#(mostly just an exercise to try and prove to myself that i can still write)

[serbadger]

DAILY EXERCISES AND JOURNALLING AND WRITING AND SELF INTROSPECTION

Ego:

1. Can you recall a recent moment where your ego influenced your decision? How did it affect the outcome?

2. How do you usually respond when someone challenges your perspective? Do you listen, or does your ego tend to defend?

3. When you feel the need to prove yourself, what do you think is driving that feeling—your ego, or something deeper?

Communication:

1. Think of a recent conversation where you felt misunderstood. How could you have communicated differently to make your point clearer?

2. Are there situations where you assume others understand your thoughts without fully explaining them? What could help you express yourself better?

3. How often do you actively listen during a conversation, versus thinking about what you’ll say next?

Being in the Moment:

1. Can you think of a time when you were truly present in the moment? What made it feel that way?

2. What distractions most often pull you out of the present moment, and how do you usually handle them?

3. How do you ground yourself when you realize you’re stuck in past regrets or future worries?

Feel free to answer any of these or reflect as you like. If you want deeper insight or tools to work on these, let me know!

RAW ANSWER FROM ME

Question ego number one. I am trying to recall a certain moment where my ego is influenced by my decision. I would say a majority of the time. I think that's because out of emotion and out of that emotion I always love to sound bright or I love to hear myself. Most of the times I'm not aware that that's what I really wanted. It's just because I'm comfortable saying that. Most of the decisions are narrow-minded and after discussing with Tika, most of the tunnel vision change I do is one-sided and one-perspective and that does not lead anything to improvement. To wrap it up more clearly, I'd say a majority of the time. It's because I'm comfortable saying it, not being aware of other perspectives about decisions.

Next one is ego question two. I tend to defend. Perhaps it is because of my upbringing that I mostly pay attention to my perspectives most of the time aka I listen to me me me me. And when a new thought comes a defensive “NO” roars out and I feel often aggressive and later on regretting doing so said roar. I am actively working on it— being open to other perspectives without the emotion part. There are few instances where I do snap and it is out of my primal basic default (to which I am trying to ascend and be better controlling of)

Question ego 3 : I think it’s because it’s the lack of putting myself in those situations where my perspectives are either challenged, acted upon, or contrasted and discussed by— and the lack of this experience sort of provides a base experience of my perspectives taking reign with my reality (which is not the case)— perhaps you could give a simple bulleted formula for me to prevent these sudden ego reigns and tunnel vision is what others see in me when I am in an ego driven mode.

Communication:

1. I believe one conversation that was critical of me feeling misunderstood was when I was in a group conversation with my former two friends (which are my friends of my partner Tika), Oza and Zeva and this one person named Sofianne which is my friend and I brought my partners friends to meet with my friend to discuss about villas and real estate because I wanted to connect them. What ended up happening was miscommunication because Oza and Zeva are Indonesian and English was not their first language and Sofianne was Dutch Arab but with an indonesian wife but still has a some understanding of the language

— but the main premise of the miscommunication was the cultural context cues and tone of the language during the conversation because on behalf of the group I acted sort of like an interpreter. Well not really a good one. Since the conversation between Oza and Zeva and Sofianne started to (in my perspective) to be a bit tense because he was seemingly using aggressive tone I was feeling the emotions of Sofianne because the discussion was on the basis of negotiating real estate objectives and plans and either side did not come to an agreement or an understanding and I simply just was not patient with Zeva who was talking majority of the time and in a way I sort of said to not go the conversation in the direction where she was discussing but even in a more aggressive tone because I wanted the conversation to stop immediately because I was getting agitated that Sofiane used joking mannerisms to sort of joke the offers of Oza and Zeva because of the language barrier but since it is common thing in the west I thought it was still bit disrespectful but I should have just pulled zeva and oza to the said to give a heads up why he is talking in the tone rather than be angry and just blurt out aggressive about “get to the point” all due to my feelings. I know I could have voiced it better and been more patient and empathetic with the way I talked even if it is coming from a place

Of heart.

Communication 2 = most of the time. It’s like I think so fast, faster than what I want say and type even— mostly out of excitement. This is bad in a way that I have no clarity. You could see the way I type right now sort of shows this but back then it was a bit worse where I would miss a few words and in my head I thought I typed everything what I wanted to write but it was completely wrong or even in a wrong context. To solve this— take my time and bit more to write things and slowly reread them. Or even speak. Not only actively listening but by actively thinking what I want to say with full detail to the best of my ability and I think that’d be good in what I think but I know there are other tips and I would love to hear your tips for better communication, especially when I want to convey thoughts or statements.

Communication 3: I do actively listen but I know I could do better by slowing down my response and inquiries when it comes to it.

Being in the moment 1: what made me feel in the moment was when I was drenched in the rain on the way to an event that Tika 🦝👑 invited me and Who of the time when something happens like that I would get really aggressive and expect like other people to feel what I’m feeling and that I was stuck in the rain and people look at me with me that I was stuck in the rain and when I arrived everybody was having fun and nobody really cared what I was feeling because everybody doesn’t care what you feeling well now because everybody’s in their own zone and their tunnel vision it’s like yeah it’s like I don’t like don’t you don’t give a fuck The the only thing and I didn’t play into that and that made me also be in the moment, but the most key highlight of me being the moment was when Tika 🦝👑 was just like noticing me. I’m just being happy and that just snapped me out of being angry being like brat or like doing my eagle. I just look at me and see how fucking what I am during the rain of the Event and nobody like giving a fuck about why it’s raining outside because the whole premise of me being to the Event was lost when I was in that moment and when I switched off, I was actually enjoying myself because Event had music. I like music and she liked music and we were dancing and even though I wasn’t dancing the best of my ability I tried my best to control my emotion part of what I was feeling because it was like seeing through what I was feeling for the greater sort of sacrifice but for a greater good because like there’s so many good things out there in the world that will out our way what I’m feeling today of being raining and like was my phone drenched. No spare clothes. Have a good home and sleep. Yes it’s like these little things that and is enjoying herself and she’s happy to see me, so I think that’s really good and was there someone I wanted to punch and choke? Yes but I did do that so I think it was really good on my end.

Question two just being in the moment; I think that emotions actually blind what I’m being in the moment let me rephrase that emotions blind what I’m feeling if I give into them rather than actively being aware what I’m feeling and if there’s someone around or with ChatGPT or with my partner or my friends or for my mentors or even like some random stranger I just share what I’m feeling and then getting another perspective because I think that will also ring me out of the moment hold on I think while typing this or working on this question. I think this is wrong but I just wanted to share yeah and how I handled my emotion just being aware about it being more about and like try to get the root cause of why I feel for example about that rain part it’s feeling like cold like I’m uncomfortable but at the same time it’s like I didn’t give a fuck like this was referring the time when I went to Event and that was a simple music event and I know I should’ve rephrase that the first question to give more context to give more clarity as well but moving on yeah it’s just I didn’t notice that was after the event and I was actually dry and then all the emotions that I felt during the happy part of it was relish and that was the good part of being in the moment because often like when we’re like eating food like we’re looking at the food we don’t actually appreciate that. I’m actually eating like food and a lot of people can’t afford Jack shit because like because like yeah they waste the food and blah blah blah and I don’t wanna waste food too because I used to be poor and I should remember that because now I’m not poor and nice to have money and I forgot I forgot that feeling so yeah

Question three of being in the moment; I tried to ground myself by not being stuck. I just feel it and then just be active about like why am I feeling it? So like seems to the previous question just try to snap out of it as soon as I can and try to figure other emotions or discuss with either before and try someone else but I think most of the things are either like trauma and when you feel like you don’t like your parents or you don’t like someone and you almost killed someone or like someone try to kill you and all this type of things is like at the end of the day like you’re alive that’s how I feel like I almost died yesterday and I feel alive now you know and then I almost killed someone and I feel alive aware that I could do that and then I think that goes with wrestling and judo jujitsu and my MMA stuff it’s like I can kill someone but I choose not to kill someone and that’s why I really like to do the MMA thing you know because like when I watch the video on Rod think his name is Roger and something about wrestling is life and he said that like striking is death and wrestling is fundamental film that even Plato and art. All the Greek philosophers did back then were you able to pin someone don’t you don’t kill the person you like that person like wrestling and jujitsu sometimes that’s why I think that’s why I need to keep doing it because it keeps me humble away and like 80+ KG but I’m just happy because like they can kill me but they choose not that like that. That’s an eye-opening thing because I when I roll with like people or 60 KG or even with the girls I try not like I’m not, I don’t try to kill them, the sparring partners JESSICA said not sparring harder than the floor is like yeah cause I’m trying to control myself and when she says like okay we’re gonna go harder and then that’s when I’m like okay. I know I can go hard in this part and then she’s like this was good so it’s like like I have the potential to do that I mean I think it’s called transmutation so yeah, and I could also apply to also other things not being in the moment also like I’m having sex or like doing drugs or all these other things that are like how he didn’t stick because people people I feel like when people do hedonistic things they’re not being aware of what they’re doing like for example when I was smoking it was out of stress not out of the feeling or the sentimental values of it the sentimental aspect of his excuse and I think that’s how I feel about it and just wrap it out because I’m on tangent is I try not to be stuck even if I have like bad problems it’s just like so it’s like I’m already here now. I was like what do you want when I lost my bike and I was like oh Oliver you don’t like lost all everything. Was your house where your bike was your car was your wife even like I lost my girlfriend part like my first one I mean, I was like 2022 that first one now that our relationship everybody was like like what would you do? Like you would rather kill myself like I don’t that’s just stupid. I didn’t feel like I have work they like and stuff like so that’s on my mind, but yeah, there’s not good excuses, but that’s how I feel anyway, now I’m back on that. I’m doing so so I feel like snapping out better things like I didn’t kill myself and stuff.

CHAT GPT RESPONSE

Wow, you’ve shared a lot of deep insights and reflections here—thank you for taking the time to process all of this so openly. It’s clear you’re working hard on self-awareness, understanding your emotions, and improving your communication and presence. Let me break this down with some clarity and suggestions tailored to your points:

Ego Reflections

1. Ego Question 1: Decision-making and comfort

• It’s insightful that you’ve recognized how ego can drive your decision-making, especially when comfort and habit lead to narrow perspectives. Comfort zones often keep us repeating behaviors that feel “right” at the moment, even when they’re limiting.

• Suggestion: Try a quick check-in when you’re making decisions—ask yourself, “Am I acting out of habit or considering others’ viewpoints?” Journaling small daily decisions might help identify patterns over time.

2. Ego Question 2: Defensive reactions

• Your upbringing and internal focus seem to have shaped this instinctive defense mechanism, which you recognize and are actively working to address. That roar of “NO” you mentioned is a natural reaction, but you’re already on the path to tempering it.

• Suggestion: Pause and reflect before responding. Count to five silently, or physically ground yourself (e.g., by placing your hand on your chest) when you feel the impulse to defend. These micro-pauses create a buffer for better responses.

3. Ego Question 3: Lack of perspective challenges

• You’ve pointed out how limited exposure to challenges to your perspectives might be fueling tunnel vision. Recognizing this gap is a huge step toward addressing it.

• Formula to prevent ego-driven decisions:

• Acknowledge: Notice when your ego might be influencing your thoughts.

• Question: Ask, “What am I not seeing?” or “What would Tika or someone else think about this?”

• Listen: Seek external input from a trusted person.

• Evaluate: Decide based on a broader understanding, not just immediate feelings.

Communication Reflections

1. Critical Miscommunication

• Your example of facilitating between friends with a language and cultural barrier is a great insight into how emotions and tone can derail communication. You noticed where you might have better managed the situation, especially by being more empathetic and patient.

• Suggestion: When interpreting or mediating, slow down. Acknowledge differences openly (e.g., “I think this might sound different across cultures”), and check in with both parties to clarify tone or meaning.

2. Excitement vs. Clarity

• Your fast-thinking, fast-talking style shows your passion, but it can lead to gaps in clarity. You already know slowing down is key, and your awareness here is excellent.

• Tips for clearer communication:

• Write or speak in bullet points. Keep it short and expand only if needed.

• Practice active pauses: After finishing one thought, take a breath before starting the next.

• Record yourself in a conversation or while explaining something and review to identify areas to slow down.

3. Listening and Response Time

• Slowing down your response time is a great goal. Active listening involves more than hearing; it means understanding and confirming.

• Practical exercise: Paraphrase what the other person has said before responding with your own input. It ensures clarity and gives you time to process.

Being in the Moment

1. Rain and the Event

• Your experience at the event highlights how external circumstances (rain, frustration) can cloud the moment, but you managed to overcome it by focusing on the joy and connection with Tika. That shift to gratitude and presence is powerful.

• Suggestion: Practice mindfulness regularly. Focus on your senses in challenging moments—what you see, hear, and feel—rather than the emotions tied to the situation.

2. Emotions as Blindfolds

• You’re spot on that emotions, when unchecked, can blind you to the moment. The key is to name them and accept them without letting them dominate your actions.

• Suggestion: When you feel overwhelmed by emotions, try journaling them briefly or talking them out with someone you trust. Even a mental exercise like labeling emotions (“I feel frustrated and cold because…”) can help reduce their intensity.

3. Grounding Techniques

• Wrestling and MMA give you a way to ground yourself through physical movement and self-control. Applying that discipline to emotional situations is an excellent strategy.

• Suggestion: Develop a mental “tap-out” routine for stress, similar to your physical training. For example:

• Pause: Stop and take three deep breaths.

• Assess: Identify the root cause of your feeling.

• Redirect: Focus on what you can do or how you want to move forward.

Closing Thoughts

You’ve written so much here, and it’s clear you’ve already done a lot of introspection. You’re making strides in self-awareness and emotional control, which are huge achievements. If you’d like, I can help you create daily exercises or routines to keep building on these reflections. Let me know how you’d like to proceed!

[teethburger]

VENT INCOMING

ok so the last few days my dad and I have been working our asses off to prepare me for my math exam, my dad is really passionate about it and pretty much educated himself on all the material to teach me, because I’ve been absent from that class for medical reasons. We watched videos, did TONS of exercises from the coursebook, we spent entire DAYS preparing for everything that was on the study guide and then some, I worked and worked until I could do all the exercises perfectly. I knew all the formulas, my parents were congratulating me, I was so confident that I would ace this exam.

Come the day of the exam, I look at the paper and I’m immediately anxious because it looks so much harder than everything I studied (which is EVERYTHING). I tried to calm myself down and do as much as I could, but it quickly became clear that the exercises on the exam were WAY more difficult than those in the coursebook. Some of them asked for things that we didn’t even cover. I started crying and asked the attending teacher if I could call my dad. I called him and explained what was going on, but he couldn’t really do anything from a distance, so he told me to just do the things I did know. I did, but the grand majority of the problems were impossible to solve with the material we learned. I checked multiple times if it was the right exam. My math teacher (the one who smells) came to sit next to me and just went “hey, you did this one right!!! Just try your best to do the others!!!”, completely disregarding the exercises that I literally couldn’t finish. Eventually I had to give up because there was nothing else I could do. At this point I was just pissed. Me and my dad worked ourselves to the bone in 31 degree Celsius weather to ace this exam with all the material we’d been given, and then it was all for nothing. I already noticed this in some previous tests, but this exam confirmed it; I’m actually really good at math if I try my best and it’s taught correctly, my teacher is just an asshole who makes his tests way harder than the material we learned. All of the attending teachers, including him, were acting like I was just insecure about my abilities, BUT I WASN’T. I did all of the exercises PERFECTLY just yesterday, I was completely confident that I understood all the principles and knew how to make the exercises. After some more back and forth and drama, they called my dad to pick me up (without my prompting, might I add) and I had to hand in this exam mostly blank.

NOW, the principal apparently told my dad that we have to go get a doctor’s note so I could be excused from this exam. I, the person who was given an impossible exam and pretty much had a panic attack, have to get a doctor’s note to justify my inability to do the exam. Still heavily implying that there’s something wrong with ME because I couldn’t do an exam I wasn’t prepared for. We actually have to go to a doctor in the near future so she can write a note explaining why I didn’t finish the exam (I still for the life of me can’t figure out what she’s gonna write. “My teacher was too much of an asshole to finish this exam”??), which also interferes with my studies for my other exams.

I seriously don’t know why the fuck this is allowed. Or how any of my classmates could possibly pass this exam. I was even given the teacher’s notes to study from, because I’m not physically going to his class anymore. How the fuck is there something wrong with me because I couldn’t do an exam that I was never properly prepared for? My dad couldn’t even look at the exam, so I couldn’t prove my point to him (he does believe me and shares my opinion, but no one else is listening to me). I don’t understand how they can blame this on me. What am I even supposed to say to a doctor? Why are they so fucking unfair on me and trying to pin the blame on me? Agggggggggggggh I’m just so angry rn I don’t even have the words

[dorothytheexplorothy]

a few things, mostly tangential:

first (the problem): @there-are-45-chameleons has pointed out in the notes that it'd probably make sense to say 0 is not representable - since []=[][]=..., it also makes sense to say ∅=[] = 1. the empty list should represent the empty product, which is 1. you could bypass this "problem" by adding a formal "0" symbol, which to keep the recursive nature of this notation would then have to appear in every "empty" bracket - if 3 is [][[]], then to have zero and keep the recursion it would be [0][[0]]. I mean, we could still write "3 = [][[]]", but strictly speaking that would be an abuse of notation.

second (the formalisation): for fun, when I played with this notation myself (funnily enough, right before op posted this (sorry it made me feel smart and I wanted to brag)), I'd also formulated a definition of the inductive type of these expressions. I'll try to reconstruct it here -

define the type L of these lists, and the type T of the possible terms in a list, by mutual induction:

L := 1 + L×T + L, T := L/~, where ~ is the equivalence relation generated by c~c[] and a~b->[a]~[b]. explicitly, L is generated by (a) ε:L (the empty list [], denoting 1), (b) appending terms on the end (written as (l;b):L×T->L, where b is the term appended to the end of the list l), and (c) putting lists into boxes (Box:L->L, which takes 3=[];[[]] to [[];[[]]]=[3]=8). then to interpret this as a number we go over to T, whose generators are inj:L->T and the path constructors mul_1:(a,b:L)->(b=a;inj(ε))->(inj(a)=inj(b)) (this says that a=a*1, or formally a=a;ε) and boxeq:(a,b:L)->(inj(a)=inj(b))->(inj(Box(a))=inj(Box(b))) (i.e. if a=b as numbers then so are [a]=[b])

if you want an exercise to check your understanding, try to prove that while the distinct lists a;ε and a are equal as numbers, a;ε;[ε]=a[][1] and a are not.

you may have noticed this system can only represent positive integers. I've not added a way to talk about 0 or about negative numbers - by extension there's also no way to talk about fractions or irrationals. this brings us to the next part-

third (the solution?): why are we limiting ourselves to finite products? we could easily create a coinductive type of infinite "formal products" - in the same way we can turn inductive lists into coinductive streams, we can turn our finite recursive lists L into infinite recursive streams L*. we just have to think about 1 as [][][][]...=2⁰3⁰5⁰7⁰..., and we don't even need the mul_1 path constructor since we can't append to an infinite stream (therefore, a little more subtly, we don't need any path constructors, and we can define L* by itself, without a T*). in short what we get is L* := 2L*+1, with destructors tl:L*->L* ("delete the first entry in the list"), and hd:L*->L*+1 ("inspect the list in the first bracket" - returns "0" if bracket is empty), whence we define 1 to be the unique element such that tl(1)=1, hd(1)=0.

now products with only finitely many nonempty brackets are easy to understand, but how should we interpret infinite products? I suggest we can use some kind of regularisation, which lets us produce non-integers! - for example, the standard value assigned to the product of all primes (which in our system would be P s.t tl(P)=P, hd(P)=1) is 4π^2 (see e.g. Allouche's "zeta-regularization of arithmetic sequences" (pdf)). I think it's impossible to create nonpositive numbers, because every number produced by the regularisation is basically e^(another real number). we're working with infinite products as opposed to sums so it's somewhat intuitive that we'd get positive reals instead of all the reals.

I think the regularisation function isn't injective (there can be two different infinite products evaluating to the same number), so we'd have to add some complicated path constructor that takes that into account but practically it's not an issue (I don't even know if it's an issue at all, since we're just working with products of primes, not general natural/rational/whatever numbers. is it also non-injective on sequences of primes and recursively on sequences of infinite-product-powers of primes? idk). that's all I got for now; idk if these are closed under addition, multiplication, etc. one thing I am wondering though, is whether there's a "canonical" way of representing the product of all positive integers (not just the primes) in this system? the regularised value of the product would be sqrt(2π), so is there some way to choose λ_i s.t the product of prime powers Πp_i^(λ_i)=sqrt(2π), and if so is there a sense in which this is related directly to the product Πi, pre-assigning a value?

cursed number notation. can you figure it out

1 = []

2 = [[]]

3 = [][[]]

4 = [[[]]]

12 = [[[]]][[]]

0 =

-1 = -[]

19 = [][][][][][][][[]]

20 = [[[]]][][[]]

-2 = -[[]]

1/2 = [-[]]

sqrt(2) = [[-[]]]

72^1/6 = [[-[]]][[][-[]]]

5/4 = [-[[]]][][[]]

[asexualzoro]

it’s my 22nd birthday today, and you know what that means... 

Lew Writes Wrapped 2022!

its virtually all third life this time, most of which have not been posted on main before. woe, the full weight of my third life obsession be upon ye

blood god, mortal red

(Jan, 1.2k, DSMP, oneshot) (link)

one of the Many minecraft execution fics i have written in my life, technoblade anvil edition

not to start this post off with making myself sad, but man, i miss him. 

i remember writing this one all in one sitting at work in january. i think i did a pretty good job with it from an artistic standpoint, and as an analytical piece, i think i hit the mark perfectly. that said, i don’t think i could reread it now. i do think it was fun as a writing exercise to force like, 5 seconds irl to stretch out into a thousand words

yes, the only way out is down

(April, 1.2k, 3L, oneshot) (link)

another minecraft execution fic, third life rendog edition! 

IM SO PROUD OF THIS ONE. im so fond of it it’s probably my favorite third life oneshot. ren’s execution makes me fucking rabid and this is just the most direct expression of that.

what’s funny is i actually remember being pretty dissatisfied with this fic when i finished it--there was a lot of stuff i wanted to hit on that i just couldnt swing around to--but when i stepped away from what i wanted it to be and looked at what it was, i realized i liked it a lot

the rhythm of cold fists

(May, 2.6k, 3L, onehsot) (link)

sometimes you get so worked up about the idea scar threw the finale of third life that you have to write a bunch of frenzied words on it

this one is funny bc i think its got the second most hits of any of my third life fic, but the comment number is really low comparatively. i mostly just had fun making the transcript of this scene and then fleshing that out into a full ‘novelization,’ it was a neat writing exercise! i don’t think anything in particular stands out about this one, but i’m happy with it overall

Wooden Mausoleum

(May, 3.8k, 3L, oneshot) (link)

Sometimes you get so worked up about the idea of the unactualized betrayal plotline of the most loyal man in the series that you have to write a bunch of frenzied words about it

okay this is going to sound bad but i keep forgetting i wrote this. i dont know why. i like this fic! one of my favorite paragraphs i wrote all year is in it! and yet??? i dunno.

id love to write a different martyn wins au where the betrayal isnt the sort of ‘mercy kill’ suggested in this fic, bc i still have not recovered from the unrealized betrayal plot. someday i’ll write a martyn wins au where he Means to win

i... still feel something is sort of off with the way this fic ends, but i think ive felt that about a lot of the fic/scene endings ive written of late. i think that ending scenes/fics is just ill have to work on this upcoming year! 

might be best to not look back

(Oct, 2.7k, 3L, oneshot) (link)

i’m starting to think all my oneshots are just me getting possessed by different parts of the third life. anyway i had a point to prove about scar throwing, and what might happen were he not being wildly unsubtle about throwing

i can write essays on this fic it makes me feel insane. i HAVE written an essay on it already just recently. tbh, this fic itself IS an essay written for the purpose of analyzing the penultimate third life scene. i have and could and will write more essays on the penultimate third life. this is all i have to say to avoid making this a 1k word post

i think i did what i wanted to pretty well? it was sort of confusing, by virtue of trying to talk about a point your viewpoint character won’t acknowledge, but it was a fun piece over all

missing or obstructed

(Oct-present, 6.3k, 3L, ongoing) (link) 

post third life fic but only grian and ren remember, featuring so many sleep/dreaming metaphors, because i lucid dream and have insomnia and it does a lot to me as a person

missing or obstructed has 14.7k words written but i havent fuckin posted most of it bc i got derailed by lamplight. missing i am so sorry i miss you so much but youve been obstructed. i am really excited for how the rest of this goes but i think i have to finish and completely exorcize lamplight from my head before i can go back to it in earnest. i DID post another chapter at 10pm yesterday so i had more of it to include in this wordcount tho,

missing or obstructed has been a lot of fun to write bc i lvoe stupid metaphors. it has sucked to write because it’s forced me to come up with worldbuilding shit for the watchers which has been so much more difficult than i thought. it’s been fun again cuz i love worldbuilding. it’ll be super fun when i finish the current scene i’m sitting and get to introduce martyn pov. i lvoe writing Martyn pov

Lamplight AU

(Nov-present, 20k, 3L/LL, series) (link)

renchanting dnd au. i put ren in a lantern. what else do you need

wadda hell. 

i cannot even begin to like--lamplight was literally supposed to be just 20 Questions and thats it, i wasn’t going to write more, but people liked it so much that i was like “sure, i’ll write a bit more” and you guys have been??? so kind. the amount of enthusiasm this fic has received thru kind tags/comments, asks and interest, and even art??? is equal parts deeply humbling and also incredibly likely to give me a god complex. this fic has been so much fun to write and my readers are the whole reason, i cant wait to show you what i have in store for the rest of it

six sentence sunday challenge

i also started a challenge back at the end of march of this year over on @driflew called Six Sentence Sunday. the rules are simple: every sunday, post six sentences you wrote that week.

i didn’t make it every week, but i made it a great deal of them. on occasion, i even posted 12 sentences the week after missing my six, meaning some weeks counted for two.

my six sentence sunday tag on that blog has 28 posts from the year! considering there’s only 52 weeks in a year, i started three months late, and a few of those weeks are actually two, i feel pretty good about the amount of weeks i made. not every week, but basically any week i didn’t have a good excuse not to complete my six sentences. it kept me writing all year, if only a little bit at a time, and i’ll be keeping up with it for sure!

to finish out,

i passed my writing amount from last year (25k) by over 10k words! my total number for this year doesnt even count the 7k or so from missing or obstructed i havent posted, plus an uncounted few hundred words of unposted snippets for lamplight. i’m really happy with everything i’ve done this year! 

which… this year i wrote and posted 37,800+ words! 

thank you to everyone who has supported my writing all year, as always, it means the world to me. happy birthday to me, and thank you to you for reading! 

(birthday wishes and/or reblogs appreciated!)

[nikethestatue]

How did the whole “shipping Gwynriel” even start? Before ACOSF I wasn’t really involved in the fandom (I wouldn’t say I am now but I do spend more time lurking on Tumblr and Instagram) and when I saw people shipping Azriel and Gwyn I was like ... what did I miss? They never interacted except like a couple of times during training? Then I found the two extra chapters and the Azriel one confirmed Elriel so I don’t understand , did Sarah say something against Elriel? Are there other extra chapters or teasers? Since when he wouldn’t go as far as to call Gwyn a friend and handmedown gifts are shipping material, especially when Azriel is pining over Elain

So honestly, I myself don't remember the evolution of Gwynriel. After ACOSAF, both Azriel and Cassian were shipped with Emerie (lol).

Then some teasers were published but they centered mostly on Eris and Nesta.

And then ACOSF came out, and I think until the bonus chapter became well-known, it still wasn't a thing. But there is person who is extremely active in the fandom who started pushing completely unproven Gwynriel theories very aggressively. Basically, they built a following around these theories, which again, are literally based on NOTHING--like the Illyrian plot, which they came up with (that Azriel and Gwyn?? will be in Illyria and doing something or other there). And they decided to completely disregard all Elriel moments, claiming they were either 'nothing' or 'brother/sister' or 'lust' or 'Elain is weak and stupid and needs to be saved'.

And basically, if you say a lie enough times, it kind of seems like it's true?

But no, Sarah never said anything about Elriel.

In fact, most of the anti efforts are directed at basically negating Sarah's words and trying to 'prove' that Elain's/Elriel's book isnt next, but that it will be Azriel's book! (Sarah never said that he'd get a book, only that his story will be told. Sarah specifically DID say that she was doing research for Elain's BOOK)

Basically, it's an exercise in mind-fuckery.

'Elain will get a book, but it won't be next, because Gwyn will get a book(??) and Gwyn will be with Azriel saving Illyria and Elain will find her brain and will finally accept the bond, move with Lucien and plant flowers.'

And of course the first part of the POV is a HUGE problem for them, so they try to twist it and turn it as much as they can -- from completely disregarding it, to saying that Az is 'toxic', or that he only wants her for sex, or that it's all over because Rhys said so, or that Elain is using him for sex (what even?), or that it's just lust for both of them, and on and on and on it goes.

Nothing makes sense. They foam at the mouth saying he is a lust-crazed maniac with a boat-load of issues who shouldn't even be around women, and yet ship him with Gwyn.

That's why being an Elriel is kind of like existing in an alternate reality that makes little sense, because no matter how many times we wave books in front of them, write whole metas that are peppered with examples, it's just being shrugged off and we are told 'Sarah changed her mind'! (because of course they know what Sarah thinks!) And then we are like, but, but, why so many hints even in ACOSF and the POV confirming the feelings, just for her to change her mind?

Ehhh.

That's why when people ask me do I have any doubts about Eriel, I say NO. Because Gwynriel is made up. From the beginning to the end--it's a made up ship with no foundation. Even Moriel made more sense than this. But people want to believe what they want to believe.

[junkworldusa]

on comics

[tl;dr i was worried for most of my life about being a ‘good artist’ but now i just make comics and you should too]

i spent april, may, and half of june 2020 rendering geometric objects in soft charcoal. i threw myself into what’s colloquially known on /ic/ as grinding fundies-- perspective exercises, bargue plates, and figure drawing. my intent was to git gud and finally launch a narrative webcomic-- something visually pleasing, digital, and well-written. i had finished scripts, thumbnails, character designs, etc. i had to take advantage of all this sudden free time from losing my job! this was my chance!

then last month i realized abruptly that i was not that kind of artist, i had never been that kind of artist, and i would never be that kind of artist. i could not go SCRIPT->THUMBNAILS->PENCILS->INK because it would kill me. i had to accept i could not “finish” anything that way. if i thought too much about the work i lost interest; if it took too long i got bored. even now, every comic is a race against my own attention span.

i think there are a couple factors at play here. one is my own brain. but another is a deeper problem inherent to the medium: i believe “writing” a script or words ahead of time sucks the life out of the work. (will eisner talks about this in “Comics and Sequential Art.” ideally the writer and artist should be the same person and it should be done at the same time; if they cannot be the same person, then the artist must have liberty to change the script as they see fit to better suit the pacing/visual storytelling.) comics are the interplay of words and image. the words feed the image, the image feeds the words. the fragmented process of, say, a typical DC comic-- script/pencils/ink/color all done by separate people hundreds of miles apart-- is antithetical to the medium and also why these comics are mostly bad. to go even further, the words and images should be done with the same tool. if i put the brush down to switch to a pen the words are not the same, and the disparate style is jarring on some level. the simultaneous creation of words and images is essential. there’s immediately life. your hands come up with things you didnt expect. what i very recently learned is that i have to work like a rollercoaster: start to finish, without looking back, and without stopping. thinking is not necessary-- “skill” is not necessary. (i still struggle with this last point but the mild popularity of a few of my left-handed comics prove it to me: people will respond to a shaky scribble as long as the scribble is alive.)

i got this practice from lynda barry. who else? when i first read that she just sits down and draws a comic from start to finish, i was horrified and jealous. she writes the words for a panel, draws the image, then moves on to the next. that’s it. it seems straightforward but it haunted me. i thought i was incapable of this and that anything done like this would be TRASH! (unless lynda barry did it, of course.) but that is how i am trying to work now.

it’s not easy. self-consciousness, self-criticism, and the years of thinking art must look a certain way are all against us. it gets easier, though. i think it got easier once i realized how fun it can be. i use crayons, cheap paper, collage, non-dominant hand drawing, anything to help me realize it’s not that serious. the tactile and permanent aspect of traditional art is another aid. some of my favorite cartoonists and inkers work digitally but my brain doesnt grok it-- on some level it doesnt think it’s real.

working this way, i am not making the type of comics i wanted to make. i am not making comics that a lot of people will like to look at or read. but i am making comics, and before this i was not.

everyone can and most importantly SHOULD make comics. i tell everyone i know that they should draw more, that they should make comics. the usual protests: “i can’t do that, i can’t think of anything, i can’t draw.” how do you know? i think the same things and these thoughts are the death of art. everyone has something to say-- if you draw a comic and show it to me i will love it because it’s something new.

i have nothing further to say about art that hasn’t been said by lynda barry, GOAT, whose books on writing and drawing i recommend to everyone. (”What It Is,” “Picture This” and, appropriately, “Making Comics”. i feel like these should be mandatory reading for humanity.) tom hart, one of the greatest living cartoonists in my opinion, has a big free [!] e-book available about cartooning and creativity with lots of exercises-- http://www.tomhart.net/how-to-say-everything.html

finally:

ok thanks for reading my manifesto xxx

[bookofmirth]

So I initially deleted this because I didn’t want to get into it, but I also think the question is genuine and I wanted to explain my thinking. CW for emotional and physical abuse and sexual assault.

I am tagging @silverlinedeyes​ because this ask concerns them and I don’t appreciate being vagued, whether it’s a blogger or someone answering an ask that mentions me. I try not to vague other people and I’m not perfect but... just getting this all out in the open.

So I can’t speak for everyone who was upset at the initial post comparing Ianthe and Gwyn. Personally, I kind-of grimaced and was mostly confused about what in the world they could possibly have in common and why such a comparison would be necessary. As people, they are fundamentally different. And to me, the comparison is incredibly thin. Eye color and priestesses? How many priestesses have that eye color? And to use that to connect them to a creature we’ve only read about in two sentences in the whole series, a creature we’ve never actually seen on page and know next to nothing about? Basically, the intention or purpose behind the comparison didn’t make sense to me.

Now I’ll be perfectly transparent - I didn’t read the whole post because I could tell that it wasn’t for me. I also didn’t go around vaguing it. It was mentioned in some asks that I got and I tried to limit my commentary on that post and focus on the comparisons I had made, intentionally. Because 1) I can’t speak from the position of a SA survivor, and those are the people that post concerned, and 2) I didn’t fully read it, and 3) I don’t want to vague people! This fandom is divided enough. I know I made a joke after acosf came out how we are all having separate, loud conversations in the same room and refusing to acknowledge the other conversations while somehow responding to one another. And it was kinda funny at first, but now it’s exhausting.

To me, comparing Ianthe, who is universally reviled as a r*pist, and Gwyn, who we know is a SA survivor, is unnecessary. That’s pretty much what it comes down to. Why do we need to do this? What is it telling us about any of the characters? About relationships? I know a lot of people found it anything from distasteful to downright offensive, and while I think that just about anything is fair game when it comes to fictional characters, I also personally think that the intention behind the comparison was confusing. I just personally don’t understand why we would need to talk about those characters in the same breath. What purpose does it serve? Someone who can speak from the position of a SA can please feel free to add on, if comfortable!

The reason that I compare Az and Tamlin is to analyze them as people, as characters, because I see a lot of similarities in who they are on a (currently) fundamental level - their anger, their loneliness, their attempts to restrain their destructive impulses. These are major parts of who they are as people and how they interact with the world. There were red flags present in acotar that I recognized from my personal life and that I can now see in Azriel. Frankly, it concerns me that people see Tamlin as a completely irredeemable villain, while not recognizing that Azriel shares some of the same personality traits. 

Comparing a r*apist and a SA survivor is an unequal comparison. Emotional and physical abuse, on the other hand, tends to be generational. I’m not an expert on a professional or academic level, but I did a quick search on my university’s database, and found this from “Interrupting the Intergenerational Transmission of Violence”, and please note that these lines were the context or background - this article didn’t set out to prove these statements to be true, they are already commonly accepted knowledge and so their research was looking to solve the problem:

Children exposed to domestic violence are at increased risk for a wide range of emotional and behavioural disorders. Conduct disorder, in particular, may ultimately lead to the perpetration of further domestic violence in the next generation. Parental characteristics such as warmth and positive attributions may mitigate the risk for intergenerational transmission of violence.

I think that as a fandom, people really, really tend to mischaracterize Azriel. It bothers me. He’s not soft. I’m sorry, he’s just not. We have multiple examples of him being described, using words like “rage”, “cruel”, “temper”. One of the first posts I ever made in this fandom that got a lot of attention (over four years ago) was trying to correct these mischaracterizations. They keep happening.

There was an icy rage in Azriel I had never been able to thaw. In the centuries I’d known him, he’d said little about his life, those years in his father’s keep, locked in darkness. (ACOMAF)

One moment, Azriel was seated. The next, he’d blasted through Eris’s shield with a flare of blue light and tackled him backward, wood shattering beneath them. “Shit,” Cassian spat, and was instantly there— And met a wall of blue. Azriel had sealed them in, and as his scarred hands wrapped around Eris’s throat, Rhys said, “Enough.” (ACOWAR)

Az didn’t answer. I held his gaze, though. Held that ice-cold stare that still sometimes scared the shit out of me. (ACOFAS)

Az had a vicious competitive streak... quiet and cruel and utterly lethal. (ACOSF)

Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper (ACOSF)

These are just a few of the examples, but we can also think about acofas when he gets angry at dinner thinking about how his mother was treated as a servant, when he can’t handle being around people who are happy on Solstice. I could make a whole post but I’m kinda sick of talking about Azriel at this point.

I have experienced an emotionally abusive relationship much like feylin was. I made myself so small, for years, because this person’s anger and anxiety and grief took up so much space in the world. I felt like I had to overcompensate, to not make them feel jealous if I was having a good day, and to not take on my negative feelings if I had a bad day. So I just stopped feeling things. For years. It didn’t go well. I’m still dealing with the aftermath. 

I have also witnessed physical domestic violence, as a child. I don’t think I need to explain further than that.

My fanfiction A Loveless Romantic deals heavily with the feylin abuse, and I only feel comfortable writing it because of my personal experiences. I’ve written posts about Nesta and alcohol and another post that I can’t currently find about why acotar is such a good book because it shows us all of those red flags for abuse before many people knew they were red flags. (If I can find it I’ll reblog.) My point is, when I go into analyses and metas like these, they aren’t just an exercise in “oh hey what if?!” It’s “here is my experience with this topic and so here’s how I read this with that background.”

The comparison between Azriel and Tamlin is deeply personal to me, and I didn’t exactly expect to have to disclose my personal history when making it, but when I see people vaguing about how the comparison “hurts people who have experienced abuse”, hi, OP knows exactly what she’s talking about on a personal level, thanks. So I’m going to keep talking about it, because I know what I’m talking about, and it bothers me that people can’t see it in fiction because I worry that they then won’t be able to see it IRL until it’s too late. I’m going to keep writing my “thinkpieces” because this is a topic I know a lot about, it’s important to me, and it’s something that I think a lot of people can and should learn more about.

[postmodernbeing]

Shingeki no Kyojin headcanons: 104th training corps (College AU)

Hello, Postmodernbeing here. This time I wanted to write about things that I actually know, since I’m a college student and I’m studing History and Social Sciences I found myself wondering about what would the 104th training corps focus their studies on if all of them had chosen humanities as their career. I hope you find this funny and at least a bit accurate.

IMPORTANT:  I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin, only these HCs are my own. // Might contain a few spoilers from the manga. // English is not my first language and I study uni at Latin America, so scientifical terms/words/concepts may vary. Anyhow, I thank you for reading and for your patience.

Eren Jaeger

He’s passionate about Military History, not to be confused with history of army. Eren’s rather focused in strategies, weapons and semiotics involved in military speech.

First started with books about great wars in modern era. The use of certain weapons took him by surprise due the technological development.

Then he took classes about discourse analysis, semiotics and such, and felt inspired by the discourse reflected in emblems, uniforms, flags, etc.

Eren doesn’t really have a preference between occidental or oriental, North or South, Modern or Ancient settings. He would simply devour all the books that deal with military strategy and warlike conflicts. Although he has more experience and information about great wars in modern era.

He’s fascinated with the inexhaustible human desire of freedom and the extent that it can reach. This fascination might not be very healthy, he concludes.

Also, finds a cruel beauty in violence when showed in freedom and ideals are protected over one’s own life. But he won’t tell his classmates or professors. He knows is a controversial opinion for he’s still aware the implications of massive conflicts and the abuse of power.

One thing led to another, Eren is now taking classes and reading about philosophy in war and anthropological perspectives about violence through time.

He’s so into social movements besides his main interest in college: “No one’s really free until all humanity is”, that’s his life motto pretty much.

Due his readings and researches he decided it was important to develop a political stance about the world’s problems. Eren strongly believes all lives worth the same, but systems and nations had imposed over others and vulnerated other human's lives.

Yes, Eren is anti-capitalist and anti-imperialist.

Mikasa Ackerman

Asian Studies Major / History Minor.

She thinks by studying these degrees, she pays honor to her heritage. Specially to her mother. Her family is the proudest for Mikasa is also the best student in her whole generation.

Mikasa received a scholarship thanks to Azumabito family, who are co-founders of an academic institution dedicated to Asian historical and cultural research. She might as well start working when she graduates.

Although she’s passionate about Japan’s history, she has written a few articles and essays about Asian Studies themselves and the importance of preserving but also divulging by means of art and sciences.

In her essays and research work, she likes to employ tools from many disciplines since she strongly believes all humanities and social sciences serve the very same purpose at scrutinize the social reality all the same. Might as well use demographics, ethnology, sociology, philosophy, anthropology, archeology, and so on. For it proves to bring light into questions that history by itself could answer unsatisfactorily (in Mikasa’s opinion).

Even her professors wonder how she manages to organize that much information and pull it off successfully. She might as well be more brilliant than a few PhD’s students.

Armin Arlert

Prehistoric studies / Archeology

He’s so into the studies about the prehistoric humans and routes of migration.

Passionate about the ocean and natural wonders since kid, Armin believed his career would be environmentalist or geoscience related.

That was the agreement he had with his grandad since middleschool, until he read Paul Rivet’s “The Origins of the American Man” book and captured him thoroughly. The way the book explained logically the diverse theories about global migration and enlisted the challenges of modern archeology -for there are numerous mysteries- simply devoured his conscience.

He knew from the books he’d read that most evidence of the first settlements are deep under dirt or far away in the ocean whose level has risen over the centuries leaving primitive camps – and answers – unreachable. 

That’s the reason he is so eager to study and give his best to contribute both archeology and history disciplines. Also, he’ll forever love the ocean and nature, just leave him do all the fieldwork, please.

Jean Kirstein

History of industry / Industrial heritage / Historical materialism

Jean first started interested in capitalist industries and production development in first world countries. Kind of rejected other visions and explanations since he’d read about positivism studies.

His interest in such matters started when he was a just boy. He often found himself wondering how things were made and that question captured him ever since. As he grew up, he realized that machines and industrial processes were highly involved in the most mundane objects creation.

Nonetheless, he learnt that not always the best machinery was used, nor the best work conditions were available for mass production. From that moment he’d started to read about the First Industrial Revolution and his mind just took off with questions. Invariably, he learned about labour struggle and the transforming power due workforce.

Between his readings and university classes, he’d knew more about labour movements, unions. And in the theoretical aspect, he'd learned about historical materialism analysis.

One could say that Jean possesses a humanistic vision of the implications in mass production under capitalist system along history and nowadays.

Marco Bodt

Royalty's history / Medieval Studies 

I wanted to keep his canonical fascination to royalty and the best way to do that was including Medieval Studies.

Marco would study since the fall of Roman Empire until the latest gossip of royal families all across Europe.

Might get a bit of Eurocentric with his essays but in real life discussions he’s always open to debates about decolonization. He has even read Frantz Fanon books and possesses a critical thinking about colonial countries and their relations with the so named third world.

Nevertheless, Marco finds a strange beauty in the lives of monarchs and he’s interested in study from their education, hobbies, strategies, relationships, everything.

I’d say that his favorite historical period is probably the establishment of the descendants of the barbarian peoples in the new kingdoms such as the Visigoths, Ostrogoths, Franks, Vandals, Huns, Saxons, Angles and Jutes (holy shit, they're a lot).

Because this would transcend as the beginning of his favorite matter of analysis.

Sasha Braus

History of gastronomy, development of cooking, antropology and archeological studies.

Sasha’s interested in the history that shows human development of food and cooking. She finds wonders when she inquires into cultural aspects from the first farming till modern artistic expressions that would involve food.

Such as gastronomy. But her attention got caught in literature’s food representation too, with its symbols and allegories, also in paintings that belong in still life movement, but also Sasha finds interest when food is used as rhetorical devices (for example: the apple in Adam and Eve’s myth).

She’s curious about primitive systems of irrigation, cultivation, food distribution, adaptation of wild species; as well as the domestication of animals, the diversification of the diet and its link with sedentary life, as well as the subsequent division of labor once the need for food was assured in humanity’ first cities.

Sasha’s convinced that alimentation is the pilar of civilization as we know it. For it involves cultural, artistic, economic, emotion and social aspects. Food is a microcosm of analysis of humanity.

Sasha hasn’t a favorite historical period or setting. But she definitely has a special fascination for first civilizations and their link with alimentation. Also, she likes to study the development gastronomy in occident world around different regions, social classes, and time.

Although, let’s be honest, Sasha would devour (lol, couldn’t help it) ANY book about agriculture, cattle raising, cooking or gastronomy. 

Connie Springer

Micro-history / History of everyday life.

Connie loves his hometown, has a deep respect to his family and traditions. That’s why he finds himself wondering about the most ordinary events that developed in his dear Ragako. 

The book “The Cheese and the Worms” by Carlo Ginzburg changed the way he used to understand history and capture him into meaningful discussions about what he learned was called micro-history.

His favorite quote from that book is: “As with language, culture offers to the individual a horizon of latent possibilities—a flexible and invisible cage in which he can exercise his own conditional liberty.”

Once deep into studying the Italian historians and their works, he decided to give it a try, and ever since he’s mesmerized with the mundane vestiges craftsmen that worked in his village left behind.

Connie’s parents are so proud of him and his achivements, but mostly because he became a passionate academic over human and simple matters, (so down to earth our big baby).

His attitude towards his essays and research works truly shows his great heart and humility. Connie is aware that academic works have no use if they are not meant to teach us about ourselves too and current times.

Empathy and hard work, that’s how one could describe the elements that integrate his recently started academic career.

Historia Reiss

Political History / Statistician

Her father’s family pressured Historia since she was a little girl into studying History just like his dad. For he’s a very famous historian that had made important researches and books about the greatest statesmen of Paradis.

She thought in numerous ways that she could sabotage her career or study any other career without her family’s consent and end with her linage of historians. But she ended up enrolling in tuition and so far, she is trying her best in her studies. Historia swears this is the right path for her.

But don’t let the appearances fool you, even thought she studies her father’s career and the very same branch of history’s discipline, she has her own critical sense and she’s so talented on her own, very meticulous with her research papers.

Definitely wants a PhD about women, power and politics. We stand a Gender Studies Queen.

Her complementary disciplines are Political Sciences. Historia also has a talent for philosophy and owns a diary with all her thoughts about them. She hopes one day she would write a book or a manifesto about an innovative methodology for research and teaching History of Politic Thinking.

Ymir 

Religion’s History / Theology

Just like Historia, Ymir was pressured into studying History. And if she’s totally honest, she still has some doubts about it. Even if she couldn’t imagine herself studying anything else.

Anyways, Ymir thought that she could build her career around topics that she enjoys. So, she finally chose theology for unusual reasons.

Her classmates had grown up in religious families or had experience studying the doctrines they practiced. But she, being an agnostic, found satisfaction in unraveling belief systems in different cultures and time periods.

Albeit she studies in Paradis’ University, she currently has the opportunity of taking an academic exchange at Marley’s University. This only made Ymir more conflicted about her future, for she wants to stay (near Historia) but she’s aware that Marley would offer her more academic opportunities for her specialization.

Nowadays she’s working in some collaborative research paper with some people from Mythological Studies from the Literature department. She’s nailing it, writing some historical studies about titans in Greek mythology and its impact in shaping neoclassical poetry. Her brains ugh, love her.

Reiner Braun

Official History / Biographies of heroes and great wars.

His mother convinced him with numerous books about great national heroes, but mostly because she knew that would mean sure job to her son. All political administration in every level requires of an official chronicler. 

When he started his college courses, Reiner felt motivated and he was actually convinced that he had the vocation. But the more he read the less sure he felt that the academic world was for him. He wondered if he made the right choice. If he did it for him or for his mother.

Stories and myths about heroes have always cheered him up. That gave him purpose and consoled him when feeling down. Or at least it was like that when younger. Reiner truly didn’t feel like himself when regretting his choices, but he couldn’t help it for he was changing in more than a way.

That’s why he decided to experiment with other disciplines and with time he would find joy in historical novels. He would analyze them just as good as a litterateur and research about historical context in the written story AND study the artwork’s context itself.

His favorites theorical books are: “Historical Text as Literary Artifact” by Hayden White and Michel de Certeau’ “The Writing of History”.·        

Heroes stories would always accompany him, just differently now.

Bertolt Hoover

History of mentalities / Les Annales

Intimate relationships, basic habits and attitudes. / Culture

Bertie has always been a much reticent and shy guy. As he grew up, he consolidated his sullen personality, but maintained a friendly attitude towards anyone who needed him. That’s why he thought that the priority in his studies was to be at the service of his classmates.

So, although he was passionate about research and was a fan of the French Les Annales current, he considered his mission to be in the Archive. As a cataloger, organizer and curator of ancient documents.

But the ways of History are always mysterious, and Doctor Magath showed him that other way of being was possible. Before Bertolt picked his specialty, he met Theo Magath, a professor who recently had finished writing a book: “The Idea of Death in Liberio’s Ghetto in Marley During its War Against Eldia (Paradis)” (long-ass titles are historians specialty btw). After Magath ended his book’ presentation, Bertolt reached him. They talked for hours and finally, he felt inspired into pursuing his true passion. Magath gifted him “The Historian’s Craft” by Marc Bloch as a way to reminding him his way.

By the time Bertolt took History of Mentalities as optional class, he already had some basic notions about Les Annales, Lucien Febvre, Marc Bloch, Fernand Braudel, Jacques Le Goff and such. 

Being the gentle giant he is, Bertolt finds joy in reading about different lifestyles in diverse cultures. He constantly wonders about the origin of social constructs and the way they shape thinking as much as identity.

This boy is a wonder, he might not be the best in oral presentations or  extracurricular activities but sure as hell he’ll graduate with honors.

Annie Leonhart

Oral history, about institutions. Particularly, police and justice system in early XXs.

Albeit she got into the same University than Bertolt and Reiner, even shared classes and hopes, Annie regularly felt disconnected from her studies. With time she realized it wasn't due her career itself but rather because of the currents that her professors had suggested her taking. Until now.

Talking with Hitch and Marlow about their doubts concerning subjects and departments it came up the topics of history and present time but also oral history. She’d never heard something like that before. So, that very same week, Annie started searching for information about that.

She ended up with more questions: is it all of this just academic journalism? Or maybe sociology? When we can talk about regular history and when it starts being present time? If she introduces interviews due oral history, then that makes it an interdisciplinary work? Which are the best systems for analyzing data? Definitely, she’ll need help from anthropology and sociology departments if she wants to keep going. 

Contrary to her initial prognostic, philosophy and history of historic writing became her new allies, and the text “Le temps présent et l'historiographie contemporaine” (Present Time and Contemporary Historiography) by Bédarida among others, provided Annie another perspective. 

Regarding her favorite topics, she wouldn’t say that she selected them freely. They were just practical preferences. For institutions own extensive archives and numerous functionaries. One way or another, she ended up tangled in judicial system and police issues.

With new tools and object for studying, one could find Annie having a blast as detective too. Even if her academic essays focus on institutions’ history and configuration, she’s also working in corruption and more. She doesn’t do it because she believes it’s the right thing, but besides, the thrill of the tea is spicy. Although she won’t admit it. 

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Kip v Age of Calamity

For someone who writes tough shit on Age of Calamity, you sure don’t see me writing a better story. So maybe I should stop complaining and be satisfied with what was given to me. 

...or...

...maybe we can dedicated a few hours of my time to spite an ask. 

Even though the entire argument of “why are you mad if you can’t write a story yourself” is inherently flawed and pointless considering that’s the equivalent of telling me I should chug spoiled milk because I’ve never milked a cow, I’ll fucking step up to the plate here, I’ll put my money where my mouth is. 

So here is Part 1 of your residential Kip approved rewrite of Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity. Or as I like to call it: 

Ok so before I get into it, a couple things I wanna establish. First, I know I just said I’m doing this out of spite, but I’m actually also doing this for fun. I really enjoy and am passionate about the writing process, so if you were looking for an angry rant about how terrible everyone’s opinions are about everything, this isn’t that. I don’t think that I am a better writer than anyone, or than the professionals that made this game, or that I am somehow superior to Nintendo. I am someone with the benefit of hindsight, I don’t have the constraints of producers and mandated directives and executives rubbing their hands in the story to make it more marketable or dumbed down or any of the other chaos that goes into crafting a videogame. So while obviously I think the people involved in this could have done a much better job, this isn’t a bash to say, “look how easy it is to make a story” because there’s a ton of unseen drama that goes into development that I have the luxury of avoiding, and it’s a miracle that any games are coherent and enjoyable in the first place. I’m just a lil Kip doing a fun lil exercise. 

This little series is also not going to be a fanfic. I’m going to be telling the story chronologically as if you were playing for yourself, but it’s going to be from my omniscient perspective because 1) I need to relate the story to the gameplay 2) That would take way too much time to actually make this into a fanfiction as it already takes a hell of a lot of time to even plan out the beats of this rewrite and 3) This is less going to be a telling of a story, and more of a fun little exploration on the Three Act Structure and The Hero’s Journey. In fact, I am going to try and keep the given story of Age of Calamity as intact as possible. 

The general ending is going to be the same, the characters used are going to remain roughly unchanged, (there will be no new characters, or removal of characters) and characters that live or die and where they end up are going to be mostly the same with how the original game is written. I know, I know, we all would love to see the Champions die brutally or to get us that sweet sweet Link angst or to have a game with multiple endings. And even though I personally would change some of those premises in Age of Calamity, I’m going to strive to keep it all as intact as possible, just to prove wrong the misconception that the story was only bad because of the writer’s choices for the general arc. I am a firm believer that biggest weaknesses of this game are in its methods of conveying its story, a problem in the storytelling process, and not (necessarily/only) the story product itself. 

If you want to use any of the ideas that I present, go for it! I release them into the public domain, I have no plans whatsoever to write a fanfic for this myself, in fact I already have my own separate Pre-Botw fic story that I am pouring myself into, so I give the people full permission to take these ideas off of me. 

Alrighty! With all that out of the way, let’s get into:

HERE IS THE VERSION IN A GOOGLE DOC FORM BECAUSE TUMBLR HATES YOU MOBILE PEEPS

Spoilers! Obviously. I’m going to act on the assumption that you know the full story of Age of Calamity to save myself some time, capiche?

Ok so we start out the game roughly the same, with eggbot being chased and forced to time travel into a portal. But, there is going to be some important differences in details. 

We have the part of the scene where Zelda awakens her powers, and at the same time, something else in Hyrule Castle glows with the same aura. However, this glow is not coming from the Princess’ Tower, but instead, the camera pulls back from the fields of Fort Hateno, sweeps over Hyrule (where you can see the Guardians and the sense of destruction and all that) and the camera eventually flies over Castle Town, then within the Castle, weaving through the halls, until the camera stop and focuses on the entrance of a destroyed room, slowly creeping in. It’s a room that’s been demolished, stone rubble from Guardian blasts ruin the floor and cave in from the ceiling, there’s a small fire in the corners of the room, and from the props that you can make out, it seems to look like some study or office of some sort. The room is small, but domed and circular, signifying that it’s of a bit more importance than you might think . The desks and books and all buried beneath this collapsed stone brick. But as the camera focuses on that pile of rocks, from within that rubble, you see that same glowing aura that Zelda has, glowing brighter and brighter until finally out pops, eggbot.

Now, you can have that same sequence within the game where he runs around all cute, the outter wall of the room is broken so eggbot can look outside and see the Calamity’s destruction. Then that cut to Zelda saying “I want to save...everyone,” and this is important because I need the fade in between Zelda’s line and the fade back to eggbot to wordlessly imply that he is hearing these words, something that’s already done pretty well in the original cutscene. Anyhow, then the Guardian Stalker pops from behind, prepares to shoot, and eggbot can escape into its little time portal, and then the malice follows or whatever.  

However, I’m not gonna immediately cut to the title, but instead, we have the music build to eggbot’s little jump in a pretty climactic way. But then the music still lingers slightly, and rests in suspense, camera is still looking out the window where eggbot jumped. It pulls back, turning back into this room that eggbot emerged from. Music is still relatively silent. Then, from the corner, you see some of the fire suddenly catch onto something. Flattened between the rocky rubble, just a few feet where eggbot emerged, is a purple cloak, trimmed with gold, flapping just slightly in the wind. [Said flapping being what causes it to catch] The fire catches, burning through the cloak, and underneath it, is a fallen copy of the Sheikah tapestry of 10k years ago. Camera zooms into that art of the Calamity, music suspends, merge to title card, then the music hits that climax and BOOM, “Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity.” Main Theme plays. Let the opening title roll.

Now the reason I changed this slightly is because 1) I wanted to earlier set up some of the plot points that I have planned for this (some of which you might already guess or maybe not who knows *wink wink*) and 2) I think that the original opening could have been much stronger with its hook. Yes, the element of mystery is established with eggbot’s existence and that element of time travel, but then the opening immediately goes into saying “This is the tale of champions, a diminutive Guardian who traveled backwards through time, and the Great Calamity they faced.” So...you just dampened that hook you established two seconds ago because you explained it all. Sure, it doesn’t completely ruin it, but I think the impact would be much stronger if that text wasn’t there at all, and the music and hype of the tapestry moving and coming alive is all there was. I’d much rather that element of time travel just be explained through the cinematography itself, because you can already understand that perfectly with that scene where you see the portal lead into birds flying around a beautiful Hyrule Castle.

Also, the music in this game is fantastic! So letting moments that really let you soak it in, I think would be very beneficial. So now this scene serves as a much more effective hook before we get into the actual plot. The mystery of eggbot’s identity is heightened and left a bit more unexplained, you have this mysterious circular room that you’ve never seen before, and the set up of details that will eventually serve later revelations in the plot, cough cough. 

Then you hit Chapter 1, Link gameplay, eggbot and the tower, that’s all the same. I got no changes for the story there, it’s a great introduction. However! I know my strength here is writing and I am by no means a game developer or designer, but I need, I absolutely need to add one aspect to the gameplay.

Near the end of the first stage, where there are those three moblins at the end, I want to add something that I’m going to call, a gambit. The game already introduced you to the special meter and “press a to use special attack” thing, but I want Impa and Link to use a gambit to defeat this last horde of moblins. Essentially, you press A to use your special attack, BUT, if another character is in proximity, the attack is even more powerful. Every pair of characters has a special little attack, that does tons of damage, and during said sequence, there are voiced lines, or at the very very least text boxes that comment on it. And with this gambit, while a regular solo special attack still does a lot of damage, I’m gonna nerf it slightly to encourage players to use this gambit feature. 

Now, why did I add this? Because I need to better connect this gameplay to the story on more than an external “lets defeat this and go from point A to point B” type of way. I need something in the gameplay to better serve to the game’s main theme of “teamwork makes the dreamwork” and all that. The CURRENT gameplay, although absolutely fun and fantastic, just doesn’t do this. I need just one element to serve this theme while ALSO having the dual purpose of serving as character interaction. The current structure of Age of Calamity works where the sidequests and battle serve as your character interaction, development, and banter, while the cutscenes serve the main story beats, and important plot revelations. The cutscenes just aren’t crafted to support the weight of these dozens of characters while also giving them all interesting interactions, and that’s fine! So I’m just adding this feature to the gameplay, because being able to customize different lines for different characters for different stages that are voiced will go a long way into making the character development seem more fleshed out. And this gambit feature doesn’t necessarily change the way you play the game drastically, as you can still have four character slots and have them split up to take on the battlefield, but now you can split them off into groups of 2. And also, because I’m not completely blind to game design, the damage percentage boost of these gambit attacks will not increase as much, just slightly lower, than the damage boost of a solo attack when you level up. So what I mean is, when your character is weaker level, you are forced to rely on others in order to defeat your enemies, but, with the way the leveling up percents work, your characters can still reach a point where they can defeat big bosses all on their own without gambits. THAT way, when certain events happen in later chapters, when your character is all leveled up, (and maybe they awaken a sacred power or two) it feels all the more powerful when you can go off on your own. You can feel how your character has grown in strength because you can contrast it with your teamwork gameplay of earlier levels. AND it still highlights the importance of that theme of companionship, because you would never have gotten to this level of strength had you not relied on your friends. 

OK, so the stage 1 ends with a gambit attack, Impa compliments Link’s fighting style or something that shows her admiration or respect for him. And then stage 2 for the Road to the Royal Lab is the same, but gambit dialogue for that stage is Impa complimenting Link, Impa being protective of Zelda, and since this is Zelda’s first playable area, Zelda’s gambit lines can be about kinda brushing Link aside like “I want to capable to hold my own in battle but thank you” to Link (cause I never really got that same “I don’t really like you” vibe that is established in botw for this game) and then to Impa Zelda’s gambit lines can be like “is this thrill what you always feel when battling?” and Impa is like “yeah isn’t it great we should do it more often!” and then you can allude to that with a sidequest for Zelda’s training or something. I just want to better connect sidequest stories with this stuff. And also, gambits are obviously optional so that’s why this is all just banter and character development and not actually plot points, and I’m going to stick with just one-on-one dialogue, although it should be theoretically possible to have gambit boosts of three and four, but I feel that would be too much as I don’t want to ruin the gameplay balance and encourage you to keep all four character slots close together, because splitting them up is an important part of the game. Anyhow!

So Chapter 1 is done, my changes being almost purely in the gameplay because this is the start of the story and the character set up is important. Chapter 1 to Chapter 2 is basically the establishment of the ordinary world, and in the Three Act Structure it’s basically Act 1. Act 1 is all about set up. I need to really focus this chapter on both introducing the player to the mechanics of the game, having them connect to the characters and the characters connect to each other through the gameplay, and I need to establish this tone so that when I rip it away, and change the tone during the threshold, it feels more meaningful and suspenseful. 

As you can see from the diagrams, Act 1 has something called the Inciting Incident. The Inciting Incident is going to be the Yiga attack in Chapter 2, where our heroes first experience the true dangers of their journey, and there is no turning back. BUT I’m getting ahead of myself.

Chapter 2 is also exactly the same. I would literally change nothing about the Champion’s sections (other than my addition of gambit interaction of course) because they’re all pretty great. For the record, yes, evil egg is still a thing, and yes, Zelda and the gang can still discover those pictures of the Calamity in eggbot, yes you beat up Revali, and the Divine Beast sequences are the same. I just really need that gambit dialogue to help establish character relations. Revali quips at Link, Mipha protects him, Daruk is his buddy [I thought a cool gambit attack for Link and Daruk to better show that they are old friends could be them both chewing down on some rocks, before striking an enemy simultaneously. Because they never eat rocks together and I just want this ok] Kohga is the same, Sooga is the same, BUT, for that scene when you first meet Astor in the Yiga base, I need two things to happen. 1) The camera reveal for Astor starts at his cloak, which is intact and NOT tattered like how his design is in game. It’s a deep purple with gold trim, the camera pans up to the back of Astor’s head. Now 2) When the camera moves to look at Astors face, I need him to be standing in front of and staring solemnly at the evil eggbot. He’s frowning, and his eyes suggest something like he’s deep in thought of something in the distant past. That’s how the scene starts, and in the background is Kohga recounting the events of his failure to beat Urbosa and the gang. Then, Kohga can say something funny to annoy him, Astor’s face changes to your classic villain disgust. Then, he can get a bit pissed and go on his little rant about how pathetic the Yiga are and how the Calamity is trapped within the evil eggbot and how he will use his powers to end the Kingdom of Hyrule. Then he can take his little astrolabe and be all “My harbinger, show me the future!” and all that. IMPORTANT LINE CHANGE,  Astor’s motivation here is not “The future, as it will and must be. I will not allow anyone to alter its course.” Instead, I need to tweak it slightly to be, “The future, as it was fated to always be. The pathetic stories and legends of children and false kings cannot waver this course. I will not allow it, for my sake…” camera pans to the broken evil guardian, Astor’s voice lowers just slightly. “...and yours.” The slightest, almost silent bits of the harmonies (not the melody) of the Hwaoc Main Theme play before fully fading back to Astor’s theme. And the final shot of that scene is Astor, looking down at the heap of Sheikah tech, with a neutral expression, but then looking back up at the malice stars, and the future visions of the Calamity. He just ever so slightly smiles. 

[Also I JUST realized that the harbinger is actually slightly above Astor, because it’s supposed to show that the power dynamic is really Calamity Ganon is in control, so ignore the “looking down” parts I talked about, and just think in the broad direction of Astor looks at the guardian, and then looks further up at the ceiling with the Calamity and the future and then he smiles]

For that scene, I also need to remove any characterization where Astor is laughing and being joyous at the impending destruction, I only need that smile at the end. There is no villainous cartoon laughter, at least, not yet. Also the part where Sooga calls Astor a fool for thinking he can control the Calamity is GREAT I need that, that absolutely needs to stay in.

And then Chapter 2 closes off with that Yiga ambush. That’s the inciting incident, so I need the tone at the end to be slightly different. Instead of ending on that cute little thing where eggbot points angrily at Link, (like that part can still EXIST in there BUT) I need it to end on a more serious note. 

Referring back to the Hero’s Journey, the Call to Adventure is the parts of each of the Champion’s recruitment. They each have their initial reasons for joining the fight, whether to protect their people, to feel validated for their skill, to get closer to the ones they love etc etc that’s all established in their respective stages.

This Yiga stage, however, serves as the official barrier between Act 1 and Act 2, the threshold between the known world and the unknown world, where the heroes prepare to seek out the obstacle that stands in the way of their goal. It’s important that this threshold establishes a sense of urgency, because that better gets you invested in the stakes, and helps the story's momentum to move forward. IT shows that the journey and adventure that these characters want/need to take is outside the safety of their home/known world.

In the original game, the threshold ends with that cute scene of eggbot and Zelda and Link and the Zelink vibes. That’s not bad, but it’s also not good. The momentum towards the later confrontation in Korok forest needs to feel more important, because this is a major turning point in the story. SO, I am going to add one more scene at the end. It’s just after the ambush, after the fires have died down, and Zelda (and in the back the Champions) discussing the events with the King. I want King Rhoam to a few things. First, I need him to kinda berate the Champions for falling for the Yiga’s “splitting them up trick” and leaving his daughter vulnerable. This 1) establishes doubt within the party, which makes for better uncertainty for the future and later internal conflict. This was supposed to be the dream team but the King is already kinda telling them off. 2) This also still characterizes the King as someone who cares for his daughter’s safety. That care for his daughters safety is layered in the subtext of him saying something like “Your priority must be to protect the only person capable of sealing the Calamity. You were so concerned with victory and glory in battle that you forgot that the fate of this kingdom lies on my daughter’s survival.” and blah blah blah. The King can also congratulate Link for keeping Zelda safe, and this is GREAT because that can add further to Zelda’s slight resentment for him, as he’s getting the approval from the King that she has yet to receive. But like overall the King is like “don’t leave my daughter alone cause she almost got killed if it weren’t for Link wtf.” and then that can also be a further excuse to hurry to korok forest to find the wielder of the sword so that they can better protect “not just the Princess, but the entire world,” something something fancy kingly dialogue. 

Also when the Champions leave THIS can also be the time where Zelda gives that Sheikah device thingy to Rhoam and also where he sees eggbot. I know that happens a bit later, but for pacing purposes and for the sake of the story changes that I made, it better serves to place it here. That interaction itself can stay mostly the same as it is in the game.

So now, the threshold ends with a bit more tension. The Champion squad is powerful, but also has flaws in how they were split up by the Yiga, (cough cough I wonder if that serves the themes of the game in some way cough cough) and it’s not just “smooth sailing” into the search for the Master Sword, and the stakes are a bit rocky as we finally enter into the story’s Act 2.

= = = = = 

And that’s Part 1 of my rewrite. Not really a lot, cause again this is mainly character set up, and establishing stuff, but personally I think it’s already a bit stronger than how Age of Calamity did it. Stay tuned for Part 2 either tonight or tomorrow, mwahaha. 

Predict the future if you can...

[anogete]

Watch me vomit up my thoughts

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?  I’m sorry I’ve disappeared on everyone.  It’s been... a year.  I think that probably goes for everyone, not just me.  If you’re interested in a personal life update, then read on.  If you’re looking for an update on my writing then I regret to inform you that I haven’t written a single thing this year.  Maybe next year, though.  There is always next year, right?  I think I saw a blurb that we’re getting Sam and Bucky back in March.  And Loki shortly after.  Maybe that will be my inspiration.

I’m fortunate enough to have a job that lets me comfortably work from home.  I’m also fortunate enough to own a home.  And my last blessing is that I don’t have kids, so I didn’t have to figure out the nightmare of childcare and home schooling like some of you.  My library on the second floor of the house has been my office since mid-March.  I’ve been transitioning into the Associate Financial Advisor roll this year and that has been going well.  I’m supporting the clients I’ve worked with as an assistant for the past nine years, so it’s been easy-going.  I’m able to order my groceries for pick up to avoid going in the stores and I live in an neighborhood where it is easy to get delivery from restaurants.  I’m incredibly lucky to have all these things going for me and I am thankful every damn day.

I fell into a bit of a funk this spring and early summer, but managed to pull myself out of it in August.  I started planning my meals, walking 2-5 miles every day, and exercising on the Peloton bike I bought a year ago.  I also started reading again and zipped through almost 50 books between June and now.  By November, I was feeling strong and healthy.  I felt like I had found a balance between work and activity and self-care.  I was still coming to terms with my grandma passing in March of last year and with Ferguson (my sweet doggo) passing in September of last year.  But I was trying and things were getting better.  I felt like I had my feet underneath me.

Lemme stop you here if you don’t want to read about death and some general medical stuff.  Because that’s mostly what you’re getting from here on out.

On November 21st, my mom texted me at 5:30am.  I got it right away because I usually wake up around that time, alarm or not.  She said she had dropped my dad off at the hospital because he was having difficulty breathing.  Apparently, he’d been feeling bad for a week, but insisted to everyone that it was just his sinuses draining.  I called her and began questioning her like I was cross-examining a star witness.  I was able to piece together a really fucking shitty story.

My dad always went to a friend’s house on Friday evenings to have a couple beers and hang out.  We’d all warned him since March that he needed to stop, but he insisted it was fine.  He bought into a lot of the cavalier attitude that the Trump fans have over this virus. Plus, he was 64-years-old and didn’t take any medication so he probably thought it was no big deal.  He spent a few hours at his friend’s house on November 6th.  Unbeknownst to anyone at the time, he received a call from that friend on November 11th that the friend and the friend’s wife had tested positive for COVID.  He didn’t share this info with my mother, my brothers, or my uncle, all of whom had been near him.  By November 15th, he was coughing but insisted it was drainage when my mom suggested he take something for it and go to the doctor.  By November 18th, he was worse and admitted to my mom that his friend had tested positive but that he hadn’t seen him for almost two weeks so his problems were just sinus-related and not COVID.  My mom hates confrontation, so she accepted this and didn’t tell anyone, including me and my brothers.  By November 19th, he had a fever and was having trouble breathing along with a persistent cough.  He finally agreed to take some cold medicine, but refused to call his doctor’s office despite my mom asking him many, many times.  At 4:30am on November 21st, he woke my mom and asked her to take him to the hospital because he couldn’t breathe well.  She dropped him off and returned home to text me since they wouldn’t allow her in the building.  She also texted my brothers, who admitted that they felt like they’d had a cold for several days.  I live 4 hours away and haven’t traveled since March, so I hadn’t seen any of them.

A nurse called my mom a couple hours after she dropped my dad off to tell her that he was positive for COVID and pneumonia and they were admitting him to put him on a bipap.  From what I understand, that’s the oxygen mask that pushes air into your lungs.  Later that day, the health department called my mom and told her to quarantine for two weeks.  My mom cooperated and gave them my brothers’ phone number (they live together), my uncle’s phone number, and the name and number of the person we suspected my dad was infected by (his friend).  My brothers opted to get tested and were positive.  They quarantined for two weeks and had mild to moderate symptoms (brief fever, very tired, cough, drainage).  My mom had virtually no symptoms with the exception of some drainage that she took Mucinex for.  She didn’t get tested, but she lived and slept in the same bed with my dad for a week while he was symptomatic.  If my brothers got it from 30 minutes in the same room as him, surely she got it as well.  My uncle and his son got tested, but they were negative.

My dad was cooperative with the doctor and nurses at first, but as the first day wore on he became irritated.  He’d been without his chewing tobacco (yes, I know: eww) for several hours and was going through nicotine withdrawal, but wouldn’t admit that to the nurses or doctor.  The next day he was put in ICU, still on the bipap, and even more unruly and rude to the staff taking care of him.  They called my mom to ask her to talk to him and convince him to cooperate.  They said if he couldn’t recover on the bipap and required a ventilator then “things would be very bad.”  My mom tried to talk to him by text and he just continued to insist that he was well enough to come home.

I used to be close to my dad when I was a kid, but we’d grown apart over my adulthood.  Over the past 20 years, my dad morphed into someone different.  Everyone around him, especially my grandmother, told me they saw this happen the same as I did.  The result was that my dad became someone I didn’t like and didn’t want to spend time with.  He also didn’t seem to know how to talk to me anymore.  To be fair, I didn’t give him much help in that regard.  I texted him to see how he was doing and the conversation quickly devolved into him complaining about the care and insisting he was well enough to come home.  I tried to reason with him and appeal to his love for my mom by saying that my fear was him coming home and giving her the virus.  He told me that he’d decided he was no longer contagious and this was just a bunch of bullshit.  This conversation via text continued through Monday and Tuesday (November 23rd and 24th), but it took a turn for the delusional.  The doctor can only assume that the virus and the lack of oxygen had resulted in hallucinations and delusions.  My dad told my mother and I that he was in an office building owned by a man named Mr. Pritt.  He said he was the only patient and that this man was having his workers experiment on him and that they would eventually kill him.  He demanded that we come get him immediately so he could recover at home.  When we told him he’d die if he came home because he was too sick, he insisted he wasn’t sick at all and became very angry with us.  He accused both my mom and I of conspiring to kill him because we wouldn’t help him.  One day he told me that I’d confirmed what he’d known all along.  I asked him what that was and he said, “That I always loved you more than you loved me.”  This really hurt because even though I knew he was loopy, I also knew that he’d probably actually had that though before.

He began refusing treatment on those days and wouldn’t accept the steroids they were trying to give him and raised hell when they tried to take him for a chest x-ray.  He also told them he didn’t want to be placed on a ventilator even though he had agreed to one when he was admitted.  He was texting all of his friends and telling them he needed a ride home.  He attempted to get up and leave the hospital twice, falling in the floor both times because he was so weak from lack of oxygen once he took the mask off.  He also told my mom and I that he was secretly removing the mask when the nurses couldn’t see to prove to them that he wasn’t sick.  He was taking and sending blurry pictures to us of the room as “evidence.”  He told my mom to forward the pictures to “the feds.”  The pictures were of his hospital bed, the whiteboard with his nurses’ and doctor’s names on it, his IVs, etc.  By the morning of Wednesday, the 25th, I was getting some off-the-wall texts from him.  He was begging us to come check him out of the hospital at that point and we were trying to play along and tell him we were getting everything in order for him to come home soon.  Eventually, he told me that he wasn’t getting out of there alive and that he loved me.  I told him I loved him too and begged him to do whatever the doctor said because the doctor wanted to help him get better.

A few minutes later, the nurse called my mom and asked if she’d been on the phone with my dad.  My mom said she and I hadn’t spoken to him by any way other than text since he arrived at the hospital.  The nurse said he had been on the phone with a woman, trying to convince her to come get him.  The nurse made him put the call on speaker so she could tell the woman that he wasn’t well enough to leave.  Because she was concerned that her message didn’t get through before my dad hung up, she called my mom to make sure he hadn’t convinced my mom to check him out against medical advice.  My mom assured her that we had no intention of breaking him out of the hospital, but she didn’t know who the woman was.  It wasn’t her or me.  We called a long-time former co-worker of my dad’s that I’ve known since I was a kid and she said she hadn’t talked to him.  We called his best friend and asked if he’d called and spoken to the man’s wife.  Not her either.  More on this later.  I’m sure you know where it’s going.

We were stumped, but didn’t have time to deal with it because the nurse practitioner called and told my mom that my dad was delusional and could no longer make his own decisions.  They said he had no chance of survival if they didn’t put him on a ventilator immediately.  My mom called me.  I told her to agree to it.  The nurse called her back and gave the phone to my dad.  He had agreed to the ventilator as well and wanted to tell my mom that he loved her and me and my brothers and his dog.  His speech was slurred and muffled from the bipap mask, but she at least heard that.  They intubated him right after the call.  He was on a paralytic for a week.  When they backed off on the paralytic, they had to increase his oxygen.  A week later, the nurse tried to kindly tell us that he wasn’t getting better and his chances of survival were low.  She suggested we start to talk about turning off the ventilator and letting him go.  We did talk about that, which was very upsetting for everyone, but the doctor said he’d been on the ventilator for two weeks and we’d give him one more week to see what happens.  By this point, he no longer had pneumonia. But the damage COVID did to his lungs couldn’t be repaired.

The ventilator was on full blast (highest pressure, highest oxygen) just to keep him somewhat stable.  The days were ticking by and he still wasn’t making progress.  Any step forward was followed by a bigger step back. My mom would call and get the update from the nurse most days, but I did call myself a few days.  When I’d call and talk to the nurse, I’d get a grim picture that my mom didn’t seem to get or understand. I talked to her on December 12th and asked her if she was trying to protect my brothers and I or if she really thought he was going to get better.  She admitted that she’d had a feeling for days that he wasn’t going to get better.  We decided to just wait for the doctor to call.  The nurse called my mom on Monday, December 14th and told her that my dad’s blood pressure was all over the place and they were struggling to keep him stable, that the ventilator was turned up to the highest settings and it was barely enough to keep him going.  My mom texted me and told me she asked them to call me.  The doctor called me within about 20 minutes and basically told me that my dad wasn’t going to make it.  They’d had him on a ventilator for 19 days and within a couple days his throat tissue would likely become necrotic from the pressure of the cuff keeping the tube in place.  They could only continue the ventilator if they could put in a trach and he wasn’t stable enough for that.  In addition, he needed more support than the ventilator could provide.  I was told he was either going to go into cardiac arrest while on the ventilator and die or they’d be forced to take him off the ventilator because of the damage to his throat.  The most damning thing he told me was that he’d removed the sedation but my dad didn’t wake.  He wasn’t responsive, wouldn’t squeeze their hands, wouldn’t flinch when they tested his reflexes, nothing.

I was told we could come sit with him and say goodbye when the ventilator was removed.  I asked when and the doctor said soon.  I live 4 hours from my parents, so I told him I’d leave right away and have my mom call to make arrangements for me to come to the hospital.  I called my mom and told her all this and asked her to let the hospital know.  I packed a bag and rushed out the door.  On my way out of town, the doctor called me back and asked if I was on my way.  My mom had told them that we’d come by the next morning and he was worried my dad wouldn’t make it through the night.  So, I had to have a shitty conversation with my mom about how we couldn’t schedule my dad’s death for 7am on Tuesday, that it needed to happen at 8pm on Monday.  I do not recommend these types of calls.

I got into town around 7pm and picked my mom up because she’d decided she wanted to come with me.  My brothers said they couldn’t handle it and decided to stay at my mom’s house.  My mom and I were taken to the COVID floor, given gowns, and gloves, told he was COVID positive so we’d need to continue to wear our cloth masks (no medical mask, is that safe?!), and escorted to his room in the ICU.  Guys, he looked so fucking tired and so sad.  It was heartbreaking.  The nurse said their ICU was full and most of the patients were in the same shape as my dad.  We talked to him for a few minutes, held his hand and all that shit.  He didn’t respond in any way, so I don’t know if he was even there.  We stepped out of the room while they removed the tube and gave him some medicine.  When we went back in, his breaths were labored and it looked like he was gasping for air. My mom almost lost it because she wasn’t expecting that.  I told her she could go wait in the hall and I’d stay with him until he passed.  The nurse was kind enough to give him a little more medicine to make it less dramatic, but it was still difficult watching him breathe in that way.  My mom sat so she couldn’t see his head to make things easier on herself.  We sat there with him for about 40 minutes before he passed away at 8:32pm on Monday, the 14th.

I stayed with my mom last week and helped her arrange a private graveside service and the burial.  She wanted to do a funeral and I thought that was the worst idea, so we agreed on doing a celebration of life next year when things are a little better (hopefully).  To my knowledge, I haven’t had the virus.  I operated under the assumption that my mom and brothers had it and were immune for now and wouldn’t transmit it.  So, I was able to be with them without mask, but I did wear a mask when anyone else was around.  I can’t say the same for the fucking funeral director and the locksmith’s employee who opened my dad’s safe for us, though.  I live in a bigger city and mask wearing is pretty wide-spread here, but I saw so many people in my hometown (a more rural area) who didn’t bother with them.

Anyway, while all these graveside preparations are going on my mom goes through the bag of personal items from my dad that the hospital gave us.  She tossed his clothes in the washer and placed his two rings into a bag to give to the funeral home so he could be buried in them.  She also pulled out his wallet and his cell phone.  His wallet has a picture that was obviously cut from an old driver’s license of a woman named Deb.  Apparently, this woman lives in Florida and had attended junior high school with my dad.  About two years ago, my parents took a trip to Florida and visited with her for several days.  She even friended my mom on Facebook.  So, the old driver’s license picture of her was very weird.  What was even more disturbing?  His wallet also contained a plastic bag of hair that very obviously is not my mom’s.  And there was a piece of paper with three phone numbers on it.  His phone was locked with a PIN and was set to wipe itself after 20 incorrect tries.  I did tried to break into it, but wasn’t successful.  My mom admitted that she suspected he’d been talking to someone on his phone for years, but she never directly confronted him about it.  She’d just make comments about him always texting on his phone and being secretive.  Two Christmases ago he bought her a ring at a store that she has an online login to.  This particular store posts the receipts for all purchases linked to the customer’s account to the website.  She saw that my dad had purchased two pieces of jewelry even though she only received one.  My dad has never in his life bought me a Christmas present without my mom assisting, so she knew it wasn’t for me.  She still didn’t confront him, though.  She just told him that she could see the itemized receipts online.

I sympathized with my mom because I’ve experienced the infidelity of a partner in a relationship and if I were her then I’d want to know.  But I also told her that I don’t know digging into it will make things any better and may not even give her the truth.  He’s gone and there is nothing that can be done about that or anything else.  While I was running errands for her the day before the graveside service, she messaged Deb in Florida and asked if she wanted her picture back.  She also called the three phone numbers in his wallet.  One went to Deb.  The other two were the cell phone and work phone of my dad’s best friend’s wife, Anne.  The same friend and wife who likely gave the virus to my dad.  My mom told me when I got back that she’d done this and admitted she’d always felt like my dad was talking to Anne and might have an inappropriate relationship with her.  I suspect my mom is right.  Gut instinct is usually accurate.  She said she didn’t think anything physical was going on with Deb, but she did think my dad was carrying on a flirtatious relationship with her via text.  In both cases, he tried to hide it.  And if you hide it, then you know it’s wrong.  That night Deb messaged my mom back and said she had heard about what happened to my dad and was very sorry.  She said that my dad was always clear that he was married and nothing went on that was inappropriate, but that he gave her someone to talk to when her husband was sick and dying five years earlier and they’d always kept in contact.  Again, I don’t think my mom can count on anyone to give her the full story without spin or deceit.  A couple days ago, she texted me a picture of a receipt from my dad’s truck.  It was from last Christmas from a department store.  It had two pieces of jewelry on it.  She looked them both up using the UPCs listed and found the necklace he gave her last year and a ring she doesn’t recognize.  We don’t know if he was giving this jewelry to Deb in Florida or Anne, his friend’s wife.  Or someone else we don’t even know about.  And we’re probably never going to know.  Do I want to call Deb and Anne and tell them I want to full story?  Fuck yeah.  Do I think it will fix anything?  Fuck no.

TL;DR?  I finally found some balance in my life late this summer.  This balance was destroyed when my dad got COVID and died after three weeks in the hospital.  And when you’ve already got a not-so-great relationship with your dad, you get all kinds of feels when he dies in a traumatic way and then you find out he’s been screwing around on your mom.  I also have lots of anger toward him for knowingly exposing my other family members to the virus simply because he didn’t want to own up to getting it after doing something we’d all told him to stop doing.

Health-wise?  I think I’m okay.  It’s been almost ten days since I was with him in the hospital and seven days since his graveside service.  I haven’t had any symptoms yet and I think most people show symptoms by now.  Regardless, I’ve been at home since I returned last Thursday evening and I intend to stay home until January 2nd.  My boyfriend is also home and will be here until January 2nd as well.  Just to be safe.  My brothers are mostly recovered, but both still have a bit of a cough.  My mom never had much in the way of symptoms and seems fine.  My dad was 64 and overweight.  We found out once he was admitted to the hospital that his regular doctor had told him he was a diabetic and my dad insisted on “treating” that with cinnamon instead of actual medicine.  Other than those things, he didn’t have any health concerns.  Be careful, ya’ll.

[eryiss]

Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hope you all enjoyed the last chapter, and thanks for sticking with this. It’s quite fun to write for this ship, and I hope you’re all ready for homoerotic exercise and another argument between men who don’t know how to communicate :)

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Three - Proving a Point

Day Two: Tuesday

Gajeel woke in a pissy mood. This wasn't going like it was supposed to.

Freed was meant to be a smug, self important man with no practical skills, no world-hardened experiences, and no way of keeping up with what Gajeel was demanding of him. His three day plan had focused around humbling Freed, telling him that he wasn't hot-shit like he clearly thought, and making him realise that his cushioned life didn't mean he was Gajeel's equal.

What was not meant to happen was for Freed to be competent! He wasn't meant to make a shelter, he wasn't meant to be able to make a fire without a match, and he wasn't meant to be able to cook the damn fish and make them taste good! Even Gajeel couldn't do that.

Worse, the fucker knew. Oh he knew what Gajeel wanted but wasn't getting.

He hadn't been so smug when he'd lost though, had he? He hasn't been running his mouth when he'd been in the stream, gurgling his pathetic little surrender. Nah, he'd looked exactly how Gajeel wanted him; weak, embarrassed and unable to deal with the fact he was out of his league.

Sure, it hadn't taken long for Freed to recover and spout some bullshit about Gajeel being intimidated by his magic, or whatever the hell it was he said. He was trying to save face and Gajeel wouldn't let him; he had lost their fight because he couldn't live without his spells. That was impractical, short sighted and the way a spoiled brat of a man worked. No doubt if he had to rely on his fists more, he would have seen the stream as something to take advantage of and used it, rather than falling into Gajeel's trap.

Hah. At least one thing had gone Gajeel's way.

Mostly.

Kind of.

Look, Gajeel might hate the man and the things he seemed to stand for, but Freed wasn't bad looking. And Gajeel was just a man, who had been stripped to the waist with Freed in the same state of undress, wrestling one another. He was bound to get distracted for a moment. Thankfully, Freed's nasty kick to the balls and the ensuing tantrum after had quickly quelled any growing interest.

Gajeel knew what he had to do today, though. Because if he was going to fight with Freed at the end of the week, he needed to respect the man. He wasn't going to respect Freed if he couldn't take a defeat, and if he couldn't handle himself without his magic. So today, Freed was going to prove he had the ability to back up his words.

Okay, it was a tenuous reason for what he had planned, but fuck it. Fuck Freed too.

It was tempting to wake the prick up by dumping some of the water Gajeel had gathered over his sleeping face - a nice little reminder of how the fight had ended - but he decided against it. He needed to have everything prepared before he woke up, so it would be better to check that everything was in place. That, and Freed apparently snored a little when he was sleeping, and Gajeel certainly didn't want to interrupt the possible blackmail that could come from it.

And perhaps it was nice to have something cut through the silence of the forest.

Gajeel had trained in this forest many times, and as such had come to know how to utilise it's assets. He wandered slowly, blinking away the sleep in his eyes, and eventually found what he was looking for. A large tree that had fallen down years ago, and stumbled down a hill. What remained was a leafless trunk at the bottom of a steep incline, perfect for strength training.

Next, he walked to the largest upstanding tree within reasonable walking distance. Gajeel had often climbed this tree to push his agility and upper body strength, and it was the perfect way to test Freed's practical skills. The tree was still standing tall, the branches Gajeel used to climb still attached. Perfect, no excuses for when Freed fucked up.

When he got to the lake, Gajeel grinned a little. The morning was cold and the water would be freezing, the worst temperature to take a swim in. Normally Gajeel would have hated to swim in weather like this, but it would certainly be a nice wake-up call for the spoiled little Prince.

Yeah, this was gonna be fun. For Gajeel anyway.

——

"I think yesterday proved pretty damp conclusively that you're out of luck if you don't have your magic," Gajeel said with crossed arms, looking down at Freed. "So, today I'm gonna teach you a couple techniques that'll come in handy when you're in a situation where you can't spell yourself out of trouble."

Freed clearly wanted to make a comment, but held his tongue. He was learning, huh.

When Gajeel had returned from his check of the forest, Freed had woken up, set up a new fire and was using the rest of the fish (and a few berries that he had picked) to make them both a breakfast. Gajeel had wanted to reject it out of hand, but it had smelt great and if it was anywhere near as good as his meal the day before, refusing it would be a mistake. It had tasted amazing, so Gajeel had huffed out a thanks and gave a short nod of thanks.

Soon after that, Gajeel had motioned for Freed to follow him. Freed had done so without complaint - Gajeel couldn't prove it, but liked to think it was because the asshole was too embarrassed after his loss - and allowed himself to be led down the stream, towards the lake.

"You've got wings right, when you use yer magic?" Gajeel asked. "So yer probably gonna use 'em to get over every little thing, right?"

"Like you do with your little cat friend, I expect," Freed commented, and Gajeel stiffened slightly. Freed noticed and smirked a little. "My apologies, I interrupted you. Please, go on."

"Don't need yer permission," Gajeel grunted, more to himself than to the man standing before him. "But if yer using yer wings as much as I think you are, you ain't ready to deal with terrain that ain't easy to walk through. So, if this week's about improving then this is gonna help you get over that flaw. We run from here towards the lake, taking us through forested ground which ain't even and ain't safe, and then we swim from one side of the lake to the other."

"So it's a race then?" Freed asked, annoyingly not intimidated by the proposition.

"If you want," Gajeel shrugged. "But I ain't got a prize or anythin'. Definitely not one for participation, like yer probably used to."

Freed rolled his eyes at that, but didn't ride to the bait. Instead, he said, "Perhaps when I win, you'll cook for once."

"You ain't gonna win," Gajeel claimed.

"We'll see," Freed hummed a little, far too smug for his own good.

"Stretch up," Gajeel muttered, even though he wanted to push the man further, maybe even see if he could add an actual forfeit for losing, something to really make the fucker squirm. But, well, Gajeel didn't know for sure he would win, so couldn't risk things just in case.

Just as Gajeel went to start stretching his calves, he heard the sound of ruffling fabric and frowned. He ignored it for a moment as he felt the gentle burn of his muscles working, but caught sight of Freed's white - now dirt stained and crumpled - shirt now hanging over the branch of a nearby tree. With slightly furrowed brows, he turned towards Freed to demand an explanation, only to see him kicking off his pants and placing them right next to his shirt, leaving him only in his boxer-briefs. His tight and eye-catching boxer-briefs.

Before the thoughts could even form about how Freed was wearing his underwear to perfection, Gajeel forced his memory back to the night before. About how he'd acted and how he had tried to make Gajeel feel like crap just to feed his own ego.

Freed had lost a wrestling match, and had thrown a fit about it. Gajeel couldn't respect a man like that, and he couldn't find a guy hot if he didn't respect him.

"The hell are you doing?" Gajeel demanded.

"If we're going to swim, then I'd rather not get my only set of clothes wet when it could be avoided," Freed explained, and Gajeel was momentarily thankful that he didn't look ready to remove his boxers. He couldn't think like that, so spoke again.

"Cause you can't stand a bit of discomfort, right?" Gajeel grumbled.

"No, I just don't see the point of making things worse for myself to prove a point," Freed looked pointedly towards Gajeel when he said that. "The water is clearly going to be cold and the weather doesn't look like it'll improve, meaning it'll be a struggle to dry ourselves already. The fire can only do so much, and we'll either have to lounge around in wet clothes out of stubbornness, or remove them and wait for them to dry while we ourselves get dry. That extends the time we'll be cold, making us both uncomfortable and wasting time before whatever inane task you've got next. That, coupled with the fact that this is flu season, seems like good enough justification for avoiding a stupid problem."

Gajeel could hardly argue the point, so instead he mumbled, "We ain't gonna be lounging around."

"What an astute and well thought out argument," Freed deadpanned, and Gajeel wanted to punch him again. He didn't, instead averting his eyes as Freed started to stretch his arms. "Nobody is forcing you to do the same if you're shy, Mister Redbox. To me it just feels like the reasonable course of actions."

Rather than speaking, Gajeel turned his back. He also removed his shirt and boots; but he wasn't getting half naked like the pervert next to him.

Calling him a pervert was maybe a stretch.

He pushed back that thought, as well as the thoughts of how damn good Freed's ass looked in those boxers - Gajeel was only a man, and he couldn't deny what he saw - and instead got himself into line with Freed. The race is what he should have been focusing on, not the fact that Freed didn't look half bad when he was taken away from his pampered and luxurious sheen. Tangled hair and the odd spec of dirt really did wonders for the pretty-boy.

The race. Focus on the race. And the fact the guy couldn't deal with a loss.

"Ready?" Gajeel asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "Go."

He lurched forward before he could think, sprinting through the undergrowth of the the forest as he ran towards the lake. Years of guild work in places like this had allowed for the perfection of running through the forest; you kept alternating your gaze between the ground and on the trees.

Usually he would have turned his skin to iron so he wouldn't have to focus on the branches in his way, but he was trying to prove a point. He winced a little as a sharp end to a twig scraped against his cheek, far too close to his eye, but didn't let it stop his pace. He could hear Freed's breathing very close behind him, so evidently Freed knew how to run through a forest as well as Gajeel did, so he couldn't let up for a moment.

When they were out of the forest, there was a short run towards the lake with more space than there had been in the forest. Gajeel forced himself to run as fast as he could, not wanting to let Freed overtake him now he had the width to do so. And not having a view of the man's body might-

The race. The way he'd acted the night before. Focus dammit!

If telling himself wasn't enough to cut off his libido, the face first plunge into freezing, dirty water certainly did. He let out a shuddering gasp when his head broke the surface, but couldn't allow the ice-cold water to stop him. He quickly started to swim, smirking a little when he realised he still had the lead.

The smirk died when Freed overtook him pretty damn quickly.

Gajeel saw nothing but ripples of water ahead of him, and gritted his teeth as he tried to speed up. He was a man built to brute force his way through a problem, while Freed was apparently more agile. He should have expected that, but he had wanted to leave Freed in the dust during the run so it wouldn't be an issue.

All he could do now was swim to the other shore of the lake, pissed off.

When he reached the end of the lake, he saw Freed resting on one of the large boulders that made up the shoreline. He was panting, soaking wet and still wearing those fuckimg boxers. When he saw Gajeel haul himself up from the water, he looked towards him and smirked.

"That didn't end up how you wanted, did it?"

"Shut up," Gajeel snarled. "Get yer clothes, we've got a busy day."

When Freed laughed, Gajeel nearly pushed him into the lake again.

——

"So, you think ya can beat that?"

Gajeel had more than got his confidence back now, and he was smirking at Freed with his arms flexed intentionally.

Both he and Freed were stood at the bottom of a steep hill, where the dead tree-truck sat. Gajeel had explained this challenge; they would both have to push the tree-truck up the hill as far as they could. The justification for this exercise was that Freed might one day find himself in a situation where he was trapped without his magic and needed to force his way out with his strength alone, and the exercise was meant to simulate that. Freed clearly saw that Gajeel just wanted to push his limits, but he didn't say anything.

This was the last task of the day. They'd already attempted the tree climbing that Gajeel had planned, and Freed had been obnoxiously good at it. Gajeel had been faster, but they both knew that he had a natural advantage because he'd had practice. Gajeel could hardly boast about being slightly better then Freed at something he had done many times and Freed was new to.

Gajeel had just finished his attempt at pushing the trunk, and was fucking delighted when he saw he'd beaten his own personal record. This was how he would regain his control over things.

Freed didn't stand a chance.

"I'm sure I'll be a worthy contender," Freed stated, walking towards the tree-trunk. "Which is a feat, I expect, given that you've clearly been setting me up for failure from the beginning."

"Maybe if you weren't so predictable then I wouldn't have been able to plan things out so well," Gajeel grunted.

"So you predicted that, in everything other than tasks that relied solely on physical strength, I have exceeded your expectations and beaten you in completion, I suppose?" Freed taunted quietly as he positioned himself against the tree-trunk. "I expect you did all of this simply to prove your inferiority."

"Inferiority?" Gajeel scoffed. "You ain't done anything but bitch about this because it's not going yer way."

"Not going my way?" Freed laughed, turning from the log and looking at Gajeel again. "You are joking, aren't you?"

"All you've done is make yer little comments about how you don't think it's fair," Gajeel challenged, taking a step forward and glaring the other man down. "And when ya lose, you throw a tantrum."

"I throw tantrums," Freed demanded, sounding equal parts exasperated and annoyed. "As opposed to you, who has been acting perfectly rational throughout this? It hasn't escaped my attention that you clearly see Makarov's initiative as some sort of personal affront to you, and you have apparently seen it fair to force all of these grievances onto me. So for you, a man who has been as close to stomping his feet and wailing as his pride allows, to complain about me throwing a tantrum is practically laughable."

"You think that's what I'm doing?" Gajeel took another step forward. "I'm doing this because yer clearly a spoiled little city-boy and I ain't associating myself with something who can't-"

"Can't what?" Freed snapped. "Can't make a shelter? Can't start a fire? Can't swim across a lake faster than you? Because I've done all of this despite your clear hopes otherwise. Or would you rather judge my worth as a mage by seeing me push a dead tree up a hillside, or to wrestle you without the weapon I use nor the magic I wield? Because, Mr Redfox, if you need to force such strict parameters to best me and you consistently lose, then perhaps your plan isn't a good one."

Fuck, he wanted to punch the guy. Fully encase his fists in iron and beat the shit out of the guy. It would be damn satisfying to see the guy knocked out, while the smugness straight out of him.

"Nothing to say?" Freed continued, a patronising look on his face.

"Fuck off," Gajeel growler, turning around and going to walk away. Before he could take a step, a wall of glowing runes shot up in front of him, blocking his exit. He turned to Freed with an expression of fury. "What the hell is your problem?"

"You," Freed snapped, and magic seemed to emanate from him.

He looked feral in that moment, with all the shields of fancy clothes and smart ass words replaced by anger and magic. His shirt was billowing in the magic induced winds, and the glare on his face was accentuated by the purple swirling in his eye. Fuck, he looked like a man on the edge and it shot straight to Gajeel's dick. Freed was a gentleman gone wild, and if that wasn't one of Gajeel's most well-buried fantasies then he didn't know what was.

The expression was gone as quickly as it came, and the magic swarming Freed's eye fell away. For a moment, Freed looked worried, but he was talking again before Gajeel could understand why he looked like that.

"Neither of us are happy about this, but at the end of the week we have to fight side by side, and the biggest issue we have right now is that we can't stand one another," Freed seemed more calm now, as if the bubble of anger had burst. What the hell had caused that? "So, either you plan something that might make us work together, or at least respect one another, or we both stop trying and say to hell with the consequences."

Gajeel didn't say anything. It felt like the rug had been pulled from under him.

Suddenly, a wave of shitty realisation hit him. Freed had a point when he said he was taking his anger out on him, when he really just didn't want to do the damn training thing at all. He wasn't being fair.

"I think that's enough," Freed sighed. "I'll gather my things and go home. You needn't contact me again."

Freed was walking away before Gajeel could react, and the walls of runes fell around them both. A horrid feeling of regret filled Gajeel, and he quickly jogged to catch up with Freed, who was clearly ignoring him. He kinda deserved it.

"Shit, Freed, wait," He placed a hand on the man's chest, and Freed glared at him. "Yer right, I ain't been fair," It wasn't a fun thing to admit. "I had some ideas about who you were, and didn't wanna let ya prove me wrong, even when you were kicking my ass," He sighed. "And yer right about me wanting to fuck you over, that's why I did this shit, and it wasn't right. That was shitty of me."

"Well, I can hardly blame you for judging me. We were both guilty of that," Freed admitted. "And thank you for admitting that. But I don't see how we could suddenly become a cohesive, effective team, we're hardly compatible."

Gajeel sighed, Freed had a point.

But if a Fairy Tail mage was good at anything, they were good at being stubborn.

"What if we have a fight?" Gajeel proposed, and Freed frowned at him. "Talking like this ain't gonna get rid of the attitude we have for each other, right? You're still pissed at me, and you said some things that made me wanna sock a punch in yer jaw. Maybe having the chance to beat the shit outta each other might break through the attitude problems we have."

"That's not too bad an idea," Freed admitted, glancing at the evening sky for a moment. "It would be cathartic to make you scream."

"Buy me dinner first, city-boy," Gajeel teased before he could think. Freed all but gaped at him, and Gajeel was speaking to fill the silence before he could stop himself. "Y'know, I ain't ever seen you fight before. Don't know how you work."

"Then I have the advantage," Freed grinned slightly. "And you're voluntarily giving it to me. Perhaps you really are repentant."

"Nah, just wanna kick yer ass without you having an excuse."

"We'll see," Freed smirked, and Gajeel found himself grinning back.

[paganchristian]

Early Homeschool Is A Guide For My Adult Lifestyle.  Slow, Trickling, Creative Practicality.

We do a Waldorf-based homeschool, Waldorf inspired.  There is fun and play and creativity, warmth and love and interactive relationship and time outdoors and studying nature and its symbolism. And there’s cooking and basic chores, to get the child ready for and adapted to the basic, simple habits of real life, in this kind of mindful, relaxed, playful, reverent, meaningful, interactive way, even with the chores too.  And, all these aspects are tied in to everything we learn.  In different phases we do different of these things, at different points during the day, in a rhythm.  

Hands-on, and physically active, artistic things, all these things are permeating all the subjects we study, and to be so in -depth in those ways, we must go very slow and do only a little at a time of the more practical, measurable things.  But in these early grades, it is possible to do that and still get all the basic criteria met for all she needs, and I don’t know how it’s going to go in the later grades, so we’ll see.  

But I want to base my adult life on this model.  I feel like it gets so much that modern, practical world aims miss.  Not even modern world, any world, any culture, well, maybe, .. maybe not any culture.  I think that in some cultures there is an emphasis upon ease, rest, taking breaks, being creative.  I don’t know of it much, but have heard brief mentions about things like this, with regards to certain Southeast Asian cultures and traditional Native American cultures, for two examples that I’ve heard mentioned about that, when I read things, anthropological and spiritual writings influenced by their cultures.

But still, I feel like that really, the world is too productive and too hard-working, too rushed and too eager, too urgent and too panicked.  It thinks there is somewhere to arrive to, like you’ll be ok, and safe, significant and valid if you have achieved this or that in life, ...  Or maybe not always that, .. 

Other times, people think that we are rushing against time to try to make up for some debt, to try to right the balance, to right the scales of justice, to save the world.  But it’s not that for everyone,... 

And for others it could be they are continually striving to right the wrongs we have done by being born into sin, and make ourselves more right with God, or hope to do so, through formally defined spiritual practices,... And to always strain towards that,...  And those people are always overly spiritual in this formalized way to try to prove in some clearly definable measurable, socially agreed upon way that they are being spiritual enough. 

But I feel like even God and spirit are also sometimes, and for some people, better served in this more light, flowing, ease-filled, creative way that is not all about reciting continual prayers for everyone, but in some cases can be things like creativity, play, and so on.  No productive value, and no spiritual overt obvious purpose, yet it’s reaching to God if you keep God and God’s prayers in your heart, in the middle of all of those other things and God’s values in the back of your mind, right in the middle of the playful and silly and creative and active things that serve no purpose, towards saving the world, or being productive or be overtly spiritual. 

And I really want to remember how so much of what the world rushes and strains to accomplish or to correct some perceived imbalance or stave off some perceived disaster, I think is wrong.  Because I don’t think there is nearly as much any kind of impending disaster or terrible imbalance that need to be corrected, ...  or some spiritual height that needs to be ascended to with narrow formal spiritual rituals, ...   or some need for so much productive hard work, ... I don’t feel any of those things are as big or real or great of needs as what people think.  We can get by on much less and it’s good enough, but it’s not just good enough,... It’s better because in creativity, play, and imagination we approach spiritual joy and intuition, wherein God can speak to us through a language that no formalized religious prayer or practice can take its place.  In creativity and free-association thought God can say things that can’t be said any other way, and he gives us signs and ideas in that.  It’s deeply needed, and grossly neglected, misjudged and shunned, as being a waste of time, useless and selfish.  

Humble, low aims, low productivity, low level of achievement or impressiveness, low quality of practical things altogether.  Just enough.  And slow, slow, bit by bit, we get things done.

With any breaks, we get it done.  With creativity, and fun, imagination and playfulness interwoven in every little thing we do. 

And this is how I really want to remember to live my life and if I do then there is so much more leeway and instead of feetlong guilty, silly, or unproductive or not fancy enough, I accept this rustic, slow, playful, fun life of homey activity that revolves mostly around me and my child and on one more than that, but God is there in the prayers I say all the time, in the back of my mind and my heart,... Maybe this is maybe what God really wanted me to do with my whole small, humble life anyway. And even if I strove to do more, be more, be more practical, more religious and more giving to society and so forth, it would be this tiny drop in a bucket of water that no matter how much I gave it won’t matter.  The world doesn’t want or need much of what I have to offer and the more I pour into it, beyond a basic minimum of what it truly needs from me, the more I’m wasting my energy.  It’s a situation of diminishing returns.  The more time you spend trying to make your body strong, you may be wasting your time.  You don’t have to exercise all day, only a little bit each day, and you don’t have to strive to make your life so practical, only a little practicality each day, and beyond that is just wasted effort.  Well, for me, for some people.  Some might need and do more practical things, but for me, I feel it’s really pointless and counterproductive.  

If a frail and fragile plant wants to live, maybe it has to live in a delicate ecosystem.  Maybe it needs a sensitive gardener.  Trying to grow it in a tough, hardy climate might be bad and make it die.  A tough, practical gardener might not have any patience for such a frail, time-consuming plant that needs so much care.  So as for the practical people balancing me out, oftentimes they are like this tough, hard-working gardener that has no patience for my delicate needs.  I really need someone, my group of wild weird people who are equally delicate or sensitive to that delicate, light, creative, intuitive, slow, flowing kind of way of life.  I hope that God can let me find them someday.  Yes I still need to learn how to care for my practical needs.  Sometimes practical people take up the slack where i am unable to be strong enough to care for myself, and I might die without them.  But one day I hope I can do better and go where I belong better.  Maybe or maybe God is strengthening me through these challenges to be where no one understands, where almost the whole world, culture and society where I live, and even almost the whole modern world, every culture everywhere it seems, all over the world, are mostly the same.  Through suffering and struggle and challenge and conflict we can often grow and heal and learn so much.  So I don’t know where my life is going.  But I just hang on for the ride, I just pray. It seems to be working well enough, so far.  I pray it always does.

[surveyhoursss]

98.

Prep

I shop at Abercrombie, Hollister, American Eagle, or Aerospatiale.

I am/was a cheerleader.

I'm pretty ditzy.

I wear pink 24/7.

My looks are very important to me.

I can't live without my cell phone.

My hair is always straight.

I say 'like' and 'omigod' a lot.

I laugh 24/7.

I have a million friends.

I always hang at the mall or movies.

I'll only date popular guys.

I listen to rap & pop music.

I have at least one designer bag.

My myspace pics are of me making a kissy face or are mirror pics

It takes me at least an hour to get ready for school in the mornings.

Uggs + Miniskirts = Love

I don't have a job

I wear lots of makeup. (wouldn’t call it lots, though)

I can be stuck up or snobby sometimes.

I flirt with any guy, as long as he's cute.

Total = 5

EMO

I cry a lot.

I go to local shows.

I wear black everyday (typically I always have something black on)

I write sad poetry.

I play an acoustic guitar.

My favorite bands include: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, or Panic! at the Disco.

I think about suicide or death often.

People have told me to cheer up.

I cry when I see dead animals.

My myspace/Facebook pics are black or white or angled.

I wear many band shirts.

No one understands me.

I don't talk too often.

I look down when I walk.

I wear black eyeliner.

I have an ex I still cry over.

My hair is black

My hair covers one of my eyes.

I always say 'life sucks'.

Total: 4

NERD

I have straight A's.

I wear glasses.

I always do my homework and study.

Lord of the Rings was a massive achievement.

Computer games.

I'm 'teachers pet'.

I've never had a real boyfriend/girlfriend.

I have a bedtime.

I use an asthma inhaler.

I carry a calculator with me.

I bring my lunch to school.

I always follow the rules.

I'm shy around the opposite sex.

I'm always on the computer.

I've never had beer or cigarettes.

I always answer every question in class right.

I correct people's grammar.

I read a lot.

School is very important to me.

I always stump people.

Total: 8

REBEL

I always speak my mind.

I have 0% of school spirit.

F*ck you, I won't do what you tell me!

I stand up for what I think is right.

On spirit days at school, I wear the rival's colors.

Whenever people are doing something, I do the complete opposite.

I won't listen to authority figures.

I always break the rules.

I refuse to compromise.

I'm always arguing with people.

I love debate.

I always do what's unexpected of me.

I don't give a sh*t what people think of me.

If I watch a cruddy movie in theaters, right after it's over, I'll say 'that sucked'.

I'm not afraid to contradict others.

I only respect my own beliefs.

If I don't want to do something, I won't do it, no matter what.

I laugh at compromising people.

I cheer on the rival's sport team to stand out.

Rules were meant to be broken.

Total: 1

JOCK

I'm on one or more sport teams.

I always wear my varsity jacket.

I've won awards for my athletic ability.

I will only date popular girls/guys.

School Spirit

I'm going to a college for sports

I watch sports on TV all the time

I'm muscular.

I play sports or exercise at least 3 hours a day.

Go Team!

I'm a chick/dude magnet.

I eat a lot.

I'm egotistical.

I'm too focused on sports to make really good grades.

I sit at the jock lunch table.

All I talk about with my friends is sports.

I go to lots of sports games.

I'm very athletic

I wear sport inspired clothing.

play at least 3 different sports.

Total: 4

COMEDIAN

I'm funny.

I'm always making jokes.

I interrupt class by making people laugh.

I like to entertain people.

I worship Kevin Smith.

I watch comedies more than anything.

I also watch SNL and Mad TV a lot

I'm sarcastic.

I've been told I'm hilarious.

I always imitate people.

I pull lots of pranks.

I always make sarcastic remarks after everything.

I have to prove myself by being funny.

People expect me to make jokes, always.

I have a lot of pressure to make everyone laugh.

If I don't make jokes, people ask me what's wrong.

Jim Carrey is my idol.

I mostly get along with everybody.

At pep rallies, I'm the one acting crazy and silly.

My teachers or parents tell me I need to focus more on work and less on joking around.

Total: 3

SHY

I don't have a lot of friends.

I don't talk too much.

It's not that I'm snobby, I just get nervous when talking to people.

When people say my name, others say 'who?'

I'm pretty sure mostly no one knows who I am.

People have told me I need to talk more.

I only talk when other people talk to me first

I look down when I walk.

I avoid social gatherings, such as games, dances, or parties.

People have tried to help me be more outgoing, but it never works.

I always plan to talk to more people, but I never do.

I sit in the back of the classroom.

I never participate in class discussions.

I hide behind people to avoid being seen sometimes.

I could never be a cashier, talking to strangers.

I talk quietly.

People have called me shy or quiet.

I usually let others decide for me.

If someone is talking about my favorite book or movie in front of me, I don't join in the conversation.

Total: 12

GOTHIC

I wear black.

I don't like to be seen.

I'm very, very pale.

I only listen to metal or emo-ish music. (neither of these is goth, mallgoths XD)

I love creepy, weird movies.

I love gothic cartoons and drawings.

I don't like people.

I only go out during the night.

I have black fingernails.

I wear a long black coat.

I also wear big black boots.

'The Crow' is one of my favorite movies.

I only date other Goths.

I love black humor.

I love pain.

People think I'm crazy.

I don't talk to anyone who isn't as deep as me.

I love to scare people

I laugh at teenyboppers.

People are scared of me.

Total: 3

WEIRDO

I talk to myself.

I say really random things all the time/have to say it out loud.

I fidget a lot.

I still use a wheeled backpack.

People laugh at me.

I walk really funny.

I have a very different sense of style.

I talk in a robot voice often.

I'll stop whatever I'm doing, and break out in a crazy dance if the mood strikes.

I debate stuff with myself.

I hear voices.

I'm obsessed with aliens and the other planets.

I have a fascination with robots and machinery.

I use really big words no one understands, and they give me weird looks.

I say random lines of babbling that make sense to no one but me.

I dart my eyes from side to side.

I always pretend I'm a robot or other weird non-human thing.

People have no idea why I think the way I do.

I have some very unusual, extraordinary talents.

When people ask me if I like something that's trendy, I pretend to be scared or confused.

Total: 3

ANTISOCIAL

I hate/dislike most people.

I prefer to be alone.

When people talk to me, I just give them a death glare.

Actually, most people don't talk to me.

People are freaking idiots and I wish they'd all die.

I live in my room, writing in my diary. On the computer...

I go out my way to avoid everyone.

I never greet anyone.

I despise people who talk too loudly.

I want people to think I'm a freak.

I never talk.

I can't wait to get off this earth.

I always sit by myself at lunch or anywhere else.

I listen to music on full blast on my ipod/mp4 player/headphones to block out the world.

I don't know why I am the way I am.

People have said I'm antisocial.

I use drugs or alcohol to escape the loneliness.

Why bother when people don't like you anyways?

I occupy myself so it won't look like I'm a loner.

I just don't get along with anyone.

Total: 1

SKATER

I skateboard to everywhere.

If I'm not skateboarding, I carry it with me.

I shop at Pacsun.

I'm obsessed with Tony Hawk.

Oh yeah, and Bam Margera.

I always play skateboarding video games.

I have shaggy hair.

I wear baggy pants.

I wear only skater shoes.

I always wear hoodies. (well, much of the time)

I hang at skate parks 24/7.

I'm always learning new board tricks.

Forget school, I want to be a professional skateboarder.

I've been skateboarding for over 4 years.

I hang with other skaters.

I've been hurt while skateboarding.

I've been in a skateboarding competition.

I wear vans.

Tony Hawks games win.

I've met some of my closest friends at skate parks.

Total: 0

GANGSTER/HOOD

I say 'yo'.

I also say 'fo shizzle'.

I wear extremely baggy pants.

Mah chainz hang low.

I hang with my homies, biotches, and Hoe's

I'm a thug.

I only listen to rap music.

50 Cent is my idol.

I don't give a frick about school.

I steal/have stolen before (as a child lol)

I freestyle.

I breakdance.

Gold chainz is tha way to go, biotch.

I'm white but I act black.

All my heroes are dead rappers.

Tupac is still alive.

I party with all my nigs.

I wear a sideways baseball cap.

I wear hoodies.

I wear converse with the tongue flipped out.

Total: 2

BULLY

I always steal people's lunch money.

Geeks are afraid of me.

I get in trouble all the time.

I steal people's stuff to be an a**hole.

People have called me a bully.

I have beat someone up before.

I'm always looking for a fight.

I pick on people smaller than me.

I push people out of the way when I'm walking.

I've never been in a relationship before.

People are afraid of me.

People know not to mess with me.

I'm taller than most people my age.

I pick on people for the fun of it.

I make fun of everything anyone else likes.

If anyone crosses my path, they're dead.

People know not to try and stick up for themselves when I'm around.

I'm one of the strongest kids in school.

Even some authority figures are afraid of me.

People get out of my way when I'm walking.

Total: 0

GAMER

I own at least 2 different video game consoles.

I love Final Fantasy.

DDR & Guitar Hero

I've missed school before because I was trying to beat a video game.

I'm always trying to beat high scores on games.

I even play a lot of computer games.

I play at least 3 hours of video games a day.

My thumbs are sore often.

I spend all my money on new video games.

My boyfriend/girlfriend has to be into video games.

All I talk about is video games.

I've been in a video game competition before

I pay over 30$ a month in online games.

I have bought more than 5 accessories for my console

I know about more than 10 cheats and mods in the game I play most.

I have played at least a complete week in the game I like most.

I wouldn't know what to do in an afternoon without electricity.

My parents often tell the internet is broken or simply disconnect it so I don't spend whole weekends and holidays playing.

I have more than one online account on the same game.

Total: 2

GIRLY

I have long hair.

I wear make up every day.

I carry a purse.

I have to get someone else to come kill a spider.

I paint my nails.

I use perfume.

I keep my nails clean/shaped

I shower regularly

I used to or still do Dance, Gymnastics, or Cheer/Pom

I like to accessorize

I like flowers.

I don't like to be outdoors.

I'm more like my mother than my father.

I like hanging out with girls than boys.

I like going to the mall/shopping.

I watch my weight/ count calories.

I plan outfits ahead of time

People say I have a soft/sweet voice.

I dream about and am already planning my wedding day

I watch dramatic shows on tv, soap operas, reality TV, etc.

Total: 9

BOYISH

I have short hair.

I hate doing laundry.

I like war type video games.

I like playing or watching sports.

People say I have a deep voice.

I'm more like my dad than my mom.

I beat up or tease my younger siblings or friends.

I act tough, it doesn't matter what's going on inside me.

There's only two emotions.

I shower only when I start to notice I stink

I think about the opposite sex a lot.

My room isn't neat.

I bite my nails instead of using scissors/clippers.

My clothes don't match sometimes, but I don't notice or care

I like to play rough with dogs.

I like the movies 300, Transformers, The Dark Knight.

The best way to get the opposite sex to like you is to act like a jerk.

I don't read

I don't ask for help even if I need it.

Total: 3

scored highest on: Shy lmao

[joshscorcher]

Friendly Fire Philosophy

Unconscious Thoughts, Fiction, and Confession of Character

As an Internet Personality, I’m required to spend much time on the internet so I can stay up to date on recent trends and remain relevant. I spend a lot of time lurking on YouTube as a result. Recently, I stumbled across a video about unconscious/implicit bias and watched it (I will not link it for obvious reasons). The speaker told me that everyone, including the viewers watching, has biases and preconceptions of which they aren't even aware.

I don’t wholly disagree with this idea. Many times people have tastes that they can’t explain. Some think that blondes are the most good-looking kind of person. Some think Asians are the most good-looking. Some love green eyes. Some like freckles, scars, or traits not considered “Hollywood Hot.” A simple scouring of DeviantArt is very good evidence that no one agrees on universal bodily beauty (I really wouldn’t recommend doing that, by the way. It gets very weird very quickly). Point is, we all have different tastes that we cannot logically explain other than, “I just do” or “That’s how I was born, I guess.” It gets to the point that shaming someone for something they can’t really control seems not only like an exercise in futility but also cruelty and injustice.

I was silently nodding along to the video, thinking that’s where the speaker was going with this. Then the person made the statement that prompted this essay: They claimed that we all have unconscious prejudices and bigotry.

I thought the idea was shocking. We have bigotry that we don't even know about? How do we actually deal with that? How would we even know about something like that? I searched, but I could find no credible studies proving the existence of this. Not only did I believe this idea was logically flawed, I was personally upset by this concept.

This person is telling me that I'm a bigot and I didn't even know it? What an arrogant statement! They don’t know me nor can they read my thoughts. They’re implying they know so much about how the brains of millions of different people work, that they can accuse them of unsaid thoughts, or even unTHOUGHT thoughts? It sounded sillier the more I continued to think about it.

Of course, I rejected this idea. People aren't a monolith and no one acts the same way. Yes, the fact that we have professions of neuroscience, psychology, and psychiatry certainly lend credence to the idea that there are patterns of behavior between humans, and I also agree with the idea that our unconscious mind can influence our actions. However, this assumption that everyone is bigoted in some way? It was very hard for me to swallow.

The person continued. It was a very twee, platitudinous, and condescending speech about sensitivity, empathy, and being all kum-ba-yah. Suddenly, the person talked about how they confronted their own unconscious biases and hates and wished to spread their newfound enlightenment to others. In that moment, everything became clear:

I was being accused of something of which my accuser was guilty.

I stopped being angry at that point, because I understood. This person felt bad about their racism, and I shouldn’t be harsh on them for that. On the contrary, I believe it's very admirable that they did some thorough self-examination and attempted to safeguard their behaviors and ESPECIALLY their thoughts. Not many people are self-aware enough to police the way they think about people and many people underestimate the value of keeping your mind clean and disciplined. They also wanted to stop racist behaviors from manifesting in other places, again, not a terrible motivation. That being said, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I still have an issue with them accusing me of being the same as them. Again, they didn't know me, so how could they make a sound judgment on me, especially something as serious as bigotry? Why is this person assuming everyone is like them?

I'm reminded of something Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “People seem not to see that their opinion of the world is also a confession of their character.“ I can't say I disagree. Many times, the way we see the world, reveals a lot about our personalities. How often do nice people think the world is great? How often do unpleasant people think the world is terrible? How often do artistic types see beauty everywhere they go? Iroh from Avatar: The Last Airbender corroborates this idea: “If you look for the light, you can often find it. But if you look for the dark that is all you will ever see.” Heck, this concept can be said about the art we create as well.

Art is also commonly referred to as a self-portrait. Kehinde Wily for instance says that "All art is self-portraiture." Frequently, artists are very much encouraged to "write what they know." It can be argued that even the art we create is a confession of character. We often put a lot of ourselves into the art we create and I can't say I disagree with this idea.

Permit me to deviate from my point for a bit. Trust me, I have an endgame here.

My Dungeons and Dragons campaign “Welcome to the Show” has the underlying theme of redemption being open to those who seek it. In the story, the party is trying to get the deposed Queen Jeminya back on the throne of her kingdom, but they quickly hit a snag. As a devil-spawn, Jeminya's soul is damned to the Nine Hells no matter how "good" of a person she is, and she is made painfully aware of this reality. However, she continues to do good anyways, because she believes good is worth doing and it's worth believing in. Her god sees her pure intentions and offers her an escape from her fate; it will be a hard and bumpy road, but she will be able to achieve redemption should she seek it.

Sound familiar? It should. There are sprinklings of my faith littered all throughout the story, and many times I didn't even know I was doing it. I even unintentionally based Asmodeus, the head devil, off of Screwtape from C.S. Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters" because my trashy fanboyism has apparently seeped into my unconscious.

Some might have noticed that it is very difficult for me to create/act a character who is evil for the sake of being evil, often giving them sympathetic backstories or more often redemption arcs. This is mostly because I find it hard to imagine myself in the position of being pure evil; not having any other underlying motive. In fact, I doubt Pure Evil people even exist. Even Kefka Palazzo from Final Fantasy VI, whom I really enjoy playing and analyzing, I realize I don’t believe to be Pure Evil. Insane and dangerous? Definitely, but looking closer at him, there are some tragic elements to him; he was experimented on which made him insane. Throughout the game, he descends into a person who cannot comprehend love, happiness, or joy, and cannot find any meaning in life other than destruction. He’s not pure evil; like many of us he’s looking for personal fulfillment.

Many have noticed I take a very Don Bluth approach to my storytelling; "[If] you don’t show the darkness, you don’t appreciate the light. If it weren’t for December no one would appreciate May. It’s just important that you see both sides of that. As far as a happy ending…when you walk out of the theatre there’s [got to be] something that you have that you get to take home. What did it teach me? Am I a better person for having watched it?" This is also a very Christian concept, as we believe that as dark and hellish as it gets on earth, there's a paradise at the end of the journey.

Now back to my point.

I'm not denying the existence of unconscious thoughts influencing our conscious thoughts and behaviors, because I just gave some very good anecdotes of this very phenomenon. What I am denying is the accusation that everyone specifically has unconscious bigotry because one person found unconscious bigotry within themselves.

Have you ever noticed that we very often try to give people the advice that we need to hear ourselves? I'm no exception; very often I've told people that they need to not let their anger control them and to grow thicker skins. Anyone who's met me for two minutes is probably laughing right now, and I wouldn't blame them. They all can tell you that I get defensive and emotional very easily and taking criticism is difficult for me. I do NOT have a very thick skin.

And I HATE it.

I hate the fact that I'm that overly sensitive. I hate that I lash out at people who just want to help me improve myself. I hate that I empower people to control me by letting my emotions get out of hand, as it's caused me to make very stupid decisions that still affect me to this day. I hate the fact that I DESPERATELY want everyone to like me. I hate the fact that I'm the only one of my siblings that has this problem.

I've taken steps to improve myself, but it's still hard and every day is a challenge, especially as an Internet Personality. I took a test and found out my love language is Words of Affirmation. I'll never forget the sarcastic remark my mom made when she found out: "Your love language is Words of Affirmation, and yet you're an internet personality... good luck."

At some point, you realize that everyone is a hypocrite about something. My older brother loves to say, "We often fail to meet our own standards." We hate liars, but who here has never lied, even like a little white lie? We hate thieves, but who here has never stolen, even something small like downloading a $2.00 song? How many times have you taken a french fry from someone else's plate? Maybe you're the rare exception and haven't done any of these things, but this is my point: We often hold others to standards that we don't follow ourselves, and to claim otherwise is to claim one is perfect, which is impossible.

That's why I've stopped getting angry at accusations of closet racism or unconscious hate. These accusers rarely know anything about the people they accuse because they don't know others’ thoughts. In fact, due to what I’ve written above, I often believe in my heart of hearts that these people are projecting their own insecurities and biases onto others, but amusingly, that makes ME the hypocrite because I don’t know their thoughts to be able to make that judgement. All I and anyone else for that matter have to go on is merely our own thoughts.

To be fair, they are correct in their implied point that actions speak louder than words and even thoughts. The Bible says in Matthew 7:16, “Therefore by their fruits you will know them.” So, the actions you take and the fruit you produce are also a strong indication of character, but context exists to complicate the issue. There’s a reason we categorize a human causing the death of another using terms like 1st degree murder, manslaughter, or self-defense. There's a difference between beating up an intruder threatening you and your family, and beating up someone because they called you a nasty name. 

If you do have inner thoughts that you might not be proud of, take comfort that someone might be feeling the same way. Certainly not everyone, but there’s a high chance another person is out there who’s going through what you are going through right now. Safeguarding your thoughts is important, and I would talk to someone reputable for their wisdom or an authority figure you trust on how best to do so.

But no matter what, remember: we are all flawed humans, so you’re not alone.

[charlesoberonn]

Ms. Mailbox - Part 1

(This one turned out long so I’m splitting it up into parts. I’ll write the rest soon)

It all started when I busted up her mailbox. This isn’t a euphamism for sex, I mean it literally. I drove by with my buddy and smashed her mailbox with an aluminium baseball box.

That turned out to be a bad idea almost immediately. The bat was bent all out of shape, and my wrist was all mangled and sprained. The mailbox was bent too, but only barely. Overall an unproductive session of vandalism.

My friend drove me to the hospital right away. I remember thinking as I was waiting in agony about how awful everyone around me in the waiting room were. How much more deserving of treatment I was. I didn’t even think about what I did to bring this on myself.

After staying home for a couple of days, my parents finally scraped me off the living room couch and got me to go back to school, injured arm and all.That morning, I walked through the hall with a sour face and an armsling. When an athlete boy does it, his friends all support him, but I didn’t have friends in this school.

Before first period I was summoned to the principal’s office. He was a stern man, yet at the same time it seemed like all the life had been drained from him and he didn’t give a single fuck anymore. He told me that he knew how I got injured like this. It wouldn’t be my first act of “hooliganism” as he said, but he couldn’t prove it. So he assigned me somebody who’ll help take notes for me.

That’s when I noticed Ms. Mailbox waiting outside. She was a year younger than me, and quite a bit shorter, somebody who could easily escape notice if it wasn’t for her beautiful golden hair and her pretty doll face.

I didn’t know she was Ms. Mailbox at the time. I had no idea whose mailbox I smashed that day. But thinking about it now, I think she did know, even back at the principal’s office.

The principal gestured her forth and she went inside, quickly and politely sitting beside me. She turned to look at me and introduced herself with a smile. But there was something weird about that smile, it clashed with poorly concealed bags under her eyes.

She went to shake my hand with her right hand. Since my right hand was currently in a sling, I shook it with my left and we had an odd and unsymmetric handshake. Afterwards, the principal unceremoniously drove us out of his office. I was happy to leave.

I didn’t need to be introduced to Ms. Mailbox, I knew who she was and she. And she knew who I was. As we exited the office, a third girl was waiting for us. Taller than me, with blue highlights in her hair and an eyebrow piercing. With no warning, Ms. Mailbox and Bluebird kissed, right in front of me. I almost gagged and looked away in second-hand embarrassment. Though I don’t think there was any first-hand embarrassment in their embrace.

It was hard being one of only 3 out lesbians in the whole school. Even worse than 3 being such a small number, it’s an odd number, and I was the one left out without a date. Not that I liked any of them. In fact, in that moment I decided I hated them. Especially Ms. Mailbox. That hate wouldn’t last til the end of the day, as I would later find out.

She kept waving her girlfriend in a flirty way as we walked to my first class of the day. I just sighed under my breath. As if I wasn’t in enough pain already.

First period was fine, I didn’t have to do anything in terms of writing, but the teacher kept eyeing me to make sure I’m listening, which was a bit awkward. My eyes darted towards Ms. Mailbox, she worked fast. I figured she would just write stuff down and then give me a copy, but she actually wrote everything twice. First in her notebook, and then while everybody was still copying off the board, she copied off her own writing in my notebook. It was crazy.

I wanted to comment on it, but the teacher’s hawkish stare made me a bit scared to even open my mouth to yawn, so I just looked. After a while, the mesmerising sight of Ms. Mailbox’s quick and neat handwriting got me in some sort of daze. My eyes drifted upward to her face, her eyes which darted about the page, and her pink painted lips, which were slightly apart as she wrote, and closed again when she looked up.

Near the end of the class, she turned suddenly to look at me. Almost gave me a heart attack. I instinctively used my hand to hold the table, not remembering that it’s injured. I winced in pain. And the bitch giggled at me.

Later after class I told her I was impressed with her. Then I clarified I meant her handwriting after she gave me a long pause. She smiled, and I sheepishly smiled back and thanked her. Blegh.

The next period was gym, where she wouldn’t be of much use, but she insisted on coming along to help me anyway. I told her it was pointless, and she should go to her own class, but she told me back that she had no use of going to class anymore. I was perplexed, but I let it slide and let her come with me.

The gym coach told me that even though my arm was injured, I could still do some leg exercises. I bullshited to her something about my wrist being too hurt to move and got a full pass, though I’ve been warned that I would have to make up whatever exercises I missed. I scoffed. To my surprise, Ms. Mailbox scoffed with me.

We sat on the bleachers and watched the other girls play. I was bored. My phone had to be placed in the box when we entered the gym. I tried leaning on my healthy arm but couldn’t find a pose that didn’t get in the way of my sling.

“Here, you can lean on me.” I heard Ms. Mailbox offer me. I gave her a weird look and declined.

“What’s up with you?” I asked her, in an admitedly very impolite way.

“What do you mean? Can’t I offer a girl in need a place to rest her head?”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Yes? What? Ew, no. Not like that. Thank you very much.” she scoffed again. “I just want to be helpful.”

“You already are helpful.” I told her.

“Thanks.”

“Wasn’t a compliment, just stating a fact.” I leaned back and rolled my eyes.

“Facts can be compliments.”

“Do you want it to be a compliment?” I raised an eyebrow at her.

She paused. “Ew.”

We sat in silence a bit, I half heartedly glanced at the girls playing volleyball. It was almost hot, looking at their bodies bouncing up and down and getting sweaty. I would’ve been hot if they didn’t all suck at volleyball. Not like I could complain, though. I couldn’t even hit a mailbox right.

I yawned and leaned back a bit too far, my butt sliding off the narrow and slippery bleacher and I stumbled. I tried to grab at the next seat with my foot but I slid right under it, I was going down. But only until I was caught by a surprisingly sturdy grip from Ms. Mailbox, who grabbed at my armpit and helped me back up.

“Thanks.” I said, my voice a bit unstable from the jump the near-fall gave me.

“Is your arm alright?”

“What? Oh yeah.” I checked on it. She went to check on it as well, but I swatted her hand away. Gently.

“May I ask how you got it?”

“You may not.”

“Okay.” she seemed a bit disappointed.

I paused, thinking for a bit. My eyes were wandering again, down her face from her pretty blue eyes and slightly puffy cheeks.

“Only if you tell me why you don’t go to class.”

“Oh!” she perked up immediately. “Well...... I do study. Just not here. I study at university level.”

I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel immediately incompetent in comparison.

“University level?”

“I finished all high school exams last year, more or less. So they let me go to uni from Monday-Wednesday.”

“But until the academic school year starts you’re stuck here with the rest of us.”

“Very observant.”

“Thank you.” I paused again. “So like, do you have university friends and stuff?”

“What? Oh yeah, I do. Wanna see some pics?” she pulled out her phone. I immdiately went to hide it.

“Wait, not here.” I pointed to a loose seat that led to under the bleachers.

She nodded, and we quietly scooted over to it and down under. Ms. Mailbox helped me down the narrow hole by supporting my slinged arm.

It was cosy in there, the only light coming from screwless screwholes and her phone screen. She showed me pictures of her friends. Most of them seemed pretty boring. Dudes and dudettes in vest and glasses sitting in study halls and buried in their books or on the computers. Even more than people, she pictures of statues there, and trees, and the buildings themselves.

“Damn girl, did you take a pic of every branch on campus?” I whispered.

She giggled in response. “Only the interesting ones.”

We made sure to get back up and sit idly in place for when the coach came back to dismiss us and give us our phones back. Then we moved on to the next period laughing among ourselves at pictures of amateur student art projects that Ms. Mailbox took.

The rest of the day went smoothly. We mostly just talked, often during class, which pissed off the teachers but I found hilarious. To my surprise, Ms. Mailbox found it funny too. I didn’t know that at the time, but I was already rubbing off on her. We tried keeping our chats down low, but by the end of the day neither of us gave any fucks and we were talking quite loudly. Needless to say we were kicked out of the class.

As we were waiting outside the classroom for the bell to ring so we could take our bags and go home, Ms. Mailbox asked a question.

“Hey, how did you sprain your wrist? You said you would tell me.”

“I did.” I shifted a bit uncomfortably, becoming suddenly aware of the little to no distance between us.

“Was it as bad as the principal said?” she elaborated.

“Pretty much.” I answered naturally, as thought I’ve known her for years. I kind of regreted being so open a moment later, but at this point it was too late, I was already mid-answer. And I did sort of promised her. So I spilled the beans.

“Yeah, it was bad, I guess.” I soft-balled. “I smashed a mailbox with a baseball bat out of a moving vehicle. Thought the mailbox would break. Turns out I broke first.” I chuckled, trying to pass it off as a no-big-deal. Just a funny anecdote.

“I see.” was all Ms. Mailbox said.

There was a silence between us, and I felt a strange uncomfortable feeling I haven’t had since I was a child. I felt like I was being judged, and more than that, that I cared about the judgement.

“You s-” I wanted to make a snarky a remark, but just at that moment the bell rang.

We both hurried back into the class before the torrent of students spilled out of it. The teacher was the last to leave before us, and gave us a stink eye as she went out the door. It was just the two of us now.

The tension from before hadn’t gone away, in fact it was heavier.

“You’re not surprised?” I turned my head down. “You had me all figured out for a Bad Girl already, huh?” I tried picking up my backpack with my healthy arm, but getting it to stay on my back was a challenge. It was kind of ruining the cool apathetic vibe I was going for.

Ms. Mailbox put on her backpack and reached up help me. She put on the straps on my shoulders with efficiency and gentleness. I could swear I felt her rub my shoulderblades a bit as she did.

“No, that’s not it. I just deduced that’s what you did.” she explained.

“Deduced?” I asked like a clueless idiot.

“Yeah.” she walked out of the classroom and looked back at me with a pair of beautiful eyes. “It was my mailbox you smashed.”

With that, Ms. Mailbox became Ms. Mailbox. And the seeds of something between us were starting to sprout.

[bittykimmy13]

Best Wishes (GT) ~ 1

This is G/t fanfiction of the Netflix movie The Half of It. Watch the movie if you haven't seen it. Enjoy. 

I certainly enjoyed it so much that I immediately needed a G/t version of it :') This will probably be a shorter story, with short chapters. Just something cute and light after the slew of angst the past couple years haha (but yes of course there will be angst, who do you think I am?) Anyway, this takes place in a potential future of the print universe. YEP, a print story where the characters aren't under immediate threat of physical pain/death 24/7 <333

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Mid-afternoon sun beat down on the lonely stretch of road. Autumn pedaled her bike on a separate print-sized path beside the tree line, bracing herself whenever human cars roared by. Luckily, those were few and far between at this time of day. Unless humans were headed for the southern exit of the town where their kind of homes were sparse, they didn’t have much reason to be there. Mostly, all that remained at this end was a tight cluster of print neighborhoods and woodland.

It would be easier if she paid for human transportation to and from her summer job, but she told herself every morning that she needed to save money and that it wasn’t her pride holding her back. If she wanted to sustain herself through the next school year, she���d need to tough out the commute on her own.

The rumble of an engine approached in the distance. She tensed, but didn’t stop pedaling. This engine in particular was familiar—one she had been dreading.

Sure enough, as the pick-up truck slowed beside her, the human boys inside shouted at her through the open windows.

“Think you’ll make it home by morning?”

“Aww, why’re you ignoring us, mouse? Think you’re too good?”

“Why don’t you come in here and sit on my lap? I’ll get you where you need to go!”

Autumn kept her eyes trained on the path in front of her. It wasn’t worth snapping back at them. One, they wouldn’t hear her over the sound of that old-world relic of a pick-up. Two, they were all easily over six feet tall. She didn’t even reach mid-calf for them. Let them have their fun from the road, as long as they didn’t get out to stop her on the path and tower over her.

Keep it together. You’ll be free of them again in a couple months.

Their laughter faded as the truck roared ahead, and she could finally breathe again. She swore they took the long way these days just to mess with her. Now that they were gone, her tense anticipation of their approach could be laid to rest until tomorrow. However, her moment of relaxation lasted roughly five minutes.

A rhythmic pounding came from behind her—the footsteps of a jogging human. She clenched her jaw and kept her eyes forward. Why couldn’t some humans get it through their thick skulls that this path wasn’t meant for their exercise? It was meant for prints like her to get home somewhat safely if they didn’t have a ride. Besides, who the hell wanted to be running in this heat? As the footsteps became more pronounced, she groaned and started to swerved her bike off the path to let the human pass her without potential murder.

“Hey!” The human’s steps slowed as his voice boomed after her. “Autumn Yang!”

She braked so hard she nearly fell off her bike. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a human with wavy dark-blond hair coming after her on the path. She blanched in recognition. He’d gone to high school with her, like the other boys in the pick-up. Tucker West. Had they really deployed one of the guys to come after her on foot? Her hand tensed on the phone in her pocket as she wondered if she should call for help.

There was no time. She pedaled hard.

“Wait up!” His pounding footsteps kicked up to a jog again.

It was laughable how easily he caught up. In no time at all, his shadow had fallen over her, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t dare look back, knowing she’d lose her balance if she dared to peer up at his dizzying height. From the brief look she’d gotten, he was somehow taller now since graduation.

“Autumn, hey! I said wait up!”

The shadow darkened, and her bike came to an abrupt stop. The momentum launched her over the handles, making her come to a hard fall on the asphalt. She winced at the scrape on her forearm and sat up, scrambling to face Tucker West.

He was crouched low with one hand braced to the ground, while his other fingers still pinched the back tire of her bike. His dark eyes were wide, and his lips were parted dumbly as he assessed what he had done.

“Wow, I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, giving a laugh of disbelief. “Shit, I didn’t know you were gonna fall like that.”

“You expected me to fall a different way?” She picked herself up and dusted her shorts off. “What’s wrong with you? Besides not knowing how physics work.”

“No, really, I’m sorry. But you weren’t stopping, and I…” He shrugged lamely.

Praying that he couldn’t see how badly she trembled under his shadow, she stormed over to her bike and grabbed the handles. “Give it back, Tucker. Leave me alone. We’re not in fucking high school anymore—I dunno why you and your friends couldn’t mature past your glory days, but leave me out of it.”

He cocked his head. “My friends?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. The assholes who’ve been screeching past me every day since I came home for the summer.”

“You mean Jason and them? They’re not my friends.” He kept his grip on the bike, seemingly unaware that she was trying to wrench it out of his fingers. “Look, I saw you were back in town, and I have a favor to ask. See, there’s this girl—”

“No, I will not help you seduce some girl by pretending to be your quirky print friend to prove you have a softer side. Beat it, or I’ll tell her you stalked me on my way home.”

Cheeks flushing, he shook his head. “That’s not it! Remember how you used to write people’s assignments for them?”

Of course she remembered. How could she not? The money she’d made from that had ensured she could eat comfortably while she was away for her freshman year of college. She stopped pulling on the bike and narrowed her eyes at him. She’d written a few papers for him back then, but that was the long and short of their interaction.

“Somehow, I doubt you need a philosophy analysis written for you in the middle of summer, two years out of high school,” she said.

Despite her flat tone, he looked at her excitedly, like she was a co-conspirator in a scheme she knew nothing about. “Well, you’re right about me needing your help with the girl. I mean, not the seducing her part, but uh… yeah, okay, kinda.”

“Either give me the point, or give me my bike.”

“You’re good at writing, okay? And I need help with that.” He pursed his lips and shrugged.

“Look, I’m not good with words, so I want to write her a letter. I tried already by myself, but it never sounds good, you know?”

She gave the bike another test tug, disappointed to find that his fingers’ grip hadn’t slackened in tandem with that wistful look on his face. She scoffed. “Write a letter? Like on paper? Who does that?”

He pouted. “I thought it would be romantic.”

“I mean, I guess. If she’s into that kind of stuff. Who is she, anyway?”

“Lacey. Lacey Ramirez.”

Autumn let go of the bike and staggered back a few steps, arms limp at her sides.

“You know her, don’t you?” Tucker said. “Didn’t you used to be friends with her?” He paused, taking in her slack-jawed expression and tense stance. “Oh. Do you guys have bad blood? Shit, I figured it would be easier for you to help since you know her.”

She shook her head. “N-no, we don’t have bad blood. But I’m not doing this. I’m not helping you write a stupid love letter to Lacey Ramirez. Just go talk to her. It’s not that hard.”

“You don’t get it! It’s hard. It’s, like, super hard.”

For all his insistence, he finally let go of the bike when Autumn lunged forward and jerked at the handles again. She gave one last look at his knelt form towering over her, feeling a spike of bitterness. Of course it wouldn’t be hard for him to win Lacey over. He was tall, handsome, and built. But most importantly, human. A perfect match for Lacey. She turned around and started walking her bike away.

“I’ll pay you,” he said. She walked a little faster, worried he’d give chase again. She was still within reach of his stupid long arms, but he didn’t make a grab. “However much you need. Set your price.”

Autumn hesitated, and his voice jumped.

“I’m in love with her,” he insisted. “Please. You have to help me. I’m sure you could use the money.”

She glared over her shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

He leaned back a little and planted his hands on his lap, perhaps to make it seem like he wasn’t trying to crowd her. “I dunno. You’re working, aren’t you? That means you need money.”

She did.

Hissing out a sigh, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “One letter.” He started to grin and straighten up in excitement, prompting her to hold up a finger. “One letter! And I name my price after I finish it. I’ll type up a draft and send it so you can write it out. What’s your number?”

“What? No, hey, I want to be there with you while you come up with it. We could help each other, can’t we?”

She rolled her eyes. “Where?”

“Library, tomorrow at noon?”

She frowned, shocked that he was so casually okay with being seen in public with a print. It wasn’t exactly outlandish these days, she just didn’t figure someone like him would be alright with it.

Maybe it was the surprise that made her nod. “Fine. But I work tomorrow, so let’s make it two.”

“So we have a deal!” His hand shot toward her, and she might have fallen on her ass if he hadn’t stopped a few safe inches away. He held his finger and thumb slightly parted—an invitation to a handshake that she would much rather not attend.

But, figuring it would get him out of her hair faster, she stiffly walked closer and placed her hand on his fingertip. She braced for pressure, but he was actually  quite gentle when he pinched her hand and moved it down once. After getting tossed off her bike, she never would have expected that from him.

“See ya tomorrow.” He let go and gave a small wave. His grin was wide and blinding as he stood up.

She couldn’t help but flinch, seeing him at his full height again. He didn’t linger, though. The pound of footsteps resumed, but this time they headed away from her. It wasn’t until he was a good distance away that she, for the second time, could breathe again.

As she mounted her bike and started pedaling, her mind swam in disbelief of what had just happened. Tucker West, former football star and high school has-been, had sought out her help with a handwritten love letter. And for Lacey Ramirez, of all people.

It wouldn’t be hard finding the words—just hard to share them. She hadn’t spoken much to Lacey since sophomore year of high school. It wasn’t that they had a falling out or bad blood. It was just that Autumn had quietly pulled away from that friendship when she came to the terrifying realization that she had fallen in love with Lacey.