#guess. at least among academic circles

[latinokaeya-moving]

cool. so is it a recognisably khaenriahn name that ppl can immediately point out or

[lanceinwonderland]

Apparently Ann Heilmann once discussed that while both d'Éon and Barry provoked anxiety and queerphobia in their own times, they are received so differently in our time. Her impression is that d'Éon is often discussed as an early trans figure but Barry is continually framed as a woman.

I mean yeah I guess that might be true in some academic circles? But it's not like there isn't a book that explicitly says the author will use masculine pronouns for d'Éon throughout to "remind the readers of this person's anatomy". That's just like. So gross beyond words.

Anyways. We aren't still doing that men are from mars women are from venus shit are we. I think any researcher that exclusively focuses on only AFAB/AMAB gender variant people will have some major blind spots on the trans experience. We're so different but yet so alike at the same time.

Unfortunately I feel the bullshit notion of "AFAB solidarity" or whatever the fuck that is still exists among many scholars of gender/queer studies, which is a very cis women dominated field. Even when they're trans supportive, they still subconsciously try to insert their own experience with gender into their understanding of trans men, while refuse to acknowledge the similarity between trans and cis womanhood. I don't think Heilmann is particularly guilty of this but oh man so many are.

Makes me think of how different Asian men's experience with racism in western countries and that of Asian women can be. But like you can't only study one side and represent it as "being Asian in the West". That. Is. Not. True. Or. At. Least. Very. Incomplete. Same goes for whatever demographic we're talking about really.

(On a side note, I think Barry likely would've heard of d'Eon at least in passing - considering that there was another huge wave of news reports after she died in 1810.)

[stitchwitchsapprentice]

Joy of Rain: A Short Story

Joy sat in the cafeteria watching the raindrops collect on the window. The clouds had been gathering all day, and during lunch, they had finally grown too heavy to contain the water within them.

"At least we won't have to worry about evacuation practice in this weather," said a girl behind her. The evacuation drills were new that year--a daily walk to the Tholmarun River to prepare for the event of an attack on the school. Most students weren't used to it and liked any excuse not to go.

"I wouldn't mind," Joy said. In her opinion, today would have been the best day for it. It was certainly better than continuing to crowd everyone into the cafeteria during that time due to "bad weather."

"You wouldn't" said the other girl and a fit of giggles burst from her table. "You're a... what was that word again? Pluviophile?"

"Hey leave her alone."

"...leave her alone." 

This came from two voices--two voices that rarely spoke in unison anymore. Merinda and Lizelle had been friends when they were young, but as the years had passed, they had grown apart. Now, Joy turned to watch them glare across the table at each other before both returning to homework assignments. Neither spoke to her, even though they both sat with her.

Joy turned back to the window. She could just make out a figure in the storm--almost certainly one of the Voiceless taking out the trash or doing some other necessary job no one wanted. The tests at the end of the year would determine who among her class would be made Voiceless. Maybe a life like that wouldn't be too bad, she thought.

When evacuation time was over, they were herded to their classes. Merinda, Lizelle, and Joy all had science together. It was the one class Joy actually liked. Because it was the one class she was actually good at. Joy took a seat next to the window. While the teacher wasn't looking, she opened it a crack and slid her hand out along the outside windowsill. Outside was cooler than the stuffy classroom. And she liked catching the raindrops in her palm, each carrying a tiny piece of grit to her from far away, like a gift.

"Now, I told you I would announce who would be attending this year's Academic Jamboree." Joy was vaguely aware of their teacher speaking. "This was a very difficult year for our judges, and we have a tie." A buzz of chatter filled the room. No one had to guess which two students had tied. Joy could imagine Lizelle and Merinda still glaring at each other from across the room. She knew their projects intimately. She had helped with both--separately, of course. "Lizelle and Merinda each scored a ninety-six on their projects. But since we can only send one person to the regional competition, you will have to decide between the two of you who will go. In the meantime, let's continue with our study of weather..."

The rain continued throughout the day, and Joy would have relished the walk home, were it not for that stupid contest. Lizelle and Merinda walked behind her, in an ominous silence. They were nearly home before Joy turned around. "Why don't you two just accept that you're both smart? Won't you accomplish more by working together anyway?"

"You heard what Ms. Sarwar said," Lizelle burst out, "only one person can go to the jamboree."

"Yeah," Merinda added, "and only one person can be valedictorian." It had not been some childhood spat, but the combination of academic competition and the threat of failure that had pitted her friends against one another.

"Well, there's an idea." Lizelle grinned at the other two girls.

"What?"

"Whoever has the highest grade at the end of the week."

Merinda eyed the other. Joy knew what she was thinking. Lizelle was the best of the three at academics. She was good at tests and recalling the answer to a question in class. But Merinda wasn't far behind her, and she had excellent oratory skills. She had been known to argue circles around classmates, even with minimal preparation. Joy was only good at projects. Given the proper amount of time to research something, she would understand it thoroughly, but she was a terrible speller and her test anxiety made her only mediocre in class. That was probably why the other two girls hadn't started a rivalry with her as the academic competition heated up--she wasn't fair game.

"Deal," Merinda said, and the girls shook hands on it.

Joy watched as the other girls crossed the street to their houses. Then she sloshed her way through the puddles before going home herself. She tried to be happy about the rain, but the newest competition between her old friends had ruined it for her. She would have liked to ask one of them for help with her history homework, but she knew neither was in the right state of mind for it.

The rain cleared in the night, but Joy could tell another storm was coming. She stood on the front steps of her house and breathed deeply. She loved the wet of the air, and the smell of the newly wet dirt. "What's the weather going to be like?" Merinda asked as she crossed the street to join Joy. "Is it going to rain again today?"

"Definitely. But I think we'll lucky, and it won't start until the end of evacuation practice."

"Is that a hunch, or is that you tracking the weather patterns?"

"A little of both." Science wasn't just the one subject Joy was good at it, it was how she fed her soul. She had several instruments for measuring things like temperature, air pressure, and wind speed, and she checked the government's satellite data regularly. She thought of the Voiceless person she'd seen in the rain the day before and wondered if they even had a computer with which to check.

"Good. Because I need your help in Ms. Sarwar's class." Merinda took Joy by the elbow and started pulling her towards the school.

"Wait, shouldn't we wait for Lizelle?"

"What are you talking about? She's going to be fine. If you help me with science, I'll help you with the history test."

Joy taught Merinda about weather patterns over cereal in the school cafeteria, but they still hadn't touched the history homework before the bell rang for the first class. Merinda promised to help at lunch, but by then she and Lizelle were back to glaring at each other. Joy tried to run over history facts in her head during evacuation practice--the first colonies on Nideon, the war in Jadinth, the state mandated tests and Race for Excellence--but she got distracted watching the clouds.

The rain did come back in the afternoon, though not as heavy as the day before, and Merinda and Lizelle's silence on the walk home didn't really bother her. She let the drizzle cool her angry thoughts.

The morning after that, it was Lizelle on her doorstep before Merinda. "You walked to school with Merinda yesterday," she said, "so now it's my turn. It's only fair." The sun was out again, and Joy knew the day would be hot and sticky after the previous days' storms. She didn't have the energy to argue.

"Did you finish your essay on how math is applicable in real life?" Lizelle set a brisk pace toward the school.

"Last week." Joy had written hers on meteorology, of course. "You were supposed to proofread it for me."

"Oh yeah. I'll do that tonight. But first, I need help with a topic. What do you think Merinda's writing her's about?"

"Currency." They passed a Voiceless man on the street. Joy didn't know exactly how she could tell he was Voiceless, but she could. Some combination of his shabby clothing and the fact that he kept his head down, refusing to make eye contact.

"Do you think they really are voiceless?" Joy asked Lizelle quietly, after they had passed.

"What?" Lizelle glanced over her shoulder, as if noticing the man for the first time. "Oh no, I'm sure it's metaphorical. You know, it's passing the test that grants you citizenship." That test--administered to all tenth grade students--was not only the substratum of her friends' feud, but the reason all of Joy's classmates were increasingly on edge. It was only a few weeks away, and anyone who failed would be made Voiceless.

"Joy, you're losing focus!" Lizelle said. "I need your help with a topic!"

Joy stopped. "No."

"What?"

"No. I don't have time to help you. I have to find someone to edit my math essay."

"I told you would do that tonight."

"You told me last week you would do it." Joy cut her off. "And Merinda told me she would help me with my history homework, which she didn't. And there's a test today. I'm not going to fall into another one of your traps."

"Traps?! Our traps?!" 

"There is exactly one person who gets an exemption from the test, and it's the person who goes to the Academic Jamboree." Lizelle's face fell. Joy continued. "I bet you forgot, didn't you? Because neither of you need it. You're both going to pass!" She clenched her fists. "You don't know how much I wanted that exemption. But I never got to turn in a project because you two were so busy getting me to help with yours! You are the most spoiled... selfish... children! I have ever met! And I'm not going to help you anymore because if I have any chance of passing the test at the end of the year, I have to study!" She didn't wait to see if Lizelle had a response. She stormed away.

Joy fumed at breakfast. She saw Lizelle and Merinda sitting at another table, and watching her. They're probably talking about how selfish I am, she thought, the sheer gall of her, not to help us. She tried to focus on her history homework, but it was difficult when she could feel the other girls' eyes on her. She knew she did even worse on the test than she normally might have. After the teacher asked them to pass the tests forward, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to be Voiceless. She'd better start resigning herself to it now.

After lunch, just before evacuation practice, Ms Sarwar found her. "Joy, will you come with me?"

She didn't know what it was about, but didn't mind staying out of the heat. She followed the woman to her classroom. Merinda and Lizelle were both standing by her desk. "Oh what now?" Joy asked. She could feel herself on the verge of tears.

"I don't think I quite understand," Ms. Sarwar said, "but both Merinda and Lizelle told me they stole their jamboree projects from you."

Joy blinked. This is not what she had expected.

[storiesforallfandoms]

stood up ~ draco malfoy;harry potter

word count: 1625

request?: no

description: after being stood up on a date, an unlikely replacement decides to join her

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

Against my better wishes, I checked the time on my watch again. I had been waiting at The Three Broomsticks for nearly an hour on the arrival of my date, and so far there was nothing.

I watched my fellow Hogwarts students laughing and having a good time together. I searched through the crowds of people to see if I could see his face, but he wasn’t even there with any of his friends. I sighed heavily and chugged down the rest of my Butterbeer. I began to collect my things when the door to the Three Brooksticks opened and in walked a familiar head of bright blonde hair.

Draco showed up alone, very unusual for him. I was used to seeing him being tailed by his little entourage and his obsessed non-girlfriend. Not that he seemed to mind being alone, in fact he seemed much happier with his goon squad behind him.

His eyes searched the room, presumably for an empty table, before landing on me. I awkwardly shuffled and quickly looked away. I didn’t have any ill will towards Draco, we never really spoke. But I knew of his reputation. Who didn’t? The last thing I wanted was for my first introduction with him to be after being stood up. I knew he’d have a field day with that.

Just my luck, he began to move towards me. I was too awkward to even think to move. I just looked away from him, trying to stay focused on my empty mug.

“Is this seat taken?”

His voice made my heart leap into my chest. I looked up at him and saw his piercing blue eyes looking back down into mine, almost looking right through me.

I couldn’t form a proper sentence, so I just nodded. Draco smiled and nodded towards my mug. “Want another one?”

“You don’t have to,” I started, but before I could say anything else Draco was taking my mug and making his way to the bar. When he returned, I smiled sheepishly at him. “Thanks.”

“Least I could do,” he said as he sat down. “You seemed a little down when I walked in.”

“I’m surprised you cared,” I blurted before I could stop myself. I felt my face burning with embarrassment as Draco raised an eyebrow at me. “Wh-What I mean is-is we’re not exactly...acquaintances or anything. I didn’t even know you knew I existed.”

“I guess you have a point,” Draco said, taking a sip of his Butterbeer. “I figured you were alone and said, I was alone, maybe I’d try to talk to you.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Very unusual for a Slytherin to want to talk to a Hufflepuff, but I suppose I’ll take it. Better than sitting here waiting for a date who isn’t going to arrive.”

I looked down at my Butterbeer before taking a mouthful of it. The look on Draco’s face turned to one of concern as I spoke. “A date that won’t arrive? What nutter would stand you up?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at this. “You are giving me far more credit than I deserve. But, if you must know, it was Seamus Finnigan.”

A laugh slipped from Draco’s lips before he could stop himself. I glared at him and started collecting my things again. Quickly, he took hold of my arm to get me to sit down again. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just laughing that you’d even say yes to a oafish git like him.”

I shrugged, although I knew he was right. Seamus wasn’t exactly the most popular kid, and dating him would be a constant threat of being blown up. But he seemed so sweet, I just couldn’t turn him down. I figured he would make for at least a memorable first date, if nothing else.

I didn’t peg Seamus for the type to stand someone up. I figured he would’ve warned me before he cancelled the date. It’s not like he didn’t have ample opportunity, he had even told me the day before he’d meet me at the Three Broomsticks.

“He seemed nice,” I admitted. “And no one exactly shows interest in me, so I thought...why not? Bad decision on my part now, obviously.”

“More like bad decision on his part. Anyone who would stand you up is a nutter.”

I was shocked at Draco’s kind words. For all I had known, today was the first day he knew I even existed. I was shocked he felt so comfortable saying these things to me, although after being stood up, I was also sure he was just playing a prank on me.

“You don’t even know me,” I mumbled. “How can you confidently make those remarks?”

“Because, even if I don’t know you, I know I have eyes.”

I didn’t know how to respond to this. I had never met someone so brave to say these things to anyone, let alone to say them to me. My whole life, I had just been very...plain looking. I was told that I had hit a “good puberty” during the summer between my fifth and sixth year, but even then I hadn’t attracted too much attention.

Not to mention that Draco’s little non-girlfriend and her group of friends loved to make fun of most of the girls that weren’t a part of their circle, even other Slytherin girls. Because I was also pretty smart academically, I found myself the target of their bullying often. It was hard to think of yourself otherwise when a group of girls are constantly mocking you for everything.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” Draco said with a smile. He took another mouthful of his Butterbeer, leaving a foam moustache against his upper lip.

I giggled. “You’re cute with a foam moustache.”

He laughed at this as well and wiped the moustache off with the back of his sleep.

“So, you sure Pansy and her girls didn’t put you up to this?” I asked, my eyes darting around the room to see if Pansy was hidden somewhere among the crowd of students.

“Pansy is back at the castle sulking because I turned her down after she asked me out,” Draco responded. “And her friends don’t actually like her, they just hang out with her for the status.”

That feeling of worry slowly came off my shoulders. His answer seemed genuine, which meant that he wasn’t doing this on a dare.

We continued to talk for a few hours. I got our next round of Butterbeers, and Draco got the next found after that. The students were slowly starting to file out of the Three Broomsticks as the skies began to grow dark, and it wasn’t until the owner told us we should be heading back to the castle.

On the way back, Draco walked so close to me that our hands kept brushing against one another. At first, I pulled away thinking I had just bumped him, but when it kept happening I realized it was because he wanted it to happen. Every time our hands touched, I felt a light spark of electricity go through me. I wanted nothing more than to take Draco’s hand in mine, but I figured I should let him make the first move.

When we finally arrived at the castle, Draco stopped outside. I turned to face him, confused by his sudden stop.

“I feel like I should tell you something before we go our separate ways tonight,” he admitted. I felt my heart race, afraid of what he was about to say next. “I...I actually came looking for you today. I wasn’t planning on going to Hogsmeade but...I heard Finnigan talking about how he wanted to cancel your date but didn’t have the guts to. I knew you were going to be waiting at the Three Broomsticks alone today, and that you were going to wind up disappointed with the outcome.”

It was a slight pain in my heart to know that Seamus was aware he was standing me up, but I was able to push that aside with the warm feeling of knowing that Draco had specifically come looking for me because he knew I was being stood up. “And that made you want to come find me?”

“It did. I didn’t think it was fair what he was doing to you, you don’t deserve that.”

I put my hands in my pockets, now cold from the chilly air. “Okay, that brings me to my neck question...why do you care so much?”

Draco ran a hand through his nearly white hair. “I...I think you’re really pretty, and really nice. I never thought you’d ever like me since...well, I know I’m not the nicest person in Hogwarts. But I decided to try tonight, it was killing me not to know what your reaction would be.” He shrugged as he put his hands in his pockets, mirroring my image. “So...now it’s out there. It’s up to you what you’d like to do.”

I couldn’t help but smile at Draco before looking down at the ground in front of me. I pushed around a stray pebble with the toe of my boot as I said, “If you promise not to stand me up, I’d like to go out on another date sometime.”

I could hear the smile in his voice as he responded, “Another date?”

“Well, yeah. First dates are way too awkward, we should just could today as ours and see where things go from there.”

“Okay, I’d like that a lot. I’ll send you the details of our next date when I come up with them.”

I giggled as I responded, “I’ll be waiting.”

I’ll be real, I was high while writing half of this so I’m sorry if it’s so bad.

[mannien]

Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - PROLOGUE

The one with graduation, daisies and carnations, and a hopeless emotional addiction.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: some stress and anxiety here and there

Some feelings are addictive. It’s easy to get used to the way something tingles with excitement, warms up with passion, or stings with powerful adrenaline rush. People get comfortable with feelings known and desired and more often than not, they turn them into coping mechanisms. Whatever sticks their wobbly pieces together the longest, is the ultimate solution. Feelings don’t need to be entirely positive or with pure intentions behind them. As long as they cover up the shattered pieces, they stay. They may enhance some experiences, especially when someone decides to stick with something as simple as joy. But some make life more difficult than it seems; they mess up the timeline and allow people to feel so many wrong things before reaching the truth.

An array of emotions weaves through fresh university graduates. A sense of freedom and relief is somewhat clouded by fear or excitement. Someone has an internship lined up, their friends take a year to travel across Europe, a roommate has an apprenticeship at their next job. Others might take things slow and see what the future holds, while some students get prepared to have a fresh start. The overall unknown seems to be the underlying tone in the speeches during the graduation ceremony, but each person in polished shoes and with a rapid heartbeat subconsciously sticks to a feeling that makes them feel more at ease.

Students of each program are called on stage. Every little success along the way is cradled into slippery hats and fitted gowns with the university’s subtle emblem on the front. The audience is sitting on the large balcony above the graduates. People clap with appreciation at each young person walking across the wooden floor and shaking the chancellor’s hand. Some receive a more enthusiastic applause, sometimes even a roar of cheers. As the long queue of journalism graduates makes its way through the hall, the names are listed rapidly. Students walk as if they were a part of an assembly line, trying their best not to delay the process of the nerve-wracking hand-shaking and walking without tripping. The last are always graduates with exceptional results, so the crowds are encouraged to clap vigorously. And that’s what’s heard when the eyes of two women in the audience are focused on the proud figure walking on stage: the loudest cheers of the afternoon so far.

“Remind me, why aren’t we screaming for your boyfriend, and the whole department of journalism is?” A questioning voice surprised Millie so much that she jumped in her seat.

“I’m nervous, Thea. That’s why.”

She stated the obvious. Millie Beaver was the one to frantically fix the sleeves of her gown as a nervous tick. She got up early that morning, dreading the day full of polished festivities and exaggerated elegance requested upon a bunch of tired, educated enough people. The pride in successfully finishing her studies was yet to come; her body was rather keen on reacting dramatically to the large crowds of scholars, pupils and their families. The dread of participating in an unrehearsed event like this clouded her brain and made her focus solely on not loosing it. Though she wouldn’t dare admit it to the smiling man, who was just about to shake some hands on stage. The confidence he wore on his face was something she was used to seeing, even in the least favourable scenarios.

“I still don’t get it, how some people are born so talented that they don’t need to work their asses off to get somewhere,” she shrugged, making her tight black curls shake with her head, “I mean, the hours we spent on reading and researching…”

“I guess we’re just different.”

“Different? It’s not fair, that’s what it is. Patriarchy at its finest.”

The comment made Millie laugh and release some of the tension. Her eyes followed Franklin into the side corridor, where a little crowd of his friends formed a circle around him – the star of the department - before continuing into their seats. His cheerful stance made her bit her lip in excitement; for a moment, she tried to forget about whatever was said through the speakers. She genuinely wanted to be feel happy for him and his academic achievements. After all, she spent previous months on watching him get to the top of their classes almost effortlessly, as if he was born to be talked about by the teachers.

Millie felt her heart speed up at the thought that he might start searching for her for a little cheer, or even a tiny wave of support. But Frank sat down and continued to enjoy his fame, and Thea started to pull her up from the wooden chair.

“Come on, it’s our turn.”

She followed her friend and attempted to smooth out the heavy gown. Her light brown hair flowed as she walked, making her nervously fix it every now and then. She turned to the very end of the queue to find Jane, who wore a wide smile. They made eye contact and the blonde sent her a half-smile, knowing that they are almost through the tough part. It calmed Millie to know that she had her support system, not only up in the balcony, but also somewhere among the students of literary and media studies. At one point she feared that her nightmare of falling off the stage will become reality, but as a surprise to her and her close ones, clumsy Millie walked gracefully and with pride painted across her face.

Mission accomplished: she made it through college without falling.

The main floor of the event hall once again filled with students, their peers, and families. Loud chatter was heard across the building as people were celebrating the achievements of the year’s graduates. Some of the groups moved outside and took in the chilly London air. It smelled of rain and freedom, clouded with light grey pillows in the sky.

The three girls tried to make it through the crowds of chatting people in search for the perfect spot to take pictures together. Jane wore the highest heels of them all, so she was designated to lead them to the wall with the logo of the university. In a tight weave of pinkie fingers, they rushed through the hall just as they would through a college party. Millie felt dizzy from the sea of the same black gowns surrounding them from every angle. Some people waved at them, so she kept her smile wide and left Thea – with her one hand free – to the waving back duty. Their secure escape led them safely to the back wall on the side of the entrance, where some of the students usually found peace between classes and sat down on the floor, watching over the busy entrance to the building during the semester. The carpet remembered a lot of spilled coffees and teas in the wobbly little cups purchased from the cafeteria inside. Millie let out a breath of relief, seeing that only a couple of students found this spot perfect for keeping the memories.

“Hey, congrats! We’re graduates!” Jane welcomed the group that was finishing their poses in front of the wall.

Thea laughed with them, but desperately waved her hand in front of her reddening face to cool off.

“I hate your speed in heels. That was too fast!”

“Don’t worry, at least you don’t have to run to the Linguistics ever again.” Millie pulled her little bag from underneath the gown and looked for a sheet of paper with old notes. As long as Jane was busy chatting up other students, the other two tackled the makeshift air conditioning to prevent Thea’s makeup from running.

“Okay, are we ready for some iPhone memories?” The sound of a snapshot stopped Millie from frantically fanning their friend’s face.

“You sound ready. Do you have a tripod or a selfie stick, though? I want to have a picture with all of you.”

“We could still catch that group and ask someone to snap a few?”

“I’m not running anywhere, I’ve just fixed my face!” Thea puffed her cheeks and did a few more waves around them, certainly for an enhanced dramatic effect.

“Then don’t run anywhere, I’ll call my mom to come here, she’s probably out for a smoke anyway.”

“You really want to have your graduation pictures taken by your mom?” Thea and Millie chuckled at Jane’s resigned sigh. “Maybe Frank could come here? I trust his steady hands more.”

“He was supposed to go to the student’s office after the ceremony. Honours and stuff.” Millie pursed her lips.

“Right when we need him! What a boyfriend.”

“Jane!”

“Do you need a hand, girls?”

A sudden male voice stopped the rising argument and made the three of them look into the corridor. He welcomed them with a warm smile and soft wrinkles by his eyes. With a small bunch of colourful flowers, he stood out in casual, non-graduate clothes, yet with similar youthfulness to him.

“I’m not my brother but I can take a straight picture in focus.”

“What the fuck?” Millie covered her mouth in shock. Hesitantly, she took one step away from Jane and Thea, afraid of her next reaction. “What the actual fuck are you doing here?”

“I came to my friend’s graduation, fancy seeing you here.”

“I’m serious!” She raised her voice and made her way over to him, meeting his steps somewhere in the middle of the distance. He was smiling at her stupidly and she couldn’t stop herself from mirroring his reaction.

“I’m serious too, you made it! That’s so cool!” He opened his arms and invited her in, with a small encouragement of his waving hand.

One of the most addictive feelings are those of an utter comfort and safety. This teasing sparkle making your insides warm up and encouraging you to be a little more positive. That’s precisely what Millie felt when she was engulfed in a tight hug by her childhood best friend. Tom held her tightly across her back and swayed them side to side, earning a hearty laugh from the girl who was now, shining. She felt a sense of genuine relief once he squeezed her in reassurance; her brotherly figure showed up, so she was finally able to relax. Suddenly everything felt easy and perfect. All of the stress, fear of the unknown, anxiety about the grand event of the day, and the rest of damaging emotions slowed down their tempo in her veins, simply because she was home. Her smile swiftly changed into more prominent and definitely brighter by a shade or two. As he held her close, he could feel Millie’s warmth suddenly radiate through his body, making his eyes twinkle with joy because of this very girl.

“Congratulations, Minnie Mouse, I’m so proud of you,” he whispered next to her ear, cautious of what others may hear from their little exchange. She did not need any more nerves weighting her down, so he decided not to make a big scene – even though he definitely wanted to tease her worrying head and make sure she’s having a good time. “you’re all grown up now, so I got you flowers.”

“Oh, so otherwise you wouldn’t?” Millie shook his head, but accepted a small bouquet of carnations and daisies.

“Nah, I know you hate flowers.” He winked at her and put his arm around Millie’s arms, tucking her into his side a little too tightly.

“Absolutely. Thanks Tom, I’ll throw them out after the pictures.”

“Go ahead,” He tucked her in even more, making her squirm in discomfort. It was one of their things, to squeeze one another too tight. It made them feel connected as if they were siblings. They knew how sibling love worked, Tom having three younger brothers and Millie being the youngest of three sisters, but it was refreshing to have it a little spiced up. She let out a shy laugh and pushed him away before taking the delicate bunch from him. She lost the smell of his familiar perfume and took a breath. Once he extended his hand to Millie’s friends, he was back to his public confidence and charm. “Hey! Thea and Jane, right?”

They took an intimidating number of pictures; some of them good enough to share with people, other more fitting into a private photo album filled with silly, heart-warming memories. The group shared a lot of easy laughs together; Millie’s girlfriends eased into the lightly flowing chatter with Tom in no time. It made her sink into the bubble of comfort and light; she was smiling brightly when they reached the entrance to the building. Tom opened the glass door for all of them. A slightly chilly air hit Millie in her blushing cheeks and slowed down the pinky glow spreading across her cheekbones. Somewhere in the distance she noticed her parents lurking excitedly at the group and waving them over expectantly.

There was this heaviness slowing her down and taking up an excess of space in the back of her mind. As they were making their way across the university’s main square, Millie slowly turned her head to the side. She perked up at the sound of loud cheers and noticed a familiar group of students. Among them, there was Frank—laughing and hugging people from his department—and he definitely enjoyed being in the centre of attention. She was sure he didn’t even notice her walking by, but she didn’t want it to affect her as much as it was going to.

In turn, what she didn’t think of was the attention someone would give to her best friend: the smiling, cheerful young man, who was shamelessly chatting up Millie, Thea and Jane.

“Oh my God, is that Tom Holland?”

This simple question, raised somewhere from the group of journalism graduates, didn’t surprise Tom. However, it definitely rose the hairs on the back of Millie’s neck. Though he brushed it off and sent her a reassuring smile, Millie felt panic flowing through her veins. They both knew it could happen, but Tom seemed to be focused more on making her a priority, rather than fearing being recognized as the famous actor. He watched her reaction, now fully aware of her boyfriend emerging from the crowd and skipping towards them.

“Hey, I was trying to find you earlier,” he brushed his hand through his dark blonde hair and gave her a brief smile, before turning excitedly to Tom. “Hey man, I didn’t know you were coming!”

“We just went to…” she paused, seeing as he was already extending his hand towards her friend. “…take pictures.”

“The girls had a nice little photoshoot back inside.” Tom cut short his smile, raising the side of his mouth only to her. He accepted Frank’s handshake but didn’t allow it to turn into a bro-hug. It was fairly easy to read their body language; Franklin tried his best to seem friendly with his girlfriend’s celebrity friend, but the said celebrity was too kind to allow his cheekiness outshine Millie’s comfort zone. Jane and Thea turned their heads away at the sight of palms squeezing a little too tight for a friendly greeting. Frank’s friends and a couple other bystanders watched the exchange with prying eyes, and Millie let out a frustrated groan at the unnecessary tension.

“Cool, cool. Can I steal my girl for a moment?”

Frank didn’t wait for an answer, but rather just took her hand and pulled her to the side, hiding slightly behind the group of people. He fixed the tinsel attached to her hat and winked at her, giving her his full attention. He looked at her with his gleaming blue eyes and made her smile at the intimate moment.

“You good, sweetie?”

“Yeah, just fine.”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Are your parents here? I haven’t seen them.” She looked around, trying to find his mom’s flowing blonde hair.

“They went to get the table at the restaurant nearby. Wanna join us?” He searched her face and leaned in closer, brushing his nose against hers. Millie laid her hand on his shoulder and allowed him into her little space.

“Why are you asking me to choose between our parents?” She chuckled, but patiently waited for his reaction. “Could we all spend time together, at least once?”

“I told you, it’s not a good idea,” Frank brushed his lips against Millie’s, slowly easing her into him and making her return the kiss. “you can ask Tom to come to the party tonight, it’ll be fun.”

“No promises.”

They shared a few more kisses that left Millie breathless - Franklin wasn’t usually the one to publicly show his affection, so she craved anything he willing to give her. She smiled up at him and let him go, happy that he took the minute to catch up with her.

With one last wave of his hand, Frank joined his party. Although he was instantly pulled into celebratory pictures, he couldn’t help but watch Millie walk away; she joined Jane and Thea in a heart-warming group hug. She was just sweet like this: sticking to her people, making sure everyone’s happy, and embracing all the kindness in the simplest actions. Franklin smiled to himself at the sound of her cheerful laugh and turned back to his friends, but then he noticed the source of her laugh. Her and Tom did a barely-there joyful dance, raising their hands and curtseying to her parents. Alfred, her dad, patted him on the back and shook his hand vigorously, while Millie was being squeezed by her mom.

People from Frank’s department praised him for having any kind of relationship with Tom Holland. Frank watched Tom’s joyous exchange with his girlfriend. Tom was proudly paying attention to his best friend, and Millie’s cheeks were hurting from the smiles. She was content and felt at ease. She was sure that her heart was filled to the brim with love and comfort.

Yes, being addicted to feelings is difficult. It holds people hostage in the arms of the sole premise of positive emotional experiences. It’s also blinding for the addicts, making the loss of certain feelings hurt more than it should. Addiction feeds off the weak, the confused, and the uncertain. It eats them up alive and strives to receive more and more satisfaction. It allows for the illusion of reality, so that the addicts can project certain feelings onto their consciousness. They live in their bubbles of unruly contentment and often forget to look into their souls and perform a regular check-up.

Millie was an addict.

***

Please let me know what you think!

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear @sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection @cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [02]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 3.5k a/n; i know it feels like a lot of bg and internal conflict but y/n!! our girl is struggling! she’s processing and is going through some times BUT things will spice up soon so thank you for all the love +notes, see you again thursday! 

[01] [02] [03]-> masterpost

The two most frequent contacts in your phone (you hope it’s your phone? It’s the same edition and everything) are Jimin and Taehyung. 

Jungkook (or not-Jungkook) high-tailed it out of there as soon as he deemed your reactions unfit for basic human society. He muttered that you were crazy and probably under something, and sped off in his motorcycle just like that. Like you were a stranger. 

It's not easy to ignore the aftermath of your heart after taking yet another rejection, but you're independent and you must stride forward in this strange situation. Taking a cautionary look around the area, you clutch your phone like a lifeline, tethering you together in this unfamiliar place. There's not many people around, but you spot a large library and a playground. Professionals are mulling from building to building, zombies in wrinkled suits and dripping iced coffees. Your phone displays an innocent 7:51, revealing how early it is. Toggling between the two friends in your contacts you take your chances and start with Jimin. The phone rings once, twice, before his dulcet voice chimes in your ear. 

“Babe?” he croons, and your heart drops at the sickly warm tone, “you can’t get enough of me after what we did last night?” 

You’re going to throw up. Scratch that, acid is already bubbling through your throat and you force yourself to tamp it down. There is no, no way in hell could you have hooked up with Park Jimin in your lifetime. 

Unless this is hell. 

“Jimin,” you steel your voice, hoping he can’t hear how absolutely mortified you are. You can picture this version of Park Jimin now, laying around in bed with crossed legs and casually enjoying how much you’re squirming on the other line, “I just need you to tell me where I live so we can move on with our lives.” 

He laughs, giggles bubbling like soft pink champagne. “Wow, I really must’ve fucked your brains out if you can’t even remember where you live.” God, in what life would Park Jimin be “fucking your brains out”? Maybe you should find a trashcan just in case you do puke on the sidewalk. “Y’know, you signed your lease with Taehyung a month ago? You just moved in last week?”

“T-Taehyung?” you stutter, trying to imagine the notion, “I live with Taehyung?” 

A beat passes, and you realize that just like you scared not-Jungkook away, you could be doing the same to Jimin. 

He says your name softly, gone the cocky tone you were initially bombarded with. “Are you okay? You could’ve waited for me to wake up, y’know. We had a lot to drink last night.” he mumbles, almost cutely if it weren’t for the fact the he was insinuating sex two seconds ago, “Did you eat?” 

“‘M fine,” you mumble, trying to chalk up your previous question with inhiberation. “Just loopy, I guess. I almost got hit by a motorbike, so my brain is probably just catching up.” 

“You got hit? Did you call a hospital?” great, now Jimin’s panicked. “Where are you? I’m gonna go get you. Drop your location, I’m leaving now!” 

“I’m fine!” you snip, and you feel bad for nearly screaming on the line. “I’m almost home, I’m just gonna lay in bed and sleep it off. I’ll call you later, okay?” 

You don’t bother hearing his response, and you hang up. You then start to furiously scroll Taehyung’s chat wall, noting that he’s on an academic trip with his students until next week and you have the apartment to yourself. After a good ten minutes of scrolling and reading conversations that you can’t recollect you finally catch the address to your shared apartment. 

The city is the same, fortunately. So are the bus stops, and you’re thankful that your bus pass has some fare money. Turns out you’re starting your journey at the University of Seoul. The bus routes are the same as well, and you manage to take a tour of your side of the city, noting the tiny differences in the town. 

For example, there’s no BigHit Entertainment in its usual spot. Instead it’s an additional practice  space for Cube Entertainment. 

There’s no fanfare to your city tour, and it almost feels like you’re just a normal woman taking a ride home. There’s still the same trees and squirrels, familiar odeng stands and ice cream shops. It feels like you’ve been cut and pasted into this world with no rhyme or reason, a fever dream. 

The bus circles around the usual route once more until you’re in front of your supposed home, only a twenty minute bus ride from where Jungkook almost ran you over. 

It’s a lot, and you realize on the drive over that you’re probably in deeper shit than you could ever imagine. You pull out your keys, and instead of seeing the ramen keychain Jungkook got you when he went to Tokyo Disney, instead it’s replaced by a university ID labeled Assistant Professor under your full name. 

You pin that new fact for later and focus on getting inside.

Your apartment is nice, you muse. Simple black and white furniture, but there’s a definitive home-ness to it. There’s a moss green afghan folded up on the couch, presumably made by the artist himself. You’re glad Taehyung’s appeal for the arts hasn’t been lost, as revealed by the frames on the walls detailing pictures of you and Taehyung’s families, and some of Jimin and Taehyung. 

Deeper into the apartment you find your room. You choke back a sob at the familiar bedsheets your parents bought you at Target, and you even notice some familiar clothing pieces folded haphazardly in the corner. Instead of your bed being filled with shameless BT21 PR however, your RJ and Mang are replaced with simple panda and cat plushies. 

Finally letting your tears fall, you sob loudly into your pillows, hugging and grappling at anything to comfort you. You feel achy and tired, as if your heart has fallen out of your body and nothing can fill the void. As much as your bed sheets feel the same, as genuine as those pictures are in your shared living room, this isn’t your home. 

•━━━━━━»••»💮💮💮«••«━━•

Between your bouts of crying and forcing yourself to stomach cheap ramen, you find out a couple of things. 

You’re an assistant professor at Seoul University. At least this version of you is. A little part of you is pleased by this, you have always wanted to teach at the university level before settling with BigHit. To your chagrin however, you’re not a language professor. 

To your horror, you’re a pre-medical student teaching two “History of Neuroscience” classes. It’s only two classes because according to your Google calendar, you’re also balancing the completion of  your final thesis on muscular dystropathy among low-income neighborhoods. 

Dear god, if your parents ever found out you could’ve been a doctor in another life, they’d be surely choking on their own spit. In this world, you probably weren’t lazy and wholly capable of achieving the impossible. 

You don’t know why you spend the next two hours sending emails to your students about cancelling the next week of classes. Fortunately all your lessons are neatly packaged in your drive, and you send out an email with said lessons citing your mental health and how you’ll resume direct instruction the following week. 

From time to time, your eyes can’t help but travel to the frames and polaroids that decorate your walls. Some of the memories are vaguely similar, a house in the suburbs, an annoying cousin who can’t stop and won’t stop pulling at your pigtails, a movie night with unlimited pizza and breadsticks. 

Some of them are far and beyond your state of recognition. Jimin and you playing hopscotch by the river, Taehyung stuffing his face with fried potato skins in a cheap hole-in-the-wall, you winning the blue ribbon at your high school’s science fair. 

You could very well walk out of this life and just focus on going back home, but something tells you that you need to continue on with this life, at least for now. 

It feels too real to be a dream. When you tug at your hair tie, it’s painful when it snaps across your wrist. Your skin blooms with color upon impact. Could you die in this world? If Jungkook had not skidded in time, would you have survived a motorcycle accident? 

Three days pass like that. You’re contemplating, absorbing information. In-between pints of ice cream and crying your ducts out, you’re drawing conclusions. Could you be in a coma? A very realistic, painful coma? But Jimin and Taehyung are still sending you texts and the day turns to night as painfully slow as it always has. A coma can’t fake a forty person class, all of them vying for your attention through various emails and Zoom calls. It can’t be it. 

And as you rummage through your drawers, check every bit of social media and even your yearbook photos, you also confirm that Jeon Jungkook has no place in this version of your life. It saddens you greatly, and reminds you eerily about the heated conversation you had before all of this. The Jungkook from days ago, the one who looked terrified when you tried to touch him, only met you through happenstance. 

By day four, you get a phone call. There’s no picture next to the contact, only named Biggie Mentor. After a few rings, you finally get the courage to answer the call. 

A deep timbre seeps its way through the line, and you almost whine at how much you missed him. “y/n,” Namjoon says, but he doesn’t sound happy, “tell me why our students said you cancelled all of your classes this week due to mental health?” 

If Namjoon’s your mentor, that means you’re probably in deep shit for cancelling all your classes without his consent. 

“Uh, exactly that,” you say, and it hurts how much you have to strain your voice, trying not to pour any type of affection into this version of Namjoon. You’ve always had a soft spot for his gummy smile. “I’m sorry for not telling you beforehand. Something really traumatic just happened and,” you choke back a sob, trying to cover the microphone, “and I really needed some space.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” his voice is like melted honey, and you close your eyes and picture yourself back at BigHit, Namjoon’s happy smile whenever he tries to cheer you up. It only makes you even more upset, and your mind is all shadowed and filled with fuzzies as you attempt to picture Namjoon as your boss, “I was just shocked, that’s all. Is everything alright?” 

“No,” you reply truthfully, “and I don’t know if it will be.” 

There’s a terse silence, both your breaths hanging on the line with no move to continue the conversation. If your personality here is similar to your true world, you would understand why Namjoon would have a hard time formulating a reply. You don’t even know how close you are with him here. What remains is that you’re the type to keep your secrets to yourself, and if they truly felt hindering, you’d tell somebody. Not to say you’re the suffer in silence type of person, but you weren’t one to immediately dump your feelings on someone. 

Finally, Namjoon musters a reply, “I have a break at two. Why don’t you swing by our usual lunch spot and we can talk? Their sandwiches always cheer you up. ”

“Joonie,” your voice cracks, and you shake your head despite the fact that he can’t see you. A slip of the nickname comes out before you can help it, and you hope this Namjoon is fond of the manner. “I don’t know where that is. Or what our ‘usual’ spot is. I don’t know what sandwiches you’re talking about either.” 

“Okay,” and you relax at the calmness in his tone, “I’ll swing by after my 5PM then. Set the table for us, yeah?” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Namjoon smells of dry-erase marker and antiseptic. 

He’s bounding into your apartment like it’s his own home, carrying two paper bags and a stack of leather bound books. The items fly across your coffee table, and you two work together to organize both your dinner and the books. Namjoon looks like a textbook nerd, wearing shades of burgundy and burnt orange as he breaks into your front door. Gone are the boots and sleek outfits that trim his figure, and you can’t help but go a little anti-starstruck at how normal this moment is.

But what remains is the bumbly stance as he makes his way through your tiny space, long limbs and all flailing to help you place his work in a safe space. The curve of his nose and dimples so deep you could fill a lake in them, you can’t help but muster a shy smile as he takes notice that you’re staring at him a little too much for comfort.

The two of you eat in relative silence, and you gratefully accept the bag he pushes in your direction. To your surprise the sandwich inside is a favorite combination of yours, and you wonder if this restaurant exists in your world. 

Your world. 

“Namjoon,” you place your sandwich down, despite the fact that your stomach is protesting for you to finish the first real meal you’ve had in days, “you know that movie, Avengers?” 

Namjoon’s face is puffed with bread, and you hand him a water bottle to chug it down. “Dunno,” he shrugs, “Marvel isn’t a popular franchise, so even if I had I wouldn’t remember.” 

“Marvel isn’t popular—” what kind of fucked up world is this? Your Jungkook would have a field day if he was in your shoes. “Anyway. There’s a concept from Marvel that there’s multiple Earths. Like you can create a rip in space and land yourself in another dimension if you’re not too careful. Do you think it’s possible?” 

Your tall mentor pushes his charcoal hair back, exasperated. “Is this why you’re taking off? Because you believe in some silly comic book series?” 

You feel your heart cracking, desperately trying to keep itself together. In your haste you grip Namjoon’s arm, desperate. “Please, just hear me out.” you warble, “a few days ago I was out drinking with a friend. Next thing I know, I’m in another world where I run into a boy. That boy is my friend, but he says he doesn’t recognize me! But I don’t recognize this life. Namjoon I can’t even imagine you wanting to be a doctor!” 

Namjoon is looking at you funny, and you know he’s really trying to believe you. Instead of the reassuring words you hope for, he instead says, “this isn’t even pseudoscience, y/n. This is supernatural! How could you possibly think you’re from another dimension? I just saw you last week and everything was fine!” 

“I saw you last week too!” you exclaim, clutching your chest, “and you cried again for the umpteenth time because you lost another pair of custom Airpods.” 

A pause. “That does sound like me.” 

Hope blooms in your stomach. “Doesn’t it?”

“Well, in this supposed other life. What is my profession?”

Your face falls. “Uh, you’re in a worldwide K-pop band. You’re making millions and producing beautiful music.” 

That sounded way better in your head. Out loud it sounded absolutely bonkers. You don’t even blame Namjoon when he bursts out laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. You let him, sinking further into your seat and hugging your knees. You really hoped Namjoon would’ve come through for you. 

However you’re not laughing along with him, and he immediately stops at your teary expression. He pushes himself over to you with his long legs, quickly moving to prevent yourself from tucking into your shell. He sees how small your form becomes and he reaches over to place a hand over your hair. “You’re really upset over this, aren’t you?” he questions aloud, and he can’t piece it together, “did you hit your head or something?” 

Defeated, you explain, “I may have gotten hit by a motorcycle the other day.” 

“What?” he squeezes your shoulder, “well, that explains a lot! What if you’re hallucinating? What if you have a concussion? You could be suffering from short-term memory loss!” 

You’re sure it’s none of those things, but you let him ramble. The explanation is clear-cut and so painfully normal that it’s the only conclusion that Namjoon will cling to. Your mentor insists you take a medical leave, and says he’ll take over your classes in the meantime. He gives you a number to call, explains there one of the best doctors for trauma and motor incidents. You don’t say anything to that, but you accept the number and lie when you say you’ll call them in the morning. Namjoon still treats you like a friend however, despite your fruitless confession, and you concede that his comfort is more than enough after such a rough week. 

•━━━━━━»••»💮💮💮«••«━━••

It’s been nearly two weeks since you’ve contacted Jimin. 

Sure, Jimin’s contacted you. A couple flirty texts here, some low-key sexy selfies there. Usually, you’d eat that up like honey and butter. Now, there’s only one-word replies and half-hearted attempts at continuing a conversation. He loosens his tie, thankful he’s working out of the office today. He can look at his phone all he wants, and no one will judge him. 

Jimin finally looks up at the photographer his marketing company contracted, who’s still mulling over the contract. “We’re not trying to jip you, promise.” Jimin assures, and he almost laughs at the comical way the young man’s large eyes catch his concern. “You’ll get all that money, and then some if you need to work overtime. It’s a sweet gig.” 

“Yeah,” the young man nods, and grabs the pen to sign at the bottom. “Looking forward to working with you.” 

“Same to you, Mr. Jeon,” Jimin grins, meeting him halfway across the table, “I’ve seen your work, I’m sure the commercial will be beautiful.” 

“You can call me Jungkook,” the new employee flashes him a quick grin, taking his palm in his. Jimin tries not to twitch at this cute kid, who is both devastatingly handsome and cute at the same time. He’s a little jealous, a little attracted. 

“Great, because Mr. Park is my dad. Jimin’s fine.” 

It’s then that Jimin’s phone lights up, both pairs of eyes darting to the picture of you decorating the wallpaper. 

While it’s not a completely flattering picture (you’re asleep with your wire-rimmed glasses half-off and there’s drool dribbling down your chin.) However it’s definitely you, the person Jungkook nearly killed a couple days ago.

Jungkook’s mouth goes dry, and he lets go of Jimin’s hand like it’s fire. Jimin hardly notices, grabbing his phone in hope that you replied to his text. To his despair, it’s just Taehyung. He ruffles his hair in frustration, letting the slick ebony strands fall out of his hairstyle.

“Fuck,” Jimin curses, shoving his phone in his blazer. 

“Everything alright?” Jungkook asks, trying to be polite. On the other hand, he’s rather curious about the girl from weeks ago, who still hasn’t left his mind. 

In the heat of the moment, Jungkook left the scene with you blubbering on the road. How wide your eyes were with recognition, and almost mother-like as you coddled him like someone to protect. He’s felt bad about it since, but he had an interview with Jimin’s boss and he couldn’t blow a job opportunity. It couldn’t be helped that your sad expression has been his midnight fixation when he can’t sleep or has a creative block. He should’ve at least called a cab to take you to the hospital or something, you were clearly not in the right mind. 

“Yeah, it’s just a friend.” Jimin forces a smile, not wanting to dump his baggage on the new employee. “She almost got hit by a motorcycle the other day,” Jungkook masks a wince, remembering the horror he felt when he saw you, just lying there across the street. “Ever since then, she just hasn’t been herself. I’m just worried. It’s like she’s seen a ghost or something.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook steals a glance at Jimin’s phone again, hoping to see your picture light up again. He does feel a little guilty pushing you off him and running away, but then again it was you that started being weird. 

How did you know him, and why were you so concerned for his well-being? Would he get fired if he asked Jimin about you? That would be the quickest job he ever got contracted for. Instead, Jungkook forces a smile and offers a neutral, “Well, I’m sure things will work out.” 

“Thanks, I hope so too.” 

Jungkook’s palms are sweaty, as if it’s a dark premonition that something will happen. With Jimin around supervising him, he has a feeling that if things don’t work out, things will happen regardless. 

Maybe he’ll understand why you were so concerned for a stranger’s well-being, and why you looked at him like that. 

Like someone in love. 

[threadsketchier]

So I saw the prequels prior to the Originals and it always bothered me how Luke got dumped on a death planet of Tatooine considering the state of that environment and shot that when down in the previous films while Leia got a life of privilege. I was hoping Bail would argue against splitting the twins. I obviously knew why it had to go that route because it had to align and follow up with the Originals. I guess it came off that Luke wasn’t really wanted...?

I already wrote a ficlet somewhat addressing this misconception.

Also, frankly, I’m getting kind of tired of rehashing the same issue - why do people keep assuming that the Larses don’t matter and don’t have a right to be in Luke’s life just because they live on Space Australia?  Why do their feelings not count just because they’re low-to-middle-class moisture farmers who don’t live in a palace on Space Switzerland-Utopia?  Why the fuck do people assume that Luke wasn’t wanted just because the Organas have a personal preference that was obviously previously established before shit hit the fans and they wanted a daughter and Bail, as a senator and Viceroy - essentially co-leader of his planet - is a fucking rational guy who understands the necessity of making hard decisions dictated by logic over emotions?

The twins weren’t just “split up because that’s how the movies have to go,” it does make internal sense within the narrative that it was safer to hide them in vastly separate locations to prevent both of them from being discovered at the same time and thus lost together, or for their latent Force bond to make them a psychic target if they grew up together and established it, acting like a beacon for Vader and Palpatine and any minions of theirs.  It sucks, it’s painful, it has awkward consequences for them later on when Leia’s a bit too loose with her lips, but that’s why these movies have a tragic backstory.  It has to suck real hard before it gets better.

Does it seem crazy that Leia wound up raised in such a screamingly obvious position as daughter of a then-Imperial Senator and princess of a highly prominent Core world being trained to follow in her biological mother’s footsteps and become a senator herself, thus occupying a very exposed role in the Empire, right under the Emperor’s and Vader’s noses?  Yeah.  But also remember that the Superman/Clark Kent illusion can actually work in real life.  Assumption is a powerful thing.  Your average Joe Citizen would assume that someone as otherworldly as Superman, an alien with the ability to fly, strength to bench-press skyscrapers and jumbo jets, heat vision, and other amazing things, would never stoop to living as a normal, humble, inconvenienced human being.  It’s not merely the hiding behind a pair of glasses and hunching over a little with a nerdy tone and habits - it’s the entire idea that a Clark Kent could even exist in the same person of Superman.  They don’t understand that he was raised as a human and actually desires this life, and doesn’t feel the need to lock himself away permanently in his dope Fortress of Solitude and never interact with the very people he wants to save and protect.

Vader was lied to by Palpatine about the nature of Padmé’s death, but there was no disputing that she actually died.  In his crushing despair, Vader accepted with heaps of self-flagellation that his child was dead.  He didn’t even know he had two children.  In his mind, whenever he saw Leia - surely they were in each other’s circles at least at a distance before Rogue One and ANH - even if she reminded him of Padmé six ways from Sunday, he would not assume she was his daughter, because as far as he was concerned his child was dead.  The OT establishes that latent Force-sensitivity also does not automatically make two related Force-sensitives consciously aware of each other until they mutually know one another as being related and Force-sensitive, so not even torturing Leia revealed this to him.

But I’m going off on a tangent.  Let’s break this down:

Tatooine is nothing but a source of anguish for Anakin and his personal loathing for the place made it ideal as a hiding place.  And no, I’m not just haha joking about sand.  He was a slave there and buried his mother there after slaughtering an entire village of natives he knew in his heart that he shouldn’t have.  It holds nothing but misery and failure for him.

Yes, Tatooine is abso-fucking-lutely a galactic cesspit.  It’s ruled by the most vile mob boss in the galaxy, is rife with nasty wildlife that’s out to kill you, and is haunted by the troubles brought about by strife between colonizers and the native population.  It is indisputably a dangerous place.  But it wasn’t Tatooine that killed the Larses.  It was the Empire.  Just because they look like Soft Folks™ doesn’t mean they were - Owen and Beru knew how to take care of themselves, and they certainly knew how to take care of a child in this environment.  They survived to middle age just fine, and would’ve kept going if it wasn’t for those fucking stormtroopers.  Just because they didn’t live a life of luxury also doesn’t mean they were dirt poor either.  When we meet Luke in ANH, he’s a healthy young lad who still has the privilege to fuck off with his buddies around his farm duties.  Life may be tough but it’s not squalor and deprivation for him.

But honestly, even if they WERE dirt poor, they’re still Luke’s family, and they very obviously loved him.  I almost feel like I shouldn’t have to restate it, but I will: Owen and Beru loved Shmi, and upon hearing that Anakin died and left behind a baby son, why wouldn’t they be moved and compelled to take Luke in, and why wouldn’t they deserve to have the chance to raise him in their memory?  Even though they’d be sad that Luke was orphaned, they might even see this as a blessing to be able to raise Shmi’s grandson and Anakin’s son.

As much as he bitched about chores as a teenager, Luke learned damn valuable skills growing up on a Tatooine moisture farm that, coupled with the Force, saved everybody’s asses at the Battle of Yavin, and went on to make him an ideal squadron leader.  Wealth and privilege are not always the best foundation, or at least certainly not the automatic one, for a person to learn good character either.

The Organas are human too.  Faced with a difficult choice, they decided to take this poignant opportunity to fulfill a dream they’d been deferring for some time.  Sometimes parents wish for a specific child, and that’s their prerogative (except IRL they don’t actually get to pick, they get whatever kid they gestate).  If they’d taken Luke and let Obi-Wan take Leia, we’d be having the same argument about Leia growing up on Tatooine.  There was no inequality in this decision.  Bail and Breha wanted a daughter, there was a daughter present among the twins, so they chose her.  This does not mean they valued Luke any less.  Since the twins couldn’t be raised together for their own safety, it might as well have come down to a coin toss.  Bail isn’t evil for exercising a shred of his personal emotions and desires in a situation where he otherwise knew he’d have to restrain himself.  Also, he’d be smart enough to respect the fact that both children had actual family elsewhere in the galaxy and wouldn’t think any less of the Larses just because they live on Tatooine.  The only way his decision would be careless or heinous was if he knew Luke was being taken to people who were abusive or so destitute they couldn’t even care for themselves, much less a third person, and he did nothing about it - but we know this is not that situation.

How do you feel about non-wealthy people living in harsh places here on Earth raising their children?  Would you expect all the rich people in the world to go take those children away from them and adopt them just so they could grow up “privileged” instead?  Think about how that sounds for a moment or two.

Honestly, if Bail had tried to argue about taking both twins because he felt taking Luke to his legal family on Tatooine was “cruel” or “neglectful” because of the planet’s “risky environment and poverty,” I’d hope either Obi-Wan or Yoda would have enough sense to smack him upside the head for being so thoughtless as to insult these people for being seemingly beneath him.

There is more to life than money and power/prestige, and Leia’s upbringing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.  She was no pampered, air-headed royal spending her days sitting idle being hand-fed space grapes while her “poor” brother ate sand cookies.  She had to undergo intensive academic, political, and physical training from young childhood in order to prepare her to become a covert Rebel agent while she was still a teenager, as if being a child senator wasn’t already stressful and demanding enough.  Sure, she never lacked for anything, but that is an incredible amount of responsibility to saddle on someone who wasn’t even an adult yet (like her bio mother).  Luke was blessed with far more freedom and peace in his childhood than his sister.  And him living on Tatooine with his father’s surname wasn’t nearly as dangerous as Leia existing within the heart of the Empire while actively engaging in Rebel activities that could have cost her her life, even without getting into the whole “daughter of Anakin Skywalker” business.

Also, just because we joke about Tatooine being Space Australia doesn’t mean every single day of Luke’s childhood was THAT eventful.  It was more likely 80% dull farm life and 20% mayhem, and that 20% would be mostly Luke’s fault for being a crazy nut like his parents and getting himself into trouble he could have avoided in most cases.  In other words, growing up there might not have been nearly as “deadly” as we make it out to be.

[hexhealed]

          ˗ ˏ ˋ ( kristine froseth, twenty-one, cis woman, she / her ) — is that ANDROMEDA BLACK just saw in the courtyard? i hear they’re a SLYTHERIN, returning for their SIXTH school year, but something more juicy is them being ENTERPRISING & THOUGHTFUL as well as DETACHED & CONFLICTED. if you want some more details on them, i guess i could tell you that they’re PUREBLOOD, and from the rumors i heard, they’re currently allying with THE NEUTRALS. personally, i think they remind of: solemn family portraits lining a darkened hall, puppet pulling at her strings, archaic tomes precariously stacked, aristocratic nose to the grindstone, the sweet sting of venom, honey, & healing. but that might be just me. — ( kit, she / they, 23 ) ˎˊ ˗  

TW — unhealthy family dynamics, emotional abuse / neglect, v. vague allusions to mental health issues. 

basics ,

full name.  andromeda cygnella black. known as.  andromeda, andie. age / date of birth.  twenty-one / april 2nd, 1960. year.  sixth year. blood status.  pureblood. house.  slytherin. alliance.  neutral. gender / pronouns.  cis woman, she / her. orientation.  bisexual, biromantic, grey-ace. extracurriculars.  chaser for the slytherin quidditch team; member of the herbology, potions, slug, and occamy dueling clubs; hospital wing volunteer. additional stats.  click here.

early life , 

andromeda is born a mere few months after bellatrix, and is instantly her mother’s darling. for a long time, she doesn’t question — doesn’t even truly comprehend — the way her mother favors her, desperate as she is for her parents’ approval. they are exacting, demanding, withholding; they praise one daughter or another, it seems, only to shame the other two in their failures. 

andie takes what she can get, where she can get it, for as long as she can, letting her parents pit her against her sisters in a constant battle for attention, affection, and approval. but it’s a battle she starts to lose, middle child that she is. despite all andromeda’s efforts, it seems being perfect comes as naturally as breathing to little narcissa, and druella redirects her favoritism towards her youngest daughter. and while bella is at a disadvantage, she makes up for it in sheer willpower; she turns herself into their father’s perfect slytherin heir, what andie was supposed to be. ( note, of course, that this is how andie experiences this; the truth is that each sister was of course neglected and traumatized in their own way ! )

for most of her early childhood, andie doesn’t really question the world she lives in; doesn’t think too hard about the wealth, the blood purity, the high society circles in which her family moves. it is as natural as the air around her. yet she manages nonetheless to ruffle feathers, draw suspicion. at age six she questions innocently why uncle marius has been cursed from the family tree; the answer horrifies her, though she tries to hide it, saying nothing and staying up late at night wondering if her parents would ever disown her for something like that. 

( ..... will probably add some more once i’ve sorted some more black sisters plots ? )

she really enjoys quidditch and plays whenever she can find an opponent ( bella doesn’t care for the sport, and lets her know as much. ) it’s not a ladylike pursuit, her mother reminds her, but at least her father approves. at first, it’s only the children of her parents’ friends, all pureblood, all high-society, but as one by one they start going off to hogwarts, andie needs to find herself new friends. this is how she takes her first steps out of her ignorance, more interested in finding playmates than purebloods; but the common little muggleborn derisions that are the black family bread and butter do not do well among her new friends, and she starts realizing for the first time the unkindness of her family’s beliefs.

this is where the split starts, between andie and andromeda black, because whatever she is, she must be hidden; she leaves the façade of andromeda standing as she carefully slips out from behind it, and no one is much the wiser. 

hogwarts ,

to finally go to hogwarts is a relief for andie. it offers an escape out of the stifling environment and the constant disapproval of her parents; at the same time, though, it gives her every opportunity to impress them. and she still wants to, especially following in bella’s footsteps; she’s always admired her older sister, always wanted to be just as clever, just as talented, just as capable. it’s this burning desire to be valued that has the sorting hat deciding, after just a few moments, to place her in slytherin.

and so without realizing she slips back, subsumed once more into pureblood ideology, so much stronger when impressed by her peers; it’s much easier to dismiss her parents as outdated, and keep her mouth shut, than it is to disagree with the cool upper years, especially when they are conspicuously nice to her.

as time passes, though, she slowly becomes something else other than bella’s little sister, expanding her horizons at last somewhat. she excels academically, as is expected of her — cygnus and druella would not suffer their children to enter school unprepared — and joins the potions and herbology clubs, spending less and less time in the slytherin common room. hoping to play quidditch, she tries out her first year but fails; in her second year, she secures a spot as a chaser.

her year three electives become something of a bone of contention over the preceding summer; alongside arithmancy, andie signs up for muggle studies. her family disapproves. she has to assure them it’s a purely academic pursuit, that she’s only curious but never sympathetic — and she doubts whether they’re convinced. 

she’s still trying to be and seem apolitical, trying to toe the line, but with each passing year she finds it less and less sustainable. once, she might have been ignorant, simply might not have known better; now, she knows better, and she’s just a coward. at this point she can see straight through her family’s pureblood supremacy. but then, as much as it turns her stomach, they are her family. she loves them. and more than that, she fears them.

so to assuage her guilt andie simply overworks herself. ( can’t feel guilty if you’re too tired ! ) between club meetings, quidditch practices, and homework, she’s overworked as it is, but when her potions professor approaches and suggests, given her skill, she may be helpful to madam pomfrey in the hospital wing, she cannot refuse. it’s simple work, preparing ingredients, cleaning, changing sheets, but she finds it oddly rewarding. 

in her o.w.l. consultations, andromeda decides to pursue healing; she’s fascinated by magical medicine, and fantasizes about doing research and experimental magic, about pushing boundaries. but her parents would be happier if she simply said she wanted to be a st. mungo’s healer, so that’s what she says. the christmas holidays in her fifth year are the first holidays she chooses to stay at hogwarts; she tells her parents she simply must, that between her clubs, quidditch, and o.w.l.s she’s much too busy for a holiday. truth is, she simply dreads spending two weeks alone with her family.

she excels at her o.w.l.s, but it doesn’t leave her feeling proud, just relieved that she won’t have to face her parents empty-handed. the idea of spending all summer back in her family home is torturous, but thankfully she doesn’t have to; her parents pull some strings, talk to some old family friends and secure her an internship at st. mungo’s over the summer. she expresses her gratitude politely to them, and her relief to her friends in cautious letters, and stays in a room in the city for nearly the whole summer. 

personality , hcs , etc. ,

got the nickname andie at hogwarts; her family has always called her by her full name. her parents seemed unreasonably upset with her about it — something about throwing away family tradition, not honoring their wishes for her, and other nonsense.

loves to throw herself into her responsibilities, hobbies, and interests as a way of avoiding inner turmoil; has a strong problem-solving impulse that gets way worse whenever she has bigger, unsolvable problems.

speaking of, she loves herbology, catch her in the greenhouses most days of the week. she loves the smell, the warmth, the dirt beneath her nails, the way the rest of the school grounds outside feel so distant behind the glass. the greenhouses are her church and sanctuary.

monstrously overworked and definitely verging on a burnout; between school, quidditch, career thoughts, the impending war, volunteer work, and sorting through some deep-seated personal issues.

might be the nicest black sister, but that’s not really a high bar to clear. though she carries a lot of guilt and tries to resolve that by doing good work, keeping her head down and not being explicitly hateful, she’s not exactly kind. she’s a bit of a know-it-all and loves to argue with people, can be really condescending, lashes out when she’s feeling insecure, and can hold a grudge like nobody’s business.

very much enjoys muggle music, after it was shared with her by friends. she named her owl ziggy after ziggy stardust, knowing full well that her parents wouldn’t have the faintest clue what it meant. 

plots , 

just wanted to say first of all that i love plotting, hc’ing, brainstorming, etc. so please hit me up ! if nothing here works i’m super happy to think of something else. also, every single one of these is open to all genders unless specified ! i also especially love plotting based on other connections ( i.e. muse a and muse b are friends, muse b and muse c are exes, therefore muse a and muse c do not get along, or smth ) idk i just have a lot of ideas !

friends.   this could go a lot of ways ! very importantly, andie doesn’t pick her friends for their politics; they could be death eaters, order members, or neutral. more important is their ability to put up with andie’s nonsense. that being said alliances would definitely play a part in how they interact, etc. ofc.

unofficial engagement.  a betrothal is a bit archaic, andie’s made clear in so many words. her parents and this muse’s parents, rather than putting their foot down and making demands, are quite cunning in their attempt to play matchmaker. they invite each other and their family to dinners, ask after them in every letter, and never pass up an opportunity to throw the pair of them together. would definitely be a pureblood, ‘respectable’ and probably but not necessarily a slytherin ! how the two of them feel about it is also very open-ended — enemies, slow-burn, fake dating, friendship, i’m happy with anything !

exes.  give me a bunch of these ! there’s so many options for this. their first little ‘relationship’ that maybe lasted only a few months, going on their first lil hogmeade dates together ? first loves making plans to visit each other over summers ? some hookup that one of them thought was much more serious than the other ? something a lil star-crossed & pushed apart by families ? an ex andie unceremoniously dumped last year to focus on her studies ? exes who are good friends, exes who hate each other, exes who are so embarrassed to have dated each other they pretend nothing ever happened, just. any of them. pls.

crushes / flirtationships.  all the crushes ! an youthful crush that she swears she’s gotten over but she still gets flustered whenever they talk to her; someone who’s interested in her, but whom she has less than zero interest in ( or, alternatively, is pretending to have no interest in ); mutual crushes but they’re both convinced the other person hates them or is out of their league; mutual crushes but they’re also constantly bickering and everyone thinks they’ve already been married forty years; bad crushes that she feels bad about for whatever reason ( they are death eaters, or seeing someone else, or a rival in some way, idk ), etc. etc.

childhood friends.  lots of options here too; high society pureblood kids her parents approved of, but also any halfbloods in and around london who are into quidditch, and would play with andie ?

study buddy.  andie’s a big nerd. give her some friends to study with ? someone who won’t give her a weird look when she threatens to hex chatty first years in the library. they can ask each other questions and help with charms practice and share their hopes, dreams, and aspirations ! definitely made a pact last year to get x amount of o.w.l.s. should be in sixth year, but doesn’t necessarily need to be an overachieving nerd like andie.

potions partner.  fairly self-explanatory; they’re adjacent to a study buddy but work together pretty much exclusively in potions class. this would ideally be one of two types: either they’re also very, very good at potions and they’ve partnered together to make sure they both get top marks each class, or alternatively, this is someone who struggles with potions and who was partnered with andie, either against her will ( thanks slughorn ) or out of the ( unlikely ) kindness of her heart, and she helps them get up to speed.

academic rival.  the opposite of a study buddy. study enemy ? should also be a sixth year so that they share classes with andromeda. they’re both overachieving students and will stare daggers at each other in class whenever the other person raises their hand. andie feels very threatened and definitely lets her insecurity get the best of her in this dynamic.

quidditch rival.  is there anything better than a sports rivalry ? no ! this could be anywhere from a friendly bantering rivalry to a full on, hate-your-guts, will hex you on the pitch if i can rivalry ? could be simply because of their teams, because they have issues off the field, or because they accidentally ran head-on into each other in their first match and now can’t let it go ? just think this could be fun !

frienemies.  okay, hear me out. gimme a buddy for andie where their entire friendship essentially revolves around gently verbally abusing each other — or at least, that’s andie’s side because she’s a great big bully ! but if they’re ever in trouble or getting shit from anyone she will drop anything and go fight. someone she probably really adores but will only begrudgingly admit to. mostly she calls ‘em names.

petty enemies.  so, i know it’s stupid to hold onto old grudges when there’s a literal war on the horizon, but andie ? andie does not. she’s really pettier than that. would love for this to be someone who she just really butted heads with in her earlier hogwarts years and they’ve both just never gotten over it. they’re very petty and don’t even really remember why they don’t like each other but are they gonna get over it now ? heck no.

true enemies.  not petty, not somewhat friendly, not a rivalry but a true and burning hatred. just. give it to meeeeeee. this could be a muse with strong political opinions who really hates where andie stands & isn’t afraid to say so, but could also just be more personal; maybe andie did something ? i’m very okay with her being the bad guy here too.

confidant.  andie has a lot going on that she doesn’t/can’t really talk to other people about; maybe this muse is just a very good listener, or maybe they have their own deep dark secrets ? either way, they can tell each other things very few others are privy to.

patients.  might be a bit of a stretch of the definition since right now andie’s not a medical professional any more than a candy striper might be, but has your muse been injured at any point in the past year/year and a half or so ? it’s possible that you might be entitled to some compensation for them having to put up with andie being annoying as hell during their hospital wing stay.

[asuccessfulbusinessman]

So, I’m reading Metagaming (Boluk & Lemieux, 2017), and while it’s going to take me awhile to get through it all at my leisurely pace due to needing to jumpstart the part of my brain that can handle academics and thus I’m not confident in making any conclusions about the main thrust of the book just yet - Boluk and Lemieux do something very interesting that I am having a lot of trouble trying to elaborate on in this very post so maybe I know even less than what I thought.

So, you know, grain of salt.

In the introduction, the utopian idea of a “magic circle” of play - where play serves no purpose - is brought up to be shot down, and then tied to the videogame industry’s success in reducing "play as pure possibility to a class of consumer goods.” This goes down easily enough, especially once counter examples to the magic circle are brought up and describing what games have that videogames lack. It looks to build up to the idea of videogames as not games in themselves, but as equipment to make metagames - and thus the magic circle is instead a messy circle.

...Maybe it’s hard to summarize because the introduction was crafted as densely (affectionate) as possible. But anyway, the introduction soon ends, and I’m off to chapter 6 - because I thought this was one of those books that each chapter tackled a different subject and while that is true they build up on concepts from previous chapters (though thankfully they point me back to the chapter the concept is introduced).

During chapter 6, Boulk & Lemieux make a concession - that when they began to write Metagaming they thought that a naïve belief in the magic circle was a strawman - could there really be people out there that argue for video games as a magic circle?

Chapter 6′s subtitle is “Feminist Spoilsports and Magic Circle Jerks.” 

The “spoilsport” - who trespasses against the rules or ignores them, is contrasted with the “cheat” - the false player. While hackers, modders, speedrunners, pro gamers, traders, and farmers may fall under the category of cheat at times, they do not stray far from the established “ideological avatar of play,” nor do they threaten the magic circle, at least on the surface. The spoilsport, in contrast, punctures the magic circle and is afforded much less leniency. 

There will be no points for guessing who chapter 6 discusses to illustrate this point, but I will present a more recent example myself - mostly to help me wrap my head around all this. 

For years, James Stephanie Sterling has been exposing microtransactions - among other things - as what they are, and crying foul. And for those years, they experienced success for doing so. This is because, I think, at that point they fell in nicely with the common gamer metagame - complaining about microtransactions without actually doing anything about it. But as soon as they started emphasizing that something should be done about their inclusion and that the companies are culpable for them, and starting more closely resembling the “feminist spoilsport,” they began to be seen as threatening magic circle. Presenting the videogame as simply a product - and not a class all its own, shatters its illusion. 

I’ve seen that “consume product” meme before - but I thought it was just the companies pushing it. This helps put into perspective that Gamers(TM) also want to embrace the ideals that were so easily shot down in the introduction - and that anything that threatens to shatter that fragile illusion is the enemy.

No conclusions or even narrative thrust here but I wanted to write this to help wrap my head around this and will come back to this later if anything else interesting pops up.

[kim-lexie]

do do sol sol la la sol.

overview.

this drama follows the story of our tragic ra-ra who is currently in a mess, when her fiance runs from the alter and her father unexpectedly passes away, she is scammed out of her money and finds herself in eunpo, a town full of lovely characters who come to surround her. as well as our man jun, who is ra-ra's knight in shining armor. i love it. it's great. their story is funny and lighthearted. i would rate it a 10 out of 10; however, that finale had me balling my eyes out and i felt oh so betrayed.

this was a fabulous drama. each and every week i was waiting for the next episode. thank you to our beautiful man, lee jae wook, for interesting me to watch this. go ara did a beautiful job and i loved her as this carefree character. jun was such a great stoic character and we were able to peel back all his layers and i loved that he showed rara a different side of him. they were so lovely together.

*spoiler alert*

goo ra-ra. this girl was our carefree gem. at the start it was more of oblivious as she lived a very sheltered life, one in which she was always supported by her father. she was his darling. when he suddenly passed away our girl was left abandoned. this was tragic and she only had mimi by her side. she got herself together, after being abandoned at the alter only to be scammed. the definition of tragic for our leading lady. then we run into our knight in shining armor as she was trying to meet mr. dodosolsollalasol. (very sketch but we live in dramaland and it’s totally normal)

sunwoo jun. his character is stoic and quiet, reserved. never ventures outside, stays quiet as we later find to stay hidden from his family. but when ra-ra enters she seems to open him up. he ends up helping her financially after she runs into him on his bike, and she is injured. logic is nonexistent at this moment (we later find that he knew her previously but she forgot about him...) but he nevertheless, helps a girl out and this brings us to the wonderful people of this town, eunpo.

jun takes her back to his home because our girl is homeless. and introduces us to the fabulous crew in eunpo. now they’re not about to let this new girl into their circle. however, she quickly makes her way with her sweet oblivious nature. i loved jin sook-kyeong, with her hilarious nature, the owner of the hairdresser next door to where jun was staying. and her daughter jin ha-young. it was so funny how ha-young transformed from being obsessed with jun to finally seeing that her best friend lee seung-ki had feelings for her all along! literally the cutest progression of friendship to romance. and i loved that we got to see them in the end after a few years with a family of their own. 

i loved the little crew that they formed with ra-ra, jun, dr. cha, seung-ki, and ha-young. they were precious. how everyone would gather at jun’s workplace and eat dinner together. i loved how they all brought out different aspects of the other’s personalities. 

the ladies that all meet at the hair salon provide so much aid to ra-ra and i love how they all gather around her in support of her dreams from opening her own piano academy ‘la la land’, to wanting to find mr. dodosolsollalasol. they all rally around her. 

now ra-ra needs to earn her keep and pay back jun. la la land was a dream that came out of her wanting to continue to pursue music after her impact on mr. kim, an older fellow in the community who recently lost his wife.  (side note: i loved the episode where jun played mr. kim and ra-ra his late wife in recreating their love story. it was precious, and my heart was sooo full). this venture to start lalaland leads her to a prodigy student, jae-min. this precious bean goes on to do great things!! i also loved the moments when jun and ra-ra would come together after their long days and she would play the piano and jun would tidy up the space. they were cute and supportive of one another.

i cannot forget about our doctor cha eun-seok. this man seemingly followed ra-ra to eunpo. he wanted to escape seoul and start fresh in eunpo. he seemingly pursues her briefly but ra-ra already has feelings for jun. but he is a constant in her life, always there to be supportive of her dreams, and be there as a shoulder to cry on especially at the end. 

now on to the tea. as it turns jun has been on the run from his family. which turns out to be sunwoo group, the owner of the main hospital in seoul. and turns out jun isn’t an oppa, he is a senior in high school. he ran away after his family’s pressure became too much. they were unsupportive of him in his academic pursuits, as well as neglected his feelings of grief after his best friend ji-hun passed away in front of his eyes. but min-su the owner of the agency sent to track jun down comes and notifies his mother. and everything blows up. and we find out all about this and it shocks everyone in eunpo. especially our ra-ra. 

jun of course is dragged back to seoul to be essentially in lock down to study, but he misses everyone in eunpo especially his ra-ra. they seemingly go back to a somewhat normal life. jun in seoul studying, and ra-ra pursuing her career as a piano teacher. but our sweet beans seung-ki and ha-young decide to open a wedding business and use ra-ra and eun-seok as their first trial wedding. jun sees this post on social media and runs to eunpo, stealing the bride at the alter and running away with her. it was quite the ending to the episode. i was floored. like noooo way would she marry dr. cha. she still loves jun! and of course she did. 

nevertheless, jun still needs to finish school and then after the exams they decide they can meet again. but in the interim jun comes to find that he has leukemia. here is where it gets ohhh so soapy. he doesn’t want ra-ra to see him like this so he uses min-su, as he was investigating how jun was, to his advantage. he has his friend from school stand in as his ‘girlfriend’ to prove that he has moved on from ra-ra. it was devastating. because how she has truly realized how important jun was in her life and that she wanted to be with him. 

among all of this ra-ra comes to find that mr. dodosolsollalasol was not mr. kim but rather jun all along! she walks by a cafe of the same name and it all comes flooding back. they met prior to her piano recital, jun bought her a drink from the cafe because she lost her wallet. and it all comes full circle. she had to leave before he could come back after a phone call. jun sees the message she wrote to mr. dodosolsollalasol, and comes to see her one last time before going off to treatment. but they keep in touch via messaging and phone calls. he even does a virtual piano recital with them on christmas eve. it was precious.

and you think all is well. he will come back after treatment, and they can be together. well you thought. if you asked me at this point what i would rate this drama, a 10 out of 10. but these last two episodes threw me. his mother returns and basically says that jun is dead. everyone in eunpo thinks this man is dead. years....i say YEARS later ra-ra is playing her little song she played whenever jun would come home from work, and homeboy decides to waltz in the door. what the even?! at least they end up together, but i was still at a loss as to why he lied. it was so uncharacteristic of him. quite disappointed in the writers’ choices here. 

honestly, when i look back i still recall fond memories of this drama, but the last two episodes were soooo sour. but lee jae wook was in it and he got the girl in the end so i guess that makes up for the deducted points due to the nonsense. so it is still a 10 out of 10 in my book. i would highly recommend this one. it was a gem. 

[the-everqueen]

why i disliked “the traitor baru cormorant”

so...recently i read Seth Dickinson’s The Traitor Baru Cormorant. i bought it thinking, Cool, an insightful fantasy series for me to get into while i wait to hear whether i passed my qualifying exams! i have some time before the semester starts! 

and then i absolutely hated it and spent every minute cataloguing what i thought Dickinson got wrong.

...uh, if you want to get the tl;dr of the liveblog i gave the gf, here’s the top three reasons i disliked this book:

1) not a fan of the “strong female character” trope

yes, Baru doesn’t sling around a sword or shoot arrows better than Anyone In The Whole World. but Dickinson IMMEDIATELY tells us (not shows, tells) that she’s good at math, she’s clever at picking apart strategic scenarios, she’s a savant. (tbh, i don’t love how he shows this, either, with the standard child-prodigy-who-catches-the-attention-of-a-powerful-adult trope.) in Dickinson’s crafted world, her math skills aren’t entirely unusual: women (for...some reason?) are stereotyped as being good at calculations, despite also being aligned with hysteria and too many emotions. this bothers me more than it’s probably supposed to, because the sexism in this novel doesn’t really seem to follow an internal logic. i guess it’s so we can have a woman as the protagonist? also...hoo boy...her “savant” characterization bothers me because...she’s heavily coded as South East Asian (...maaaybe Philippines or Native Hawaii, but as i’ll get to later, Dickinson doesn’t make a huge distinction). uh...model minority stereotypes anyone? yes, within the text, plenty of people associated with the Empire comment that it’s impressive someone of her background got into a position of power so young. at the same time, i’m sure that sounds familiar to so many Asian-identified people! the constant tightrope of being expected to perform to a certain (white, Western) standard while also being Othered. mostly this bothers me because Baru is also characterized as...a sellout for the Empire. sure, her stated goal is to undo the Empire from within, but [MAJOR SPOILERS] in the end it appears that her actual goal was to attain enough power that the Empire would let her be a benevolent dictator over her home island? and it’s only after a major PERSONAL betrayal that she revises this plan? [END SPOILERS] Baru also assimilates without much pain or sacrifice. she hardly ever thinks about her parents or her childhood home. she willingly strips herself of cultural signifiers and adapts to Empire norms (apart from being a closeted lesbian, which...yeah, i’ll get to that, too). and it’s not that Dickinson doesn’t TRY to make her a nuanced character, but...to me, it feels so painfully obvious that this is not his experience. it feels almost...voyeuristic. 

...much like his descriptions of wlw desire!

2) we get it, you read Foucault

the categories of sexual deviance are based entirely on a Western Victorian-era medical discourse around non-heterosexual forms of desire, but Dickinson ignores the network of sociocultural, religious, and historical contexts that contributed to that specific kind of discourse. he uses the terms “tribadism” and “sodomy” but those ideas CANNOT EXIST outside a Euro-American Christian context. yes, a huge part of the 19th century involved the pathologization of sexual and romantic desire (or lack thereof). but that in turn goes back to a history of medicine that relied on the “scientific method” as a means of studying and dissecting the human body--and that method in itself is a product of Enlightenment thinking. Theorist Sylvia Wynter (whomst everyone should read, imho) discusses how the Enlightenment attempted to make the Human (represented by a cisgender, heteronormative, white man) an agent of the State economy. every categorization of so-called deviance goes back to white supremacist attempts to define themselves as ‘human’ against a nonwhite, non-Christian Other. and IN TURN that was ultimately founded on anti-Black, anti-Indigenous racism. at this point it’s a meme in academic circles to mention Foucault, because so many scholars don’t go any further in engaging with his ideas or acknowledge their limits. but SERIOUSLY. Dickinson crafts the Masquerade as this psuedo-scientific empire that’s furthering erasure of native cultures, but...where did these ideas come from? who created them? what was the justification that gave them power? [MINOR SPOILER] blaming the Empire’s ideology on a handful of people behind the Mask who crafted this entire system makes me...uncomfortable, to say the least. part of what gives imperialism its power is that a lot of ordinary people buy in to its ideas, because it aligns with dominant belief systems or gives them some sense of advantage. 

also speaking of cultural erasure...

3) culture is more than set dressing

again, to reiterate: Baru does NOT think back to her childhood home for longer than a couple passing sentences at various points in the narrative. but even though the early chapters literally take place on her home island, i don’t get a sense of...lived experience. this is true of ALL of the fantasy analogues Dickinson has created in his Empire. i felt uncomfortably aware of the real world counterparts that Dickinson was drawing inspiration from. at the same time...there are basically no details to really breathe life into these various fantasy cultures. i HATE the trope of “fantasy Asia” or “fantasy Africa” or “fantasy Middle East” that’s rampant among white male sff writers. Dickinson does not get points from me for basically just expanding that to “fantasy South East Asia,” “fantasy Mongolia,” “fantasy South America,” and... “fantasy Africa,” plus some European cultures crammed in there. he’s VERY OBVIOUSLY drawing on those languages for names, but otherwise there’s no real sense of their religious practices, the nuances of their cultures, the differences between those cultures (besides physiological, which...oh god). part of that is probably supposed to be justified by “well, the Empire just erased it!!!” but that’s not an excuse imho. 

also...in making the Empire the ultimate signifier of the evils of imperialism...Dickinson kind of leans into the “noble savage” stereotype. Baru’s home island is portrayed as this idyllic environment where no one is shamed for who they love and gender doesn’t determine destiny and there are no major conflicts. (there is a minor nod to some infighting, but this is mostly a “weakness” that the Masquerade uses as an excuse to obliterate a whole tribe.) Dickinson justifies young Baru’s immediate assimilation as her attempt to figure out the Masquerade’s power from within, but given that the Masquerade presumably killed one of her dads and her mom maybe advocates a guerilla resistance...it’s weird that Baru basically abandons her family without a second thought. yeah, i get that she’s a kid when the Masquerade takes over the island, but...that’s still a hugely traumatic experience! the layers of trauma and conditioning and violence that go into this level of colonization are almost entirely externalized. 

(later it’s implied that Baru might qualify as a psychopath, and tbh that feels like an excuse for why we haven’t gotten any sense of her inner world, not to mention kind of offensive.) 

this isn’t exhaustive but...

it’s not that i don’t think white people shouldn’t ever address POC experiences in their books. just...if your entire trilogy is going to revolve around IMPERIALISM IS BAD, ACTUALLY, maybe you should contribute to the discourse that Black, Brown, and Indigenous authors have already done. reading this book made me so, so angry. i did not feel represented! i felt like i was being talked down to, both on a critical theory level AND on a craft level. there are SO MANY books by actual BIPOC and minority authors that have done this better. N.K. Jemisin’s Broken Earth Trilogy and her current Cities series. Nnedi Okorafor’s Binti trilogy. Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House remains one of the more powerful novels i’ve read on how The System Is Out To Destroy You, That Is The Point. (Bardugo is non-practicing Spanish and Moroccan Jewish on one side of her family, and her character Alex is mixed and comes from a Jewish background!) 

...

there’s not really a point to this. i get a lot of people have raved about this book. good for them. if that’s you, no judgment. i’m not trying to argue IF YOU LIKED THIS YOU ARE PROBLEMATIC. i’m just kind of enraged that a white dude wrote about a Brown lesbian under a colonial empire and that THIS Brown lesbian under a colonial empire couldn’t even get behind the representation. also kind of annoyed that it’s the Empire of Masks and Dickinson either hasn’t read Fanon or didn’t see fit to slip in a Fanon reference, which like. missed opportunity. 

[onmykneesforhotdilfs]

💫 Dance with the devil 💫

She forgave him.

At first, even she didn't know why. Perhaps him being the only survivor of Domino besides herself at a time played a vital role. But they weren't alone anymore. She could have gotten rid of him when the battle was over. That was, at a time, a term she agreed on. He helped her restore Domino and then he leaves magic universe forever.

He helped them during battle with the Ancestrals. When everyone else had succumbed to the darkness and their worst fears, he was the only one left standing besides herself. The witches tried manipulating him, but somehow his sheer will not to be under their control, not to be their pawn was enough to keep him sane when she needed him the most. He proved himself to be a redeemed man, he was no longer power hungry megalomaniac that not so long ago managed to shake the entire magic universe enough to have kings, queens and officials of all planets in the said universe trembling in fear.

Oritel and Miriam were not thrilled when they saw him after exiting the portal from Obsidian. She could see, even now, 17 years later, the underlying fear in their eyes when they first laid their gaze on him. Her mother clung to her husband and Oritel put a protective hand on her waist while he simultaneously pushed her slightly behind himself. But Valtor made no move to do anything, instead he, on the sheer surprise of everyone and especially Bloom, strode towards the king and queen and then proceeded to kneel in front of them with his head bowed. He asked for forgiveness, which was something that caused even her sister's spirit to turn to Bloom with surprise written clearly across her translucent face.

At first, her parent were reluctant, but as the time flew by and Valtor remained docile and calm, little by little they started warming up to him. He still had passion for magic, however. That was clear to everyone, but as he made no move to take anything by force and instead he asked, quite nicely, to study the magic that was of interest to him, people started relaxing around him.

The girls, Winx themselves, learned to accept his company. Stella and Flora were the first to accept the wizard into their circle of friends. Layla, unsurprisingly, had the most difficult time adapting to the change, which was understandable and even something Valtor himself understood. He was the one that nearly caused the destruction of her whole planet, so he couldn't exactly blame the girl for not wanting to be his friend. But with time, even Layla adapted and Bloom could see a subtle changes in her behaviour, how she would sometimes sit next to him and even hit his shoulder when he made a joke. They even bonded over their love for exercise, something Bloom wouldn't have guessed in a million years, but it shouldn't have come as a surprise because Valtor was built. They often went on morning jogs near the Alfea.

He bonded with Techna thanks to their knowledge of technology. That raised a lot if eyebrows among the members of the Winx club because they all assumed Valtor was a bit of a, well, technophobe. Boy were they surprised.

He didn't have too much in common with Musa, but you could find them discussing certain genres of music form time to time.

Besides Bloom, he got along the best with, surprisingly, Stella. The fairy of shining sun and moon was the first to accept him, so she took the initiative to 'bring him out of his shell' as Stella had put it. Valtor never considered himself shy, but as he spent some time with the Solarian fairy he realized that, at least compared to her, he was a total introvert. Bloom once got a shock of her life when she entered their dorm and she found Valtor sitting in front of the couch, his back in between Stella's legs, while Stella was sitting on the couch braiding his hair. Both Bloom and the duo on the couch froze and their wide eyes darted between each other until Valtor broke the silence.

"Not a word." His voice was calm but it spoke volumes.

Bloom shook her head. "Trust me, even if I told someone, they wouldn't believe me." With a smirk thrown their way, she entered her room and left them to their business.

With Flora, he chose to spend quiet evening drinking tea. Valtor had to admit, even though the nature fairy was quiet and shy in nature, she mad an excellent tea. Bloom often joined then and the three sipped their tea in silence.

Now, Valtor had an interesting relationship with Bloom. Number one enemies, turned allies, turned friends. It was a rocky relationship, but their bond was the strongest out of them all. The dragon fire had something to do with it too, but it was mostly just the two of them. The air sometimes turned awkward, but that was mostly due to one of them entering a new territory. And there was this one time he walked in on her while she was in the shower... Funny story.

He just returned from his morning run with Layla earlier than expected. He wanted to get his hands on a spell book he recieved from Faragonda per his request. His relationship with the headmistress was still rocky, but they managed. She was polite enough to grant him access when he asked nicely and Valtor was polite enough as long as it got him what he wanted. He was good now, but that didn't mean he had abandoned his manipulative ways completley when he wanted something.

He shed his shirt, a green short sleeved number - courtesy of Stella - and entered the bathroom. The shriek brought him back to ground and when he looked up he got an eyeful of toned pale flesh and red hair. His eyes ran over the curves of her breast and hips before descending to eye those long legs. Bloom shrieked once again.

"OH MY GOD! GET OUT! WHY ARE YOU STILL STANDING THERE?!" Valtor shook himself and muttered a curse and apology, before running out of the bathroom. He leaned against the wall, Bloom's naked body still vividly painted in front of his eyes, breathing heavily and trying to stop the unwanted reaction his traitorous body wanted to conjure. He slammed his head into the wall, pain blurring his vision, before sliding down the wall to rest on the floor.

When Bloom got out of the shower, she was dressed and Valtor had moved to the couch. She slid in next to him and looked at him. His head was resting in his hands that were propped on his knees, his eyes obviously trying to avoid hers and was that blush on his cheeks?

"I'm sorry." His voice was so small that Bloom wondered if it actually came from the big bad wizard that had the ambition to become the biggest magic sorcerer in the entire magic universe.

She laughed and squeezed his knee. "It's ok. It happens."

His eyes caught hers. "I messed it up didn't I?"

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He sighed and his shoulders slumped. He looked like he was holding the weight of an entire universe at his shoulders. She felt sorry for him. "I made it awkward again."

At this she had to laugh again. Valtor was having a morality crisis. Just because he saw her naked. Well ok, he ogled a bit, but what's the harm? He didn't try anything. "Don't worry about it. We are good." She assured him.

She saw his shoulders relax and his mood lifted. He looked her in the eyes this time when he spoke. "Alright, if you say so princess. Mind if I take a shower now?"

She laughed. "Go ahead."

He got up, bent down to retrieve his shirt, which Bloom only now noticed he wasn't wearing and made a bee line to the bathroom. He stopped at the doorway and turned to her, cheeky look on his face and a mean glint in his eyes. "You know, now that I've seen you naked, it's only fair for me to return the favour."

Bloom went bright red and she flung a pillow in his direction. It never reached it's target, but his laugh could have been heard on the next planet.

Aside from that, there were no other major incidents, but during their stay on earth, while they were searching for the last earth fairy, their friendship turned even friendlier. So much so, it caused a rift between Bloom and prince Sky. For the benefit of both of them, they decided to terminate their relationship but they remained friendly. Sky, however, kept a close eye on him.

Valtor made friends with Roxy, the last earth fairy. She, of all people, was the first to point out closeness between Bloom and him. She was also the first person that made Valtor rethink his feelings. She was the one that planted the seed of doubt concerning their friendship which resulted in Valtor siting in the dark three nights in a row pondering over their interactions.

That's how Bloom found him the third night, siting in the dark, staring at nothing in particular. She made her way over to him and grabbed his shoulder to get his attention. His arm shot up and grabbed her wrist in a bone crushing grip, but released her when he saw her wince. She sat herself on the couch next to him and they spent half an hour in silence.

"Can't sleep?" Her raspy voice broke through.

He shook his head in response. She laid her head on his shoulder and it wasn't long before her breathing evened out and she fell asleep. Valtor looked at the girl. He couldn't deny it. She was beautiful. Even though he was never a guy that was particularly picky with looks, there was no denying the fact that the keeper of the dragon flame was a gorgeous specimen. She was smart, probably the smartest of her group. While Techna had the IQ, Blooms street smarts combined with the academic work made her the most reliable. And she was strong, but naive at the same time. She trusted that red, wannabe wizard, Ogron and his buddies and they played her like a well tuned guitar. She blamed herself for what happened to Nabu for a while, but everyone convinced her it wasn't her fault.

Valtor shook his head. Exhaustion was slowly creeping back to his bones and he found himself drawing closer to the redhead, seeking warmth while his eyes closed and he let the sleep over take him. That's how the rest of the Winx found them, snuggled up on the couch. Valtor laid on his back, his braid that Stella maid yesterday still intact, his arm protectively thrown over Bloom's waist, her head resting on his chest, legs intertwined. Flora took the liberty to capture the moment. Valtor and Bloom won't find about that photo for the next couple of months.

When he woke up he was certain his feelings for the redhead changed, but what about her? Did she feel the same way? That's when he noticed he was really warm and that a slight pressure rested on his chest. He looked down and was met with two sapphires staring into his own grayish blue eyes. Her cheeks were as red as her hair and she was fidgeting with the ruffles on his shirt. She stammered about not wanting to get up so he didn't wake up and then made a hasty apology and fled the living room.

Their relationship changer after that. The looks they were giving each other became longer and filled with something neither of them could recognize. The teasing between them stopped almost completely, something that didn't go unnoticed by neither the Winx or the specialists. But they respectfully kept their mouths shut. Their eyes would connect from across the room and neither would be too keen to break the connection. They would sit closer to each other, some part of their bodies always touching. They weren't awkward, but they also weren't aware of the tension they were emitting, even Stella began to complain about them having a 'boner' for each other.

The fight with Tritanus was a difficult one, made even more complicated with the fact that Valtor wasn't able to join them. The girls obtained Sirenix powers and freed Daphne while Valtor spent most of the time on land waiting for their return and helping them as much as possible from his position.

During that time, there was no time for anything rather than to focus on the mission ahead. And convincing the realms to unite in order to stop Tritanus. That's where Valtor came in play. He was the most capable to deal with these 'ass faced royals' as Musa had delicately put it. He was hesitant at first, but quicky changed his mind when he realized people listened to him. Out of fear or respect, he didn't know, nor did he care to find out.

The tension between Bloom and Valtor rose everyday, but apparently they were oblivious to it.

And then came the time when Bloom foolishly divided the power of the dragon flame between herself and her friends which left her vulnerable and weak. She did her best to hide it, but it all came crashing down at Daphne's recoronation. Fire eaters, beings that were supposed be extinct, rose to extinguish the dragon flame. Valtor, busy fighting these monsters and helping winx, foolishly let Sky take care of Bloom. What he didn't know was that Diaspro of all people, was working with the Trix and Sleina, found out about the little thing underneath the Domino palace called the Vortex of flames. As soon as Daphne warned him about Diaspro, he took off with her and what he found nearly caused his heart to stop. Diaspro was holding Bloom, that didn't as much as twitch in her clutches, hovering above the Vortex. Sky and his cousin were on the ground and fire eaters were slowly closing in on them. While Sky tried to talk some senses into Diaspro, Valtor tried to conjure up a plan to take everyone safe out of this mess, mainly Bloom. His eyes widened when Disapro released her hold on Bloom, sending her plummeting straight into the void. Valtor saw red. He barely registered Sky jumping from the edge to reach Bloom before his cousin saved him. He aimed a powerful beam towards the blonde girl and for a moment he saw terror in her eyes before she vanished. The fire eaters closed in on them and Valtor was kept busy fighting them off instead of jumping over the edge to reach Bloom.

Daphne and Valtor were the only one that were effective against these monsters, while Sky and his cousin tried their best. Valtor felt the ground shake and he heard Sky shouting a name he knew all to well in happiness. He turned around just in time to see her fly over the edge and deliver a powerful spell that destroyed the monsters. She flew to him and he opened his arms so she could slide in. Daphne and Sky were saying something but words escaped Valtor. He took hold of her shoulders and pushed her away from him to examine her for injuries. His eyes ran over he new transformation and he couldn't help but think she looked absolutely gorgeous in it. But the most beautiful thing about her was the smile she sent him. It was a conformation, she was fine.

After the incident party returned to full swing and it wasn't long before music was playing and Bloom was seen dancing with Sky just like before the fire eaters stormed the place. Valtor himself stood leaning on the pillar, drinking scotch, his eyes following Bloom's graceful movements.

It was Miriam, of all people that joined him. She leaned against the same pillar as he and sent him a coy look. Valtor raised one eyebrow. 'What was that about?' Miriam shrugged as to say 'I have no idea what you're talking about.' Valtor shook his head and tirned to watch her dance again. The calm was broken when Bloom's mother spoke.

"You know I can see the looks you are giving her?" Her eyebrows were raised as if challenging Valtor to deny that accusation. He lowered his gaze because he really didn't know how to respond to that. If he tried to fool her, she would just call his bluff, and if Miriam was good at something, she was good at reading people.

Her gaze softened and she spoke in calm voice, "Go dance with her." Valtor looked at her in surprise. She gave him a sheepish smile than took the drink out of his hands and proceeded to drink the remaining content in one gulp. She grabbed his biceps and pushed him on the dance floor causing him to stumble and shot her a nasty glare. He sighed and then made his way over to the middle where Bloom and Sly were still dancing. Sky's eyes lit up when they met his and he spun Bloom so fast she gasped and would have tumbled over had Valtor not been there ready to catch her. She met his gaze.

"Hi." She smiled sheepishly, and in that moment Valtor saw the resemblance between her mother and her.

"Hello." He answered politely, if not a little tensely. He spun her around and then brought her back to him. The whole room was filled with murmurs and whispers as the former megalomaniac and princess of Domino preformed and elaborate dance.

Bloom was surprised. She didn't know Valtor could dance so well. He spun her around, brought her back only to dip her down, making her gasp from the sudden movement. They twirled and danced across the floor, hands and legs grabbed each other, fingers intertwined, gazes locked. At that moment Bloom saw everything Valtor feels for her. Concern, annoyance, admiration, affection. She brought her hands to frame his face making his eyes widen before she suddenly rose on her tiptoes and planted a sweet kiss on his lips.

The music got quiet and the guests followed it's path. Valtor and Bloom stopped dancing in the middle of the dance floor. Valtor warped his hands around her waist and hauled her up so her shoes were no longer touching ground. Her hands waved themselves into his hair, messing it up, but he didn't care. Miriam and Oritel stood on the side, Oritel slightly fuming, but Miriam kept him in check. Daphne stood on the other end of the room, her eyes also on the pair. She smiled. She didn't care as long as her sister was happy. She hoped she could one day find someone like Bloom had.

And in the center of the room, Valtor and Bloom stood, still kissing.

[undeific]

i promise it’s not that deep, or why you’re wrong about self-inserts: an essay by your friendly neighborhood chaotic neutral

So, self-inserts. A hot topic, apparently. In 2020. Perhaps it’s due to a dashboard full of young, possibly underage writers (which is not a bad thing! embrace your creativity!), but this is a discussion I believed we had matured past. Since it has been floating around, though, here is my take, and the take a great deal of circles have embraced in the past 6-7 years or so. 

There’s always been a self-insert problem in the community — not necessarily self-inserts themselves, but rather the response to them. It’s no secret that these characters are commonly regarded with disdain and always have been: they’re viewed as the most self-indulgent form of character, the least creative, and the worst-written, having been made solely for the purpose of connecting with canons and living out one’s own Mary Sue-adjacent fantasies. To some extent, these generalizations make sense and line up with a reality we are all very familiar with; after all, these assumptions must come from somewhere, and there would be few canon-portraying writers among us who could say they’ve absolutely never been met with an uncomfortable situation brought on by an overeager self-insert. In 2013, the worst crime a roleplayer could possibly commit was create a character like this, and would result in what was considered, and many times was, a well-deserved blacklisting from entire fan spaces and writing circles. A self-insert was, after all, created with no integrity and only had bad intentions. 

We all know the self-insert girl — and yes, she is a girl, of course. Her dialogue is clichéd, her plots are threadbare and consist primarily of smut and romance, her backstory is tragic and attention-seeking. She often has the same name as her creator and her faceclaim is self-flattering. She seeks out canons and attractive original characters of the male persuasion, persistent in her attempts to reach out, hoping to begin shipping with her victim — or victims — of choice. She is a being purely of self-gratification and wish-fulfillment. She is, in a word, embarrassing. We do not like her. She is told on the rule pages she does not read that she will be blocked, banned, and ultimately mocked by those who have seen her floating about. She is “politely” insulted and threatened for crimes she has yet to commit, and chased from the platform as quickly, cruelly, and efficiently as possible. Yet she always comes back in one form or another, like a cockroach.  

These characters still exist, of course. They were never a myth. I am familiar with them, as are you, and everyone else who has dipped their toes into the writing pool. But they are an exaggerated breed these days, and often used to perpetuate elitism in spaces where it is entirely unnecessary. The shadow of the stereotypical self-insert’s reputation has been cast over original characters as a whole, specifically female characters, and has created an unwelcoming environment prone to cliques and harassment. A character outside an established canon is suspect. A woman outside an established canon — and sometimes even within — is eyed suspiciously, hypercritically, before being thrown a generous bone by a “lower-tier” roleplayer who will determine whether or not she’s worthy of attention.

If any desire for wish-fulfillment is detected or perceived, she’s dropped quickly, often with no warning. 

There is a strange idea that permeates throughout roleplaying culture that wish-fulfillment writing is done in bad faith. This is flawed logic in many ways. Roleplaying is not a job. It is not an inaccessible artform. If you engage in this form of entertainment, you are getting something out of it. You are stepping outside of yourself and becoming someone else, and you are enjoying it; you are, in other words, engaging in a form of wish-fulfillment, though perhaps not with the sticky connotations you are familiar with when contemplating the term. This very idea goes against the rhetoric that has been built up by the community, however — self-indulgence is taboo, roleplay is serious business, and only those worthy and “quality” shall partake and be given attention. (It has even been taken to the rather sad extent that if one does not keep up with aesthetic-based trends, they are met with passive disinterest if not outright disdain. But that is another essay entirely.) If you seek wish-fulfillment, you are not welcome. If you are a self-insert, you are not welcome. If your character shares too many traits with yourself, you are obviously seeking wish-fulfillment, and probably a self-insert to boot, so you are not welcome. 

There are layers to this. People do not want to associate with these leper characters, and so they create strict rules to be adhered to — and that makes sense, as everyone is entitled to their own pleasurable experience, and their own guidelines. But these rules become meaningless in the shuffle, placed on carefully-crafted Google Documents to do nothing other than promote elitism and limit creativity, whether that is the intention or not. If you like a character, but find out it shares the same name and birthday with its creator despite little else in common, what do you do? If this character does not seem interested in pushing a ship onto you in your interactions, are they still breaking your rules? If a character was created with its writer as the base, though they do not behave in the stereotypical way that makes self-inserts unbearable, why is it so important? What do the origins of a character have to do with its current iteration? Why, if it does not have a negative impact on interactions, does it matter if a character is a self-insert or not? At the risk of sounding like a dusty academic, the bard once wrote, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” What, aside from preconceived ideas, does a character’s self-insert status have to do with anything? 

“Discomfort” is the word primarily used when discussing these characters negatively, and many hoops are jumped through to justify why this discomfort is felt if there is no concrete reason, no offense committed. If one is willing to dissect another’s character, but not one’s own reasons for their own discomfort when confronted with the simple, low-impact reality that this character exists, some self-reflection is warranted. Even more so if this character is, as far as you have seen, well-written, fleshed out, and interesting, with the only “downside” being that it is, in fact, a self-insert. 

To write well, one must understand the character they are working with. Divorcing oneself entirely from the characters they write will only work to their detriment. All creations, all characters, must contain a piece of the writer within them to some degree; that is the only way a piece of fiction will function — but if that is against the rules, we cannot write. We cannot engage in any sort of believable storytelling. Self-inserts are, at their core, only the most exaggerated form of original character. 

This, of course, is capable of leading to problems; one of the greatest issues here is the possibility of the lines between fantasy and reality getting blurred. This has happened to me when dealing with self-inserts, as well as other original characters and even canons. It is distressingly common, one of the most unpleasant situations to arise in roleplay spaces. However, if it is your assumption that the lines of fantasy and reality will be blurred purely because a character has self-insert origins, that likely says much more about your own grasp on reality rather than the self-insert’s. It is and always has been important that proper distinctions and boundaries are maintained, no matter who the writer or character are. During heavy or dark threads, writers will often be found shooting jokes back and forth in the tags to put each other at ease, and people give out their handles on instant messaging platforms to ensure easier, more efficient communication out of character. If this is done efficiently, any issues that arise are handled in a stable, mature way, and the problems that lend themselves to roleplaying become ever rarer. 

Self-inserts are like any other character, they just have a label with nasty connotations and an unfortunate history and stereotype attached. There should be no thorny questions here, only whether or not the character interests you personally. If the very term is a dealbreaker for you, you are taking yourself, and this, too seriously — and missing out on some fascinating storytelling in the process. 

That being said, the character I portray owns a knife and I own a knife, so I am practically a self-insert myself. I guess I’m gonna be blocked! 

[dcmeterwrites]

oh boy, did you get manny jacinto for an eight a.m.? wait no, that’s PARKER IBARRA. i heard the thirty three year old is a teaching assistant who gives a pretty tough lecture in philosophy. he tries to be witty and independent but on the stressful days, he’s complacent and insouciant. when he gets a chance to relax, catch him at the local bar listening to victorious by panic! at the disco. 

— RUNDOWN.

full name: parker domingo ibarra

name meaning: keeper of the park, sunday


date of birth: march 28th

place of birth: manila, the philippines


age: 33


star sign:
 aries


department: philosophy

specialisation: modernism, post-modernism and semiotics

alma mater: harvard university

alignment: chaotic neutral

mbti: entp

spoken languages: english ( native speaker ), tagalog ( fluent ), spanish ( fluent ), french ( proficient ), malay ( proficient )

mother’s name: penelope ibarra 

father’s name: alberto ibarra

siblings, if any: lilibeth and reyna ibarra

birth order: oldest

height: 5′11″

hair colour: dark brown

eye colour: dark brown

— BACKSTORY. 

having problems ? sucks to be you, i guess ! 

it was approximately at the age of two and a half that parker domingo ibarra decided that he was king of the world, long before that bitter old hag spielberg wrote it into titanic. and there was no reason that he had to think otherwise. born to a filipino family settled in singapore, his father and mother were the co-owners of the brand dionysia — his dad being the business end and his mum being, well, the designer that started it all. 

it was a charmed life of limousines, ferry rides, private schools in new england, internships in hong kong and australia, and trips everywhere from new zealand to chile to denmark. by the age of eighteen, he’d amassed more memories and experience in the world that anyone had the right to. 

given that it was pretty much a guarantee that he would take over on the business end of his parents’ work, they figured they should let him do whatever the fuck he liked before the age of 21 or so, before sticking his name onto all the business cards and labels and leaving the future of the company to him. but even their patience was tested when, out of all the useless things he could’ve chosen, he chose philosophy at harvard. 

they imagined that his reason for choosing the subject was that he wanted as little work as possible during his college years, preparing instead to enjoy his last few years of irresponsible youth before buckling down. then they noticed something a little strange. 

parker was — well. he was actually doing rather well for himself. his essays were receiving stellar reviews, and he was invited to attend symposiums and even give a couple of presentations to actual academics. jeez, his parents only hoped that he wasn’t getting in over his head, indulging the idea of doing this nonsense for the rest of his life instead of something meaningful.

the problem was that — yeah, he kind of was indulging that idea. 

well, what on earth did you expect ? he was receiving the highest of praise from his professors, from his peers, and cementing himself as the big man on campus.  it seemed a hell of a lot better than hanging around the stuck up friend circles he had back in singapore, insisting on either formal parties with stiff suits and bitter drinks, or complete and utter debauchery at strip clubs and gambling dens. like the buddha said — could there simply not be a middle path ?

his parents learned of this a bit too late. he popped in his parents’ room at the age of twenty-three, a master’s quickly attained, to announce that he wanted to continue, and nearly made his poor mother require a nurse from her “shock”. drama queen. but the family was more or less decided that he was not going to do anything of the sort. his sisters were just getting their bachelor’s degrees, and were far too young to get their interest in this stuff. his mum convinced him to at least try working with the company, in the easiest field there was: public relations. 

unfortunately, there’s only so much you can control when it comes to what other people think of you. parker had somehow alienated himself from his brand’s clients, seeming like a pretentious, detached, and most importantly, uninterested. for all his talents, he was a dreadful actor. 

so he switched over to the design branch, but he was terrible on that front too — not a good artist, and certainly not good at sticking to deadlines. then switched to accountancy. the department’s own workers wanted him gone. then to management. he was insufferable. all this consumed nearly one and a half years of his adult life, following which he had enough evidence to demonstrate that he was not meant for any of this. 

cool, said his parents. so, what are you gonna do? he shrugged. then he made it expressly clear that they weren’t going to pay for any of his shit if he wasn’t going to stay with the company in singapore. he said, fine. 

so, at the age of twenty-five, he dipped the hell out of that whole affair, and began the rest of his life. it was sort of bananas, and he doesn’t have the best memory of that whole time. for a while he was a teacher of english in singapore, then a teacher of english at a fancy school in tokyo, then he returned home to his beloved harvard, to get that phd he always wanted, while working not only as a teaching assistant for whatever it was worth, but also tending bars, doing editing work for the local paper. everything. hell, his thesis was about postmodernism in commonplace thought, and what better way to gather all that data by just — asking people about it ? and of course, backing them up with theories.

at this age of thirty one and a half, fresh out of his doctorate, he got offered a position at riverbank, sweet ! while the faculty may or may not have been excited to have him for his interesting takes, he didn’t quite see riverbank as anything more than one more stepping stone across a big, beautiful lake. did he know what was at the end of the lake ? hell no ! if he did, he would get a boat and go there. the fun was the stepping.

as teaching assistant, he hasn’t taken more than two courses this first semester ( apart from boring logistical duties ), although his higher ups have been nagging him to take more. he knows the trap ; they’re going to try and get him into a more permanent spot at the old, low-cost. no, sir ! can’t take parker ibarra for a fool, though you can take him for quite a lot more. 

has already gotten a reputation as a strange guy among students, but nevertheless vastly entertaining. he always seems to have a suspicious story for any sort of analogy he wants to make, which has always led students to debate what the actual fuck happened in his life. he makes some of them up. 

is he kind of living hand to mouth ? hell yeah, but who needs material things when you have intellectual pursuits ?

[bluehhj]

listen to me — chapter 39

LISTEN TO ME — 0039

listen to me masterlist;

WORDS: 1.6K

Maybe Jisung would never get used to that particular part of loving someone.

Considering the tiredness of routine and the irrevocable stress that accompanied the approach of the much-feared week of tests, on normal days he wouldn't be willing to lose several minutes of sleep to get properly woken up in order to look prettier or at least presentable in front of Jinah. No, Jisung liked to get up right after the alarm clock and put on the first sweatpants he found, not caring about the look of his hair or the dark circles on his crumpled face. What was happening in recent months, however, was completely contrary to his conformity, and the living proof of this was his indecision in the mirror at the present moment. Was that jacket good? Or should he put on a sweater?

If examined closely, Jisung wasn't supposed to be having such a dilemma at this point in the championship, since Jinah must have seen his poor personality from every possible angle when they were still getting to know each other, but things changed a lot suddenly and the feeling of being close always seemed to be the first time. Moreover, Jisung strongly believed that the days passed and Jinah managed to get even more beautiful — maybe it was just an illusion of his passionate heart, maybe not —; so the idea of taking better care of himself seemed far more logical and tempting.

Finally, as stated earlier, Jisung, while giving himself to new conceptions, would never get used to it.

Seeing that time had gone too fast on his watch, Han gave up staring at his own reflection and preferred to avoid an unnecessary delay for the first class that morning. He, then, disconnected his phone from the charger and slung his small backpack over his shoulder, heading for the bedroom door shortly thereafter. But when Jisung opened it, a startled scream erupted from his throat with the speed of a rocket.

One other thing he would never get used to: his mother in a bathrobe, wandering down the hall with a green mask on her face, an Avengers mug in one hand, and a phone in the other.

— "Boy!" — Hyoyeon ended up screaming too, as scared as her son. — "Don't look at me like I'm an alien, this cream is worth more than your kidney!"

— "Sometimes I forget that you're here" — Jisung justified himself with one hand on his heart. — "Even more like this, looking like an avocado."

— "Aish, you redneck!" — Hyoyeon was outraged. She had not spent a fortune on that tiny pot to be compared to an insignificant fruit. Too bad Jisung was too old to be slapped and she can't make sudden movements without the mask melting from her nose. — "I was going to tell you something important, but now I won't anymore."

— "Ok, see you later."

— "Wait a second!" — she contradicted herself as he walked straight down the corridor. Jisung almost smiled before turning to face her again. — "I was talking to your aunt, Sooyoung, just now." — Hyoyeon held up her phone. — "She was so happy to know that I'm going to spend a few days in the city that she even invited us to dinner, so I thought you could call your girlfriend to go too, what do you think? So I can meet her properly and, considering you have said she doesn't like very refined environments, my sister's house looks perfect to me."

Jisung didn't need to ponder too much. Sooyoung was a sweetheart — she didn't even seem to carry the same blood as his mother — and, by the way, cooked wonderfully. She lived alone in an extremely quiet and pleasant neighborhood, far away from the chaos of busy and noisy boulevards, so maybe Hyoyeon was right and that really was a perfect option.

— "When?"

— "This Thursday, at eight."

— "Okay."

— "Hey, aren't you going to have breakfast?" — she called him back when he turned his back a second time and opened the door.

— "Not now."

— "But, Jisung-..." — her opposition was cut before half.

— "Bye, mom," — and he left, prompting Hyoyeon to roll her eyes and drink some of her tea, alone.

They grow too fast.

                                                            ♡˖°

Jisung and Jinah were in the library; the boy because his last class before break was over earlier, and the girl because she would face anything not to keep listening to the zucchinis of her hated rude professor, Dr. Kim. Maybe dropping out of review classes would get Jinah screwed up in the upcoming exam week, but at that moment, Choi just wanted to take a walk, and it was on one of those twists and turns that she found her boyfriend studying at one of the quiet round tables and seriously considered whether to bother him or not. Her mind was, then, split between three lines of reasoning: 'Someone has to be smart in this relationship, let it be him', 'but I should study too, soon I have to write a term paper' and 'fuck, I just wanted to kiss him!' Choi Jinah being solely responsible for her decisions, it was to be expected which of the three ideas she would listen to most.

— "It's not allowed to do this in here," — Jisung whispered, noting that talking in the library was not allowed, nor making out at one of the tables farthest from the security cameras. His eyes went to the supervisors who were seated near the entrance every five seconds, fearing that someone would notice their proximity. — "One time Woojin hyung came to kiss someone here and got caught. I learned he could only come back after paying a fine."

— "Really?" — Jinah whispered back and kissed Jisung's lips again, calmly. — "I didn't even know."

— "You don't mind either, do you?"

— "Guess it."

Jisung wanted to have at least shot Jinah a scolding look, but his reason lived up to his emotion whenever he was so close to the girl; soon, moved by his little sense of mind, Han got up, took her by the hand, and quietly placed them in a small room that contained only one table and was intended for people who needed extreme concentration to study or do some work. The door had no key, but just keeping it locked was a thousand times better than being completely in public.

— "Hmmm, look at this" — as you might imagine, Jinah crossed her arms and smiled lewdly. — "For someone who were worried about a fine of nothing, you look pretty excited right now, Mr. Han."

Jisung rolled his eyes and sat down in one of the chairs: — "I'm not pretty excited, I just don't trust you."

— "I actually don't think you trust yourself" — Jinah approached slowly, and it was instinctive for the boy to look through the skirt the girl wore (in his defense, Jisung believed that the fabric looked too sexy for an academic environment, so it caught his attention). — "You could have just told me to stop kissing you, not bring me here."

— "But I told you!"

— "Told and kept kissing me back" — was Jinah who rolled her eyes this time. — "I thought you had more dignity, honestly."

— "I was quiet, studying, you who came out of nowhere."

— "Are you going to say you didn't miss me?"

— "No." — lied Jisung.

— "Ah..." — Jinah suddenly withered, her red lips pouting with disappointment as her eyes stared at the floor. — "But I missed you."

Han had once read on a curiosity site that when we see something cute, an instinct for aggression is immediately triggered by our brains, so we feel like squeezing and kneading something. Maybe that explained the sudden way he stood up and hugged his girlfriend like she was a teddy bear.

— "You're suffocating me!" — Jinah said among a series of laughs that infected Jisung as well. — "Babe, I'm serious! It tickles!"

Han stopped, but only so that he could kiss her properly. Their mouths had been together for so many minutes that, this time, Jinah didn't even find gaps to complain about neediness, and Jisung only stopped when his jaw started to ache and the lack of oxygen became unsustainable.

— "Wow," — Choi gasped, bewildered. Her swollen lips, disheveled hair and rapidly rising and falling chest proved that Jisung's ability to pull her out of orbit was real and very solid. — "That's because you didn't even miss me," — she joked.

— "Just a little," — Han joked, stole another peck from the girl's lips, and remembered something important. — "Are you going to do something after tomorrow?"

— "In the evening?"

— "Uh huh"

— "I don't think so." — Jinah frowned, mentally going over her Thursday business and coming to the conclusion that her schedule was almost as empty as her stock of strawberry candies. — "Why?"

— "My mom wants to talk to you."

— "Oh my Lord" — Jinah broke away from Jisung. It was amazing how seven words could make her tense. — "I don't like that phrase."

— "But I told you she adored you."

— "Because I barely opened my mouth that day, now it's different."

— "She also keeps talking shit, you two will get along," — Jisung insisted. — "My aunt has volunteered to make dinner, so if you don't want to go for the responsibility, at least go for the food."

— "As long as it's not those snails Yugyeom served at his party, you started speaking my language."

— "I swear it isn't, my aunt is fitness."

— "Okay," — though nervous and a little suspicious, Jinah smiled. — "Now you can kiss me again, I've recovered."

Maybe Jisung would lose not only his precious study time, but the minutes of the break as well. Anyway, it was for a good cause, and he couldn't be bothered at all. Priorities.

[stories4africa]

Is there really more than this?

I know there is more out there. I cannot fully imagine how it looks, tastes or sounds like but I know it is out there. I am tempted to follow this burning urge in me to go and find it but there are a lot of backlashes that I am experiencing. Among them is EXPERIENCE. It is not the green-eyed monster that some people imagined under their bed when they were younger, I must just clarify that I am not among those people, nonetheless, EXPERIENCE is a very scary monster.

It is the one that whispers all these fears that I am trying with everything in me to block. It is the reason for the invisible glass ceiling over my head that I intersect whenever I am climbing the ladder of dreams and future plans.

I know that there is more to me than academics. Mam Khoza (my senior pastor) once asked me a question that left me thinking. She asked but did not expect an answer at that time, but she ignited a thought process that is still continuing in me. “Apart from your academics what are you going to do with your life?”

Perhaps the quotation marks are out of place because those were not her exact words, but they are the words that are on replay in my mind. For as long as I can remember, academics have always taken the highest priority in my life. I needed to be the best. Why? I was not always sure but I always knew that I needed to be the best. My whole life turned to a battlefield, with everything I did always ending up being competitive. You were either with me or competition that I needed to eliminate.

In retrospect, was it the best way I could have went about with my childhood? I am not sure. Anyway, we were discussing the need for more and the monster of experience and not my childhood. Still on the topic though…

Back at school, I guess I was competitive because I truly believed that more had to be out there. I am certain that my surrounding was one factor contributing to that. Daily, I travelled into Queenstown for school from Gqebenya (a village in Lady Frere, Eastern Cape in South Africa), where very little was there to inspire me.

That’s of course not taking into account nature. I must admit that I have always had a thing for the mountains and the sky. When the streets around you are dusty, dry and knocked off like those in my neighbourhood, it helps to find beauty elsewhere. The brewing of summer thunderstorms was always the best cloud-display one could get in the hood. I always secured a front-row seat, from the tiled stoep at the front of the house or by placing an abandoned Castle Lager beer case in the backyard.

Summertime is a little something like this in Gqebenya. The picture is taken from my backyard with Ma’Luja’s house being the white one on the right.

At least then, I would have very few eyes on me, not that people would go out of their way to watch what I was doing. After all, finding people just sitting outside was nothing new. More often than I would have wanted I would see people gathered at Ma’Luja’s house for a round of beers and umqombothi (homemade Xhosa beer). Their gatherings rarely ended peacefully, in contrast, statements drenched with vulgarism would put an end to the loud babbling that filled the whole street. Noise pollution like no other…okay maybe I am being a bit dramatic with the latter statement, but you get the point right?

From pre-school, I remember being introduced to a different world. One that was colourful and full of developments. One where, as a four-year-old, I did not have to fear that one day I was going to drown in the pit latrine and die from suffocation. No, when I was at school, I could flush my waste away and never see or smell it again when I went back to the toilet.

No matter how dreamy that world was, when the clock hit 4 pm I was probably back on my way home and would be forced to quickly face that fear from all the liquids I was drinking on the hour-long journey from town to home. I never really understood why we couldn’t have flushing toilets like the rest of the world (or what seemed to be the rest of the world to my four-year-old mind), but it was such questions that made me want to push for more. Before attending Thistledown Pre-school, I never questioned the way of doing things back home, because my home was the only standard I knew.

As I got older and wiser, not much physically changed around me. People continued doing things as they had always done. The roads and water supply were still a joke. Those with jobs continued with them and a vast majority who were unemployed continued to make umqombothi or attend imicibi (ceremonies/rituals to appease their ancestors) at every opportunity they had. It was not a surprise to see young boys/men my age gathered in a circle and passing a 5-litre enamel container filled with umqombothi around. For a number of years, my father seemed to always find a reason to host these but would put up a fight if I asked him for money related to my growth, but hey that’s a story for another day. We did get a DSTV at some point which accelerated my imagination of the bigger world that lay beyond Gqebenya. It was there that I saw kids with their own rooms, cell phones, cars and swimming pools. They were living the ‘posh life’ that I could only dream of, and dreaming I did do. More often than some would like. If I somewhat found myself getting distracted or too comfortable at school, having to use the toilet at home would always be the reminder I needed.

It was no longer the fear of drowning that haunted me, but the indignity I felt when having to walk to the toilet while some of my neighbours were sitting outside. I could not shake the thought that everyone sees you when you are doing your business and how long it takes you to get it done. Oh, the horror of it all! In reality, I was probably the last thought on people’s minds.

Nonetheless, I would always return from the toilet with the thought that I will change my life with any opportunity I get. So maybe that’s why I wanted to be the best. I felt the need to stand out, so that if anyone was going to be selected to go somewhere, that it would be me without a doubt. Maybe that is why I saw it all as a battlefield because some of my classmates did not walk a day in my shoes. Sure they had their own problems with growing up in townships, but at least they had flushing toilets…many of them.

From the first prize-giving at St Theresa’s Primary School in 2006, until my last one in 2011, I strived for the number one position. With my determination to be the best always being kept in line by the bigger picture embedded within, that a world with more was awaiting.

High School at Maria Louw High was no different. At first, I felt out of place because of the bigger pupil numbers, the taller buildings and the bigger schoolyard but quickly found my feet when I saw Elanor, the head prefect in 2012. She mesmerized me with her black school blazer that displayed badges of achievements on either side. My friends and I joked about how heavy the blazer probably was. Without knowing what the badges were for, I immediately resolved within me that I was going to be like her if not better. Giving God the glory, I did exactly that throughout high school.

This was taken on the prize-giving ceremony in 2013 (my grade 9 year). My mother, Kholisa Kasolo, is the beautiful lady in the picture with me.

It was through my endless involvement in whatever I could do that I saw my potential outside of academics. Without neglecting my school work I also made a mark for myself in leadership and public speaking. Yet none of my achievements would have been possible without the unwavering support of the teachers that stood behind me. The highlight of my high school career was being accepted to study at the Australian National University. The dream to go to nations was always there and that acceptance letter reaffirmed that I was not just some crazy kid with pointless dreams. Although I could not go because of the lack of finances I rejoiced in my victory. In January 2017, I prepared myself to go to Stellenbosch University, with the understanding that it was not my final destination, more awaited me. I still had no clue what the more was.

The level of culture shock I had when I got there, was equivalent to being in a different country. From the architecture, landscape, language and people everything seemed a bit foreign. Don’t get me wrong, it was a good yet intimidating thing. I never openly admitted that to anyone, but rather put on a brave face and ran with the pace that everything was being dished out with. And the first task was getting through welcoming week. Maties O-week is a spectacular, fast-paced and eventful week that one either enjoys or dreads. For the most part, I enjoyed it, but in some quiet moments, I heard the voices inside my head speaking.

If you guessed that experience was one of those voices then you are absolutely correct. That deceptive, vile and loud monster not only recited my shortcomings but constantly painted a picture of the disparity of my background with where I was. It honestly does not take a lot for one to see that the wealth disparity in South Africa unfortunately still exists. “Reality check girl, you don’t belong here. Look at them and look at you. This is their world.”

I continually and consciously fought the wall of separation this villain was building. With much effort, I put out the flames of a “them” that experiencing was busy fueling. This was after all my first time being in a white and Afrikaans dominated environment (in terms of numbers). Sure I did Afrikaans at school but was never exposed to the culture. My school only had Black and Coloured pupils. For the most part, my fight back strategy seemed to work and meeting numerous like-minded people made the journey worth a while.

In no time I learnt to wear my best outfit, my smile, wherever I went in Stellies. Photo credit: C-TheSixth

At the end of the day, we are all just people. I adored the diversity that I encountered like never before. You might think it simple, but being at university allowed me to make Afrikaans, English, Chinese,  Indian, Sotho, Tswana, Pedi and Zulu friends on a more frequent base than I was ever exposed to. It was here that I noticed and truly appreciated how unique we all are, but that the uniqueness is not appreciated by all. It was in Stellenbosch that I grasped a part of my identity, that hey I’m a young black, Xhosa female, but it was also here that I found part of my identity to be challenging. “What does it mean to be black in the context of where I am?” “Why am I sometimes treated differently from my white counterparts?” “Does coming from a previously underprivileged environment automatically mean I am incompetent as some people seem to think?” “Is my voice loud enough or does my skin determine the attention I will get?”

Amidst all these questions my resolve to be the best kept me going for the most part. Sure, I did not go to any private or model C school, I did not own a car or expensive clothes, but deep down I knew that those were all just superficial things. I was also not ignorant of the fact that they are not representative of everyone in Stellenbosch and so did not define me. So without fail, academically I continued to pursue the more and bigger picture in my head. I am humbled to say that I performed very well academically to the point of being a Golden Key Honours recipient and being on the Dean’s List for a number of my modules. 

So far, I would hope that it is clear how academically orientated my life was, but that’s not all I am about. On the contrary from primary school, I learnt to explore my creative side through writing poetry or stories but rarely performed them publicly. I also enjoyed drama, but because people already had this idea that I was a “serious-smart” child, I mainly kept my creativity to myself, after all, I had an image to uphold. This continued to high school and consequently university. However, I was doing pretty okay and so it did not really matter, until 2019. My year started with a bang, an extraordinary experiencing touring Germany, but that also left a painful marker on my life, which I cannot get into details about at the moment.

This is an image I took in Munich Germany in January 2019. Photo cred: Nalin Singh

The journey of recovery from that incident took a toll on my mentality. For the first time I stopped trying to see everything as good even when it’s not, I forced myself to be honest with myself. As if I did not have enough going on already I encountered parts of my degree that I just did not enjoy and struggled with grasping although it seemed everyone around me was having a jolly time with them. For a change, my identity which was strongly based on being an A-student was tested and I found myself going back to Mam Khoza’s question. “Apart from academics what will you do with your life?” It was also in 2019 that I truly experienced academic racial discrimination in my degree, which was my tipping point, adding to all I was going through.

After this, the battle for my mind became more fierce. My therapist called it a fight to overcome internal oppression. More often than not I wondered whether this was it. “No, there must be more. Your life will not end like this. You are all that and more.” The fighter in me would respond. So I made a frightening yet exciting decision to embark on a journey of searching, which meant cutting a lot of ties. I bid farewell to everything contributing to my struggle.

So have you found it now? Is there really more out there? You might want to ask, but I, unfortunately, cannot give you answers now. The journey still continues and daily I am learning to allow myself to BE more than to DO. The greatest battle is in my mind but I am a victor. So I walk with my head held high.

I’ll keep you posted.

I am Nomvo Faith Kasolo, but you can also call me Vee. Thank you for reading my story…