly before making bags and bags of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Once we finish with that were off back to the homeless encampment. Every person gets two sandwiches, two apples, two bananas, some dried fruit and a bottle of water. In addition we wrap the toilet paper rolls in the grocery bags to keep dry and pass them out. We stick around for a bit and exchange laughs and talk shit on the cops. It was good to make new friends and catch up with old friends. It was good to see they were all maintaining and in high spirits despite the circumstances of the weather and the shelter closures. We left and decided to check other parks for people. Found a few lone wolves who happily took what we had left of the water and sandwiches. We arrive back at my mom’s house and settle in for the night. I open the fridge and giggle while scanning over all the stolen vegan food contemplating what to have for dinner.

The Allyship Coward

In my opinion, the concept of “Allyship” started with good intentions, but like other aspects of identity politics became sour and ready for immediate disposal. Here is how I feel about “Allyship”: If you need a politicized buzzword and concept to motivate you to build bonds with people across gendered or racial categories, your “solidarity” is disingenuous. If your style of communicating is loaded with talking points pre-approved by some Woke Ally 101 workshop, you have become a free-range puppet. Genuine mutual aid or solidarity doesn’t require trendy twitter phrases to motivate bond building. In other words, don’t work with me only because that’s what you read is the “right” thing to do, or because your progressive college professor told you to. Don’t kiss my ass and follow me because I am a victimized, ‘marginalized’ or ‘poc voice’. Or because your friends or comrades will guilt you. Don’t let something as fake as socially constructed categories define our relationship. Work with me only if you personally enjoy our interaction, my personality and most importantly you want to out of individual desire. I don’t believe in coercive mutual aid: it makes a fool out of two people at once.

There are also those who assume they know how other people think based on racial and gendered assumptions. These are the identity politicians who act as both police and representatives of others, coercing allyship through guilt and shaming campaigns. Using their identity, they declare themselves beyond reproach while utilizing a passive-aggressive method of communication for intimidation. But in my opinion, nobody is obligated to support or listen to them, or any one, especially based on something as flat as identity. I am always weary of those who talk as if they represent the interests of people they have never met. It is foolish to think that just because people are socially assigned similar identities that every individual subscribes to the stereotypes of those identities.

Identity politics has successfully offered an understanding of how civilized society works, but as a solution to tearing it all down only leads to boundary policing identities, nationalism, internalized victimhood, and more stereotypes for people to find themselves fighting against.

Wanna know someone’s experience? Interact with them directly. Don’t make assumptions based on social constructions. Wanna show solidarity with people? Treat them as individuals with unique experiences and histories, not as mere drone members of homogenized groupings. And to those who still obey without questioning, another word for white ally is still coward!

The Woke Leadership

Personally, I don’t like to use the word “educate” to describe the communication of ideas between two individuals. “Educate” implies the instillation of universal “truths” rather than the horizontal exchange of personal perspectives. The context of which I see this word “Educate” used the most reinforces a social hierarchy between those who are “woke” and those who are not. Do people actually learn anything when the communication of ideas is asserted in a top-down manner? Maybe. But I prefer not to entertain that hierarchy.

Individual people are more than just ‘white’, ‘brown’ or ‘black’, ‘male’ or ‘female’, or whatever social construction assigned to them at birth. Therefore, communicating with identity-based assumptions will almost always come off as condescending. I see shit like “educate your friends”, or “get educated”, as if to direct toward a Church of Social Justice in order to be “awakened”. And apparently the capitalist mentality of further monetizing information is acceptable without question. Some think the ‘labor’ of answering questions merits a wage, citing something as voluminous as a Google search if one is unable to pay. Ironically, many questions come in good-faith, and are from well-intending activists who endure being talked down to in the first place. In my opinion, this elitist way of responding to well-intending people discourages their empowerment by trivializing their personal histories and guilting them into accepting others as paramount. There is a collectivism to this method of “educating” which creates the foundation of another social system of coercion. I have no interest in contributing to the materializing of that. I can offer a critical view or counter a point without socially stratifying the exchange.

I consider each and every individual mind a rushing, wild waterway of ideas that spill out when the dam of social subordination breaks down. Society collectively discourages any wildness, domesticating the individual and ultimately creating a caged animal within the mind. Beneath all the social conditioning there is a unique individual that discovers itself in chaotic contradiction with society.

Uniformity is the enemy of free expression. There is no “education”, only popular opinion enforced by those who intend to think for others. I think ideas and perspectives can be exchanged in a way that doesn’t resemble an authoritarian model of top-down communication. I’m not an educator and I seek to educate no one. Rather, as they grow and develop, I share my personal experiences and ideas with the world with the understanding that others will differ and have unique experiences of their own.

For example one thing that I have come to realize is that the illegalist life isn’t for everyone. I have seen some people do it for a while and ultimately break under the weight of the very real stress of criminal activity. So when I write these words about criminality – and my contempt for identity politics – I speak only for myself. When I began writing “Descending into Madness”, it was the same night I had walked out of a Seattle REI with two packs worth over $300 each. The security tower alarms never went off as I walked right out with two rope-style security tags attached. Prior to walking out I joked with myself that my criminal affairs indicated that I was descending into madness because attempting this was fucking crazy. And then I was successful. And I realized on the car ride home that if it wasn’t for entertaining such courageous insanity I might not have never known that some of these stores have non-operational security towers.

In my opinion, the “Woke Leadership” of leftism leads anarchism over a cliff into a downward accelerating disintegration. Paralyzed by the fear and shame enforced by a new order, some anarchists will never make it to self-emancipation, or independent thinking as a rejection of group-think authority. It is by a narrow, liberal definition of anti-oppression that many individuals define themselves as anarchists – a type of definition that limits anti-oppression to the moralist, humanist confines of civilized society. It is not a coincidence that most anti-oppression praxis requires a statist apparatus to enforce laws that accommodate equal rights. And while there’s nothing wrong with people having equal rights under capitalism, that victory celebrates the power of statist reform rather than anti-authoritarian attack. And in front of this statist power are the “community leaders” or those who have no interest in critiquing authority. Instead, they have built their socio-political careers on petty reforms in the name of “the community” and scold radicals – calling them “outside agitators”. And following behind these leaders are ‘white’ anarchist allies, confused and frustrated, trying to decide between being called a racist for setting shit on fire or a good ally for kissing a ‘black’ preacher’s ass.

“What you or I may or may not consider ‘tactical’ isn’t really relevant. This is less a war in the traditional sense and more a storm -uncontrollable and chaotic. This is one of the problems with the left’s characterization of ‘the movement’ as something uniform, monolithic, and ideologically consistent. It isn’t. It won’t be. ‘The movement’ consists of a million individuals with their own individual views and opinions and actions, and it does no one any good to deride anyone who isn’t doing things exactly the way you see fit.” Baba Yaga

Another Word For “Black Leadership” is Authoritarianism

After marching, we arrive at the 3rd Precinct at East Lake St and Minnehaha Ave. BLM organizers begin howling into the megaphone about demands, with a few prayers and droning chants mixed in. I notice someone slowly creeping up behind me who starts bangin’ his fist on the window. Concerned it will break, three bystanders begin quietly shaming him “this ain’t the place for that, keep it peaceful!”. The person responds back quietly but with angry tension in his voice “that’s the fuckin’ problem, y’all muthafuckas never wanna do shit except march and chant...”. Discouraged, he starts to walk away. “I’m with you on that shit fo real tho” I tell him. “That’s what’s up – fuck all this other shit” he responds while walking away. A minute or so later, I lose my patience for listening to BLM talk about being peaceful and decide to go look for that same individual again. I round the corner to the back of the police station and notice a commotion. A group of about 5–7 ‘black’ folks are blocking the back glass doors of the police station, arguing with a group of about 20 ‘black’ and ‘brown’ angry youth – including the one from earlier. Unable to contain my own frustration I get caught up arguing with the police-defenders as well. Finally, in the middle of the shouting a couple of ‘black’ and ‘brown’ youth begin spray painting “fuck 12” near the commotion. Cheers behind me erupt from a crowd that has now tripled in size. A brawl breaks out near the doors, and then a single rock smashes through the precinct window and is immediately followed by a hail storm of rocks, street cones, water bottles, and anything else within reach. The group of 5–7 ‘black’ pacifists cry out in desperation to stop the destruction, going as far as attempting to physically detain people, but ultimately are overwhelmed. They try to collect the rocks after being thrown and find themselves in multiple physical confrontations while doing so. People from the front of the building run over and join in on the vandalism. Eventually after every window is smashed the crowd moves toward the police parking lot and begin damaging police cars. I finally pause to catch a breath when I hear a stun grenade go off. The police run out from another door and begin shooting rubber bullets and tear gas. The crowd disperses but with hysterical laughs of joy and accomplishment. The 3rd Precinct is in ruins — and little did I know this was all just the beginning.

The very next day a bigger crowd of mostly ‘black’ and ‘brown’ youth showed up and continued to wage war on the 3rd Precinct. By night, a three mile radius was liberated from police control by the people on those streets. The 3rd Precinct was breached and taken over. Police abandoned the area all together. Their building was looted and cop cars driven into the street and set on fire. A Target across the parking lot was broken into and looted along with other stores nearby. People celebrated the victory by shooting off their guns in the air. Strangers sang and danced around burned out cop cars, exchanged high-fives in passing, and shared looted food. People casually socialized in front of burning buildings while others threw rocks through the remains of store front windows for target practice.

While it might have seemed like a perfect utopia, it wasn’t divorced from reality. Fights broke out between small factions of people and long-awaited personal conflicts were solved in the now cop-free streets. Business owners shot and killed looters and low-income housing units burned to the ground. But this is the difference between the textbook, sugar-coated ideologies of politics and raw, unmediated rage. The revolt didn’t happen due to any teachings of Mao or religious messages from a god. The fires, looting, and attacks against police didn’t need Marxism, a transcript of The Coming Insurrection, or an academic course on the history of anarchism. All that was needed was the chaotic expression of rage against representations of authority.

As expected, many people on the internet – including many self-proclaimed anarchists — passed judgement on the situation – most often coming from an ideological position that placed value in uniformity and a narrowed range of “acceptable” forms of revolt. In my experience, uprisings like this flourish best when least controlled or organized. The more that expressions of anger are controlled and organized the less anarchistic they become — essentially becoming pacified to accommodate a particular political vision. For me that is undesirable and also unrealistic. Destruction is destruction, violence will be violence, and to expect an uprising to be anything less is naive at best. While some can sit on the sidelines and moralize specific tactics or forms of emotional expression, they disregard the reality that full-fledged warfare has no inherent morality. Businesses that were boarded up and declared “black owned” weren’t spared by any moral consideration; they too were broken into, looted, and subsequently burned to the ground.

Also, in my opinion, the more uncontrollable and unmanageable an uprising remains, the less likely the police will have the ability to adapt to its formation and dominate it. The police had the least control over hundreds of individuals rebelling in such a chaotic manner as to overwhelm them and send them fleeing.

Over the next few days, attacks against the 5th Precinct happened while liberals, pacifists, and identity politicians quietly crawled back to avenge their loss and inability to control the first riot. The internet became their ground zero for one of the worst campaigns of lies and fear mongering I have personally ever seen.

As the victories of burning cop cars and police stations circulated online from all over the states, liberals rushed to the scenes in a desperate authoritarian attempt to assert their ideological morality and political program. They insist on a narrative that labels anyone who engages in sabotage as a “white supremacist” or “undercover cop” “infiltrating” the uprising.

Many of these liberals are the same ‘black’ people who failed to stop ‘black’ and ‘brown’ rebels from looting and destroying property. They failed to convince all ‘white’ people to evacuate the riots (because even some ‘white’ people knew not all ‘black’ or ‘brown’ people have a problem with them being there – recognizing their value as accomplices). And in an effort to preserve capitalist, reformist values, liberals of all races sought to halt the looting and vandalism by bombarding social media with blatantly false information. This false information is riddled with catch phrases like “outside agitators” and “white supremacists” in order to emotionally motivate readers to chose a side within a false dichotomy. And those who are not physically on the streets or there with rebels battling police are the target audience of these narrowed, inaccurate representations of reality.

Different ideological motives create different interpretations of events. And since liberals and pacifists tend to dominate social media more than those who are too busy out in the streets, they have an advantage. And since liberals morally frame all people of color as obedient, victimist heroes, most people have difficulty admitting that people of color are capable of destroying property and participating in violent forms of protest. This also plays into the compulsion to blame ‘white’ people for forms of rebellion considered morally undesirable. Riots/uprisings are not all utopian and pretty. They are the dangerous elements of liberation that occur when all other options have failed. Whether people are afraid of violence or not won’t change the fact that police kill, and will continue to kill as long as the concept of law enforcement exists. In my opinion there is no “bettering” the police, and there is no “justice” when someone is already being buried six feet deep.

And the police are not all ‘white’. ‘Black’ cops kill ‘black’ people too.

The worst part about the online interpretation of events is that the people spreading this misinformation fail to communicate to the online-world the joy, smiles, singing and dancing of racially diverse rebels as they celebrated the destruction of the 3rd Precinct.

I mean shit, imagine being a person of color, harassed by police all your life, and then a day and night comes when you actually get to see a police station burning, and police completely abandoning the area. All this is erased from history when liberals credit it all to a group of people — white supremacists — who didn’t exist in those battles in the first place.

To this day as I write this, there are still people spreading conspiracy theories on the internet like the famous “brick bait” video of cops unloading bricks (behind their own building – not in an alley as originally propagated). While I can’t say for absolute certainty that there were no white supremacists at the events at all (I mean I saw some driving past in pickup trucks yellin’ white power shit, and the ‘brown’ dude who rolled up in a truck rockin’ pro-police slogans and a confederate flag) I sure as hell didn’t see any in the battles. I have seen pictures of ‘black’ people locking arms to protect riot police, white allies turning other ‘white’ people over to the police in the name of ‘black’ support, and ultimately police regaining control and using these pacifying efforts to brutalize peaceful protesters.

Feral Delinquency

It is my opinion that the last months expose weaknesses of civilization in very obvious ways. Governmental control had increased as a panic response to social tension and spontaneous ruptures of illegal activity. Covid-19 broke the order of daily productivity and civilized slavery, leaving people more time to contemplate their lives and the value of their free time outside of working. The uprisings in response to the murder of George Floyd demonstrated the weaknesses of the police power and control – even at their own home base. At this point I have no earthly idea what will come next.

I admit to finding it fascinating to see non-human animals and the earth flourish in the midst of our industrial despair. To see clearer skies, various animals walking the streets, flooding that loosens the foundation of this concrete jungle. I can’t help but feel both the pandemic and these continued ruptures against authority are better than a return to normality; a normality where death from industrial civilization and the State is as routine as a slaughterhouse in full operation.

I wonder what kinda conversations people are having with each other or with themselves during this blooming destabilization of domesticated order. Will more and more people seize this opportunity to express anger and frustration through random acts of violence and sabotage against one another? Against law enforcement? Against the institutions that have become weaker due to financial loss and now stand more vulnerable than ever? I can only hope the uprisings continue in some capacity – above or below ground which is personally more favorable for me at this point.

Will people beg for the return of the old daily misery of monotony, or will they explore the depths of permanent uncertainty? Return to work or rewild? I guess only time will tell.

But here, I can only speak for myself. My anarchy is my own, as are my thoughts and words in this text. I don’t write to impress any club of internet anarchists who flex intellectual texts for self-congratulatory praise. I make my diary public in an antagonistic effort to mock the victimist, anti-individualist narrative of leftism which currently dominates contemporary anarchism.

I don’t wish for a return to normality and the daily misery of industrial production. I have no desire to celebrate ridiculous “victories” such as police accountability, firings, or prison terms – which will only be followed by the rebuilding of their ruined precincts or perhaps an equally authoritarian “community-based” replacement. I desire nothing less than the total abolition of all governance and policing. And perhaps those who hold some form of elitist power will find me undesirable and will orchestrate a smear campaign against me, banning my writing and “cancel” me from their Movement. But little would they know that the days and nights, between wide fields and the stars, and between the tree tops and the ground – is the domain of my adventure! And with it is a joy that follows anarchy as a vibrant life experience rather than a measure of social capital online, or a theory frozen in an academic journal.

The internet has created a culture of desperation for social continuity and digital validation. It is the breeding ground for “new” concepts of anarchism that are nothing more than communist corpses with hipster aesthetic. Anti-civ anarchy, impregnated by leftism now displays the extent of its power with endless twitter debates on “eco-fascism”. Twitter — a place where reclaiming one’s life and body is shamed by the disciples of privilege politics – is a graveyard of voices glorifying their own death-by-internet.

My animalism looks nothing like adopting the imagery and behaviors of existing animals. Instead it is the silhouette of an illegalist, feral menace dancing around the burning prison of domestication. My abandonment of victionhood is a foreclosure on both the pity politics of morality-based organizing and the sainthood of innocence. My anarchy is an obituary for identity politics. It is a personal insurgency without a future, a dream without the anaesthesia of hope, a declaration of joy with the lifespan of an exploding bomb.

This text is dedicated to all those rebels whose only negotiation with authority is fire and destruction...I am forever inspired by your courageous wrath across racial and gendered lines... To the youth who made history on May 26th, to the rebels who perished, and to those currently held captive for their part in this war against the state. RIP George Floyd

#george floyd #minneapolis #anarcho-nihilism #anti civ #anti identity politics #identity politics #decolonialization #identity #illegalism #individualism #individualist anarchism #Nihilism #post leftism #post left anarchy #rioting #flower bomb

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myforeverforlife · 4 years

Text

the sacrifice (part three).

Baekhyun sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes as he stared up at the night sky. The moonlight seemed to be reflected in his one blue eye, the mark of his family's magic. If he could prevent the loss of another innocent life, he would do everything in his power to help.

He only hoped that what he had was enough.

Series Masterlist: ( 1 ) ( 2 )

Pairing: Baekhyun and Fem reader

Word Count: 5,894

Masterlist

Your legs were falling asleep from staying in one position for too long, but you didn't mind. Not when Tanie was lying contentedly in your lap, her fluffy tail lazily sweeping the floor below her.

"You're such a pretty cat, aren't you," you cooed. Tanie meowed as you ran a hand through her fur, marveling at how soft she was. Clearly, Minseok took good care of her.

"Don't go stealing my familiar from me," Minseok joked, looking up from where he sat reading through a thick book. His reading glasses threatened to slip down the bridge of his nose, and he quickly pushed them back up.

"What is a familiar, anyways? A pet?"

"It's a lot more than a pet," Jongdae said, sitting up in his armchair. "A familiar has their own magic. They're meant to help a witch get in touch with the craft, to support their power. Once a familiar chooses their partner, the bond lasts for a lifetime." He grinned as Dotori's bushy tail tickled at the nape of his neck, the chipmunk sitting perched on his shoulder. "It's a deep friendship that lasts for centuries."

"Centuries?" Your eyes widened in disbelief. "How old can witches be?"

"Very old," Minseok said quickly.

Jongdae smirked, leaning forward in his seat. "Grandpa over there gets sensitive when it comes to age. I'm the youngest, and I barely had my 100th birthday a few years ago."

"A hundred?" you exclaimed. Tanie flinched at the sound of your voice, pupils shrinking to tiny pinpoints before she lay back down again.

"But you look so young! You hardly look any older than I do." A soft chuckle from behind you caught your attention, head whirling around to see Baekhyun amused by your reaction.

"Something about practicing the craft prolongs our lifespans," he said. "It keeps ancient people like Minseok alive enough to be a hun — "

Minseok leaped at him, the heavy book falling out of his lap as he threw his hands over Baekhyun's mouth. "Say another word, I dare you," he grumbled.

Baekhyun's body shook with laughter, eyes turning to crescent moons as he weakly pushed the other man off of him. His cheer was infectious, and gladly welcome after the stressful couple of days you all had. The four of you had been poring over books, starting with the revered family grimoires and moving on to the rest of the books in the library in search of a remedy. So far, you hadn't found anything that would rid Sehun of his illness.

At least the witches were comfortable around you now.

The animals had been the first ones to completely warm up to you, Dotori taking a spot on your shoulder whenever she wasn't with Jongdae. Mongryong was always trying to drag you outside to play, while Tanie was content with sitting on you for hours as you pet her.

Seeing how attached their familiars were with you already, it was only a matter of time before you got close to the witches as well. Minseok had been the first one you felt comfortable around, which didn't come as a surprise since he had been taking care of you since your arrival. You had befriended Jongdae over your mutual love of teasing Dotori, which annoyed the chipmunk to no end.

Even Baekhyun, cold and closed-off, was beginning to warm up to you. He was still quiet and reserved around you more than the others, but he managed to start up small conversations here and there. No longer did you have sit in a room with him and feel stifled by the awkward silence. Plus, having Jongdae and Minseok around always helped to bring out his playful personality.

It came as a relief that the three witches were starting to trust you. It was strange to realize that if things had been different, if the king hadn't supported the persecution of thousands of witches, you might have befriended the coven years earlier.

Minseok finally gave up on attacking Baekhyun, confident that the clairvoyant wouldn't be disclosing his age any time soon. "I hate to say it, but I haven't found anything yet that I think would cure the prince — not even the slightest bit. Illnesses of this degree usually require cures in the form of stronger, riskier magic."

Jongdae hummed in agreement, full of regret as he eyed the stack of books lying at his feet. "Neither have I." Throughout your search, both men had taken the time to explain why certain spells or concoctions wouldn't work for Sehun, Minseok drawing from his knowledge of potion-making and Jongdae from his affinity for spell-casting.

"We have to keep looking," you replied, carefully reaching out for your family grimoire. Tanie climbed out of your lap as you replaced her empty spot with the thick tome, running a hand over the cover. You had pored over the pages day after day, unable to find anything that would serve as a remedy for Sehun's specific symptoms.

"The answers may not be in these books," Minseok continued slowly, sensing how your anxiety was starting to bubble up. "But there is still something that we haven't tried."

"What is it?"

Minseok glanced over at Baekhyun, raising an eyebrow. "The full moon is in a few days. Perhaps the scrying stone will show you something that will help us."

A small frown settled on your lips. "But it hasn't shown us anything that we can use."

Baekhyun had already tried, locked in his room with only Mongryong for company as the rest of you waited outside. The stone hadn't been very helpful, only predicting a few changes in weather patterns and pesky bugs and animals threatening to eat through Minseok's garden sometime soon. You weren't sure what Baekhyun did when he was scrying, but you were already able to tell how fickle the skill was. The scrying stone always varied in what it chose to show, a few seconds of the future at one time, a few minutes the next. The only thing Baekhyun could do was wait and watch.

"A witch's power is at its highest during the full moon," Baekhyun explained. “It's become tradition for us to hold a ritual on the night of the full moon, to get in touch with the full extent of our magic."

"Do you think it'll work? That the crystal will lead us to a cure?" you added, eyes widening hopefully.

Baekhyun paused, searching for the right words. "I don't know,” he replied truthfully. "But I have a good feeling about it."

"Don't worry, little witch," Jongdae piped up. "Baekhyun's too modest about his abilities. The full moon's never failed him before."

You nodded, even as Baekhyun glared at his friend. "Okay. I trust you — all of you."

Baekhyun's expression softened, the genuine honesty in your words stirring up an emotion he hadn't felt in a while. He hadn't felt hope like this in ages, a feeling so strong, it was all-consuming.

It was almost like magic.

With a determined glint to his eye, Baekhyun stood up to stare out the window at the darkening afternoon sky. It would only be a couple of days before the full moon was upon them, whether they were ready or not.

"We'd better start preparing as soon as possible," Baekhyun murmured. "Gather all of the materials that we need."

"Is there anything that I can do to help?" you offered. Magic wasn't your thing, but helping prepare for the full moon? Maybe something you would have better luck with.

Baekhyun met your gaze, a full moon of his own nestled in his left eye. It never failed to surprise you how strikingly beautiful both of his eyes were — the brown and blue complementing each other.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You don't need to force yourself to participate in the ritual, much less help prepare for it."

You shook your head. "It's no bother to me," you admitted. "I want to learn about my family's craft. Plus, it'll help keep me from getting too tangled up in my worries."

Baekhyun quickly glanced over at the other two witches, all of them aware of the couple of times they had found you deep in thought, fighting internally with your own struggles and concerns. "Alright," he said.

"Let's get started."

It was amazing how much time was spent preparing for the ritual in the following days. You hadn't realized how much of practicing witchcraft actually consisted of gathering necessary materials. Minseok had taught you how to gather specific herbs to be burned during the ritual, venturing into the forest with you and Tanie. Some items needs to be picked at certain times, like a handful of yellow dandelions plucked early in the morning right as the sun began to rise. Others were less difficult to find, like a couple of bay leaves from the witches' garden.

Jongdae noticed how you took interest in the strange writing that you couldn't read, and offered to teach you how to read the language of the ancients. It was hard going at first, especially with getting used to a completely different set of written symbols in addition to an entirely new language. But soon enough, you were able to recognize certain letters of the alphabet here and there, much to Jongdae's delight.

While the other two witches taught you about specifics of the craft, Baekhyun took it upon himself to inform you about each step of the full moon's ritual. The four of you would set out late at night, setting everything up before starting the ritual at midnight. The full moon ritual was known for being extremely draining, but Baekhyun assured you that all of it was worth it for the results.

"Using magic on the night of the full moon, it's like nothing else. But it'll be a long night," he warned as both of you sat at the kitchen table. "We might not be back until dawn."

"I'll be fine," you told him, crushing some dried herbs that Minseok had brought up from the cellar. "Nothing like sitting in the cold, dark forest all night."

Baekhyun smiled to himself as you continued to crush the herbs with a mortar and pestle — a task that Minseok had assigned to you. "Make sure you don't fall asleep. It's important that all of us are awake and focused."

"Even if I don't have any magic?"

"Even so. Any break in concentration could interrupt the ritual, cut off access to our power."

You gulped in worry, the importance of the ritual creating cracks in your confidence. Tonight was the night, and it was only a few hours away before the four of you would be heading outside.

Baekhyun eyed you warily, noticing how quiet you had gotten. "It's not too late to back out, if you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid," you replied stiffly. "Just nervous."

"Isn't that the same thing?" The witch laughed when you glared at him, a sight that you still couldn't get used to. "I mean it, Princess. You don't have to participate if you don't feel like it."

You pouted at his choice in nickname for you. It had caught on with all three of the witches, even as you protested and explained that just because you were the crown prince’s cousin, you weren’t necessarily a princess. As much as you complained, you hated to admit that the nickname was already growing on you.

"If I'm not ready now, I don't know if I'll ever be." You returned to crushing the herbs in your bowl with renewed vigor, much to Baekhyun's amusement.

"What's bothering you?" he asked, watching lazily with his arms propped up against the wood of the table.

You worked away in silence for a bit, as if you hadn't even heard his question. "It's just that I have so many ideas about what I'm hoping will happen, and what if none of that turns out to be true? What if this is just another dead end?"

Baekhyun twiddled his fingers as he thought, the mole on his thumb disappearing and reappearing in between the movements of his hands. "It might be," he replied honestly. "I've learned that even with all of its power and potential, sometimes magic doesn't come to us in the ways that we want."

The sudden shift in the mood had you pause in the middle of your work, stopping the rhythmic beating of the pestle. "What do you mean?" you asked carefully.

Baekhyun raised his left eyebrow, the one curved over his blue eye. "Do you know what it means for someone in the Byun clan to have blue eyes?"

You shook your head. His mismatched eyes had intrigued you from the start, wondering what could cause such a unique contrast in colors, and yet you were too shy to ask.

"It's a sign of clairvoyance. My great-great-great-grandmother was the most skilled of our clan. I've heard that she had eyes so light, they almost looked white. She was powerful, not only able to see the future, but to change it as well. You can imagine my disappointment when I didn't even get the standard blue eyes of the Byun clairvoyants — just one." Baekhyun laughed dryly, sarcastically.

"But one is better than none," you argued weakly. "I mean, you have the ability."

"I do, but not as much as I wish I did. Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with this other eye." He pointed at the pool of warm brown in his right eye, thinking of another person dear to him who once had eyes in the same brown color. "The same as my mother's," he added softly.

Baekhyun coughed suddenly, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "It's just always lingering in the back of my mind, you know? The fact that no matter how hard I try, I don't have the same abilities that my grandmother had."

"It might also be a good thing," you ventured. "It's not fair to have to live up to someone else's fame." With a shrug, you reached down to wipe your palms on your apron. "Sehun may be ill, but he's still a prince — and the only heir, to top it off. All his life, he's been groomed to be the perfect prince, the one to carry on the legacy of his family. But Sehun's not his father, or his grandfather, or anyone else. It's unfair to expect him, and you, to live up to meet standards that were set by someone else. The most that we can hope for is to be the best that we allow ourselves to be."

Baekhyun sat stunned by your sage advice. He had decades of experience on you, and yet you seemed so much wiser. Perhaps you weren't as naive as he thought. "Thank you," he said softly.

"You're welcome." And there it was again, another side to Baekhyun that you hadn't seen before. It made you wonder how much he and the others were learning about you as well, if they were just as surprised by what they discovered.

You weren't the only one learning something new everyday. And yet, there was still so much to discover.

The witching hour was almost upon you, much to your anticipation. Baekhyun was upstairs carefully wrapping up the scrying stone for the short journey the four of you would be taking, while the rest of you waited downstairs. Mongryong waited patiently at your feet, short stump of a tail wagging back and forth.

Unluckily for poor Mongryong, your attention was on Jongdae. He stood beside you, black cape and pointed hat on as Dotori scurried up from his shoulder. She made her way onto his hat, perched on the edge even as it began to droop down. With a short squeak, she began running around over the fabric, much to Jongdae's dismay.

"Hey, quit it!" Jongdae exclaimed, his shouts turning to giggles as the chipmunk scrambled down from his head. In a flash, she disappeared down the back of Jongdae's robes, rendering him a mess or flailing limbs and laughter.

You and Minseok watched on fondly, laughing at the sight of the chipmunk's tickle attack. Dotori reappeared at the collar of Jongdae's robes, tiny nose twitching in glee as she snuggled against him.

"Yeah, yeah. You can try and be all cute with me, but it won't work." Despite his words, Jongdae scooped the tiny fluff of a chipmunk up and indulged her in a few berries. "What did I say about playing around on my hat? You could fall off and hurt yourself."

Dotori only gave a small squeak before turning her attention back to her snacks. "Are all familiars as fond of their owners as she is?" you inquired, meeting the animal's eyes.

"Most are. I've heard of a few that are indifferent, but even those are fiercely loyal to their bonded." Jongdae shrugged. "No pairing is the same."

"Which is a relief," Minseok added with a wide grin. "I don't think I'd be able to handle either Dotori or Mongryong's energy." He leaned down to kiss the top of Tanie's head, the feline resting easily in his arms.

"I leave for two minutes, and you take this opportunity to insult my familiar?" Baekhyun's voice carried down the staircase as he descended. A bag was slung over his shoulder, presumably with the crystal inside. A midnight-blue robe was draped over his body, the fabric rippling smoothly with every step.

Mongryong dashed over to Baekhyun with a cheerful bark, smothering the witch with love as he jumped up against Baekhyun's legs. It was endearing to see how close the witches were with their familiars — from Jongdae's playful relationship with Dotori, to Minseok's easy companionship with Tanie, and Baekhyun and Mongryong's intense loyalty to each other. Funnily enough, they reminded you of how close you and Sehun were.

"Everyone's ready, then?" Jongdae asked, drawing you out of your thoughts.

You nodded, even as you checked to make sure that all of the herbs and candles were tucked away neatly in your bag. The others would have things to carry as well, and you wouldn't hear of them shouldering heavy bags through the forest while you were left with nothing.

The four of you left the warmth and comfort of the house and went out into the frigid night air, goosebumps immediately rising on your skin. You turned to see Minseok putting his own pointed hat on to match Jongdae, while Baekhyun pulled the hood of his robe over his head.

"Why do you wear head coverings during the rituals?" you asked curiously, glancing from person to person. You had read about the tradition of wearing head coverings during the full moon rituals in one of the witches' books, but it had provided no explanation as to why.

The brothers shared a look, but Baekhyun simply shrugged. "No real reason. It's just fun."

Your brows jumped up in disbelief. "They're not important in affecting how the ritual goes? You don't wear them to help harness your magic?"

Baekhyun chuckled. "It's a hat, Princess. Or a cloak, in my case. It's not going to have any effect on our magic."

"Then why do you do it?" you spluttered out.

"Just for the fun of it." Noticing your flabbergasted expression, all three men burst into laughter.

"I don't see what's so funny," you grumbled in your embarrassment. "According to your reasoning, I could be out tonight wearing a handkerchief on my head, and it wouldn't make any difference." "You could, but that would be ridiculous." Baekhyun's lip curled into a smirk.

"No more than wearing a hat for no reason."

Minseok interrupted, wanting to settle the squabble and actually get some work done. "The ancient witches wore headcoverings to protect their identities as they snuck away to meet up in the middle of the night. Now, they're more of a fashion statement." He chuckled, tugging on Baekhyun's blue hood. "Now come on, before we lose our chance. We don't have time to wait for the next full moon."

That sobered everyone up quickly, your small group of witches heading even further into the forest. There were no paths, and most of the journey was spent walking carefully around obstacles with only the light of a lantern for help. Mongryong took on the task of scouting ahead, toddling off into the brush ahead as the rest of you followed. Jongdae even began singing to himself softly to keep himself awake, Baekhyun's voice weaving and blending in to harmonize with the other's. The night chirpings of insects hidden away in the forest added to their music, creating an unexpected melody.

You began to wonder if they were heading back to the stream where you first met Dotori. Mongryong let out a small yip of excitement as he wove back and forth between a cluster of bushes and trees. You followed after him, curious about what had gotten him so eager.

You ducked around a few low-hanging branches, pushing past the last of the greenery only to be rendered speechless in awe by what lay on the other side.

Where you had been expecting a slow moving river was instead a large body of still water, the moonlight reflected perfectly on its smooth surface. The sound of the insects was even louder out here, although you couldn't spot another living creature apart from your small group.

Mongryong walked to the water's edge, toeing the line but not going in. A sudden peal of laughter caught your attention, only to see Tanie mewling repeatedly as Minseok set her down on the pebbles that made up the lake's shore. The cat lifted up her paws gingerly, walking at an awkward angle as she scurried away back to the grass.

"We've been doing this for years, and she still hates walking on the rocks every time," Minseok explained to you with a grin. "If she could have things her way, I'd be carrying her all night."

Tanie finally relaxed as she reached the grass, settling down with her paws tucked underneath and her wise eyes watching over all of you.

Time was of the essence, and the witches wasted no time in setting up. Baekhyun and Minseok got started on making a small fire while Jongdae went to gather water. You watched as he pulled out a bowl from his knapsack, dipping it into the pond. As he lifted it back up, the excess water spilled out from the edges, so luminous that you could have sworn he was collecting liquid moonlight.

With steady, careful steps, Jongdae began to walk in large circles around the area where the rest of you were setting up, his pointed hat bobbing with each step. He was whispering to himself, casting a spell as he dipped his fingers into the bowl of water and letting the droplets fall to the ground every couple of steps. From what you had learned, the water was used to cleanse, to purify the area and to get it ready for the ritual. This was done to keep the magic contained, and to set up protection for the witches inside.

"Y/N, the herbs," Minseok said. You pulled out the small pouch of herbs that you had collected and ground up, proud of your contribution to the ritual. He opened the pouch up just as Baekhyun managed to get a flame going over the tiny pile of dry brush and twigs, a proud smile lighting up the clairvoyant's face.

"Perfect," Minseok breathed out, reaching inside the pouch and slowly letting the ground herbs fall into the fire, immediately producing a sharp fragrance that tickled your nose.

Baekhyun sat down on the bumpy, rock-blanketed ground and rummaged through his bag for his scrying stone. He pulled it out delicately, handling the rounded crystal with extreme care. Mongryong, finally done with playing at the edge of the lake, faithfully came over to lay down beside his owner. The corgi's eyes were fixed on the small crystal, waiting patiently.

You were just as entranced as Mongryong, not knowing what to expect. The crystal hadn't changed in appearance, even as Baekhyun ran his hands over it, eyes closed in concentration.

Jongdae shook out the last drops of water in his bowl before sitting down on your other side, four witches and a couple of familiars forming a ring around the small fire. "We're ready," he stated, adjusting the brim of his hat.

Minseok nodded, continuing to toss the ground-up herbs into the hot flame until none were left. Wordlessly, he reached out to Jongdae and Baekhyun, the other two immediately linking hands with him. You were startled to see them extend their hands towards you as well, waiting for you to complete the circle.

The queasiness in your stomach wasn't because you were scared of the witches — nothing could be farther from the truth. Instead, you were scared of the unknown. This could be your last real chance to find a way to save Sehun, to revive the brightness and vitality to his face that had slowly waned over time. If this didn't work, you weren't sure how you'd be able to deal with it.

But hope was all you had now. Hope, and magic.

You linked hands with the others, Jongdae's still slightly cold from the water while Baekhyun's was warm from sitting close to the fire.

Minseok closed his eyes and began to speak in the old language — the language of the ancient witches. A sudden chill ran down your spine, an unfamiliar tingling sensation prickling over your skin. The feeling almost made you let go, but Jongdae and Baekhyun held on tightly to your hands.

Was this what sorcery felt like?

The cold prickling sensation faded, leaving behind an unusual feeling that seemed to spread throughout your body. It was warmth and comfort all wrapped up in one, and yet left the hairs on your skin standing straight up.

You weren't sure how long the four of you sat there, hands clasped tightly while Minseok chanted under his breath. Baekhyun's earlier warning about staying away kept poking at you in the back of your mind, and you made an effort to keep your eyes open. You didn't dare to look at the others, staring down at your legs crossed beneath you for fear of getting distracted and losing focus.

After what felt like centuries later, Minseok opened his eyes. The after-effects of the ritual still lingered, the magical warmth keeping you cozy even as you sat outside in the cold.

The others finally let go, Baekhyun's hands immediately finding their way to the crystal resting in his lap. He cupped it with both hands, eyes fluttering closed as he inhaled deeply.

You let out a soft gasp as the crystal began to glow, swirling clouds appearing inside the tiny sphere. Even Mongryong was staring at it, his rounded eyes staring solemnly as everyone waited.

"It may take a while," Jongdae whispered to you. "Don't worry."

"What do we do?" you asked.

Jongdae stretched his arms up high above his head, letting out a long breath of air. "Now, we wait."

Honestly speaking, you were getting fed up with waiting. But you had learned by now that there was no rushing when it came to witchcraft. However, it didn't mean that you weren't bored.

Minseok had pulled out his reading glasses and taken another look through your family grimoire, even as you worried about him reading next to the fire. "I'll be fine," he waved you off easily, all too immersed in the book.

Jongdae had been content with giving Dotori small treats every so often, but eventually began to show signs of boredom as well. Both of you started up an impromptu game of seeing who could build the tallest pebble tower, stifling hushed giggles while Minseok rolled his eyes from across the fire. The game was quickly abandoned once a pebble fell over, clattering against the rocky floor as you and Jongdae both looked up to see Baekhyun's reaction.

The witch didn't move, although you could have sworn that there were wrinkles between his eyebrows that weren't there before.

It was absolute agony to wait for news — good or bad, but you supposed it was even worse for Baekhyun. Every so often, he would mumble to himself, the rest of you leaning in to hear what he had to say. Most of it was indecipherable, and the few words that you did catch didn't seem to make any sense.

All of a sudden, Baekhyun let out a loud gasp, eyes flying wide open. Mongryong immediately jumped up and began nosing at his hands.

"What? What is it?" Minseok demanded.

Baekhyun's hands were trembling, fingers tapping against the surface of the glass ball in an irregular rhythm. "A mountain," he said, voice so quiet you had to scoot closer to hear.

"A mountain, and an entrance. There's books lining the inside, covering all of the walls — almost like a library. The Cave of the Ancients." He stared at the crystal without blinking, hypnotized by what he saw inside.

Minseok's eyebrows jumped up in disbelief. "It's real?"

"What is the Cave of the Ancients?" you asked hesitantly, not wanting to distract Baekhyun.

"A children's tale," Minseok replied in a hushed whisper as Baekhyun continued to stare into the crystal. "They say that this is where the oldest, most powerful secrets are kept. But no one's ever been, and there's no proof that it exists."

"I see an open field," Baekhyun continued, "Beyond the kingdom's reaches, by the sea. It's covered in mist, and..." Baekhyun groaned, eyes closing shut. His breathing started to become irregular, chest heaving with each breath of air. Even Mongryong was starting to get agitated, whining loudly.

"Baekhyun, drop it," Jongdae exclaimed as Minseok reached forward to pry the clairvoyant's hands off of the crystal. You jumped in to help, Minseok finally managing to wrench Baekhyun's hands off of the sphere as you pulled it away.

The scrying stone lost its haziness, returning to its original glassy appearance in your palms.

Baekhyun was still panting, sweat beading on his pallid face as he pressed a hand to his chest. "I heard my mother," he gasped out. "She was in the field."

Jongdae's face turned white, mouth falling open in realization. "The Valley of Lost Souls."

With a low moan, Baekhyun nodded, head in his hands as Minseok tried to get him to drink from a canteen of water.

Your blood ran cold with fear. "What does that mean?" you asked Jongdae. For Baekhyun to react like this, it must have been something terrifying.

"In the myth about the Cave of the Ancients, it's said that to reach it, one must first pass through the Valley of Lost Souls. It's not supposed to be real." Jongdae ran a hand over his face, fingers stopping at his chin as he watched Baekhyun worriedly.

"Neither is the Cave of the Ancients," Minseok added. He used some of the drinking water to dampen a rag, pressing the cold cloth to Baekhyun's forehead. "You're sure of what you saw?"

"It's like I was right there. She was calling out to me." Baekhyun's voice broke at the end.

"But it wasn't her," Minseok reasoned calmly. "In all of the stories, the people in the Valley are only illusions, remember? They'll take your soul if you wander too far." He shook his head. "I don't like this. There has to be another way to find a cure."

"We have to go. It's what the stone showed me, and there's been no other answer." A healthy pink flush was slowly returning to Baekhyun's skin, chasing away the eerie, chalky pallor that had been there only minutes ago. "We made a pact to save not only the prince, but the rest of the witches that still remain. We're doing this so that we don't have to hide in fear anymore, Min. It's a risk that we have to take."

Minseok sighed. "I'm worried, especially after what happened now. And besides, it's not just the three of us anymore." He turned to you, Baekhyun following his gaze.

"I'm prepared for anything," you stated firmly. "But is it actually possible for us to find this place? You said it yourselves — this is a thing of myths and rumors."

"It was by the sea," said Baekhyun.

Mirumi was the only kingdom bordering the sea, but it would also mean at least a week's journey — and going outside of Elyxere. You hadn't been outside of the kingdom since you were a small child, and that had been with your parents. But you would travel to the ends of the Earth for your cousin. This was the closest you had gotten to finding an answer, and you wouldn't lose this chance.

Chin set in determination, you nodded. "I agree with Baekhyun, I think we should go. We all knew that this could be dangerous, but that shouldn't stop us. This is our only strong lead right now."

Baekhyun smiled in relief, satisfied with your decision. "Jongdae?"

The youngest witch sighed, glancing between his brother's face and Baekhyun's before nodding. "Sorry, Min. They've got a point."

Minseok's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Alright. But," his voice hardened. "Staying safe is the most important thing. I'm not losing the rest of my coven."

"Hey." Jongdae moved closer to his brother, resting an arm over his shoulders. "It's all going to be okay. We've got each other."

Tanie meowed in agreement from her patch of grass, far away from your circle around the fire. The rest of you had practically forgotten about her during the events of the ritual.

"Thanks, you silly cat," Minseok replied with a wry laugh. "You won't even come walk on the rocks to comfort me?"

The white cat laid her head back down, tail lazily swishing back and forth behind her, much to everyone's amusement.

"We're going to need a wagon," Baekhyun said aloud. "It'll be impossible to ride on horseback with all of these familiars." He reached up to pet Mongryong, visibly relaxing as the corgi snuggled closer to him.

"Then that'll be the first thing we do in the morning. But for now," Jongdae snuck a peek at you. "I think the princess might need a nap."

You blushed bright pink. Was it that obvious that you were barely awake right now?

The witches laughed at your surprise. "Don't worry, little witch," Jongdae told you. "The first full moon ritual is always the hardest. I'm surprised you managed to stay awake this long."

"I feel like I'm drop off to sleep any second now," you whined.

"Alright, let's head back. We'll set off around midday, once everyone's gotten some rest," Minseok announced.

As the fire was put out and all traces of the ritual cleared away, you still felt the lingering sensation of sorcery begin to fade away. Weariness began to set in — both from the long hours spent awake, and the thought of what lay ahead.

It was going to be a long, long journey, but it was one that you had to take.

Tag list: @shesdreaminginoverdose and @bbyunz A/N: it’s been a month since I updated, but i’m so relieved to finally finish this chapter. i’ve been spending time going over my fic outline trying to figure out if I still need certain parts that I originally planned, and adding in new things that I didn’t have before. i want to say that this is the halfway point in the entire fic? it might be about 6 chapters and an epilogue (but like most of my writing plans, all things are subject to change haha)

also, even though i’m not writing whole fics for jongdae anymore, i love getting to write for him as a side character in this fic 🤣 cbx as witches might be my favorite characters that i’ve written (aside from spiderman jongdae and 1920s detectives cbx)

#exo #baekhyun #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun fanfic #exo scenario #exo fanfic #writings

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disneyat34 · 3 years

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Lady and the Tramp at 34

A review by Adam D. Jaspering

Lady and the Tramp begins with a quote by Josh Billings. “In the whole history of the world there is but one thing that money can not buy… to wit — the wag of a dog’s tail.”

The pithy observance frames the movie: dogs are good. It’s a simple premise. It’s a universal premise. It’s a beloved premise. It’s a marketable premise. People will want to pay money to see a movie about cartoon dogs that fall in love.

For such a simple story, Lady and the Tramp had a lengthy production history. Disney employee Joe Grant drew a springer spaniel named “Lady” in 1937. Walt Disney asked Grant to produce a storyboard for potential projects. Grant obliged, but after several false starts, nothing came to fruition. Lady was a character in search of a project.

Grant left Disney Animation Studios in 1949. His abandoned creation remained behind, unused, somewhat forgotten. In 1953, production began on a new movie featuring dogs. Disney Studios scraped together various, unrelated dog-related material in preparation for the film. Lady finally found her purpose.

“Lady” was pulled from the archives; her species changed to a cocker spaniel. “Tramp” was inspired by a 1945 short story called “Happy Dan, The Cynical Dog,“ written by Ward Greene. Disney even drew inspiration from his own life. After once standing up his wife on a date, he gifted her a puppy in a hat box as an apology. Lady is introduced this way in the film’s opening scene.

It’s easy to consider Lady and the Tramp a simple story, and there’s no shame in that. Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, and Peter Pan were all spectacles in design and delivery. Disney was well within their rights to slow things down. Lady and the Tramp is both conventional and approachable subject matter. It focuses on the world around us, making the ordinary seem every bit as fanciful and majestic as a far-off land.

Lady and the Tramp is set in the 1910s, forty years before the film’s release. While the period is arbitrary to the story, it’s essential to the film’s appeal. Setting the film in the near past gives it a unique feeling of nostalgic charm. It’s familiar, but also slightly foreign. Enough to pique interest, not so much it alienates. It makes adults think of their glory days, and children think of their grandparents’ house.

Choosing the proper era is a delicate tightrope. Too recent, and it seems old-fashioned but unseasoned. Too far back, it seems ancient and unapproachable. The science behind choosing the right era may be nuanced, but the solution was a foregone conclusion. Disney himself chose the 1910s specifically to recreate his own childhood. A fringe benefit of owning your own film studio.

Lady and the Tramp sets the entire movie from a dog’s perspective. Physically, and dynamically. The movie focuses on dogs and their diminutive vantage point. They spend more time with human ankles than with human faces. Dogs are the main characters, but the world is still decidedly human.

Human buildings, human society, human owners, and human dominance. The dogs relate to each other as neighbors, but they still respect and acknowledge their roles as house pets. The dogs have their own understanding of the world around them, and are powerless to affect it.

The first fifteen minutes introduces us to Lady and her day-to-day life. She’s a dog, and as such she has no real responsibilities. She has no goals, no ambitions, no wants, no desires. She eats, she sleeps, she gets head pats from her masters. She has a pair of friends who stop by occasionally to say hello, but beyond that, she’s very dependent on her owners.

As time moves on, we the viewer learn Lady’s owners are expecting their first child. Lady, having no context for this, is left clueless as to what is happening. All Lady can comprehend is the construction of a nursery, and uncharacteristic exhaustion from the mother-to-be. To the animator’s credit, Lady making inquisitive faces for ten minutes straight never seems forced or repetitive.

It would seem the movie is trying to make a parallel to sibling rivalry, the animosity between children for the attention of their parents. The only difference being, instead of an older and younger child, there’s a dog and a baby. Assuming this was intentional and not subtext, it simply doesn’t work.

Sibling rivalry begins after the birth of a newborn; the eldest child acts out for attention, rebelling against the redefined roles in the family dynamic. They resent they must share attention. This doesn’t happen when one of the participants is not a child, but a household pet. The most beloved of pets mandate less affection than a biological child.

Even Lady, a dog with human attributes, can’t fault her masters for focusing more attention on the baby. Regardless that she is substantially humanized, a dog like Lady is still just a dog. There is an argument that Lady could hypothetically resent the shift attention. She is depicted wanting more facetime and interaction with her owners. She does clearly understand she has lost something.

She could resent the shift, but she doesn’t. Despite being a cartoon, Lady has no autonomy beyond being somebody’s pet. She’s not being neglected, and she’s not being mistreated, so she has no leg to stand on. The baby takes precedent over the dog. Any more than acceptance of the fact would paint Lady as selfish. This film is a romance, and Lady is supposed to be an upright, worthy heroine. She can’t have such a negative trait.

One shouldn’t fret over Lady’s circumstances anyways. The quasi-sibling rivalry concept is abandoned early. Lady doesn’t need to fight, strive, or earn attention from her owners. She doesn’t need to understand how she and the baby each fit into the family. She doesn’t have to revaluate her life of privilege now that elements have been upended. Because Lady’s masters up and leave and won’t return until the film’s conclusion.

What prompts a couple in 1911 to abandon their newborn child for several days is never explained. Is it medical? Is it business? Is it a vacation? Why do both need to leave and why can’t the baby come with them? It’s never addressed or explained. It’s questionable, uncharacteristic, and happens for no reason than to fulfill plot requirements. Lady can’t fall in love with Tramp until Lady flees her home, and Lady won’t flee her home unless Lady’s owners are gone. So Lady’s owners just... leave for some reason.

The nameless infant is left in the charge of Aunt Sarah, an apparent spinster relative to one of the parents. Throughout the Disney catalog, villains are hateful, greedy, angry, and callous. There is no other villain like Aunt Sarah, though. She’s not evil in intent, but so blindingly ignorant to what’s happening around her, the ignorance becomes a form of malice.

Aunt Sarah, embodying a key tenet of old maids, has an affinity for cats. Not only does this mean she has inherent disdain for Lady and all dogs, she brings her two pet cats into a decidedly un-catproofed house. The pair knock over vases, rip up the curtains, and torment a goldfish. Aunt Sarah, in her deliberate ignorance, blames these obvious feline crimes on Lady.

The two Siamese cats are as subtle in design as they are in deed. They are yet another racist caricature that make trawling through the classic Disney films of the 40s and 50s awkward. The animators were flat out deliberate in their disrespect. All they had to do was draw cats. The cats didn’t need to have human attributes at all, especially not Asian characteristics. The animators did not have to give the cats oversized, slanted eyes or buck teeth. They did anyways.

The main offender is their speech. While not a flattering representation of East Asia, it’s also not accurate even in a mocking way. Whatever accent these Siamese cats are speaking in, nobody on planet Earth has ever spoke that way, ever. It’s not Chinese, it’s not Japanese, it’s not Thai, it’s not anything. It’s just generically foreign. The ignorant stereotypical voice is so detached, it forgets what it’s trying to misrepresent. The cats are somehow too racist to actually be racist.

Lady goes through quite a lot in the first half of the film, but where is Tramp? As his name suggests, Tramp is a vagrant mutt (mostly schnauzer). He lives in a railyard and subsists on the handouts of kind restauranteurs. Like Lady, he also has no goals, no dreams and no ambitions. The two were destined to find each other.

Tramp’s life on the street is a stark contrast with Lady’s life of comfortable privilege. Based on this disparity, it’s easy to assume Lady and the Tramp is a film about class differences. When Lady first meets Tramp, Tramp halfheartedly alludes to the restrictions and illusions of security in the upper class, but he mostly shares this opinion to mock Lady’s discomfort. It’s not further explored.

Lady is not an upper class citizen. She doesn’t live in a society at all. She’s a pet. Her owners are affluent, but Lady’s world ends with the fence. She has no idea how the other half lives because the other half never made themselves known to her. It’s difficult to have a story of class consciousness when one character has only met five people in their entire life.

Again, another false start for the movie. Lady and the Tramp isn’t a movie about sibling rivalry, or classism, or the protection of a home from intruding racist cats. The movie sets up different plot threads, and all are a means to nothing. The film is about Lady and Tramp: two cartoon dogs falling in love. It’s what we were sold on. Why does the film try so hard to avoid delivery?

After being muzzled by Aunt Sarah, Lady flees, bumping into Tramp in her panic. Here, finally, Lady and the Tramp begins in earnest. Tramp suggests looking for ideas at the zoo. It’s an impractical solution, perhaps appropriate for a dog’s dexterity and resources. A dog can’t exactly walk into a hardware store and buy wire snips.

The zoo scene is filled with pleasant gags. Incidents with alligators, hyenas, and an extended scene with a beaver are delightful. What became a trip designed for practicality slowly blossoms into a date. The animosity and distaste that previously defined their relationship has disappeared. Finally, our promise of romance has been fulfilled.

The issue is, now the movie is half over. A normal romance story would have the two leads courting before the first act ends. Lady and the Tramp has been meandering, wasting time, establishing too much scenery that’s going underused. If there were payoffs to all these loose threads at the film’s climax, that would be one thing. But very little receives any sort of callback.

Lady and the Tramp is a movie of fluff and filler, and all of it is in service of one scene. The one scene that rescues Lady and the Tramp from obscurity and irrelevance. The scene that immortalizes its place in film history. The scene where Lady and Tramp share a plate of spaghetti.

Lady and Tramp share a plate of spaghetti while being serenaded by an Italian love song. They’re enamored by the music and the candlelit setting. They take up the two ends of the same spaghetti strand, moving closer to each other in the middle. When they finally meet, they have their first kiss. Inadvertent, but welcome all the same. Anyone waiting patiently has had their romantic thirst sufficiently satisfied.

The spaghetti scene has entered the cultural pantheon of romantic moments. It’s been alluded to, referenced, and parodied countless times. It’s more famous than the movie itself. It took a long time to get to, but Disney Studios didn’t blow the opportunity.

There is a distinct lack of purpose and urgency in the film. For long stretches of time, nothing of significance happens. The dogs walk around, the dogs see things, the dogs go places, the dogs talk. Sometimes its to the story’s benefit. Sometimes its to fill silence. Sometimes its to justify the detours. The movie is about two dogs falling in love. It’s paced so poorly, Lady goes on her first date with Tramp, then is ready to break up with him in less than twenty minutes.

This is the issue with Lady and the Tramp. As it turns out, the premise is not whether you would enjoy a movie about two cartoon dogs falling in love. Some viewers would readily accept, while others would require something more substantial. That’s not the premise. The premise is, if you were fully willing to watch a movie about two cartoon dogs falling in love, how much are you willing to endure before it happens?

The conflict, of what little there is, is the standard boilerplate romantic miscommunication. The type of problem that could easily be solved if one party could vocally explain the circumstances, were they were not obstructed by separation or one party’s stubborn refusal to listen. In the case of Lady and the Tramp, Lady is picked up by a dogcatcher and interred in a dog pound. She has her tags, so she’s only being detained for several hours. It’s just long enough to meet one of Tramp’s jilted exes, who regales Lady with a song about how much of a womanizer Tramp is. Or whatever the equivalent of “womanizer” is for dogs.

Regardless of the plot development, this jazzy song and dance number is occurring inside a dog pound. A pound that is very blatantly a stand-in for prison. The inhabitants are incredibly woeful and resigned. Some are actively trying to escape. Some have accepted their fate, singing melancholy dirges about their situation. One dog is literally executed off-camera. This is an incredibly downbeat, sullen, depressing environment. Doubly so that it occurs in what was until now a very uplifting and idyllic picture.

Prior to Lady’s apprehension, Lady and Tramp had a brief but heavy discussion about their future. Sure, they love each other. The night was wonderful, and they’d love more. But Tramp enjoys his freedom. Lady enjoys being a pet. Tramp quickly changes the subject before either is forced to face the consequences. All of this is now compounded.

We arrive at the climax; Lady is scorned by Tramp’s playboy disposition. Tramp is trying to re-evaluate his life ad hoc before the girl he loves escapes him forever, but can’t. Lady tells him off from her doghouse. Concurrently, a rat sneaks into the nursery, terrorizing the baby. Just an ordinary rat. He’s not giant, he’s not rabid, he’s not frenzied. He has evil-looking red eyes, but he’s just a rat.

Despite the argument, Tramp helps Lady and saves the baby. Aunt Sarah, useless babysitter that she is, witnesses none of this. She comes in too late, finding the screaming infant and the stray dog. Aunt Sarah calls the dogcatcher, who immediately apprehends Tramp. Lady realizes how much Tramp was willing to sacrifice for her. Tramp really had changed, and Lady really did love him. With a series of well-placed barks, Lady is able to communicate to her human owners the exact situation.

We’ll ignore how Lady’s owners return from their contrived absence at the exact moment Tramp is being carted off. We’ll ignore how Lady’s owners understand precisely what is happening from a series of barks. We’ll ignore the humans’ staked interest in Tramp despite never seeing Tramp before, ever. We’ll also ignore how much more invested the parents are in the dogcatcher fiasco than their baby being attacked moments ago.

Tramp sacrificed everything to assist Lady. And in a turnabout, Lady sacrifices nothing. The dogcatcher’s truck is stopped by one of Lady’s friends, a geriatric coonhound named Trusty. Trusty almost dies in the process (suffering only a broken leg thanks to Disney magic). Lady’s owners adopt Tramp, taking on the extra burden of another pet. Tramp forfeits his rambling vagabond lifestyle. Lady has given up nothing at all. It’s not that she doesn’t deserve a happy ending, but couldn’t she at least muss up her coat?

Lady has four puppies in the film’s epilogue. Her owners previously had trouble dividing attention between a baby and one dog. Now they have a baby and six dogs. The dogcatcher is a very prolific figure in Lady and the Tramp. He’s clearly overworked due to the town’s overpopulation problem. One would think both Lady and Tramp would be fixed promptly.

Lady and the Tramp is a movie that is self-conscious about its simple premise. It tries to mask its inferiority complex by dressing it up in weightier ideas and concepts. Very few of these additions are explored to any sort of fruition. As such, the most core romance is denied proper focus.

The romantic element is unfulfilling except for a few scenes, which entirely save the film. There’s nothing inherently wrong with Lady and the Tramp (excusing a few questionable cats), but there’s also little good to say in its favor. Unless you really, really like seeing cartoon dogs fall in love.

Fantasia Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs Cinderella Alice in Wonderland Pinocchio Bambi The Three Caballeros Lady and the Tramp Peter Pan Dumbo Melody Time Saludos Amigos The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad Fun and Fancy Free Make Mine Music

#Disney #walt disney #Walt Disney Animation Studios #disney studios #Lady and the Tramp #1955 #Film Criticism #film analysis #movie review #Disney Canon

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shepherds-of-haven · 4 years

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11/11 Surprise: A New Character/RO is coming to ShoH!

You heard it here first, folks--unless you’re a Patron, in which case you heard it on Patreon several months ago--I’m adding one last recruit and RO to Shepherds of Haven!

Introducing Briony Stormbreaker!

She’s a part Elf, part Ket, part Hunter Battle-Mage fighting as a Diminished gladiator in an underground arena when MC first encounters her in Chapter 5!

Briony was found washed up on the southern shores of the Continent after an apparent shipwreck; she’s lost most of her memories and has only a mysterious sword (which she talks to) as a clue to her past life.

She’s cheery, bright, a little air-headed, impulsive, genial, easy-to-read, stubborn, sensitive, protective, and emotional. Although she likes to get along with everyone and is deeply empathetic, she also rebels against being told what to do. She has a darker side and some pretty killer instincts: when backed into a corner, a switch flips inside her, and she can bring down buildings with a single punch. She’ll cry at a bird with a broken wing, but will also rip her enemies’ throats out with her bare hands and sleep peacefully later that night. Once she joins the group, she acts as part of the social glue that holds the Order together... but is her warm and sweet exterior a facade masking a darker past, or a greater sign of instability?

For the next seven days, I’ll only be answering questions about Briony in order to try to catch her up to the other ROs, who have had lots of information written about them. If anyone wants a list of common questions that have been asked about the other characters as a reference/template, check out the navigate page, the FAQ page, and the character repeat asks!

Sharp-eyed readers also noticed that I vaguely referenced ousting Mimir as a recruit back in this post. I’ve included my reasoning for that decision under the cut, and you can also read it in full (if you’re a Patron) here.

TL;DR - I struggled a lot with keeping Mimir relevant, and eventually decided to replace her with a fuller, more richly-realized character (who coincidentally helps even out the female-male RO balance). It was a difficult decision but ultimately the right one, and Mimir is still in the game in the same capacity as she would have been before, just without her day off sessions! This just means more added content for you guys! <3 :)

Okay, that’s all for now - if you have any questions, feel free to send them in!

Art for Briony done by the fantastic @feather-x-crown; commission her ASAP if you can!!! <3

Mimir is an older character and near and dear to my heart, but unfortunately I've always struggled to keep her relevant to the Shepherds' storyline. She is critical for one (really big) important plot point in the story, which is why she will still be in the game, but after that plot point, I've never been able to come up with a satisfactory way to keep players coming back to her. She isn't able to participate in missions because of the way she thinks, sees, and communicates; even her day off scenes are more of a function (fortune-telling, sort of like in Persona, where she can help raise stats or relationships or provide hints about future decisions) than a compelling storyline of her own. She does have goals and motivations, but MC wouldn't be able to help her accomplish them until after the game was over, unlike the other recruitable characters. And although I've written out the fortune-telling sequences, I just struggle a lot in writing her character in a way that doesn't come off as simplistic or vague. And in terms of the group dynamics, Mimir is sort of an awkward outsider, whereas everyone else has their own individual relationships within the microcosm.

So, I’ve decided to jettison her (sorry, Mimir...) in favor of another character (Briony).

#Shepherds of Haven #Briony #announcement #milestone #master post #Briony Stormbreaker #not... her real last name #but it's the one that counts for now #1111 followers #send in your asks!#surprise

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chwrpg · 3 years

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It’s about time. We’ve been waiting for you guys. -- Nova Lisbon

A NOTE FROM ADMIN B: If anyone can hear screaming in the distance don’t worry it’s just me!!!!!!!!! It’s no secret the Lisbon sisters are the loves of my life so I’ve always wanted to have the full set on the dash to really get into that family dynamic of theirs. And now, thanks to resident angel™ Tiff, we’re one step closer! I love the way you’ve written Nova-- like the other sisters she has that enigmatic manic pixie dream girl facade, but there’s so, so much more behind what everyone else projects onto her. I cannot wait to see her finally get the attention she deserves.

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE:

That Bitch FKA Tiff . 26 . CST

DESIRED CHARACTER:

Nova Lisbon

HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE?

SECONDARY CHOICE:

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:

If John Green had ever met Nova Lisbon he would have had a field day with that one. Everything about her from the way she walked with a little skip in her step to her more arbitrary habits like the way she dotted her i’s with hearts and took Buzzfeed personality quizzes when she was bored in class was more than enough material for her to inevitably become someone’s manic pixie dream girl. It wasn’t even that there was necessarily anything special that made her stand out from everyone else, people were just naturally attracted to her because she was an enigma; an experience that they could talk about at class reunions in the years to come. The Lisbon sisters were known in town for the air of mystery that followed them, enticing those who enjoyed a challenge to go to great lengths in hopes of catching the attention of one of the elusive sirens. Catching the eye of one of them was like winning a lottery ticket or climbing Mount Everest. While her sisters preferred to shy away from this portrayal that had been placed on them since their move to Rosewood, just trying to live normal lives, Nova reveled in all of the extra attention, more than happy to take her sisters’ share. Being caught smack dab in the middle of so many personalities made it so that it could be difficult to not get overlooked and that soon became one of her biggest fears, being forgotten and ultimately left behind, even by her own family. A fear that she never shared with any of them out of fear of sounding more irrational than her mother often made her feel. How could she tell them not to be themselves because it made her feel small compared to them when their parents had already stifled almost all enjoyment out of their life? Instead she began doing outrageous things and getting into unsavory habits for the sake of standing out. And in a way showing that she had control over her life, that no one told her what to do, even her parents. Though as mature as she tried to come off she was still a naive, hopeless romantic who could easily be taken advantage of. She fell in love easily. It seemed almost weekly. Unfortunately all of those people were out of her life about as fast as they had come in. But in that desperation to become a person of importance in others lives, in fighting so desperately to not become just another passing flavor of the week, she gave pieces of herself. Until she had given so much there was nothing left to give. Until all that was left was for her to get her shit together and pick up those pieces herself. And slowly but surely she was learning to do that. No offense to Alaska Young, but she was going to become the one who would control the narrative to her own story.

SAMPLE WRITING:

When Nova had first proposed the idea of a peer counseling program she had been met with a couple of chuckles, little bouts of amusement which soon took an awkward turn when the realization hit that she was completely serious. They were completely in their right to believe that she had been joking of course. Up until recently she wasn’t known for taking anything too seriously, much less known to dabble in humanitarianism. How on Earth did this girl, the same girl who throughout high school threw fits mid lecture over something as simple as a break up note think she was equipped to share any kind of advice with anyone? But that was exactly why Nova thought she was a prime candidate to participate in a peer counseling program. While, yes, she had been raised in an extremely sheltered environment she had somehow managed to find herself going through certain hardships that weren’t universally shared in such a short amount of time. Sure, as the whispers around town had led everyone to believe once the girls had all effectively left their time in captivity in their house, there probably wouldn’t have been so many speed bumps along the way if she had just listened to her parents. But she also wouldn’t have learned any of the life lessons she had if these experiences never occurred. For as much as she had been shamed at the time for her mistakes she felt no regrets. These moments and lapses in judgement that she was demonized for, especially by her mother who constantly berated her for being a free spirit, had molded her into the person she was today. The thing with Nova was that she stopped letting herself be bound by the rules the moment they settled down in Rosewood. Which really should have come as less of a surprise considering the compounding frustration that had slowly built up in the girls, passing on the baggage from the sister before them like a rite of passage.

Being part of such a tight knit family had always felt like both a blessing and a curse. The Lisbon sisters had always been as thick as thieves, so close that growing up Nova even believed they all shared a soul. That they all took different parts of it and together completed a whole person. Tessa had snatched up the compassion and understanding, Marina the brutal honesty and vicious protectiveness, Bridget the loyalty and adaptability, and Cecily the courage and patience. At least that was how she coped with their situation, by doing what she always did and romanticizing everything. Perhaps that was where the real problem lied though, that their codependence ran so deep they lost their sense of individuality. But what else were they supposed to do when their growth had already been stunted so severely by denying them the ability to form any true relationships outside of their own household? Even Nova had always been more open to the public than her sisters left a lot of things unsaid, things she didn’t think were of much importance but explained a lot about her character. Things she wanted people to find out about her by looking deeper than surface level. She left hints here and there, little moments with different people, like a scavenger hunt waiting to be solved. It was a path many had tried to venture but very few actually made headway along.

These who truly got to know Nova knew she was like a hurricane; calm and still at times like the eye of the storm, the still point in the turning world as one of her many suitors once stated. But destructive in passing, wearing her heart on her sleeve, and often making a scene when she felt like she was being played. Maybe that was why no one could quite understand why it was she felt the need to start the peer counseling program. Was it to gain some kind of karmic retribution for all the lives she had turned upside-down? Or was it to live vicariously through the lives of others by listening to their stories like they were retellings excerpts from books in some vast library of life? The truth was much more simple than that. Nova just loved people. And she liked to help them, not out of self interest despite this desperate need to be loved in return, but because she was fundamentally a caretaker.

This was how she found currently herself the only running some errands for colleagues and shopping for holiday decorations to spruce up the little office they used as the peer counseling center. She had taken a bit of a detour in the beauty department when the wails of child snapped her out of her own thoughts. Turning to scan down the aisle and see where the ruckus was coming from she spotted a little girl, no more than two or three years old. Around how old her child would have been had things turned out differently. The kid seemed to be lost and crying out for her mom but there was no one in sight who seemed to be coming to her rescue. She shuffled back awkwardly to the end of the aisle, looking all around to see if anyone was making their way back over for her or even if there was an employee whose attention she could get, but there was no one. Part of her told herself to just go and pretend like she didn’t see anything, it wasn’t her business anyways. But this wasn’t something she could overlook, it didn’t sit right to not do anything. Seeing this tiny person so upset because she was lost and didn’t know what to do reminded her of herself, and how she felt growing up.

“Hey sweetie…Did you get separated from your mom?” She asked timidly, slowly making her way closer to her, crouched down slightly so she was level with the kid to not make her feel too intimidated of this stranger coming up to her. The little girl simply nodded in response, wiping at her eyes and nose with the sleeve of the jacket she had on. “Okay. I’m gonna take you to some people that are gonna help find her, alright?” The Lisbon girl offered in the most reassuring tone she could muster up to reassure the child that things would be okay. Gracelessly she led the little girl through the store towards the front, to the customer service area where she knew the girl would be safe and there were people who were more trained on what to do in this kind of situation. Whose hearts probably wouldn’t be on the brink beating out of their chest from anxiousness of having someone else’s safety in their hands, especially when the girl reached up to clutch her hand only managing to hold onto a few of her fingers as they walked.

As awkward as she herself felt, the unknown leading the unknown, she did her best to keep a brave face all the same. The same forced smile she plastered on whenever she went back home, which she hadn’t been back to since her miscarriage. Nova had never been great with kids. They were a huge responsibility, they required lots of time, they were very dependent. They asked for much more than she currently had to give, more than she thought she would ever have to give. And quite honestly she hadn’t had the best examples of parenting. The fear of screwing up another life because of her own damage was real. It was why as shitty as she felt thinking it she was actually sorta relieved when she miscarried. It was a sad situation knowing there had been a life inside of her and losing it from one minute to another. But it didn’t feel sad to her. To be honest she didn’t really feel anything when it happened other than a weight off her shoulders. It felt like she had been granted a second chance at life. A chance to do everything over but better this time. But currently this tiny person was being so strong and entrusting her whole life with someone she didn’t know. The least she could do was act like she had her shit together for a few moments.

When they made it to the service desk the employees got straight to making an announcement calling for the girl’s mother. Nova turned to head back to finishing her errands but stopped in her tracks when she felt a tug on the back of her shirt. It was the little girl. She begged for her not to leave and Nova didn’t have the heart to tell her no. So she stayed and played the few schoolyard games she remembered, like patty cake and rock paper scissors, with her until her mother arrived.

The mother’s face was covered in tears as she scooped up her kid and held her close. She thanked Nova over and over again. “I don’t know how to repay you.” She said through her tears.

“That’s not necessary, ma’am. Seeing how happy you two are is enough repayment for me. Just remember to cherish her the same way you are now always. Even when she gets older and starts giving you a hard time.” She said with a soft laugh and warm smile. As happy as she was for the happily reunited family she felt a pang in her chest as she thought about how broken hers currently was, everyone going in completely different directions once they had left home. It pained her heart to see someone have the kind of relationship she had always wanted with her mother, to see someone be revered simply for existing and not looked down on as if she was a mistake.

Maybe this was a sign. She had overcome every other problem in her life. Maybe it was time she faced the last one holding her back. Letting go of the anger she felt towards her parents. Or at least confront the issue instead of running from it. She pulled out her cellphone and dialed the number of the one parent she wasn’t scared out of her mind to talk to.

“Hey, Dad…How are you?” She asked softly into her phone.

ANYTHING ELSE?

1985

#accepted #submission

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beneaththetangles · 4 years

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Easter: Ten Anime for the Ten Commandments (II)

Happy Easter again! As most of us remain locked up tightly at home, like the Disciples at the first Easter, we may still hope that Our Lord will pass from time to time through the walls. Yes, and eat a good plate of fish with us to prove that He is not a phantom as we stare at Him with our Nichijou faces.

A new kind of life, as Nicodemus learnt, means to be with Christ in entirely new ways, to let us be guided by Him through circumstances one could never have anticipated. After all, He is the One who makes everything new. “The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” Life becomes kind of like baseball, or perhaps kind of like Haruhi Suzumiya´s brand of baseball.

Anyway, in my last Easter article, I commented on that promise of Ezekiel concerning the Law being solidly written in the heart of the People of God, which will be then a heart of flesh and, by the obedience of the Son, defeat evil and darkness, participating in the victory of Christ. It is a prophecy which brings me great joy, perhaps because at heart I cannot help being a Izuku Midoriya, a fan of the triumph of the superhero. One of the consequences of this newness of the Easter mystery is precisely that now Christ is living in us without destroying or denying us, for God has not come to Earth to destroy His Creation, but with a thrilling plan to save it.

And just as Boku no Hero Academia´s world needs a Symbol of Peace at its center, and a received gift in the heart of such a hero to carry him beyond his limits, so it is with Our Lord, Crucified, Resurrected and Alive, and us. Our union with Christ will not be completed in this life, requiring as it does to go through death and beyond when the time comes. But such is the wonderful, strange hope of the Christian. Back to the Ten Commandments, then, to that intimate, deep and heroic path at the heart of God´s creation, and at ours! A path that is both a prophecy and a spiritual portrait of sorts of our human and divine Messiah, and of which anime can offer some glimpses.

“Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor” implies the prohibition of a human reality as commonplace and everyday as is lying. It is a striking Commandment: after all, as quite a few of us are uninteresting jerks at least most of the time, wouldn’t that be a little dull, sometimes unsafe and even depressing? Yet, many of us recall the anguish, the burning feeling of being confronted with a world of lies, and have felt the thirst for truth, for authenticity, and the intuition that others can lead us to deeper dimensions of both themselves, us and the world. Only in time, we came to learn that others, even among our loved ones, deceived us intentionally or unintentionally, and that we ourselves were often deceivers even as we tried not to be. Oregairu, a very rich show we have commented on a number of times here at Beneath the Tangles, is just about that discovery, that path and that feeling, and something more. Lies, the difficulty of truth, no doubt, but also the world beyond, what may be at the other side. “Sagashi ni yukunda soko e”| “I’ll head over there to search…”

The protagonists, Hachiman Hikigaya, “Hikki,” and Yukino Yukinoshita, are clever teenagers who see the world, not without reason, as a playground of liars, and who try to cope with it while remaining true to their respective characters. After a rough middle school in which both experienced the injustice and the superficiality of their classmates in different ways and for different reasons, they have fortified themselves using their intellects as a defense, which provides viewers a ton of hilarious monologue and dialogue. But this starts to change, little by little. Quite appropriately, in the first season they live in a cartoonish world and are drawn like caricatures of themselves, while in the second season, under the direction of Studio Feel, the world has gained in beauty, human-like characters, and beautiful colors. And each of the characters has given the rest something valuable and difficult to put a spin on.

Hachiman, in particular, reminds me of my teenage self. He is just as self-satisfied, defensively analytical, socially awkward and comedically philosophical as I was, plus a reformed chuunibyou, all while harboring a deep thirst of real, meaningful human contact. After his experience during middle school, he surely thinks of youth and society as an elaborate setup, a game of phonies for power, and of himself as an uninteresting jerk. And yet (minor spoilers for the first and second seasons of Oregairu), he bears such a thirst, even if it is shameful, even if he knows it is out of the question, even if he honestly thinks that communicating with others and getting to know them is impossible in the real world. Recently I have come across the translation of the second opening, Harumodoki (“False Spring” or “Imitation Spring”). It is beautiful, and also well worth a read:

“I don’t want this replica I’ll only be satisfied with something I can call the ‘real deal’ I’ll head over there to search…

“But that’s like a time-old fairy tale”

I gaze at the empty space where my answer has disappeared It should have been filled in But however hard I try, I can’t tell for sure”

Hikki has a good head, for sure, but that can be a disadvantage as much as an advantage in trying to find the truth (after all, it is easy to cleverly deceive ourselves for us intellectual types, and we should learn from the Gospel that the wise of the world are in danger of hiding the important things from themselves). But he also has the integrity of the people he admires, even if it is not always bulletproof; the good instinct of friends and relatives, even if they sometimes cannot really argue with him; the wisdom and advice of patient mentors, even if he is a hard student; and most of all, the flawed, extraordinary humility and hope of my favorite character (because, I´m sure, these are the two essential requisites for aspiring to truth), even if… I will let it at that. And so he comes to be able to do soul searching when he is trapped in his own lies.

And, as he fights his inner shame, his lack of hope, the lies of the world and his own carelessness, he will try to say what he really wants to say. To express this desire: the hope of truth, even bearing with the unavoidable ugliness of something genuine. He wants to deepen the conversation, to go on. And this, in itself, opens the door to this whole new world where anything may happen, hard and difficult, for sure, but also increasingly authentic, and truly helpful. Because every word, when spoken with deep sincerity, has true power, and is a true vehicle of communion between the speaker and the one who hears. Not immediately, perhaps, but it will be. We are starting to see the fruits, and I hope that the third season may show us more of them. After all, “Tooi tooi haru wa/ yuki no shita,” |“The distant, distant spring is/ Underneath this snow”.

If we go on and on with this part of vulnerability, openness and wisdom, it will ultimately lead us to God. Because Christ is the Truth, and every particular truth, every intimate truth, every ray of meaning we may discover on this Earth, is connected in some way to Him, to the truth of the Bible, and is some kind of sign of the Kingdom of Heaven. And God is truthful. He is truly in His Word. When Christ speaks, His words transcend time and place, and bring us to Him and to others, more solid that the heavens and the Earth, each of them a prophecy, each of them a sign of hope, a step closer. Harumodoki expresses our character´s fear that “However hard we try, things that can’t be seen/ Will end up fading from our memories.” But only He can assure us that “The heaven and the earth will pass away, but My words shall not pass away”.

Hikki, Yukino and Yui are starting to struggle for to learn to express our reality and the reality of the world; to be increasingly informed by it; and to help others towards the meaningful, ever-expanding, personal but solid truth. In the Bible, we translate the word “jada” as “to know,” and that´s what it means, but jada also implies “to deeply experience the truth of something,” as in “and they shall know that I am God,” “if you knew the gift of God,” “and no man knows the Son, but the Father; neither knows any man the Father, save the Son.” We cannot imagine yet what knowing this means, but hopefully we will. Our Lord is the Word of God, always sharing the truth with us, with every action, every conversation—always in conversation.

Hachiman invents new ways to get to the truth of the matter, overcoming this lie or that lie the others will not acknowledge. Christ does it better: He may be pretending to walk away in disguise so the disciples of Emmaus invite Him to dinner, letting Bartimaeus scream a little more before turning to him, rebuking a Pharisee, and laughing with Lazarus or chatting with His Mother, but He will be entirely in every single word, freely communicating Himself, the saving Truth of God, and searching for a way into our defenses. He is the True Witness. Through Him, we will get to know one another and the Father, and to communicate the living truth, ours and His at once. He finds our personal truths interesting and wants to speak with us. He wants to go deeper. And He has many things to tell us, things that will bring us closer and closer to whom we really are. “Arigatou chiisa na me mitsuketekureta koto/ kimi wa tsubuyaita,” |“Thank you, for finding this tiny sprout/ You whispered.”

For the Seventh Commandment, “Thou shalt not steal”, I have chosen instead One´s Mob Psycho 100. The art is quite ugly, the main character is overpowered, the humor is somewhat hysterical, but in this particular show, these are not flaws. Imagine having supreme psychic powers (of a non-realistic kind), from telekinesis and super strength to levitation, and living in what seems to be a cramped world of screaming, vulgar nobodies. With such an insane range of abilities, so different from those of the rest of mortals, you can get what you want with a snap of your fingers, full of power and beauty they will never experience. You may feel that you don´t have to work to earn your part. You may ever think that this is the natural balance of things, and that the rest of the people work because they are either not so gifted, or maybe stupid, unimaginative or not strong enough to do otherwise. So you, the powerful one, the clever one, take what you want.

But the thing is, if you fall into this temptation and start bending the world to your will, exploiting others, you are impoverishing your world and that of others. Precisely when you think of yourself as a powerful, terrible force of nature, you are in fact choosing to become a parasite, a nuisance, a burden on the shoulders of those you are abusing. And that, when you could be someone who helps in building the world, a valuable part of the team, with whatever talents you have, is sad. It is a waste. By commuting injustice, I rob the talents I have of their proper glory, their goodness and role in the world. The thing is, most valuable things in life and society take work and coordination, often a lot of work and coordination. And after the Fall, work became hard and tiresome, and feels a little like death. The path where, in deep alliance with the world, you come to master the ability you need and put it to good use, and learn its wisdom, has become hard. The temptation of taking shortcuts and simply getting what you want, measuring the world according to your desires, is strong. And almost every character in Mob Psycho 100 falls into this temptation, whatever their ability.

But Shigeo Takeyama, Mob, the protagonist of the series, insists on doing the opposite, again and again. He may be the most powerful of psychics, but he will not be blinded by this fact. He knows his limitations. He wants to be physically strong, so he will train to exhaustion with those who are strong. He wants to be popular, so he will try to learn social skills, talk to girls, and even try to be school council president. He may be immensely strong, but is wise and humble enough to understand that he depends on others, and also that he needs to put it to constructive use and follow the natural rhythms of things and people. And he does that, again and again. He does his work, or tries to. And he repeats this lesson to every rival, with humility and strength.

And we come to see it. Those who have built their lives on their own power and domination are ultimately childish and immature, even if they think of themselves as threatening, powerful, and imposing. To be truly strong, you train your body, and artificially inflated muscles will never be the same. Can you make glass? Grow food? Put it into a can? Distribute it through the country? That is a wonder, achieved by coordination and hard work. If not, when you break the showcase of a commerce to take it with your psychic powers (or whatever), when you try to get what you have not earned by shady means, when you slack off and bury the talent you could put to good use, when you take what is not yours without doing your part, the world is all the less rich for that, and what you are becoming is the work of those whose part is solving these kind of injustices, like Mob. But if you work, you will slowly come to grow, enrich the world, help others, and learn that you need the work of others as well. You will build and mature. And hey, maybe these people are not so ugly after all, and maybe they can help build the world, or they are already doing so in one way or another.

Mob knows this. It is like the definitive anti-Matrix: forget all the anti-social coolness, the black clothes, the disdain for the lives of the non-redpilled, learning to pilot a helicopter in a minute and the Chosen One distorting the everyday world, and think about the valuable things around you, and how they got there, and how you can contribute. And Our Lord knew that, too. He told the Apostles that the leaders among the nations behaved like tyrants, and the great became oppressors, but that it must not be so among them. Instead, the great must serve, and the greater they are, the more they must serve. We will only be happy, mature, and grow when we are able to do so. And He Himself, the Lord and the Master, washed their feet, the humblest of labors, to show them that He has come to our world to build, to serve, for He loves us, for He wants a world of justice. He was not a burglar or a mercenary. He worked in our salvation everyday, with effort and humility everyday. God´s unlimited power, infinitely more vast than Mob´s, was, and is, used to serve us.

When we come to be able to imitate Him, every power, every talent, every strength, every leadership is a blessing for the world, ourselves and others, and thus true to its deeper meaning. And He, knowing that we need one another, also gave us the Church and the communion of saints, in which we share the goods He gives us. By praying for others, receiving help, offering up our sufferings, and taking care of the materially and spiritually poor, we are doing the same things for Him, for he identifies with those in need, the hungry we can feed, and the thirsty we can satiate with our talents and riches, which will then be glorious, shining treasures of Heaven in this anodyne world.

And lastly (for now), there is the Sixth Commandment, “Thou shalt not commit adultery.” I have commented on the beauty of chastity before, but it is much harder to do so while maintaining the “minor spoilers” profile I have chosen for these articles. Unless, of course, I use the one romantic comedy series that starts with the protagonists going out in the very second chapter, and goes on from there: I´m referring, of course, to Ore Monogatari, literally “My love story.” This is a very wise show, one which I really wish I had watched before having a girlfriend for the first time, and whose solid Austenian ethics and character comedy have also been brilliantly commented here by our writer Annalyn a number of times, saying, among other things, “Also, everyone should watch Ore Monogatari.“ I concur.

If the first thing which makes Ore Monogatari different from your standard romantic comedy is how fast the protagonists come together, the second is undoubtedly the protagonist, Takeo Gouda. The guy is a beast! Seriously, he is huge! He is fiery, clumsy, loud—a teenager who looks like an adult, and is questioned by the police if he waits in front of the school, bigger than everybody else, compared by others (and by the opening) to a gorilla! And he is impulsive, too: He shouts, he cries, he laughs, he gets angry, and he falls in love every year. When he eats, he devours. And yet (minor spoilers ahead), his new girlfriend, Rinko Yamato, is small and delicate, timid and a good cook of small and delicious sweets. Her friends are absolutely flabbergasted, even worried. What is this red ogre going to do to her?

But Yamato´s friends are wrong. Because Takeo, for all his strength and threatening face, has the virtue of subordinating his strength, his fire, and his powerful body to his will, for taking care of others and to sacrificial love. He is very able to appreciate things, to be able to show delicacy. And we come to understand what Yamato has seen at first glance: That his enormous body can and does convey his kindness, his forbearance, and both his strength and his vulnerability as he opens to her. That, even if he looks scary, he would never harm her, and she is safe with him, no matter how strong his feelings for her. That, even if he is strongly attracted to her (or maybe precisely because of that, because she is a precious woman to him, and dear to his heart) he will only touch her, or take her hand, when he is convinced that she wishes him to do so, and will understand it as a sign of love and intimacy. That he is a true man, and for Yamato as a woman, also an attractive one.

Of course, the desire to love another person right does not automatically solve the complicated problems of relationships. From minute one, there is a misunderstanding when he thinks he is being pure and protecting her by avoiding physical contact, when she wishes that he would take her hand, and in time come to kiss her. But that is what allows them to enter this new adventure in such a way that every gesture, every look, every touch, every feeling (or so they intend and fight for) matures in the heart, sometimes refined with fire of passion and tenderness and, without losing any of its strength, to be personal, intentional, meaningful, directed to the specific person that they love. Takeo Gouda. Rinko Yamato.

So we will see them explore, in the midst of their everyday lives, with deep emotion and care, how to make this person happier and more of who they are: affectivity, corporeality, personal biography, defects, learning, the struggle to be better, social and family life, dreams and hopes. The deep, strange, personal realms of the heart, which have been waiting for “the man” or “the woman,” will open from the inside, one by one, and ignite in new light: That between them, who would let the other suffer alone if that was the best for him of her, there will be something new, complementary, shared, stronger because they are together, in increasingly deep communion. Maybe including, eventually, everlasting commitment, sexual union and new life, reflecting the always deeper, always more alive, always more intimate, always more rich love that God provides each of us, a generous, personal love which brings new life to us and the world.

And the body is important, as part of us as the soul. We are incarnated spirits, one being, as Serial Experiments Lain shows it in a powerful way. Our bodily reality was intended by God, and all of it is meaningful in some way, even if veiled by our scars, deformities, and wounds, for ourselves, and for others. God chose to take flesh, to Incarnate too, and he decided that His steps would be the steps of God, His eyes, the eyes of God, His hands, the hands of God. He gave us His body and blood at the Last Supper, and the communion he established with us that way goes even further than that of the husband and the wife, which while retaining its intrinsic goodness and its character of path to holiness, in a way is a prophecy for it, as St. Paul notes. And this is also hopeful, because He will save and complete the person we love in a way we cannot. As Ore Monogatari shows, when you truly love someone, this becomes a major issue: Some things are out of our reach, the loved one suffers in ways we cannot understand, we inadvertently hurt the other. But God can do what we cannot, and in Him, our communion will be greater. He truly gives us the hope of a pure bridge, and of a happily ever after.

And yet, Our Lord was and remains virginal. This has a powerful meaning, too. Chastity is not only for the married, but for us too, because our body is also a part of our relationship with God, who loves us in body and soul, and how we relate to our intimacy and our impulses is a part of learning to be gradually closer to Him. Impurity leads to blindness. As Annalyn brilliantly (and enlighteningly) pointed out, Suna, the friend, the third character on this trio, is an example of this celibate love. On Earth, the celibate keep company to the married, aid them in their struggles, struggle themselves to deepen their intimate relationship with the Lord, and remind others and themselves that there are other possibilities, and that our body ultimately points to Him, in whose image and likeness our full being was created. They are friends of the Spouse.

And this is it for now. Next time, I´ll go for the Fifth, the Fourth and the Third Commandments. Stay safe!

=====

Oregairu, Mob Psycho 100, and Ore Monogatari can be streamed on Crunchyroll.

#Anime #Christianity #Oregairu #Mob Psycho 100 #Ore Monogatari!!#Easter #Holy Week #Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatteiru.#My Teen Romantic Comedy SNAFU #My Youth Romantic Comedy Is Wrong as I Expected #My Love Story!!#10 Commandments #Articles #Author: Gaharet

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ketzwrites · 6 years

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oh ketz, you participating on magnus month is amazing😍🤧 26, perhaps?

Of course, amor! Hope you enjoy this little piece. I might have gone a little overboard on the cheesy, though.

Available on AO3.

26. “I think I’ve been holding myself from falling in love with you all over again.”

For most people, falling in love is the single most scary thing a human being can do. Mostly because one does not control it: the heart wants what it wants. It is hard, almost impossible to willingly put yourself in such a vulnerable position. Falling in love requires courage, it demands trust. It is a miracle in itself.

Falling in love twice and with the same person? That is a transcending experience.

Magnus Bane has experienced love before. Pure, unwavering love from his mother, but also twisted and possessive love from his father. Magnus has received and given a great deal of love to his friends, a sort of love that is precious in its platonic form. And, of course, Magnus has experienced romantic love. He lived through some great love stories, the stuff movies are made of. From forbidden to all-consuming, from gentle to destructive. Magnus’s heart has raced, jumped, froze, and broke.

But it has never gone through all of it because of a single person. Not until Alec Lightwood came into his life, almost seven years ago.

They had met after a lecture Magnus administrated in the History Department of NYU. As Head of the Languages Department and famous translator, Magnus often attended discussions on ancient languages. It wasn’t supposed to be anything new.

Alec’s presence, though, elevated that afternoon to extraordinary. A grad student, Alec had stayed late after Magnus was done. He had a proposition to make and they decided to discuss it over coffee. It had been a while someone was so passionate about Magnus’ job and it helped that Alec wasn’t bad to look at. Magnus had no problems joining his project: a complete study of ancient religious texts on the Nephilim and their origins.

It was a group project, so it wasn’t just Magnus and Alec. There was Simon Lewis, the specialist in ancient Judaism. Alec’s own sister, Isabelle Lightwood, a forensic scientist who was there to explain the Nephilim’s biology. Finally, they also had Dr. Luke Garroway, from the Philosophy Department.

In reality, though, Magnus spent most of his time with Alec, who was in charge of studying the texts. They worked together for hours, reading and translating, making sense of original texts. Somewhere along the way, they also fell in love.

It was a gentle kind of love, one born out their shared curiosity and work ethic. Magnus admired Alec’s mind even more than he did his body. In return, he could see the reverence in the way Alec looked at him, how much Alec cared for his opinions and inputs. There was an innocence to their love that Magnus cherished beyond words.

But it was also a tumultuous love. Their fights could start out academic but were always about something else. Magnus was used to dating people from all kinds of different backgrounds: rich and poor, beautiful inside or out, men or women. They were all interesting, instigating people. Magnus could lose himself in their worlds, participate in their journeys. He could translate their experiences into his own, live hundreds of lives through someone else’s eyes.

Not so much with Alec. Magnus could be a part of Alec’s project, but Alec wanted to be a part of Magnus’ life. He wanted to get to know Magnus beyond the translator, beyond the makeup and fancy clothes, beyond the flippant attitude and the sharp mind. And that terrified Magnus to no end.

It was, in fact, so daunting that Magnus couldn’t take it anymore. Once the project was done, he broke things up with Alec. That was the worst night in Magnus’ entire life. Worse than when he realized what a monster his father was, worse than when he found out Camille had been cruelly stringing him along for years. That night, Magnus was the bad guy, the one breaking someone else’s heart. The one breaking both of their hearts.

That night, Magnus was making a mistake. One that would haunt him for seven years.

It wasn’t like Magnus never saw Alec again after that, though. He did, especially after Alec became a teacher at NYU himself. But they didn’t talk anymore, no more than a nod or a greeting in the corridor. It was an awkward thing, but something that they grew used to doing. Over the years, Magnus could even say they developed a quasi-friendship. He could still draw a snort from Alec in the faculty meetings, just as well as Alec could leave Magnus feeling proud with just a word or two.

But there was a shadow there, one that made all smiles die just as soon as they were born. A wall that Magnus had created around him, as if written in a language that nobody could understand. Magnus met other people after Alec, even fell in love once or twice. But every relationship was unlike before, they all lacked something. Something that Magnus couldn’t point out.

Not until he found himself in another joint project with Alec Lightwood. In this one, though, they were not going to directly work together. Magnus was paired up with another historian while Alec would be doing field work with some archeologists. They were not supposed to meet.

And yet, Magnus found himself seeing Alec more and more. It started with a simple consultation: Alec came into his office one day with a particularly intricate excerpt of an ancient book. Magnus had wondered why Alec had brought it to him and not any one of the other specialists from the Languages Department.

The honesty in Alec’s answer made Magnus’ heart race. “Because I trust you.”

After that, the awkwardness between them vanished. They saw each other regularly and Magnus couldn’t help but be excited every time. It was as if the seven years never existed.

No, it was more than that. It was as if the seven years had washed away all the problems they had. Suddenly, they were not just talking just about the project, but of themselves as well. Magnus was finally ready to answer Alec’s questions, to share parts of himself he had never revealed before. He didn’t know why or how, just that finally love felt like a language he knew again.

Still, there was something that felt off. When Alec asked Magnus out, officially and without reservations, Magnus’ heart jumped. For a second, he thought he wasn’t ready but then heard himself saying yes. That was when he stopped overthinking things, stopped to dread how everything would go wrong.

That was when realization dawned upon Magnus. “Oh.”

Alec frowned. “What?”

“Just discovered something about myself,” Magnus said cheerfully. He then blinked, realizing his tone might not be the most appropriate. It was just so easy to talk to Alec now, he had stopped putting his guard up.

Well, not entirely true. But Alec didn’t seem to mind the strange tone. “And what is that?”

Magnus smiled. Honesty was Alec’s greatest strength. Magnus could make it his as well. “I think I’ve been holding myself from falling in love with you all over again.”

“Oh,” Alec blinked, clearly taken aback.

That was when Magnus’ heart froze. Had he screwed up? Was that not what Alec was expecting? Magnus couldn’t have been reading the signs wrongly, Alec had literally asked him out on a date. Still, if Magnus was wrong, had he just… Had he just admitted more than he should? Had he set him up for failure?

With surprise, Magnus realized that after the initial shock he didn’t quite care. What he said was the truth, about him and his feelings. He didn’t have to translate it, to transport a knowledge from one system to another. It was all there; intelligible, accessible. True.

“Does that mean that you are?” Alec asked carefully. “Falling in love with me all over again?”

A courage that Magnus didn’t know he possessed took over him and he nodded. “I am.”

Alec smiled, happiness coloring his face. “Good,” he said and took Magnus’ hand in his. “Because so am I.”

Love might be the single most scary emotion a human being can experience. It requires a lot, it risks too much. And, when one finds love, holding on to it can be difficult, sometimes even impossible.

But impossible just means one has to try again. One has to grow better, braver, surer. Love can only start from within, from loving oneself. When that happens, love takes but it also gives. Magnus’ heart had raced, jumped, and froze. But never again had it broke.

#magnus bane #malec #malec fic #magnusmonth #drabble #not particularly following any guidelines #sorry #kindaresilient

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lilydalexf · 3 years

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Rae

Rae has 16 stories at Gossamer. If you like MSR, you should go check them out, including (but not limited to) the fun-titled, banter-filled The Cat, an Espresso and a Bag of Sunflower Seeds. Big thanks to Rae for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It surprises me that anyone reads my fanfic at all, let alone they are reading it 20 years after I wrote it!

But in the same vein, I am still actively reading xfiles fanfic and I tend to read the older fics, or new fics by authors I recognize or remember from back in the day. I cannot explain this lack of rationale. 🤷

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I had a great experience with the X-Files fandom! I made some fantastic friends - many even attended my wedding! I didn't really get involved in the dramas that went on. I was aware of it, but really, I just wanted to discuss my show with people that loved it like I did and read the fic, so I ignored all the other static.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Mainly message boards. AOL chat rooms, Yahoo groups, etc. We would all sign on after the episode aired and chat about it. Deconstruct it. And then we started traveling to meet each other and the real fun began!

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

It was definitely a growing experience. It forced me to step outside my comfort zone a little bit. Traveling to NYC, LA and Chicago to meet people just to fangirl with. Meeting Gillian and getting a picture with her - it was wild.

Different shared experiences that "real life" family and friends just didn't understand. It was fun and exciting.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

So I came to the show late in the game. I was sick, lying in bed channel surfing and caught the last 5 minutes of Fight the Future and immediately wanted to know why this woman was sitting in the snow holding onto this man. I spent the summer recording episodes on FX during the week and watching them all weekend and was somehow able to pretty much catch up on the first 6 seasons in time for the 7th season premiere.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

In my quest to know all the things that summer before the 7th season, I discovered AOL chat rooms that led me to different discussions on the show in general and at one point, a link was posted to whatever fanfic was hot that minute and I was instantly hooked.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I often feel like a wallflower at a party. I'm on the fringe, looking in to see what's going on. I don't bother anyone and most people don't even know I'm there. Every now and then I'll send feedback on a story, or I might even participate in a random discussion, but I feel it's a little more difficult these days without the chatrooms and discussion boards. Following people on tumblr or twitter and trying to engage in those platforms is more awkward since it feels so much more personal. It's like I'm intruding on someone's personal space. Or having to scroll through non-fandom stuff to find the fic. The message boards were a more even playing field I guess? It's hard to explain.

When I'm hardcore searching for something...anything to read, I'll refer to "The Classics" list. There are still many on there I haven't read.

I miss ephemeral.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

No. No other characters have ever interested me beyond the story we're given within the confines of the show/movie/book like Mulder and Scully did. My friends would dive into Harry Potter or Marvel or (fill in the blank with anything) and I would try to get excited, but there's nothing.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Well, Scully because she's so bad-ass. She's always so certain of her convictions. We don't see her second-guess herself often.

Anne of Green Gables because against all odds, she still sees the beauty in everything.

Jo in Little Women because she is just so tenacious. She knows what she wants.

Hermione in Harry Potter. She knows the most important thing she'll do is help Harry and there is value in that, so she gives it all she's got.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I do. A couple of years after the original run was over, I lost a dear friend (met because of XF) and then later I had my first baby and life just got busy in a very different way so I fell out of the fandom and just dropped all of it.

And then there was the revival. I waited until all episodes aired and then binge-watched them. And I did the same with season 11, but waited about 6 mos after it aired to watch it, rewatching the whole series from the beginning, first.

But now I turn it on a few times a week while I'm folding laundry or making dinner or some other chore. It's nice to have it on in the background because I don't have to pay close attention because I know what's going to happen. I've actually watched the whole series a few times this way.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I still read XF fic. It's still my favorite thing to read. I am always looking for the next great fic to lose myself in. Back in the day, I would read any pairing, any genre...I was game for anything, as long as it was XF fic. I'm a little more choosy, now, but only because my free-time is more limited. I only want to read MSR and I'm not at all interested in revival fics.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I am partial to the novel-length AU and canon-divergent stories. I love everything by Prufrock's Love and Bonetree. I have read Paracelsus, A Moment in the Sun and the Goshen/Secret World series countless times. Journal 1999 and Journal 2000 by MD1016, The Mastodon Diaries by akaJake, Blinded by White Light by Dashak, Deliverance From Evil by Char Chaffin and Tess.

I could go on all day.

My absolute favorite story is Arizona Highways by Fialka.

I am partial to Scully angst. And the Emily storyline just kills me, so when authors take those elements and write a kick-ass story, I am there for it.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

How awful is it that I had to look up my fics to answer this question? I don't know that I have a favorite. That's like asking a mother which child she favors. Maybe One of the Damned.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I won't say never, but I don't think so. I've tried to start one or two with some ideas I've had, but I haven't gotten far with them.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

No. I don't even have time to read as often as I would like to.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Usually what if scenarios - I try to work out different ways the story could go in my head. I would usually have the guts of the story written in my head before I typed the first word.

What's the story behind your pen name?

There was already a well-known Rachel posting fic when I got started, so I just decided to go with a nickname - Rae.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My husband is crazy supportive and tries to convince me to write again All. The. Time. I never hid my XF obsession from anyone, but I don't think I told many people about my writing.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I am on tumblr and twitter, but like I said above, I don't really post. All of my stories are at Gossamer.

(Posted by Lilydale on February 9, 2021)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #rae

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cliche-ish · 4 years

Text

We made it halfway

Context: What is written here happened in the beginning of July 2020. Yes we are halfway through 2020. Guess what else happened in 2020? COVID-19 and Trump... What a time to be alive! 🙃 A week ago Trump signed an order to suspend all H1B (working) visa processing until at least the end of the year. I have two friends from high school (let’s give them fake names, April and Ann, because Parks and Rec) who are working in Pittsburgh and Boston and applying for their H1B (working) visa this year. We went to high school in Vietnam together, and all went to the US at different schools for college. I was wondering if the order was going to affect them, so I sent them a few messages on Facebook to check how they were handling this. The previous time I sent them a message to them were probably at least 1-2 years ago. They both replied and said the visa suspension did not really affect them. We all caught up with one another through messaging and decided to set up a video call on the night of July 4th (because what else was there to do this year 😅).

Saturday, July 4th, 2020

You know how sometimes it takes a global pandemic to finally have time to catch up with your high school best friends who also live in the US but you never really had the chance to meet in person. 😅 The last time our group of friends did a video call was in 2013 or 2014. There we were again 6 years later, and we just hit if off instantly and talked non-stop for 4 hours. It was like those 6 years never existed and we were just together the day before. We talked so much our throats hurt haha.

We talked about everything. Of course we talked about people we went to school with and how/where they are now. Most of the friends went study abroad like us. Some of them came back to Vietnam. Some of them already got married. Then we talked about how rare it was that all of us were single at the same time and looked into planning a girls’ trip haha. We talked about relationship stuff, like what we want in a partner or a relationship or whether we want to get married or have kids. We talked about the people we dated and what we have learned from our previous relationships. We talked about how our American dreams as well as our perceptions about life in the US had shifted and changed and what we wanted as the purpose of our life. Like real serious adults talk haha.

Ann then brought up about someone from our school who went to Georgia Tech for college and committed suicide last year and how that how we all had some periods of time when we felt so lost and depressed. At that point Ann was very depressed and felt like her life was so meaningless. She said that suicide news was the wake-up call for her. So she asked her boss to give her a month off, and headed back to Vietnam and saw her family earlier this year in February (when COVID-19 was mustering and looming). When she came back to the US, she felt better and started looking for a new job. She landed one with Microsoft. (Yes girl!!) She told us the same stories of a few of our friends from middle school and high school who also had some periods where they felt so lost and depressed during their time living far away from family and friends in a new country and culture. April told us about her “sad period” and how becoming religious helped her find a way out. I talked about the time I lost my Grandma and how I sought out to therapy. (I promise to myself that I’ll normalize talking about mental health issues and therapy from now on, because not talking about them inevitably keeps them a taboo, when they are not.) We all coped differently. Luckily, we all actively found our ways to recover and felt better and was living our lives in the US when we had this conversation. But this path of being an international student that we chose is not always easy and not for everyone. Perhaps it could have helped if we’d known about each other’s difficult experience and shared with our friends who were also going through similar hardship. If there are any people that can understand, it’s them. So my friends and I, we made a pact that whenever one of us feels down and goes through any emotional or mental challenges ever again, we will let the others know.

The clock hit 1:45 am, and I suggested we call if a day. Ann, being Ann, asked if we could take a photo together and posted on Facebook, so we would be reminded years from now about this reunion. So I offered to take the photo, took it, sent it to them right away, and asked if the picture was okay. Ann said it looked good. She made a silly, cute pose with both her hands in a peace sign held high next to her face. April was like, “Yeah, it’s okay! Actually, hehe, can we take it again? I don’t look so good.” And I said, “Of course!”. April replied, “Yayyy hihi, thanks!” or something like that. I took it again, and this time everyone was happy. Then Ann made a comment, “Wow this is just like high school. April is still the awkward, shy baby, and [Me] is still the caring mom of the group.” And Ann is still the silly, hilarious one (you can tell based on her pose). It was just funny and interesting to see how we had changed and matured so much in the past years, and yet we were still the same people in high school.

Plot twist - Monday, July 7th, 2020

Like any day this year now, something shocking just happened today. While I can imagine Ann and April got quite some messages asking if the new order affected their working visa, 3 days later, it was my turn. This evening, a federal order was issued, saying that all students who attend schools decide to conduct 100% online classes in the Fall due to COVID-19 are mandated to leave the US or risk getting deported. I am currently on a student visa, which is affected by this order. My phone was flooded with messages from friends checking on me. Oh how the table has turned LOL.

This order came out right after Harvard announced they were doing entirely virtual classes for the Fall. The government wanted schools to stay open despite the pandemic ravaging the whole country and was afraid schools would follow Harvard’s move. Harvard, you freaked out the government, and played us all. But you sued the gov for this order, so we forgive you. 😂 When this order was released tonight, all hell broke loose for the international student community on social media. I can imagine the administration of all universities in the country are feeling the same shock, confusion, and dread.

My first reaction when I saw this was ironically to laugh. I just laughed. I have been laughing a lot lately at some of all the ridiculous things the President said or some of the bad news coming my way. Remember that time when he said he had been taking hydroxycloroquine for preventing COVID-19. Or when he suggested injecting disinfectants to kill the virus. And we also saw how that statement turned the whole country upside down. The White House, CDC, and all disinfectant companies was racing to issue statement against his advice and deal with the consequences that night and the next morning. I mean I must admit there was a little part of that that was funny, right? All of that can be great materials for a new episode on VEEP lol. So yeah, I laughed. Ironic laughs, but laughs nonetheless. I don’t know why I laughed. Maybe those things I heard were to absurd and ridiculous. Maybe I’ve gone crazy during this strange time. Maybe this is the new resort that my newly updated brain automatically seeks out to when I hear news like this. Aaah what a time to be alive! 😂 (If my life has an emoji, it is definitely this laugh cry emoji. 😂)

I told my friends I don’t know how this was going to play out for my case, but at this point, I honestly just feel fine. It’s not that I don’t care. I just feel fine. I’ve worked hard and tried my best to do all that I can to maximize my chance of getting a job here in the US and fulfill my goals and dreams. Anything else is out of my control. So whatever comes my way, I will cope with it and figure it up. I feel like at this point I have been through enough to know I can deal with anything and everything will be alright. Knowing who and how I am as a person now, I just know I will survive and thrive anywhere life takes me. 😁 So yeah, I laughed and I feel fine. I’d not be surprised if tomorrow I wake up to another one like this. I mean it’s 2020. Why not? 😂

And it truly feels fine. Probably because I know no matter what happens there is always hope and wonderful people in my life and in this world standing with me on my side. 😊

Update on Thursday, July 9th, 2020, 3 days after the issuance of the above order.

My university has been sending out emails every day to assure us international students that the university disagrees with the order and is doing everything they can to protect its international students and create a safe and viable environment for us to continue pursuing our education here in the US. My friends from all over the country reached out and checked on me to see if I would be affected by this order. Many of my American friends and colleagues have been speaking out and taking actions against this order. It’s not their fight, yet they chose to participate anyway and stand by the side of us international students. The amount of support that I have seen and received has been tremendous, and I am beyond grateful. My heart is so full.

All of this is truly a reminder for me to just care about others and choose to fight those battles not for me but for others. This is a fight against us international students, yet we are joined by people who are not affected by this incident at all. I want to remember how empowered and supported this has made me feel during the past few days by recording it here. There are a lot going on right now in the world and this country. A lot of different people are under attack, like Black people and the LGBTQ+ community. I am not one of them. I am not under those attacks. But when I am under one, people who are not affected choose to fight for and with me, because it is the right thing to do. And so I want to choose to fight those battles that are not mine and stand with others when it is the right thing to do.

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