#You shouldn’t rely on outside media to tell your story if your not going to include it in the primary material in a compelling manner

[corellianhounds]

I think. The reason I got so invested in SW when The Mandalorian came out. Was partly because of the story, yes, but largely because I didn’t HAVE to know any of the extended universe to understand this one story. It was so good on its own and it was unique and interesting and compelling and judicious with its script

And I miss that.

[writingwithcolor]

Arab Character Joining Corrupt Superheroes, Police Parallels

Anonymous asked:

I’m writing a story with a Arabian diaspora main character. The story is about corrupt superheroes, and how they affect an oppressed superpowered minority. The main character is one of these superheroes, naively joining them in his teens believing he’s going to help people. Doesn’t help that his parents are having money trouble. Eventually he ends up fighting a superpowered crook, and gets a bystander killed.

1)I know portraying an Arabian character committing violence is a pretty touchy subject, even if accidental. Is there any way I can write this that makes it clear to the reader that the action itself is messed up without the unfortunate implication that Arabs are violent? 

2)A large part of the story is the MC’s parents reaction. They are loving parents, however after this incident happens, they are confused and ashamed. While they still love him, they temporarily cut ties with him. Eventually they reconcile and start to be a family again. In my research (they are diaspora Saudi Arabians), Family is very important and tight-nit. Shame towards the family is to be avoided at all costs. However I’ve also read that disowning a family member rarely ever happens. Is there a way to write this kind of narrative with respect to this aspect of Arabian culture?

Let us begin with some terminology.

- If a person is from Saudi Arabia, they are Saudi Arabian, or more commonly, Saudi. This is their nationality.

- They may or may not be Arab. Arab is an ethnicity. Not all Saudis are Arab. Not all Arabs are Saudi.

- Arabic is a language. Lots of people across the world who are neither Saudi nor Arab speak Arabic.

- Arabian on its own is a word used to refer to a specific breed of horses.

If you are referring to humans, you want to either say "Saudi Arabian" (both words) or “Saudi” to indicate nationality, or "Arab" to indicate ethnicity. If you’re looking to describe your character’s culture, you probably want to call it Saudi culture. (While grammatically correct, talking about “Arab culture” doesn’t make much sense because Arabs are an incredibly diverse ethnic group and there is no such thing as a single monolithic Arab culture).

Now for the first question. In my mind, the issue is less about the character committing violence, and more about the premise of the story and how it mirrors real-life oppressive structures. You have an organized group of superheroes who think they are doing good by fighting “crooks” but in reality are enacting systemic oppression upon a marginalized group. This immediately brings to mind police violence, racial profiling, and the way that policing in North America is used as a tool of white supremacy while glorified in propaganda as a force for good. Essentially, you are telling a story about a character who joins an oppressive policing force, enacts violence upon a marginalized group as a result, and (I’m assuming) eventually realizes that they are not, in fact, the good guys. This is very close to being a “bigoted character learns not to be bigoted” story. I recommend re-examining your premise in light of the real-life parallels and asking yourself whether this is the story you want to tell. 

The issue is compounded by the fact that your character is an Arab teen, who in real life is more likely to be the one facing racial profiling from the police. Taking this character and making him the oppressor in your story makes the already flawed premise even more problematic, especially if the characters in the oppressed group are white.

As for your second question, it seems believable to me that a teen’s parents might reject him if they learned that he committed a crime. However, when the family in question is Arab, you are suddenly feeding into harmful tropes about oppressive and violent Arab parents. You are asking if there is a way to write this respectfully. I believe that there is, but it requires a great deal of care, nuance, and cultural awareness. While it is possible to write a Saudi Arab character grappling with the consequences of violence and familial estrangement in a compelling way, the way your ask is phrased leads me to believe you are not equipped to do it justice. 

- Mod Niki

Think about why Arab people committing violence is a touchy subject, and then think about the general propaganda narrative that came about from the act that made things so touchy. 

It’s going to sound one hell of a lot like what you have here.

Military and police use buckets and buckets of propaganda to continue hooking in young, impressionable teens to commit state-sanctioned colonialism and oppression. That propaganda looks suspiciously like “we have health insurance, we will pay for your education, you just have to do what we tell you even if that means hurting or killing others, but it’s okay because you get to be the hero in the situation.”

Now, propaganda is a very powerful tool. I was taught, in my media classes, that controlling the message means shaping reality. The media is built as a propaganda machine, and when you start to see who owns what media properties you start to see some really disturbing patterns (Rubert Murdoch owns a lot of right-wing sources across America, the UK, and Australia, and he’s too rich to investigate his culpability in spinning terrible narratives found in right-wing publications. He owns the big names).

As Niki said, this situation mirrors police violence and police-sanctioned terrorism. And the very, very unfortunate implications of making the target of police violence be in that wheel. But I want you to look at the media situation that has made the plot happen.

Because even if you swapped out ethnicities, you’d still have a reckoning to do with the American culture that their primary social safety nets involve killing people.

I am not kidding.

Some of the most well-funded unions in the country are police unions. These people have pensions. They have health insurance. It’s damn near impossible to fire them. They get overtime very well mandated, and it’s a known thing among defence lawyers that arrests happen right before a cop’s shift will end so they get the overtime of filing the paperwork. They absolutely go into poor neighbourhoods and recruit based off people needing an escape, and them having the money to provide it.

A similar sentiment is true for the military, except they push for college education a bit more and don’t really have overtime, but they do have deployment bonuses. So the way to get extra pay for yourself is to go out and do colonialism outside the borders. The military doesn’t necessarily like it when the economy is doing well, and don’t like the idea of college being affordable, because they rely so heavily on poverty and fear of college debt to recruit. 

The story you’re telling here goes so far beyond an individual’s actions and instead taps into America’s single biggest cultural investment: that oppressing others makes you a hero. 

The Pentagon funds most military media out there as a propaganda tool, including most superhero movies and a large number of video games. This is in their budget. They will also go so far as to literally commission the games to exist. Part of getting that funding is you cannot critique America’s military, basically at all (the only exception I’ve seen is Ms Marvel, but that’s set in the 90s). This turns any sort of military-using media into a potential propaganda tool.

And the thing is? Even if you fall for that propaganda and were part of the military or the police, you still have to reckon with the fact you put whatever your own desires were above a huge track record of those groups being terrible. You still have to reckon with the fact you didn’t realize they were wrong, and were complicit in a lot of crimes.

This goes very far beyond “the action is terrible” and goes into “the system is rotten to its core, and you chose not to believe it, or to believe you could change what was built with blood.”

“Good” police officers get fired. If you try to question anything, if you try to say this action is wrong, you will absolutely get destroyed. Military’s much the same. You need some degree of buy-in to the concept of white supremacy to sign up for the military or the police, because you need to see their actions as not deal breakers instead of actions that violate multiple international laws. 

In short: you need to see the people being oppressed as deserving of being oppressed to some degree in order to participate with police and the military.

Marginalized people can hold this belief, it happens. But that is a very sticky situation that outsiders shouldn’t touch. 

It’s possible but difficult for you to write a white person having this sort of arc, but it would be extremely challenging to have it not come across as a white guilt story. To not have a socially aware audience roll their eyes at how long it took. You’d definitely not be writing a story with a diverse audience in mind, because you’d mostly appeal to those who saw the propaganda as just fine and not that bad.

This isn’t even getting into the oft-cited adage that boys who bully others become cops, while girls who bully become nurses. And the more police atrocities become mainstream news, the less and less people can convince themselves that becoming a police officer is a good thing.

Which brings me to the point of: how well-documented is this oppression? Is this character walking around in an oppressive situation like, say, pre-social-media where there was no direct access to the oppressed groups and you could close your eyes and look away even if it made national news? Or is this in a media connected world where these oppressed populations have a voice in the narrative?

The former has an angle of the character slowly realizing the horror and it’s slightly more forgivable for their early ignorance. But in any sort of world where there’s access to the people getting hurt? Things get more and more “ignorance is indistinguishable from maliciousness.” And keep in mind, these stories are read in the real world, where police brutality and war crimes go viral, and a lack of knowledge is getting harder and harder to defend as a position.

Media plays a huge role in shaping our perception of what’s happening. Cameras on a situation makes different activism tactics work, as we can see with how activism changed in the 60s and 70s as tv reached the masses. Social media has made it possible for you to look up firsthand accounts of discrimination within seconds. 

This is a factor you are absolutely going to have to consider, when you want to look at how nice your hero is seen by marginalized or otherwise socially-aware people. If there is a way to find out how bad this superhero organization is before you sign a contract with them? Then that doesn’t look particularly good on the “hero”. You’d really have to establish them as super idealistic, super sheltered, super desperate, and/or just swallow the knowledge that they really don’t see anything that happens “over there to those people” as that bad. 

All of the above is more than possible. And they’d still be seen as complicit no matter what justification you gave, because they are.

Does this mean all corrupt organization stories are off limits? No. The reason these stories have such deep cultural resonance right now is because of the propaganda I outlined above. 

But you as the author are going to have to examine your own engagement with the propaganda narrative and do your own private reckoning so your own sense of guilt and compliance doesn’t bleed through the narrative too strongly, so you can tell a good story instead of an overt message story that’s you working out your own feelings.

By all means, write a story where police and the military are taken down, where propaganda is weaponized and the media is controlled (because that’s sure as hell the modern world). 

But know that stories where the hero discovers the corruption already have a ticking clock because we, in the real world, are slowly being faced with a mountain of apathy instead of ignorance. The knowledge of oppression is out there so much that marginalized people are tired of the ignorance defence. 

As the saying goes, “privilege is the ability to ignore the oppression of others.” 

Propaganda, centralized media, and strategic cultural investment made it possible for police and the military to have a chokehold on their public perception. But that’s changing. The chokehold is starting to fade, people are starting to question their beliefs. 

The past year has shown that knowledge isn’t the issue; it’s white supremacy. People don’t want to believe that any of this is that bad. People want to believe that oppression is justified, that if people just followed the law they’d be fine. They don’t want to question themselves. And marginalized people are tired of these narratives where, suddenly, people snap out of it. Because there was so much evidence to show it was bad, but it was only when you do one of the worst crimes imaginable that you realize this is bad? It’s only when it becomes personal that things are worth looking at critically?

No. And you need to examine where you are in processing your own complicity before writing a story where you’ve swapped around the ethnicities to try and distance yourself from the problem, where in the end you made the target the oppressor.

~Mod Lesya

[girlmeetsliv3]

Sandman II

Hyung Line X Reader

Genre: Mystery, Psychological Thriller, Horror

Rated: M

Word Count: 4.2K

Release Date: February 26, 2021 @ 5 p.m. (GMT-5)

“Three years ago, the town was rocked by the disappearance of YN YLN. A bright young girl who had dreams of attending university and becoming a nurse. YN was a kind, shy, studious girl who kept to herself and never caused any troubles associated with teens her age. So imagine her loved ones surprised when she disappears one night from bed - never to be seen again. The strangest part was that all her belongings had been taken, all the photos with her disappeared, and all her social medias deleted. But perhaps most peculiar was the wet sand found at the foot of her bed.”

Warning: Brief mention of death and suicide.

             The first words out of Kim Seokjin's mouth when they reached the car, after having been escorted through the back entrance to avoid the press, were "I'm sorry." YN hadn't even known how to react before Seokjin launched into a full-blown ramble, "I'm so sorry about that YN. I just - I have been so worried. We've all been, and we thought you - but now you're here. They didn't even tell us even though we're listed and to just think about how alone you've been. How confused you must feel -"

           YN placed her hands on top of his which rested on the shift gear, “It’s okay Jin. I understand.” She smiled at him tenderly before her sister’s words flashed through her mind, ‘Isn’t Seokjin the best?! He’s the only man you can truly rely on.’ Instantly YN took her hands off him, folding them on her lap. Now was not the time to dwell on those things. If Seokjin noticed the sudden shift in the air he didn’t comment on it, simply stating: “You’ve always been so understanding.” Before focusing on the road and turning the engine on, driving away. As they exited the parking lot, YN saw all the vans from the news outlets parked outside. Some she recognized, others she didn’t, but what she did notice was a large sign being held up by one of the reporters. It read: Sandman victim finally returns.

           It was as much a shock to me as it was to everyone when Seokjin and I started dating. He wasn’t my type. I can’t say for sure what it was that drew us together - maybe loneliness - or maybe I just liked the way people stared in shock at the fact that someone like him was with someone like me. That didn’t matter though, Seokjin and the others were always there. They were whatever I needed them to be. They would do anything to make me happy, but I wasn’t the only one they treated as special.

           When the car approached the front gate of Nagwon villas YN frowned, “Weren’t we going to the hospital?” The thought of being poked and prodded like a rag doll wasn’t a pleasing one, but she knew disappearing for three years and not remembering anything didn’t bode well. The only thing that could give a hint at what she’d endured, and why she’d forgotten, was her body. Seokjin shrugged, “I know you aren’t a big fan of doctors, so I asked Namjoon for a favor.” Namjoon? She wasn't sure she was ready to see Namjoon or any of them for that matter. She hadn't even thought about seeing Jin until he showed up. ‘He’s like something out of a fairy tale, isn’t he? A knight in shining armor.’ YN shook her head, don't think about her or you'll start crying like a child again. Everyone in her family had always called her a crybaby, teased her for not being able to hold her emotions in. Right now, though, she felt less like a newborn and more like an overflowed dam. About to break at any second.

           “Are the others going to be there?” Is he going to be there?

           “No, Hoseok is out of town. He should be coming back tomorrow though; I wasn’t sure if you wanted him to know you were back but it's all over the news.”

That wasn't who she was talking about and they both knew it. Still, if Seokjin was being ignorant then it was for a reason; so she went along with it. "Shouldn't it be Namjoon's dad?"

Seokjin glanced at her from the corner of his eye, “Namjoons a doctor now, babe. It’ll be him you’re seeing.” Perhaps still sensing her hesitance he continued, “Don’t worry his family has a private practice in their house for situations like this.”

“You’re all still friends?” She asked, looking outside the window at the passing houses. They passed several houses she recognized, having been inside a couple of them. Nagwon kids always threw the best parties; likely due to their houses being huge and the large amounts they could spend on booze. Her sister would always drag YN to one when she was stuck babysitting, at first she’d just sit around on her phone. Things became easier when they started hanging out with the guys though: there was always Hoseok to crack jokes, Namjoon to talk random things about, and Seokjin to offer whatever it was she needed. Yoongi was always there too, but they wouldn’t talk much just sit in silence.

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be? The best of friends.” There was no sarcasm or humor in his voice, he meant it. Maybe he truly didn’t care? Or three years was a long time to hold onto a grudge especially when the two at-fault for their problems disappeared from their lives. That’s probably why. With YN and her sister out of the way, things had gone back to normal for the men. Nonetheless, it felt like nothing between Seokjin and YN had changed, but that couldn't be true. It's been three years. That statement was difficult for her to wrap her head around, but it didn’t make it any less true. It had been three years and yet Seokjin acted like they hadn’t spent a single day apart. Her mind filled with questions and doubts, so much so she couldn’t help but ask.

“Did we hang out the night I disappeared?”

Seokjin took his hands off the wheel, she hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped, the look he gave her was a mixture of incredulity and hurt. “No, we didn’t. You told me you didn’t want to see me again.” His voice was tense, ears getting red the way they did whenever he was upset. “Don’t you remember?”

I did tell him that. She hadn't meant it of course, but YN tended to lash out when she felt cornered. Thinking back now, she remembered her cruel words how she had blamed Seokjin for something that was both their fault. The pain on his face and the desperation in his tone as he begged for her to forgive him, only for YN to kick him out and shut the door.

"I forgot. I'm sorry, Jin." She pressed her fingers into her palm, hoping the pain would take things off her mind.

“Hey.” Jin’s fingers gently gripped the bottom of her chin, “It’s okay. I forgive you, let’s just not talk about it again okay?” He pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head.

YN breathed deeply before unlocking the door and getting out. The Kim's large beige mansion stared down at her - it was the first time she’d been there, and the nerves were eating her up. Namjoon will probably have a lot of questions too. She had barely managed to get through one of Officer Taehyung’s questions before having a panic attack, YN had no idea how she would brave against Namjoon. With nerves clouding her senses she failed to notice the black motorcycle parked on the curve, slightly obscured by the shrubs. Had she YN would have avoided walking into a trap.

"Heard you got your ass whooped by Min." Jungkook laughed, as he sat on the edge of Taehyung's desk. "Did he take you over his knee and make you count to ten?" At that, a couple of others nearby chuckled. Taehyung rolled his eyes, "If he hears you, he'll take you over his knee." Jungkook shoved him softly, though 'softly' in this case meant Taehyung almost fell off his chair. Deciding to ignore him this time, he focused once again on the small font on his computer. Several minutes passed before Jungkook spoke again, "Is this about YN? If you're looking through the case files you won't find anything useful. Trust me, everyone in this room has gone through it multiple times."

There was a reason there was press lined up outside, nothing sold quite like a morbid story. ‘Girl disappears from her bed in the middle of the night with no trace behind’ had a nice hook to it. Taehyung had already been in the academy when it happened, but he was still shocked - especially once he found out it had happened in his hometown. Nothing ever happened in this town, they called it paradise for a reason. Yet someone had broken into the YLN family home and stolen a girl straight from her bed, nothing left behind but a bit of wet sand.

“It doesn’t hurt to look again, plus now we might get somewhere that she’s back. Find out who did it.” Taehyung scrolled down and started looking at all the pictures, he’d have to swing by the evidence locker later to see what they still had left physically.

“I’m just surprised the sister didn’t do it, given everything -”

Taehyung spun around quickly in his chair, “Don’t say that. Minsuh loved that kid, she’d never do anything to hurt her.”

“Yeah well that’s not what I heard,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly. “I know it isn’t good to speak ill of the dead, but Minsuh wasn’t as dignified as her name suggested.”

Taehyung turned away from the young cop, “Look you’re wasting my time and I have to focus on this case. YN’s going to come back tomorrow and we need to build a timeline, can’t do that without all the facts so just go away.”

Jungkook sighed, “Sorry man. I know the two of you were close,” Jungkook had seen how uncomfortable Taehyung had gotten when YN brought up him dating her sister. “But you know I’m not the only one that thinks so. Regardless, everyone knows it's not true now so there’s that.”

It doesn’t matter, Taehyung wanted to say, she died with everyone in this town thinking she was a murderer. Nothing will ever change that. Instead, he remained quiet, eyes focused on the computer screen. Gaze focused intensely on the pictures of YN’s bedroom as if they would wield together a logical story that would explain where she’d been this whole time.

Everyone in school had a crush on Namjoon. Smart Namjoon. Sweet Namjoon. Dimpled cheeks Namjoon. Girls and guys would swoon over him, talking about how they would love to feel his chest or sit on his thighs. They were all fools. Ah, yes, Kim Namjoon may look harmless but it's always the quiet ones you have to look out for.

It truly was a private practice, equipped with all sorts of equipment one might find in a typical emergency room. YN wondered why they would ever need something like that. Maybe high clientele? Though the closest things to celebrities that lived in this town were both Seokjin and Namjoon's families, then Jung's, and the Min's. Namjoon wasn't there when they first arrived but appeared quickly enough, the gentle smile on his face reminded YN of simpler times. "How are you?" It dawned on her then that was the first time she'd been asked the question. She'd been plagued by 'where were you?' 'how are you alive?' and 'I'm sorrys' since she'd woken up. No one ever thought to ask how she was.

“I’ve been better.” YN answered softly, afraid that if she spoke anymore, she would break down again. The men in the room seemed to read between the lines without her elaborating further. Seokjin squeezed her hand, “Well, I’ll give you two some privacy. I’ll be right outside if anything happens, okay?” Before YN could respond Jin once again kissed her forehead before walking away. Leaving her alone in the stark white room with Namjoon, who leaned against a medical bed. His left hand patting the space beside him, “Let’s talk YN.” She grimaced slightly. “You’re in a safe space YN. You know me I would never do anything to hurt you and Seokjin is right outside if you need him. We’re your family.”

Family. They had been a sort of family, the five of them: always hanging out, sharing stories, meals, and memories. It didn't matter that she was much younger or that the only reason she was tolerated was that Minsuh was dating Seokjin. They had always been kind, always been loving, always been there. Even when her actual family wasn't. They’re all I’ve got… at least until dad comes. Once she sat down the doctor offered a genuine smile, it reminded her of all the times the two would stay up late studying at the library. A warmth that eased away from the chill she'd had all day lead to the first genuine smile on her face, “Thanks Namjoon.”

“I told you to call me Joon remember?” His broad shoulder playfully brushed YN’s, before he began conducting his examinations.

      “You know being clandestine isn’t your strong suit.” Kim Seokjin leaned against the black LeoVince Racer waiting for his friend to exit from the back of Namjoon's private practice. Min Yoongi looked like he hadn't slept for days and had the corners of his lips turned upward in a way that was half-way between a snarl and a smirk. "I'd beg to differ." Yoongi responded, approaching the man as he adjusted white medical papers into his jacket's hidden pockets.

Seokjin eyed them carefully, “If you’re caught with those you could face serious trouble.”

Yoongi laughed, “Who’s going to catch me? The sheriff?”

           Seokjin rolled his eyes, empty threats and warnings weren’t going to change anything. “What do the papers say?” He tried to grab them, but Yoongi blocked his hand easily. Maneuvering Seokjin off his bike so he could get on it.

           "Ask the doc or her. She doesn't keep secrets from you." Yoongi's eyes were cold and his voice lacked the playfulness present before. Seokjin knew better than to press his buttons any further, "Go before she sees you." Not that it mattered much, YN would be face to face with all of them soon - a reunion was inevitable. Nonetheless, Yoongi was a sore spot for her; the more Seokjin could delay their meeting the more things could go according to plan.

        “So you’re officially a doctor?” YN asked as Namjoon finished up drawing the last of her blood. They'd done all types of x-rays, physical, and psychological examinations to check her well-being. No words had been shared between the two, but the silence was beginning to bother her.

“Well, yes and no. Still must finish my residency, but I have most of the hours done.” Namjoon replied nonchalantly.

Whenever the subject had come up before Namjoon had dreaded having to take over the family business, feeling it was a role he was being pushed into. Guess things have changed. “I thought you didn’t want to be a doctor.”

He shrugged in response, “I guess I finally understood why my dad loved it so much. Medicine, biology, psychology, chemistry are all things that are useful.”

“You became a doctor became because it was useful? That doesn’t make much sense.” YN chuckled as Namjoon placed a bandage on the inside of her arm. He chose not to reply immediately, instead, holding up a lollipop that was inside his pocket. She took it with little thought. “Little makes sense in life. Human beings are just inherent paradoxes.” Minsuh always said that. It was one of the things the two sisters never agreed on. Minsuh always argued that people could still technically be considered ‘good’ no matter what they did. YN disagreed. Can’t do bad things and still be a good person. Namjoon clapped his hands together, signaling they were done and proceeded to help YN off the bed.

“Thanks, Joon.” She shot him a smile which she hoped looked more sincere than it felt. Though tensions didn’t run as high with Namjoon as they did with the others, it didn’t mean it was smooth sailing. Namjoon, like always, understood exactly what she meant and didn’t push. “Of course, YN. Anything for you.” With the promise her results would be ready in a couple of days, he sent her back on her way.

When she exited Seokjin was waiting outside with a furrow on his brow. Now what? YN didn’t know where else to go from here, what else to do, it felt like she’d hit a roadblock. I could go back home. Was that place even home anymore? Without her family, furniture, memories – could she return, or would it be too painful? Was she even allowed to return? It had looked abandoned when she’d been inside, so certainly YN wasn’t trespassing.

“It’s okay YN. You can stay at mine until we figure something out. I wouldn’t want you out of my sight anyway, it’s dangerous.”

It didn’t sit right with her to rely on Seokjin so much – or be under the same roof as him – but she would be lying if she said it didn’t ease her anxiety. “You’ve already done so much. I couldn’t ask that of you.” Her hands were shaking as she said the words, but even if she wanted to say yes immediately. YN couldn’t be selfish.

“No, I haven’t. Trust me.”

Before YN could ask what he meant Seokjin took hold of her wrist gently pulling her to the car.

Jung Hoseok. Lovely Hoseok. Funny Hoseok. Sweet Hoseok. The boy whose smile lights up the sky and everyone just gravitates towards him. No one could ever dislike him. Mr. Popular always putting others before himself. Dear sweet Hobi is an angel sent from heaven, but he isn’t as innocent as he seems. People tend to forget Lucifer was god’s favorite before he fell from the sky.

“Honestly was it really necessary to put on this whole show?” Hoseok wiggled his wrists causing the handcuffs to jingle against the table. Taehyung’s face remained stoic as he proceeded to read from the file. “A bit strange isn’t that YLN YN returns when you just so happen to out of town, Mr. Jung.” His eyebrow arched highly, Hoseok would’ve laughed if not for the situation he was in. “No it isn’t. I take a family trip around this time every single year detective. I told this to the sheriff three years ago and I’ll repeat this now.” He leaned forward the mirth gone from his mouth, “I had nothing to do with what happened to YN. I wouldn’t hurt her or anyone else for that matter.” Hoseok sighed, leaning back on the uncomfortable chair. “Look officer, I know its procedure and the prime suspect is always the boyfriend, but it wasn’t me.”

Even if Taehyung doubted that with every fiber of his being, he had nothing else to go off on. Jung Hoseok’s alibis were airtight, had always been, not to mention it would be extremely out of character for him to harm a bug – much less orchestrate something to this degree. It had been reckless to ask for him to be picked up from the city, but today had been a long day and there were just too many coincidences for the investigator to ignore. “Very well Mr. Jung. You’re free to go but I suggest you don’t leave town on another family vacation any time soon.” He reached towards his belt, taking out the keys and uncuffing Hoseok. Taehyung was on a tight schedule anyway; it would only be a matter of time before the sheriff returned from his lunch break. Seeing his son’s best friend in handcuffs would only cause Taehyung to be even more reprimanded.

With the cuffs off him, Hoseok stood up, stretching his lithe limbs. "You used to call me Hyung remember? Back when you were desperate for Minsuh and you to be a thing." Taehyung recalled having felt the need to please her friends to get her to look twice at him. Where’s this coming from? Hoseok looked down at him with cold eyes, "You know we never blamed you for how you reacted to things ending Tae. Heartbreak can make a man go crazy after all." The tension in the room was palpable when suddenly a smile broke out on Hoseok's face. "Sorry, it was silly of me to bring that up. We were all kids after all." With that he walked away from the desk and opened the door, turning around just enough to wink at Taehyung before the door closed completely.

Hoseok felt his phone vibrate inside his pants and rolled his eyes, without even looking he knew who it was. Taking the phone out, he swiped right and immediately spoke. “Yah, you won’t believe what just fucking happened. Where are you anyway?”

“Sorry it isn’t much.” Seokjin apologized as he handed YN the pile of clothes. “Tomorrow we’ll go shopping for essentials.” YN shook her head, “Thanks, I don’t need much. My dad shouldn’t take too long in coming to get me anyway.” She placed the clothes on the banister in the bathroom, content to finally be able to shower and become clean. It had been a long day, some soap and water might not wash the pain away, but she could pretend it would. There was another thing weighing on her mind, a thought that would simply not go away. For as kind as Seokjin had always been with her, even he had his limits. This behavior felt a bit out of character with the person she knew – the one she remembered.

“Why are you doing all this Jin?”

The man in question froze as if stunned, "What do you mean?" His dark brows furrowed, his lips turning down into a grimace.

“Going to see me, Namjoon, letting me stay over. All of this,” she gestured to the bathroom which had been prepared with candles, bath bombs, and calming music. It’s out of character for you. Kim Seokjin had never really been the romantic type, caring yes, but not sentimental. “Is it out of guilt?” Is it out of pity? YN may not remember what happened the night she disappeared, but that summer would forever remain ingrained in her head. "Do you blame yourself for what happened?" Or are you doing this because you feel responsible? Which one was it? Maybe all of them combined?

Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, “Yes.” Without elaborating anymore, he walked out of the bathroom shutting the door behind him.

             When YN walked out of the bathroom she felt much better. All of the day’s events had worn her thin and she was ready to head straight to bed, but not without seeking Seokjin out and confronting him. Yes? Yes, to what exactly? Everything? She hadn’t been able to find the house slippers she’d borrowed, so she traveled through the house and down the stairs barefoot. Barely making any sound. She could hear loud audio coming from the living room and voices on the other side where the library was. Though she could recognize Seokjin as one of the voices, her feet dragged her to the living room, nonetheless. Deeming it better to wait until he was done than interrupting what sounded like an important conversation.

           The couch had been changed into a leather sectional angled towards the screen as had more of the décor. It looked less like a family home and more like a bachelor pad now if YN was honest. Seokjin the bachelor. He had always had someone attached to his side whether it be a dancer, cheerleader, private school girl, and eventually her sister. What about you? YN shook her head, wanting the thought to disappear as quickly as it had appeared. The television distracted her once she picked up on what was being said. It was a newsreel showing a bleached blonde with shiny hair and pouty lips holding a microphone. Behind him was YN’s home, or what used to be, in the dead of the night it looked eerie. After basic introductions the news anchor began speaking:

           “Three years ago, the town was rocked by the disappearance of YN YLN. A bright young girl who had dreams of attending university and becoming a nurse. YN was a kind, shy, studious girl who kept to herself and never caused any troubles associated with teens her age. Imagine her loved ones surprised when she disappears one night from bed - never to be seen again. The strangest part was that all her belongings had been taken, all the photos with her present disappeared, and all her social medias were deleted. Perhaps most peculiar was the only substantial evidence found by investigators was wet sand found at the foot of her bed.”

           “Try as they investigators could find nothing that could tell them what had happened to YN. Then a year later tragedy struck once more when on the anniversary of YN’s disappearance, YLN Minsuh – her older sister - took her and her mother’s life in a murder suicide. YN’s father who was present that night managed to survive. Many people took this to be an admission of guilt on the sister’s part, for the two had never had the best relationship. Though with no note, the case had no choice to remain open. Thankfully for a miracle would occur. Almost three years to the day, YN has returned to the exact spot of her disappearance. Residents and audiences nationally are overjoyed, and hope justice can now be served. Stay tuned as this tragic twisted tale continues to unfold. We’ll now switch back over to Bo for sports.”

           A piercing wail left YN’s mouth as she collapsed to the floor. Immediately, she was scooped off the ground into a warm embrace. “Jin?” She cried, but when she met the eyes of her savior the round hazel she was expecting was instead met with sharp feline ones. "Yoongi?!"

Tag List:

@saxpam24 

@cherriejams @electr1c-angel @uppiespuppy @illnevertrustmyselfagain

@dionysus-png @sugashaye​ @purpuravm​

[lunannex]

Writing Latino characters 

Before I get into these tips/things to avoid when portraying a character who's Latino, please keep in mind that I'm speaking for no one but myself. I'm just one voice, and there's so many other things that go into writing Latinos that I'm sure I'll forget to mention. And for anyone who might see this, please consider reblogging as these are some things that I feel like all non-Latinos should take into consideration.

—————

•Latinos aren't just from one country alone. We come from a large variety of places (ex. Puerto Rico, Cuba, Perú, Costa Rica, México, Argentina, etc.).

•Not all Latino cultures are the same!!! I cannot stress this one enough. We all have different cultures based on where we're located. This means that we all have our own traditions, national holidays, dialect, names, last names, foods, music, etc!

•To expand on the food topic more: stop associating all Latinos to tacos, burritos and nachos. And additionally, just because a character is from a certain country doesn't mean that they only eat foods that are native to that place.

•Just to clear this up real quick: Latino is NOT a race!!! Stop treating it like it is!!

•When writing a story, it's important to think beyond just the plot and story you wanna tell. You have to think about how and why you're using the characters that you are. Make sure that each character is there to serve a purpose. Representation for the sake of feeling woke and inclusive is tokenism, plain and simple.

•On that note, representation points do not count if that “representation” just means that the minorities end up dead. Or even if they're just there to be tortured or mistreated. I hope I don't have to explain why this is a shitty and racist thing to do.

•Don't rely on cultural symbols in order to sell your character. I get that you might want to emphasize the diversity and show just how inclusive you are, but you have to slow down and think, "Is this detail actually important to the character, or is it detracting their development/the plot?". Because believe it or not, while it's an important part of who we are, our personalities don't center around our cultures—shocker! 

•If you feel like you're portraying something in a racist way then...you probably are. Some little details aren't obvious at first, since a lot of racism tends to be a lot more subtle than you'd think, but it's always good to double check. It's difficult to authentically tell stories with characters that exist outside of your own lived experiences. A lot of these things are easily googled and capable of being researched, but make sure that these sources are from actual Latinos because non-Latinos do not get to decide what does and doesn't count as racism to us.

•A problem that usually arises when writing characters of colour is falling into racialized stereotypes or making them one dimensional. It's an easy trick to fall into but please try your best to avoid it. 

•One of the most well known Latino stereotypes is making the characters sexy, flirtatious and promiscuous. All it does is perpetuate this unrealistic perception of our already romanticized culture. This doesn't mean that your character can't flirt, but centralizing their entire personality on their sexual appeal is harmful. 

•The stereotype that the majority of Latinos work as janitors, maids, and gardeners couldn’t be farther from the truth. There is nothing wrong with having these types of jobs, but they aren't the only ones that we're capable of acquiring and it drives me up a wall to see just how much it keeps getting reinforced throughout all different types of media. It's placing us in a very limited box which is extremely damaging. Latinos are capable of having all kinds of occupations, whether it’s as doctors, lawyers, actors, artists, journalists...—you name it!

•For the love of God, don't make them or their parents abusive. We've had enough of the angry Latino trope and if you're the type of person that portrays minorities as violent and aggressive for absolutely no reason whatsoever then I'll automatically assume the worst of you.

•Some other stereotypes include: the drug dealer, the immigrant, the lazy Latino, the Latin lover, the fiery Latina, etc. Just by doing a quick Google search, you'll get a large number of sources that'll inform you of all the stereotypes and tropes out there that you should do your best to avoid.

•I've noticed that a large portion of the Latinos shown in media are portrayed as though they know every single aspect about their country and that's...honestly pretty unrealistic. Many people, regardless of where they're from, mostly just have a general understanding of their country's history and that's it.

•Latinos are diverse. Afro-Latinos exist. White Latinos exist. Mixed Latinos exist. Muslim Latinos exist. Jewish Latinos exist. Plus-sized Latinos exist. Curly haired Latinos exist. LGBTQ+ Latinos exist. Disabled Latinos exist. Write about them. You shouldn't just focus on representing the types of Latinos that you and the rest of society consider "acceptable".  

•Not all Latinos speak Spanish. Don't forget that Portuguese is another one of Latin America's main languages or that there are a lot of Latinos out there that don't speak either of those languages. That doesn't make them less Latino in the slightest, whatever languages they do or don't know shouldn't determine how valid their identity is.

•When writing bilingual characters, do NOT use Google Translate. We can tell when you do because it is glaringly obvious. Reach out to someone who actually speaks the language if you want dialogue to flow more naturally and accurately. And if possible, reach out to someone who shares your character's nationality since the expressions and dialect tend to be different depending on where they're from. 

•Most bilingual people don't switch languages mid-sentence nor do we "forget to switch back". This is a MASSIVE pet peeve of mine. Yes, it CAN and DOES happen –mostly when we're around someone who we're very close and comfortable with– but most bilingual people tend to just speak English to non-Spanish or non-Portuguese speakers. These "language switches" tend to translate in a very awkward and stilted way when written into actual dialogue, especially when it's done by non-bilingual people. 

•Language switches usually happen when someone forgets a certain word or phrase in the language they're speaking in. Ex. "No encuentro el –¿cómo se dice?– el screwdriver." (This is something that's personally done by me at least multiple times a day. And it's not the best shown example, but it gets the point across)

•Do NOT have your Latino character say something flirty/sexual to someone who doesn't understand the language they're speaking in. That counts as fetishization and it's disgusting. 

•If you're writing a romantic relationship, please don't have the Latino call their significant other mami or papi. It's what we call our moms and dads respectively.

•As I mentioned before, people are far more than just their culture. So, just treat your characters with the same respect and importance as you would any other character. Minorities should be allowed to have just as many layers as white characters. Humans are complex beings, and just as you should give a white character a reasoning behind their actions and behavior, writing minorities warrants the exact same thing.

•And lastly, it's okay to mess up. All you have to do is own up, take accountability and work towards bettering yourself so you don't make the same mistake again. 

[skellebonez]

Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 10

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!, Chapter 2 Link!, Chapter 3 Link!, Chapter 4 Link!, Chapter 5 Link! Chapter 6 Link! Chapter 7 Link! Chapter 8 Link! Chapter 9 Link!

Summary: While the trio and Jin are in the Calabash, the family they left behind try to figure out what to do without falling apart at the seams.

Warnings: Mentions of mouth related injury, self depreciation and negative self talk.

Author’s note: Happy Season 2 premier in a few hours from posting this everyone!

Chapter 10: In The Meantime, Stay With Me

When Iron Fan had said she could get them everything they needed, Pigsy was not expecting that to be a nearly literal statement.

It had taken no time at all for the bull clones to set up a a veritable base of operations for them to use. Long rectangular tables set up and pushed together to make one large enough for DBK to maneuver things on a map, various types of technology that clearly had red Son's handiwork on them around the edges of the map. They used pieces from a mahjong set to mark spots on the map, barring the bonus tiles of seasons and flowers which would be used should they run out of others (and if they did they would allow themselves the worry they were pushing deep down for the moment) and the three dragon tiles. Green for Mei, Red for Red Son, and while Pigsy felt the White tile wasn't the most fitting for MK it was easiest for cohesion.

They had everything laid out in front of them, each location they checked marked off with a numbered suit tile (all bamboo used up first, then moving on to dots, and once those were finished they would use the characters). The 4 winds marked the four major locations they felt needed to be tracked, barring Flower Fruit Mountain as they eliminated the possibility of anyone reaching there outside of PIF, Wukong, and MK themselves: The Bull Family homestead, a temporary place reminiscent of Fiery Cloud Cave just outside the city where they were currently pooling all their resources. Pigsy's Noodles, the obvious place for the trio to go if they managed to escape themselves. The tea shop that the Spider Queen made them aware of.

And one final tile left sitting to the side, ready to be placed should the tea shop lead them somewhere else. They had doubts that the trio would still be there, though did not discount the possibility, since it would be risky to not take them to a secondary location if they knew the Spider Queen had prying eyes. And most everyone who could have pulled this off must have known that to an extent.

Pigsy wished that they could have used some of Red's tech instead of a too large map and mahjong tiles... but most of his tech was locked up tight and none of them really knew how the tech he left with his parents worked anyway. Not even they had a good handle on it, he was the one who typically ran everything when they were all together and he had programmed the operating system to his own needs. While they would have been able to figure that out in time, and Sandy was doing his very best to work out how to unlock some of the devices and would eagerly transfer everything they had on the tables into whatever programs they could access, they knew time was not in their side.

As DBK and PIF and Wukong mulled over who to send to the tea shop and where else they could look if they weren't there, Tang was nose deep in his own phone. Signal was shocking good here, all things considered, and once everything had been established he had started to scroll through social media once again just like he had when the search began. One site, another site, refresh, scroll back up, another site, back to the first, refresh refresh, scroll again.

He hadn't stopped for almost half an hour... and nothing had been found, Pigsy could tell by the shake in his hands and shoulders and the frown on his face.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Tang jumped, too immersed in his search and easily startled before he realized who was talking to him. "Come on, I... I don't think we're gonna find anything like that."

"I have to do something, Pigsy," Tang said firmly, refreshing the page he was on once again and grimacing.

There was an edit of the trio someone had posted, a news photo, filtered in bright colors and emoji hearts. "Our Heroes!" laid out on top. Tang almost threw the phone down on the table, just barely managing to slam it down instead and drawing the shocked attention of everyone else as he buried his face in his hands and took a deep calming breath.

Pigsy waved them all off with a frown, and only turned back to Tang when they turned away from them both,

"Tang, this is just makin you upset. You-"

"Have to do something," Tang repeated, shaking his head and looking back up at Pigsy. He looked so tired. They all were, he supposed. "I'm just me. I can and I will help look for them and fight, and you will not be able to stop me, but I can't do... anything else here. I'm not a strategist, I'm not that good with tech, you don't need grunt work done with the Bull Clones around... the best I can do it recite stories about the Monkey King to help us figure out who this could be. And the person who did this might not even be an old enemy!"

"I ain't doin much either," Pigsy rebutted, gesturing over to the unlikely trio of ancient beings across from them. "They may be deferring to me for the final say, but I'm relying on what they tell me to make that choice." He moved, sitting beside the scholar without taking his hand off his shoulder. "So lets distract each other. Work on something else. Maybe whoever did this isn't an old enemy of ours, but maybe they are. Think of anyone who might still be around to hold a grudge and tell me their story."

Tang sat still for a few minutes instead of answering, just leaning into Pigsy and looking down at his shaking hands before they saw the shadow of a Bull Clone fall over the table. Pigsy recognized this one, the only one dressed in attire. A cape to be specific. PIF had introduced him as General Ironclad 2.0, one of the many recommissioned Bull Clones that had to be rebuilt after... The White Bone Spirit.

He placed a tray in front of the duo, two hot cups of tea and two sticks of Tanghulu candied fruit between them (and that was a strange sight, here in this cave, and Pigsy wondered if it was DBK or PIF who had a taste for the treat enough to just have it available like this). Like all the Bull Clones he said nothing, at least nothing that Pigsy or Tang could understand, and bowed before taking his leave.

Pigsy chanced a glance over to the working trio, catching DBK watching them from the corner of his eye. Wukong had a sad smile on his face as he talked while Iron Fan looked... well, he couldn't really tell. She didn't seem annoyed or frustrated, more confused than anything else as she glances up at her husband. DBK gave them a small nod before turning his gaze back to the map.

It was bizarre to him to see them like this. Sun Wukong without his overly enthusiastic smile and laugh or battle roar grimace. Princess Iron Fan without a scowl or a evil smirk of victory and cruelty. The Demon Bull King without his frustration and anger. Now working together for the first time in centuries, possibly ever to his knowledge as he had no idea whether or not Wukong and PIF ever actually did anything together with DBK before he was trapped under that mountain. He... he should have asked the person he once considered to be as close as a brother more about his life before. During the journey they took, before he vanished never to be seen or heard from for 500 years before showing up again just to give the kid he considered his son his mantle.

Maybe... maybe he wouldn't have left if he had.

There was no point dwelling on the past like this, however. Not now. Instead he picked up one of the tea cups and held it in his hands, the warmth not needed in the heat of the cave but still welcome. As welcome as the heat against his shoulder as Tang stayed leaning against him. In time he felt the man move in the same way, holding his own tea cup before taking a sip and sighing.

"You know..." He started slowly, reaching out to take a piece of candied fruit off the stick. The crunch was loud in the quiet of the cave and he spoke with his mouth full. "I have been thinking... Jin and Yin..." He swallowed, frowning. "They shouldn't really be here based on the stories I have learned. The Spider Queen too, I thought for the longest time she died with her sisters, until a few years before meeting her anyway And MK told us about... Macaque." Pigsy frowned deeper at the name, remembering those few days when the Monkie Kid had been run ragged and seemed easy to anger and more eager to please than usual making the tea taste bitter in his mouth. "And he shouldn't be around either. I have my theories, immortality and desires to return to what they were doing before their defeats and all that. But I was wondering..."

Tang paused, sipping his tea before choosing his words carefully.

"Maybe even more of your enemies.... aren't as dead as everyone thought they were?"

~

Yin scowled. That was the most he could do in his current state. Scowl at the door he was trapped behind.

If he tried he could have probably broken it down. But Princess Jade Face hadn't left. She could have, but he doubted it. She could have done a lot, but every time he tried to guess she hadn't.

He was so stupid...

He hadn't tried to talk his brother out of this arrangement, he hadn't stopped him from making her mad enough to use the smoke, he hadn't thought to check to make sure she was gone when they tried their escape plan.

He could have done so much but hadn't.

He wished his brother was there. It didn't feel right to be alone. They'd been together for as long as he could remember, they were twins after all. Sure, they had spent time apart, but never like this. Not like this. And Yin was cold and alone and Jin wasn't anywhere he could reach.

Yin was alone and he hurt everywhere.

It must have been the smoke itself. It wasn't like a truly hurtful pain, he was able to go about whatever he needed to do. It was a dull pain, like his entire body had been grabbed to harshly and squeezed all over. But he could do what he needed to, like eat. Princess Jade Face had even been "nice" enough to even give him food and water. Good food, surprisingly, meat buns that filled him up nice and good and made his stomach stop aching like it was going to devour him from the inside out.

That made him feel guilty. Jin hadn't eaten as long as he had. He hoped that she hadn't deactivated the part of the Calabash that would trick the person in it into thinking they weren't hungry... or maybe he should hope she had. He didn't like the idea of his brother slowly starving to death while he was filled up with good treats. If he hadn't remembered his brother yelling at him not to let good food go to waste all that time ago, before they managed to open their business and find something they were actually good at, the nausea he felt at that would have made his throat burn.

He wondered if she only fed him to keep him quiet.

It was pointless to think about that right now, though. It was pointless to worry about his brother.

He had to think of a plan. One that had more than two steps. One that actually worked for once in his damned life, one that would actually help them and get them somewhere than hurt and cold and alone and sad and in pain. Unlike all their other plans. Like with Sun Wukong. And MK in the Calabash. The race, though that one was fun.

The only other plan that had ever worked out for them was their job selling tech to other demons, but look where that got them now.

Yin winched as he grit his teeth and pain shot through his upper jaw, reaching up to the spot where one of them was now missing. Jade Face had come in to check on him and found him holding it. He had apparently hit himself hard enough on the way down to knock it out the last time she administered the smoke to his face.

It had already been chipped, weakened from another scrap the twins had gotten into with another demon. Yin wondered if his reflection would make him look like the younger twin he was now, with the gap in his smile.

Yin shook his head, curling in on himself and scowling at the door again.

He was so stupid...

But he would think of a way to get his brother back.

[actualbird]

nobody (okay, well, 2 people DID ask, but it’s too late to change the title of this essay series now) asked but here are three main humor techniques i apply a lot in my fanfiction | a 2k word long post where i talk humor theory at you for entirely too long

I love humor. A good 75% of my personality is based primarily on whether or not it would be funny and thus, the study and application of comedy is something of a very big huge large interest of mine. I love watching standup comedy, I love telling jokes, but most of all, I love literature that makes me laugh. 

I write humor, and I put a lot of thought into it, and here, I will do the least funny thing ever: I will over-explain my jokes.

Before we do that, we must set some ground rules first. What is humor? Well, in Humor: Its Origin and Development, Paul McGhee contends that no single theory could encapsulate the entirety of humor. Additionally, according to McGhee, humor does not physically exist. It is, instead, a perception brought about by certain scenarios with certain characteristics. What we can take away from here is that first, humor is vast, and there are many ways to both explain it and achieve it, and second, that humor is something caused by certain other things. 

I do not claim to be an expert in humor, just an enthusiast, so what I will not be giving a cheat code to humorous writing. I will, instead, share three techniques that I frequently use and explain how they work.

The three techniques are the following:

INCONGRUENCY: Things that don’t fit.

SLAPSTICK: I hope that doesn’t happen to me.

CHEKOV’S GAG: If the gun is there, it better be funny.

My examples for each of these techniques will come from various sources of media. My examples of my own writing will all be coming from the most recent fanfic I have written, my Polygon Cyberpunk Red high school au “teenagers scare the living shit out of me.” Examples will sometimes have overlap in the technique they utilize, but I’ll try my best to keep everything clear on what exactly I’m trying to explain.

Without further ado, let’s jump right into it!

INCONGRUENCY: Things that don’t fit.

Göran Nerhardt, in McGhee’s book, states that “Humor is seen as a consequence of the discrepancy between two mental representations, one of which is an expectation and the other is some idea or percept.” Nerhardt’s definition of humor is one that relies on incongruity: wherein there is an element that is not in accordance with the other elements. An incongruous element is one that is not the expectation, and in this subversion of expectation, humor is achieved. 

In simpler terms, a congruent situation would be “A man walks into a bar and orders a beer.” An incongruent situation would “A man walks into a bar. ‘Ow!’ He says.” 

In the first example, everything is as expected, and in the second, the word “bar” has the characteristic of being a homophone, a word with different definitions. The second example takes advantage of the other definition of the word “bar”, that is to say a metal tube object, and thus the reaction of the man. 

Incongruency plays on the unexpected, the out of place, and the odd. This technique in particular I learned from writers like Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett. They use incongruence, they use it A LOT but what I want to talk about is, first, its use as a descriptor. 

“The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.” -Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

“In a distant forest a wolf howled, felt embarrassed when no one joined in, and stopped.” -Terry Pratchett, The Light Fantastic

Description is a fertile ground for humor. You have a thing, there are expectations to how that thing will appear or act, and then you describe it in a way that’s unexpected. I pull this trick off in so many fics, but here is an example from chapter 4 of the high school au.

Mr. Hypo sits at the desk in front of the classroom, staring all three of them down. Vang0, Dasha, and Burger are seated in the stupid circle again, looking at Robbie as it powers up like a man with gout.

Incongruency here is Robbie, the animatronic. Expectation is that it will be described in a robot like manner. Reality is that I describe it having the same condition that occasionally ails my nearly 50 year old father. 

Aside from description, incongruence is also something I play around with in the events of situations themselves. The most clear example I can give is this scene, from chapter 6, is this:

Burger picks up the closest thing.

That thing happens to be Peter.

“Peter!” Burger looks at Peter in the eye as Edmundton picks up a chair and starts menacingly walking towards Burger. He says, very quickly “Do you consent to be used as a self defense projectile!?”

Peter, pigeonly, nods.

“Thank youuuuuuuu!” Burger yells as he throws Peter at Edmundton’s face.

The context of this scene is that Burger has just entered active combat. Combat is serious. Combat is deadly. Combat is hitting and getting hurt. So what’s something unexpected you can do in this situation to make it funny? Have Burger ask a pigeon if it’s alright with being thrown at an enemy, and then make Burger actually throw the pigeon at the enemy. 

Incongruence is something that is present in a lot of humor situations and it’s very, very fun to play around with. Messing around with incongruence makes you think about what is expected in writing and forces you to think outside of the box in a manner that will elicit laughter.

Let’s move on to our next topic now!

SLAPSTICK: I hope that doesn’t happen to me.

Kevin Casper in his article I’m so glad you’re fake! describes slapstick comedy as a physical type of humor wherein actions are done in an excessive, ridiculous, and sometimes violent manner. Slapstick is Mr. Bean exploding a can of paint to paint his apartment. Slapstick is Courage the Cowardly Dog’s eyes popping out of his sockets when he sees something scary. Slapstick is the ending of Polygon’s video on Slapstick and Doom Eternal (a very good video about slapstick and horror violence) where Pat Gill gets hit in the face with a tube of paper. 

The excessiveness of slapstick creates a non-reality for viewers to enjoy in safety. It is a type of humor that revels in the suspension of reality, but more than that, it is a type of humor that you particularly gain enjoyment from because of the fact that it’s not happening to YOU.

Now, I use slapstick comedy sometimes, but I deviate from excessiveness and instead lean more into that last thing I said. I write situations that are funny and that you also don’t want to ever happen to you as a person. One example of “fuck, that’s hilarious, but I hope it never happens to me” is the following scene from Spiderman: Into The Spider Verse, where Miles Morales, invisible, has to find information on Doctor Octavia’s computer. When he accesses the computer, he is met with this.

You don’t want this to happen to you. But damn is it hilarious that it’s happening to somebody else.

When I am creating scenes that I want to be funny, I think about whether or not it would be funnier if I made it excruciating for the characters involved. So excruciating that you really, really, wouldn’t want to be in that situation. An example of this technique in play is from chapter 4 of the high school au, where the gang are in a room they shouldn’t be in, somebody is about to come in and stop them, and they are all at the mercy of a program slowly, slowly uploading.

 “Hey!” The somebody outside says, jangling the doorknob more violently. “Club time is over, nobody should be in this room!”

“Vang0, how long until the program is done?” Dasha hisses.

“43% Uploaded,” Vang0 says, panicked.

“Hurry.”

“I can’t make technology be faster.”

“Who’s in there!” The person outside yells.

“Should I answer?” Burger asks.

“Do not answer.” Dasha says.

Burger nods. “I’m gonna answer.”

“BURGER—”

“WE’RE JUST A COUPLE OF NOT FRIENDS. JUST LOOKING AROUND.”

“Who are you!” The person outside yells.

“Do not answer, Burger,” Dasha says, sounding like this conversation is actively shaving years off of her lifespan.

“But he’s asking,” Burger looks at Dasha then at the door then at Dasha again, looking very nervous.

“Just lie then,” Dasha tells Burger.

“Gotcha,” Burger nods, determined, and turns to the door to yell. “I’M NOT BURGER CHAINZ.”

“Oh my god,” Dasha thunks her head onto Vang0’s shoulder. “Is it done loading, yet?”

“98% Uploaded,” Vang0 says, feeling his blood pressure in a way he’s never felt before.

I make this situation worse for the characters by making Burger completely fail at being stealthy. As one reader told me about this chapter “I love Burger, but if I were in that room, I would strangle him.” Exactly! It’s not a situation you’d ever want to be in! 

But the characters are in it and you get to enjoy their suffering from a safe vantage point as a reader. 

Slapstick comedy is all about making situations outrageous and ridiculous and something readers wouldn’t want to legitimately experience. It’s about tapping into your audience’s mind and wondering what they want to see but not want to go through.

And last but not least!

CHEKOV’S GAG: If the gun is there, it better be funny

The principle of Chekov’s Gun is a principle that emphasizes that objects in a story should have a use. According to Bill in Chekhov: The Silent Voice of Freedom, Chekov says “If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there.” 

Chekov’s Gag is that same rule, but instead of the gun going off, the gun better be fucking hilarious at some point. 

The first example I can think of is from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. In the beginning of the movie, King Arthur stops by a castle and asks the guards to tell their master that he is here. This exchange happens:

Now, this, on its own, is already hilarious. It plays on incongruence (guards being very enthusiastic about bird’s holding coconuts and the logistics of that), slapstick (if you were Arthur and you wanted to have a simple conversation, people suddenly talking about birds and ignoring you is not a situation you want to be in), but what about Chekov’s Gag?

To become Chekov’s Gag, this situation must be brought up again in a funny manner later in the movie.

And so it does.

An hour later in the movie, The Knights of Camelot are at the Bridge of Death. There, they have to answer 3 questions correctly. If they do not have an answer, they are shot into a deadly cavern of doom.

King Arthur steps up to answer his 3 questions. Here is what happens:

The African swallow or the European swallow has achieved Chekov’s Gag-age.

Chekov’s Gag is something I’ve only started doing recently, in fanfiction. An example of this in the high school au is that, in the first chapter, I introduce two things. 1) Peter, an overfed pigeon, and 2) Robbie the RoboDog, an animatronic of the school.

Throughout the fic, I don’t forget about Peter or Robbie. I bring them up again and again and I make sure to make their presence not just integral to the winning of the final boss battle in chapter 6, but I make their presence funny.

Chekov’s Gag is a new trick I’ve started doing, and it definitely requires foresight and planning. It makes you think long term but at the same time forces you to think about the things you already have present in your story and make you re-evaluate just how else they could be used. If done correctly, the effect is hilarity, but also deep, deep satisfaction.

So there we have it! Three humor techniques that I use in my fanfiction. Shit that doesn’t make sense, shit you don’t want happening to you, and shit that you saw a while ago which you’ll see again later and when you do, it’ll be awesome.

Thanks for reading! 

[terreisa]

Love Down the Line: Chapter 5

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch.  When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept.  Unfortunately she isn't really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma's teenage fantasies, Killian Jones.  With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn't come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, AO3

~*CS*~

Cincinnati, May 12th

“Emma, sweetheart, how’s the tour?  Are the fans nice?  Have you been able to go sightseeing anywhere?”

“Are you getting enough sleep?  You didn’t on the last one and you were basically a zombie when you got back.  Did you pack that melatonin I dropped off?  What about your meals?  You’ve been eating something green everyday right?”

Emma rolled her eyes at Mary Margaret and David’s unending questions.  While they’d never formally adopted her they were as close to having parents as she was ever going to get.  She absolutely loved them but sometimes they drove her nuts with their worrying.

“The tour is going pretty good and the fans are great as always.  No sightseeing since this is the first day of rest we’ve gotten so far and I don’t really feel like leaving the room.  I packed the melatonin and I’m getting as much sleep as I can and I’ve eaten green things.  Sour apple rings count right?”  She stifled a laugh at David’s spluttering and Mary Margaret’s attempts to calm him. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.  Tink’s been on a health kick lately and has been making us drink these smoothie things with more vegetable juices and leafy greens than frozen fruit and Killian refuses to eat fast food so we’ve been stopping at actual restaurants or he’ll cook for us on the bus.”

At the mention of his name Killian popped his head through the doorway that connected their rooms.  One of the greatest perks of having him on the tour was no longer having to share one room with both Ruby and Tink while Will got an entire room to himself.  Of course Will hadn’t been as enthused about having to share for once.

“Need something, Swan?”

“Oh, that’s very thoughtful of him.  You have been trying to be friendly with him, haven’t you?  I know you were hesitant at first but Ruby has nothing but nice things to say about him and he’s been through some tough times.”

“What’s he been cooking?  And what kinds of restaurants?  Some of those places can be just as bad as fast food and he might not know it.”

Emma was extremely glad that it was only Mary Margaret and David that were on speaker.  Though she wouldn’t have put it past Killian to have heard everything they said with the way they were just shy of yelling into their phone to make sure she heard them.  As it was he could probably tell they were talking about him from the heat she could feel in her cheeks and ears.  She waved him off from her spot on the bed, turning slightly so he could see the phone she was holding.  His eyebrows shot up before silently apologizing and ducking back into his room.

“You guys really need to chill out.  Everything’s going great, Mary Margaret, and it’s early enough that we’re still getting along.  And please stop analyzing what I’ve been eating, David, you’re a sheriff not a nutritionist.”

They both hemmed and hawed but it had been that way since she’d started going further than fifty miles outside of Storybrooke to play her music.  At first it had been annoying and unwelcome until she’d realized that that’s what people did when they cared about someone.  The Nolans were second to none when it came to worrying and being overprotective out of love.

“Then, as a sheriff, is he being respectful?  And I don’t just mean with you and Tink.  He’s not trashing hotel rooms or causing disturbances in the cities you’ve been playing at has he?  I’ve read about some of the trouble he’s gotten into-”

“David, you didn’t!”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Online, stuff online!” David corrected impatiently. “I’m not going to illegally pull a file on someone, no matter how much I want to.”

“So you’d rather rely on gossip sites?” Emma hissed lowly, not wanting Killian to overhear any part of her conversation at the moment. “I thought we’d agreed to not look at those after that one article made you both join Twitter just to berate the author and the site.”

“Hey, now, I got rid of it after that,” Mary Margaret said defensively, “I’m only on Instagram now.”

“I only promised to not look at stuff about you,” David grumbled. “A man with a very public history of causing trouble joins the band on only the good word of one person?  I have the right to be concerned.”

She bit back her sigh of frustration.  As much as she didn’t like David’s attitude she couldn’t help but understand, seeing as she’d felt almost exactly the same way in the beginning.

“Yeah, you do, but I’m not too worried about it and you shouldn’t be either.  You should be more worried about what Ruby’s going to do to you when I tell her you don’t trust her.”

Their twin gasps had her grinning.

“That’s cold, kiddo,” David grumbled.

“Just like your lasagne will be once word gets to Granny,” she said, snickering. “Look, everything’s going great and will keep going great unless you keep sending bad vibes my way.”

“Bad vibes?” Mary Margaret asked with a smile Emma could hear in her voice.

“Yup, the baddest of vibes, ones where I end up with laryngitis or the bus gets a flat in the middle of nowhere or my guitarist breaks their hand and can’t go on tour.  Oh wait, that’s already happened.”

Killian took up space in the doorway once again, his eyebrows high on his forehead.  She shook her head at his unasked question but didn’t shoo him away again. 

“According to Ruby it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her and that it could be the best thing to happen to you.  She has been very forthcoming about what Killian going on tour with you might end up becoming,” Mary Margaret said smugly.

“Wait, what do you mean?”  David asked confused as Emma scrambled to end that conversation before it started.

“Would you look at the time?  I gotta go!”

“Emma, sweetheart-”

“I’ll call you guys in a few days.  Love ya, bye!” With a huff she ended the call and dropped her phone onto the mattress, knowing she’d only postponed the inevitable gossip session Mary Margaret wanted to have with her.  She looked at Killian, who was still lurking in the doorway, “Yeah?”

“Not to be nosey-”

“But you’re going to be anyway,” she groaned, “You heard your name and you’re curious.”

He chuckled and strode into her room, settling himself on Tink’s bed, leaning back against the headboard, “You would be too.  Especially when you have a tenuous hold on a gig and the person who decides your fate has mentioned your name and then not long after is discussing ‘bad vibes’.”

“You think too highly of yourself,” she said dismissively. “I was talking to Mary Margaret and David about how terrible your cooking is and that it’s been giving my stomach bad vibes.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Swan,” he said with a shake of his head, “If I recall correctly you had three servings of last night’s fare.”

She rolled her eyes, “Just replenishing the reserves I used up during the show, Jones.  The stir fry wasn’t that special.”

“I see,” he said seriously, rubbing his hand thoughtfully over his chin, “I guess I’ll strike it from future meal options, wouldn’t want you to have to force yourself to eat it before complaining about it to others.”

“That’s not-” she huffed, knowing he’d called her bluff, “Whatever, you know it was great.  That’s what I was telling them.  David was all upset that I might not be eating what he considers a balanced diet.”

He chuckled, “And the bad vibes?”

“They worry too much and I basically told them they’d be jinxing me if they kept it up.  I don’t think Mary Margaret believed me and I know neither of them will relax until the tour’s over,” she sighed, flopping back onto the mattress and staring at the ceiling.

“Is this the same David that inspired you to learn guitar?” Killian asked casually but she could hear the hesitant caution in his tone.

“Yeah, him and Mary Margaret, his wife, kinda latched on and never let go, not even when-” she paused, still unwilling to share her whole messed up story with him, “things got really rough for me.  They’re pretty much my parents in every way without actually being my parents, including getting all up in my business and then nagging me about what they find.  You know how it is.”

“I wouldn’t, actually,” Killian said softly.  She sat up on her elbows and he gave her a self-deprecating shrug, “Mum died when I was eight and my father left when I was ten.  Spent a few years living with a distant cousin until things got straightened out.”

She blinked at him in shock.  Not once, in any interview or magazine profile had that part of his childhood been discussed.  They had only ever mentioned where he’d gone to school before he’d dropped out when the Realm of Jewels started getting big.  At the time, when she’d been devouring every piece of media she could when it came to her favorite band, she hadn’t paid attention to that lack of detail.  It hadn’t mattered then and while it still made no difference to her it did go a long way in explaining why she felt like she had known him for years instead of weeks.

“You, uh, got adopted then?” She asked hesitantly as she sat up, needing to know if he’d had the same heartaches as her or if he’d been one of the lucky ones.

“Er, not as such, no-” he looked up at the ceiling, his Adam's apple bobbing as his hand rubbed at the back of his neck, “First my brother was granted civil rights for adolescents, essentially cleaving himself out from under the burden of our father.  Once he proved he could support not only himself but me as well he became my legal guardian.  He had just had his seventeenth birthday the week before.”

“Seventeen?” she breathed, “And you were fourteen.”

His head snapped back down, his eyes wide and his voice a little unsteady, “You really must have been quite the fan if you still remember that bit of trivia.”

“Maybe I was,” she said softly.  She dropped her gaze to where her hands were balled up into tight fists in her lap, “Must have been nice.  Living with someone that actually wanted you.”

“It was but then there were times where it wasn’t,” he gave a deep sigh and when she looked up he was staring down at his own hands as they played with denim over his knees. “Liam had been my hero my entire life just being my older brother.  When he became my guardian I felt as though I had to push myself into perfection to live up to what I thought he expected of me.  I’d already started drinking by that point but it didn’t truly become a problem until I was sixteen.

“I knew Liam was disappointed but he had no idea how to help me and I’m not even sure I would have accepted it had he offered.  Instead he proposed a compromise of allowing me to play with his newly formed band if I curtailed my drinking substantially.  It worked, for a while at least.  I’d been playing for quite some time on my own but with the camaraderie of the band and the discovery of actually enjoying writing songs I found an outlet for all the feelings that I’d been trying to drown with the drink.  For the first time since Liam had assumed my guardianship I felt as though he was my brother again, not just my beleaguered caretaker.”

Emma wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.  She didn’t want to inadvertently come across as judgmental by commenting about his drinking but she would have given anything for some relative to have saved her from any one of her foster homes and done whatever they’d ask in gratitude.  Though, when she thought about it, Mary Margaret and David were practically the next best thing and she’d given them plenty of teenage attitude at the time.  Especially when it came to the year she would give anything to forget.

“Did he throw a fit when you decided to quit school for the band?” She asked, hoping to steer the both of them into less painful and mine filled waters.

He looked up with a small grin, “It was his bloody idea.  Liam didn’t want to leave me to my own destructive devices and since the band had been steadily building momentum he was loath to relegate shows to only weekends and holidays while I was in my final year.  He put it up to a vote with the others and they agreed.  And since I didn’t have a licence yet and therefore couldn’t do my share of the driving I spent my time on the road reading anything and everything I could get my hands on.  I’m fairly certain I got a better education that way than I would have otherwise.”

“So is that why you guys were the Jolly Rogers first?  A bunch of pirates driving all over England to pillage seedy pubs for fame and fortune?”

“Something like that,” he chuckled, his grin widening.

She grinned back, feeling somewhat proud that she’d been able to somewhat keep herself from completely depressing him with her curiosity.  As much as she’d obsessed over him when she was younger she was surprised by how much she actually didn’t know about him, even though she’d just berated David for taking gossip as truth.  There was a part of her that itched to know more about him, the real person and not the persona she and millions of fans thought they knew.  Their little chats on the bus and in the small bits of down time just weren’t enough and suddenly she had an idea on how to fix that.

“Alright, where to Jones?”

“Er, what?” He asked, his confusion at her non sequitur furrowing his brow.

“I’ve never been to this city before and I know you have so you are now my de facto pirate tour guide.”

“Swan,” he sighed, though his smile was growing by the second, “I’ve only been here twice and both times I only had a few hours to explore, which back then was usually as many bars as I could get to before sound check.  I’m probably the last person that should be leading you around this fair metropolis.”

“Too bad-” she jumped up off the bed and began looking for the shoes she’d kicked off as soon as they’d walked through the door earlier that morning, “Google ‘things to do in Cincinnati’ and pretend that you know what you’re talking about.  Then I’ll pretend to be impressed like every other time you think you’re being all too cool for school and worldly.”

“Too cool for school?” Killian repeated incredulously. “What are you, twelve?”

“Twenty-eight,” she said absently, grinning triumphantly as she extricated one shoe from under the desk and spotted the toe of the other poking out from under the bed Killian was sitting on.

“Twenty-eight and apparently have no idea how to stroke a man’s ego so he’ll want to do ridiculous favors for you,” he muttered.

She looked up at him sharply and got an eyebrow wiggle in return.  With a huff she sat back on her bed to slip on her shoe, “I don’t need to stroke a man’s anything to get him to do stuff for me.”

“Oh, really?” He asked incredulously. “And what pray tell do you do?”

Gladly rising to the challenge she straightened from her bent position she subtly arched her back and blinked owlishly at him, nearly grinning in triumph at the way his mouth parted slightly and he sucked in a breath.  She did let a small smile grace her lips as she pointed to the shoe under the bed.

“Can you grab that for me first?”

He nodded, a little slack-jawed, and as soon as he bent over the side of the bed she relaxed her posture.  When he came up with the shoe she was waiting with her hand out, her brow raised and a shit-eating grin all in place.  At his look of indignation she kind of wished she’d had her phone ready to get a picture of it.

“That’s- that’s bloody manipulation, that is!” He spluttered, slapping her shoe into her palm.

“Ooo, someone’s got their panties in a twist.  All I did was ask you to get me my shoe,” she said innocently, putting the shoe on. “Come on Tour Guide, show me the good stuff.”

“Unbelievable,” he growled, but he was shaking his head and smiling.  He stood and moved back to his own room, shouting through the open door, “I expect you to pay for whatever unique culinary delight we’ll inevitably be trying.  Fool me once, Swan.”

“Shame on you,” she cheerfully called back.

Making sure she had her phone and room key she shot off a text to everyone who needed to know where they were going.  It was a request from Regina that she had chafed at and ignored at first, until she began being recognized in the streets and the paparazzi had started following her around.  After one incident that had had her holed up in the backroom of a used bookstore with a dead phone, no one’s number memorized and a show that had been only a couple of hours away Regina had put it in her tour contract that she had to be in contact at all times.  She still chafed at practically being under her manager’s watchful eye like a toddler but she and Regina both agreed that it was better than being saddled with a handler instead.  At her insistence Ruby, Tink and Will were also in the group text so Regina wouldn’t try to hound them about her whereabouts thinking they could be hiding her.

Her phone chimed as she debated whether or not to put on a sweatshirt or her leather jacket.

Rub a dub: you know you could leave me out of this now right?

and ease up on the guilt trip I’m taking you on?  no way! She responded, deciding on the sweatshirt and tying it around her waist.

Rub a dub: jokes on you, girly, i’ve got a front row seat

to what? She sent, suspicious and wary about what Ruby could mean.

Rub a dub: if you’re asking you’re not ready to know yet.

Emma glared at her phone for a moment before sending multiple texts demanding Ruby to explain herself that all went unanswered.  She growled in frustration and turned to glare at Killian who was once more leaning on the door jamb, chuckling.

“Ruby’s being an ass,” she gave as an explanation, shoving her phone in her back pocket.  Then she got a good look at what Killian was wearing, “Is that a Reds hat?  I thought you didn’t know the city that well.  Why do you have a hat for their team?”

“Oh, you’re a big baseball fan then?” He asked, clearly surprised.

“David is, I’m more of a fan of the way the pants fit.  Plus the Reds had that jersey with no sleeves last year.  Arms like those tend to stick out in a girl’s memory,” she said dreamily, remembering just how well the players wore those particular jerseys.  Then she mentally shook herself and nodded at the hat, “You didn’t answer my question.”

His lips quirked in amusement, lightly touching the hat’s bill and then the sunglasses that she hadn’t noticed hanging from his shirt collar, “I’ve found that it’s the easiest way to blend into the crowd.  When we were at the height of… everything it was hard to even step out of the hotel without getting mobbed.  Liam discovered, quite by accident mind you, that people didn’t expect to see us dressing ourselves down and to be fans of the local sports teams.  Unfortunately it means I have a wide array of ball caps that one would consider quite a collection if they weren’t solely for a practical use.  If I had a choice I would have donned the hat from Pittsburgh but I’m not quite sure what rivalries are predominant in this city and I’d prefer not to be verbally insulted over the wrong choice.”

Emma gave a surprised laugh.  Just minutes before they’d been having a somber conversation that could have dragged the rest of the day down.  Instead they were joking around about baseball and overzealous fans.

“Should I put on some super elaborate disguise too?” She looked up at him with a teasing grin. “I could get a wig or maybe some of those glasses with the fake nose and mustache attached.”

Killian snorted, “As entertaining as that would be I think you’ll be fine, love, as long as you don’t wear the red leather.”

Feeling offended for half a second she begrudgingly agreed with him.  Her red leather jacket was her signature look, she’d worn it for all three of her album covers and went out on stage wearing it for the first half of the show.  It was as much a look as it was a kind of armor, one she’d been wearing for much longer than she’d been famous for it.  Having Killian tell her not to wear it, no matter how practical the advice was or that she’d already decided on a sweatshirt, had her suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Do you… um, do you have a hat I could borrow?”

He looked at her for a moment before nodding and moving back into his room.  She followed, shoving her hands in her pockets to keep from hugging her middle to keep herself steady.

As much as the room was identical to hers and Tink’s, the boys’ room looked like a tornado had run through half of it.  There were clothes strewn across the far, unmade bed, a rifled through duffle bag under the window, and a tray of mostly-eaten room service food on the desk.  In sharp contrast the closer bed was tidily made, a small orderly stack of books and notebooks on the bedside table closest to it.  Killian was sorting through one of the drawers of the bureau near the foot of it.

“We’re staying for one night and you put your stuff in the drawers?” She asked incredulously, moving closer to his nightstand to see what books he was reading.

“If it makes any difference-” she looked over at him and saw that he had the bill of a red hat clenched tightly in his hand as his gaze darted between the nightstand and her, “I only unpacked enough for the two days we’re here.  Er, looking for something, Swan?” 

“Just wanted to see what you were reading,” she said cautiously.  Feeling that she’d accidentally hit on yet another touchy subject she stepped back and waved her hand towards the bureau, “But that’s not important, you really took the time to unpack stuff for only two damn days?  Do you also set all your stuff out on the bathroom counter with a ruler to make sure it’s all lined up perfectly?”

“Do you want to stand here nit picking my travel habits or do you want to go explore the city?” Killian asked pointedly, stepping forward and holding the hat out to her though she could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Fine, let’s go-” she grinned, grabbing the hat.  Catching sight of the logo on the front she held it up with a sigh, “Really?  Red Sox?  Is it because I’m from Maine?”

“Would you rather wear the Yankees cap?” He challenged.

She shuddered, adjusting the snaps so it’d fit, “Never.  David would kill me if I was photographed in it and I’d never be allowed to step foot in Storybrooke again.”

“Do you have a preference then?” He looked back at the drawer, “As I said I have quite the array.”

“This is fine,” she said, trying to sound like it was a burden when she really didn’t care.  Grinning she put on the hat, pulling her ponytail through the opening in the back.  When she looked at Killian for approval he was watching her with a half grin on his face, “What?  Did I somehow put it on wrong?”

“Nothing of the sort, Swan,” he said softly.  Then his grin widened “Shall we?”

“Lead the way, pirate guide.”

What followed was a day unlike any Emma had ever had on a tour before.  They roamed the streets of the city with Killian making up facts about the various things they saw and their history as she egged him on, resulting in ridiculous stories that had her laughing until she was crying.  To her delight they ended their excursion sitting in the upper tier at a Reds game, thoroughly enjoying themselves as just two faces in the crowd.  Though, when it came time for the kiss cam she found she was surprisingly disappointed that the camera hadn’t been trained on them.  It wasn’t until they’d returned to the hotel and spent an hour moving back and forth between each other’s rooms before parting ways for the night that she figured out what Ruby had meant about having a front row seat.

[imnotcameraready]

don’t tread on me

A/N: wow, i’m updating ANOTHER story? that’s not chivalry? amazing!!! 

anyway, this has been a very, very long time coming! i’m procrastinating on packing, but i’m super excited that you guys finally get to meet janus and remus in this au! they’re a real pair! 

WARNINGS: death/murder mention, alcohol mention, blackmailing, swearing/cursing, panicking, Logan Is A Serial Killer, blood mention (in a more medical sense) — if i forgot any, please let me know! 

Pairings: Logince, Demus/Dukeceit | mentions of: Moxiety, past Analogical 

Words: 3366

AO3 link!

masterpost to the serial killer logan au!

here we go! (fitting that the next side to get his own actual readmore cut off photo is logan, i love the nerd)

This couldn’t be real. 

Logan’s hands nursed the mug in front of him, watching the steam roll off in plentitudes. He had the offending letter in his breast pocket, inside his coat, and he could feel the sleekly folded pages press against his chest when he inhaled. 

It was a curious situation he’d found himself in. The first person to catch on to what he’s been doing wasn’t his boyfriend, wasn’t his ex-boyfriend detective, wasn’t even his ex-boyfriend detective’s new semi-boyfriend partner. And he could tell because, instead of being taken out in handcuffs, Logan had just received a personalized letter to his place of work with details about the latest killing, the statement that the sender knew that Logan was the culprit, and a meeting time and location. The letter was typewritten and then scanned again, to make it nigh impossible to find fingerprints or individualities in the writing, but he could definitely read it. Signed off by someone who called themselves “Deceit.”

And they were blackmailing him.

Logan took a sip of his coffee. No one he knew personally had the lack of morality to blackmail. Heck, even he didn’t, and he was a murderer. Talk about rudeness.

At least the meeting was to be quick. He checked his watch again — he’d arrived about half an hour before his meeting with the blackmailer for another meeting, with some journalist interviewing him about a research award. Roman’s brother was moving into town, was throwing a house warming party that they’d been invited to, and Logan didn’t want to miss getting to finally meet Roman’s only other living relative.

He always had quite the weirdest of stories to tell about this brother, Remus, and Roman seemed so ecstatic about him moving closer that Logan didn’t want to let him down. They had been going fairly steady for the past year and a half, with Roman somehow still unaware that Logan had committed ten murders. 

It would do well to continue laying low, after the most recent murder. Logan was a little sloppier, in a rush, trying to dispose of the body in a manner almost too crass for him. That was about four weeks ago. Of course, in Logan’s mind it was a messy endeavour, but even that would be too detailed for Virgil or Patton to trace. He was safe from them. 

Perhaps Roman would question the blood on his shirt, but he could always write it off with a story of how things broke in the lab. Those are some of Roman’s favorite stories. He was so interested in Logan’s work that it was easy enough to distract him from Logan’s other extracurriculars.

“Excuse me,” he overhears someone talking to the barista, while he sips his coffee, “Have you seen Doctor Logan Webster?”

“Janus Daniels?” he calls out to the man at the register.

They spin around, and grin upon locking eyes with Logan. This must be the journalist, then. They slink forward, a thick mustard scarf wrapped around their shoulders and atop their black trenchcoat. They’re wearing a bowler hat, too, which may fit with the weather, though not with the decade. 

Logan also notices the skin discoloration around this person’s left eye. Vitiligo, by the looks of it, all along the left side of their face. It’s juxtaposed by their dark hair and punctuated by the difference in color between their two eyes, one amber and one near white.

They offer out a yellow-gloved hand, which Logan takes, both shaking firmly and heartily. When they pull their hand back, they’re smiling. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Dr. Webster,” they say, taking out a recorder from their jacket, “Hope the coffee’s not too cold.”

“It hasn’t been very long. And I’ve been examining notes, grading papers,” Logan tries to dissuade the journalist’s concerns, smiling back himself, maintaining a perfect, unreadable composure. He shouldn’t let his two worlds bleed into each other, after all.

Janus smiles back, and taps a pen into their notebook. They flip to another page, glance over something written, and then nod to the recorder. “May I record this interview?” they ask. 

Logan waves his hand. Standard procedure for a dual-consent state. “Yes.”

They press a button on the little box, and ask again. “Once more, on recording, may I record this interview?”

“Yes.”

It goes fairly quick after that. Logan had recently been part of a team of eight researchers, sending information back and forth regarding the clotting abilities of platelets. The end result had included information on how to use certain enzymes to signal to the platelets to clot over certain wounds. If these enzymes could be delivered outside of the bloodstream, then it may lead to a faster and cheaper way to produce certain medical products, even close wounds that would bleed out into fatalities. This would also have a higher success rate, considering the process relied heavily on the natural healing process. 

The interview lasts roughly forty minutes. It’s a perfect length, too, since Logan has to run from this immediately to wherever the blackmailer says to meet him. In the letter, he’d been told to await further instructions, but this journalist couldn’t have met him another time in the day. Of course, he could have turned Janus away, but there was no one else on the team that they’d gotten the chance to speak to. Ignoring them would have been setting them up for failure.

“Blood clotting,” Janus murmurs, “Can you think of any other practical applications to that?”

Logan shrugs. It’s a mundane question, too trivial for someone who had so narrowly missed a Nobel prize, but almost too large for an article meant for the general public. He knew the drill; he’d spoken to many reporters before. “Oh, if something like this were to be commercialized, then military-grade medical supplies could begin entering the consumer market. That would drastically change the household medical landscape as we know it.”

He checks his watch again, and sighs. If he leaves now, he might be able to make it back to his office to await further instructions. Janus must notice his discomfort, because they sign off on the recording, and then stow the device away.

Logan gives them a grateful look while he packs his notes back into his bag. “This has been a lovely interview, but I have a prior engagement for 2 p.m.,” he tries to explain.

Janus just watches him with a wry smile. They shrug, taking a sip of their coffee silently.

That’s when Logan’s blood begins to, no pun intended, run cold. What kind of expression is that?

“I don’t think you have to go anywhere, Doctor,” Janus’s voice is light as they take out a piece of paper from their other pocket, “We can have our little meeting here.”

They open the paper up before Logan, only to show the same letter he’d gotten in the mail days ago, only the original form. 

Logan scans it for a few seconds before slumping back into the chair. He’d been had. 

“....So. Janus. How did you figure it out?” he’s moved beyond these theatrics. So Janus, Deceit, had set up this whole interview. Was the article even real? Logan had indeed vetted the reporter, was sure that they were a journalist. That’s all any of their social medias focused on, anyway.

Janus shrugs, still smiling a little. “I can’t speak for all of my sources, but once I got the details, it wasn’t too hard,” they say, “Roman’s far too dramatic to be committing such a quiet act and the similarities are far too uncanny to be him. But someone with access to the equipment necessary to drain a body of blood, someone with experience in the field, well….”

This was infuriating. Logan hadn’t even assessed Janus thoroughly during the interview. They were just so unassuming. 

Was that how this a success? Logan had simply underestimated them? What else was he possibly overlooking, then. 

What was the purpose of all of this, too? Logan hadn’t done anything to Janus, not to his knowledge. Maybe they had a relation to one of Logan’s victims? That would be an incredible oversight on his part. But that still wouldn’t explain why they were resorting to blackmail above letting the authorities know.

“Don’t worry too hard. I’m certain your ex hasn’t figured out heads nor tails of the case yet,” Janus leans back and sets their gloved hands on the table, “And I don’t intend on letting him know. Virgil’s not stupid but he doesn’t have the evidence that I do.”

“How do you know about Virgil?” Logan’s mouth runs dry.

No one knew about Virgil. It had been so long since they’d broken up—that was all old news. 

But Janus just laughs, a soft, tinkling sound. “He’s the head detective on the case, anyone in the police department could have told you,” they wave their hand, as though this were a simple matter, something not worth scrutinizing. 

They don’t seem to think that them knowing Virgil is Logan’s ex is weird. That’s not on Logan’s social media, nor is it on Virgil’s, as few as he has. How the fuck did Janus figure that out?

For the first time in a long while, Logan has no idea what to do. His chest was clutching his heart so tight that it was difficult to breathe. 

There were so many questions. And Janus’s gaze, once amicable, now seemed to look deeper into Logan than any of his microscopes at his lab. What did Janus know? How much did he know? The letter was so vague, just a time and place and knowledge that Logan was the killer. This probably wasn’t even a confrontation, they probably just wanted to confirm that Logan was afraid, and he’d walked right into their trap. 

How stupid! He needed to be much more careful if individuals like this Deceit were figuring out who he was and what he was doing.

But time to cut to the chase. “Well, you know the facts. When are you planning to tell him?” Logan asks, prepared for the worst.

At that notion, though, Janus’s face scrunches up. “Me? Tell Virgil? God, no, you misunderstand,” Janus waves their hand, “Let me explain myself. I have a personal stake in your activities, Logan, and I simply wanted some reassurance that I and those around me will stay safe.”

That was. Very.

Once again, Logan was thrown for another loop. What the hell? Janus just wanted protection? “I assure you, I won’t target you or anyone you present to me,” Logan says, fighting to keep the anger out of his voice, “That’s an incredibly petty reason to be going to these lengths, though. If you know this much about me, as much as you’ve been alluding to, then you would know that I likely wouldn’t target you in the first place.”

Janus shrugs once again and that blank smile. This was a thick mystery. 

Logan leans forward, to ask another question, when someone’s loud voice entering the cafe makes him jump. Agh, he’s getting so paranoid now. He had to take a step back. 

“AYO!” the person shouts, “SNAKEY!”

And then the person bodyslams Janus. Logan jumps back in surprise, but Janus laughs warmly, reaching up and hugging the newcomer with one arm. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” they purr.

“What’s up, babe dot net,” the newcomer kisses Janus’s temple before pulling a chair from the empty table beside them and sitting right between Janus and Logan.

And then he looks at Logan, finally. He had shaggy brown hair with a few grey streaks through the front. His eyes were a glittering green, just like Roman. In fact, the person’s entire demeanor seemed uncannily like Roman’s, despite how he was clothed in a patched leather jacket and a green fishnet shirt. He also had a nose piercing, a lip piercing, an eyebrow piercing, and, from what Logan could see, six earrings. There was a curled mustache across his face, too, which added to Logan’s assessment that this man was, well. What was the best word. Weird?

He holds out a hand to Logan, grinning ear to ear. “Heya, Specs. You must be the Doc’. How’s the blood?”

Oh my God. Logan blinks, biting his tongue for a second as he takes the person’s hand and shakes. “Yes. My name is Logan. Nice to meet you.”

“Remus! A pleasure,” Remus sticks his tongue out and winks as they shake hands, “So you’re my lil’ brother’s bitch, eh?”

Holy fuck. There was absolutely no way. This wasn’t on any of Janus’s social medias, either. Logan had done as much of a background check as he could on the reporter, there weren’t—there wasn’t any indication—Roman hadn’t mentioned that his brother had a partner—

The cogs in Logan’s head were stopping. This was a ridiculous series of events, there was no way that this was happening. “Remus...Del Sol?” Logan asks. 

Remus giggles. Janus reaches an arm around his waist, pulling him closer to them, and Remus abides by snuggling his face into Janus’s neck and literally licking him. 

“Remus is my partner,” Janus says, and Logan can see, is absolutely infuriated by the level of shit-eating that Janus’s grin holds, “He was too excited to meet you, so he wanted to drop in on our interview.”

Oh my god, they had interviewed earlier. Yes. That was correct. Logan nods, though he can’t find his voice to say anything. Interview. Remus doesn’t know, then?

It seems that Remus doesn’t mind or doesn’t notice, which is good, at least. “I was just so excited to get to know my baby brother’s boytoy, you know? Though you’re definitely the braincell he’s missing, sheesh!” Remus cackles, and Janus chuckles warmly along with the joke, “You’re coming to tonight’s party, right? I’m buyin’ extra tequila for the drama queen.”

Logan nods. And that’s enough for Remus, it seems, because he laughs heartily and slaps Logan’s shoulder. 

But Logan still can’t get over the fact that his boyfriend’s twin brother’s partner is blackmailing him. I’m sorry, he really can’t. 

“Remus, darling, I’m going to leave you here for a second so I can take this,” Janus stares at their wrist, seemingly infatuated with their Apple watch. 

Remus patted Janus’ ass as they stand up and step out of the cafe. And then it’s just Remus and Logan. 

That’s more acceptable. Janus is such a wildcard, Logan doesn’t know what to do. Is he worried that Logan would kill Remus? What for? 

“So,” Logan blinks, focusing back on Remus, who watches him with a much harsher look, “You’re Logan.”

“....Yes,” is all he can say. There’s only so much Logan can take in a day.

“You think you’re good enough for my little baby prince.”

Ah. Was he getting the big brother talk? He thought they were twins. “Aren’t you and Roman the same age?” he asks. 

Remus leans forward, placing both of his hands on the table, squinting at Logan’s face. Up close, Logan can definitely smell the sweat wafting off of Remus. Good lord, did he bathe? His mustache was held up by some sort of grease, so it was clear that the man kept his appearance in check. His face, too, up close, was populated by a multitude of small scars. Remus points up at Logan with one finger, only a few inches from his actual face. 

“You hurt my little brother and I’ll have to kill you,” he says. 

Now that was laughable. Remus didn’t seem to be joking, considering how rigid his facial expression was, but Logan couldn’t really think about the possibility of someone killing him. He wasn’t worth killing, in any case. Up front, he was doing good by the world, researching ways to make life easier for those who needed it. And behind the scenes, he was keeping the city ever more clear of those who would break the safety of others. It wasn’t like he murdered just anyone, you know. 

Remus didn’t seem to be targeting him, too, over the whole murderer thing. He squints more at Logan—likely awaiting a response.

“I don’t intend on hurting him,” Logan keeps his voice as level as possible, “In fact, I love your brother very much. This past year and a half has been the best in my life.”

Remus squints even more. There’s no way that wasn’t an acceptable answer, though. Maybe he’s off-put by the rigidity that Logan himself is holding his person. He’s a little shaken still, but he manages a smile. 

At that, Remus raises an eyebrow, but he slowly sinks back down into his chair, slouching his back and throwing one arm over Janus’ vacant seat. He drums one hand’s fingers against the table, slow, in some sort of thought. 

“It better be. My brother’s a catch. The best boyfriend life coulda thrown at you,” he declares, and then he slaps his hand on the table, “I guess I’ll see how good of a boyfriend you are tonight then.”

Logan chuckles. “If you would like to gauge my abilities as a partner, then tonight is likely the best time,” he says. 

Going home will be nice. Roman has likely picked out an outfit already, maybe had moved on to an acceptable make up routine. 

“We’re gonna have to get you a keg stand, Doc Oc,” Remus snickers, hiding his mouth behind his hand. 

Logan doesn’t necessarily drink that much. He definitely doesn’t drink beer. A keg stand sounds quite out of the ordinary, too, for a house party. “Oh?”

“I gotta see how well you can suck!” Remus lets out a laugh, harsh and biting, and Logan deflates just a little.

Ah. Roman had warned that Remus was a little more outlandish. Perhaps this was simply an exposé. Good to be shocked now than in front of an audience, he supposed. 

Logan was saved from having to respond by Janus, who returned quickly. Remus lifts his arm for Janus to sit, but instead, Janus grabs him by the shoulder and tugs him up. 

“Logan,” they say, and Logan’s taken aback by how serious their tone is, in contrast to how controlled they sounded earlier. You know, during the blackmail.

“Yes?”

“You haven’t seen the university’s campus yet today, right?” 

What an odd question. Logan shakes his head; no reason to lie about something so easily provable. “No. Roman and I were together all day before I arrived here for our appointment,” buying housewarming gifts. Roman’s quite excited about the throw pillows and framed photos he arranged.

Janus gives him a hard look, motioning for all of them to leave, and Logan doesn’t think twice. He picks up his bag, sets down some cash as a tip, and follows Remus out. The sudden movement and the urgency of such felt like it deserved explanation, though. “Why?” 

Janus looks back at him, over their shoulder, and sets their hat back atop their head. “You should go home and check in with the university’s administration,” they say, and Logan notes how that doesn’t answer the question in the fucking slightest. 

“Work?” Remus asks. 

It sounds like he might know a little more than Logan. Remus wraps an arm around Janus’ waist and kisses their cheek quickly. “I’ll see you later tonight, babe, you be safe! There’s a killer on the loose!” he shoots Logan and Janus both finger guns, and then flips them both off. 

While Remus grabs a motorcycle—of course he rides a motorcycle, he seems the type, how are he and Roman related?!—Janus turns back to Logan. Their jaw is set and, for the first time during this whole visit, Logan can sense a bit of fear. 

“You weren’t at the university. Right?” they ask.

Logan shakes his head. “I wasn’t. The last time I was on campus was yesterday,” he says.

The repetition of the question is worrying. He doesn’t know what might have happened. Was there an accident? 

Janus exhales, looking around to make sure no one’s near them, before leaning in just a little more. “A body was found in the chemistry building. Poisoned.”

taglists!

General: @jemthebookworm​ @okay-finne​

Serial Killer Logan AU: @theunoriginaldaisy​

[scripttorture]

Hello fellow Doctor Who fan. You've made it very clear that no one can be brainwashed or conditioned into following orders and being a killer. But this is exactly what was done to River Song. Was the entire storyline nonsense and poorly done? Or is the fact she got out of it means it didn't work? Maybe what sort of fixes would need to happen to as to not completely change the entire character? I am not asking for any particular story, but upbringing certainly shapes a character.

I’m going to start this off by saying that I’m not here to tell people what they should or shouldn’t like. There is nothing wrong with liking or not liking a character, story arc, plot etc. A lot of the pieces I’ve given low scores in the Torture in Fiction series are things I like and several of the things I’ve given high scores are things I don’t like.

 What I’m trying to encourage is critical thinking and a greater level of understanding for the reality of torture.

 So whatever I say about River Song, or any other fictional character, is just an opinion. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying something that has flaws and the flaws in something do not mean it has no worth. Plenty of stories handle torture badly but handle other difficult topics excellently.

 The Torture in Fiction series is just about trying to get authors and audiences to think about how the media they love treats torture.

 Now I’ve said all that, it’s been a while since I watched all of River’s episodes. I’m going from memory here and those memories may be wrong.

 I don’t think we actually see enough of River’s childhood to say whether this is supposed to be the kind of brainwashing tropes I rail against or coercion.

 There are a lot of deliberate gaps in River’s story. I think that’s a good thing because it helps give a sense that this is a character who does a lot of things away from the other characters. She has her own adventures.

 But it also means that the writers are relying on the audience to fill things in.

 She’s taken from her parents as a baby and raised to kill the Doctor.

 Now that, in and of itself, does not necessarily suggest a brainwashing plot. Plenty of people in the real world are raised in isolated communities with the consistent message that they need to do or achieve something their parental figures decide for them.

 We see organised attempts on the Doctor’s life by River and the group who raised her. But I don’t remember seeing anything from River’s life with this group beyond the moment when she’s taken as a newborn.

 And that’s really the crux of the question: what were the details of her training and her childhood?

 I don’t think we can accuse writers of torture apologia on the basis of something they never actually wrote. I also don’t think it’s good practice to leave such a glaring gap in this particular case. There are narratives where leaving this kind of gap means you should expect that a portion of the audience will fill in the gap with torture apologia. Because those are the tropes they’re used to.

 From your perspective though, that gap means there isn’t necessarily much to ‘fix’. You can just decide to fill in the gap in with something that isn’t the standard ‘fanon’. Treating this as if River is raised by a cult (which arguably she is) and isn’t physically abused could work.

 An upbringing by manipulative individuals could explain what we see of River’s behaviour; her obsession with the Doctor and her attempts early in her life to kill him.

 There isn’t any guaranteed way to ‘make’ a person change their mind or think the way you want them too. But the key word there is ‘guaranteed’, manipulative and emotionally abusive tactics can effect someone’s beliefs, especially when the character in question is a child.

 The people who raise River keep her isolated from the rest of the world, they control the information she has access to early on and they have the ability to use emotional responses and repetition to hammer their message home.

 We know that from an early age River was taught an insane amount about the Doctor. He was made the focus of her upbringing. It’s not a stretch to imagine that she was praised and rewarded for remembering things about him, focusing on him or deducing/predicting his actions. In those circumstances her life long obsession doesn’t look that strange.

 When we’re taught that something is that important, that central, consistently from a young age- Then yes for a lot of people it does become a central part of their lives. It’s bizarre that the focus is a person but if the focus had been a religious group or a political organisation it probably wouldn’t look quite as weird.

 River’s also taught that the Doctor needs to die. I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to imagine that she’s taught she’s special and loved because she can kill him.

 And I suppose we can argue that the people who take River and raise her are successful to some degree since River tries to kill him.

 That’s more likely if River herself cares for the people who raised her and sees them as good parents. Physical abuse gets in the way of that.

 And if I was writing River’s backstory that’s how I’d do it. I’d write her as isolated from the world outside the organisation and showered with love and praise because she’s going to kill the Doctor.

 I’d create an environment where this child is taught that her worth and whether others love her is dependant on her performing this task.

 Since River eventually leaves I’d probably also include punishments for questioning her teachers or going against what the organisation is trying to instil. These wouldn’t be physical punishments but things like trying to humiliate her, no play time or just having a trusted parental figure sit with her for hours going over how she’s wrong.

 That kind of upbringing is likely to result in a child that’s willing to do all kinds of awful things. Because they’ve been taught it’s right and because they believe it’s the only way to ensure they’re loved.

 It’s about trying to please the people they care about most in the world. And about those people callously using that love and affection to achieve their own aims.

 There’s an ask here that you might find helpful. Looking through the tags for ‘cults’, ‘leaving cults’ and ‘child soldier’s’ will probably also be useful. I know there’s an old ask on how to write the ‘children raised to be assassins’ premise but I can’t find it at the moment.

 I hope that helps. :)

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[mimzy-writing-online]

Writing a Blind/Visually Impaired Character: Blind Jokes

The question is, should you include blind jokes in your story? Is it okay or is it offensive? How can you avoid being offensive?

We’ll talk about all that.

So if you haven’t seen me around yet- Hi! I’m Mimzy, I’m a writer and I run a writing advice blog. This blog is full of writing advice posts I personally made as well as posts from other people that I found useful. There are also writing memes, tag games, and wip updates. I sometimes share updates from my current work in progress, A Witch’s Memory, which features a blind main character.

This post is part of an extensive guide to writing blind characters that continues to grow with time. Link to the masterpost of those guides:

https://mimzy-writing-online.tumblr.com/post/185122795699/writing-a-blind-or-visually-impaired-character

Disclaimer: I am a visually impaired person who has been living with blindness for about two years now. I have lived with the world seeing me as blind and I know how it treats me because of that. I have made plenty of blind jokes in the past. I have also written two blind characters. However- in this particular case, it is more my opinion than fact, and someone with different blind experiences than me might feel differently.

Some blind people love blind jokes, others hate them. Some will make them because they are blind, but will hate when sighted people make them. Everyone is different and all their experiences and opinions are valid. I’m of the opinion that everyone deserves to have their boundaries respected, and for some people that means not making jokes about their disability.

“Well, my blind friend loves blind jokes! I can make them!”

Maybe with that specific friend, if they’re really okay with that, but if another blind person tells you to stop- you MUST STOP. It’s basic human respect, and someone living with a disability deserves respect.

So, should you make blind jokes in your story? Read to find out.

I think the best thing I can say is to proceed with caution and to think this through.

This starts with your blind character. Answer some questions-

What is this character’s sense of humor outside of blind jokes?

How does this character feel about their blindness?

Have they been bullied or discriminated against or treated badly because of their blindness?

What kind of bullying and discrimination was it? What did those people do?

How comfortable is this character in social situations? With friends? With family? With strangers?

What kind of confidence does your character have? Both in themselves and in their abilities and disability?

Answering these questions might tell you how your character feels about blind jokes.

Someone who is more sarcastic or who has darker humor might love blind jokes. Someone with a more tame or a flatter sense of humor might not like them.

Someone who hasn’t accepted their blindness yet, or who struggles with it, might not like jokes because it’s still a sensitive subject.

Someone who was bullied by others might have had blind jokes made about them. This has a double side. It might cause them to hate blind jokes altogether. It might cause them to want to reclaim blind jokes so that others can’t use it against them.

How comfortable they are in a situation might change if they make them or not.

Blind jokes can be a bit like self-deprecating humor. Insecure people make self-deprecating jokes to cope with their insecurity. Other insecure people don’t, because those jokes make them feel worse about themselves. Confident people might make self-deprecating jokes because it doesn’t affect them. They might also not do that.

It depends on the person.

So some blind people make blind jokes, others don’t. Some love when other people make blind jokes because it proves how comfortable they are as friends, some hate hearing sighted people make blind jokes.

Should your sighted characters make blind jokes?

I’m of the opinion that they shouldn’t. For a lot of people, their only exposure to people with disabilities is through media and public figures with disability. That is true for me as well.

I know lots of people with invisible disabilities, I know very few people with visible disabilities. And in person I’ve only met one or two people who are blind or visually impaired. Most of my exposure to the disabled community is through the internet.

And I’m disabled.

So abled people have even less exposure than that, and have fewer reasons to reach out to the disabled community. So their exposure comes from media.

Which is why sighted people so easily believe the myths of blindness.

Quick run down of myths:

Myth: blind people see nothing. Truth: only 10% of people living with blindness see nothing. Most have at least some light and shadow perception.

Myth: all blind people have a cane or guide dog. Truth: a lot of people who are legally blind or who are low-vision don’t have either, usually due to the idea that they “see enough” to not need it, which often times comes from internalized ableism and not being “disabled enough” for accommodations. 

Myth: all blind people have cloudy or messed up looking eyes. Truth: The appearence of someone’s eyes depends on the cause of their blindness. Examples- Cataracts create a cloudy-film over the eye. Retina diseases are internal and don’t affect the outside layers of the eye, creating normal-appearing eyes.

Myth: all blind people wear dark sunglasses. Truth: some do, some don’t.

Myth: all blind people have super hearing. Truth: blind people learn to use their hearing and other senses more than their sight.

But all these myths are perpetuated by media, and people with no real life exposure to a subject rely on media.

Guess what! Your stories are media and people will learn through your stories.

So how you write your character affects what people know and think about blind people. So if your character says “yeah, blind jokes are cool all the time and I never mind” then readers are going to think that’s the universal truth for blind characters.

“But my blind character’s sense of humor is perfect for blind jokes!” you say.

Great! Just be aware of the fact that you’re teaching your readers to make these jokes, so maybe set aside some time in narrative for the blind character to explain that not every blind person likes jokes, or that some who do might not like it from certain people, or might find some jokes more offensive than others.

“But this particular joke is hilarious!” you say.

Are you sure? Because to date I’m not sure I’ve met a sighted person with an actually funny and original blind joke. In fact, it seems most sighted people make the same universal crappy jokes, some more maliciously than others. For the first year of blindness I didn’t mind it, but after a while of multiple repeats and some toxic friendships I grew to hate them.

“You really hate blind jokes, don’t you?”

Well, no. I like blind jokes from actual blind people who experience being blind.

And I do make jokes, but I make blind jokes for one specific reason.

It’s not to make my disability “easier to deal with” or use humor to help the complicated emotions a disability gives me. My blind jokes aren’t a coping mechanism. I’m very happy, and I don’t see my blindness as a curse at all.

The reason I make blind jokes is to make my blindness “easier to deal with” for sighted people, especially when meeting strangers. Because sighted people always feel awkward when meeting a blind person, and also because many people don’t really get that I’m blind or don’t know how to ask about it. So I make a joke or two to show I’m comfortable talking about it, followed soon by a non-blindness joke to show that I’m still a real person behind my cane and my sunglasses.

(Yes, I wear sunglasses. I am that stereotype, but that’s because I’m painfully, medically light sensitive. Not all blind people wear sunglasses all the time, and those that do use it for many reasons, i.e. fashion or light sensitivity or not having to worry about being judged for a lack of eye contact)

“So blind jokes are only funny when blind people make them?”

Usually, but that’s because they know when they find a joke offensive, and have heard all the generic ones before, and know when they hear one they like. They’re not going to make the unfunny, offensive ones because they know better.

Okay, I lied. I’ve maybe heard one or two actually funny blind jokes from a sighted person in my blindness experience, but those were occasions when someone wasn’t trying to make a blind joke, it was something said that was funny in the moment.

Like my girlfriend at the time running a red light and saying “don’t ever do that when you learn to drive” and then stopping to realize I would never learn to drive, but that she’d said it because she was teaching a friend how to drive and was getting into that habit of giving advice while in the car. And she said, “wait, never mind, you’re never going to drive.” 

It was the absurdity of the moment combined with the strange high of being in the crazy situation of being lost trying to find our way home after a great date and running a light in a unusually quiet street in the middle of the night. I was already in an elated place and the mood was great and that’s what made the joke enjoyable.

“Okay, I still don’t know the difference between a good and a bad blind joke. And my character is still the kind of person to make them, so what do I do?”

Oh, great, so here’s my final piece of advice.

Hire a Sensitivity Reader

(Or find a blind beta reader if this is fanfiction) 

Sensitivity readers are for authors looking to publish their work professionally, where their name is on the line and if they miss the mark when writing a minority it will reflect badly on their name and on future published works.

Publishing houses have their own editors to review manuscripts before they’re published officially, and they usually hire their own sensitivity readers as well. Why? Because their name is on every story they publish, so they’re also accountable if a book featuring awful bias and inaccurate stereotypes is published through their company. That’s not to say they won’t occasionally print one rotten apple of a book that slipped through the cracks, but they know to invest in people who identify the rotten apples.

If you’re self publishing, then you already don’t have a copy editor to make sure everything is in place, and you certainly don’t have a sensitivity reader. 

When you’re self publishing you will be investing your own money into getting this book out into the public, so invest your money wisely and make sure this book isn’t ready to cancel itself the second someone realizes how awful the representation is.

“So I need a sensitivity reader for one disabled character?”

Uh, you need a sensitivity reader for just about everything. Sensitivity readers are not just for disabled characters.

There are sensitivity readers for all the minorities and unique experiences you could think of, and then some. Sensitivity readers have unique backgrounds and they use their life experiences to read your book through the lens of that background. They will tell you when you were inaccurate about something, when you used a stereotype or wrote something problematic, and hopefully keep you from publishing something that could be damaging to your book and your reputation as a writer.

Please note, you can choose to ignore their feedback and advice. You’re not required to listen to them, nor are you required to get one, but going without may put you at risk.

I’m going to quote from the Quiet House Editing and their website. They are a company that connects you to sensitivity readers, child readers (if you’re writing children’s books) and beta readers. And their website has an extensive list of different types of sensitivity readers (some of which I’d never considered before)

Their website

http://www.quiethouseediting.com/diversityreading.html

Subjects that diversity readers may be able to help you with (not an exhaustive list):

Adoption (all aspects, including transracial and international adoptions) Ageism Alcoholism, substance abuse Bullying, cyberbullying Class, socioeconomic and poverty issues, first-generation Culture Domestic violence Eating disorder, obesity, body image Emotional abuse End-of-life care, death attitudes, hospice and palliative care, etc. Ethnicity and race Feminist and gender issues, including abortion Geek culture (dealing with a love of comics, anime, etc.) Generational issues (i.e., millennials, baby boomers, etc.) Immigrant culture Indigenous cultures LGBTQ+ (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer or Questioning, but this category can also include intersex, asexual, pansexual, and other terms) Mental illnesses and disorders (anxiety, autism, depression, bipolar, OCD, paranoid personality disorder, dissociative disorder, Stockholm syndrome, PTSD, ADHD, schizophrenia, and more) Physical illnesses and disability. This includes chronic illnesses, as well as illnesses with a severe impact (cancer, for example) Religion, atheism, paganism Sex abuse and sex assault, including child sex abuse and rape Sex workers, porn performers Tokenism (being the only person of a race or culture in a group)

I’m going to add some links to articles about sensitivity reading that I’ve read recently that can help explain the process more thoroughly, including finding a sensitivity reader, the money and business aspect of it, and what you can expect from their services.

https://blog.reedsy.com/sensitivity-readers/

https://writerunboxed.com/2017/03/03/what-a-sensitivity-reader-is-and-isnt-and-how-to-hire-one/

So, in conclusion:

You can write blind jokes, I’m not saying you absolutely can’t. I’m saying you should be careful when doing so. Proceed with  extreme caution. If you can, you should find a sensitivity reader.

If any blind people want to give their perspective and opinion on the subject, please do so. I’m only one blind person with one experience, and it’s not universal. Blindness is never universal.

Hey, did you like this advice? Do you like this blog? Do you want to support it?

I give free writing advice, answer asks, and give private consultation for writing blind characters, all for free.

I have set up a ko-fi as a way to save money for self publishing costs for A Witch’s Memory, which includes a blind main character and is in it’s first stage of editing.

I have zero intention of ever charging for the services of this blog, but financial support is always appreciated. You never have to donate if you don’t want to, I never expect that, but even a few bucks goes a long way in helping me get there.

My ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/mimzyreiner

Thank you for reading and making it this far!

[smokeybrandreviews]

Smokey brand Movie Reviews: As Hard As Chinese Arithmetic

So far, this year has been a doozy, man. We had an insurrection at the Capital. Then a big-tittied, Goth Vampire, Amazon Mommy just triggered all of the interweb’s fetishes, male, female, and other. Then, a bunch of Reddit Sh*tposters broke Wall Street for the Lolz. It has been a f*cking ride, man. I’m just happy we made it to the end of the month because, f*ck, i need a breather. Plus, the first new film of the year, a proper theatrical flick, released in the multiplex, just dropped. Since we ain’t got vaccines for the Wuha and i hate society in general, i wasn’t about to brave the outside for it. Fortunately for me, Warner Brothers said f*ck it, and decided to release their entire 2021 film slate, same day as theaters, to HBOmax. The first flick out the gate with this rather comfy release strategy? The Little Things. From what I've seen, this cast is dope but I've heard mixed reviews. Curious to see which side of the discourse I'll land on. Either way, I'm watching this thing from the comfort of my couch and i kind of dig it.

The Good

Denzel Washington is, obviously, the best thing about this flick. Dude is always one of, if not the best, thing about whatever he's in and this is no different. Washington has been acting a real long time so this the of part he can play in his sleep. I think, though, that might have been a detriment because his Joe Deacon comes across as a little “samey.” I re-watched Virtuosity the other day and this character feels like the cat he played in that, which feels like the cat he played in Man on Fire, which feels like the cat he played in Equalizer. I'm not mad, mind you, Rampage Washington is one of my favorite things about Hollywood, but I think playing this character like that was a mistake. Still, it was fun to watch.

Rami Malik plays, like, a regular dude in this. His Jim Baxter is kind of the foil to Washington's more aggressive, more passionate Deke, and it's weird to see. Like, i get it, Rami wants avoid being typecast as the weirdo but, I mean, the weirdo is where it's at, you know? If the character is well written and there's room to really dig in with an eclectic performance, why not go weird? Malek sure has the face for it.

Jared Leto just plays himself. The character he's supposed to be portraying is named Albert Sprama but this is just regular ass, crazy ass, cult leader ass Jared Leto. It's not a bad performance but you can tell Leto isn't really trying to be anything but who he is in this.

The atmosphere in this thing is palpable. I respect that. Neo-Noirs and thrillers like this need that. They need to feel seedy, gritty, dirty. For all of it's faults, The Little Things definitely nails that. It ain't Nineties grunge but it does a pretty good job of emulating that kind of energy, even if it's really just a facsimile and not the genuine article.

Listen, this is a gorgeous film. The cinematography and scene composition are top notch. As far as a visual piece of media, it really does deliver. There's this sordid, grimy, feel to the presentation that really mimics David Fincher's early work. I'm a fan of Fincher's so I noticed the similarities immediately but, as much reverence as this content has for his work, David Fincher  this ain't.

This thing is beautifully directed. I might have my issues with the film as a whole, but John Lee Hancock put his best foot forward trying to visually craft this narrative, for sure. It's a little awkward seeing dude forge this type of story considering his more, lighthearted entries into the Hollywood collective, but he approaches it with the same flair and professionalism as he does those films, too.

The Bad

Look, I love the principals of this cast. They are all great actors Individually Together, there's no real chemistry, especially between Malik and Washington. I think that's more because of the lacking script more than anything. A lot of this movie feels like it's adequacy relies too heavily on it's lead's abilities rather than a solid script or screenplay. That's a shame because a crime thriller starring Denzel Washington and Rami Malik chasing after Jared Leto sounds like a swell f*cking times.

So this thing is a period piece. It's supposed to take place in the Nineties and, as a cat who grew up during that time, this definitely doesn't feel like them. Sure, there's little nods and everything to it like music choices and certain set dressings but, overall, this doesn't scream Super Grunge, Extreme Radical to me. Which, we all know, is exactly what the Nineties absolutely were.

There is a distinct, Fincher-esque, energy to this film but it fails miserably properly capturing it. Like, This movie is trying WAY too hard to be Se7en. I understand why it would, that film is a masterpiece but one shouldn't wear your inspirations so nakedly. Makes it way too easy to draw the obvious comparison and your entry will always be left wanting. It's weird to think that Hancock thought he could do that considering his catalog of film. Nothing about The Blindside or Saving Mr. Banks gives me confidence that he can adequately pull off something as macabre as Se7en and  it really seems dubious to me that he tried.

The strength of Se7en started with what was on the page. Fincher crafted this diabolical, challenging, degenerate narrative and had the perfect cast to bring it to life. The Little Things has the ambition to pull that same thing off but the script is way too weak for that. Hancock can't write this stuff, man. Indeed, it really feels like he watched Se7en, thought up a twist, and wrote from there. Basically, he wrote this screenplay the same way Stephanie Meyer wrote Twilight and we all see how well that turned out. If you don't have a story to tell, don't make a movie. Nothing great start with just a gimmick unless you're selling toys and that only works because kids are idiots.

Bro, what is this dialogue??

This movie is long, man. Long and barren. One could say that it is actually really boring at parts. Now, I'm not saying that, I'm a fan of the slow burn, bu this was even taxing my nerves. I think, though, that a better script could have goes a long way to alleviating that. The fact that I didn't give a sh*t about anything going on with these characters really made it hard to stay engaged.

The Verdict

The Little Thing is a January movie and it's weird to get one of those in this, new Pandemic age. More than anything, it's a disappointment, especially coming of excellent January releases these past few years like Underwater, The Nightingale, and Paddington 2. This film does not come close to the quality of those and it's real deflating. I wanted to this movie to be excellent. There are a few individual components that actually are. Great lead performances, outstanding direction, beautiful camera work but the core of this movie is lacking. The screenplay is a complete letdown which is the most f*cked up aspect of this this whole situation. Apparently, Hancock wrote the first draft of this flick in Ninety-three and this is the best we got. This is the version that made the screen. F*cking trash, man. The Little Things isn't a terrible film, not at all, but it's not good either. It is an incredibly mundane and pedestrian attempt at trying to copy Se7en but it never reaches those heights. You've seen this movie before done much, much, better. If this thing as shorter, I could recommend it might higher but this whole ass, two-hour run time is a bit much. If you have HBOmax and time to kill, its a decent watch, just don't expect too much from it. If you want this to be your grand return to the cinema, pass on that. It's not worth the ticket price.

[lia-jones]

Growing Stronger - Chapter Thirteen - The Fling and the Almighty

I sat silently by his side, holding his hand, the only audible thing in the room was the buzz of one of the lamps and the beep of the heart monitor. It had been 24 hours since I had arrived at the hospital, and I never left since. Victor still slept, large amounts of morphine coursing through his veins.

The doctor had come and talked about Victor’s condition, almost like an accountant declares loss of income to the IRS: Three cracked ribs on his left side, a distal humerus fracture in his left arm, a penetrating trauma wound in his left thigh that caused major bleeding and required surgery, and several bruises also on his left side, the side of impact, that covered his body with angry red and pink hues. His pale face was also bruised and swollen on his left side, so much that he couldn’t open his eye. And all things considered, as doctors and the officers at the scene put it, he was lucky to be alive and not destined to a wheelchair. Most victims of T-bone crashes don’t live to tell the story, and if they do, their existence is bound to be pure misery. Victor had the promise of recovery, but also the promise of intense pain, hence the need to keep him heavily dosed with opiates.

The nurses would let him “come out for air”, as they put it, every 8 hours. They would delay the next dose of morphine, and let him open his eyes for a minute or two. He would wake up disoriented, a desperate look on his face, and I would do the only thing I could do: hold his hand and talk to him. Victor didn’t seem to be able to focus on me, his mind still foggy from the drugs, but he would hold my hand tight, craving the comfort of my touch. That’s when I decided that, even if I was completely useless in his recovery, I could take that role. I could be his comfort, his support, his lifeline. So I would hold his hand at all times, to let him know that he wasn’t alone, that someone was there for him. He would never be scared.

I couldn’t help but wonder how big dramas can suddenly look so small under a new perspective. A couple of days ago, my heart was aching over the possibility of a reconciliation, or the lack of it. My mind was entertained with thoughts of sorrow, longing, pride, self-preservation. My heart was jumping with joy and, at the same time, fear with Victor’s confident words in that elevator. I was eager to feel the joy of reconnection and scared that it would fail miserably again. However, seeing Victor in that hospital bed, his bare chest covered with electrodes, an array of tubes sticking out of his arms, made all those hopes and fears pointless. I had only one thing in my mind: I wanted him alive and well, back to his old self. With me, without me, it didn’t matter. I just wanted to see him again, dressed in a charcoal suit, walking tall, proud, and most importantly, safe. I didn’t care if I could only watch him from afar, or on the cover of a magazine, as long as I could see it. My phone rang, distracting me from my introspection. It was Goldman.

“How is he?” Goldman sounded tired. I shouldn’t have called him during his honeymoon, but LFG was minus its CEO and faithful assistant, and I didn’t know quite well how to proceed.

“The same.” I studied Victor’s relaxed expression, his long dark lashes, and dark circles standing out in his pale complexion. “Still sleeping.”

“Our flight is in two hours. We’ll be in Loveland by tomorrow morning. You shouldn’t be alone in there.”

“I told you, you don’t need to come. You gave me all the details, I have it covered. At least until he wakes up.” It pained me that Diane and Goldman’s honeymoon was interrupted like that.

“Andrea, we can’t possibly enjoy ourselves knowing our friends are going through this. Besides, I bet you haven’t left his room since you got there. Have you slept at all? Have you eaten?”

Negative for both accounts. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Don’t worry, I’m taking care of myself. I’m fine.”

I felt the grip in my hand tighten, and Victor stirred a little.

“I think he’s waking up. I need to go.”

I forgot the phone on my lap, Victor being my only point of focus. His breath changed, quickening just a bit, as he opened his eyes slightly and tried to take in his surroundings.

“Victor.” I called, squeezing his hand. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

His eyes slowly turned to me, and it took him a while to focus his gaze on my face.

“Andy…” His voice sounded weak and vulnerable. I felt my eyes water. Stop it, Andrea. Be strong for him.

“Are you in pain?” I studied his expression. Victor shook his head softly.

“Am I…” He tried to talk again. “I can’t feel my body.”

“It’s the morphine.” I hurried to answer, as I softly brushed his bangs. He closed his eyes and leaned against my hand, welcoming the touch. “It takes away the pain, but it also makes you feel numb. Are you thirsty? Do you want some water?”

After his brief nod, I filled a plastic cup with water, and with the help of a straw, I offered him to drink. He took it eagerly, almost emptying the cup. The nurse arrived shortly after with the next dose of morphine. Silently, she injected it in Victor’s IV. His eyes glazed over almost instantly.

“Try to sleep, okay? Get some rest.”

“Stay.” He sounded like a little boy, his voice soft and pleading, making my heart pang. I have never seen Victor so vulnerable before.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I assured him, holding his hand tighter. I watched as the drug took hold of him, his eyelids fluttering closed, his breath becoming deep and steady again.

Victor woke up again shortly that night, and I held his hand, offering as much comfort as I could. I must have dozed off after, because I woke up with my head leaning on the comforter on his bed, alerted by a loud commotion outside.

I heard a distinctive male voice almost yelling outside the room. It was Victor’s father. I wondered for a moment who called him, since Goldman told me he had specific orders from Victor not to call his family in case of an accident, except if it resulted in his death. The door of the room opened suddenly, and Gregory entered the room, followed by a lady in her 50s. I got up from my seat, ready to defend myself.

“What are you doing here?” He asked me, clearly offended by my presence.

“Victor!” The lady approached him, holding his hand. “What happened to you?” Victor slept away, unaware of what was happening around him.

“I asked you a question!” Gregory’s eyes were still on me, burning a hole through my skull.

“The hospital called me.” I answered calmly, trying to lower the tone of the conversation. “I’m Victor’s emergency contact.”

“You are Andrea, of course!” The lady turned to me. “I saw your picture in those tabloids. My name is Therese, I’m Victor’s younger aunt. You can call me Terry.”

“The hospital called you? A stranger? And I, his father, have to know my son is injured through the newspaper?” Gregory raised his voice a little higher, making Victor stir slightly.

“Greg, stop! You’ll wake him up!” Terry pleaded.

“Shut up, Theresa! I gave him everything he ever needed.” Greg bitterly stated. “The best schools, a good lifestyle, the best of everything. And how does this ungrateful child repay me? By shutting me out! By relying on strangers instead of his father!” He turned me to, hatred in his eyes. “I want you out of here.”

I didn’t move.

“My son should be with his family, not one of his flings. Either you leave, or I’ll make you leave.”

Seeing that, once again, I hadn’t budged, he took me by the arm and led me outside of the room. I turned to him to speak.

“You probably won’t see it that way, but I will be your best friend right now.” I said, done with being silent. This had gone too far. Victor deserved better. I would probably be forcibly dragged out of the hospital by security, but he was going to listen to me.

“You want to know why he didn’t call you? Do you want to know why he never calls you? Because you are a shitty father.” Gregory motioned to retort, but I wouldn’t let him. “I’m not done yet! Your only son is on that bed, mangled, bruised, knocked out with drugs because the pain is so unbearable that it would be torture to allow him to fully awaken and you are worried about the fact that the hospital called me instead of you?! Victor almost died! You almost lost your son to a stupid car accident! Why aren’t you holding his hand? Why aren’t you doing what a father is supposed to do, talking to the doctors, worrying, making sure he is comfortable, safe, and loved? Why are you here instead? Blinded by your ego because you didn’t get a phone call?!?”

Victor’s father was pale but unresponsive. Maybe if I read him the take-out menu I would get a better reaction. The man could be incredibly stoic. But I already knew that move. I learned it from Victor, who had clearly learned it from him. His lack of reaction was to show how strong he was, how impervious he was to my words. Fat chance, grandpa. I wasn’t finished.

“You know, I have had some insanely painful things happen to me. They were all over the tabloids, so I trust you read all about it. And God knows how much I blamed myself for letting that poor excuse of a man enter my life, but do you think my parents ever said the slightest thing to blame me? Do you think they told me they were disappointed, that I was a disgrace to the family, which I thought I was, actually? No, never, not once. They opened their arms and they loved me, they helped me to heal from the consequences of my mistake, they supported me. Because they are good parents, and that’s what good parents do. Victor started dating me, our lives got exposed in the media without us doing anything to deserve it, and you have the audacity to storm in his company, act like you own the place, humiliate him, and throw the mom card at him? How dare you? That crushed him! He was destroyed! Is that what a father does to his son? Is that how you teach him, how you support him, by leaving his heart in the same state his body is in now? So crushed it hurts to feel?”

By the time I was done, I was panting, tears in my eyes. I couldn’t possibly describe the hate I felt towards that man. But he was Victor’s father, and right now he had all the power, so all I could do was to at least try to ensure that Victor wouldn’t get more hurt than he already was. Try, even if forcefully, to make Gregory see things differently. Try to make him see what he was doing to his son.

The stoic stance was gone. There was rage in Gregory’s face, tears in his eyes. I didn’t know if he felt sorry for what he had been doing to his son, or if it was just anger showing. He spoke to me through gritted teeth, his voice raspy with emotion.

“Show your face here again and I will make sure your life is nothing but misery.”

I knew the threat was real. I was well aware of the extent of the power Gregory Lee held in his hands. But I was unafraid. Fear magically disappears when you are fighting for what is right.

“Do well by your son.” I warned him. “Give him the father he deserves. Because if you don’t, your life will be even more miserable than mine. I can die a disgraced woman, but I will have people that love me by my side. Maybe you won’t be able to say the same.”

“Stop, both of you.” Victor’s aunt called from the door of the room. “As much as it may pain you, Andrea is here because Victor wanted her to. It’s his choice and we must respect it.” She then turned to me. “Andrea, go inside. Go be with Victor.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I promised I wouldn’t leave Victor alone. I walked in and resumed my vigil from my seat, holding Victor’s hand, my heart pounding hard in my chest. I had teased the lion. Now all I had to do was wait for the attack. A few moments after, Terry entered the room, alone, sitting next to me.

“I do not care for the way you talked to my brother just now.” I suddenly felt shame for being so harsh and was about to apologize, when she spoke again. “That being said, thank you for standing up for Victor. No one ever has. God knows I tried.”

“I’m not Victor’s girlfriend anymore.” I confessed. Terry seemed so nice, and it felt wrong to lie to her. “We broke up a couple of months ago. He just forgot to take my name off his emergency contacts, and when they called me… I couldn’t leave him alone.”

“It’s Victor. He’s not the kind to forget about things. If he wanted you out of his life, you wouldn’t be here.” Terry gave me a wide smile. “Now tell me, how hurt is he?”

I quickly filled her in on Victor’s condition, and what had happened since I arrived. She looked at me with wide eyes.

“You’ve been here the whole time? You never went home?”

I nodded. She shook her head in disapproval.

“Well, we simply can’t have that. Andrea, you need to go home, take a shower, have a proper meal, and sleep.”

“Please don’t tell me to leave.” I pleaded with her. My heart tightened at the thought of not being able to see him.

“I wouldn’t dare.” Terry held my hand, smiling. “I’m just telling you to take a break. Can you imagine how upset he will be when he wakes up and sees you spent like that? He will have both our heads!” Her exaggeration made us both laugh. “You go, take care of yourself, and come back refreshed. When you come, I’ll go home and do the same. We’ll take turns, so he will never be alone.”

I hesitated. He asked me to stay. How could I leave?

“Andrea, he will need you. He will need you strong and healthy, to support him. If he sees you are weakened, he will worry.”

I wondered how she could just assume those things. Obviously, she knew him better than I did.

“Thank you. Here’s my number.” I said, taking one of my business cards from my purse, handing it to her.

“I will text you so you’ll get my number too. And I promise I’ll call if I have news. Now go.”

I held Victor’s hand one last time.

“I’ll come back. I promise.”

[spiftynifty]

On Let’s Voltron, the showrunners, and fandom

On Thursday an interview came out on Let’s Voltron, the ostensibly final interview with the showrunners of this now-completed show. Within an hour a few tweet threads appeared and incited a new wave of hatred and anger towards the showrunners, mostly by people relying on these tweet threads rather than listening to the interview themselves.

I don’t like secondhand info that sparks outrage; and having watched both AB interviews and seen how outraged people got over them, without having seen either, I strongly suspected that this interview was nowhere near as incendiary as the tweet threads suggested.

And lo and behold, I was right. Much of what was reported in tweets was misconstrued, or lacking the additional information that listening to someone’s tone provides. I didn’t hear two snarky showrunners smugly enjoying the chaos that their truly lacklustre season provided. I heard two people who were exhausted and beaten down by both the expectations of the fandom and the limitations placed on them by people with more money and power. They didn’t call Shiro “boring”, they referred to their initial vision of him as boring. They didn’t say he was repetitive, they said his backstory was repetitive of other characters’ in the series and was cut. There was one salty comment from JDS about how Voltron and Atlas merging was cool but everyone was too bummed about s8 to appreciate it, but there’s a dark humor to it that reads to me like a man struggling to joke about something neutral and positive in a season that was poorly received by fans and many critics alike. The vast majority of the interview is not much we haven’t already heard, though there is a very telling segment that lasts about 5-10 minutes where they discuss the heavy limitations on representation in cartoons. Ezor and Zethrid were allowed to exist, they say, because they were secondary characters. And female. The words “main heroes” with an S, are repeated several times by LM when describing who was and was not allowed to be LGBT. She explicitly states that wlw is one thing, but mlm is a whole other battle.

As disappointed as I am in the mistakes JDS and LM made, I find myself feeling very defensive of them as I see the people who once defended them from ants now begin to exhibit ant-like behavior themselves. “They should never be allowed to work in animation again” says one tweet. “They never gave a shit about this show” says another. “S8 was their explicit revenge on fans.”

It makes me unbelievably sad to read this. JDS and LM made mistakes. S8 was objectively terrible. Their attempt to shoehorn in “bonus” representation backfired terribly. They’ve been upfront about Voltron never having been planned with a happy ending in mind, and buckle down hard when confronted with the notion that killing Allura was a bad move.

But as they’ve said many, many times, this show was a labor of love for them. They worked their asses off to pitch something grand to Dreamworks because they were fans of the original and wanted to do it justice. But then they got the show and proceeded to get buffeted around for 4 yrs by dreamworks and the rules of a pre-existing IP and half the story ideas they come up with get shot down by execs for any number of reasons. People have latched onto the fact that the last third of the series wasn’t properly planned from the beginning, but I’d like to remind people that the plan they had for s3-6 was completely upended by one (1) executive call. The showrunners have said that they purposefully left things out of the bible to make it harder for execs to say NO to something well in advance. They were, as my director frequently calls it, “playing the game”, the careful balance of trying to tell a good story while also pleasing the client demands for a robot toy show. It’s a fight. Part of playing the game is leaving decisions so late that it becomes far too late to be changed by executives. But the downside of this is sometimes running out of time to do the things you want to do.

I’d like to point out too that in the interview at one point they actually say, “we knew who our audience was. They [the marketing people and higher ups] didn't.” So for 4 yrs they struggled to make the story they wanted to tell, they lost directors and writers, because the demands were way too high and people were burning out and leaving in an industry where being overworked is so par for the course that burnout is just a constant state of being. In other words, it takes extreme amounts of stress for people to burn out, and there is a certain mentality in this industry of burning out being a sign of weakness. When 2/3 directors left (one of them without the safety net of another offer) they put a bit of their reputation on the line-- and left anyway. And through it all JDS and LM, like any creators, were just trying to tell the story they wanted to see, scrambling to manage executive demands, working on multiple episodes at once and trying to maintain the storyline through them, losing people to burnout, having to rewrite entire scenes when voice actors weren’t available, and fighting for the show to be better than it was. 

I'm not absolving the showrunners of guilt, I'm just feeling bad that this is where they ended up because at the end of the day they genuinely were coming from a place of good intentions and a desire to tell, from their perspective a good story. And they did fight for rep, to the point that when initially Shiro was not allowed to be gay, they considered getting up and walking away and ending the project but they stayed because of the crew who would have been summarily put out of work. They weighed the importance of having that representation vs the jobs of 100s of people. That’s how important it was to them. 

Obvious, they didn't stick the landing, and it’s fair to say they outright screwed it up in a massive way that’s going to be remembered for a very long time. On the Shiro front they didn't have time to, in a way that would have felt genuine and agreeable for everyone. Keith was never ever going to be allowed. Maybe if Shiro and Keith had both been women, it would have been, which is a sad thought on the state of this industry and the kind of gendered homophobia that still exists in media both animation and otherwise. JDS and LM didn’t think far enough ahead on this, didn’t think outside of their pool of internal knowledge as non-LGBT people. As terrible as it is, it’s important to note they did this not out of a place of malice or vengeance, but an earnest, if misguided attempt to try and diversify the landscape. It did a lot of damage and they should not be rewarded for this move; but they also shouldn’t be being painted as the mustache-twirling villains so much of the fandom tries to make them out to be.

I hope this has been a huge lesson for them on the importance of stepping outside of your own situation when creating minority characters and properly discussing these characters with multiple people in real life who fall into those categories. No one LGBT person can or should speak for the entire community, as we’ve well seen with certain crewmembers.

Killing Allura is a much harder act to forgive because that was something they had time to think about and plan for and it should have been the more obvious lesson. There was ROOM to ask someone outside of themselves, “does this work”. There was room to be educated on why this was a terrible move both socially and narratively. There is room and time now, and dozens of articles about this very issue, that both showrunners should be reading and absorbing especially as their next projects involve a host of diverse characters. Their insistence to buckle down on the Allura Issue to me reads as; they haven’t learned anything from this, or taken the time to understand people’s pain about it. This is something that desperately needs to change especially as they continue to make movies and presumably TV shows. I do hope it’s something that will.

All this to say, please listen to the interview yourself before adding to the hate mob. If you’re still angry after listening to the interview yourself, that is your prerogative but I encourage you not to transform that anger into venomous hatred against the showrunners. The show is over; as fans we can transform this space into whatever we want it to be since Voltron is effectively ours now. Is attacking the showrunners, as ant1s have famously done for years, the image we really want to hold onto going forward?

[howtofightwrite]

Q&A: A Thousand Words

How do you convey the feeling of an ominous/sad close up shot through prose? I have a scene that ends with a character taking off their SciFi armor because they are about to set off an EMP-like device that would make it a burden. The narrator doesn’t think much of it, but I want to give the reader a sense of trepidation.

The problem here is you’re asking how to write a picture. To a certain extent, this is natural; we’re all influenced by the media we consume. Sometimes you see, or read something, and want to use parts of that for your own writing. Sometimes you can. Sometimes you need to step back and completely reevaluate what you consumed, and realize that some of it doesn’t directly translate into your chosen medium.

You can adapt what you see into prose, but you cannot fully recreate it. You can’t exactly mimic the colors, you can’t get the totality of scope, or incorporate all of the detail work. In the case of film, you can’t replicate the musical cues. You can write a script, and work with other people to realize that image, but in a written work you can’t get everything. You shouldn’t want to, because you can do better.

Writing gives you easier access to the inner workings of your character’s heads. It also opens up the gates, and lets you start sketching out your world in ways that would be impossible in another format. In writing, you don’t need to force emotions onto your audience, because they have direct access to your characters’ states of mind. If your character is scared, worried, or anxious, you can say it. You can talk about it. You can talk about why, and go into details that would kill the pacing of a flow.

What you can’t do as elegantly is show the device. But, to an extent, beyond basic mise en scene, it doesn’t really matter that much if it’s riveted, or if it has slick, beveled plates. You might mention that when describing it, but it really is just set dressing to sell the moment. The important thing getting into your character’s head. Again, in writing, that’s really easy. It’s film where the director and actors need to take extra steps to sell the moment.

Case in point: your character doesn’t need to take their helmet off. Think about this for a moment. The entire reason to take the helmet off is to see the character’s face. If you’re inhabiting their skull as a PoV character, you wouldn’t “see” it when you take it off anyway. You don’t need to see the actor’s performance because there is no actor, just your character, and your audience stuck in their mind as the moments tick down. You actually miss out on things too. If their helmet has a built in HUD, you miss out on that frying and going dark when the EMP detonates.

Visual media excels in providing spectacle. If you’re shooting a fight sequence, you can let it run far longer than a real fight could ever last because you’re relying on the choreography to keep the fight interesting. You can mix this with a changing environment to make things even more engaging. All of this applies when you’ve got stunt guys going through the motions, performing visual art. In prose, you lose that. Long fights become exhausting for the reader, and replicating the spectacle is (effectively) impossible. So, you need to tell a different story with your fights.

Different media have different strengths and weaknesses. As I mentioned, prose gives you the most control over your protagonist’s state of mind. Film and other visual media provide the most spectacle. Again, you’re never going to replicate the visual detail in text. Comic books stand between these two points, gaining some visual elements, but the trade off is that your audience is outside of the character’s head looking in, even if they have limited access to their thought process. Video games will give you an unparalleled connection between the audience and the events, as they’re an active participant rather than an observer, the trade off is, you give up a surprising amount of autonomy as a writer, as you have to find a way to align your audiences views with the character and their actions, otherwise they’ll disconnect from the material, or at least from your stories.

So, the short answer of, “how do I do this in text,” is to evaluate the scene in the context of your medium. How do you write a scene where a character is looking at a weapon of mass destruction about to detonate? In prose you’re going to spend a lot more time working through your character’s emotional state, rather than trying to get your audience to share in that experience via visual cues. They’re already in your character’s head. In that sense, you get to jump ahead of the line.

-Starke

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Q&A: A Thousand Words was originally published on How to Fight Write.

[alwayswaitingonkc]

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[stillwinterair]

Something that I’m realizing now that I’m trying to get back into Spider-Man comics is that they’ve literally... never... rebooted the character... or the universe... and it sucks

It really sucks

I love reading all the prologues to the Spider-Verse comics because they’re all these self-contained stories in different genres with the same or similar characters, but like. They’re all their own self-contained stories. But then the moment they end, and some universe-traveling Spider-Man shows up, everything gets worse and more boring and they start referencing half a century’s worth of comic history that has no bearing on the plot

Marvel has the fucking benefit of having all these separate worlds and universes to fall back on, but instead of establishing one for a decade or so as their main squeeze before letting it fall to the side and then booting up a new one or returning to an old one, they just. Bring it all back to Earth-616. And that’s garbage.

Earth-616 is a convoluted MESS of retcons in which the timeline is constantly, rapidly scooting up to match our own. My basic impression is that, like... if you go back and read the very beginning of the original Amazing Spider-Man comics, for example, they start out in the 60s, but that story is still canon today, but today’s canon is set in the 2010s, so both are true at the same time. That’s the worst. Just reset your universe. Keep resetting it.

Establish different universes but don’t feed them into each other outside of major events, if you even want to. Some of those events shouldn’t even necessarily be canon to the overall continuity. Have... let’s say Earth-1111, treat it as a reboot, tell stories across all your properties there for 5-10, maybe 15 years. Build up a big over-arching plotline for all your major characters and properties, then end it on a HUGE event, and then that’s the end. Start Earth-2222, and do the same thing there.

Each reboot gives the opportunity to focus on different characters, tell varying stories, and hell, you could even skip over the origin stories in most of them unless there are major, relevant changes. This is essentially what the MCU and Insomniac’s Spider-Man game did, and why they’re so damn good; they give you a window into the universe that feels genuine and boasts a deep love and affection for the characters and the lore, without being bogged down with half a century of history and having to CONSTANTLY reference issues from the 60s and 70s).

Earth-3333 could be more mystical; Doctor Strange could lead the Avengers, sorcerers could be more common, magic plays a larger role. Earth-4444 could be weighted heavily toward the Fantastic 4, with the Avengers taking a backseat. Universe doesn’t work out, fans aren’t responding? Wrap it up and move on. Have writers attached to the universe, or who want to keep telling stories in a universe you moved on from? Let them!!! Write a Punisher series set in Earth-5555 where Miles Morales watched Peter Parker die and Magneto leads the X-Men, even though the current canon has moved on to Earth-7777; as long as you put “Earth-5555″ on the cover and have a page saying what else is in that universe, you’re good, dude!

Obviously these numbers are stupid and I’m just using them as placeholders but hopefully you take my meaning. It’s just so stupid to keep feeding everything back into the main continuity. Every comic I try to read is just full of so much SHIT I have to actively ignore or else I either fall into a rabbit hole or get overwhelmed. I’m not into it. It’s annoying as hell.

But every once and a while I find a gem that relies on no backstory other than a basic understanding of the character’s history and it’s SO good. I’m reading the Spider-Man Clone Saga comic from 2009-10 and the basic premise is a retelling of the Clone Saga from the 90s which was FAMOUSLY terrible and overly convoluted, but like... trimming all the fat and keeping it to 6 issues instead, instead of the original Clone Saga which can now be read in SIX GRAPHIC NOVELS of SEVERAL HUNDRED PAGES EACH which follow up on backstory spanning DECADES that aren’t included in the books. It’s insane. It’s absolutely fucking insane, and it’s daunting, and it’s ridiculous, and no one should have to deal with this.

It also just... really seems to spit in the face of what Marvel Comics are? DC is famous for its heroes being these larger-than-life statuesque gods, but Marvel has always tried to feel much more down to earth (I mean, despite the cosmic shit, but when that comes up it’s either written more humanistically or it’s emphasized to be specifically in contrast to the down-to-earth nature of the heroes... usually, or y’know, ideally). Characters like Super Man and Wonder Woman and Batman, I can totally see having half a century of backstory, because these characters are just like that!

I dunno, I’m just tired of going out of my way to try to read something self-contained and literally 90% of the first issue is a “PREVIOUSLY ON” segment and then even past that issue they keep constantly trying to recap. It’s like starting a new show that you didn’t know was a prequel to one you’ve never watched, but it is, and then they spend the WHOLE FUCKING TIME talking about shit that happened in that show in a very boring, matter-of-factly way. Like, who likes this? Who enjoys reading this? It’s not the new people, because it’s jarring and overwhelming and completely takes away from the story, and by the time anything actually happens, it’s lost you. It can’t be the regulars, either, because they already know this shit, and while yes, a brief recap is nice, why are you wasting so much time doing it in the comic itself instead of very briefly on the first page?

I dunno. Comics are whack and I never remember that until I try to actually read them, and then I just spend so much of my time frustrated, floundering around the internet trying to find something better worth my time.

I think my ultimate point here is that, this is why Insomniac’s Spider-Man PS4 is so damn good. It’s essentially a reboot that keeps the universe clean and simple, but still has a vast amount of layers that could be explored at any minute. It begins in medias res with a cast of characters we’re familiar with, but are slightly different, and it takes the time to reintroduce them to us, but like, effectively and naturally, not like we’re confused idiots. It’s a universe with a million unexplored corners that exist if you want to follow them, but they aren’t necessary to the plot. Anything you need to know is explained organically through expertly-utilized exposition or just simply through the environment or character dynamics or the simple ways in which people talk to one another.

Wouldn’t it be nice to read comics like that? Wouldn’t it?!