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scarletwinterxx · 4 months ago

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benefit of friends - kim mingyu imagine

god really made this man to be the most perfect one😭 how to get your own kim mingyu (asking for a friend) lol anyways hope you like this one!

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing.

Work is work. Fun is fun. Feelings? Well, they’re like those receipts stuffed into your wallet... you’ll deal with them later.

Your arrangement with Mingyu, your ridiculously handsome coworker-turned-“friend-with-benefits,” was supposed to fall neatly into the “fun” category.

No strings, no expectations, no messy emotions.

But tonight, at the company dinner, you’re beginning to realize that neatly labeled boxes have a way of getting jumbled when Mingyu’s around.

The restaurant is buzzing with chatter, glasses clinking, and the hum of soft music in the background. His deep, warm laugh carries over the noise, drawing glances from everyone at your table. He’s always been effortlessly charming, with his broad shoulders, that perfect smile, and a sense of humor that’s impossible to resist.

And right now, someone else seems to have noticed.

A junior marketing associate, her name slips your mind, but she’s all bright eyes and flirty giggles. She's leaning just a little too close to him. Her hand grazes his arm as she laughs at something he said, and you swear you see her fingers linger there for a moment longer than necessary.

Your chest tightens, and you quickly take a sip of your wine, hoping the bitterness will drown the unfamiliar feeling clawing its way up your throat.

Jealousy.

It’s ridiculous, really. You and Mingyu aren’t together.

You’ve both made it clear: this is casual. Easy. No messy emotions, remember?

So why does it bother you so much when he leans in to whisper something to her, his grin widening as she laughs again?

“Are you okay?” a colleague asks, pulling you out of your spiral.

“Yeah, fine,” you reply, forcing a smile.

But your eyes can’t help darting back to Mingyu.

Later, as the group begins to thin out, people leaving one by one, you make your way to the bar for another drink.

You need something. Anything to steady your nerves. You’re swirling your glass idly when you feel someone slide onto the stool beside you.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” Mingyu says, his voice low and teasing.

You don’t turn to look at him immediately. “I’m just tired,” you lie.

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning a little closer. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, and it makes your heart race.

“Tired? Or… distracted?”

That gets your attention. You glance at him, and he’s watching you with that playful glint in his eye, like he already knows exactly what’s on your mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, feigning indifference.

“Oh, don’t you?” He grins, and it’s infuriatingly attractive. “You’ve been glaring daggers at poor Mina all night.”

So that’s her name. Mina.

“I wasn’t glaring,” you snap, a little too defensively.

He laughs softly, leaning even closer until his shoulder brushes yours. “You were. And, for the record, it was kind of cute.”

“I wasn’t jealous, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Really?” His voice drops, and suddenly the air between you feels charged. “Because it looked a lot like jealousy to me.”

You turn to face him fully, ready to argue, but the words catch in your throat when you see the way he’s looking at you—intense, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips before meeting yours again.

“Mingyu,” you start, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

“Relax,” he says, smirking. “I wasn’t interested in her, anyway.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, and you hate how much that admission makes your pulse race. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, turning back to your drink.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice warm and teasing, “but you like me anyway.”

The car ride home is quieter than usual. Mingyu insisted on sharing a ride, though you suspect it’s less about convenience and more about prolonging the teasing

As the car pulls up to your apartment, you hesitate for a moment. You should say goodnight and leave it at that.

But when Mingyu’s hand brushes yours as he moves to open the door, your resolve wavers.

“Want to come up?” you ask, your voice casual, though your heart is anything but.

He smiles knowingly. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Your apartment feels smaller with Mingyu in it. The tension that’s been simmering all night seems to boil over as he follows you inside, his eyes lingering on you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“You know,” he says, his tone teasing but softer now, “if you’re going to get jealous every time someone flirts with me, we might have to renegotiate this whole ‘just friends’ thing.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you say again, though even you don’t believe it this time.

“Sure,” he says, stepping closer. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can come up with a retort, his hand cups your cheek, and suddenly you forget how to speak.

“Mingyu,” you whisper, but he cuts you off with a kiss—soft at first, almost tentative, before it deepens. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

You don’t remember moving, but somehow you end up against the kitchen counter, his lips trailing down your neck as your hands tangle in his hair.

“You’re impossible,” you murmur, though it comes out more like a sigh.

“And yet,” he says, his breath warm against your skin, “you keep me around.”

His lips find yours again, and this time there’s no teasing, no games, just the kind of intensity that leaves you breathless and wondering how you ever thought you could keep this casual.

Later, as you lie tangled together on your couch, his arm draped lazily over your waist, you realize your carefully labeled boxes have completely unraveled.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re okay with that.

It starts at a casual get-together with some of your friends. Mingyu wasn’t supposed to come. You invited him half-jokingly, figuring he’d have better things to do on a Friday night. But to your surprise, he’d shown up, effortlessly sliding into the group as if he’d always been part of it.

And now, you wish he hadn’t.

Not because you’re upset he’s here.

Far from it.

Mingyu has a way of making everything more fun. It’s just that you’re too aware of him, standing across the room, his eyes flicking to you every few seconds like he’s keeping tabs on you.

You’re talking to a guy.

what was his name again? Jae? Jin? Mingyu thought to hinself.

The guy has clearly been angling for your attention all night but you don’t notice. You’re oblivious to the way he leans a little too close when he speaks or the way his hand brushes yours unnecessarily as you reach for your drink.

Mingyu notices, though.

From his spot by the makeshift bar, he’s gripping his glass a little too tightly, his jaw clenched as he watches the scene unfold. He tells himself it’s fine—you’re not his, and he has no right to feel this way. But when Jae-or-whatever laughs a little too loud at something you’ve said, leaning in like he’s about to touch you, something snaps.

Before he knows it, he’s crossing the room.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, his voice smooth but laced with an edge as he steps between you and Jason, casually sliding his arm around your waist. “Didn’t realize you’d made a new friend.”

“Mingyu? What are you doing?” You blink up at him, surprised

“Just thought I’d check in,” he says, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. His gaze shifts to Jason, who suddenly looks less sure of himself. “Who’s this?”

Jason clears his throat. “Uh, I’m Joon. We were just talking.”

“Talking, huh?” Mingyu says, his smile sharp. “That’s nice. But I think she’s good here.”

“Mingyu—” you start, but he’s already steering you away, his hand firm on your lower back.

You glance back at Joon, who’s standing there awkwardly, but Mingyu doesn’t let you linger. He leads you out onto the balcony, where the cool night air hits your skin.

“What the hell was that?” you ask, spinning to face him.

“What was that?” he counters, his voice low and tense. “That guy was all over you.”

“He was not!” you protest. “We were just talking.”

“You’re so oblivious sometimes, you know that? He wasn’t just talking, he was hitting on you.”

You cross your arms, irritation bubbling up. “And what if he was? It’s not like you get to decide who I talk to.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he steps closer, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

“Maybe I don’t,” he says quietly, his voice dangerously calm. “But I didn’t like it.”

Your breath catches. His proximity, the intensity in his gaze—it’s overwhelming

“Why do you even care?” you ask, though your voice is softer now, less sure. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and suddenly the world feels smaller, like it’s just the two of you on that balcony.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

Your heart pounds as he leans in, his forehead resting against yours

“I care,” he murmurs, his voice rough with something that feels too big to name, “because you’re mine.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable.

“Mingyu—”

He cuts you off with a kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a desperation that leaves you breathless. It’s not soft or tentative like before—it’s possessive, claiming, as if he’s trying to prove something to both of you.

You don’t resist. Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt as his hands slide to your waist, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathing hard, he rests his forehead against yours again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we said no feelings. No strings. But I can’t help it. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you.”

Your chest tightens, and for once, you don’t push him away. Instead, you reach up to trace the line of his jaw, your touch soft.

“You’re an idiot,” you say, but there’s no heat in your words. “But I guess you're my idiot.”

His smile is equal parts relief and triumph. “Damn right I am”

Back inside, the party continues without you, but neither of you cares. You end up in your apartment again, the tension between you finally boiling over.

This time, there’s no hesitation, no teasing. Just the two of you giving in to what’s been building for weeks. His hands are everywhere, mapping every inch of your skin like he’s memorizing you, and when you pull him down onto the couch, he follows without question.

“Say it again,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice rough and low as his lips trail downward.

“Say what?” you manage, your breath hitching as his hands slide under your shirt.

“That you’re mine,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s something vulnerable in his gaze, hidden beneath all the confidence.

You cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I’m yours,” you whisper, and the way his expression softens makes your heart ache.

“Good,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Because I’m yours too.”

And this time, when he kisses you, it feels like a promise.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 3 months ago

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Writing Notes: Poetry

Poetry

A type of literature that conveys a thought, describes a scene or tells a story in a concentrated, lyrical arrangement of words.

Poems can be structured, with rhyming lines and meter, the rhythm and emphasis of a line based on syllabic beats.

Poems can also be freeform, which follows no formal structure.

The basic building block of a poem is a verse known as a stanza.

A stanza is a grouping of lines related to the same thought or topic, similar to a paragraph in prose.

A stanza can be subdivided based on the number of lines it contains.

For example, a couplet is a stanza with two lines.

On the page, poetry is visibly unique: a narrow column of words with recurring breaks between stanzas. Lines of a poem may be indented or lengthened with extra spacing between words. The white space that frames a poem is an aesthetic guide for how a poem is read.

Meter

A poem can contain many elements to give it structure.

Rhyme is perhaps the most common of these elements: countless poetic works, from limericks to epic poems to pop lyrics, contain rhymes.

But equally important is meter, which imposes specific length and emphasis on a given line of poetry.

Stanza

In poetry, a stanza is used to describe the main building block of a poem.

It is a unit of poetry composed of lines that relate to a similar thought or topic—like a paragraph in prose or a verse in a song.

Every stanza in a poem has its own concept and serves a unique purpose.

A stanza may be arranged according to rhyming patterns and meters—the syllabic beats of a line.

It can also be a free-flowing verse that has no formal structure.

Rhyme Scheme

There are many different types of rhymes that poets use in their work: internal rhymes, slant rhymes, eye rhymes, identical rhymes, and more.

One of the most common ways to write a rhyming poem is to use a rhyme scheme composed of shared vowel sounds or consonants.

Types of Poetic Forms

Some of literature’s most enduring types of poems.

Blank verse. Blank verse is poetry written with a precise meter—almost always iambic pentameter—that does not rhyme.

Rhymed poetry. In contrast to blank verse, rhymed poems rhyme by definition, although their scheme varies.

Free verse. Free verse poetry is poetry that lacks a consistent rhyme scheme, metrical pattern, or musical form.

Epics. An epic poem is a lengthy, narrative work of poetry; typically detail extraordinary feats and adventures of characters from a distant past.

Narrative poetry. Similar to an epic, a narrative poem tells a story. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere” and Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” exemplify this form.

Haiku. A 3-line poetic form originating in Japan. The first line has five syllables, the second line has seven syllables, and the third line again has five syllables.

Pastoral poetry. A pastoral poem is one that concerns the natural world, rural life, and landscapes. These poems have persevered from Ancient Greece (in the poetry of Hesiod) to Ancient Rome (Virgil) to the present day (Gary Snyder).

Sonnet. A sonnet is a 14 line poem, typically (but not exclusively) concerning the topic of love. Sonnets contain internal rhymes within their 14 lines; the exact rhyme scheme depends on the style of a sonnet.

Elegies. An elegy is a poem that reflects upon death or loss. Traditionally, it contains themes of mourning, loss, and reflection. However, it can also explore themes of redemption and consolation.

Ode. A tribute to its subject, although the subject need not be dead—or even sentient, as in John Keats’ “Ode on a Grecian Urn”.

Limerick. A 5-line poem that consists of a single stanza, an AABBA rhyme scheme, and whose subject is a short, pithy tale or description.

Lyric poetry. The broad category of poetry that concerns feelings and emotion. This distinguishes it from two other poetic categories: epic and dramatic.

Ballad. A form of narrative verse that can be either poetic or musical. It typically follows a pattern of rhymed quatrains. From John Keats to Samuel Taylor Coleridge to Bob Dylan, it represents a melodious form of storytelling.

Soliloquy. A soliloquy is a monologue in which a character speaks to him or herself, expressing inner thoughts that an audience might not otherwise know. Soliloquies are not definitionally poems, although they often can be—most famously in the plays of William Shakespeare.

Villanelle. A nineteen-line poem consisting of five tercets and a quatrain, with a highly specified internal rhyme scheme. Originally a variation on a pastoral, the villanelle has evolved to describe obsessions and other intense subject matters, as exemplified by Dylan Thomas, author of villanelles like “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.”

Imagery

In poetry and literature, imagery is the use of figurative language to evoke a sensory experience in the reader.

When a poet uses descriptive language well, they play to the reader’s senses, providing them with sights, tastes, smells, sounds, internal and external feelings, and even internal emotion.

Blank Verse & Free Verse Poetry

Free verse poetry has been popular from the 19th century onward and is not bound by rules regarding rhyme or meter.

Blank verse poetry came of age in the sixteenth century and has been famously employed by the likes of William Shakespeare, John Milton, William Wordsworth, and countless others.

Unlike free verse, it adheres to a strong metrical pattern.

Mimesis

Copying is something writers usually strive to avoid.

And yet, the literary theory of mimesis says that artists copy constantly, as a matter of necessity.

Does this make their art bad?

Centuries of thinkers from Plato and Aristotle onwards have attempted to answer this question by debating the nature of mimesis.

Onomatopoeia

Usually, how words sound bears no relationship to what they mean.

That’s not true in the case of onomatopoeia, where words sound like what they are. The English language is littered with these mimicking words, from meowing cats to babbling brooks.

In poetry and literature, the onomatopoeic effect is something writers can harness to create vivid imagery without verbosity.

Enjambment

Poetry is a structured literary form, with patterns and rhythms that dictate the flow of verses.

Lineation in poetry is how lines are divided and where they end in relation to a clause or thought. Having a line break at the end of a phrase or complete thought is a regular and expected pattern in poetry.

Poets subvert this expectation by using a technique called enjambment.

Dissonance

The human brain instinctively looks for harmony.

When it is denied harmony, it can create a powerful moment—whether that’s for the purposes of creating tension, capturing inner turmoil, or bringing a bit of levity.

Injects discomfort into text through inharmonious sounds and uneven rhythms.

Consonance

In poetry, rhyme isn’t the only way to introduce memorability and musicality.

Consonance presents poets with the possibility of playing around with the repetition of consonant sounds.

Assonance

Assonance, the repetition of vowel sounds, is distinct from consonance, which refers to the repetition of consonant sounds.

Along with rhyme and alliteration, it is a powerful poetic device that writers can use to make their words stand out.

Alliteration

Sometimes called initial rhyme or head rhyme, alliteration is one poetic device that’s unmissable in our everyday world.

Poets, advertisers and headline writers all regularly take this approach of repeating initial letter sounds to grab people’s attention.

In poetry, it also injects focus, harmony, and rhythm.

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ References for Poets ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#poetry #writeblr #literature #writers on tumblr #writing reference #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #light academia #writing notes #poets on tumblr #pyotr konchalovsky #writing resources

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months ago

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Enemies vs cowards

With few exceptions, it is more accurate to divide most politicians into two broad categories: Enemies, and Cowards. The enemies are those politicians who are legitimately opposed to your policy goals. The cowards are those politicians who may agree with your policy goals, but will sell you out if they must in order to protect their own interests. Embrace the idea that we are simply pushing to elect the cowards, rather than the enemies. Why? Because the true work of political action is not to identify idealized superheroes to run for office. It is, instead, to create the conditions in the world that make it safe for the cowards to vote the right way. Under this framework, you can set aside the tedious feelings of disappointment that come with holding moral views while also supporting any politician. Will your favorite candidate do something bad? Almost certainly. After all, they are cowards. The onus is on us to give the cowards a soft path to the moral choice. The education necessary to equip citizens with the facts; the persuasion necessary to move public opinion to the right place; the organizing necessary to mobilize people to fight for the right thing. These things are the substance of “politics.” Elections can be seen as just another organizing task, one in an endless procession of efforts necessary to arrange the chess pieces of power in a way that will, eventually, produce the righteous outcome.

-Hamilton Nolan

#politics #elections

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starlightz4mj · 1 month ago

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Something Is Not Right With Me

Category: horror, smut (mild)

Era: Thriller

Word count: 4,522

Setting: Indiana. Autumn of 1957

Note: This oneshot is a continuation of the film at the beginning of Thriller. Both reader and Michael are 18. Re-edited to tweak some things and to correct the em-dashes.

Something is not right with me!

How was I supposed to know?

. . .

Something is not right with me!

Tryin’ not to let it show!

The white Chevrolet halts to a stop as the engine turns off, surrounding the young couple with the mysterious sounds of the night. A frigid breeze sweeps through the heavy layer of oak trees laying on each side of the winding road. The fissle of it dances in your ears, brushing against the skin of your sleeveless arms and sending a chill up your body.

The constant chirp of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl, symphonies that otherwise would be relaxing, were the only sounds that could be heard in the still, quiet of the woods—a daunting reminder of being stuck in the middle of nowhere. Though slightly anxious at the gloomy atmosphere, your worry eases by the reminder of the handsome and caring boy you have by your side.

Since you transferred schools last spring during your junior year, you had been crushing hard on Michael, but never had the courage to make any advances. Nearly every girl in school swooned over him—the captain of the football team—his popularity and good looks were irresistible. Between you both in some of the few classes you shared, there was the occasional, friendly conversation over assignments or the fleeting exchange of a greeting in the hallway.

You reminisce over the scent of oranges, cinnamon and cedar always swirling around him, intoxicatingly sweet yet manly. And though your discussions flowed nicely, it was not enough to convince you of the possibility of him ever having any feelings for you. And with that belief, you remained merely another admirer amongst the rest on campus. What you didn’t know was that Michael had been interested in you as well. That is, until the day he approached you at your locker.

“Hey, I wanted to let you know that I really like talkin’ to ya, and I’ve thought you were beautiful since the first day I saw you sittin’ in Mrs. Kelly’s class. I was wonderin’ if maybe you and I could go out sometime? How’s this Friday?” His accent drawls out smoothly from his supple lips, kind eyes staring intently into yours. He stood there, nearly towering over you, red varsity jacket fitted attractively over his broad shoulders and hands tucked casually into his jean pockets as he waited for your response. Despite his collected demeanor, he was a ball of nerves internally, fearing you would reject him.

Stunned at the request, you simply gaped for a minute that dragged on in awkward silence, entirely surprised and flattered that he approached you for a date. And how could you resist that? Finally collecting yourself, you giddily accepted the arrangement, anticipating how you would spend the evening with him. It had been nearly six months since that fateful day, and you and Michael have been going strong ever since.

Tonight, you both had agreed to go to the showing of Creature From The Black Lagoon at a drive-in theater the next town over, but he had been warning for the past 10 minutes that the tank would likely be empty before you could make it there. Seeing as the car’s not moving anymore, it seems it was no mere jest.

“Honestly, we’re out of gas!” Micahel exclaims with a charming chuckle as he takes in the inquisitive look on your face.

“So, what are we gonna do now?” The honeyed lilt in your voice gave clear indication to Michael of what you were hinting at. Though the dense and lofty woods of Lake county were somewhat unsettling this time of evening, there was still a peaceful solitude it offered that could be used to both of your advantage. You and Michael had strictly been keeping things at first base, scandalous makeout sessions behind school bleachers and in the back of his

car, but never anything past the waist.

An arched brow curled up in amusement with a slight smirk resting on his lips, you were under the impression that you both were on the same page about what would take place next… Surprisingly, and much to your disappointment, you instead find the two of you traveling on foot, trying to locate the gas station about 2 miles away from where Michael had left his car.

As you continued your stride, there was a comfortable silence that rested between you two, leaving Michael deep in questioning thought. He was sure that he filled the tank the day before this outing. Or, maybe it was three days ago? Recently, Michael found himself not being able to remember things with certainty. In fact, he’s been experiencing an array of bizarre occurrences for a while now.

It all seemed to start a few weeks ago on that fishing trip he took with his grandfather to Fox Lake. A rare and special occasion, they traveled for miles to the only one in all the state of Indiana that was welcome to black folks for vacationing. Staying out on the water for hours, they took in the vibrant hues of the autumn leaves resting gently against the fading horizon, sharing stories and memories to make themselves merry.

Night had nearly fallen by the time they headed back to shore with their catch of the day when a sudden and violent shaking amongst the bushes alerted them to caution. In an instant, Michael yelped at the sharp claws of a bobcat etching into his hand as it hopped out from hiding and swiftly disappeared back into the thicket just as rapidly as it emerged, but not before he could make out the bright, neon gleam of its yellow tinted iris. The bucket of fish tumbles from the clutch of his fingers.

“Michael! You okay, boy? Lemme look at it.”

Grandpa Sam rushes over to his side, cradling his bloodied hand to inspect it.

“Yeah, I’m fine ‘pa. It got me good, though.” With a wince and a slight hiss from the sting, Michael wraps a cloth tightly around the deep gash to stop the bleeding. A bumpy ride back home in the old pickup truck they came in and his mother worriedly fussing over the wound as she tended to it, Michael soon finds himself easily diving into the comfort of his bed and quickly taken by sleep. Though, it remains anything but a good rest.

First came the nightmare. Astral visions painted with crimson red, haunted by ghastly screams and wild, hideous growls. A demon or some beastly creature with an unruly coat and glowing orbs, bounding through the midwestern woodlands, in a pursuit for carnage. And the moon, full and bright, beaming in an inky and starless sky. Its glow illuminates from above, pouring down over Michael. In the waking world, this feeling would gently bathe over the skin, as faint as a phantom.

But here, it was simmering against Michael’s body, gradually getting hotter and hotter until an unyielding, searing burn gnawed at his flesh. A scorch abruptly set off inside him, as if lava had been directly injected into his veins before he found himself startled awake by his own anguished shout, body and sheets alike drenched in sweat, and panting desperately to calm the racing within his ribcage.

“I heard you screaming. Is everything alright?” His mother inquires with urgency as she barges through the door. Now more collected after a few deep breaths, Michael straightens up, directing his attention to her.

“I just had a nightmare is all. Don’t worry. I’m alright.” Relieved to hear that nothing serious happened, she lightly instructs him to get ready for school as she finishes making breakfast before exiting the room. As he goes to stand up, the gauze that was secured around the scratches slips from his hand and to his astonishment, he's staring at a surface unblemished.

Wide eyed and in disbelief, he flips his hand from front to back, flexing the joints experimentally, as if that would make the mark or its signifying twinge of soreness reappear. Alas, it did not and with it, he began to feel the fraying of his sanity. Ever since that night, his sleep has been disturbed by nightmares. Precisely, the same exact one over and over again.

Then came the hunger. Now, Michael has always been on the smaller side, possessing a lithe frame that most wouldn’t expect to be suitable for football, but strangely, he was one of the best players at Shortridge High. A standard 3 meals a day, prepared by the loving and kind hands of his mother, with regular exercise and training were usually enough to keep him in tip top shape for his games.

But lately, those meals have done little to satisfy his growing appetite. His days have been filled with ravenous engorge. Popcorn bags, mini orange juice cartons and plenty of burger wrappers from Lou’s Diner up the road, all piled high in the corner of his room. And when it came dinner time, whatever protein that’s been made goes on his plate in surplus, priorly requesting of his mother to make extra.

“Michael sweetie, slow down! You don’t want to give yourself a stomach ache.” Kathrine gawked in shock and bewilderment at her son devouring the slab of steak as if he were some starved animal indulging in its first meal in months. Momentarily, he’s snapped out of his frenzied feast, awkwardly gazing up at her.

“I’m sorry, Mother. You know how much I love your cooking,” an embarrassed smile of grease-stained lips and meat-stuck teeth accompanied by a subtle moment of silence, and he’s back to eating the second steak on his plate with a calmer restraint.

As a teenage boy, of course your hormones are all over the place. Michael, understanding this, made an extra effort to keep his emotions in check and save that energy for the field where he could release it in a productive way. Sex had been something that Michael tuned out relatively well, simply because he hadn’t actually romantically pursued anyone. That is, until he started going out with you.

Adamant about being a gentleman, he made it clear that he only wanted to fully engage with you when the time was right, and so far he’s miraculously managed to abstain. But ever since that incident at the lake, he’s found himself in constant battle with these carnal desires.

Besides the nightmares, his sleep often was comprised of the vivid and lewd images of you and him. Bodies joined together, gyrating and slick with passion, your wanton cries and desperate calls of his name echoed alluringly within his mind. Consuming and greedy caresses to intimate, fleshy parts flashed enticingly behind his eyelids like a view-master reel, and he’d awaken to briefs damp with his emission, sensitive and still not satiated, craving for the real thing.

Behind the locked door of the bathroom, the recollection of your titillating noises fueled the rapid pace of his fist against himself while his other pressed firmly to his mouth, muffling the pleasured groans that spilled from his lips. Though he made an earnest effort to keep these lustful urges at bay, it was starting to become more tempting to give in.

And then there was his anger. Uncommon and newly emerged, he’d been having an increasingly difficult time grappling with it.

“Mike, chill out man! The guy didn’t mean it!” Max and Chris, Michael’s teammates and friends since grade school, attempt to dislodge his firm grip from the collar of the unnamed kid who’s clearly shaken from the ferocious glare Michael holds. A forceful bump into Michael, being too deeply immersed in the story another classmate was recounting, landed him in this current predicament.

As he gasps from the air being knocked from his lungs after being slammed against the lockers, the handle digging painfully into his spine, and gazing back into the chilling, animalistic glare of his assaulter, one that clearly screamed of intense rage and intent to murder, he wishes he would’ve been paying attention before. After what felt like an eternity, Michael breaks his look away for a brief glance in the direction of his friends, reluctantly releasing hold of his polo shirt.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going next time,” a gruff warning is cast in the quaking boy’s direction as Michael storms out of the locker room. And though his thoughts were veiled with an underlying puzzlement as to why he reacted so explosively, he was still seething too much to even fully acknowledge it.

“What the hell’s the matter with him?”

All three boys stand and stare dumbfounded as the blue door slams behind Michael with a resounding thud. As he paces across the field, his rage riddled mind settles deep in ponderment, unable to shake the feeling that something terrible was happening to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” gently grabbing hold of his arm and offering your sincere apology, Michael focuses his line of sight on you before stopping and fully turning towards your direction. His voice cuts through the brief pause he takes.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?” You reply softly, taking in his quiet determination.

“You know I like you, don’t you?”

“Yes.” A smile and endearing eyes focused on him, you hold on to every word with adoration.

“And I hope you like me, the way I like you.”

“Yes.”

“I was wonderin’ if… you would be my girl?” During these months of courting as you both grew closer and closer, Michael's feelings had grown much fonder for you. He decided it was the right moment to take the next step in this relationship.

“Oh, Michael…” you two share a warm and tight embrace, pulling apart for Michael to slip a silver promise ring onto your finger.

“It’s beautiful!” Taking in the intricate, fine details of petaled vines spiraling toward the center to a rose with a sapphire gem resting delicately in the middle of it, you feel elated that your connection had finally developed into something deeper.

“Now, it’s official.” Michael chimes with a satisfied grin and voice filled with pride. Though in an instant, his expression turns grim.

“I have somethin’ I wanna tell ya.”

“Yes, Michael?” Staring quizzically, confused at the sudden shift of mood, you wait for him to continue.

“I’m not like other guys…” Michael's voice tinges with foreboding, contemplating if he should come clean about the strange happenings he’s been plagued with since the lake, or if he should just drop it and pretend that they don’t exist. Perhaps, you not knowing would be best for both of you. Somehow, they might disappear on their own, leaving their revelation to you futile in the end, or maybe even scaring you off, ruining what you both have.

“Of course not! That’s why I love you,” your fervent declaration pulls at his heart, anchoring the resolution he has to share these secrets with you. Still, he finds himself troubled on how to phrase it.

“No, I mean I’m different.”

“What are you talking about?” Uttering in perplexity, you begin to worry about what could possibly be the cause of the cryptic nature of Michael’s words. But before he can continue, a yelp filled with agony cracks abruptly in the space between you. Michael crouches down to the ground, doubling over as the same inferno that’s been haunting his dreams starts to set him ablaze from within.

And as he feels a terrifying shift, as if being ripped away from himself and replaced with something untamed and vicious, he is certain that the events over these past weeks are reaching a cataclysmic peak. Whatever this is, he senses if you stay near him any longer, it will have dire consequences.

“Are you alright?!” You go to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but before you even take the first step, Michael’s head whips up, startling you with the horrifying sight of citrine eyes and razor-sharp teeth.

“GO AWAY!”

Frozen in fear, your feet plant firmly to the ground as the petrifying scene unfolds in front of you. Blood curdling screams reach your ears, soon recognized to be your own, tearing out of your throat as you watch Michael transform into something morbid and monstrous. The delicate structure of his face morphs horridly, distorting into a grotesque visage of bulging contours and wiry whiskers. His once smooth skin is replaced by coarse, silver fur and the unmistakable snap of contorting bones rings through the air as his features expand and bloodied claws push through the tips of his fingers.

His protruding maw hangs open threateningly, lined with jagged fangs and emitting unearthly snarls that penetrate the night like a raging hellhound. Though on the contrary, his resemblance is akin to a wild cat as opposed to that of a canine. Finally regaining your senses, your legs break into a sprint towards the forest, hoping to escape the beast that was once your boyfriend in the shadowy vastness of it.

Soles pounding against the leaf-layered ground, the branches you push through tear at the purple skirt of your dress and scratch you in various places, but spiked on adrenaline and fear, you hardly notice. The full moon, backdropped by rolling, wispy clouds, is the only light offered in the ever increasing darkness of the woods as you descend deeper and deeper, getting lost in them. As its rays cast over the trees, creating silhouettes against the forest floor that waver in peculiar and unsettling ways, your pulse hammers in your ears as you find yourself failing to grasp what's real and what’s not.

Your desperate flight carries on as a ghostly howl sounds off not far behind you, spurring you to move faster to seek coverage. Once you feel you’ve reached a safe distance, you quickly take hiding behind the trunk of a towering oak, using this as an opportunity to regain your breath.

Fingers gripping and back pressed to the rough bark, it grounds you as you adjust to the sudden calm that envelops your dim surroundings. The hush of the space brings an uneasy feeling of suspense as you notice the muffled stomps of the creature have vanished entirely.

“Ah!” You shriek as the horrendous brute leaps out from above, pouncing and knocking you to the bed of withered leaves beneath. Hovering and caging you in, it lowers until it's at eye length with you and the huff of its breath fans hotly over your face. And as it lets out a loud bellow, extended claws baring menacingly, your demise seems sealed as imminent.

With clenched eyes and pummeling heart, you brace yourself for the impact of them shredding through your flesh. But a moment passed, yet again, where everything is still. And you wonder, is this truly death? Being so caught up on the uncompromising actuality of it, that you feel nothing at all?

Supposing the universe heard your despairing rumination to make reason of it, you feel the definite press of claws over the left side of your chest, simply resting as if to feel the rhythm there. Cautiously you pry your eyes open, intently taking in the slitted, inhuman orbs piercing through your own.

But oddly, behind them lies no malice. Instead, the tender and musing gaze of your used-to-be lover holds you captive as loud, rumbly chuffs vibrate affectionately against your form. And in this exchange between you, juxtaposing with danger and serenity, you feel as if somewhere far beyond this grisly countenance, he is reaching out to you.

“M-Michael? Are you there? Is it you?” Gingerly, your fingers inch closer and closer until they finally press flush to the cheek of this cat-like beast, silver mane tickling your skin. It reciprocates, overlapping its warm paw over the place your hand rests and letting out a series of soft, chittering purrs. Completely ensnared to each other in this moment, your resistance and distress gradually dissipate until you are only left with a deep yearning to understand this mystifying oddity before you, lost in the moonlit reflection of your eyes.

But, you are given no time as within them, gray clouds roll over, gathering to enshroud the moon, causing the creature to feel an unsteady shift inside of itself. Yowling in affliction, its paw tears away from your hand, claws catching the skin and drawing a scream from you once again with alarm restored. Somehow, you both manage to scurry from each other- you in terror and the nonhuman thing in pain.

And as you dash back into a run in the direction from whence you came, the open gash of your hand leaving a trail of blood in your path, you hear the indistinguishable shout of your boyfriend through the forest that is now almost pitch black as the moon has completely taken cover.

“Wait! Please, come back!” Wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you, you attempt to halt the progression of your steps and turn to see if Michael is really there. You are unable to confirm as you miss sight of the edge of a rock jutting out from the earth, foot seized by it as you tumble to the ground, bumping your head, and becoming consumed by a world of darkness.

Eyelids snapping open, you take in the familiar setting. Your bedroom of soft hues and ruffled accents is lightly aglow with the slivers of morning sky that seeps through the undulating curtains of your window—slightly ajar and inviting the nippy, autumn air into the space. Lifting the pink comforter from yourself and expecting to see the tattered dress from last night, you are surprised to find your form clad in your usual attire of a nylon nightgown. You adjust yourself, sitting up straight to fully take in where you are. How did you get here?

You mull over internally for some explanation. To pinpoint a cause on what you suppose you only could have conjured up in your wildest imagination. Maybe it was stress from the upcoming end-of-semester exams you have, or that off-tasting slice of pie you ate the previous day. Lost in the introspection of your mind, you almost miss the bright ringing of the telephone on your bedside table. With a self-soothing sigh, you extend your hand to the receiver when the dazzle of a silver band graced with a sapphire stone leaves you shell-shocked, ice freezing over your bones.

The ringer thrums one final time before stopping as you fail to answer the call. Feeling as if your mind has stopped functioning while simultaneously being in overdrive, the phone sounds off again. After the third toll, you yank the receiver to your ear, muttering into the transmitter after a beat.

“...Hello?” You're gifted with nothing but the quiet breathing of whoever’s on the other side of the line, and you have a creeping suspicion to who it might be.

“...Michael?” The name drifts out in a low whisper. You then hear a tentative exhale being taken. “Yeah. It’s me.”

An abnormal feeling rests in the pit of your stomach at the sound of his voice, taken aback by the normality of it as your memory flashes back to the possessed and hellish tones that were produced in the woods. His question breaks through the thought. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

“I remember everything.” The statement falls from your lips with clarity and no hesitation.

“...Is it okay if we talk in person?” He requests nervously with an obvious unease in his words.

“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Your chest pangs with apprehension, thoughts varying between the fear you felt last night and your desire to know the unknown. You’re not sure which one outweighs the other yet.

“Baby, please. I’m begging you. Give me a chance to explain. I promise you’ll be safe. I just need you to understand.” He pleads desperately on the other side of the phone, but you're still not sure if you are willing to take that risk.

“How can you promise me that? My hand, Michael. Do you even know what you did?” The incredulity in your voice aches Michael deeply as he rakes through his brain, attempting to spot any glimpses of what took place. But he can only recall the excruciating burn and the pale moonlight; anything else remains hazy.

“I can’t remember everyth-”

“You can’t remember? How is that supposed to reassure me?” You cut his words short with trepidation rushing through your lips.

“I don’t know! I can’t remember! I don’t know what I was. I’m not even sure I know what I am anymore. But whatever happened, you have to know that I am so sorry, and that I would never, ever do anything to intentionally hurt you. I-I need you to hear me out. Please. Baby, it’s me. It’s Michael… Can you just trust me?” The quiver and break of his voice he tries his best to hold in reaches your ears. You feel the strain on your soul as you hear him clearly hurting and confused. Though your skeptical concern still persists, you can’t bear the thought of him dealing with this torment alone.

“...Okay. But I’ll only do it if we go somewhere public.” Your stalled yet willing answer gives Michael a sense of hope and relief. Even though he’s slightly disappointed, he understands your wary disposition. Therefore, he quickly casts the feeling aside, mustering up the best response he can.

“Of course, of course. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I’m headin’ over right now, so be ready in 15 minutes… I love you.”

“I love you too, Michael.” Albeit a small murmuring, you declare it with absolute devotion, soothing his underlying doubt that you no longer felt the same. The conversation ends by the small clack of the receiver against the switch hook, leaving you to simply settle into the stillness of your room, lost in raking over the events of the night before. Panic faintly remains, but you are mostly filled with curious wonder. As you marinate in the mixed sensations and emotions of that unnatural interaction, you think back to the sentimental moment the two of you shared on the earthy ground.

It somewhat subdues the anxiety and confliction you feel as you are reminded of the gentleness you were handled with. Despite the frightening exterior, you can still feel the lingering warmth of its benign touch and the adoring expression it held towards you. Michael’s struggle between beast and man was unequivocal, but you were certain that your affection for him mirrored the same. And though you were still having trouble wrapping your head around the reality of this situation, you were determined to hold the fortitude needed to navigate through it together.

With a sudden shiver, pulling you away from your inner dwellings, a particularly frigid gust of wind blows through your open window. Rising slowly, you shuffle across the room to pull it shut. Placing both palms on the sash, you seal the gap from letting in anymore of the biting air from outside. But as you look down, you are dismayed to see that the wound on your right hand is nowhere to be found.

Note: Thank you for reading and I hope it was enjoyable :) credits to @carnage-cathedral for the dividers.

mentions: @mjfavgirlie2006 @mjsgirlie04 @moonwalkerdiana

#michael jackson #michaeljackson #king of pop #michael jackson smut #michael jackson fanfic #michael jackson imagine #michael jackson x reader #michael jackson thriller

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polysjmweek · 27 days ago

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Types of CNM: Polyamory

Polyamory is a broad category can involve a central couple who decide to see other people individually or together in romantic or sexual situations, or it can be an individual person engaged in separate romantic and/or sexual situations. Some vectors could be ongoing relationships, others could be fleeting encounters. Each polyamorous relationship looks different, but there are several recognized subtypes:

Traditional triad/throuple: all partners are in romantic and sexual relationships with each other which includes one-on-one relationships between each person in the group, and the relationship between all three partners.

"Embers in the Wing" Nerissian by @chunkypossum

"Neopolitan Bonds" series, Azris/Reader by @nocasdatsgay

"Chasing Starlight" universe, Feysand/Reader by @whisperingmidnights

Closed V: In this subtype, two people share a romantic and sexual connection with a third, but not to each other. The hinge is the person who is connected with the other two.

"Burning in the Starlight" Feris and Feysand by @starfall-spirit

Quad: A quad is polyamorous relationship between four or more people that maintain some kind of romantic and sexual connection, but it’s not necessarily in every configuration. It’s common for at least one vector in the quad to have a close relationship but not a sexual one.

"The Story of Us" Nessian/Azriel/Reader by @readychilledwine

"Stairway Snoops" Azriel/Eris/Nesta/Cassian by @acourtofladydeath

Phew, that's a long one! But we hope you learned something and enjoyed reading all the examples. We'd love to expand this list! If you know of any fics within the Maasverse that feature quads, closed V's, or thouples/triads, let us know and we will add them to our collection.

Disclaimer: It’s important to understand when discussing any type or relationships “classification” that many relationships cannot be classified. Labels are not necessary, and sometimes can restrict the growth of an individual or situation. Some labels and classifications are also fluid and open to interpretation, so you may find different definitions depending on what reference you use. What’s most important is that all members are consenting and happy with the arrangement! These posts are intended as a guideline for individuals who may not be aware of the different types of CNM and are meant to be a jumping off point, not a strict definition.

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fantasy-anatomy-analyst · 5 days ago

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Alright, I'm going to only focus on reblogs and answering questions for a while, rather than making new posts. My inbox is clear at the moment, I caught up on the backlog.

I want to dedicate some time to planning out that book. Not sure what to title it just yet.

Goal of the book:

To provide advice similar to what I post on this blog, but broader and more polished. It will be a book about fantasy design, but not the same way you usually see that term used. Most of the time, discussions about character and creature design are focused on making your designs work for comics/animation/video game concept art, where the important part is creating a design that stands out from a background and has an appealing silhouette and can easily be replicated by a team of artists. Marketability is a key factor as well.

This book will be about character and creature design from the view of a worldbuilder. I'm more interested in talking about functional anatomy and how to make unrealistic creatures look grounded and believable while still giving them that fantastical whimsy.

Part 1:

Obviously I'll open the book on some broader advice about how to get started with designing creatures, though the assumption is that my audience already knows how to draw. This is not a how-to-draw book. I will go over some basic terminology and provide examples of the artistic study process, but I assume anyone using this book is already an artist in some capacity.

The getting started chapter will discuss things like asking yourself the right questions to get your ideas flowing, how to use references effectively, and where to find good references.

That's all I have planned so far. Figuring out what needs to be said at the start of the book is pretty easy. Always open on the basics. And I think the last chapter will be about how to worldbuild effectively, taking your designs and applying them to your fictional world.

But trying to figure out the order of what to put between those chapters is the tricky part. I don't want to spend too much time on really specific and niche topics. I answer rather specific questions on this blog all the time, which is fine because I'm answering those questions for specific people and just making sure my answers can be helpful to other people who might have had similar questions.

I just don't think I can spend pages and pages of this book going over a dozen different fantasy people designs, or covering every possible animal combination for fantasy creatures, or going into detail on a whole fantasy fashion line for as many specific clothing obstacles as i can think of lol. That won't be productive or helpful for a broad audience. So I need to come up with some good categories to cover and then cover them in a way that hopefully leads people into their own more specific ideas.

And I need to figure out the best order to arrange all of those topics, so they line up well between the discussion of basic ideas and reference processes and the final chapter on worldbuilding.

I should also come up with some fresh design ideas I can use as examples throughout the book, since I plan to make a different book compiling all the worldbuilding I'm doing for my novels. Things like my posts on centaurs and quetzalin will go in that book, not this design advice book.

This is a big project and I'm excited to work on it! The most annoying part, I think, will be finding a publisher. I don't have the means to self publish it. I'll let you all know when it's available for pre-order and you can help spread the word lol.

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ladamedusoif · 2 years ago

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20/20 - no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

(gif by @nicolethered)

Summary: After months of pestering from Sarah, Joel finally concedes that he might need to get his eyesight checked and makes an appointment at your optometrist practice. He really doesn’t want glasses, though.

Pairing: No Outbreak!Joel Miller x Optometrist F!Reader

Content/Warnings: MDNI; 18+; not explicit as such but implied; no outbreak AU; Joel and reader are broadly around the same age; fluff; Joel in glasses is his own warning; me making stuff up about eye exams

Word Count: 1600 (this was supposed to be a drabble)

Notes: So @lunapascal and @julesonrecord decided I needed to atone for being incredibly thirsty for the sight of a certain someone putting on a pair of glasses. And voilà, a “glasses are hot” one-shot and my first attempt at Mr Miller.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. But they’re also fascinating little machines in their own right, and you should know: you’ve been running your own vision care clinic in Austin for almost twenty years, after qualifying as an optometrist and gaining experience for a couple of years at various chains.

Some people love finding out they’re going to get to wear glasses. Others? Not so much.

Your last customer of the day definitely falls into the latter category.

“Mr Miller?”

He looks around him in the empty waiting area, sighs, and stands up to join you in the testing suite. He looks like he’s being sent to the rack, not going for a routine eye examination. You introduce yourself and gesture towards the seat in front of your desk.

“So, Mr Miller -”

“Joel.”

“Joel. What brings you to the clinic today? You’re a new customer, have you just moved to the area?”

Joel looks uncomfortable, shifting in the seat. You guess he’s in his early fifties or so, salt-and-pepper hair and a patchy beard. He’s broad, still evidently a strong and well-built man. His denim shirt, embroidered with a logo that reads Miller Family Contractors, fits snugly but perfectly over his frame.

“No, not new to Austin. Been here my whole life. Just…new to the eye doctor.”

“I see.” You pull up his file on the computer system and note his age. “If you don’t mind me saying, Joel, you’ve done pretty well getting to this stage in life without needing some kind of sight correction. What’s changed?”

He exhales, and for the first time since he sat down he actually makes eye contact with you.

Holy shit. You look at irises and pupils and corneas all damn day. You admire and respect the human eye, but you didn’t think it had the same power of attraction over you. Turns out, it had just been a while since you’d seen eyes as beautiful as his.

Even in the shitty artificial light of the testing suite, you can see that Joel Miller’s eyes are a perfect dark brown: at times like black coffee, at times like fine whiskey, depending on the light. They’re warm and enticing, even without him trying. You notice, too, the laughter lines and wrinkles around those extraordinary eyes - here, despite his stern exterior and manner, is a man who smiles and laughs. Who knows happiness.

“My daughter… she made me. Said she was gettin’ sick of me holdin’ up my phone so I could see the screen, and of missin’ half the stuff in my shows because I was squintin’.”

“Ah, she sounds like a wise person. Well, Joel, let’s get going.”

You conduct the retinal exam and the glaucoma test, Joel flinching as the puffs of air hit each eye. When he almost drags himself off the stool to move over for the pupil reactions and visual acuity testing, you decide to just ask.

“Joel, is everything okay? Are you comfortable with the procedures I’m doing?”

He arranges himself in the chair, his broadness making the equipment look comically small. He flashes you another look with those big brown eyes.

“I…I don’t want glasses.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard this. “It’s okay, Joel. If you need vision correction we can look at contacts, or even laser surgery if you think that might be an option.”

He grimaces.

“I don’t want pokin’ in my eyes, either. Or lasers pointed at them. Absolutely not.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Well, let’s hope you don’t need glasses, then, Joel Miller.”

You have to get up close to him for parts of the eye test, as normal. To your horror, you realise that every time you do so, you get a surge of desire. He smells of shaved wood, of pine soap, of peppermint, and of leather. You notice the smattering of freckles across the tan skin exposed by the snaps left open on his shirt. You can’t take your own eyes off his hands: big, broad, long, and strong.

Your mind immediately wanders to thinking about what those hands could do to you. Where they could go that you can’t reach with your own fingers, how they’d feel against your skin, reaching for you, groping at your tits as you -

You clear your throat and turn back to the lens unit, away from Joel, lest he see how flustered you are becoming. He’s got a daughter, you remind yourself. He’s got a wife, or a partner.

“Everythin’ okay?”

“Sure, yes, fine, Joel. Sorry, just trying a new lens combination.”

***

Of course he needs glasses. It’s not a very strong prescription, but he seems crestfallen as you talk him through it.

“Joel, I don’t want to be condescending but glasses are a minor hardship when you think of being able to see clearly again.”

For the first time, he cracks a smile. “I know, I know. I just - I dunno. I feel like I’m an old man now, with my glasses and my stiff knees and my tight back. That’s why I didn’t want them, I - vanity, I guess. Didn’t want to admit I was old.”

You smile in return, noting how kind and warm his expression was. “You’re not old, Joel. You look great.”

That was unprofessional.

He blushes. “Until I put the specs on, that is.”

You point to yourself. “I’m wearing contacts today so it’s easier for me to do my job, but in my downtime - I’m glasses all the way.”

He scoffs. “Different for you, though, you’d look pretty no matter what.”

“Pretty?”

Joel looks up at you from under his lashes. “I mean…yeah, you are. Probably even prettier in your glasses, too.”

It’s your turn for the heat to rise to your cheeks, but you can’t help smiling. “Let’s just double-check the last of the personal contact details before we go look at some frames. Says here your emergency contact is Sarah Miller but there’s no description of your relationship - is she your wi-“

“Daughter. Sarah’s my adult daughter. No wife, no girlfriend.”

You try not to smile too obviously. “My emergency contact is my younger sister. Same reason.”

As you print out Joel’s new prescription, there’s a knock on the door - Meghan, your assistant who usually looks after customers when they choose their frames.

“It’s closing time… you want me to stay late?”

You shake your head. “Of course not, Meghan. I think I’ll be able to help Mr Miller choose his new frames. If that’s okay with you, Joel?”

He smiles and turns to Meghan. “I think I’m in good hands.”

***

Joel studies the selection of frames on display in the main public area of the clinic, looking completely overwhelmed. He turns to you, shrugging helplessly.

“I don’t even know where to start. What would you suggest? You’re the expert.”

You move closer to study his features, taking in the size and shape of his face, the firm set of his jaw, the strong line of his nose, the softness of his lips.

Fuck, this is a beautiful man.

You catch your breath momentarily. “Many men who don’t want glasses choose the invisible frames, like these.” You hold up a pair of the lightweight style, placing them gingerly on Joel’s handsome face.

He studies himself in the mirror. “Not bad. Can’t even tell.”

“If I might suggest something, though?”

He nods. “You’re the expert, like I said.”

“I think your features could carry something a little stronger. More definite, more distinguished. Can I show you?”

You pick a couple of acetate frames from the rack, one in a dark caramel brown, the other in a sort of charcoal grey. You hold them out to Joel.

He wavers, and settles on the caramel pair. You watch as he examines the frames, before gently putting them on.

That’s when you give yourself away. The sight of that man putting on those glasses is so devastatingly sexy that you let out a tiny moan. Joel turns, the frames beautifully complementing his colouring and the darkness of his eyes, and it’s all you can do not to moan again.

“You okay?”

“I’m…I’m fine. You just look…very…”

He moves closer, a little smile on his face. “You sayin’ the glasses are doin’ it for you?”

You nod. “That pair, yes. Yes, I think they might be. I’m sorry, this is horribly unprofessional of me.”

He grins. “Can you explain what it is you like about them?”

You swallow hard, turning him to see himself alongside you in a mirror. “They’re stylish. They are strong. They’re distinguished. They’re very…masculine.” You let the next words slip before you can stop yourself. “In other words, they’re very you.”

Joel turns his back to the mirror, focusing on you. “Only because you found them for me. I’d never have tried somethin’ like this.”

“You glad you did?”

“I am. And I’m glad I came in to get my old eyes checked out by the prettiest optometrist in all Texas.”

You laugh, and he catches your hand to pull you in. Your fingers rest lightly on the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the taut denim underneath. You look at him expectantly.

“I know this is probably mighty unprofessional, but…”

You nod. “But I’ve already gone over the line, so…”

Joel leans in, frames still on, and kisses you: hot, hungry, deeply. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, returning his kiss with the same intensity. When you break away, you take his hand and lead him back towards the testing suite.

“More tests, darlin’?”

You arch an eyebrow as you pull him inside and close the door. “I suspect you’ll pass these with flying colours, Joel Miller. You don’t need 20/20 vision for what I’ve got in mind.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #no outbreak!joel miller #hbo the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us au #joel miller au #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedrostories

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specterthief · 2 years ago

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Definitions and Classifications of Yuri (Third Revision) - yuri315

(This is a translation of a 2018 blog post by the user yuri315 on hatenablog, originally found here. I find this author's system incredibly thorough and interesting, as well as the examples they provide of most of the relationship types, so I wanted to translate it and share it with other yuri fans on Tumblr. I included notes on important information that I thought required additional context, and provided links to all of the manga and anime mentioned, in English when possible and in Japanese when no English was available.)

At present, in order to roughly group together a great variety of relationships as "yuri", the question of where the line is on what can be considered yuri, whether a certain work can be called yuri, and other such unproductive arguments happen frequently. The purpose of this article is to create a general classification of the contents of yuri as a genre, in hopes of shifting the conversation from "is this yuri?" to "what kind of yuri do I enjoy?"

Of course, it can't be denied that the ambiguity of the definition of yuri, combining works following a variety of tastes and trends into a single genre, has been an aspect of the boom that's revitalized the genre. Understandably, there are concerns that clumsily subdividing the classification of yuri will cause a lack of cohesion and lead to the boom stalling and collapsing, when as it is now it hasn't even received a genre code at Comiket.* However, for the general public and new fans who don't share these assumptions, it may be difficult for them to understand situations where it isn't clear whether something is yuri, and they may not be influenced or restricted by those saying "X isn't yuri." Therefore, it is the author's belief that it would be significant for the yuri genre to have some form of comprehensive definition or classification.

Let's start with a provisional definition of yuri. Yuri can be described as "relationships between two or more women, and the genre of works that depicts those relationships." By analyzing what feelings and behaviors these "relationships" are based on, the contents of the yuri genre can be classified. In the following article, we will divide yuri into three broad categories: "Romantic Relationships", "Special Relationships" and "Friendly Relationships", and then establish a more detailed typology of how these relationships form and how they may be portrayed in each category. These designations are for convenience only, and the author is currently experimenting to find a better system.

(*TL note: Genre codes at Comiket—Comic Market, a doujinshi convention and the largest fan convention in the world—are used for attending artists/circles to categorize their work. Circles exhibiting works in the same genre code are grouped together in the convention space; there are currently no genre codes for yuri like there are for BL, even now, five years after this article was written.)

1. Romantic Relationships

Romantic and/or sexual relationships between women. This category includes relationships where there is a clear declaration of romantic love, or the relationship can be clearly understood to be romantic despite a lack of an explicit declaration.

1-1. Escape and Compensation

The story depicts indulging in a homosexual relationship as a compensatory act in order for a woman to escape, temporarily or permanently, from a situation in which her right to self-determination is threatened by coercive heterosexuality, such as arranged or forced marriages or betrothals.

1-2. Temptation and Conflict

The story depicts a woman being seduced into a homosexual relationship by another attractive woman, despite the conflict of their "forbidden love." The seducer is typically portrayed as leading the protagonist into an unknown world, often with tragic consequences. This is nearly synonymous with the "Crimson Rose and Candy" archetype defined by Yukari Fujimoto.* *(TL Note: "Crimson Rose and Candy" is an extremely prevalent archetype in early yuri, originally depicted in Shiroi Heya no Futari, what is generally considered the first yuri manga. Despite its origins and association with yuri, due to the overlap in the genres and authors in the Year 24 Group, it's an archetype that was present in contemporary M/F shoujo and BL, notably Gilbert and Serge in Kaze to Ki no Uta.)

1-3. Self-Awareness and Confession

The story depicts adolescent girls becoming self-aware of their feelings and fluctuations in their sexuality, and, through confessing, beginning romantic relationships. Coming-of-age stories in school settings where the girls face problems particular to puberty are especially common. Examples: - Akira Okudaira x Fumi Manjome (Sweet Blue Flowers by Takako Shimura) - Mariko Kumakura x Akiko Oohashi (GIRL FRIENDS by Milk Morinaga) - Tsubaki Kureha x Ginko Yurishiro (Yurikuma Arashi)

1-4. Negotiation and Dialog

The story depicts a romantic relationship between women who are equal individuals. They are typically emotionally mature to some degree, and already aware of their own sexuality. Negotiations between them occur as necessary as the relationship progresses, and if problems or obstacles arise, they're resolved through dialog between the characters. Examples: - Momoko Naitou x Shinobu Handa x others (Shoujo Sect by Kenn Kurogane) - Yukino Miyashita x Setsuko Iwai (Octave by Haru Akiyama) - Tsukasa Shiratori x Mikage Kotooka x Nadeshiko Washio (Nameless Asterism by Kina Kobayashi)

1-5. Continuation and Stability

The story depicts women who are already dating or living together as a couple. The focus is on the continuation of an established relationship and its stability into the future, and concerns such as living arrangements or coming out to those around them. Most yuri of this type features working adults, and typically include sex or similar acts. Examples: - Maya Nagumo x Michiru Amamiya (Ohana Holoholo by Shino Torino) - Arisa Suzuki x Mari Satou (Akarui Kioku Soushitsu by Oku Tamamushi)

1-6. One-sided Love

The story depicts one woman having unrequited feelings for another woman. This includes stories where these feelings remain hidden for the entirety of the work, or where she confesses and is rejected. Examples: Tomoyo Daidouji → Sakura Kinomoto (Cardcaptor Sakura)

2. Special Relationships

Relationships where the feelings between the characters are ambiguous but special, and can't be constrained by the definitions of either friendship or love. Regardless of the nature of the relationship, the common point is a sense of awareness that "this person is special to me." In most cases, the relationship isn't explicitly stated to be one of romantic love, but can still be said to be nearly a romantic relationship, or a pseudo-romantic relationship.

2-1. Magnetic Attraction

The story depicts an intense relationship in which the characters mutually resonate with one another on an existential or spiritual level, and are irresistibly and strongly attracted to one another, as if by magnetism or gravity. The invention of the term "magnetic attraction" is the greatest achievement of Sound! Euphonium and can be considered a major event in the world of yuri. Examples: - Kumiko Oumae x Reina Kousaka (Sound! Euphonium) - Ange x Princess (Princess Principal)

2-2. Partners

The story depicts characters who become involved with one another in a half-formed way through fate or various other inevitable circumstances, and later develop a strong physical or emotional bond. It's a similar concept to "Forced Yuri", the tagline of MekiMeki's Only☆You ~Anata to Watashi no Futari Bocchi Keikaku~. Examples: - Haruka Tenou x Michiru Kaiou (Sailor Moon S) - Papika x Cocona (Flip Flappers) - Sara Ayafuji x Iris Kazari (Vampire-chan x Kouhai-chan by Sakaki Yoshioka)

2-3. Shelter

The story depicts a relationship that serves as a refuge from existential anxiety, miscommunication and societal oppression. There are similarities to 1-1 "Escape and Compensation", but instead of simple escapism, this type has the positive connotation of bonds between women facilitating healing, self-examination, and rebuilding one's way of life and relationships with other people in order to grow as a human being. Examples: - Utena Tenjou x Anthy Himemiya (Revolutionary Girl Utena) - Rakka x Reki (Haibane Renmei) - You Aizawa x Hana Kojima (I Want To Make You Cry by Bunbi Bun)

2-4. Buddies

The story depicts a relationship in which the characters act together to achieve a specific goal, and are connected by a strong bond of trust. Unlike 2-2 "Partners", these are often somewhat passive relationships where the characters' partnership is necessary to achieve their objectives, but over time they may realize their importance to each other and prioritize being together. Aside from truly equal "buddies", this can also include asymmetrical relationships like master-and-servant yuri. Examples: - Mireille Bouquet x Kirika Yuumura (NOIR) - Sora Naegino x Layla Hamilton (Kaleido Star) - Arika Yumemiya x Mashiro Blan de Windbloom (My-Otome)

2-5. Huge Unclear Emotions

The story depicts at least one of the women feeling incredibly intense emotions toward another woman. Specifically, there are three main types: evaluative emotions, such as good will, respect, admiration, envy or worship, obsessive emotions, such as possessiveness, protectiveness, dependence, or sadistic or masochistic desire, and hostile emotions, such as rivalry, jealousy, hatred, or a desire to kill. However, various emotions are often intricately interwoven in a way that is difficult to describe in one or two words. Examples: - Mamina x Roatreamon (Simoun) - Madoka Kaname x Homura Akemi (Puella Magi Madoka Magica) - Chariot du Nord x Croix Meridies (Little Witch Academia)

2-6. Closeness

The story depicts a slow awareness of one another in an intimate relationship. It involves the characters feeling safe when they're together, or having the feeling that they belong by one another's side. Examples: - Shino Kishibe x Nozomi Kishibe (I Live With My Brother's Wife. by Kuzushiro)

3. Friendly Relationships

Relationships that aren't particularly special, but are nonetheless amiable and intimate. This can include a huge range of relationships, from deep camaraderie and familial relationships to simple playful friendship between girls.

Of the above, 1. "Romantic Relationships" can be considered "true yuri", while 2. "Special Relationships" and 3. "Friendly Relationships" could be called "soft yuri."

#yuri #fandom #girls love #wlw #mine #translation #fan translation #fandom academia #maybe???#i hyperfocused on this so fucking hard #i found it last night. got up today. blacked out for 10 hours and now this is here. enjoy the yuri

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wardensantoineandevka · 10 months ago

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I've threatened in the past to write a post about Spahr's passive narrative role, and I'm finally getting around to it because I've been talking to several folks about him and that passivity recently. I've covered this topic in broad level and as a specific element regarding Spahr in 1.18: A Good Man and in 2.11: Inside. I recommend reading that post as a companion piece to this, though you'll recognize a lot of quoting here of that post.

His passivity (as a narrative role) can be broadly divided into two categories: him not taking action for various reasons, and his mere presence being something that incites reaction.

The latter is a smaller category. Lark and Fuze see his ship arrive on Midst, then scramble to move and change the circumstances of the situation before he has time to do anything: Fuze by promptly writing a letter to arrange a meeting, Lark by murdering Fuze. Phineas reacts to his arrival at the cabaret before he does anything at all. Spahr's presence is, on its own, powerful. It's noteworthy that all three of these instances do not react to Spahr as a person, really. He's simply a looming concept. The Prime Consector Jonas Spahr, a concept of a man. While this is a smaller category, it does create a problem of a lack of agency for Spahr. (Put a pin in the concept of agency for a moment.) In these moments, Spahr is less an active agent within the narrative and more simply an inciting incident. He does not really ACT when he arrives on Midst (setting Fuze and Lark to act) or when he arrives in the cabaret (setting Phineas to act), he simply exists in the space. Jonas Spahr arrives, and others drive the plot in reaction, but he does not get to act. The event happens in reaction to him but without his input, and it goes on without waiting for him to do anything at all.

The former, him not taking action, is a much larger category, and it collects a lot of different things. But, at the heart of it, it is about Spahr's own inaction or failure to take action. This happens for a variety of reasons, ranging from purposefully ignoring what is happening in front of him to a failure to commit including out of fear, concern for his position, or other inability to speak up. As a result, his role in the narrative is a generally passive one that largely centers on watching and observing. It's the first thing he does as a player in this story. He steps back and watches how Phineas handles the Ginsberg situation, and the narrators remind us four separate times in 1.03: Mica:

Thing is, Spahr does a lot of watching but, until more recently, doesn't really SEE all that often. He is for a long time a passive, immovable, unreadable observer to events as the eyes of God the Trust. He is that witness for much of events he's involved in, for... well, worse. After Phineas attacks Sherman, Spahr himself is quick to identify this problem with himself in 2.02: Ascendancy, that he is watching and looking but he is, perhaps intentionally, not seeing and noticing:

Worse than simply watching: he ALLOWS. He ignores the signs of Phineas's desperation, so that he doesn't need to do anything. He allows Imelda to convince him to leave Phineas behind on Midst. He allows Imelda to push him into making a statement about how fine things are on Midst. He allows Hieronymous to pressure him into bending the rules. He allows Imelda to torture Weepe (he allows Imelda to do a lot of things), and he feels like he's allowed the circumstances for Weepe to become Tripotentiary. He doesn't defend himself at his court-martial. He allows Costigan talk to him however she wants. He allowed the Upper Trust to conclude that Phineas should be fired if he didn't immediately improve.

That last one is contentious, and having to explain why I interpret it that way is useful to unpacking the crux of Spahr's central flaw here. (A case study, if you will.) Many interpret that it is Spahr's idea to threaten to fire Phineas as a motivator, but given the pattern created by every other incident in the list, I don't agree. Spahr deeply struggles with disagreeing with those in positions of power and influence over him. He carries out, dutifully and without complaint, the orders given to him because he lacks the will to resist or to refuse. (Again, he doesn't even fight for himself against the Upper Trust.) I think of Spahr casually mentioning he was ordered not to help and his stumbling panic when Phineas is fearful. Because of this, it doesn't track for me the idea that Spahr formulated this idea to fire Phineas.

It feels much more in keeping with his character and the details of his behavior during the scene—and with his established shortcomings and timidity and his tendency to quietly allow and carry out what he does not want—that the Upper Trust decided this and Spahr could not bring himself to fight it and instead chose to carry out his orders against Phineas. For me, it more coheres if he abdicated the responsibility onto Phineas and asked him to do the impossible, shifting the burden from himself to Phineas, all because he couldn't summon conviction, because he lacked the courage to disagree and the spine to stand for what he believes or wants. Case in point toward this interpretation: the scene in the Arca.

Season two is about Spahr realizing that he allows. We see it as he begins to process having abandoned Phineas and having not stopped Imelda:

Spahr is someone whose role is largely passive, both within the Trust systems and within the narrative. Just as much as he is to be seen, he is also very much here to see—and to refuse to see. He makes himself a passive witness to these horrors and allows them, silent and impassive and watching. He can try to intervene, last minute, but he's already facilitated this. The cabaret, the Arca. Even Sherman feeling he needed to take Weepe's deal, with Spahr moving after it is all said and done, is a lighter echo of these two scenes. To quote myself: "it's been asked of him: What are you refusing to see, Jonas? What horrors and brutalities are you allowing to happen? Will you always be intervening much too late?"

Ultimately, Spahr struggles with agency. In the interest of space, I refer to this post collecting episode quotes on the topic. He chafes against the idea that he doesn't have his own authority and is being maneuvered around by the political players in the Trust—but at the same time, he defers his own agency and maintains his own inaction and passivity. It's an incredibly interesting contradiction. He is afraid to fight, to resist, to intervene, and he is unable to find the conviction or the mettle or the spine. He's stood by, he's pushed it onto others like Phineas, he's ignored the signs, he's arrived too late, he's remained silent, he's paralyzed with fear, he's refused to refuse. He, well, does as he is told because he can't bring himself to defy his orders. He yields, every time. His role in this narrative thus far is defined by the fact that he does not act, that he chooses not to act or see, that he is frozen in place by fear or status, that even when he does try to act he cannot complete the action for some reason, that events are passing him by. He has yet to successfully take an effective, decisive, active action because he is locked in place—by circumstance, by more active agents, most of all by his constant decision to aquiesce. He always chooses not to muster the courage to do something hard, difficult, and costly for what he believes is right while the fight still means something, before it is too little, too late. Weepe is right: the Trust had him on a leash, and he was very willing to heel.

Spahr's greatest sin is that he has repeatedly allowed all this. Hopefully, before this is all over, he'll find the strength to refuse to keep doing so. Dig in his heels and refuse to do as told.

#Spahr learn to say “no” or “fuck off” or “I won't” or any variant of that challenge. I am begging. Sir. Stop allowing and enabling things.#I've been writing this over the weekend after convos with several people and I'm :/ about it but I'm traveling so it is what it is.#I have to hit post to free up mental bandwidth for other stuff. I have a new Spahr post inspired by a conversation last night to write.#Jonas Spahr #Midst #Midst podcast #Midst things #Midst Cosmos

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haveyoureadthishorrorbookpoll · 1 year ago

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Have you read...

note: If you did not finish but feel you read enough to form an opinion, you may choose a ‘Yes’ option instead of 'Partly' (e.g., Yes, I didn’t like it). Interpret "neutral or complicated" however you like, I intended this category to be a broad option between like and dislike.

Mors vincit omnia. Death conquers all. London, 1883. The Veil between the living and dead has thinned. Violet-eyed mediums commune with spirits under the watchful eye of the Royal Speaker Society, and sixteen-year-old Silas Bell would rather rip out his violet eyes than become an obedient Speaker wife. According to Mother, he’ll be married by the end of the year. It doesn’t matter that he’s needed a decade of tutors to hide his autism; that he practices surgery on slaughtered pigs; that he is a boy, not the girl the world insists on seeing. After a failed attempt to escape an arranged marriage, Silas is diagnosed with Veil sickness—a mysterious disease sending violet-eyed women into madness—and shipped away to Braxton’s Sanitorium and Finishing School. The facility is cold, the instructors merciless, and the students either bloom into eligible wives or disappear. So when the ghosts of missing students start begging Silas for help, he decides to reach into Braxton’s innards and expose its rotten guts to the world—as long as the school doesn’t break him first.

submit a horror book!

#The Spirit Bares its Teeth #Andrew Joseph White #horror books #horror #bookblr #books #queer horror #trans horror #historical fiction #trans books #horrorbookpoll

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voxofthevoid · 1 year ago

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I'm pretty sure this has been asked before, but....What are your absolute no-nos when it comes to writing fiction? Any kinks, tropes, or topics you are super uncomfortable or uninterested in writing?

I can't actually remember if this has been asked. It's come up in a few ask games, maybe?

I recently mentioned scat, vomit, and extreme necro as my absolute nos in kink, but even among the rest, there are a lot of things I won't write in ship fic (or any story with characters I'm invested in) but would if I were to dabble in original porn—e.g., mindbreak, gang rape, free use verse, etc. Think hentai-style stuff.

The tropes I'm uninterested in are legion 😂. Some of them, I'll read (like coffeeshop AUs or only-one-bed scenarios), while others are avoided religiously (arranged marriage AUs or miscommunication plotlines). Most of these have exceptions too because some authors or styles will sucker me into almost anything.

Themes I won't touch include pregnancy, kidfic, and bigotry-focused narratives. The first one is a squick, and I'm mostly uninterested in the second. As for the third, it's pure escapism.

These are the broad strokes, but then, I couldn't give you the specifics if I wanted to. For instance, until very recently, parental incest was also in the squick category, and then JJK happened to me. My brain does what it wants half the time.

#anon #i love my anons

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dailyanarchistposts · 11 months ago

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A.3 What types of anarchism are there?

One thing that soon becomes clear to any one interested in anarchism is that there is not one single form of anarchism. Rather, there are different schools of anarchist thought, different types of anarchism which have many disagreements with each other on numerous issues. These types are usually distinguished by tactics and/or goals, with the latter (the vision of a free society) being the major division.

This means that anarchists, while all sharing a few key ideas, can be grouped into broad categories, depending on the economic arrangements that they consider to be most suitable to human freedom. However, all types of anarchists share a basic approach. To quote Rudolf Rocker:

“In common with the founders of Socialism, Anarchists demand the abolition of all economic monopolies and the common ownership of the soil and all other means of production, the use of which must be available to all without distinction; for personal and social freedom is conceivable only on the basis of equal economic advantages for everybody. Within the Socialist movement itself the Anarchists represent the viewpoint that the war against capitalism must be at the same time a war against all institutions of political power, for in history economic exploitation has always gone hand in hand with political and social oppression. The exploitation of man by man and the domination of man over man are inseparable, and each is the condition of the other.” [Anarcho-Syndicalism, pp. 62–3]

It is within this general context that anarchists disagree. The main differences are between “individualist” and “social” anarchists, although the economic arrangements each desire are not mutually exclusive. Of the two, social anarchists (communist-anarchists, anarcho-syndicalists and so on) have always been the vast majority, with individualist anarchism being restricted mostly to the United States. In this section we indicate the differences between these main trends within the anarchist movement. As will soon become clear, while social and individualist anarchists both oppose the state and capitalism, they disagree on the nature of a free society (and how to get there). In a nutshell, social anarchists prefer communal solutions to social problems and a communal vision of the good society (i.e. a society that protects and encourages individual freedom). Individualist anarchists, as their name suggests, prefer individual solutions and have a more individualistic vision of the good society. However, we must not let these difference cloud what both schools have in common, namely a desire to maximise individual freedom and end state and capitalist domination and exploitation.

In addition to this major disagreement, anarchists also disagree over such issues as syndicalism, pacifism, “lifestylism,” animal rights and a whole host of other ideas, but these, while important, are only different aspects of anarchism. Beyond a few key ideas, the anarchist movement (like life itself) is in a constant state of change, discussion and thought — as would be expected in a movement that values freedom so highly.

The most obvious thing to note about the different types of anarchism is that ”[n]one are named after some Great Thinker; instead, they are invariably named either after some kind of practice, or, most often, organisational principle … Anarchists like to distinguish themselves by what they do, and how they organise themselves to go about doing it.” [David Graeber, Fragments of An Anarchist Anthropology, p. 5] This does not mean that anarchism does not have individuals who have contributed significantly to anarchist theory. Far from it, as can be seen in section A.4 there are many such people. Anarchists simply recognise that to call your theory after an individual is a kind of idolatry. Anarchists know that even the greatest thinker is only human and, consequently, can make mistakes, fail to live up to their ideals or have a partial understanding of certain issues (see section H.2 for more discussion on this). Moreover, we see that the world changes and, obviously, what was a suitable practice or programme in, say, industrialising France of the 1840s may have its limitations in 21st century France!

Consequently, it is to be expected that a social theory like anarchism would have numerous schools of thought and practice associated with it. Anarchism, as we noted in section A.5, has its roots in the struggles of working class people against oppression. Anarchist ideas have developed in many different social situations and, consequently, have reflected those circumstances. Most obviously, individualist anarchism initially developed in pre-industrial America and as a result has a different perspective on many issues than social anarchism. As America changed, going from a predominantly pre-capitalist rural society to an industrialised capitalist one, American anarchism changed:

“Originally the American movement, the native creation which arose with Josiah Warren in 1829, was purely individualistic; the student of economy will easily understand the material and historical causes for such development. But within the last twenty years the communist idea has made great progress, owning primarily to that concentration in capitalist production which has driven the American workingman [and woman] to grasp at the idea of solidarity, and, secondly, to the expulsion of active communist propagandists from Europe.” [Voltairine de Cleyre, The Voltairine de Cleyre Reader, p. 110]

Thus rather than the numerous types of anarchism being an expression of some sort of “incoherence” within anarchism, it simply shows a movement which has its roots in real life rather than the books of long dead thinkers. It also shows a healthy recognition that people are different and that one person’s dream may be another’s nightmare and that different tactics and organisations may be required at different social periods and struggles. So while anarchists have their preferences on how they think a free society will, in general, be like and be created they are aware that other forms of anarchism and libertarian tactics may be more suitable for other people and social circumstances. However, just because someone calls themselves or their theory anarchism does not make it so. Any genuine type of anarchism must share the fundamental perspectives of the movement, in other words be anti-state and anti-capitalist.

Moreover, claims of anarchist “incoherence” by its critics are usually overblown. After all, being followers of Marx and/or Lenin has not stopped Marxists from splitting into numerous parties, groups and sects. Nor has it stopped sectarian conflict between them based on whose interpretation of the holy writings are the “correct” ones or who has used the “correct” quotes to bolster attempts to adjust their ideas and practice to a world significantly different from Europe in the 1850s or Russia in the 1900s. At least anarchists are honest about their differences!

Lastly, to put our cards on the table, the writers of this FAQ place themselves firmly in the “social” strand of anarchism. This does not mean that we ignore the many important ideas associated with individualist anarchism, only that we think social anarchism is more appropriate for modern society, that it creates a stronger base for individual freedom, and that it more closely reflects the sort of society we would like to live in.

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