#because it is something we picked up from like usa tv shows and such

[norsesuggestions]

First time in 10 years that children doing trick and treat knocked on my door!

The very very local children

(as in they gotta be living in my aperment complex to get into my aperment complex, that local)

Actually came by doing trick and treating. Well that was adoreble. Never exprainced it from the "being adult side" but! Cute. I had no candy ready though, so i gave them money instead

(Which was the normal solution back in my day in the early 2000s when i went trick and treating)

[deadsnothere]

Brian send help.

Synopsis - Alias goes to Cynthia's house halfway through the fall ball to talk to her dad. It ends up turning out in her favor, it just takes a bit of..kiss- CONVINCING.

WARNINGS!! - Gays-?

Masterlist

Request - No but i am working on two request now.

Word count - 1.5k 😨

Speak Ali! - I've had this started since the episode i just finished it now!! (i'm dying-) Taglist anyone?

“If you need something tonight kid- I may be Cynthia's dad but I've been there for your entire life, I’ll be here for you now.”

In my yellow dress with a pink ladies jacket across my shoulders, I almost wanted to die. The fall ball sucked ass, and it's still going!- I walked into Cynthia trying to make out with my brother..Ya know- for once I thought I was winning! 'He's the big brother' Jones says- ‘He doesn't have to take care of the girls.’ said Jones. And now he's won the girl- and I'm still taking care of Jones' kids.

So I’m standing outside of Cynthia's town house, waiting for her dad to open the door.

And when Brian does (after four hours) he’s quick to rush me in. “Kid- are you ok?” he patted my back, taking a beer out of the fridge and handing it to me. “...She kissed Anthony..” He nodded knowingly, rubbing my back as I opened the bottle of beer with my mouth. “And you're jealous?” When I looked over to him, mouth opened in shock, he laughed at me. “Alias, When someone is in love with my daughter..I can tell.” He shrugged his shoulders, leaning back onto the counter. “And you're not weirded out?” it was a scary thing, being gay in this town, or time- fuck the USA it sucks here.

Brian raised both eyebrows and had to hold back a laugh. “I was doing crack in the 40’s a year before I got Cynthia's mother pregnant. I only sobered up and went to rehab to take care of Cynthia.” Eyebrows furrowed and mouth wide open, I looked up to him, shocked. “You were doing crack?!” He busted out laughing. “Yeah! Everyone did crack back then- I don't remember most of my teen years. But there was a boy who made me feel better than any girl had.” I pushed the pink ladies jacket off my shoulders and placed it on the counter, turning around and chugging the entire beer (no matter how disgusting it is) and throwing it away in the makeshift trash can they have.

“Yeah- uh, don't do that- no more for you. But what I'm saying is I know how you feel, growing up like this- In times like this..it's not going to end well, I'm sure you and Cynthia will figure it out- Now I know she said she was going to stay at yours tonight and she just might. So you stay here tonight.” Sighing, I leaned my head back onto the cabinets. “Thanks dad. I appreciate it.” he looked down at his watch concerned at the fact it was getting close to 8, when he had to leave for work.

(I'm starting to think he knew she would come home..)

Brian ruffled my hair and shooed me over to the couch. “There’s reefer in the top drawer if you really need it, just don't smoke it all and only do it here.” He put a blanket over me and grabbed his keys from the holder. “Don't die! We can talk more in the morning but I have to go to work.” I nodded and he turned the TV on as he left. “Bye dad.” - “Bye Kid!” As soon as the door shut I wasn't sure what to do. There was nothing interesting on, so I just went to sleep, I was tired anyways.

–

“Alias, what the fuck are you doing here?” A voice was tapping me awake. “Huh-” Cynthia was standing over me, a jacket over her shoulders, shoes off, and a bottle of beer in her hand. “Alias, what are you doing here?! Shy guy has been looking for you-” I rolled my eyes and stood up, picking up my shoes and messily buckling them back on. “I don't know and at this point I don't care-” I was on my way out when she stopped me. “Alias what is up with you!” I let in a shaky breath, my hands were clenched and my knees were weak.

I took a second breath in, because one was not enough for this BULLSHIT, and spoke. “What is up with me? You never showed one minute of interest in my brother and now that I was going to the ball with Andrew as friends- he's your boyfriend!” She looked at me shocked, like we hadn't kissed before. “I've always liked your brother!-” I let out a dead chuckle. “Oh, dont fuck with me Zdunowski. I'm not stupid, You’re not in love with him! You were just- stupid, I don't know?!” She looked at me with her eyebrows furrowed and mouth open. “Why are you here, Alias?” I looked her in the eye this time, I'm not doing this like a pussy. I took my hand back, started to dust off her dress and placed a hand on her face.

“Because I'm in love with you, and for some reason I just love to hurt myself.” I sighed and sped walked out of the door, trying to slam it shut but she stopped it before I could. I was half way down the hallway by the time she got me again. She grabbed onto my hands, spinning me around, watching me trip, and getting dragged down with me. We were very close, her breathing was unsteady, our hearts matched beats. And once I finally had the balls, Our lips were sealed like a secret. Her hands grabbed my waist and she got as close as she could, even if it was awkward. It felt like heaven, if heaven was two teenage girls kissing in a hallway. “I- I love you too, I’ve been in love with you since we were 10- And for the last 6 years i've been convincing myself i loved Shy Guy not you but...I- i just..can I please kiss you more, please?” When I nodded she dipped down again, kissing me more. And more, and more! everyone of them, felt different, felt like a different emotions. Confusion, burning, love, yearning. everything a person could feel in just a few kisses.

We ran back into the home and shut the door behind us. My back was pressed into the door while Cynthia was skillfully untying my dress and kissing me at the same time. It felt so real, my vision isn't blurry and my body didn't feel fake. She was quick to start leaving hickeys down my neck, it made me giggle at first but the more bite marks she left the more I was glad my dress was already untied. She dragged me into her room, but her demeanor changed when she sat me on the bed and closed her door. “Here, take these clothes-” it wasn't in an annoyed manner, but she wasn't willing to look at me. “Cynthia what's wrong?-" She was changing out of her own dress now. Her hands slowly took off her dress and stockings. Changed them for pajama pants and a wife beater that made my face red, showing off her arms, built from all the car work she does.

Cynthia finally paying attention to me again, placed her hands on my cheeks. “I was forcing myself on your brother just an hour ago- and now I don't know-...I feel like an asshole for not chasing after you.” I smiled at her, kissing the palm of her hand. “You kinda are-” “Alias!” “What it's the truth!- I'm not gonna lie to you. But, I'll at least give you a chance to make it up to me.” I stood up from the bed and let my dress fall from my shoulders, gracefully. Cynthia was quick to help me out of it. She unclasped my bra and took it off for me, kissing the distance of my shoulders, and up my neck. She pushed my shorts off my hips, and got on her knees in front of me. Kissed along my hips for a few seconds before stopping right in front of my lace underwear.

“Please..” She looked desperate in front of me. I almost felt bad for saying no, but I didn't feel like it. I lent down and kissed her temple. “I..don't feel like it- i'm sorry..i just really want to sleep-” Cynthia was quick to pop up, standing on her feet again. “No! No it's ok, it's ok I'm fine to go to sleep!” She kissed my temple and picked up her shirt, putting it over my head and helping me find the arm holes. Finally, she dragged me to her bed, laid me down, and pulled her blanket onto me, falling asleep next to me. I've spent so long wishing for this, and now here I am.

Cynthia was laid down beside me in her bed, with all of my fingers and toes. no bullshit reason just, Love. And fuck was Brian right, I am in love with his daughter.

The more Cynthia grabbed onto my waist and pushed her head into my neck. The more I knew I was ready for whatever conversation brian was going to have with me in the morning about what kind of relationship with his daughter, although I'm not sure about that myself.

[ybcpatrick]

Hi!! If you don't mind me asking how did you get into wrestling/how do you keep up with it? Every time I see you post about it I'm reminded of my interest in it but severe lack of knowledge

hi!! i don't mind at all!! so, my answer here may not be too helpful, because i didn't decide to get into wrestling myself.

i've been watching since the day i was born (like no joke, i got here, forty minutes later smackdown came on and my parents had it on in the hospital room). for my entire life, i've been watching WWE with my parents. some of my earliest memories involve it, having it on in the background, asking questions, connecting with my mum and dad through their excitement at getting to give me answers.

the past few months have been the first time in my twenty-two years of existence that i've ever had to watch raw/sd without them, and that's only bc my parents' schedules have changed, and they aren't home in the evenings. (but even now, i'm still not watching alone, bc i accidentally got my best friend tiana @heartbreakfeelsogood into it, too, and we're having the time of our LIVES.)

but, even though i didn't get into it, the interest was just Given To Me, i do still have some advice for you if you wanna start watching (and i'm using WWE as my general example here, bc it's the biggest wrestling promotion in the world, and it's the one i watch most):

• wrestling isn't actually wrestling:

the match outcomes in pro wrestling are pre-determined, because it's not meant to be a legitimate competition; it's a vehicle for storytelling. it's a tv show about a wrestling show, closer to live theatre or a soap opera. it is still a sport, and the wrestlers are incredibly skilled athletes, and if something looks like it hurt really bad, It Fucking Did. but, they're fictional characters that exist halfway in their own universe and halfway in ours, who experience time at the same speed we do. you can watch them learn, grow, and change, in real time, for years, even decades.

wrestling is fake, and that causes people to brush it off as stupid. but wrestling being fake is exactly why it's good.

• there is no beginning, and there is no end:

wrestling never ends. ever. literally ever. monday night raw has aired every single week, without fail, since january of 1993. like it just never fucking stops.

because of that, there's no good place to start as a new fan. you just gotta dive in headfirst. WWE programming/commentary is very accommodating to new viewers, they take time to replay important segments you may have missed, and explain past events so you have context for what you're watching. anything else, google and youtube. if you wanna dig into wrestling history, there are some great video essayists on youtube who delve into it; my personal favourite is wrestling bios.

in the US, raw's on mondays @ 8pm EST on USA, and smackdown's on fridays @ 8pm EST on FOX. there's other wwe programming on thru the week, too, and all of it is also available on peacock. in canada, i have sportsnet for watching live, and the wwe network as well. if you're in another country, look it up and check. (i can give you my streaming site if you DM me, too, if you're respectably interested in 🏴‍☠️, but bear in mind that ripping WWE shit is Weirdly Fucking Tricky sometimes, bc capitalism is a prison.)

• pick one promotion, go from there:

there is so much fucking wrestling, it's super overwhelming, you genuinely cannot watch it all. WWE, AEW, NJPW, Impact, WOW, the list goes on and on and on and on. pick one company to start, branch out later if it piques your interest.

if you want sparknotes on shows you missed/shows from promotions you don't keep up with, there are a million review channels on youtube to recap them. i do that personally to know what's happening in AEW, bc i don't watch their stuff week-to-week. i like whatculture wrestling's ups and downs series, the host simon is incredibly positive and fun-loving, and it's great.

• remember it is not that serious, and a lot of the internet wrestling community doesn't know what fun is:

wrestling makes people mad sometimes. fans who are really deep into it/the backstage stuff, called marks/smarks, are the most fickle, bitchy group of people on the fucking planet. if you wanna interact with other wrestling fans, on any social media, just remember that you're allowed to have your opinions and they're allowed to have theirs, and just because they say a match/story/whatever is shitty doesn't mean it actually is. wrestling fans love complaining more than they love wrestling itself.

it's just like any other fandom; step in, look around, find your friends, hang out with them and don't bother with the bullshit. if wrestling's pissing you off more than it is entertaining you, you can take a break from it. it's just a show!

if you wanna watch, just start. you'll pick it all up as you go. i think it's the coolest form of storytelling there is, and i think you'll have fun. BE FREE!

[wolfiemcwolferson]

if ur still doing spotify wrapped fics, 5 pls!!

This is more Del Water Gap - Alone Together. You didn't pick a pairing, but this is screaming Maxiel at me. This is angsty and a little bittersweet. Previous F1 Journalist Daniel and Driver Max. (This got out of hand.)

Sometimes Daniel is in an airport and he catches a flash of a Grand Prix on a TV in a bar or he'll be out with some friends and he'll run into someone he knew from college and they'll ask hey, I thought you were doing that racing thing and Daniel will shake a little bit.

Sitting on a barstool in LA, waiting to meet-up with one of the kid's on the American USA team, he feels it now, the ache where F1 used to sit - the ache where Max used to sit.

But he gave it all up when Max gave him up and -

The kid shows, fresh-faced and eager and shakes Danny's hand. The article will be good, of course. Daniel charms and weasles and prods at all the right places and that's why he gets paid the money he does - in America, for sports he doesn't actually care about.

It makes him sound so dramatic, he circles back around to thinking of Max that night in his hotel - like he always fucking does when he's alone.

Max working up the courage to ask Daniel out to dinner throughout the entire season - Daniel accepting out of pity - Daniel falling hard and fast and furious and then basing his life around him - the man that was going to bring glory back to Red Bull.

It didn't matter how many times Daniel laughed it off and said don't die while Max was sneaking out of his hotel room and it didn't matter how many times Max and Daniel said it wouldn't happen -

Max went off and needed to play house with some nice girl and Daniel spent three GP's in a row hiding from him and he knew he had to go.

Because Max was the missing piece of him or whatever romantic bullshit he used to think about the two of them - the mirror of his soul, the person who saw the worst in him and loved him anyways.

Because it was the worst in the end. Daniel begging Max not to go and Max telling him he had to just for them to switch positions the next morning. Daniel shouting at him to just fucking go while Max cried on his chest and Max and Daniel shouting the awful bits of hateful shit at each other they had gathered up over a three year relationship -

Daniel puts on his running shoes and goes down to the gym so he can forget forget forget.

After LA, Daniel goes to New York before spending a week in Nashville and then he catches a game in Denver before flying home - to Australia.

Grace asks him four times if he's seeing anyone and then Michelle asks much softer if he's talked to anyone from the paddock lately.

Daniel books an earlier flight to his...well, he guesses it's his home.

There's a cabin in fucking Montana. Everyone had thought it was a joke until he did it - bought the damn thing.

Daniel has a joke about how he had traveled for years in flashy circles, but the truth is that he's an idiot pressing gauze to an oozing wound.

It had been a thing with Max. My contract will end when I'm only 28. I could...we could escape to America. Live in the middle of nowhere Montana, yes? All this money has to be good for something.

No one knows, of course. Someone would have intervened, probably. Scotty. Scotty would have intervened.

He's here until Christmas. Alone and working on the book he's supposed to be writing and - he's here until Christmas and then he'll fly to Hawaii and get ready to interview some flashy American Football College Kid.

He tortures himself and watches the last race of the season - wakes up at 6 AM to flip it on and text steady, ribbing commentary to Sam about his own commentary and Max wins, of course.

Daniel turns off the television before the podium.

He's in town buying a couple of propane tanks and more rock salt and some food. He does have to do that occasionally when Janet asks him you know who bought Gerald's old place? Daniel frowns and shakes his head. Thought it might be one of your fancy athletes. Moving in here because you can't keep your trap shut.

It's gentle, but only a half joke. It took Janet a full year before she would talk to him in more than one syllable answers.

He goes home - works on his book. Ignores the text Scotty sends asking Daniel to call.

Max Verstappen on standing in his driveway, hands shoved in the pockets of a puffy coat at 10:28 on a Thursday. Daniel knows the set of his shoulders and the slop of his face even this far away. No one else will ever look like him. No one else will ever have this kind of intrinsic draw on Daniel's entire being.

Daniel steps out on his front porch, wearing socks and a hoodie, absolutely freezing.

"What do you want, Max?" Daniel hears how exhausted his own voice sounds and he wonders if Max can hear it too.

Max is still walking towards him. "Scotty talks a lot when he's drunk."

Fuck. "Yeah, well. Everything he says is shit." Daniel says - finally talking because Max is at the bottom of the staircase, head tilted up to look at Daniel. "What are you doing here? Where's your car?"

Max shrugs, hands still in his pockets. Daniel hears his coat make that slick crinkle noise. "Don't like to drive."

The pieces fall into place for Daniel now. "Gerald's old place?"

"If you're talking about that luxury cabin down the road, yeah. It's mine." Max laughs at his own joke.

Fucking Scotty. Daniel's socks are wet. "You'd better come inside. You'll freeze to death and Christian will have my head."

Max is knocking his snow boots against the porch and he gives a little dry laugh. "What was it you always said? I was selling my 20's? Well, not anymore."

Daniel spins two steps past the doorframe where Max is. They're too close. Far too close. "What."

"There's never been anyone else, Danny." Max says in that voice. The one that preceeded something that would wreck him entirely. "I know you don't - but, maybe if you still -" He shrugs again.

Daniel sees it there. In his eyes. The love they had managed to carve out together back then - before when Daniel thought love could conquer all, when he wasn't so bruised by the hiding and the secrets and the way they had beaten each other against the rocks of F1.

Before they had become the water that broke on that rock.

"Danny," he says again, slipping a hand from his coat. "I retired last week."

Danny breaks this time, curling his head down into Max's chest and heaving a great big sob.

"I didn't have the courage then," Max whispers into his hair, hand on the back of his neck. "But I think I'd like to have the courage now."

"I'm not moving into that house, Max. It's half haunted." Daniel chokes out in between tears.

Max brings his other hand out of the jacket, wrapping it around Daniel, finally bringing their bodies together. "That is fine, Daniel. I already set up the New York Times subscription for this address anyway. I can do the crossword and you can cook me real bacon now since I am not in training."

Daniel laughs now because it all may change, but damnit if it all doesn't stay the same.

[panharmonium]

Hiya again, @travelling-through-worlds​ !  Don’t mind me, I’m just starting a new thread here to continue our conversation from here, since our old one was getting so long - I didn’t want my reblog to totally swallow your dashboard! :)

especially in Naruto I think the bonds and relationships between the characters are SO well done, and I find it to be one of the strongest points of the series. I think that that is probably one of the main reasons so many of us find this story to be so compelling

yessss, I totally agree!  

re: which college I went to - I’ll refrain from naming the exact one, just because I try not to put info that would narrow down my offline identity too closely on a public blog, heh, but I did my bachelors and masters degrees at schools in the Northeast USA.  I do agree with you that the English courses in your area sound a little different than the ones here - often “English” as a college course of study here refers to English literature, as opposed to English language, so you wouldn’t see the phonetics and pronunciation work you mentioned.  You will still probably have the occasional text or class that just doesn’t spark any interest in you; there’s always bound to be something out there we don’t connect with, even if the work might still have some kind of literary merit.  I remember I took one course during my degree (I think it was on post-modernist American Lit and related texts, or something like that) and I hated it.  We were doing Hunter Thompson, Brett Easton Ellis, Tom Wolfe, etc, and I just despised everything we read.  That’s rare for me; I can usually find something to appreciate in most of the “school” books I’ve worked with, but I remember reading I Am Charlotte Simmons and Less Than Zero and wanting to just dump them in a lake. 

What are some of your favourite books and series? :) I scrolled through your archive for a bit and I think I’ll be adding Merlin to my list of things to watch.

Oh, I love Merlin SOOOOO much!  One of my absolute favorite universes of all time (and one of my favorite fandoms, too - I met so many awesome people there!)  I can’t believe it took me so long to start watching it (but then again, I’ve always been really slow about picking up TV shows X) ).  Probably my other biggest past fandoms (besides Merlin and Naruto) have been Teen Wolf and Star Wars, though there are a number of other series/universes that I love but don’t post as much about (Lord of the Rings, DC Comics, House MD, Star Trek, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Fullmetal Alchemist, Gilmore Girls, etc).  As far as books go, it’s hard to choose - a couple of my favorites are Crusader by Edward Bloor, Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, and Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke, as well as the Protector of the Small series by Tamora Pierce and the Animorphs series (childhood favorite) by K. A. Applegate.

Do you happen to work in the teaching field by the way? (It’s something I’ve thought about doing myself.)

I used to, yes!  My masters degree is in education, and I used to be a public school teacher.  Nowadays I work in children’s services at a public library, though.  (I loved many parts of teaching, and the school I worked at was wonderful, but work-life balance became really difficult after a few years, so switching to a less intense work environment ended up being the right decision for me.

I find it helpful to kind of compare it to singing. 

Ooh, yes, this is exactly why I think tonal languages are so cool!!!  I have a music background, so I just think it’s so amazing to have languages that utilize pitch changes like that.  (And it’s SUPER cool that you’re able to pick certain words up in the original Naruto dialogue due to occasional similarities between the languages - there are some shared words like that between Arabic and Spanish, too, which it was always fun to see students pick up on!) 

[stagefoureddiediaz]

A question about costuming, would pre-production be where it's discussed what colors work on what characters, and does that affect picking color themes? And how does that work when someone new joins the cast after the color themes have been established? For example, your post about seeing Eddie in yellow for communication. We saw a glimpse in the crossover, but I cannot imagine Eddie owning a yellow shirt or jacket for personal use. And some colors will wash out a character, or clash with their skintone or hair color, so I'm curious if that can affect what colors they use, or if they end up having to go against their planned color themes.

Hey Nonnie

I love getting these asks, so its great to hear from you and thank you for popping into my inbox. I know as well as you being interested in what I’m going to say, there are others who will also be interested, so I’ve tagged them at the bottom (maybe you’re one of them who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️😎 thats the thrill of the anonymous button!) 

What great questions and the simple answers to all of them is yes and no, but fear not - I've never been one to give simple answers to anything 😆so settle in because as usual I have written a mammoth essay as my answer - I didn’t realise how complicated it actually is to explain with actual words because so much of the colour theory and pattern theory I know and have explored has almost become second nature to me - I do it without actually thinking about it!! The reason I say yes and no is because of a variety of things, including if an actor has been cast for a role when these things are decided! (putting the rest below the cut to save everyones dash’s!)

We should establish that not all shows will go quite as deep into colour theory and storytelling through costume, colour and pattern in the way 911 has. It has generally (but not exclusively) been something done in the fantasy and sci-fi genres, but not so much in the action, drama and comedy genres, so its great to see that changing, because its such a simple but effective technique and its a real mark of 911 having such a collaborative wider creative team that they've been able to establish it to the extent they have - set, costume, lighting etc must really be talking to one another in a really productive and frequent manner!

I think the best way to answer all your questions is to talk about pre-production in a lot more detail. I will start with a disclaimer - not all pre-production periods are the same, different companies do things differently and my experience has been in British tv and film, so there may be a few things we do over here that aren’t done in the USA (although from the friends I’ve spoken to who have worked stateside, its not all that different!) To make this easier, lets assume (like in my costume plot post) I’ve been hired as the costume designer for 911 - and while I don’t know exactly what went on in pre-production, this is more detail on what I would expect to experience as a designer!

If I had to, I would guess that preproduction was probably 2-3 months for series 1 of 911 (less for season 2 onwards!). In this 3 month period, I would expect there to be a minimum of 1 full creative team meeting per week initially,(there will be smaller meetings between various departments such as set and costume, I would expect each creative department to have meetings with the writers and producers etc) with them becoming more frequent in the middle period (perhaps up to 4 a week) and then tailing back down to 1 or so as they move towards production. These meetings can be anything from an hour long to full day meetings, depending how far into pre-production they are, what it is they need to achieve in the meeting and a host of other factors. 

While these meetings are taking place there is a variety of other things happening within each department, from hiring crew to getting in supplies and setting up your department, and, as you move further into pre-production, sourcing and buying costumes, making costumes, breaking down costumes where you can etc. but lets go back to the meetings as they’re the important thing in regards to your questions!

Initially (and I mean right at the very beginning of pre-production) there will be a meeting where the show creator, along with the writers will explain the world the show is set in, talk through the plans for the season and introduce the creative team to the characters, outline specific sets that will be needed (the 118 firehouse, the Grant house, Abbys apartment etc and I think for 911 they used different set designers for different characters personal spaces which is a great way of creating unique looks for each characters world within the 911verse) and possibly for 911 talk through the various disasters planned of the season and how they fit into the bigger picture and the various arcs for the characters and how they all intertwine - these wont necessarily be fleshed out at this point, just basic information such as “we’re planning on having an accident where a rollercoaster gets stuck upside down, a large plane crash which will take up a whole episode, a floor collapse at a wedding, a variety of traffic accidents, some hoarders becoming stuck in their house and a variety of medical emergencies including multiple women going into labour at the same time” etc etc.

This meeting is usually the first time all the creative departments are in the same room together, but its much more an information gathering session than a detailed discussion - of course everyone will ask questions and there will be lots of note taking, but none of the creative departments will be expected to have any solid ideas at this point - it is very much an opportunity to start the thinking process that will lead to the end result of a cohesive look for the world of the show and those who occupy it. I would as a designer be asking about if there is a desire to telegraph information through costumes (the set designer will want to know the same in relation to sets) and if they have any specific preferences at this point, or if they are happy for me to go away and come up with ideas. 

After this initial meeting I will be going away and starting to formulate so ideas. I will be researching uniforms for the various first responders - so police, fire, dispatch etc, as well as starting to think about the possibility of theming (what later on becomes plaid theory etc) but I won’t be at colour theory stage at this point.

In the couple of days after that initial world setting meeting, there will be a specific meeting for each character, where they are the only person discussed, I would expect these to be anywhere up to a full day long for mains, but less for recurring and guest characters (up to half a day depending on the role). These ‘Character meetings’ will comprise of all relevant departments, so set, costume, the show creator/ runner, writers (perhaps just the lead writer), producers, a director (or more but this can depend on availability and also not wanting to have too many cooks so to speak!) and anyone else who might be needed. There will be someone from the producers office taking notes/minutes, but as a costume designer, I will be bringing my assistant designer with me as well as someone who can take costume specific notes for me. this is when we as designers will be given detail on the character - the description (see the fake one I created below for Buck), the opportunity to ask questions about them and what the show creators see as important etc. for them - I will be asking questions based on what I’ve read in the descriptor and maybe throwing a few ideas out (this may very well encompass colour and pattern theories, but I wouldn’t be going into much depth beyond an initial suggestion of it being useful to explain character traits.

Very often, pre-production has begun before casting is established or finalised. As a costume designer I would have to follow a slightly more generic pattern if I don't yet know who is has been cast in the various roles. On the productions I've worked on I've experienced both the knowing and not knowing and it is usual for it to be a combination of some roles being cast, while others are still in the process. I'm thinking 911 would've been in this situation - Angela and Peter as executive producers would definitely have signed on, while Connie, Kenneth and Aisha were most probably signed on, but people such as Oliver, Tracie, Corrine, Marcanthonee etc may not yet have been cast.

Onto that character descriptor - it will outline any season long arcs (which will include how they’re going to play out) and other important information. This is done because at the point pre-production actually starts there may only be 1 or 2 completed scripts to work from and, if as a creative team we do want to start using set and costume (especially but not exclusively) to subtly telegraph information we will need to know where everything is going so we can create the mood boards etc which will lead to the set and costumes we see on the show.

It will be a fair bit more detailed than what I’ve created below, (possibly up to a side of a4 for each character, maybe in bullet points - writing teams will have their own way of doing this), but it will give you an idea of what sort of thing designers work with. Even from this brief description I've just made up, there are a number of things you can pull out to work with if you're in set or costume design!

Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley

26 year old, probationary firefighter, goes by the nickname ‘Buck’. He has landed in LA from Pennsylvania after traveling around the USA and abroad (South America)for a few years . A bit of an action man, Buck has all the physical makings and courage of a great firefighter, but his somewhat hotheaded tendencies to rush in and worry about the consequences later, means he causes himself problems but he is always well intentioned and if he can learn some discipline he will become a real asset to the 118 and to Bobby, who he views as a father figure. We will experience the highs and lows of what it means to be a first responder with Buck, from the daring rescues to the lows of losing the people they’re trying to save, all of these experiences will provide opportunities for Buck to grow and mature both as a person and as a firefighter.

He lives in a house with several others of similar ages at the beginning of the series, but by the end of the series will be living in Abbys apartment. Initially a bit of a player, we will see him having sex with a multitude of people (man I'd love to get my hands on the real version of Bucks Character description to see if it said people or women!!!) including his therapist, before he develops a relationship with Abby. This relationship will have its ups and downs before ultimately Abby leaves in the last episode of the season to travel to Ireland.

With all these initial meetings done, and now armed with lots of information, there will probably be a week to 10 days where I can get the ball rolling on research, getting mood boards and design ideas done, ready for the next round of meetings. Along side this I will be completing the hiring of my costume team, meeting and measuring the cast who are already in place, I might have a meeting or two with the set designer and I might go back to the show creator if any important questions come up as I dive deeper into each character.

This is the stage when all those little ideas about colour theory and pattern theory will start to geminate and come into play. At this stage they will be largely focused on characters rather than over arching themes (like plaid theory) - they will develop into this as we move further into the pre-production process and have more meetings to discuss it as part of the world building for the show as a whole.

If we continue to follow the character of Buck and assume I don't yet know Oliver has been cast, I would go into the second character meeting to discuss Buck with a wide range of ideas about what I've been thinking in terms of costumes. (obviously I won’t be designing Buck in isolation - the same process will be happening simultaneously with all the other mains and this is in part how as a designer we ensure we’re not going to end up with too much of something such as patterns or colour). So if we look back to the fake mini descriptor above, there are several things I can pull out to make use of as a costume designer;

- He's 26 because thats going to influence his style (and the shops I'm going to be looking in for his clothing).

- Firefighter = fit, so it’ll be a fair assumption that the intention is to cast him as eye candy for the audience (in fact I may have been told or asked this in that initial meeting about him!)!

- That he's travelled a fair bit - and recently - this will mean he’s not necessarily settled into life in LA and will therefore be likely to have a relatively small wardrobe - he’s not going have a huge number of clothing items (think capsule wardrobe) initially because he’s not someone with roots or stability in his home life at this point.

- He's a player who's going to mature - I'm going to be thinking about how I can show this developing maturity through his clothing choices (something that was done with Buck in S1 if you look in the right places!) 

- We’re going to be exploring the emotional ups and downs that come with being a first responder through him so I will possibly be thinking patterns and potentially colour might be a way forward here, but nothing too specific initially.

The one colour thought I'll be having at this point is related to the fact that he's been described as hotheaded, this can be interpreted in a number of ways - either by using lots of black and leather etc which will give him a sort of rebellious/ punk look, or going for bolder more intense colours (especially in the red spectrum) which can be used to push this side of his personality, at the right moments, but this is dependent on if we have an actor who can wear those colours.

From these initial thoughts I would start to pull some imagery together -creating mood boards that explore different aspects of what I've gleaned from the descriptor, I will include firefighter uniforms as well as separate boards for shoes, trousers and tops alongside whole look mood boards (its a bit difficult to explain the full detail that will be in these mood boards look like without creating one, and I just don’t have time to do that, but there will be lots of reference pictures, and notes, some design drawings etc.) I would also be looking to show how the costumes visually explain his development - don’t forget we will have that first (at least) script to work from, So I can use this to show concepts his first episode and build development from there I might have specific silhouettes in mind for specific moments and these are what I'd be taking into that first character meeting for Buck. I will present them, and talk through my initial thinking, the other departments will do the same and then the fun begins! 

Once all the presentations are done the meeting will become something similar to a round table discussion, lead by the show lead, which will allow Buck and the world he inhabits to be discussed as a whole. Some ideas will be thrown out from the get go - so the lots of black - rebellious concept will probably fall at this point because the show creator will come forward and say that they want a much more clean cut ‘frat boy’ image - although a little nod to it does appear in ep 9 with the failed hot air balloon date! There will be lots of back and forth, and by the end of this meeting a full direction will have been established and this will likely include decisions of whether or not to use patterns and colour theory, and when - if its only going to be for certain incidents such as at moments of specific heightened emotions, or if its going to be something used throughout in all its variety - It will not be a complete concept at this point - there is still further fleshing out to do.

Once I know Oliver has been cast I can really start firming up my ideas. Because I now know what he looks like, I can start to make some colour decisions - So I know Oliver will look washed out in pastels and pale colours (he is also someone who needs to be careful about the shades of green he wears!), but good in more bold and jewel toned colours, so thats the direction I will be taking. I will be arranging for him to come in for measurements etc. One of the things I like to establish at the measurements meeting is around textures and fibres - As someone with ASD and ADHD, there are certain clothes I just can't wear because the texture will irritate me and could potentially cause me a meltdown, so I like to establish if an actor has any similar concerns and how exactly it manifests itself if they do - for Oliver this is likely to have revolved around his veganism and if he wont wear animal byproduct fabrics (I don’t know to what extent he is vegan, he might deem wool to be acceptable as no harm comes to sheep in the shearing process, but not silk or leather as the animal has to die for them to be made I also don’t think he was vegan during season 1 but when he did become vegan the conversation with costume would’ve been had!). 

At this point I will take the opportunity to sit down and have a chat with him about his character. Its a great time to get to know him as a person - I want to see what type of person I'm going to be working with, establish a few ground rules about costume care etc, but I also want to build a relationship with him that enables his insight into his character to come out in his costumes (because the conversations he'll be having with writers, producers and directors will be different to mine). I will be taking copious notes, and I want but its also important to make sure the actor knows that while I will take what they say into consideration, my word is final. I will say from the bts stuff I’ve seen - Oliver seems like a pretty good actor to work with - he’s clearly interested in all aspects of his craft and the bts we saw of him in the various cowboy get ups suggest he’s happy exploring his character alongside Alayna (the costume designer S3 onwards) and having input in a way that is super rewarding for a designer!

All sorts of things can come from these initial chats, from mutually deciding that Buck isn't someone who wears jewellery, to deciding he's not big on wearing jeans, he's more of a chino's person because it allows him to have more colour variety in his wardrobe (honestly I've had some amazing stuff come out of conversations I've had with actors including one where we decided a character would only wear 3/4 length or short sleeves because it was a low key way of showing her as someone who was always willing to roll her sleeves up and help out - even to her own detriment - I even went so far as to design her outfits so the sleeves had cuffs, turn-ups or gathers to pus this idea a little further).

Its kind of a rinse and repeat thing with the meetings at this point, they probably won’t last as long as earlier in pre-production, but they are check points that allow discussion and ensure cohesion with the other departments and it is during this time that decisions around things like plaid becoming a signifier for a character being in jeopardy etc or Buck in white shirts meaning trouble will occur (although I am inclined to thing this was initially accidental and they decided to run with it in S2 Pre-production), Christopher and the space and dinosaur themes and their significance will come about.  

Once you know your cast, then you can get busy with the buying and making and really nail the colour choices. My various plot spreadsheets will be in place by this point for any episodes where I have a script to work from, so I will be gaining an idea of what I’m going to be needing. Uniforms will be purchased in bulk (especially fire fighter uniforms) for each character and these will be fitted and stored, with the ones for ep 1 on the character episode rack ready to go.

I think I explained in my costume plot post that I’d be sending my buyer out to buy things in several colours if I hadn’t established a specific colour or pattern need by this point, because an aesthetic will have been agreed, but I’ll still be in discussions and be firming up colour theory decisions. I will also want to have as much costume in place as its possible to have before production starts (especially for episode 1) and things like jeans/trousers are easy to get hold of and swap if needed. another thing to think about when it comes to colour is that you may have ideas about colours, and while you know a colour will work with an actors skin tone etc, it doesn’t work 

My personal preference is to create a mini colour palette for each character - I do this to ensure there isn’t too much of one colour appearing across the show at any one time (unless its been decided that it should), that any colours I’m using work tonally with the actors skin tone etc but also because its a easy quick reference to work to as full production begins. Its also when I will start to change colours around in my designs a bit - scripts will influence this to an extent as the things that have come out of the character discussions. so if we stick with Buck and some of his non uniform costumes in season 1, I can show how both colour and pattern theory is used across the season to highlight at important moments.

Episode 1 - he has the grey jumper, jeans and brown shoes - the grey jumper is an easy colour choice - its a neutral, so will work on pretty much any skin tone, but its an important colour choice for this episode - we see him in it when he has been fired - grey is also associated with a few different things in its neutrality - gloom (think gloomy grey skies) and depression, frustration, indecisiveness, but also intellect and wisdom it is the middle ground between the opposite ends of the colour spectrum - black and white. All of these things speak of Buck while he’s wearing it in this episode - he’s gloomy because he’s lost his job, frustrated with Bobby and at himself for his stupidity, but he also shows intelligence and wisdom later on - using the water canon to catch the criminal etc and he and Bobby come reach the middle ground together when Bobby un-fires him.

Episode 2 - plaid theory comes into play big time for Buck in this episode - we see the subtle use of it with the black on black plaid shirt at Devons funeral before a full on display of it with the red shirt at the therapists office - obviously hindsight is a wonderful thing for us as viewers now, but that shirt is so loud - its a double beacon to danger because its only episode 2 and we won’t be picking up on subtly yet - we have plaid and the universal colour for danger - red - and paired up with jeans with torn knees - Buck is really cut up by losing his first person on the job and his position with the 118 is still tenuous after his antics in ep1 so as a designer I don’t want to be too subtle here - I want to make all of this obvious. Most of the audience won’t notice on a conscious level, but we won’t see buck in plaid again until he’s at the airport saying goodbye to Abby - something I as designer will have chosen to do deliberately to make it hit harder when we do see Buck in patterns and this will stay subconsciously with the audience in future seasons.

Episode 10 - this is an interesting episode to me, because its the only time we see buck in a khaki shade of green (he does wear other greens occasionally -  in s2 and 3, but not Khaki!) and its when he is fighting for his relationship! He is in a khaki green sweater when Abby about the girls who think he’ been ghosting them. This episode also features white shirt plaid theories again - at the funeral (which is the moment that signals the beginning of the end for his relationship with Abby) for Patricia Buck has on a white shirt and then at the airport when he is seeing Abby off on her European adventure, he is in plaid!

Hopefully this is all making sense! basically from this point on meetings and discussions are still happening, but everything is moving towards going into full production - costumes are being confirmed and logged for each character, as soon as the details for extras are known, they will be giving information on what to bring (wardrobe will have stock in for if they don’t bring anything suitable, but usually for modern stuff they’ll be asked to provide their own clothes with a bit of guidance on what is wanted/ not wanted!) and as much as can be done before the filming begins will be done. All of this will still be going on in the background once filming has commenced, because you will still be getting scripts for future episodes etc. The life of a costume designer is one of being able to multitask to the max!

Nonnie, in relation to what you said about the specifics of Eddie and yellow, I genuinely don’t think we’re going to see him ever wear yellow, it would go against the colour palette they’ve established for him and it would be jarring (and not in a good way) so instead conversations will have been had around how they can use the colour in relation to him without actually needing him to wear it and they’ve come up with a variety of clever solutions! With Eddie, this actually works well - he’s not a character who communicates a lot in the way others do, so there are relatively few scenarios when he’d need to be put into yellow and as designer I’m going to get clever!! If we think about when Eddie has needed to communicate, there are a few scenarios that immediately spring to my mind (i’m sure there are others but this post is already insanely long!).

Rope rescue. The first time we see a coloured rope actively in use in the show is the yellow one Eddie is using in the well rescue of 3x15 - the one he cuts 👀its communication, but just not necessarily how we’d expect communication - he’s cutting communication (which is just as loud as having a conversation).

Shannon wants a divorce - this one is a bit tenuous, but bear with me - Shannon is in a black dress with yellow stars on - yellow stars made up of two different yellows - Eddie tries to communicate with Shannon here, but she also wants to communicate and her communication ultimately trumps Eddie which is why we see her being the one in something yellow, but the use of two yellows is a subtle reference to the both of them communicating.

Shannons death - this one is also a bit tenuous, but interesting! Again Shannon is the one in yellow, and ultimately she is the one communicating, even though she’s dying (interestingly the only blood we see on her is on her right shoulder and its made obvious - the same side as we see Eddies blood on Buck!!) and after she’s dead and Eddie has to tell Christopher - Abeula’s house is yellow and then Eddie on the beach - that is a very yellow sunset. 

will conversation - Buck is the one in yellow here, Eddies communicating in that he’s the one doing the talking, but he’s only revealing the change to his will because of Bucks communication earlier that it ‘would’ve been better if he’d been shot’ - we’d all still be ignorant of Eddies actions if it wasn’t for something Buck said - Eddie wouldn’t have felt the need to communicate!

Ana breakup - this one is two fold - We see Buck in yellow (mustard) in the locker room when Eddie basically confirms that he’s thought on what Buck said and he’s going to break up with Ana - Buck was the one who did the communicating earlier on, Eddie only confirms that he’s listened to Buck, yes Eddie did communicate, but only because Buck forced him into it (again!). Then when he gets home and actively breaks up with Ana - it is Christopher (his heart) who is wearing yellow at that moment - Eddie is being true to his heart and although it might initially be an unhappy event for Christopher (although we never get to see his reaction) it is ultimately in his best interests for his father to not be in a relationship where he’s making himself unhappy etc.

I’m leaving the 118. yellow background in 5x10 which I mentioned in a previous post - again this is Eddie communicating something, but its not really a decision he’s made for himself - all the factors that have led him to this decision that he has to communicate to his friends, are ones external to himself - Christopher and his built up repressed trauma. He’s ultimately not communicating for himself, but for others - Christopher, Carla (because she did play a fairly big part in him making this decision and thats a hill I will die on) and the 118!

So you see all of the times we’ve seen Eddie communicate, it has never been something he has chosen to do for himself, in the way it has for others, (except when he chose to cut the yellow line in 3x15) - it is something he has been pushed into by either circumstance or the actions of others and this is something a designer can use to get around the need to put him in yellow when it would go against the established colour palette

In fact the whole thing with Eddie and the colour yellow being worn by others around him is interesting 🤔, I’m going to have to look at it further and write a meta on it (so stay tuned!) 👀

Gosh this really did end up being a mile longer than i’d intended. Nonnie I hope you’ve made it though and that it answered your questions!! 😬I hope everyone else has made it to the end as well I give you all bear hugs if you have

Tagged peeps! @theladyyavilee @moniquekatie @pasteldeathaesthetic @lovecolibri @oneawkwardcookie @leothil @wanderingwomanwondering @reallysmartladymariecurie @livingwherethesidewalkends @followyouthroughfire @farrfromwhoiwas 

If I’ve forgotten anyone I’m sorry 🥺 and if anyone would like to be tagged in the future, drop me a message and I’ll create a list 😎

As always I love hearing from you with your questions, costume or otherwise and my inbox is always open. like, reblog and comment to let me know your thoughts, I love hearing them all, in the tags or otherwise!

💜💜💜

[thefloorisbalaclava]

Idea for Mechanic!Frankies first outside date. In our town there's a vintage car dealer and every spring you can enter a contest and win a ride in a vintage car, afternoon Picknick included.

So what if reader enters on a whim because she heard that Frankie enters every year and is bitter cause he loses all the time - and she wins?! but doesn't dare drive the old expensive car? Frankie to the rescue

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Just some friendly competition...and some more kissing. Also some singing in the car.

A/N: This is such a cute idea, Sonja! I love this for our favorite mechanic!

[mechanic!frankie masterlist]

“...and they have this contest where you can win a ride in a classic car. I enter every year and I never win,” Frankie tells you, voice slightly muffled since he’s under your car.

“Well, I’d love to go with you,” you say and he rolls out from beneath your car.

“Really?” The smile on his face grows as you nod.

“Yeah.” You help him to his feet and laugh. “You got a little grease...right...here.” You wipe the tip of his nose but that only seems to add more. You look at your hands and scoff. They must have gotten dirty when you helped him up.

“Every time,” Frankie says. “Sorry.” He takes out his rag and tries his best to wipe your hands clean.

“It must be our thing,” you tease.

“Our thing?”

“Yeah, you know how a couple in movies or TV always have a certain thing that happens between them?” You jump slightly when he looks up quickly.

“Couple?” he asks.

“Y-Yes...couple. This can be our...thing,” you say with a smile.

“You’re gonna be completely covered in grease if I keep this up.” He moves in for a kiss and you gladly meet him halfway.

“I don’t mind.” You two stay close to each other, both in a dreamlike state. “Thanks for coming by to check on my car.”

“No problem but I really didn’t see anything wrong,” he admits.

“I know.” You giggle when he realizes that you just wanted to see him outside of work again.

“So, I’ll pick you up on Saturday around noon. That okay?” he asks as you walk him back to his truck.

“That’s fine. I’ll see you then.” You close the truck door after he climbs in then he leans out the window to kiss you.

“See you then.” He tips his cap and starts the car, waving once more before driving off.

-Saturday-

The car show is bustling just as you expected--the weather is warm and the sun is out so everyone is looking to get out. You and Frankie walk side by side not exactly holding hands but every now and then your hands brush up against the other’s and you look and smile.

“Hey Frankie!” someone calls and Frankie excuses himself to go talk to his friend. You walk over to where you can sign up to win the ride in a vintage car and end up entering your name. You won’t win but it doesn’t hurt to try. You walk over to the car that is up for a drive this year and look at it in amazement.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Frankie asks, walking up behind you. “1969 Camaro ZL1.” He shakes his head, “Doesn’t get any better.”

“Are you gonna enter this year?” you ask, locking your arm with his.

“Nah, I’ll just stick to dreaming about driving down some long road in the desert, listening to the engine purr.” He chuckles and takes his arm from yours only to put it around your shoulder. You look at him and just admire him. He is wearing his aviators today and, you have to say, he looks goddamn good in them.

“And now for the winner of our drive and picnic contest...” A drumroll plays over the speaker and when the man says your name you freeze. Frankie looks at you, eyes wide.

“You entered? You won?!” he asks in disbelief.

“I guess so.” You’re still in shock as people around you cheer and you walk up to get the keys. 

“You’re one lucky lady,” the man says and you look out at the crowd only to find Frankie. You meet his eye and smile.

“Thank you but...uh...this is for Frankie,” you say and you can see his eyebrows fly up from behind his dark shades. He pushes them up off his eyes and looks at you.

“Well, Frankie, you’re one lucky guy with an amazing girlfriend.” The man tells him to get up there and Frankie walks up in a daze. As everyone cheers, he pulls you close.

Standing by the car, Frankie still seems to be in shock.

“I believe these are yours,” you say, grabbing his hand and dropping the keys into them. “Come on.” You walk over to the passenger side and get in. He climbs in slowly and just touches the steering wheel.

“Is this real?” he asks, turning to you.

“It’s real. Start it!” you say excitedly. 

He puts the key and starts the ignition. It roars to life and Frankie puts a hand over his heart. “Do you hear that?” Before he pulls onto the road, he plays around with the radio, stopping when he hears Uptown Girl playing. He turns to you with a grin and you smile back.

“Good song.” You dance in the seat a little before singing along quietly. Frankie looks over at you every chance he gets before joining in.

“And when she’s walking she’s looking so fi-i-ine. And when she’s talking she’ll say that she’s mi-i-ine,” he sings loudly and you stare at him in shock before bursting into laughter.

“You surprise me every day, Mr. Morales,” you say.

“I hope in a good way.”

“Definitely.”

He drives in silence before turning into the park and finding a nice shady spot. “We get a picnic too, remember?” He gets out and opens the trunk to find a basket already packed up for you.

“What if I was alone?” you ask.

“More food for you,” he jokes and you laugh. You walk over to a nice spot under a beautiful tree and hold the basket as he places the blanket. “Ma’am.” He gestures to the blanket and you sit.

“Why, thank you, sir.”

He sits beside you and leans against the tree. You inch closer to him until you are able to lean against him comfortably. “This is nice,” he says, taking his aviators off so you can look into his brown eyes.

“It is. Are you hungry?” you ask, reaching for the basket.

“Wait...I have something I wanna ask you.” He grabs your hand.

“Okay.”

“Earlier you, uh, said something about couples...and when the guy called me your boyfriend, you didn’t try to correct him. I was just wondering why.” He looks at you nervously.

“Why would I correct him if he was already right?” you ask him and Frankie laughs once in shock. “I mean...if that’s okay with you. If you think this is going too fast then we can just continue the way we were. No labels.”

“I haven’t done this in a while, you know?”

“I know. That’s why I said we can slow down. I don’t mind but I do want you to know that you’re the only one I’m seeing and it’ll stay that way even if we don’t make it official or anything.” You reach for the basket again and he watches you--the way the sun shines down on you, the way you smile at him, the way you do everything.

You two sit there for a little over an hour talking and eating and just enjoying each other’s company. And just like any other date, neither of you ever want it to end. He helps you pack up the basket before standing.

“Help me with the blanket?” he asks.

“Of course.” You grab the opposite end and walk up to him. When you do, he kisses you and you sigh.

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he says against your lips and you open your eyes.

“I’d be honored, Frankie.” You kiss him, dropping your end of the blanket to reach up and cup his face.

After a few more kisses, you two finally make it back to the car. Frankie starts it and puts his aviators back on.

“Let’s take the long way, hm?” he suggests and you nod. It may not be the long, empty road in the desert, but this is the start of road trip he can’t wait to take with you by his side.

frankie taglist: @fakenoods @oldstuffnewstuff @the-bird-suit @lestrange2703 @findhimfives @windfallss @rach7 @surfsup666 @theghostwiththemost-babe @marshmallow–3 @mrschiltoncat @aplaceofpeace @josepedropascal @jeeperky @allthingsnarcos @laymegentlytorest @stanfordscrush @fangirlingss @nathan-bateman @darthdumbasss @helga1031 @master-obi-wan-kenboneme @heythere80sbaby @deserttastesbitter @dindjstarin @mandodjarinn @frankie-stein18 @funkylittlebisexuall @16boyfriends-and-me @marvelousmermaid @slugbuggie @ladyblogger-margie @queenbbarnes @dodgerandevans @terrormonster55 @queridopascal @hells-bells-x @allmahfeels @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @blackberries45 @darnitdraco @nemo-my-name-forevermore @dindjarinneedsahug @littlefairygirlx @wyn-dixie

permanent taglist: @magicsuperheroes @feelmyroarrrr @the-dazzling-urbanite @phoenixhalliwell @liveloudwriteloud @tumblogbykarapaloma @jaime1110 @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @pascal-isaac @dazedrhapsody @pascalisthepunkest @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @tiffdawg @freak-of-nature2002 @kingpascals @saltywintersoldat @theocatkov @mandilflorian @cyaredindjarin @themarcusmoreno @the-feckless-wonder @loki-098 @arabellathorne @dindisneydjarin @punkpascal @opheliaelysia @takens-world @huliabitch @stardelic @kandomeresbitch @havenforafrazzledmind @thisis-theway @stardust-galaxies @mrsparknuts @jedi-mando @frankiemorales @edencherries @lilkermit14 @virtualxjournality @thirstworldproblemss @emesispo @heresathreebee @tangledlove27 @marvgrrl @hayley-the-comet @insoucianttt @witchyavenger @coaaster @starless-eyes-remain @wanderlustmags @wonderfulfluffer @lv7867 @pedropasscals @pedroepascal @wigwitch @seasonschange-butpeopledont @theoria850 @roxypeanut @autumnleaves1991-blog @kenedyybrooklin @artsymaddie @dindjareen @silverfish-kingdom @heyitmelexie @gredandfeorgesgirl @mandaloriandindjarin @moonlight-prose @rosiefridayrogersunday @ssppoorrkk @amalie-buch @lucifer- @mstgsmy @randomness501 @darthadeline @youarenewformetoo @thehippiequilter @whovian-gurl @neverlandlibrarian @chibi-liz05 @dragons-of-the-usa @over300books @borderlinedindjarin @mudhornchronicles @cosmoschick @linkpk88 @lovingramsey @djvrins @escapedthesarlacc @coni-martina @pedrospunk @burrshottfirstt @jitterbugs927 @xserenax-13 @anatanotegami @doin-stuff @djarinsruni @aerolanya @icanbeyourjedi @bison-writes @strangelittlenobody @dinsbeskar @sarahjkl82-blog @neontiiger @houseofthirst @intu-witch-tion @ennuiandthebourgeoisie @littlebopper96 @boxdyeblonde @empressamidala @myheart-pedro @mtjoi @purplepascal042 @goalkeepernerd @rebelliouscat @leaiorganas @eternallyvenus @mandocrest @kellyozz @the-wishmonger @maythxthirstbxwithyou @andiebell2023 @moonlightburned @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @leonieb @freeshavocadoooo @auroraariza @kalimont83 @notabotiswear @martellthemandalor @beesting77 @medeasmiles @diaryofkali @mando-amando @venusdjarin @mystical-934 @blackmarketmummy @hauntedmama @mamacitapascal @insomniamamma @pedro4ever @greeneyedblondie44 @mitchi-c @prideandpascal @sleep-tight1

[natromanxoff]

Queen + Paul Rodgers live at the HSBC Arena in Buffalo, NY, USA - March 17, 2006

Photos supplied by: Little_Queenie99

Fan Stories

“I heard the news in December '05, Queen would be touring the USA in early 2006. WOW WAS I EXCITED! I had never seen Queen live before. I got into them a little in 1984, 2 years after their last US tour, and fully into them in 1989. I had gotten my daughter, Tessa into them in 2000 when she was 2 years old. So when I told her about the upcoming concert, she was very excited too! I asked and begged for tickets for Christmas and my birthday (March 10th) and was given them on my birthday. Probably the best present I have ever been given by anyone for any occasion. The day of the show was hell, waiting, waiting, waiting, would the time EVER COME???!!! Finally it was 2pm and time to leave work (early of course, the trip from Rochester to Buffalo is 90 minutes). I picked up my daughter from school (she practically knocked me over when she got to the office) We drove home to eat supper and change into our matching Queen shirts. Then after a few pictures, we were off! On the drive there I played some Queen songs she hadnt learned yet and a few of the Bad Company songs wed be hearing. Surprisingly she liked the song Bad Company best. When we got there it was 630pm. We immediately bought our souvenirs and brought them to the car so we didnt have to worry about them at all. They opened the doors at 7pm and we sat listening to Jimi Hendrix and Creedence Clearwater Revival songs as we grew impatient. At 8pm between songs of CCRs, the music failed to continue with another song. Then We Will Rock You from the musical played (My daughter was confused by this, she asked me if it was Freddie singing or Paul) then a bluegrass version of Fat Bottomed Girls (which was strange but pretty good). Then the lights dimmed and the remix of Its a Beautiful Day began, Im getting goose bumps just thinking about it! When Eminem started she got more confused but when Brian riffed along with the song I knew the time was here. Paul came out and sang Reaching Out and I told her to watch the black curtain because it would fall down when Roger started drumming, this she found pretty cool when it happened. When Brian came out and started the riff to Tie Your Mother Down I got tears in my eyes. Here in the same building was Queen, my all time favorite band and I was finally seeing them LIVE. Yeah, I know, Freddie wasnt there, If he was it was the only way the concert could have been better!

When Brian yelled Good Evening Buffalo! I got chills. Then he noodled about a bit (a little sounded like the intro solo in Headlong) and then they sang Fat Bottomed Girls. The first 2 songs are ones my daughter absolutely loves. See, when she was 2 I taught her Queen after she took an interest. I was in the car, We Are The Champions was on the radio, and I was singing along. By the end she was singing too!!! I figured I would teach her songs with easy Choruses. (Ones with only 2-4 sentences at most, better if it repeated the one or two lines and that was it) Quick to follow was We Will Rock You & Another One Bites The Dust. I should point out, to keep her interest I had little motions we did. For Example. During Hey Im Gonna Get You Too I pretended to tickle her. In We Are The Champions during Of The World I would raise both hands in the air. I knew I had something one day on the way to school. We had watched a live show the night before. In the car when WATC was on she only put up one arm and proudly exclaimed Daddy! I did it just like Freddie on TV! Over the next few years I taught her any song with an easy Chorus lyric Put Out The Fire, If You Cant Beat Them, Fat Bottomed Girls, Bicycle Race, Tie Your Mother Down, etc. She knows about 30-40 as of now. Now that weve seen Queen we will definitely be learning some harder songs. I plan on starting at Queen 1 and moving along as time goes on. I had warned her thered be songs played she didnt know and that songs she loved (like Put Out The Fire) wouldnt be played. She got really bored for a few minutes as they did I Want To Break Free (I think the worst song of the night, no surprise it was dropped a few shows later) & Take Love, which I personally loved but she didnt know it and well, you know how kids are! Then she perked up when she recognized Crazy Little Thing Called Love. She knew I had told her we had to yell Ready Freddie at the appropriate time. Sadly not many in my section did. However on the bootleg of the show, the area around the person taping got into it at least! Then out came Brian to do his Acoustic set. I was praying hed do 39 or even Long Away like on last years tour, but all we got was Love Of My Life at which point I cuddled up to my daughter and sang along with the crowd. On the way to the show she had heard for the first time Hammer To Fall. She isnt too into that one yet. Then came Feel Like Making Love and the surprise of the night Under Pressure. She liked it at the show and on her bootleg it is one of the more played cuts now. She really got into the next one as I did as well. Let There Be Drums was next and we both like Rogers solos. The crowd was clapping along to the main beat of the song which was neat too! Tessa was air-drumming along with Roger at one point. I got chills when the crowd was clapping along (clap clap clap. drums, clap clap clap drums) Then came Im In Love With My Car. The guitar solo was next and other than the ass who was complaining for them to just sing already I heard another asking who else was playing with Brian. I proudly turned around and said he is doing it all on his own. I always loved how he could have a base riff (usually a steady beat) and solo over it. People seemed amazed that he could get so many different sounds out of that guitar, from light to heavy to MONSTER like during Chinese Torture. Last Horizon was beautiful as always and you could literally hear the crowd take in their breath at the lights from the disco ball making the ceiling look like a star field. The piano came up from the floor and Bad Company was beginning. That one was one of the better Paul Rodgers tunes of the night. Cant Get Enough was ok I guess. Id have rather heard Ready For Love or Shooting Star.

Then came almost all songs Tessa knew. First, Another One Bites The Dust and then Dragon Attack which was surprisingly played like the album version and not like the old way from 1980-1984 when it was mixed with Now Im Here. We were on our feet dancing for these two! These Are The Days Of Our Lives was next and the chills were plentiful when the crowd applauded at video of John & Freddie. My sadness was kicking in as I knew we were getting to the end. Radio Ga Ga was next and Tessa and I did the clapping along with the crowd. Tessa got so excited at the next song. The Show Must Go On is one of her big favorites. She looks so serious when she sings. I have since told her that one of my favorite Queen lyrics is the lines My soul is painted like the wings on butterflies, Fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die I knew it was all over for us next because when Paul pointed to the screen it meant time for Bohemian Rhapsody. I cried and so did Tessa at the view of our hero on the screen singing his most beloved song. I even took her over to the area by one of the screens and have a picture of her standing next to Freddie. We stood by the stage for the rest of the song and I got all choked up again at the end at the duet part. When they went offstage I took her back to our seat and told her about encores and how there would be 3 more songs. When We Will Rock You started she got up on her feet. Apparently while she told me a little while before that she was tired, she apparently wasnt anymore. At the end she was surprised they did All Right Now next. But she told me this is like when they did Friends Will Be Friends between Rock You and Champions. She liked All Right Now so much that on the way home when we heard a Buffalo station playing the Return Of The Champions version, she sang along! Champions was next and we have a nice picture of us swaying our arms back and forth. Sadly it was all over. The dream of seeing Queen had been realized. Now the concert was over and sadness ensued. On the way out I asked Tessa how she liked her first Queen concert and she told me it was the greatest concert ever. She had so much fun and her favorite part was when Freddie sang. I told her it was my favorite part too! Nothing against Paul but the nostalgia of the moment would be something I would never forget. I asked her how she liked Paul Rodgers and she told me he was a good singer and she liked it when he was on the top of the piano (During Bad Company) I have seen many concerts in my lifetime. From Iron Butterfly to Heart, From The Guess Who to Tim McGraw, and from Toby Keith to Cheap Trick. This was by far THE best show I have ever seen. I think if I went to another concert in my lifetime that it would be an automatic letdown as Queen and Paul Rodgers rocked the house! Hopefully I will get another experience seeing Queen so I may do another one of these. May the Queen + Paul Rodgers union last for a very long time! Afterwards my wife got a frame with 4 pictures from the show and our tickets in it and now it hangs on the wall. Tessa sits and stares at it every time she listens to her bootleg CD of the show.” - Michael & Tessa Fox

“We (my mom, dad, and I) arrived at the HSBC Arena in Buffalo on St. Patrick's Day after a long drive, and once they let the people in, we bought programs and such, and found our seats, throughout the pre-concert stage, they were playing a lot of old rock hits over the speakers (Hendrix and such) and about 5 minutes before the concert started, some Queen covers were played until the Beautiful Day mix was played. The energy at that point was almost sufficating. Many people who knew what this song singled were cheering while I tried to explain to my parents that the concert had officially started. Lose Yourself was played next and the lights went down and everyone went nuts. When Reaching Out started Paul appeared at the end of the catwalk near where I was standing and it was just magical. Then Brian went out on stage and started playing the chords to Tie Your Mother Down. It was amazing everyone was going nuts (and people said the crowd was quiet ;-) ) Most of everything after that was a blur. I was sick for the whole day and I would stand up and cheer...sit down and throw up :-P. Memorable moments were probably the energy at the beginning of the concert, Let There Be Drums, Bad Company definitely, Under Pressure, and the encore, just because it is. Ah, the whole concert was a memorable moment that I'll never forget. I also learned a valuable lesson about Queen concerts in general that I will utilize if I ever get to go to another one: Brian's solo is a great time for a bathroom break. :-D This concert is definitely the best I have ever seen, heard, and the only one I've ever experienced. I hope I get to go to another one in the future. Oh, and if anyone gets a chance to get a recording: GET IT!!!” - Smitty

(x)

[black-is-beautiful18]

Hi, hello!

Your AAVE post is interesting but also so very USA-centric. What about the rest of the world? What can we do - whites (esp from europe) & poc - to be respectful? What should we know about - expect for the obvious, that its not just a slang/internet speech. I’m Hungarian (east european) and even *we* use AAVE in our everyday lives. I feel like its wrong, somehow, But i honestly cant figure out how (since we dont have the same history as americans)

/ if its reads like a mess im sorry & ill try to explain myself differently if you want /

AAVE has spread through things like social media, movies, and tv shows. People often copy it because they think it sounds cool. They don’t know that it’s an actual language. Some Black people also pick up on AAVE this way as well and as far as I know they never use it in a wrong or hostile way cuz some of our languages have similar structures. Or they’re just that good lol. When it comes to other POC and white people using it…it often gets disrespected. People say it’s not “Proper English” even though it is proper English. AAVE has also been used to be very hostile towards Black people whenever it’s used by nonblack people. If you pick up AAVE in any of the ways that I mentioned above it’s best not to repeat it. Like you might recognize words but it really something that shouldn’t be copied.

[spnfanficpond]

Pond Diving - mrswhozeewhatsis

Welcome to today’s Pond Diving Spotlight! We hope that you enjoy this little insight to our members and perhaps even find some useful tips for your own writing. Happy reading!

Want to volunteer, send us an ask! We’re looking forward to learning more about all of you! Not sure what PD is, you can learn more here.

“Don’t Be Koi About It” - All About You

Name: Michelle

Age: 46

Location: Just outside Philly, PA, USA

URL: @mrswhozeewhatsis

Why did you choose your URL: I made up the name when I created my WordPress blog. I spent a good five minutes thinking maybe I could become The Bloggess or Hyperbole and a Half or something like that. I forgot I’m not that funny.

What inspired you to become a writer: I’ve always had something to say, and sometimes I wrote it down. I didn’t think I could write fiction until I started SPN and got into fan fiction.

How long have you been writing: Fiction - only since 2015. Before that, I wrote a lot of non-fiction stuff. For a while, it was all journal entries on a support website for chronic illness peeps. Then there were the five minutes I considered becoming a blogger. I’ve always wanted to write a book. I never settled down and actually started writing that book, though. Maybe someday. If I ever get tired of fan fiction. (So, probably never.)

What do you do when you are not writing i.e. Job/Hobbies etc? I’m disabled, so I don’t do a whole lot. Read, watch TV, sleep. The @spnfanficpond is the closest thing to a job I’ve had since I stopped working.

How long have you been in the SPN Fandom? I started watching SPN on Netflix in December 2014. Watched 9.5 seasons in three weeks, and then had to wait a month for new episodes. In that time, I found Tumblr and fan fiction, and the rest is history!

Are you in any other fandoms and do you write for them? I like Doctor Who, The Witcher, The Umbrella Academy, General Hospital, and a few other shows, but I’m not nearly as active in those fandoms. I follow the cast on Twitter or IG and that’s about it. I’ve never written anything outside of SPN and never felt the urge.

Do you do any writing outside of fanfiction? If so, tell us about it? Occasionally, I will post some non-fiction writing on my Wordpress blog. Like, maybe once a year or so. Fanfiction has taken over my writing urge, and I don’t know when or if that will ever wane.

Favorite published author: I hate picking favorites because I can never pick just one. Here are a few, then: Stephen King, Erma Bombeck, Shel Silverstein, and Shakespeare.

Have you ever read a book that made an impact on your life? Which one and why?: So many. I would suggest that a series of books that I read when I was maybe 13-ish had the biggest impact on my life because of the way it changed the way I think. I haven’t reread these books as an adult (well, I read a new book added to the series much later, and was wholly unimpressed), so I don’t want to say that they’re the best books ever, but they taught me something. Piers Anthony’s series The Incarnations of Immortality. I found them in my high school library and read a couple of them out of order before I realized it was a series and there was an order. The original series has seven books and each book is based on one of seven Incarnations: Death, Time, Fate, War, Nature, Evil, and Good. Each book is also told from the point of view of that incarnation, telling the story of how they got the job. What I began to realize around book 3 was that the stories are all connected, some of them happening at the same time. This was the first time I’d ever read one story told from multiple points of view, and it opened my mind to the idea that the world isn’t only the way I see it. Also, there is a scene in Book 3 where different types of thinking are described. Before this, I had no idea that different people think about the same thing in different ways. I was excited when I saw he added an 8th book to the series, and then I read it and wished I hadn’t. Ignore anything he’s written intended for adults, really. The 8th book, and another I found that was clearly intended for adults, are really some of the worst smut ever written. Just don’t. Stick with the kids’ books like his Xanth series and the Incarnations.

Favorite genre of fanfic (smut, angst, fluff, crack, rpf, etc): I like them all, at different times. Love me some fluffy Destiel before going to bed. Some hilarious crack always cheers me up. Some angsty pining makes my heart beat faster, and the occasional RPF AU is always good.

Favorite piece of your own writing: I always go back to Third Wheel. Soulless Sam, vulnerable Dean, the Campbells (especially Gwen), and all of season 6. And I think it’s my smuttiest.

Most underrated fic you have written: Some of my Louden Swain one-shots are pretty good, but don’t get a lot of traffic because there’s no pairing, or have an OFC instead of being reader-insert. Eskimo is the one that immediately pops to mind.

Story of yours that you’d most like to see turned into a movie/tv show: Since Non-Trad is an AU, and therefore wouldn’t have to fit inside canon, I guess I’ll say that one.

Favorite Tumblr Writer(s): Really? You’re gonna make me choose? Hmph. Here goes: @kittenofdoomage, @jhoomwrites, @manawhaat, @littlegreenplasticsoldier, and @katehuntington. Stopping at five because this list could get really, really long.

Favorite Fic from another writer: Toil and Trouble by @littlegreenplasticsoldier, and I'm not just saying that because I was her beta. Cat!Dean. Dean as a sentient cat familiar. With a telepathic link to the reader!! It’s a whole ass meal, guys.

Favorite character to write: The only character I write consistently is myself as a reader insert. (Aren’t most reader inserts actually just author-inserts?) I like putting an idealized version of myself into a world with these characters that I love and making them dance. Besides that, I don’t think I have a favorite character to write, but I seem to find Dean easiest to write.

Favorite Pairing to write: Me and everyone. Sometimes all at once. ;)

Least favorite character to write (and why): Gabriel. I love him, and sometimes I’m inspired to write him, but he’s so completely different from me and how I understand the world, that I always fear I’ll get him horribly wrong.

Do you have anyone you consider a mentor? @manawhaat, @littlegreenplasticsoldier, @sebbytrash, @oriona75, and @kittenofdoomage. With a little @jhoomwrites on the side. They each challenge me to be better, even if it’s just by being their fabulous selves.

Do you have any aspirations involving your writing? Would it be cliché to say that someday I’d like to write a book? Non-fiction, with my own photos. Essays on all kinds of topics. Sometimes, I have things to say.

How many work-in-progress stories do you have: 35 ideas written down in a list, 1 active WIP, and one idea that I haven’t fleshed out quite enough to write down, yet. I have a beginning, and a sort of goal, but I’m missing the piece that ties it all together.

What are you currently working on? The closest I’ve come to actually writing is mulling over one of the WIP ideas in my head before sleeping. Lately, I’ve given up on the one shot with the missing piece mentioned above in favor of a request from my last follower celebration.

“Pond Diving” - All About The Writing

What/who has had the biggest influence on your writing? Tumblr and the friends I’ve made who have encouraged me and told me my writing isn’t all crap have been the biggest reason why I’ve not given it up.

Best writing advice you've been given: Crap makes good compost.

Biggest obstacle you’ve faced in your writing: Time and energy.

What aspects of writing do you find difficult when you write fanfiction? If I’m out of practice, writing smut is hard. If I’m not inspired, then it all feels like the same three ways to describe tabby A going into slotty B.

Is there anything you want to write but are afraid to (and why): M/M or F/F pairings, specifically smut. Being a cishet female, I just don’t think I could do it justice.

What inspires/motivates you to write: The characters. There’s just something about SPN characters that makes me want to find a new twist and make them dance.

How do you deal with self-doubt: Talk it out with friends and beta readers. There’s also an aspect of ‘fake it till you make it’ involved.

How do you deal with writer's block: Writer’s block is an easy way to say that something is keeping you from writing. Figuring out what that something might be is the cure. Like, right now, I could say that I have writer’s block, but what I really have is more interest in other things. Sometimes, when I’m writing, I’ll hit a wall that feels like writer’s block. Usually, if I go back to the last place where I felt like everything was flowing, I’ll find that wherever I went from that point on just wasn’t right. Rethinking that point generally gets me going again.

Do you plan/outline your story before you start: Not usually. Like Son, Like Father required some outlining because of the nature of the two stories being told at the same time. I wrote down some notes about Non-Trad, and then couldn’t understand the notes, so I’m not sure that counts. I do, however, keep a kind of outline as I’m writing, though, for my long stories. I will keep a chapter list with a short sentence on what happens in each chapter. This saved me when I was writing The Babysitter, especially when I ended up moving around flashback chapters to make them fit the story better.

Do you have any weird writing habits: I need something to stare into when I’m thinking. In 2015, I lived in an apartment near O’Hare airport in Chicago with a great view of the planes coming in to land and the sun/moon rising. I stared out my balcony doors all the time. Since then, I haven’t had an office with a good view like that, so I got a glitter lava lamp. Watching the glitter move gets my brain moving.

Have you ever received hateful comments on your fic and how do you deal with it? If I have, I’ve ignored and forgotten them. Hate isn’t worth my time or energy.

Conversely: what’s been some of your favorite feedback on your fanfic? If someone likes my characterization or says they’ve read it more than once, that makes my heart melt!

If you could give one piece of advice to a new and/or struggling writer, what would it be? Your story will take the number of words it needs to take. Unless you are doing a challenge where a specific word count is required, don’t even pay attention to it. The same with chapters. Some writers are very conscientious about chapter length, but I was raised reading James Patterson and Stephen King, and they will mix long chapters and short chapters to create suspense in the story. Fanfiction is a whole different animal, but don’t let some arbitrary idea of chapter or story length take precedence over the best way to tell the story.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 3/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

The two weeks before Skate America breeze by, every hour filled with skating or conditioning or trying not to creep on message boards to see what people are predicting for the season. Buck feels good, the best he’s ever felt this early on. He tries to reign it in, that voice in his head reminding him that he could still lose it all at any moment, but it’s muffled and quiet and easy to ignore.

He’s also been seeing more of Eddie, now that he knows he’s not the douchebag he always assumed he was. They condition together, watch each other's jumping passes and offer tips, even take their lunch break together, talking about everything skating and some non skating things too. It’s easy and nice and the best parts of Buck’s days, if he’s honest. He maybe always thinks about talking to Eddie, picking his brain for his thoughts on various skaters’ programs, watching him laugh with his whole body at some snarky comment Buck makes about someone’s horrible choice in costume. Buck likes the way he laughs, likes the way he feels a little warmer when he makes him laugh.

He should have known this brief bubble of happiness would be popped sooner rather than later.

The day before they leave, he and Maddie get an email — an email — from their mother, inviting them to dinner while they’re in town for the competition. To say Buck’s surprised would be an understatement.

“How’d they even find out it’s in Reading this year? Did you tell them?”

Maddie rolls her eyes, stabbing her salad with a little more force than necessary. “I haven’t spoken to them in longer than you have, so no. They’ve probably seen ads or something.”

“We could lie, tell them Bobby’s really strict about non-skating things during competitions?”

“Sure, but then they might just call Bobby on their own and blow our whole cover.”

“We could tell them we’re sick? Food poisoning? Then miraculously get better?”

“If that didn’t work when you tried to get out of taking your SAT, I don’t think it’ll work this time, either.”

“I wasn’t even planning on going to college, why did I—” Buck huffs as Maddie shakes her head at him sympathetically.

There’s really no way for them to get out of this.

The thing is, their parents aren’t bad people — a doctor and a PR manager who are on every non-profit board in the county, volunteer at the local animal shelter, and donate plenty of money to plenty of charities. As parents, though, they somehow manage an interesting balance of using their children’s successes for their own bragging rights and making them feel like they’re always just shy of good enough. They supported them growing up, sure, paid their way through lessons and competitions before endorsements started coming in, but it always felt like it was serving their own clout more than helping Buck and Maddie follow their dreams. When they moved out to LA, it was easy to distance themselves, rescheduling calls indefinitely until their parents eventually just stopped trying. 

The last time Buck talked to them was right after his leg surgery — they called under the guise of “checking in on him”, but spent most of the call figuring out the quickest way to get him back to practice, offering to pay for extra surgeries and PT to speed up the process. He’s sure they thought they were helping, but it felt more like they were eager for him to get back to winning medals so they could tell their friends about it. 

As much as he loves to win, it’s not the same when someone else is pushing you more than you’re pushing yourself. 

He sighs again, slumping down in his chair. He hadn’t been nervous at all about Skate America, but now the itch of self doubt has made a home right under his skin, and it wasn’t even for a skating reason. Maddie reaches across the table to grab his wrist, squeezing lightly. 

“It’ll be two hours max, then we’ll make an excuse about early practice and leave. It won’t be that bad.”

Buck nods, turning back to his lunch, suddenly not hungry as his stomach continues to churn.

~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t expect to get this nostalgic, but the familiar drive toward Reading and the Sovereign Center (Santander Arena now, because capitalism is a prison) fills him with jittery excitement and a weird sense of calm, just like it did when he was a kid competing in the regional circuit. The arena was a palace compared to their rink in Hershey, and it always made him want to skate well enough to be worthy of the ice there. It’s where he won his first medal ever, his first gold, his first trip to Nationals, and would hopefully now serve as a stepping stone once again, this time leading him towards Beijing.

Eddie’s lounging on his bed, shirtless and flipping channels, when Buck gets to their room. It wasn’t a surprise this time — they’d requested to room together anyway — but seeing Eddie like this, soft and relaxed and somehow at home in a hotel room, makes Buck’s heart flip a little bit. 

Buck’s heart has been flipping a lot around Eddie, and making him think about stupid things like kissing him and how his abs would feel under his fingertips and how he’d prefer his eggs in the morning. It’s taking up a lot of real estate in his brain, and it’s going to get even worse now that they’re sleeping 10 feet away from each other, he’s sure.

That doesn’t stop him from sneaking glances at Eddie while he unpacks. Just to get it out of his system so he can focus. 

It’s fine.

He can totally handle this.

~~~~~~~~~~

Skata America is a much bigger deal than ACI — more cameras, more interviews, more people watching in the stands and on TV. That should mean it’s all more intimidating, too, but Buck is thriving under the lights and camera lenses. This will be the first real chance to show people — not just skating people, but everyone — what he can do, and the anticipation of how it will be received buzzes through him constantly. That buzz practically dictates his every move through practices and his short, finally ceasing as he hits his final pose. It’s quickly replaced by elation — he knows he nailed everything, he knows the resounding applause is deserved.

He knows he’s in first place before they even announce his score.

When they do, he’s right, and he’s thrilled, but there’s also a pang of disappointment, because the margin is tight — only three points between him and Eddie in second. Bobby hands him his protocols in the green room, and his stomach clenches when he sees that his step sequence and his sit spin were downgraded to level threes. His brain starts spinning, mentally combing through every revolution and edge to figure out where the hell he fucked up, when he feels a warm, solid hand on his shoulder. He looks up and sees Eddie, but instead of pity like he expected (or gloating like he feared), he just sees understanding in his eyes, maybe even a hint of the same irritation he’s feeling.

“They screwed me over too, my camel should have had a plus three GOE at least.” Eddie says, squeezing Buck’s shoulder. Somehow, he’s already feeling better.

“I bet it was the French judge, he’s always been a conniving bastard.”

“We could take him out, we have time before tomorrow.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Buck says, as Eddie offers his hand and pulls him up to stand. He tries not to miss the warmth when he lets go.

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie says quietly as they make their way around skaters and coaches in the hallway toward the press room, “I think you should be at least 10 points ahead, if not more. You were something else out there.”

Buck can’t make his brain come up with a proper response by the time they take their seats on the makeshift stage in front of the reports, so all he can do is smile and hope it comes across as totally chill and not as dopey as it feels.

Eddie smiles back, and Buck thinks he’s beautiful.

The presser goes just as expected — a few questions lobbed at the Candian skater currently in third, more for Buck since he’s in first, but the most still go to Eddie. Being the favorite for Olympic gold doesn’t go away after half a competition, and the reporters are rabid as ever. Buck’s seen Eddie’s press routine — the humble charm and gracious smiles, cracking jokes like he’s talking to friends and not a bunch of strangers with tape recorders. He’d spent years mentally rolling his eyes at what he thought was the fakeness of it all, but after getting closer to Eddie, he knows that’s just how Eddie is. Kind and patient, actively listening to what people are saying, taking his time to form thoughtful answers. 

But whatever’s happening now is not the Eddie he knows — his laughs are forced and almost too loud, his smile is tight and boarding on a grimace. He keeps fidgeting with his credentials and the sleeve of his Team USA zip-up, eyes darting around like he’s charting his path to get out of the room as fast as possible once they’re done. 

He’s nervous. Buck doesn’t think he’s ever seen him nervous, at least not like this, and it’s honestly a little unsettling. So much so that all Buck wants to do is fix it, bring the light back to Eddie’s eyes, bleed the tension out of his shoulders.

There’s probably not an easy way to do that while answering questions about his performance.

He waits until he sees the “wrap it up” signal from the event worker off to the side, the next reporter giving one last question to the Canadian skater. He doesn’t think about it too hard, just stretches his leg a little to the right, slowly, until he and Eddie are ankle to ankle. It’s not much, but Eddie still looks over at him, first confused and then grateful, a small, real smile on his face, his shoulders falling away from his ears.

Eddie’s quiet on the ride back to the hotel, but he looks calmer, listening to everyone else talk about their events and what could happen tomorrow during free skates. He’s still jittery though, leg bouncing as he sits next to Buck on the bus. Whatever was bothering him during interviews is clearly still lingering, and Buck has to fight the urge to reach out and calm his shaking with a hand on his knee. 

They make it back to their room, door barely clicking in place behind them, before Buck breaks.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Eddie freezes in front of him, half turned around like he was about to ask Buck something before he steamrolled over him. “You seemed stressed during the presser and on the ride back, and I just...wanted to make sure you’re good.”

Eddie looks stunned for a second before letting out a breath, hand rubbing over his face. “I knew this would happen, you know? The extra attention. It happened after Pyeongchang and the bronze medal, but it died down eventually. I thought I’d have more time to mentally prepare for it again, I guess.” He shakes his head, hand falling to his side as he shrugs his shoulders helplessly. “Today was just a lot.”

Buck nods, patting Eddie’s arm in understanding because he gets it. Most of the time he basks in any form of attention, but some days the lights are too hot and the voices are too loud and faking a smile through it is impossible. The one Buck sees now is real though, he knows it, and he’s happy to see Eddie relaxing now that they’re away from the vultures.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ll be out of your hair tonight, so you’ll have plenty of time to yourself,” Buck says, crossing the room to his bed, digging through his bag for his dinner clothes.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asks, and when Buck looks back at him as he heads to the bathroom to change, he swears he looks disappointed, briefly, before it shifts to confusion. “We don’t have any team stuff tonight, right?”

“Nah, Maddie and I got suckered into dinner with our parents.”

“Are Buckley family dinners always black tie affairs?” he asks when Buck comes back in slacks and a white button down, struggling to knot his tie. 

“No, but they told us to dress nicely, so we’re probably going to some fancy restaurant downtown. Knowing them, we’ll also be dragged to some party one of their friends is having that’s conveniently close by.”

He groans in frustration when his tie comes out crooked again, and Eddie laughs, taking pity on him and coming to do it himself. Buck tries to keep cool, willing his cheeks not to turn red, but it’s hard when he can feel Eddie’s breath on his chin, feel his fingers run across his collarbones, and he’s so close, if he just leaned in— 

“Sounds like it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Buck sighs through his nose. “I love my parents, they’re just...better from a distance.”

Eddie winces in what looks like sympathy, smoothing Buck’s tie and the front of his shirt as he finishes. Buck misses the motion as soon as it’s gone.

“Maybe they’ll prove you wrong this time,” Eddie says.

Buck rolls his eyes at that, but can’t help a small part of him desperately hoping that Eddie will be right.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie is so wrong.

Not only is there a party, it’s a party at their parent’s house, which is in full swing by the time Buck and Maddie pull up in their Lyft. Their mother opens the door, hair up, dress immaculate, lipstick-stained wine glass perched precariously in her hand.

“Evan! Maddie! Come in, so glad you could join us!” She kisses both their cheeks and hugs them quickly before taking their hands and dragging them deeper into the house. There are people everywhere, some faces Buck remembers and some new ones. There are waiters milling around too, passing bacon wrapped figs and mini bruschetta, and Buck feels his stomach rumble.

“So I guess we’re not doing dinner, huh Mom?” Buck asks, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. Judging by the look Maddie gives him, he’s not doing a great job.

Their mother, of course, doesn’t bat an eye. “Sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t realize we were double booked, and we’d already moved this party once. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen though, you can eat after I’ve introduced you to some people. Everyone’s so excited to hear about how you’re doing. Philip, there you are!” Buck spots his father too, a head above the crowd, tie loose and cheeks flushed. He shakes Buck’s hand firmly, kisses Maddie on the top of her head, and is gone in an instant when someone beckons him towards the bar set up on the back wall of the living room.

“Nice to see you, too. We’re doing fine, thanks for asking!” Buck says under his breath before their mother is whisking them away again. 

They spend the next hour flitting between couples — the Whiteheads, the Culls, the Carters, and a bunch of others he can’t differentiate — getting whiplash from their mother’s flipping between actual praise and backhanded compliments.

“Evan’s one of the top skaters in the country, though not as highly ranked as he was before his accident. We’re hoping he’ll be back up there by the time the Olympics roll around so he’ll make the team.”

“Maddie’s been with her partner for about three years now, right darling? They don’t have as many golds as she had with Doug, but they do skate well together.”

“Yes, that skater from Japan is very good Rebecca, you’re right! Evan, do you know him? Maybe he can give you some pointers about your edges going into your spins? I know you struggle with those.”

On and on and on, Buck and Maddie barely able to get a word in. They see their father only a few times, and each time he’s gone as quickly as he comes, pulled away by colleagues or board members or whoever it is they’re entertaining tonight. Buck is exhausted, and not just because it’s been a long day already, but from having to keep up the good natured laughs and graciousness when he doesn’t even feel like a person. He feels more like a trophy, being shuttled from room to room to be admired for a while before being shoved into a closet where no one can see you. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen — their parents will tout them around for the night, send them back to the hotel, and not speak to them again until they need something.

Buck really forgot just how small this big house can make him feel.

Eventually, he breaks away, making an excuse about needing the restroom before quietly sneaking up the back staircase to the second floor. Maddie finds him 15 minutes later, sliding down to sit next to him in the guest room closet.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” she says, and Buck smiles weakly. He hid in here a lot when he was a kid, sometimes with Maddie and sometimes alone. When it was all too much — the pressure from their parents or his coach or himself — this is where he came to quiet his brain. The darkness and the smell of the cedar chest full of their mother’s old sweaters was comforting, and it wrapped around him like a blanket until he could breathe again. 

“None of their habits have died, that’s for sure,” he says. “Is it sad that I thought they would?”

“It’s not sad to hope for better. It’s just hard when all that hope is for nothing.”

Buck sighs, head thumping against the wall. Maddie threads her arm through his and rests her head on his shoulder. They sit like that for a while, quiet, both in their own heads, though he’s sure Maddie is thinking about and wishing for the same things he is. 

He shifts eventually, head resting on top of hers. “Can we go yet? We could probably sneak out the back door. If they haven’t come looking for us yet, they definitely won’t notice.”

“Should we just go back to the hotel? It’s only 8:30.”

“What else are we gonna do?”

Maddie types furiously on her phone for a minute. “Chim, Hen, and May are down to hang out. And WhirlyDome is open until midnight.”

“That place is still around?”

“Apparently, and they have half price appetizers after 9.”

The thought of mozzarella sticks and onion rings makes his stomach growl loudly again. “Alright, let’s do it. But I’m inviting Eddie too.”

Maddie just smirks at him, getting up and out of the closet before he has a chance to ask what the look was for. 

It would just be rude not to invite him.

And maybe part of Buck wishes he had stayed in with Eddie tonight from the start.

[to: Eddie] tonight sucked. we’re going to play whirlyball and eat fried food. u in?

[from: Eddie] ????? What the hell is whirlyball?

[to: Eddie] omg now u HAVE to come. meet us here in half an hour

He sends the address and does not smile like an idiot when Eddie says he’ll see him soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So it’s...bumper cars?”

“Bumper cars plus lacrosse plus basketball, kind of. It’s super fun and only a little dangerous.”

“Can I watch for a bit first?”

“Sorry Eds, first timers have to play. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Eddie still looks skeptical as they get ready for the next game, carefully sitting in the car and picking up his scoop. 

A bell rings and the cars come to life, rumbling around the room as everyone starts scrambling for the ball. It takes about 30 seconds for Eddie to get the hang of steering, and by the end of the first game, no one would ever guess he’d never played before. He leads their team to three victories in a row, laughing and cheering loudly along with everyone else, like he hadn’t been overwhelmed with anxiety just a few hours earlier. Something warms in Buck at the thought that he helped with that smile, and it’s a feeling he thinks he could get used to, a job he wouldn’t mind having if it meant Eddie was this happy more often than not.

Despite it all — despite good friends and good food and the feeling of Eddie’s shoulder pressed against his, Buck still feels the tendrils of doubt and panic floating around him. They’re bad enough during competitions normally, but pair them with what happened at his parents’ house — being reminded of how he’ll never live up to their lofty image of him, even if he does make it to Beijing — and everything just feels dark and cold, and he doesn’t think his lungs are working properly. He leaves the table, says he’s going to the bathroom, but ends up outside instead. WhirlyDome is in the older half of a shopping center in downtown Hershey, and the outside has been renovated since he was last here, now featuring an elaborate fountain surrounded by benches and newly paved pathways to the other stores. He sinks down on the nearest bench, the cool October air grounding him, making it easier to think, easier to try and smash down all these swirling emotions he’s trying not to feel.

Eddie finds him there, sits down next to him on the bench without saying anything. They stay in companionable silence, watching the fountain dance and the people bustle back and forth across the plaza, getting last minute shopping in before the stores close.

“I’m sorry dinner sucked,” Eddie says eventually, quiet and sincere. 

Buck shrugs. “I knew it would. Just got my hopes up too high that things would be different.”

Eddie nods, eyes drifting back to the fountain. Now that they’re alone and the excitement from the games is gone, he can see the slightly weary lines of Eddie’s shoulders, see how he’s still curling in on himself, like he’s trying to escape into his own body.

“How are you?” Buck asks, knocking his knee against Eddie’s gently. “I know this isn’t exactly a quiet night in.”

“I’m alright. Better than I would be, thanks to you.”

“What did I do?”

Eddie’s staring at the ground, but his cheeks are flushing pink, and Buck wants to reach out and feel the heat of them under his fingertips.

“You were there,” he says. “I’m usually alone when I start feeling like that, and nothing makes it better. But I wasn’t alone this time.”

I don’t want you to be alone, Buck thinks, and these thoughts he’s been having — about Eddie, about being with Eddie — are getting louder and louder and harder to ignore. Especially now, when it’s just the two of them, and Eddie’s eyes are sparkling like gems under the street lights. 

It’s almost hilarious that barely six weeks ago, and for 10 very long years, he could hardly stand the sight of him.

Eddie finally looks up from the ground, facing Buck, and they’re so much closer than he thought they were. He can count every eyelash, smell his cologne, watch his eyes trace over Buck’s face, from his eye to his lips and back again.

Buck doesn’t even realize he’s leaning in until his vision starts to blur, and he stops short. He tries to move back slowly, casually, but then firm hands are cupping his jaw, pulling him forward until soft lips meet his own. There’s no fireworks, no angels singing, just warm molasses in his veins, spreading to every part of him until he’s so warm he’s certain he must be glowing. His hands twist into Eddie’s jacket, pulling him as close as possible until he’s practically in his lap. They move to his shirt, feeling the abs he’s been thinking about for weeks now, and he almost melts right to the ground at the sound Eddie sighs into his mouth. 

He’s not sure how long they kiss, but it doesn’t feel like long enough by the time they come up for air. He doesn’t go far, still close enough to feel Eddie’s breath fan across his lips, but he’s not sure what to do now. He wants to know what this means (if it means anything at all), he wants to know what Eddie’s thinking, he wants to memorize the way Eddie tastes and feel his abs for real.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, making them both jump. It’s a text from Maddie, telling him they’re car is here and asking where the hell they went. He looks back at Eddie, still so close, and swallows down the urge to kiss him again and tell his friends to leave them here.

“We should— we have to go,” he says, gesturing toward the parking lot. Eddie’s eyes are flitting over his face again, unreadable but still bright. He nods finally, standing up and offering his hand to Buck. He can’t fight the smile or the blush that he feels, so he doesn’t, taking Eddie’s hand to help him stand. They stay put for a minute, until Eddie squeezes his hand and drops it, smiling that soft smile again as he turns away. 

Buck smiles himself, still full of warmth and lips still tingling, before following Eddie to the car.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ride back is quiet, everyone tired and settling back into the competition mindset they were able to let go of for a few hours. Buck feels it too, already running step sequences in his head again, but he keeps getting distracted. Eddie’s sitting next to him in the back seat of the Lyft, head tipped back and eyes closed, looking at peace for the first time all day. Buck tries to stop, tries to keep his focus, but his eyes keep drifting back to Eddie’s jaw, the cut of his cheekbones, the stubble shadowing his cheeks. It’s hard to remember what edges he’s supposed to hit tomorrow when he keeps thinking about how that stubble felt under his lips.

They silently make their way back to their room, and Buck knows they need to talk. He’s trying to figure out where the hell to start as he turns on the light in the small entryway, illuminating everything in a light that feels too harsh for whatever is currently simmering between them. Eddie’s right behind him when he turns around, looking just as unsure as Buck feels. It’s comforting, them being on the same page, but Buck hates that he’s responsible for making Eddie feel like this.

He can’t figure out where to start, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tries to figure out what to say. Eddie takes pity on him eventually, reaching for his hand again.

“Let’s talk tomorrow?” he asks. “After free skates.”

It’s an out that Buck is more than willing to take. Not that he doesn’t want to talk, he just...can’t. Not right now. So he nods, squeezing Eddie’s hand in thanks. He goes to pull away, but Eddie’s grip stays firm.

“It wasn’t nothing to me,” he says, tilting his head until Buck meets his eye. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing or what it meant for you, but it was something for me.”

Buck’s doesn’t know what to do with that, either. He wants to kiss Eddie again and he wants to run far away from him and he wants to skate, but he can’t until the morning. So he just nods again, and it seems to be enough. Eddie nods back, finally dropping his hand as he heads into the bathroom and shuts the door. 

Buck doesn’t bother waiting for his turn, just strips out of his dress clothes and crawls into bed. He falls asleep fast, dreams of brown eyes and triple axels — taking off, rising, and falling, falling, falling…

~~~~~~~~~~

He knows he’s falling before his ass hits the ice.

It was inevitably, really — he felt like he was fighting himself through the entire program, trying to keep it from completely unraveling. He knows that to anyone else, any casual fan and even some analysts, he looked good, strong, put together right until the end. But he knows that this isn’t his best. And this fall is definitely going to cost him.

He recovers quickly, finishing the rest of the program as close to perfectly as he can manage. He smiles and bows, waves to his friends in the stands, tries to pretend like he’s okay with knowing that he’s definitely not winning this gold. 

It’s his own fault. He’d let his parents worm their way into his brain again, amplifying the self doubt that was already lingering, making him second guess every move, even the things he knows are good. Pair that with the fact that he can’t stop thinking about Eddie — not just the kiss, but his smile as he took the ice, his effortless jumps — and it was a miracle he only fell once.

He takes silver, four points behind Eddie’s gold. The fact that it was that fall that did him in stings worse than anything.

At the medal ceremony, he catches Eddie’s eye for the first time all day on the podium, and surprises himself with the genuine smile he gives him. It’s certainly not Eddie’s fault, what happened today — he didn’t ask to take up most of Buck’s thoughts, Buck let that happen. And if he keeps letting it happen, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to skate clean again.

He knows they still need to talk, and he knows exactly what he needs to say, but he really doesn’t want to say it. 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to say anything right away. Eddie disappears after the presser and doesn’t join him and May in the stands for the free dance. Buck tries to ignore the empty seat next to him, but it’s harder than usual.

They have a late flight back to LA, and Eddie’s already packed but the time Buck makes it back to the room. They stand across from each other in the entryway, just like last night, but the tension in the air feels wary under Buck’s skin instead of hopeful.

“You were amazing today,” Buck blurts out, not at all how he wanted to start this conversation. It’s worth it, though, for the smile and blush he gets from Eddie.

“Thanks,” he says, eyes on the floor. “So were you.”

Jesus, just tell him, Buck thinks, and he squares his shoulders like he’s preparing for a fight.

“It was something for me, too,” he says softly. “Yesterday, it— it definitely wasn’t nothing.”

Eddie looks at him, waiting, and Buck hesitates.

He really, really doesn’t want to say it.

“But?” Eddie prompts, because of course he knows there’s more.

“But,” Buck sighs. “But I can’t— We should wait. Until after the Olympics. I don’t think either of us want to be too distracted before then, and I don’t know if you know this, but you are very...very distracting.” Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes, and Buck lets his gaze rake over Eddie from top to bottom, distracting himself for just a little bit longer.

“You’re right,” Eddie says quietly. “Let’s wait. And I’ll try and be less distracting, so I can keep kicking your ass fair and square.”

“Oh really?” Buck laughs, and Eddie’s laughing too, and it feels good and normal and Buck doesn’t want it to stop. But it has to. Because as much as Buck wants to dive deeper into this...whatever this is with Eddie, he wants to win more. Not much more (which is a thought he never expected to have about anyone), but definitely more. 

And if anyone in the world understands that feeling, it’s Eddie.

There’s a knock on the door, Bobby giving them a 15 minute warning before they’re supposed to head to the airport. Buck moves to head toward his things so he can pack, but Eddie grabs his arm before he can go too far. His eyes look soft and sad and hopeful and a million other things Buck is feeling too, and he just wants to drown in them, in this moment, before he has to go back out into the world, alone.

Eddie leans forward, softly kissing Buck’s cheek, lingering in his space before he heads out of the room, door quietly shutting behind him.

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

The New Nihilism

It feels increasingly difficult to tell the difference between—on one hand—being old, sick, and defeated, and—on the other hand—living in a time-&-place that is itself senile, tired, and defeated. Sometimes I think it’s just me—but then I find that some younger, healthier people seem to be undergoing similar sensations of ennui, despair, and impotent anger. Maybe it’s not just me.

A friend of mine attributed the turn to disillusion with “everything”, including old-fashioned radical/activist positions, to disappointment over the present political regime in the US, which was somehow expected to usher in a turn away from the reactionary decades since the 1980s, or even a “progress” toward some sort of democratic socialism. Although I myself didn’t share this optimism (I always assume that anyone who even wants to be President of the US must be a psychopathic murderer) I can see that “youth” suffered a powerful disillusionment at the utter failure of Liberalism to turn the tide against Capitalism Triumphalism. The disillusion gave rise to OCCUPY and the failure of OCCUPY led to a move toward sheer negation.

However I think this merely political analysis of the “new nothing” may be too two-dimensional to do justice to the extent to which all hope of “change” has died under Kognitive Kapital and the technopathocracy. Despite my remnant hippy flower- power sentiments I too feel this “terminal” condition (as Nietzsche called it), which I express by saying, only half-jokingly, that we have at last reached the Future, and that the truly horrible truth of the End of the World is that it doesn’t end.

One big J.G. Ballard/Philip K. Dick shopping mall from now till eternity, basically.

This IS the future—how do you like it so far? Life in the Ruins: not so bad for the bourgeoisie, the loyal servants of the One Percent. Air-conditioned ruins! No Ragnarok, no Rapture, no dramatic closure: just an endless re-run of reality TV cop shows. 2012 has come and gone, and we’re still in debt to some faceless bank, still chained to our screens.

Most people—in order to live at all—seem to need around themselves a penumbra of “illusion” (to quote Nietzsche again):—that the world is just rolling along as usual, some good days some bad, but in essence no different now than in 10000 BC or 1492 AD or next year. Some even need to believe in Progress, that the Future will solve all our problems, and even that life is much better for us now than for (say) people in the 5th century AD. We live longer thanx to Modern Science—of course our extra years are largely spent as “medical objects”—sick and worn out but kept ticking by Machines & Pills that spin huge profits for a few megacorporations & insurance companies. Nation of Struldbugs.

True, we’re suffocating in the mire generated by our rule of sick machines under the Numisphere of Money. At least ten times as much money now exists than it would take to buy the whole world—and yet species are vanishing space itself is vanishing, icecaps melting, air and water grown toxic, culture grown toxic, landscape sacrificed to fracking and megamalls, noise-fascism, etc, etc. But Science will cure all that ills that Science has created—in the Future (in the “long run”, when we’re all dead, as Lord Keynes put it); so meanwhile we’ll carry on consuming the world and shitting it out as waste—because it’s convenient & efficient & profitable to do so, and because we like it.

Well, this is all a bunch of whiney left-liberal cliches, no? Heard it before a million times. Yawn. How boring, how infantile, how useless. Even if it were all true... what can we do about it? If our Anointed Leaders can’t or won’t stop it, who will? God? Satan? The “People”?

All the fashionable “solutions” to the “crisis”, from electronic democracy to revolutionary violence, from locavorism to solar-powered dingbats, from financial market regulation to the General Strike—all of them, however ridiculous or sublime, depend on one preliminary radical change—a seismic shift in human consciousness. Without such a change all the hope of reform is futile. And if such a change were somehow to occur, no “reform” would be necessary. The world would simply change. The whales would be saved. War no more. And so on.

What force could (even in theory) bring about such a shift? Religion? In 6,000 years of organized religion matters have only gotten worse. Psychedelic drugs in the reservoirs? The Mayan calendar? Nostalgia? Terror?

If catastrophic disaster is now inevitable, perhaps the “Survivalist” scenario will ensue, and a few brave millions will create a green utopia in the smoking waste. But won’t Capitalism find a way to profit even from the End of the World? Some would claim that it’s doing so already. The true catastrophe may be the final apotheosis of commodity fetishism.

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that this paradise of power tools and back-up alarms is all we’ve got & all we’re going to get. Capitalism can deal with global warming—it can sell water-wings and disaster insurance. So it’s all over, let’s say—but we’ve still got television & Twitter. Childhood’s End—i.e. the child as ultimate consumer, eager for the brand. Terrorism or home shopping network—take yr pick (democracy means choice).

Since the death of the Historical Movement of the Social in 1989 (last gasp of the hideous “short” XXth century that started in 1914) the only “alternative” to Capitalist Neo-Liberal totalitarianism that seems to have emerged is religious neo-fascism. I understand why someone would want to be a violent fundamentalist bigot—I even sympathize—but just because I feel sorry for lepers doesn’t mean I want to be one.

When I attempt to retain some shreds of my former antipessimism I fantasize that History may not be over, that some sort of Populist Green Social Democracy might yet emerge to challenge the obscene smugness of “Money Interests”—something along the lines of 1970s Scandinavian monarcho-socialism—which in retrospect now looks the most humane form of the State ever to have emerged from the putrid suck-hole of Civilization. (Think of Amsterdam in its heyday.) Of course as an anarchist I’d still have to oppose it—but at least I’d have the luxury of believing that, in such a situation, anarchy might actually stand some chance of success. Even if such a movement were to emerge, however, we can rest damn-well assured it won’t happen in the USA. Or anywhere in the ghost-realm of dead Marxism, either. Maybe Scotland!

It would seem quite pointless to wait around for such a rebirth of the Social. Years ago many radicals gave up all hope of The Revolution, and the few who still adhere to it remind me of religious fanatics. It might be soothing to lapse into such doctrinaire revolutionism, just as it might be soothing to sink into mystical religion—but for me at least both options have lost their savor. Again, I sympathize with those true believers (although not so much when they lapse into authoritarian leftism or fascism)— nevertheless, frankly, I’m too depressed to embrace their Illusions.

If the End-Time scenario sketched above be considered actually true, what alternatives might exist besides suicidal despair? After much thought I’ve come up with three basic strategies.

1) Passive Escapism. Keep your head down, don’t make waves. Capitalism permits all sorts of “lifestyles” (I hate that word)—just pick one & try to enjoy it. You’re even allowed to live as a dirt farmer without electricity & infernal combustion, like a sort of secular Amish refusnik. Well, maybe not. But at least you could flirt with such a life. “Smoke Pot, Eat Chicken, Drink Tea,” as we used to say in the 60s in the Moorish Church of America, our psychedelic cult. Hope they don’t catch you. Fit yourself into some Permitted Category such as Neo-Hippy or even Anabaptist.

2) Active Escapism. In this scenario you attempt to create the optimal conditions for the emergence of Autonomous Zones, whether temporary, periodic or even (semi)permanent. In 1984 when I first coined the term Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ)

I envisioned it as a complement to The Revolution—although I was already, to be truthful, tired of waiting for a moment that seemed to have failed in 1968. The TAZ would give a taste or premonition of real liberties: in effect you would attempt to live as if the Revolution had already occurred, so as not to die without ever having experienced “free freedom” (as Rimbaud called it, liberte libre). Create your own pirate utopia.

Of course the TAZ can be as brief & simple as a really good dinner party, but the true autonomist will want to maximize the potential for longer & deeper experiences of authentic lived life. Almost inevitably this will involve crime, so it’s necessary to think like a criminal, not a victim. A “Johnson” as Burroughs used to say—not a “mark”. How else can one live (and live well) without Work. Work, the curse of the thinking class. Wage slavery. If you’re lucky enough to be a successful artist, you can perhaps achieve relative autonomy without breaking any obvious laws (except the laws of good taste, perhaps). Or you could inherit a million. (More than a million would be a curse.) Forget revolutionary morality—the question is, can you afford your taste of freedom? For most of us, crime will be not only a pleasure but a necessity. The old anarcho-Illegalists showed the way: individual expropriation. Getting caught of course spoils the whole thing—but risk is an aspect of self-authenticity.

One scenario I’ve imagined for active Escapism would be to move to a remote rural area along with several hundred other libertarian socialists—enough to take over the local government (municipal or even county) and elect or control the sheriffs & judges, the parent/teacher association, volunteer fire department and even the water authority. Fund the venture with cultivation of illegal phantastice and carry on a discreet trade. Organize as a “Union of Egoists” for mutual benefit & ecstatic pleasures—perhaps under the guise of “communes” or even monasteries, who cares. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.

I know for a fact that this plan is being worked on in several places in America—but of course I’m not going to say where.

Another possible model for individual escapists might be the nomadic adventurer. Given that the whole world seems to be turning into a giant parking lot or social network, I don’t know if this option remains open, but I suspect that it might. The trick would be to travel in places where tourists don’t—if such places still exist—and to involve oneself in fascinating and dangerous situations. For example if I were young and healthy I’d’ve gone to France to take part in the TAZ that grew around resistance to the new airport—or to Greece—or Mexico—wherever the perverse spirit of rebellion crops up. The problem here is of course funding. (Sending back statues stuffed with hash is no longer a good idea.) How to pay for yr life of adventure? Love will find a way. It doesn’t matter so much if one agrees with the ideals of Tahrir Square or Zucotti Park—the point is just to be there.

3. Revenge. I call it Zarathustra’s Revenge because as Nietzsche said, revenge may be second rate but it’s not nothing. One might enjoy the satisfaction of terrifying the bastards for at least a few moments. Formerly I advocated “Poetic Terrorism” rather than actual violence, the idea being that art could be wielded as a weapon. Now I’ve rather come to doubt it. But perhaps weapons might be wielded as art. From the sledgehammer of the Luddites to the black bomb of the attentat, destruction could serve as a form of creativity, for its own sake, or for purely aesthetic reasons, without any illusions about revolution. Oscar Wilde meets the acte gratuit: a dandyism of despair.

What troubles me about this idea is that it seems impossible to distinguish here between the action of post-leftist anarcho-nihilists and the action of post-rightist neo-traditionalist reactionaries. For that matter, a bomb may as well be detonated by fundamentalist fanatics—what difference would it make to the victims or the “innocent bystanders”? Blowing up a nanotechnology lab—why shouldn’t this be the act of a desperate monarchist as easily as that of a Nietzschean anarchist?

In a recent book by Tiqqun (Theory of Bloom), it was fascinating to come suddenly across the constellation of Nietzsche, Rene Guenon, Julius Evola, et al. as examples of a sharp and just critique of the Bloom syndrome—i.e., of progress-as-illusion. Of course the “beyond left and right” position has two sides—one approaching from the left, the other from the right. The European New Right (Alain de Benoist & his gang) are big admirers of Guy Debord, for a similar reason (his critique, not his proposals).

The post-left can now appreciate Traditionalism as a reaction against modernity just as the neo-traditionalists can appreciate Situationism. But this doesn’t mean that post-anarchist anarchists are identical with post-fascism fascists!

I’m reminded of the situation in fin-de-siecle France that gave rise to the strange alliance between anarchists and monarchists; for example the Cerce Proudhon. This surreal conjunction came about for two reasons: a) both factions hated liberal democracy, and b) the monarchists had money. The marriage gave birth to weird progeny, such as Georges Sorel. And Mussolini famously began his career as an Individualist anarchist!

Another link between left & right could be analyzed as a kind of existentialism; once again Nietzsche is the founding parent here, I think. On the left there were thinkers like Gide or Camus. On the right, that illuminated villain Baron Julius Evola used to tell his little ultra-right groupuscules in Rome to attack the Modern World—even though the restoraton of tradition was a hopeless dream—if only as an act of magical self-creation. Being trumps essence. One must cherish no attachment to mere results. Surely Tiqqun’s advocacy of the “perfect Surrealist act” (firing a revolver at random into a crowd of “innocent by-standers”) partakes of this form of action-as-despair. (Incidentally I have to confess that this is the sort of thing that has always—to my regret—prevented my embracing Surrealism: it’s just too cruel. I don’t admire de Sade, either.)

Of course, as we know, the problem with the Traditionalists is that they were never traditional enough. They looked back at a lost civilization as their “goal” (religion, mysticism, monarchism, arts-&-crafts, etc.) whereas they should have realized that the real tradition is the “primordial anarchy” of the Stone Age, tribalism, hunting/gathering, animism—what I call the Neanderthal Liberation Front. Paul Goodman used the term “Neolithic Conservatism” to describe his brand of anarchism—but “Paleolithic Reaction” might be more appropriate!

The other major problem with the Traditionalist Right is that the entire emotional tone of the movement is rooted in self-repression. Here a rough Reichean analysis suffices to demonstrate that the authoritarian body reflects a damaged soul, and that only anarchy is compatible with real self-realization.

The European New Right that arose in the 90s still carries on its propaganda—and these chaps are not just vulgar nationalist chauvenist anti-semitic homophobic thugs—they’re intellectuals & artists. I think they’re evil, but that doesn’t mean I find them boring. Or even wrong on certain points. They also hate the nanotechnologists!

Although I attempted to set off a few bombs back in the 1960s (against the war in Vietnam) I’m glad, on the whole, that they failed to detonate (technology was never my metier). It saves me from wondering if I would’ve experienced “moral qualms”. Instead I chose the path of the propagandist and remained an activist in anarchist media from 1984 to about 2004. I collaborated with the Autonomedia publishing collective, the IWW, the John Henry Mackay Society (Left Stirnerites) and the old NYC Libertarian Book Club (founded by comrades of Emma Goldman, some of whom I knew, & who are now all dead). I had a radio show on WBAI (Pacifica) for 18 years. I lectured all over Europe and East Europe in the 90s. I had a very nice time, thank you. But anarchism seems even farther off now than it looked in 1984, or indeed in 1958, when I first became an anarchist by reading George Harriman’s Krazy Kat. Well, being an existentialist means you never have to say you’re sorry.

In the last few years in anarchist circles there’s appeared a trend “back” to Stirner/Nietzsche Individualism—because after all, who can take revolutionary anarcho-communism or syndicalism seriously anymore? Since I’ve adhered to this Individualist position for decades (although tempered by admiration for Charles Fourier and certain “spiritual anarchists” like Gustave Landauer) I naturally find this trend agreeable.

“Green anarchists” & AntiCivilization Neo-primitivists seem (some of them) to be moving toward a new pole of attraction, nihilism. Perhaps neo-nihilism would serve as a better label, since this tendency is not simply replicating the nihilism of the Russian narodniks or the French attentatists of circa 1890 to 1912, however much the new nihilists look to the old ones as precursors. I share their critique—in fact I think I’ve been mirroring it to a large extent in this essay: creative despair, let’s call it. What I do not understand however is their proposal—if any. “What is to be done?” was originally a nihilist slogan, after all, before Lenin appropriated it. I presume that my option #1, passive escape, would not suit the agenda. As for Active Escapism, to use the suffix “ism” implies some form not only of ideology but also some action. What is the logical outcome of this train of thought?

As an animist I experience the world (outside Civilization) as essentially sentient. The death of God means the rebirth of the gods, as Nietzsche implied in his last “mad” letters from Turin— the resurrection of the great god PAN—chaos, Eros, Gaia, & Old Night, as Hesiod put it—Ontological anarchy, Desire, Life itself, & the Darkness of revolt & negation—all seem to me as real as they need to be.

I still adhere to a certain kind of spiritual anarchism—but only as heresy and paganism, not as orthodoxy and monotheism. I have great respect for Dorothy Day—her writing influenced me in the 60s—and Ivan Illich, whom I knew personally—but in the end I cannot deal with the cognitive dissonance between anarchism and the Pope! Nevertheless I can believe in the re-paganaziation of monotheism. I hold to this pagan tradition because I sense the universe as alive, not as “dead matter.” As a life-long psychedelicist I have always thought that matter & spirit are identical, and that this fact alone legitimizes what Theory calls “desire”.

From this p.o.v. the phrase “revolution of everyday life” still seems to have some validity—if only in terms of the second proposal, Active Escapism or the TAZ. As for the third possibility— Zarathustra’s Revenge—this seems like a possible path for the new nihilism, at least from a philosophical perspective. But since I am unable personally to advocate it, I leave the question open.

But here—I think—is the point at which I both meet with & diverge from the new nihilism. I too seem to believe that Predatory Capitalism has won and that no revolution is possible in the classical sense of that term. But somehow I can’t bring myself to be “against everything.” Within the Temporary Autonomous Zone there still seems to persist the possibility of “authentic life,” if only for a moment—and if this position amounts to mere Escapism, then let us become Houdini. The new surge of interest in Individualism is obviously a response to the Death of the Social. But does the new nihilism imply the death even of the individual and the “union of egoists” or Nietzschean free spirits? On my good days, I like to think not.

No matter which of the three paths one takes (or others I can’t yet imagine) it seems to me that the essential thing is not to collapse into mere apathy. Depression we may have to accept, impotent rage we may have to accept, revolutionary pessimism we may have to accept. But as e.e. cummings (anarchist poet) said, there is some shit we will not take, lest we simply become the enemy by default. Can’t go on, must go on. Cultivate rosebuds, even selfish pleasures, as long as a few birds & flowers still remain. Even love may not be impossible...

[freegotv]

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[trashyswitch]

Papa J and his Little Virgil

Virgil is in his little space, meaning he had regressed to the mind of a child. In this case, Virgil has been known to regress to the mind of an 8 year old. Still quite young, but filled with curious facts and endless energy. Janus was the first person to ever know about Virgil's little space. So, Janus had taken on the role as his caregiver when he's regressed.

This prompt was suggested by an anonymous person who signed off with a ~🐶! It was SO CUTE! And thank you for the cute prompt! And I hope you enjoy, oh secretive one!

Also, Happy Birthday Virgil! 💜

Virgil was running around the house in his pj’s, pretending to fly a toy plane. He was making raspberry sounds to imitate the plane sound and was running through the different rooms in the house. One of the rooms that Virgil happened to run into, was Janus’s.

“And now, we are flying over North Korea: The most mystery country ever! No one really knows a lot about this country.” Virgil narrated at Janus’s room door. Suddenly, Janus opened the door. “Who taught you that?” Janus asked with a smirk.

Virgil smiled. “Logan did.” Virgil replied with a giggle.

“Hmm...So I’m North Korea: the mysterious country. Tell me:” Janus leaned in with a smile. “Which country is Logan?” Janus asked.

Virgil put his hand on his own chin and rubbed it. “Hmmm…” Virgil hummed. “Swizzerland!” Virgil declared.

Janus laughed. “That’s really accurate, actually!” Janus reacted as he started walking out of his room and down the hall. “What about Patton? What country is Patton?” Janus asked.

Virgil looked at Janus eagerly. “That’s easy! Canada!” Virgil replied proudly.

Janus giggled. “Not bad! Not bad at all!” Janus kept walking around the house. “What about Roman?” Janus asked.

Virgil thought for a moment. “Oh, oh, oh! France!” Virgil declared.

“Aah, yes. Specifically Paris: the country of love, and theatre.” Janus added.

“Yes!” Virgil replied.

Janus smiled. “What about Remus?” he asked with a big smirk.

Virgil laughed. “USA.” Virgil replied.

“Make America gay again.” Janus joked. Virgil laughed and nodded.

As the boys entered the kitchen, Janus started looking in the cupboards. “What would you like for lunch, Virgey?” Janus asked.

Virgil quickly turned to look at Janus. “Macaroni and cheese please!” Virgil declared.

“Would you like hotdogs mixed in?” Janus asked.

“Oooooh! Yes please!” Virgil replied.

Janus quickly put together a pot of mac & cheese with hotdogs and placed two bowls down. “Lunch is served!” Janus declared.

“Thank yooouuu!” Virgil cooed happily and dug right in.

Janus smiled. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Janus replied.

The two of them enjoyed the macaroni and cheese and talked non-stop. Whenever Virgil entered into his little space, he was a surprisingly talkative boy! He always had something to talk about! Whether it was the tv show he watched on youtube, or which stuffies he played with this morning! He always found something new to talk about.

After lunch, Janus played doctor with Virgil. Janus let Virgil be his doctor, and Virgil used the different doctor kit items on him! Janus had bought Virgil two separate doctor kits, for realistic or childish moments. He bought Virgil a Future Doctor’s Medical Kit for realism and actual education, and a Kidzlane sturdy doctor kit for playing pretend! Right now, Virgil was playing with a bit of both.

“Your heart’s good.” Virgil told him, removing the end of the stethoscope off Janus’s shirt and taking the ear pieces off himself.

Janus smiled. “That’s good.”

Next, Virgil grabbed the otoscope and started looking in Janus’s ears. For this, Virgil used the realistic one to look inside his ears canals. Then, he looked through the other ear. “Your ears look clean!” Virgil declared as he removed the otoscope cover piece.

Janus clapped his hands. “Yay!” He cheered.

Virgil grabbed the thermometer from the kid's case, and started pushing the tip against his head. The tip was springy, so the tip of the thermometer would push into the thermometer rather than his forehead. “No fever! You’re healthy!” Virgil declared.

“Hallelujah!” Janus replied happily.

“And now for reflexes!” Virgil grabbed the reflex hammer and started lightly tapping it onto Janus’s knee. “Okay. Your reflexes are good.” Virgil told him.

“That’s good. Now, can I test your reflexes?” Janus asked.

Virgil nodded with a smile and handed him the reflex hammer. But Janus put the reflex hammer down beside him and instead, started squeezing his sides. “EEEK! Hahahahahahaha! Pahahapahaha!” Virgil giggled. “Yohohou’re tihihicklihihihing mehehe!”

“No I’m not. I’m trying to test your reflexes but you’re being very squirmy.” Janus told him as he moved to his belly.

“Ihihihit tihihicklehehehes, Jahahahay! Thahahahat’s whyhyhy Ihihi’m squihihihirmihihing!” Virgil told him.

“Oh! You’re squirming because my reflex-testing is tickling you?” Janus asked.

“Yehehehehehessss!” Virgil giggled lightly.

“Well now, why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Janus asked as he moved his hand away.

“Ihi dihihid though. Ihihi told you thahat whehehen you wehere ticklihing mehehe!” Virgil reacted, still a big giggly.

“Hmmm...I don’t think that’s how it really went though…” Janus teased.

Virgil would’ve protested to that statement, but his words caught in his throat when he saw Janus’s hand moving a little. Virgil widened his eyes. He knew EXACTLY what Janus was planning. “P-papa! Your hand!” Virgil reacted.

“Huh?” Janus looked over at his own hand and sure enough, it was twitching and moving, supposedly on its own. Janus gasped dramatically. “Oh no! It looks like the eeevil tickle hand is back! And he’s getting reeeeaaally hungry!” Janus reacted as he started crawling his hand around a bit more.

Virgil shrunk down with a blushy face and an endless stream of giggles falling out of his mouth. “Pahahahapahahaha! Cohohome ohohon!” Virgil giggled.

Janus looked over at the hand. “Now, what on earth does THAT mean?” He asked the hand. “Does it mean ‘come on and hurry up’?” Janus asked playfully.

“Nohohohoho!” Virgil giggled, covering his mouth as giggles continued to spill out of his mouth.

“I think that’s exactly what he means! Virgil wants tickles just as much as you want some delicious laughy snacks!” Janus declared to the hand.

Janus let out a roaring sound and lightly tackled Virgil down with his hand. Then, the hand crawled around and started tickling his belly and belly button.

Virgil squealed and burst into a fit of giggles and laughter! “HEHEhehehehey! PapahahAHAHAHA STAHAHAP!” Virgil yelled as more and more laughter poured out.

“What? I’m not doing anything! The hand is doing all the work!” Janus lied.

“STAHAHAP TIHIHIHICKLIHIHING MEHEHEHE, EHEVIL HAHAHAND!” Virgil declared.

The hand paused its tickling for a few moments. Virgil took the moment to slightly recover from the slight loss of oxygen from the laughing fits. But soon, the hand walked itself up to Virgil’s vulnerable ribs and started digging and squeezing. “Oh my! It looks like the hand has decided to have some delicious ribs with barbecue sauce on them!” Janus declared. “And telling by the looks of his digging, it seems to REALLY like it!” Janus added.

Virgil squealed and laughed happily. “RIHIHIB EHEHEHEATIHIHING TIHIHIHICKLEHEHES! AHAHAHA LOHOHOHOT!” Virgil admitted.

“Does it really tickle that much? I wonder...would cows be laughing too if their ribs were being eaten?” Janus asked.

“NOHOHOHOHO! COHOHOWS AHAHAREN’T TIHIHIHICKLIHISH!” Virgil yelled back.

“Oh yeah...I guess you do have to be ticklish in order to laugh when touched on the ribs.” Janus muttered out loud. “Oh well!” Janus declared as he started to pretend ‘pull some of the rib meat off’ and brought it up to himself. “Ooooh!” Janus pretended to eat it. “Mmmm! Thank you, evil hand!” He said politely to his own hand.

Virgil threw his head back with a wheeze. “EHEHEHEWWW! THAHAHAT’S SOHOHOHO GROHOHOSS!” Virgil reacted as he laughed.

“Is it?” Janus asked. Then, he skittered his fingers on his ribs again and ‘pulled some more rib meat off his ribs’. Janus lifted the hand up to Virgil’s face. “You want some?” Janus asked casually.

Virgil dropped his jaw in surprise and pushed his hand away. “Ew! No!”

Janus just lost his serious composure completely and bursted out laughing! “YOHOHOHOUR FAHAHAHACE!” Janus laughed.

“You’re more yucky than Remus!” Virgil reacted with a giggle.

“Yeheheah...Ihihi ahaham.” Janus replied.

“Maybe I should be nibbling on your ribs too!” Virgil declared, walking up to Janus and pinned him down. Virgil bent down and started pretending to nibble on Janus’s lower ribs first. “Om nom nom nom nom! Om nom nom nom nom nom!”

Janus squeaked almost immediately and covered his mouth as laughter started spilling out. Even though Virgil was technically a little right now, he was genuinely really good at tickling people! And it didn’t help that Virgil was in the body of an adult.

But the retaliation didn’t last very long before Janus was tickling him back. “NO! WAHAHAIT! WHAHAHAHAT?! WHAHAHAT HAHAPPEHEHENED TO REHEVEHEHENGE?!” Virgil asked.

“Revenge is over! It’s my turn now!” Janus picked Virgil up by the armpits and blew a raspberry on his belly.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOOOOHOHOHOHOHO FAHAHAHAIR!” Virgil pushed against Janus’s head in a fruitless attempt to push him away.

Janus blew raspberry after raspberry onto Virgil’s belly to keep him in an endless stream of giggles and laughs. Virgil was wiggling and waving his arms around wildly, laughing hysterically. His belly button was way too ticklish to be tormented with so many raspberries. Why must Janus be like this?

“OHOHOKAHAHAHAY! BREHEHEHEHEAK PLEHEHEHEASE!” Virgil told him.

“Oh yeah! I guess you need to breathe, huh?” Janus mentioned before laying Virgil down onto his back. Janus laid beside Virgil and rested his hands against the back of his head.

“Thahahank yohohou-” Virgil turned his head to Janus, only to get an elbow into the forehead. “Pahapa! Your elbows are stealing all the room!” Virgil reacted.

“Oh are they? How unfortunate.” Janus joked.

Virgil giggled and started very lightly spidering his fingers on Janus’s inner arms. “Move over.”

“Janus quickly pulled his arm against his own side and giggled. “Hehey now! What did I say about tickling your papa’s arms?” Janus asked, bouncing his pointer finger at him.

Virgil smirked and rolled himself onto Janus. With one quick swoop, Virgil pinned Janus’s arm down and resumed spidering. Janus squawked in surprise and couldn’t help the giggles that bubbled up and out of his mouth. “Ohoho geheheez! Nohohohoho! Hahahahahaha!” Janus bapped his arms with his free hand as he struggled to get himself unpinned. “Knohohock ihihihit ohohohoff!” Janus told him.

“Am I not allowed to get revenge on my ticklish papa?” Virgil asked.

“Nohohohoho!” Janus replied.

“That rule was never made before. And I don’t like that rule.” Virgil declared.

Virgil slowly moved his fingers to Janus’s vulnerable armpit. Janus quickly started tugging harder as more hysterical laughs started spilling from his mouth. “HOHOHOHOLD OHOHOHON! VIHIHIRGIHIHIL!” Janus laughed, shaking his head back and forth. “STAHAHAHAHAP!”

“Tickle tickle tickle, Papa J!” Virgil teased.

“TEHEHEHEASIHIHING TOHOHOHOO?! YOHOHOU AHAHARE IHIN SOHOHO MUHUHUHUCH TROHOHOHOUBLE!” Janus warned.

Virgil just gave Janus a toothy smile and continued to tickle Janus on his armpit. But Janus, being the strong man he was, started scratching little Virgil’s side to gain the upper hand again. Virgil quickly let go and reached down to stop him, but Janus was already one step ahead of him. Janus pulled Virgil into a big hug and started tweaking and squeezing his ribs again.

“AAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STAHAPIHIT-” Janus climbed himself onto Virgil’s waist and quickly skittered his fingers everywhere he could reach. “NAHAHAHAHAHAHA! JAHAHAHAHAN!”

“Why would I stop if you like it?” Janus asked, lifting up his arm and tickling in his armpit.

Virgil giggled and tugged on his arm weakly. “Ihihihi guehehehess thahahat’s truhuhuhue.” Virgil added. Janus could tell this was also the inner adult Virgil talking.

“So you admit it? You like being tickled?” Janus asked.

“Ohohohof cohohourse Ihihihi dohohoho! Whohoho wohohouldn’t lohohove beheheihing tihihihicklehed?” Virgil asked.

“Lots of people actually.” Janus replied, stopping his fingers.

Virgil looked up at Janus with sad, big eyes. “What?” He asked.

“Some people don’t like being tickled. Some people find it annoying, embarrassing or childish. Logan is a good example of someone who doesn’t like being tickled.” Janus explained.

Virgil frowned and pouted with his arms crossed. “Logan’s thinking old. He needs to stop acting like an old man.” Virgil told Janus.

“I know. But try telling a man who speaks with logic in all his sentences.” Janus told him.

Virgil looked up at Janus. “He sounds smart, but I know there’s something he doesn’t know.” Virgil told him.

Janus smirked. “Like what?” He asked.

“Like how fun being tickled can be!” Virgil added. “And how to see without glasses.” Virgil added.

Janus laughed at that last part. “Ihihi don’t think you can learn that, buddy.” Janus muttered to him. “But do you wanna go bother Logan for a bit? Maybe show him your doctor kit?” Janus asked.

Virgil gasped and quickly gathered up his pretend doctor kit. “Yes!” Virgil picked up the case that carried the doctor items and ran to the nerd’s room, yelling “LOGAN! LOGAN! LOOK WHAT I HAVE!” into the room.

Janus sat himself down and gave himself a much needed break. It was quite amusing and fun to look after Virgil when he’s a little. Yes, it was tiring, but it was always somewhat rewarding. Tickling was always one thing that he really enjoyed, especially what he’s a little. So Janus always makes sure to add some tickles into their playing.

...And then there’s Logan who ends up getting destroyed with tickles, whether he dislikes it or not...Little Virgil never did understand the meaning of ‘no’.

[am-imagines]

Legendary Pt. 4 Morgan!Reader.

Waiting for the next match is always the worst part. It allows people to wonder, expectations rise and the entire world is watching you like a hawk. It doesn’t matter if you’re in or out of the pitch, they’re ready to catch the wrong moment.

They’re ready to see you fail.

But you’re strong; perhaps stronger than you should be at your age.

You’re mature on the field, you know how to handle the pressure, how to shove aside the noise until it’s only you and the ball. That’s a part of what you bring to this team; temperance and resilience. You keep your head cool and your heart ignited.

No one on the team is afraid to put on the work, to stay behind to polish any and all details. Everyone is ready for one more rep, one more drill, one opportunity to show you deserve to be there. Nothing great has ever been done by giving up, and when all the odds are stacked against you, you’re ready to fight, burn, and come back from the ashes stronger than ever.

“It had to be Japan, uh?” Janice asks while you take a break.

“We can do this.”

“Confident?”

You shrug at the question. You’re confident in your team, although you don’t underestimate your rival. There’s a reason why they made it to the World Cup. Japan has always been a complicated team to play against.

They have discipline, technique and hunger.

But so do you. And you have heart; a burning passion to prove everyone wrong, including the voices lurking in the back of your head telling you to give up.

However, they’re not loud enough to silence the voice of your mom, Kelley, and Pinoe or every single member of your team, your family and friends. They’re your motivation, and you won’t let them down. You won’t let yourself down.

You’re confident this team has what it takes.

You know that you’ll leave everything you got on the pitch. You trust the rest of the team to do the same; push until the last second and until there’s nothing else to give. You’re willing to play your heart out, no matter if your every bone hurts at the end of the match.

“I’m confident, but not cocky. We have a great team, and we’re doing this right. We have to keep doing that, one pass at a time.”

“If that’s the case, then I hope you’re ready. There’s one more scrimmage to go.”

You groan when Janice pulls you back to your feet although the grin is clear on your face.

“I’m not on your team,” you mutter as you follow her back to the others.

“Picking the losing team, Y/n. I expected better from you.”

*****

Technically, you knew that playing every game wasn’t ideal or optimal for your body.

You’re happy some of your teammates are getting minutes, putting their names out there and giving their all for the same cause. Still, that doesn’t mean you enjoy the bench.

Even before the game starts, you pace the length of the bench. You keep doing so until the teams jump into the field for the National Anthems. Those minutes serve you as a pause before Pinoe finally guides you back to the bench and pushes you to take a seat.

   “The final fixture of the group phase is here! And what a match it is. I think we can all agree that not having Morgan in the line-up is a surprise. We don’t know of any injuries, and that brings up the question; what’s the plan for today?”

“If there’s nothing stopping Y/n from playing, she should be on the field. Japan is not an easy match, and maybe this is a sign of overconfidence from the USWNT. Their group is close; a win will let them advance as leaders. A tie can put them in problems. Losing here might send them home despite the good results in previous matches.”

“There’s only one way to find out. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for some soccer!”

No one enjoys watching the game from the bench, but it’s truly a different experience than seeing it in front of a tv screen or even from being in the crowd. It’s one of those odd sensations when you know you’re part of the game as a whole even if you’re not part of the starting lineup.

Pinoe talks you through the finer details of the game; she helps you grow even when you’re watching from the sideline. Sonnet and her see you as the Maverick, you can change a game with your abilities. You find the spaces that no one else does, you think with or without the ball at your feet, you’re a smart player in every sense of the world.

Sure, that might remind some people of Alex, but you’re good not because of her.

You have a passion for the sport that was born from her. After all, it’s hard not to love something your mom was so passionate about. She taught you discipline, but passion? That can’t be taught.

You listen intently to Pinoe while Sonnett guides the players on the field. Then, they switch positions and you have another world to learn from Emily’s perspective.

“Whatever happens, you’ll enter for the last twenty minutes, okay?” Emily asks patting your shoulder with the glint of a proud smile on her face.

“Yes, coach.”

Not being able to play every minute is also a part of the game. This is not just any tournament. This is the world cup; long and hard with little time to rest between matches.  It’s an exhausting process, not just for your body but for your mind.

The expectations of the whole nation, hell, maybe the entire world rests on the shoulders of twenty four players. It’s a whole lot of pressure for all players; the ones that played the last World Cup, and the young ones that want to change the world.

This match, specifically, is a lesson.

You already know how to move on the field with the ball at your mercy, and you know how to move to create space for you or others. Now, Pinoe and Sonnett are teaching you how to improve your game even when you’re not playing.

They want you to be better. From being an amazing player, to being a world champion.

World Cups aren’t just won on the field. Every single moment counts, and when the first goal finally arrives, you cheer for your teammates with everything you have.

“That’s the end of the first half! It’s been a rocky game so far. Japan is a very physical game, they have speed, and a lot of talent on their ranks. But I think we’re seeing a USWNT that knows how to play each match. Even without Y/n on the field, they were able to score.  I see potential on this team, but will it be enough to win it all?”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s still forty-five minutes to go, and several matches on this World Cup if they want to do something really meaningful. There’s a long road ahead if they wanna be anything like the Golden Team.”

“Intense game, uh?” You ask Krash once you’re in the locker room. 

“You seem awfully chirpy for someone that is on the bench.”

“Hey!” You protest. “What’s the use of being grumpy? I’d still be on the bench.”

“I heard you’re having playing time at some point.”

“See? An extra reason to avoid all kinds of grumpiness. And between us?” You ask with a mocking conspiratorial tone. “I’m confident there’ll be another match. We got the best team in the world.”

“Hell yeah, we do!” Janice shouts from behind you.

Soon the entire team goes into a bundle, and you break apart after a cheer.

You feel it then, the heart of this team. The passion within you, they all feel it. The drive for victory, the hunger for it. There’s dedication and sweat, even blood.

The USA had to wait a long time for a team like this; with big dreams, with high hopes and with steady feet to walk steadily towards the top. But this group of women raising their hands in unison, this family found through soccer, they’re ready.

And so are you.

“Go kill it out there,” you tell Krash and O’Hara.

“You know it.”

*****

Going back to the bench brings up your nervousness again, but as soon as Pinoe notices, she sends you to warm up. It’s the best use of your anxious energy, so you nod before putting on the fluorescent vest.

A switch is flipped and suddenly you’re in beast mode.

You focus on warm ups and yet are hyper aware of everything else going on around you. You hear people cheering for the team and those that are the opposite. You hear your teammates calling for the ball once the match resumes. You hear Sonnett shouting instructions behind you and when the rest of the bench comes out to join you.

You take everything in, let it fuel your passion even more.

“You got this, Y/n!”

Alex’s voice cuts through the crowd and you smile despite yourself. There, in the second row right next to the bench, your mother cheers you on. Her words give you any and all courage needed as you intensify your warm up.

The time for you to enter is closer by the second and you’re prepared to face anything Japan throws your way. The magic of playing the biggest tournament in the world is still pretty much there. Even with all the pressure and expectations, this is the best thing in the world.

“Let’s do this,” you whisper to yourself once you’re finally in.

  “Morgan has entered the game. What can she do with limited time?”

The team keeps the lead, but you’re there to push the tempo. You don’t let Japan feel comfortable; they’re starting to feel tired while your legs are fresh. As impatient as you can be on the bench, you know how to wait on the field and what to wait for.

You recognize the few chances to make a move, break their defense, slip past their lines and take a long distance shot with all the technique learned from your mother. You only have one instant to get the ball through, but it’s the one you’ve been waiting for.

Right then your name isn’t what truly matters. However, your ability on the field does, it speaks for itself and leaves no doubt as to why you’re in the National Team.

Soccer is your element, your passion. You live it. You breathe it. And you make it change as needed. You have the ability to bend it to your will to benefit you and the team you represent.

Certainly, you’re one of the youngest players on the current roster, but it’s obvious there’s something different about you. There’s something in you more than talent and passion; you have dedication, discipline, hunger and more.

Of course, there’s still a lot for you to learn. Which means nothing when you learn as fast as you do.

Your energy drives the team forward, makes them try even when the score is against you. More importantly, you push them to be their best selves even when the match is won. You move around in the field and it’s almost like magic, not just of what you do with the ball at your feet either. The whole team follows your lead even when Krash wears the captain armband.

She has the experience and voice, and yet, you are the drive of the team.

At the time, 78th minute, your shot slices through the defense and can’t be stopped by anyone, not even the goalkeeper.

  “That’s a goal! And what a goal it was. A magnificent shot from Morgan that could simply not be stopped.”

“She had the space, the time and she didn’t waste it. With only fifteen minutes to play, I feel that this team is a bit closer to being group leaders.”

“What will this mean for them?”

“In the big picture? Little. But it’s a better chance facing the next round. They have some big names, and they got some big results. However, for a team with so much story as the USWNT, nothing but the title of Champions can be considered a Victory.”

“Do you think they have what it’s needed?”

“...Maybe.”

The ref blows the end of the match and you hurry to celebrate with your team; hugging each other with glee. You made it further than in the last World Cup, and that deserves a little celebration.

It feels good to get some of the results you’ve been looking for although there’s still a long way ahead. Still, enjoying each victory is not really that bad as long as you keep your eyes on the ultimate goal and don’t stop moving forward.

Before you follow the team back into the tunnel, you walk towards Alex.

She waits for you with a smile and hugs you tightly once you’re within reach. It’s a bit awkward considering the barrier still in between, but you couldn’t care less about that at the moment. You hug her with as much fervor as she does and laugh breathlessly.

“We made it through, mom!” You say excitedly.

“You did a fantastic job. All of you. I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

“But you will,” you counter with a smile. “After the next game.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, returning your smile. “I will.”

That’s the thing with her, she always finds another reason to be prouder of you. It doesn’t matter if the next game doesn’t end as you wish, you’re her daughter and she will always be proud of you. She has been there through the good and the bad. She cheers through your every victory. She helps you back to your feet after a defeat. She’s the reason you won’t give up, you’ll push as hard as possible and hope that positive inertia carries you all the way to the final.

You’re pretty sure that the only thing better than playing in a World Cup is actually lifting the trophy. That moment is far beyond the limits of your imagination; something you have to live and feel.

However, the way Alex looks at you makes you wonder if watching you play is higher in her list of memorable instances. After another hug and the kiss she places on your temple, you decide it has to be up there.

*****

“Today was a great match. You managed to score a goal even with limited time on the field. Were you trying to prove a point to the coaching staff?”

It takes you a couple of seconds to truly understand what they’re asking you.

The press has a twisted perspective and won’t hesitate to bend and warp your words to fit their narrative. Dealing with them can be exhausting, but it’s not something you can’t do. Not when you’re still riding the high of that game against Japan.

“No, not at all. This is the World Cup. It’s a demanding tournament and we know everyone will get playing time. Like you said, the team did great out there not just today but we found our ground in every match. Some of us were lucky enough to have more minutes on the group phase, but there’s no point to prove. Everyone that is here deserves to be here. I just gave my everything in those few minutes because that’s what you gotta do to advance.”

“Advance you did. Congratulations. We’ll let you go back to your team now.”

With a smile to the cameras and a wave, you make your way down the tunnel and to the locker room where half the team is already changed.

“Alright, girls!” Pinoe calls for everyone’s attention. “I want all of you to take this moment in. Enjoy it for a bit but don’t let it get to your heads. Tomorrow we focus on our next goal.”

“Winning the world cup,” Janice states as she sits beside you.

“One match at a time,” you reply with a nod.

[thewritershelpers]

Improving Your Writing when English Isn’t Your First Language (mega-ask)

As you can see above, we've gotten more than one question about writing, improving your writing, and even publishing in English when it's not your native language. First off: that's awesome. To anyone writing or even consuming in a language that's not your first, kudos to you.

You can google any variation of this question and get different articles with a ton of the same advice, and some with conflicting advice. Not only have I compiled the most commonly repeated information, but I've also reached out to people on our Discord server and others for their personal experiences.

I'll start off by listing concise versions of the advice and then expound on them further on in the article. Remember that we are not experts on your writing and that everyone learns in different ways and at different paces. These are in no particular order.

-be patient

-practice

-get feedback from native sources

-don't undermine yourself to your audience

-Grammarly

-research

-don't get discouraged

Be patient

That's first because, well, duh. Patience is so important for both yourself and your writing. Writing is hard enough of a passion without the added difficulty of doing it in a language that doesn't come naturally. In the world of literature, writing/publishing in your non-native language isn't just a matter of translating words. It requires translating of ideas, concepts, and even cultural norms, which is why just slapping it into Google translate won't work.

Part of the reason for the advice of having patience, too, is that writing in your native language needs to take time. It doesn't really matter how fast you can whip out 20 pages of a first draft--it'll still be a simple first draft. Writing is a craft that requires not just love and passion but time. So what if you need a little bit of extra time--or a lot of extra time--because you're accomplishing a feat most don't even think about attempting?

Next is to practice.

That goes hand in hand with what I said about being patient. Again, writing in and of itself is all about practice and doing it daily (not that I'm an expert on getting that done, but you know). But when it comes to practice another language, there are different ways you can do that. You can reach out to native speakers (for English, there are going to be so many people willing to help, even just in our community! you just need to ask) and practice having conversations or ask them to look over your work. Practice by turning on your favorite movie or TV show in English with subtitles in your native language. Watch videos on YouTube, find a Spotify playlist/podcast, in your target language. There's also plenty of people who have done what you're trying to do who have shared their experiences and what helped them on those same platforms.

Get feedback from native speakers

This is a bit of an expansion on what I mentioned in the previous paragraph. In my experience, and from what others have shared, writing in a non-native language can be pretty clinical. Writing with figurative language or in metaphors won't be as easy or come as naturally as it does in your own language. Things like idioms and even pop cultures reference aren't always going to translate even if you have the exact words. That's where native speakers come into play. If they're willing to look over your work, whether as a friend or in an editorial position, they can give you advice about whether the wording in one spot sounds clunky or if a phrase doesn't make sense or if there're synonyms for what you already used to help convey your message even stronger.

Don't undermine yourself

This is something that I personally am saying. It's not mentioned on any of the linked sites, and no one I talked to said it. But as someone who is a native English speaker (and even has a degree in it) I think this is super important. This point goes towards native English speakers/writers, too. Don't undersell yourself and undermine your work to the audience before they have even picked it up. Disclaimers are different, and it all comes down to the words you use and how you use them. Let your readers know, whether it's people on AO3 or a literary agent, that English isn't your first language. Let them know concisely that they may find some basic errors--but stop there. Don't grovel. You have nothing to apologize for, especially once you've given that warning (those is it really a warning? what's so dangerous or scary about a few mistakes?). You're writing is not going to be any less of an accomplishment for a few grammatical errors, or mistranslated phrases, or even typos. I've seen so many mistakes in published works that it's kind of ridiculous. But if you put something out there for someone to read and in the same breath say "I don't know that this is worth reading" I'm going to need extra convincing to pick it up. *kicks soapbox away*

Grammarly

*NOT sponsored*

Grammarly is a wonderful tool that you can use, for FREE. It not only (with the free version) helps correct spelling and grammar, but can also help point out the tone you're writing with. For example, right now, Grammarly is telling me that this writing sounds mostly informative--which it's meant to be--and a little appreciative and friendly. When sending emails I've had it tell me that it sounds formal (which I was going for), and I've also had it not say anything because the text was a different kind of writing (like when I'm proof-reading something being posting it on AO3...). I honestly don't know what else it helps with once you've paid because I've been happily using the free version for about 3 years now.

Research

Don't be afraid to pick up a book, or head to the library, or pull up Google. Research is paramount to writing anyway, let alone once you're doing it in another language. Your research options are limitless and can include your mutuals on social media as well as those dictionaries that translate from one language into another. Research can also include (in my humble opinion) binge-watching/reading your favorite things...in English. In four years of university, one of the most frequently said things was to improve your writing 1) write every day and 2) read every day. You're never going to learn from worrying or overthinking, and you're also never going to learn from just doing DuoLingo (that's more conversational than literary anyway).

Something a member of Discord specifically said in relation to research was to look at morphology, at the roots of words (and root words). Morphology is, in linguistics, looking at how words are formed. For example, let's look at "biology". There are parts to this word that each has a different meaning, that formed together created a new/elevated meaning. "ology" means the study of something, and bio means life. So biology is, simply, the study of life. Once you've got those basics of things like "ology" under your belt it'll become easier to not just translate words but the concepts (if this works with your learning style).

Last but not least, don't get discouraged.

Writers of all kinds get discouraged when writing in their native language. Even those of us who speak English as our first language make mistakes worth discouragement (you will never know how many typos were corrected by Grammarly as I wrote this all out the first time). English is not an easy language. It's not the hardest, but it's far from easy (learning another language isn't easy regardless of what languages are involved). This is a post from someone who is a non-native English speaker but you would never know unless they told us.

While researching for this, I found some articles/blog posts that said mostly the same thing, and are where I got some of the information

This one is from a native English speaker giving advice

This one is for writing for non-native English readers, but still has good advice

And finally this one is a blog post (I think) from someone who is a non-native English speaker!

In specific response to some of the asks:

English, like any other language, changes. It's a very dynamic language, actually, and from region to region, there will not only be different accents but different frames of reference. 1950 isn't so far back in time for the English to be drastically different from what is spoken today, but I'm in the USA and you're asking about Oxford. English in England has very different nuances, even more so than you would get between California and Texas and New York. This is a link to the Oxford English Dictionary list of words that became more common in the 50s. However, this is a generalized list, not specific to any English-speaking country let alone region or city. If you're wanting to look at how to convey the accent of people from/in Oxford, there are videos on YouTube of people speaking in different accents so that you can have an idea, a comparison, at least in your own mind. With the 50s it's going to be more just thinking really of what words and lifestyles and things weren't around yet; cell phones didn't exist yet. Here's another link to some stock images of Oxford in the 50s. Remember, this time was very close to WWII so there'll be lingering effects of that, especially in England.

About fight scenes and curses, there's a ton of resources on that. If you just search "fight" on our page, you'll get a ton of posts answering that question. Also, here's a link to a superb and excellent source on writing fight scenes. When it comes to curses...just watch Rage Quit on YouTube, or spend a while on TikTok. If you want to dive right in just Google "English curses" and there'll be YouTube videos, entries on Urban Dictionary, you name it.

When it comes to publishing, once you've gotten your manuscript is a perfect time to have a native-speaking friend look it over. Whether editing is their thing or not, they'll be able to help with the things that are really obvious. I don't have any experience publishing in a different language, though, so there might be other resources along the different stages to help you. Some general publishing advice I've gotten: when wanting to publish fiction, literature, start small. Start with short stories in literary journals, online and in print. You really can't make much headway with large publishing houses without a literary agent and it'll be easier to attract one if you have evidence that you can write, and write well enough people want to read it. When it comes to poetry, just start submitting. Get familiar with the process, and educate yourself on things like simultaneous submissions and a good rejection. Publishing is an ever-changing game that isn't cut and dry in any language or country. We can't tell you what's best, but my advice is to go with your gut and try your best. Don't be afraid to try again, too.

Everyone overthinks their writing. Or at least, everyone I know who writes does. Honestly, in my opinion, if you're not overthinking at least a little bit, you're not worried enough. You will never be able to fully know whether you've explained or described enough. A good chunk of the experience is up to the readers, so you have to leave them some wiggle room for imagination. But that doesn't mean you have to cheapen your story or short-change your characters. You mention specifically that you're POC, which I'm gonna guess also means that your characters will be POC. It's never too much to specify the race/ethnicity of your characters, even in a fantasy work. How you go about writing those descriptions might need to change but it's kind of like chocolate chips, in my mind: you decide those things with your soul.

So, there you have it. A ridiculously long way to say: you're awesome, you do you, practice, love yourself and your writing, and don't be afraid to put yourself out there (in any way).

(images read:

Anonymous said: Im writing a book based in Oxford in 1950s. how was the language different from now. I am not from an English speaking country at all. Never been outside my country either. And Im going to write a book based in England in English

Anonymous said: Hi there, I’m a writer for almost 3 years now but since English isn’t my first language I get discouraged easily if things I write come off strange to myself. Do you maybe have any advice for me, on how to motivate myself and not comparing myself with native English speakers? Thank you in advance!

Anonymous said: Hello! I starting to work on this shortfic but it’s been really hard. It’s like I’m trying to building a house alone and with my bare hands. Even though I’m already used to write in mother tongue. Any advice for non-english speaker trying to write their first story in English?

Yaelburstine said: Hi. Do you have any tips about how to write a good fight scene and curses that people speak English get cus’ it’s not my first language

gyger said: I am not a native english speaker, but most of the books I read are in english and I generally prefer writing in english as well. However, I am worried about making mistakes that I can’t recognize myself. I have no idea how good my english is to a native english speaker, plus some things are easier to write in my native tongue (such as dialogue). I’m also worried about publishing, since that definitely would be easier in my country than abroad. How do I decide what language to choose?

Anonymous said: As a POC writer and English as their second language, I overthink all the writing I do. I feel like I don’t describe my ideas thoroughly or my character descriptions are vague or not good enough. I’m currently working on a YA novel but I plan on writing a YA fantasy novel but I feel like my lack of vocabulary and grammar structure makes me give up on finishing my book. Is this normal for native English speaking authors or is this considered a language barrier thing? Thanks! Love your blog!

Thank you for your questions, and for your patience as we do our best to answer them.

-S