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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 2 years ago

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So, I made a post yesterday about how I found some old articles about Daniel Kitson, and here’s another post about more of that. This one will be a bit broader then the previous one, using one bit of one article to jump off and write some stuff I think about how comedy works in general. But it’s still, you know, based on something I read in an Australian article about Daniel Kitson from 2007. So it’ll be that level of interesting to anyone who isn’t interested in any thoughts that could be inspired by that.

I came across an article about him that I’d not found before. Which I quite liked reading, and will be very interesting to anyone else in the world who is, for some fucking reason, interested in how Daniel Kitson was viewed by the Australian arts community in 2007.

It has a little of the usual weirdness around articles about Daniel Kitson, describing him in ways that don’t quite line up with reality, that seem like both exaggerations and just distortions, that seem to miss the point, but convey the impression that the person writing this probably does get the point. They’re just choosing to express it in a really weird way, because I guess Daniel Kitson has that effect on people. And I realize I may not be immune to that.

But anyway, this article was doing a relatively okay job, overall, of telling us some things about Daniel Kitson that sort of make sense. I was enjoying it, until I got to a bit in the middle in which they called one of the main characters in his show C-90 irritating. That made me realize, for the first time, that I think those are the only fictional characters he’s created to whom I feel an emotional attachment. I realized that because when I read that sentence, I immediately told the writer to fuck off, out loud. Fuck off, that character is not irritating, she’s a beautiful beacon of humanity. This made me go through all the fictional characters Kitson has created, in all the story shows I’ve heard, and if I were judging them all just by how much I’d like them as people, the two main ones in C-90 would be by far my favourites. Kitson himself has admitted he doesn’t tend to give a lot of depth to his fictional characters, so it’s not like there’s much competition in that field. The only Kitson character I could think of who provoked a similar reaction – I would really like them as a person and if you don’t agree then you can fuck off – would be the main guy from Mouse, but that barely counts because he’s barely fictional, it’s just Daniel Kitson giving himself a different name.

(If you don’t know what I’m talking about but would like to… I would never publicly post a bootleg recording of a comedy show, I do not condone others doing so, so I won’t post a link or anything as that would be condoning it, but C-90 is the only Kitson show where you can Google it and will immediately find something on SoundCloud that will tell you exactly who those characters are.)

But anyway, that isn’t the main thing from that article that I wanted to write about. The main thing is this quote:

He worries at his comedy, however, with the passionate doggedness of a Puritan, constantly trying to find something that hasn't already been done, vigilant against any temptation to slip into the standard ploys stand-ups use to work the crowd. “The more stuff you do, the more you realise it’s been done. And that's when you go ‘all right’, stop what you're doing and do something else. And if someone is doing similar material to yours, you just write something new that's better.”

I think this paragraph hits on something about what I find so fascinating about following comedy in general. I mean, I know I have lots of reasons to love specific comedy shows, and specific comedians, and the whole genre of comedy. I know I enjoy watching/reading/listening to things that make me laugh, and may occasionally also feel cathartic or angry or beautiful or complicated or validating or any number of other things. Of course people enjoy that.

But at some point in the last year, I have gone from there into a more proper comedy nerd aspect of this, to be interested in how the actual artform and/or industry of comedy works. Which is why I really like going back twenty years, to get a map for how it got to where it is now. And obviously that’s not nearly far enough. I’ve known something of that since I was a kid, and my dad shows me Flying Circus/Monty Python movies, and then played me Beyond the Fringe and explained that that’s what turned into Monty Python, and then played me Goon Show tapes and said that turned into Beyond the Fringe. Explaining it pretty much like that, because I was about eleven, and that was about my level of understanding. A very direct timeline: there was a man named Spike Milligan, Eccles had a funny voice on the radio, then Alan Bennett from those monologues tapes and the star of Arthur (a very important movie of my childhood, entirely because it was the reason my brother and I said “I’ll alert the media” in response to every declaration for about five years) made some stuff with two other guys, Monty Python was created out of that. Which, to be fair, I think is relatively accurate.

Anyway. I really like watching these things change and influence each other. But I think I didn’t realize, until reading that quote, how analogous it is to sports, where I already really like that. I guess it’s analogous to everything, in a way. I could say I like to follow the way comedy works because it’s similar to the way sports work, but I could just as easily say it’s similar to the way stock trading or basket weaving works. Everything works with different people coming in and trying different stuff, until those things become the new accepted techniques, and then they have to figure out something else if they want to innovate even further.

I do really love watching that happen in comedy. Someone does something new and amazing, and for a while it’s a big deal. Everyone else watches, and put their own spin on it. Suddenly there are twenty different people doing something similar, but in slightly different ways, and most not doing it nearly as well as the original. But maybe one or two people do do it as well as the original, maybe one or two more put so much spin on it that it turns into a very different thing, and that in turn inspires others.

I love this for the same reason I love watching it happen in sports. My sport has changed so much since I started it in 2004. It looks different at every level, from the world championships to my local tournaments. People are doing things they didn’t used to do. And for all those things, it’s because someone did them first, and then others jumped on the bandwagon.

The proliferation of YouTube and has wildly accelerated that process in the last ten years, as now, anyone can follow what’s happening anywhere. When I was younger, prevailing wisdom was that we could never compete with the countries where the sport is bigger, because they’re always coming up with new ways to do things, and we can’t keep up. But these days, we can. We can watch videos from everywhere, study what people in Iran and India and Russia and Cuba are doing, and take it into our practice room. All our opponents are doing that too, and then we meet each other and see what their interpretations are like, and then we have to go home and refine our approach to counter it. We go back the next weekend, they see what we’ve done, they go home and adapt. Over and over, all the time, in different rooms everywhere in the world, and the sport just keeps getting tougher and better.

I wrote a post about that somewhat recently when I listened to the John Robins show in which he talked shit about Stewart Lee. I don’t even think he did that good a job of it, I just liked that he tried. Stewart Lee has left so many younger comedians baffled as to how to go up against his style, and I was picturing John Robins with Stewart Lee videos on a screen and a pen and paper in front of him, the way my co-coach and I have spent many hours over many years with our upcoming opponents’ match videos on a screen and pen and paper in front of us, taking notes on their style, and on what their opponents tried and what worked and what didn’t, trying to come up with a new and better way to take them on. I’m picturing John Robins having an epiphany of: “What if I just do it back to him? No one’s tried that before, have they? Why doesn’t someone try doing it back to him?” I assume that isn’t really how he came up with the idea, but the image made me laugh harder than the actual material, so John got laughs out of me for the sheer audacity there. I love seeing people try stuff. It doesn’t have to work perfectly every time, nothing gets better if you’re not willing to try.

I’ve thought about that in terms of comedy, too. That’s part of why I do at least try to respect comedians’ wishes about what parts of their work they’ve released to be discussed in a public forum, and what they haven’t.

I think of all the non-championships tournaments I take my team to in a year. I think of how hard it is to get athletes, especially newer athletes who aren’t used to the process, to take risks. I tell them I don’t care if they win this tournament that doesn’t matter. We brought them here to throw shit at the wall and see what sticks. We’ll get it on video, we’ll take it home, we’ll see what they need to change. I’d much, much rather see them lose by trying something new than win by doing the same thing they did last year. The same thing they did last year gets us nowhere, something new makes them better. The same thing they did last year might win them some medals at local tournaments, but will stop working once they get back to the championships and face opponents who have spent all year getting better. And you only get better by being willing to have days when you’re not very good.

I think of how hard it was for me to do that, back when I was a competitive athlete. I understood this logically, but also, every match I had took place in front of all my teammates and whatever other teams were around. I cared how those people saw me, I didn’t want them to see me lose to someone I knew I could beat, just because I’d decided to work on new stuff. I made myself do it anyway at times, but it was difficult. And after a particularly rough match, I’d always come off the mat thinking, “I really hope [guy who used to go around tournaments filming matches for YouTube] didn’t get that one.”

Comedians have to have the chance to do that too, right? To have nights when they try stuff that might not work, that sometimes won’t work, because otherwise they won’t learn or improve. That applies to new material nights, obviously, but I think it might even apply to entire finished shows that they don’t choose to release, that they want to be more of a development opportunity than part of their “canon”. Having something out there if you didn’t specifically choose to record it – that’s hard on the ego, as I know. But it’s not just about comedians’ egos. It’s also about how the entire artform of comedy won’t get better unless people can take risks while being pretty sure that whatever they’ve done won’t end up on YouTube.

Of course, this problem does come up against a contradictory issue, which is the fact that I want to hear every bit of comedy that’s ever been performed. And my solution to that is I’ll listen to any recording I can get my hands on, but make at least some small, cursory effort to avoid doing too much discussion, in a public forum, of anything I hear that hasn’t been officially released. Do you think I’m annoying about Daniel Kitson now? Seriously, does anyone think I go on about him too much on this blog? You have no idea how much I’d be doing that if I didn’t have this rule. I’d never talk about anything else.

I’ve written something about this comedy-as-analgous-to-sports thing before, comparing double act comedy to the way two training partners in a sport can make each other better. I still think that’s true. The highest level of sport I’ve ever seen has taken place in a practice room, between two teammates/training partners who know each other very well and can push past the basics. They can do things there that are much more impressive than what anyone can do in a championship tournament, where everyone’s guarded and careful. I feel like two people who work together in a double act might have something similar. Once one way of playing off each other gets played to its conclusion enough times, they force each other to find new stuff, in a way that nothing else really does.

So, that’s my way of realizing that the part of comedy nerdery that appeals to me is sort of the same as the part like likes following sports. I like watching the timelines – the complicated spider web of timelines – of influences and inspirations. And in both cases, it’s a game that tends to favour the young. It’s so much easier to be an up-and-comer than someone already established. It’s easier to be able to take what you want from everyone who’s ahead of you, than to see that people are taking from you, and have to keep evolving to stay ahead of them. That’s hard to do, and it sucks, but it does make the sport or art or whatever else, as a whole, better. Everyone gets better that way.

Obviously, in comedy there is a fine line between influence and plagiarism. I don’t know where the line exactly is, between saying someone has clearly been an influence on someone else’s work, and saying someone has ripped someone else off. Obviously some things are clear cut, if you steal someone else’s specific joke, but how do you define it if you’re just stealing someone’s style? How similar does it have to be before it’s unacceptable?

Personally, looking at it from this perspective, I don’t mind quite a bit of similarity. I’m no fan of capitalism, but I have to admit they may have it right in this case: the level as a whole gets raised by increased competition, and multiple people doing similar things adds to that. It also creates a market in which people have to work harder if they want to stand out. If the “market” in one style of comedy is saturated, people have to find another (I realize this is a bit of a sharp mixing of metaphors, please go with me as I briefly going from comparing it to sports to comparing it to economics, this post might not be hugely coherent), expand the boundaries of comedy and create something new. That’s how you get people everywhere scrambling to find some bit of ground that hasn’t already been covered thousands of times. If they do manage to find any, that’ll be great for them for about ten seconds, until all the other comedians figure it out and then go cover that before it gets saturated too. That’s also how you get comedians latching on for dear life to whatever USPs they can claim or manifest, as that might be a rare thing that everyone else can’t immediately jump on as well.

This does all push comedy as a whole to new and exciting places, but there has to be some kind of human element. We’re not, in fact, all just faceless capitalist cogs. If I see a comedian getting very successful by doing almost exactly the same thing as another comedian – even if the more successful comedian may have slightly improved the style they’ve ripped off and therefore raised the overall level of comedy involved – that’s not great.

I do think it’s right to remember who did everything first, because doing something original is a hell of a lot harder than jumping on a bandwagon. I like it when comedians acknowledge what got them there. I love hearing Stewart Lee talk about this; he’s the first comedian who came to my mind as someone to whom this is clearly important. He’s always telling people about the tradition of alternative comedy that turned into what he does, and the history that he doesn’t want forgotten as he builds on it. I think that’s the way to keep having comedy benefit from capitalist-style competition without, you know, ruthlessness. Acknowledge the history.

After considering all this, I go back to that Kitson quote from 2007. Daniel Kitson was not the first person in the world to, for lack of a better way to put this, talk about feelings in comedy. But he did find quite an original of doing it, that had not been done very often before. Not in the way he did it, at least. He found something original, he got a huge amount of success and attention for it almost immediately, and by 2007, he was already feeling other comedians trying to get in on it. So he was trying to adapt his own work to stay ahead of that. “The more stuff you do, the more you realise it’s been done. And that's when you go ‘all right’, stop what you're doing and do something else. And if someone is doing similar material to yours, you just write something new that’s better.”

Today, you can hardly move for comedians talking about feelings. And obviously that’s not all down to Kitson, but he had a significant hand in shaping it. It leaves him in an odd place now. He started in a world where the thing he was best at, and wanted to do, had rarely been done. Now he’s is in a world where it’s everywhere, partly because he personally changed the game. Not just him, of course. Lots of people did similar stuff, and if Kiston hadn’t pioneered the covering of the specific ground that he did, I’m sure someone else would have. But probably not as well as he did.

Okay, that’s what I wanted to write about. Now that I’ve written it all down, I realize it all feels very, very obvious, and probably fairly pointless to actually say. But fortunately, I’m not trying to make a living off this little blog, so I can write things that are obvious and have been said in better ways by other people, and I don’t have to worry about whether that’s a problem.

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sugarcubetikki · 2 years ago

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One of the few Muggle scenes from S1 that us bylers like to debate over is the “pretty” scene between Mike and El.

As on the surface level, with how the scene is framed and shot, it seems to be a blatantly romantic scene between the two of them where Mike’s showing attraction to El.

Mike appearing shocked and letting it slip out that El looked “pretty” but taking it back and saying “pretty good” does come off strongly as romantically coded. However, the shot that follows the closeup interaction between the two is a fascinating one.

We have El looking at herself in the mirror and admiring this new look. It’s important as she’s in Nancy’s clothing as she’s depicted a fascination with Nancy and Nancy’s things reflecting her desire to live like a normal girl. Be pretty like a normal girl as it’s something she’s never had and El wants to fit in.

If this moment is supposed to be so validating to El, why do we have Mike in the frame? They did not have to have him in this scene that’s supposed to be El-centred with that expression on his face.

Judging by his facial expression and body language, he appears to be feeling a bit uneasy, anxious and confused. It’s not really the facial expression that screams oh god she’s so pretty I think I like her what do I do. His nervousness has an uneasy tint to it and it’s not something I’d say is reflective of romantic interest because he’s too tense…tense like he’s going through some inner conflict and almost dissatisfied with something.

I’d also like to point out the significance of a mirror being used to illustrate this.

In literature, mirrors are carriers of truth and are meant to reflect what one’s truth is. Psychology describes mirrors to be a barrier between the conscious and unconscious and thus, by looking deep into a mirror, we’re looking deep inside ourselves in a conscious manner.

I’d say the symbolism lines up perfectly with El, who I’d argue is looking deep inside herself in this scene, she’s introspecting and acknowledging validation to her innermost desires of normalcy and fitting in within this season.

The mirror being used for Mike to illustrate a duality within his reaction to El being pretty and his confused facial expression is also very interesting and with the idea that mirrors are reflectors of truth then what Mike is feeling here is showing us a preview of his innermost desires and how they’re different to what they seem.

It’s not really the first time the show has used a mirror to convey dualities and truth. Van scene?

This scene is literally the most blatant example of this and key because the dualities presented in that scene are intentional as the Duffers interview article stated.

In this scene, the duality is between Will’s lie and him concealing his true feelings through El’s name, the audience/Jonathan can tell he’s not being entirely honest here and the rearview mirror shots especially highlights that duality as well as revealing truths (I’d argue there’s also a duality with Mike’s feelings here because the rearview mirror shots seem to highlight moments of Mike’s confusion/his smile also dropping when Will states the painting was commissioned by El).

I think it’s therefore safe to say that a similar argument can be made with the “pretty” scene from S1 because why have Mike in the frame? why have Mike make that expression? That one scene doesn’t add up with what we’ve deducted so far. That’s the only time we have a strong romantically coded pretty scene between them too, the one in S3 was dry on Mike’s end (also the other compliment scenes are “bitchin” that parallel to Hopper and El isn’t great).

In conclusion, Mercury is dead and Mike Wheeler is gay, it’s the only thing that makes sense and this one scene doesn’t disregard anything!

#byler #byler analysis #sugar analyses #stranger things #st4 spoilers #mike wheeler is gay #will byers is gay #milkvan #will byers #mike wheeler

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olderthannetfic · 4 years ago

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It's really surprising that you're so well versed in older fandoms and yet participate in new popular ones (that cdrama, kpop) is this by design? Im in my twenties and my interest turnover is already way slower than it used to be

You know, that’s a really interesting question. I wouldn’t say it’s by design exactly in that I do tend to just follow what strikes my fancy, and I can’t force myself to want to write fic for just anything. (I find it easier to like reading fic without serious involuntary emotional investment, but writing takes more. Vidding I can do on command most of the time, but I don’t usually bother unless I have a lot of feels or I’m fulfilling someone’s prompt.)

However, me getting into BTS was 100% due to me wanting to understand BTS enough to explain to people who weren’t very interested but wanted to know what was going on in fandom lately. Under normal circumstances, I run the dance party at Escapade, the oldest extant slash con. We borrowed vividcon’s thing of playing fanvids on the wall--all of them set to dance music--as the soundtrack for the dance party. This means I’m creating a 3-hour mixtape of fannishness, which has amazing potential to make people feel in the know about Fandom Today... and equal potential to make them feel alienated if nothing they care about shows up. Only about 100-150 people attend the con, so it really is possible to make a playlist that feels inclusive yet informative--it just takes a huge amount of work.

Every year, I do a lot of research on which fandoms are getting big and look for vids from vidders people won’t have heard of, so there is an element of consciously trying to keep up with things. Generally, I only get into these fandoms myself if I had no idea what they were and then suddenly, oops, they’re my kryptonite, like the buddy cop android plot in Detroit: Become Human, which sucked me in hard for like 6 months on the basis of a vid.

(So if you’re into cross-fandom meta and associated stuff as one of your fannish interests, you tend to have broader knowledge of different fandoms, old and new, than if you’re just looking for the next place you’ll read fic. It’s also easier to love vids for unfamiliar things than fic.)

But though I was only looking for a basic primer on BTS, BTS has 7 members with multiple names and no clear juggernaut pairing, not to mention that AU that runs through the music videos and lots of other context to explain. The barrier to understanding WTF was going on at all was high enough that to know enough to explain, I had to be thoroughly exposed... And once I was over that hurdle, oops, I had a fandom.

In terms of old vs. new, here’s the thing: kpop fandoms in English and c-drama fandoms in English right now feel a lot like anime fandom in English did in the early 00s. I had a Buddy Cops of the 70s phase in the middle, but my current fannishness is actually a return to my older fannishness in many ways.

What do I mean about them being similar?

Yes, I know some wanker will show up to say I think China, Korea, and Japan are indistinguishable, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the way that I used to routinely meet Italian and French and German fans, Argentinian and Mexican, Malaysian and Indonesian and Filipino too. English-language fandom of SPN or MCU may have all those fans from all those countries, but it feels very American most of the time. English-language fandom of a non-English-language canon is more overtly about using English as a lingua franca.

It also tends to attract people who as a sideline to their fannishness are getting into language learning and translation, which are my other passion in life after fanworks fandom. (I speak only English and Spanish and a bit of Japanese, but I’ve studied German, French, Russian, Mandarin, Old English, and now Korean.)

Nerds arguing about methods of language learning and which textbooks are good and why is my jam. This is all over the place in English-language fandoms of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean media. Those fandoms also tend to be full of speakers coming from a Germanic or Romance languages background who face similar hurdles in learning these languages. (In other words, if you’re a native Japanese speaker trying to learn Korean, the parts that will be hard for you are different than if you’re an English speaker, but you’re also usually not doing fandom in English.)

There’s also an element of scarcity and difficulty of access and a communal attempt to construct a canon (in the other sense) of stuff from that country that pertains to one’s fannishness. So, for example, a primer explaining the genre of xianxia is highly relevant to being a n00b Untamed fan, but just any old thing about China is not. A c-drama adapted from a danmei webnovel is perhaps part of the new pantheon of Chinese shit we’re all getting into, but just any old drama from decades ago is probably not... unless it’s a genre precursor to something else we care about. Another aspect here is that while Stuff I Can Access As A N00b Who Doesn’t Speak The Language may be relatively scarce, there’s a vast, vast wealth of stuff that exists.

This is what it felt like to be an anime fan in the US in 2000. As translation got more commercial and more crappy series were licensed and dumped onto an already glutted market, the vibe changed. No longer were fans desperately trying to learn enough of the language to translate or spending their time cataloguing what existed or making fanworks about a show they stuck with for a bit: the overall community focus turned to an endless race of consumption to keep up with all of the latest releases. That’s a perfectly valid way of being fannish, but if I wanted that, I’d binge US television 24/7.

Anime fandom got bigger, but what I liked about anime fandom in English died, and I moved on. (Okay, I first moved on to Onmyouji, which is a live action Japanese thing, but still.)

Hardcore weeaboos and now fans of Chinese and Korean stuff don’t stop at language: people get excited about cooking, my other other great passion. Times a thousand if the canon is something like The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, which is full of loving shots of food preparation. People get excited about history! Mandarin and Japanese may share almost nothing in terms of grammar or phonology, but all of East Asia has influence from specific Chinese power centers historically, and there are commonalities to historical architecture and clothing that I love.

I fell out of love with the popular anime art styles as they changed, and I’m not that into animation in general these days. (I still own a shitton of manga in art styles I like, like Okano Reiko’s Onmyouji series.) I’ve become a filmmaker over the last decade, and I’m very excited about beautiful cinematography and editing. With one thing and another, I’m probably not going to get back into anime fandom, but it’s lovely to revisit the cultural aspects I enjoyed about it via live-action media.

BTS surprised me too, to be honest. I really dislike that early 90s R&B ballad style that infests idol music (not just Korean--believe me, I resisted many rounds of “But Johnny’s Entertainment though!” back in the day). While I like some of the dance pop, I just don’t care. But OH NO, BTS turn out to be massive conscious hip hop fanboys, and their music sounds different. I have some tl;dr about my reactions in the meta I wrote about one of my fanvids, which you can find on Dreamwidth here.

But back to your comment about turnover: I know fans from the 70s who’ve had one great fannish love and that’s it and more who were like that but eventually moved on to a second or third. They’re... really fannishly monogamous in a way I find hard to comprehend. It was the norm long ago, but even by the 90s when far more people were getting into fandom, it was seen as a little weird. By now, with exponentially more people in fandom, it’s almost unheard of. I think those fans still exist, even as new people joining, but we don’t notice them. They were always rare, but in the past, only people like that had the stamina to get over the barriers to entry and actually become the people who made zines or were willing to be visibly into fanfic in eras when that was seen as really weird. On top of that, there’s an element of me, us, judging the past by what’s left: only people with an intense and often single passion are visible because other people either drifted away or have seamlessly disappeared into some modern fandom. They don’t say they’re 80 or 60 or 40 instead of 20, so nobody knows.

In general, I’m a small fandoms and rare ships person. My brain will do its best to thwart me by liking whatever has no fic even in a big fic fandom... (Except BTS because there is literally fic for any combination of them, like even more than for the likes of MCU. Wow. Best fandom evar!) So I have an incentive to not get complacent and just stick with one fandom because I would very soon have no ability to be in fandom at all.

My appetite for Consuming All The Things has slowed way down, but it also goes in waves, and a lot of what I’m consuming is what I did back in 2000: journal articles and the limited range of English-language books on the history of m/m sex and romance in East Asia. It’s not so much that I have a million fandoms as that I’m watching a few shows as an expression of my interest in East Asian costume dramas and East Asian history generally.

I do like to sit with one thing and experience it deeply rather than moving on quickly, but the surface expression of this has changed depending on whether I’m more into writing fic or more into doing research or something else.

But yes, I do do a certain amount of trying to stay current, often as a part of research for fandom meta or to help other people know what’s going on. Having a sense of what’s big doesn’t automatically mean getting into all those things, but I think some fans who are older-in-fandom and/or older-in-years stop being open to even hearing what’s new. And if you’ve never heard of it, you’ll never know if you might have liked it.

#fandom meta #fandom history #Anonymous

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odi-et-amo85 · 3 years ago

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I feel like I’ve been on a journey. From @la-fourmi ‘s post to your ask and now to your ask box. I feel so seen and validated, like you just wrote my life story in an ask. From the girl crush that I repressed as a teen (bc my crush bullied me unfortunately), to my interest in lgbtq+ literature and media, to my questioning of why I liked it and was drawn to that media and those spaces, to my judging and questioning myself bc of and ultimately discarding the whole fetishization argument, to realizing ultimately that I was bi (as an adult maybe 8 months ago) and that was why I kept seeking out lgbtq+ lit and media and had been for years (I can’t believe how blind I was bc looking back it’s sooo obvious, I mean Xena reruns were my favorite show growing up), to questioning if I really was bi or just wanted to feel like I belonged in lgbtq+ spaces, and I’m currently stuck on sharing it with most ppl bc of the religion thing. I’ve embraced it, and it’s a full part of my online identity here bc I feel safe here. But only 2 ppl know irl.

I feel like I should have screenshot your ask bc there are so many details I’d love to comment on, but I didn’t. oh well. I grew up sheltered in a small town and didn’t know there were other options than straight and gay. By the time I did, I’d repressed the hell out of myself bc “I obviously liked guys, so…” It was actually an article written by Becky Albertalli that set things off for me (bc she was kind of force outted and realized things in her late 30’s). It really got me thinking bc a lot of it felt familiar. So anyway, I’d like to thank you for your story, and I’m so grateful I found it. Reading it meant a lot to me. So thank you and have a lovely weekend! <3333

For full disclosure: I discussed with @if-music-be-the-food-of-love beforehand whether she felt comfortable with me answering this ask publicly. And she did. I thought it was especially important to share this story to help others like me and the person that sent this ask to my inbox. For the record, the ask that Ally refers to is this one, my own ask to @la-fourmi. It’s my personal story of coming to terms with who (or what) I am. So for the sake of my and Ally’s wellbeing, as well as of those who read this post: please respect this post as a safe place to discuss similar experiences. If you really feel like venting your criticism, please meet me in my inbox or send a dm. I can take it there.

I have been struggling so long with this ask. (And I am so sorry if you had to wait for so long to get a response. I did message you in between but I wasn’t very faithful to my promises. Sorry for that.) I felt so honoured by your ask, and I realised it must have been written from such a vulnerable place, that I wanted to do everything I could to give you the best answer possible. And as with most things I want to do really well, I turned it into an impossibly difficult task. Which made answering this even more difficult. So finally, I decided to just get it over with.

So, in case you hadn’t noticed, what it boils down to is: I am bisexual. 🙃

And at first, I thought: “What can I add to this post to make this more clear?” But frankly I don’t know. What further complicates things is that finding out I’m bi wasn’t the end of my journey, but rather the beginning of it. (I’m currently starting to figure out a lot more about how I experience gender [or the lack of it], but that’s a story for another time.) So if I had to wait for this story to end in order to tell it, I’d be waiting a very long time.

In a strange turn of events, I joined a new fandom a couple of months ago. The BL fandom. So in a way, I’m even more confronted with the phenomenon I described in my ask, than I ever was in my teens/ early twenties! 😅 (The phenomenon in question being: “finding out you’re queer, or more specifically wlw/ plw, through watching almost exclusively mlm content.” Because frankly, for a long while, that’s all there was. [Believe me, I’m so old that I had to learn everything from either Degrassi or “thirty-somethings pretending to be teens” , I’ve been there! 👵🏻] And yes, the fetishisation of mlm is definitely a thing, but the bl audience isn’t exclusively comprised of fujoshis.) More importantly: if you (gotta admit I initially thought of women, but if you’re undecided/gnc/male -> consider yourself seen! 💘) recognise yourself in this experience:

Please do not beat yourself up for it! There’s no reason for, because you are valid, with a good heart and as a worthy person! 💕💕💕 We all have our different ways of realising who we are and “magically meeting the love of your life” isn’t the way for everyone. (Plus it has been pretty difficult due to quarantine and other covid-related measures.) So whether your watching/listening to/reading about queer experiences…it is a valid (and most of all: SAFE) way to “experiment.” So, in hope of reaching an even wider audience, I’ll provide some bl tags as well. Maybe this post will reach even more lovely people in need of this message. (Or just provide you with some new inspiration, @if-music-be-the-food-of-love. 😉)

So, in the end I came up with the following solution: if you, dear reader (/ whoever reads this post) has any questions about being bisexual, my search to finding myself 🏳️‍🌈, or how go about telling others. Or if you have any other questions, or just want to share your story/ blow off some steam, or just need a (virtual) shoulder to cry on…

Feel free to reach for my inbox anytime! I promise I will get in touch with your sooner than this. 🙏

All my love,

— Thel. 💚

P.S. Thank you so much for your patience! 🙏

P.P.S. So, in case @la-fourmi ever wants to delete his ask (or leave this hellsite 🥲), here are the screenshots of my ask:

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mariaiscrafting · 3 years ago

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I am so sorry to bother you, but I just had to ask as someone who is fairly new to the fandom: What has Karl done that made people mad at him?

I was also reading through your asks and saw everything on Dream (as a fellow Mexican- ouch.) But I guess my second question is which members aren't problematic and are okay to still like them? Sorry if it all seems random, I've just been trying to get some answers and this seemes like the best place to get them.

I'm not the best person to ask about Karl since I stopped paying attention to him by the end of February, but based on the asks I've gotten and the discourse I've seen here and there, here are the valid things I’ve seen people get mad at him for:

The autism charity stream many celebrities and CCs participated in, which Karl was invited to. Karl apologized on his alt Twitter account arguably later than he should've, and Mr. Beast continued on to participate in the charity anyways.

Traveling cross-country during the pandemic, before getting vaccinated: 1 2 3

Associating with and watching/being a part of the community of streamer, Ice Poseidon: 1��2

I have seen other criticism for Karl because people think he clout chases, dislike how loud/energetic he is, dislike Mr. Beast & co., etc., but personally? I think those are biased, evidenceless reasons that aren’t based on any moral transgression on his part, so I’m disregarding those.

(Note for others: please do not send me asks regarding this post, adding to the context for Karl. If you have any more information that I missed, add it in replies/reblogs, so the original anon can more easily see.)

*****

For your next question, my answer is that it’s okay to like virtually any MCYT creator, as far as I know. Welcome to mcytblr, where there is almost no right or wrong to the people you watch or stan! Despite everything I say about Dream, all the asks I get about Karl, or any of the other CCs I’ve criticized, everyone has the right to like or enjoy any CC they wish (to an extent). It takes a lot- like, extremist and/or genuinely harmful stuff- to convince me that a CC should be completely blacklisted from people’s radars. As of now though, no MCYT CC or Dream SMP member that I can think of besides CallMeCarson has done anything immoral enough to warrant the dictation of who can or can’t like them.

Almost every CC has done or said questionable things that could warrant “cancelling” in some people’s eyes. As I’ve previously said, there are many factors people can keep in mind when evaluating someone’s actions or words, and that final evaluation can vary from person to person within the fandom. Because CCs aren’t people we personally know, we get a very limited scope of their past, their intentions, and their personalities; as such, we each, based on our biases, preferences, and information received, will come to different conclusions on whether or not we forgive/accept the apologies of each CC.

This isn’t Twitter. That is to say, most of mcytblr doesn’t want to dictate who you can or can’t stan. The MCYT CCs in this fandom have done an array of things, including- used ableist, racist, homophobic, and misogynistic slurs; joked about suicide, mental health, sexual assault, anti-semitism, genocide, feminism/misogyny, and racism; expressed classist, transphobic, racist, and misogynistic political beliefs; excluded colleagues and other creators based on bigoted beliefs; supported bigoted organizations and/or people. They have done these things over a span of time ranging from 7 years ago to a few months ago. Stated out-of-context, this makes it seem like this is a fandom full of people stanning bigots.

But lack of context and snap judgements are for Twitter. The reality is that some people tweeted some edgy joke years ago; some people said slurs when they were playing FPS’s as young teenagers; some people made and/or make edgy jokes whilst never expressing genuine belief in those jokes. If you were to summarize the things I have done/said in the past 7 years the way a Twitter user or your average Tumblr anti-MCYT user would, you’d say: “Maria has said ableist and homophobic slurs; expressed xenophobic, Islamaphobic, homophobic, and racist political beliefs; and spouted transphobic and homophobic rhetoric.” That makes me sound like a horrible person, and who is to judge whether or not I am or even was a horrible person? Based on the apologies I have made, the way I treat people now, the length of time that has passed since I said those words or committed those actions, the severity of the bigoted things I have done or said, and the the actions I take and words I use today, the people in my life get to determine if they think I am currently ableist, homophobic, xenophobic, Islamaphobic, or transphobic.

Along a similar vein, it is up to each of us to determine if we believe a CC has changed, if we should accept their apology for whatever they did. And if you don’t, then guess what? You don’t have to watch them.

All I suggest is, if it bothers you that much, try to collect as much unbiased information as possible, so you can make an informed decision. Don’t just rely on Twitter thread summaries or Insider/Medium-style articles or my posts to make your decisions. Find the original video, screenshot, etc. Find the timestamp. Watch the CC and determine whether or not they express the bigoted beliefs or prejudices their past actions would suggest. There is no “right” answer. I might think Dream hasn’t changed because of many reasons I’ve repeated entirely too many times, but there are many people who wouldn’t agree with me, and yk what? That’s fine. If you want to forgive a CC someone else doesn’t, who gives a fuck?

Disclaimer: None of this applies to CallMeCarson or anyone else who has committed actions of a similar or more severe extent. Fuck CallMeCarson

#asks #mcyt #dream smp #discourse #karl critical #karl jacobs critical #uhhhh okay i think that covers my ass for the first half of the ask #politics #eh kinda maybe not but imma count it so i can sort it under that tag on my blog

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clownattack · 4 years ago

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Castor - character bio

I’ve been struggling with getting a bio out for Cas for waaaaay too long now, but i feel pretty ok with how it looks currently - i'm going to repost it on my art blog with some drawings of Cas and Hjalle in the future (hopefully). If you want to skip most of the nonsense and just get a feel for her personality, the section under the bio paragraphs is FULL OF POINTS.

links to drawn refs here and here

Longpost under the cut

✦ Early life in Hjalle:

Being born into the noble family Aran, Castor’s early life consisted mostly of being pampered by the attendants and strict education. Cas was a rowdy kid, and with time, lack of affection and validation from her family served to amplify the trait - she went from occasionally disobedient to full-on antagonistic towards her parents, and the nobility as a whole. She began to sneak out; spending her time outside of the Fort, spying on the guards and trying to bribe knights into taking her on as a page.

When Cas turned nine a sibling came into the picture, and she made it her duty to assure Aster’s upbringing would be better than hers. She poured everything she had into Aster, but soon developed a brash and overbearing streak, unyielding in her focus to teach the meek little sister to stand her ground. Aster became torn between Cas and the parents, who in all fairness, treated her much better than their firstborn. This would remain the case until Castor’s dragon-induced injuries.

In her late teens, Cas was seldom seen in the fort - to everyone's great relief. Her mood was always sour, she gave up on her studies and only seemed to care about Aster and joining the hunting parties. Her parents reached their limit when Castor announced she would not become one of the renowned judges of House Aran - this led to an explosive argument, which concluded with Castor storming out. For the following two years, she lived and worked with rangers tasked with protecting and providing for the town.

It was in those years that Cas acquired her battle prowess and scars, the most prominent being a gift from an especially large and angry dragon. A single swipe of its tail tore Castor’s chest and forearm open, forcing the hunting party to rush her to the fort in (what the hunters expected to be) a futile attempt to get her family to provide medical help for their dying kin. The reception was cold indeed, and if it weren’t for Aster’s hysterics and outrage over her family’s indifference, Cas would have not survived the grievous wounds. The upside to this event was a new high tale to impress people with, and strengthening the bond between two sisters. The downside - Castor was now under her parent’s thumb. They made her accept the position of inquisitor; to make up for the hassle she caused them. Taking up the mantle turned Castor’s world upside down - not only would she have to work in close proximity to her father, but her dreams of being knighted were shattered, as inquisitorial duties stand in stark opposition to virtues of knighthood. As Inquisitor she was tasked with investigating and interrogating for the court - the latter, as Aran tradition had it, was extraordinarily bloody.

✦ Vesuvia:

Almost as soon as she arrived, the city sparked something in Cas. This was unexpected to say the least; she was certain the years of gruesome work as inquisitor numbed her to simple joys of life. The sights and sounds of Vesuvia however, made her eager to explore and see how everything ticked - and the more she saw the more she wished to remain in the city. After attending the Masquerade and becoming acquainted with Asra, Cas was prepared to do anything to stay - even if it meant sucking up to the Buffoon count and begging for a job. Lucio proved to be anything but opposed - he’d heard of the “bloody good shows” (pun intended) Castor was infamous for, and was eager to take her off her parents hands. This led to working parallel to the count and his court, but also enabled Cas to dabble in magic under Asra’s tutelage.

This slight betterment of Cas’ situation would not last long however, as The Red Plague took complete hold of the city mere months after she took up her residence in Vesuvia. After perishing, and being brought back by Asra, she very slowly regains certain memories and traits - her sister, love of astronomy, sword skills. She sneaks out, snoops, and is a handful overall; but Asra is happy to see Castor’s “new” self free of bitterness and pain.

After this point, the “game events” take place. I like to imagine Castor braving an amalgam of Nadia and Portia routes, with a fistful (or multiple) of courtier drama. Castor is tasked with an investigation, slowly but surely unravelling how deep the corruption runs in Vesuvia, and how much of it can be attributed to the courtiers. The conclusion of her story focuses on first facing off against the court, then the Justice Arcana.

✦ Physical appearance

Light olive skin, she picks up a slight tan in Vesuvia.

Dark gray eyes, striking marbling on the iris.

Long girl - 176 cm tall, loves being the “tall friend” (and manhandling people close to her). Being taller than her is taken as an indirect challenge.

She has a rectangular body type, could be described as a “runner’s body”.

Prominent scarring across right forearm and torso, missing right breast.

Tastefully disheveled. Her hair has a constantly windswept quality, and the gray streaks seem to be especially unruly.

Inherited the “Aran silver” (early graying), she tries to ignore it. “The more you hide it, the more it shows”.

Secretly really bothered by the many similarities to her father. Avoids looking at herself too much, and whenever she does it feels like he’s looking back at her, judging.

Only ever smoothes herself over before important court meetings and social events. She doesn't know how makeup works, so before any party she asks Asra to sort her out. Cas looking prim is both a treat and a source of friendly jabs.

✦ Character traits

Power walking by default. This can be somewhat intimidating, and she won’t stop if someone is in her way - just put them to the side and continue.

Puts up a really convincing pretence of formality and refinement.

In actuality she finds this facade tiresome, and just wants to talk fast about battle/hunting feats or astronomy. Maybe show off her pyromancy.

Loves socializing, it recharges her batteries.

Dilligent worker.

Tends to overwork herself and neglect her relationships.

Often scatter minded and wanting to do too many things at one time.

Doesn’t appreciate people instigating physical contact or getting up in her face. She needs to prepare herself for it, or be the initiator.

Stubborn as a mule. Never knows when to stop pressing people.

Extremely callous at times.

Annoyingly overbearing

Most of this springs from a place of fear - things had a habit of getting worse whenever her family imposed decisions onto her. In her mind, if she’s the one holding the reins, everything will be better. And if something does fail - she will be the only one to blame.

Starting arguments comes much too easily to her, but she’s just as quick to introspect, and seek out the person she argued with to apologize and approach the issue in an appropriate manner.

Forgives easily

Eternally scoffing at astrology. She knows shes being bigoted, but at this point its almost like an inside joke between her and Asra. “Astrology? It's baby stuff. PSEUDOSCIENCE!” (she cries as she worries over her afternoon tarot reading and preparing pretty horoscopes for the Shop...)

A huge hypocrite at times. “Do as I say, not as I do” could easily be her motto.

Both the upright and reversed Knight of Swords card sums her character up perfectly.

✦ Occupation & Residency

Vesuvia:

Beginning of her story follows the game canon almost to a T - Cas lives with Asra in the Shop, and works there. It bores her to death, and she plays tricks on every customer just to entertain herself.

After being officially hired by Nadia as the Palace Magician, Castor moves out of the shop and purchases a modest house in Goldgrave, much below the value of what Nadia offered her, and what she could afford. It’s convenient and that’s what matters to Cas. She continues supplying the shop diligently, and takes over whenever Asra runs off.

Nadia insisted on Castor having an office in the palace. It grew on her with time, and after The Devil is dealt with it becomes her little “hub”.

Hjalle:

Cas lived with her family in the castle site until 17 years old.

After denying her parents their plans for her future as a judge, she hunkered down in a hunting lodge outside of the town, and spent almost two years living that way - she still thinks of these two years as the most joyous time in her life.

The only thing she ever used her family’s wealth for was commissioning the construction of an extravagant observatory. Reminiscent of a gothic fortress, the stark exterior is contrasted with insides filled with artwork and art-nouveau ornaments. The central chamber is a vast library with a powerful telescope in its apse - it is a sight that could take the breath of the most haughty of nobles.

There’s a tiny living space below the main chamber, furnished sparingly, but with a lovely fireplace (in Hjalle, its a necessity). It’s where Cas stays after becoming the inquisitor/whenever she visits after the in-game events.

✦ Trivia

Cas is 23 years old when she first arrives to Vesuvia - 28 at the time of The Devil’s downfall.

She freed Merlin from a merchant’s cage in the Red Market, during one of her outings in the three year interlude after her death - Asra fumes after they find out she snuck out to the market - yet is amazed that Cas found a familiar.

Cas regained her first memories via touching objects linked to her past life - a letter from Aster, articles of clothing, a sword...

This self re-discovering takes a turn for the worse when Cas finally finds a large, ornate knife - the one she inherited after becoming inquisitor. The memories it resurfaces are a staggering blow to Castor, completely derailing the beliefs she had about her own person. She thought of herself as a paragon, and remembering the torture she inflicted upon others, the lives taken in the name of “justice” made her relapse into bitterness and disenchantment. She deals with those feelings as her investigation into the courtiers progresses.

Predominantly uses pyromancy, other types of magic are strictly used for her work at the palace, and rather sparingly.

Could be best described as a battlemage - enjoys being in melee range and assaulting her quarry with both sword and fire; the latter being used more as a way to distract or stagger the enemy than actually harm. There's no fun in just burning them up!

Doesn’t cook for herself, although she has a natural knack for it - will only cook for guests and short people.

Her dislike of Lucio clashes with gratitude for employing her when she first arrived to Vesuvia - he was the knife which cut Cas off from her parents, and it’s something she could never forget.

Demiromatic/sexual.

She was offered to be knighted by Nadia after defeating The Devil. Cas declined - It’s much more than a title to her, and accepting seemed like mockery (considering her past as inquisitor).

Short fuse, she learns to better control herself while working in the palace. But if someone really pushes her the nearby candles miiiight get a bit out of control. Or she’ll just throttle them.

Hates her full name - Castor is such a mouthful. Sounds stuck up too...

#mc cas #castor aran #apprentice castor #oc bio #longpost #im pretty sure this is just incomprehensible #also text formatting on tumblr SUCKS i never knew until now #ive beed rewriting this for SO LONG NOW and im TIRED #so ill just leave it here #and if i ever feel like i can do better #oblivion is but a click away #begone #post #i cant write so PLEASE forgive me for the sins contained in this

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the-stoned-priestess · 4 years ago

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I Don't Follow "Gurus"

Mentioned this a while on my spiritual journey blog but this is specifically about Doreen Virtue. As you have noticed I've been buying her cards as I'm a collector and she still has a small place in my heart.

My reading began over 15 years ago and I have spoke to Doreen over the phone several times. She was an "ok" reader. Also I felt less interested in the existing decks over time. Then when I heard she converted to Christianity, it kind of threw me through a loop.

I was a JW and grew up intuitive.

There are plenty of psychic Christians who do amazing work. I myself have my own relationship with God inspite of my "teacher" now saying everything she did new age is evil. Since she fell off the new age wagon, I swore to never follow a guru or teach and that I would do my best to always keep learning and try to not come off as an expert. Even though I lost interest in her a little before her switch, it hurt to read her saying some very fucked up shit about the people who supported her or used her services.

But I have to thank her because that was when I started to hear the voice of God as wacko as it sounds. From that moment I read that article, God literally lead me out of a horrible relationship with my ex (and more drugs), held my hand through my homelessness and provided me with everything I have right now. My life is back on track because of him and my belief in him. Full stop. All credit goes to Him.

So Doreen Virtue is the first and last I ever follow.

I'm not going to bash her or judge her. The thing is, while some new agers may convert to organize religion, there are more leaving organized religion for new age too! I try not to box myself in. I do "witchy" things, but it doesn't make me a witch, I have some Christian beliefs and a personal relationship with God, but I'm not Christian, I converse with beings but it doesn't make me crazy.

I've read stories of new agers converting and some of them sound silly. Idk how to explain in a polite way. Their stories sound like irresponsible usage of spirit boards or something like that. I don't think some of those people were real new agers or people with proper knowledge or training. Then there were stories similar to Doreen's that make more sense. Everyone is still entitled to thier beliefs.

You don't have to accept or agree or to validate me.

I think if we all listen to and go by the beat of our own drums, without the need to judge, the world would be a better place. Looking up to a spiritual "leader" is good but you run the risk of major disappointment if they should ever jump ship.

#doreen virtue #tarot community #free readings #witchblr #psychic #ask a psychic #tarot readings #tarot readers #tarot cards #psychics of tumblr #psychics #god #god is good

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

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How do you manage to write so much? I have this fic I'm working on and I know exactly what I want to happen in the scenes, but I struggle with actually writing the prose for it and describing the events. Even getting 500 words out is hard, so seeing you churning out content is pretty amazing to me (especially because it's all so good). If you have any tips to share it would be really appriciated!

First - thank you so much, anon! I was literally just thinking tonight about how I haven’t written enough lately and then you come in with “How do you manage to write so much?” So I think that’s a good thing for every writer to keep in mind: how we might perceive our accomplishments doesn’t necessarily reflect what we’ve actually accomplished. Those feelings are something I’d like to address here. As is abundantly obvious, the advice I’m about to offer is stuff I often struggle to follow too ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But let’s see... yes, I’ve got 10 tips (nice round number) for producing writing, approaching your writing, and dealing with that pesky “How do I describe events?” issue. These are in no good order:

1. Reject the “Write ___ amount of words every day” advice. It doesn’t work. Or if it does work it’s because we’re prioritizing writing over literally everything else, which I personally don’t think is healthy. The days I haven’t written recently include things like “Battling a bad cold” and “Spent the day with Dad in the ER” (he’s fine!). If I had forced myself to write on those days it would have been in lieu of taking time to rest/recuperate, so I didn’t. If I were still demanding of myself, “You can’t lose your writing streak 😡” then I would have felt intensely guilty about taking that time to rest. That’s just training yourself to associate writing with negative emotions. Instead, I’ve started tracking my progress with Word Keeper.

As you can see, it’s all over the place, but over the last month I’ve found that it has given me a much better sense of what I’m accomplishing overall. Rather than getting upset about days where I only wrote a tiny amount, or didn’t write at all, I can now also easily remind myself of the days when I wrote a whole lot, or the days where I managed to be fairly consistent. Let your writing fluctuate. There’s something to be said for not being dependent on motivation (there are plenty of times where I encourage myself to write even if I don’t want to), but don’t hold yourself to overly rigid standards either.

2. Consider rejecting the “Write for an hour every morning/carve out a specific time to do nothing but writing” advice. If that works for you, great. Me? I’ll never manage it. Beyond the fact that I would murder mornings if I could and, as established, don’t do well with a rigid schedule, my brain is way too hyperactive to focus on one task for long. And by “long” I mean... more than 10-15 minutes. So what I personally do is alternate tiny bits of writing with something else I want to accomplish, usually another task I’m having trouble focusing on. Let’s say I need to read an article and I want to write those 500 words. Both tasks are rather daunting. 500 words? 35 pages?? No thank you. I can, however, manage 100 words and 5 pages... so I just alternate. Read 5 pages. Write 100 words. Read 5 more pages. Another 100 words. Back and forth, with amounts that work for you. Whatever is doable, even if that means something like 10 words and half a page. And if you find yourself going, “Wait, wait just 100 more words so I can finish this scene,” all the better. Do that for an afternoon and you’ve made significant headway on both projects. You can also alternate with something you want to do. I finished the latest Before the Dawn recap by doing that with The Clone Wars. One 20 minute episode, then 250 words, essentially using my show as a reward system: write that little bit so you can find out what stupidity Anakin does next.

Speaking of rewards...

3. Try using 4 The Words. I absolutely love this website because it turns writing into a game and I am an absolute sucker for validation of any sort. Essentially, you get to choose how much writing you want to get done in a single sitting - either timed or by word count - and that goal corresponds with a monster to defeat. Write the required amount in the allotted time period and you receive rewards for your avatar, experience, etc. If you’re like me and enjoy games at all, that’s a huge motivator. Maybe you’d never consider trying to write 750 words in a single sitting, but the 750 words monster drops the specific loot you need to finish a quest... so why not give it a try? I find that the time limits are quite generous and the system counts any words you’ve written, not what you decide to keep. Remember that writing is writing, so even if you churn out those 750 words and then decide you hate the whole scene, that time wasn’t wasted. It’s helping you figure out what you do want instead.

4. Don’t set those rigid standards, but try to hold yourself accountable in some manner too. That’s why when I changed my blog theme I decided to put what project I was working on in the bio and what I planned to work on next. Whether anyone actually cares about that doesn’t matter, I perceive that as, “Damn I told everyone I’d have a Witcher drabble done next. Better work on that!” That veneer of accountability helps keep me on track.

5. It sounds like you’ve already got an outline - which is great! Once you know what you want to happen, keep in mind that you don’t have to write it in that order. This is something I still really struggle with because I often post chaptered fics as I go. I can’t be writing Chapter 20 when Chapter 15 isn’t even out yet! But sometimes that’s the best way to get past your road block. If you’ve got a scene in your head that’s a little more clear, even if it’s just a tiny description or dialogue exchange, go write that instead of beating your head against the part where you’re stuck.

6. Regarding the specific issue of prose and describing events: daydream about it. Be the most cliche, cringy author who falls headfirst into their own worlds. A lot of times when I’m stuck I try to stop thinking about this as me writing a scene. Rather, it’s a scene for me to escape into when I’m bored in the car, or falling asleep, or tuning out an awkward conversation. Presumably you want to spend time in the world you’ve created, so let yourself do that, either as an outside observer or taking the place of one of the characters. Fantasize about this moment and then afterwards think back to what your brain conjured up. Going, “I need to write this fight scene now” is kind of daunting and maybe you just sit there, having no idea how “fight scene” translates into actual pages of action. If, however, you daydream about an epic battle you might later go, “Oh yeah! I/they did that cool flip move to disarm the opponent. Let’s see if I can describe that...”

7. If the problem is more “I know there’s going to be a cool flip move but how do I describe that without just saying ‘The hero did a cool flip move’???” Let yourself just write “The hero flipped the sword out of his enemy’s hands.” Probably the most annoying part about writing (besides, you know, all of it) is remembering that you can, should, and must revise. Write a shitty description and move on. Come back to it later. Composing the rest of the scene will help you make the description less shitty the second time around. And want to know a secret? It’s probably not nearly as shitty as you first thought it was. A lot of times I churn out what feels like truly horrific descriptions, let it sit for a while, and when I come back to the work as a “new” reader I think, “You know what? There are definitely things I want to change, but this isn’t nearly as bad as I remember it being...” Again, writers often can’t be trusted to judge their own accomplishments.

8. Research things. Watch stuff. Read stuff - and pay attention to the fact that you’re currently reading to learn. No one is born knowing how to write compelling scenes. That comes of not just practice, but engaging with a ton of other stories and consciously/unconsciously pulling from them. Not sure how to write a cool fight scene? Go read some cool fight scenes. Watch your favorites on Youtube. Pull a detail from here, there, then weave them into something new. Some authors claim they won’t engage with any stories similar to their own because they don’t want to taint their own ideas, but that’s just trying to write without providing yourself with any fuel. If you want to know how to describe a farm, go read others’ descriptions of farms, look at pictures of farms, watch TV shows with farms in them, etc. Same with anything else you might be stuck on.

9. Remind yourself that some kinds of writing are going to come more easily to you than others. That’s not just in regards to things like dialogue vs. prose, but also big categories like fiction vs. nonfiction. Me? I can (quite obviously...) write a ton when it comes to asks and recaps. Explaining my own thought process comes very easily to me, and I’m long-winded, which means that when the project is something like, “Tell readers what you thought about this book” I can churn out 4,000 words easy peasy. Fiction though? That’s a slog. That’s where I’m writing in 100 words chunks, sometimes pulling each word out with all the joy of enduring a root canal. I will never - EVER - be a Stephen King writing 2,000 words of fiction a day. And that’s okay! Every writer is different and it does no good to compare ourselves to others who are writing more (hard as that is) because there will always be someone doing it “better.” That’s a competition we can’t win. Getting writing done is as much a mindset as it is a skill. Teaching yourself to go, “Yeah! 50 words today!! :D” is going to help more than berating yourself with, “Oh. Only 50 words today :(” But a part of that is also recognizing that you probably wrote a whole lot more than just 50 words. Do you write for your job? Answer emails? Keep a journal? Answer asks? Text whole conversations with your friends? Writing of all sorts takes energy and it all “counts.” If you spent the day catching up on your messages, it’s no wonder you might struggle to write more during your free time. Saying you “haven’t written” today because you didn’t write fiction as well as all the writing we naturally do on a daily basis is absurd. Sometimes you’ve just got to recognize that and let yourself watch some TV instead.

10. Finally, WRITE “BAD” THINGS. This is something I’m still really, really struggling with. It’s very much connected to #7, but try to let yourself accept what you’ve produced at a certain point. Doing that will, in time, help you produce more things in the first place. The author who obsesses over writing the perfect paragraph is unlikely to get to the second... and writing the second paragraph is what’s going to help them develop the skills to make the first paragraph better. Put aside the perfectionism. I’m currently trying to do that with my original work. I have lots of ideas for flash fiction and, like you, I know precisely what will happen in them... but I struggle to actually write the stupid things. I’ve recognized that a lot of that difficulty stems from how bad I perceive them to be. When a story doesn’t sound like that flash fiction with the national award attached to it my brain goes, “Well, looks like we’re trash! Time to stop writing forever and ever 🙃” At some point you’ve just got to take a mental broom and beat that bastard voice into the back of your mind, far enough to start writing again. Try to accept that no, our prose probably won’t win any awards. Also try to accept that hey, someday maybe it will. But neither can be reality until we actually write the story. So one of these days I’ll set a goal for a flash fiction, finish it, post it here for you masses to judge, and try to shrug off all the scary feelings that come with that. Every good writer has to write a LOT of bad stuff in order to start producing something decent, let alone good... so let yourself do that. The more we can concentrate on why we want to write, rather than those “Ugh this description isn’t good enough” or “I can’t even get 500 words done” feelings, the more we create a situation where, in time, we will write astounding descriptions and far more than 500 words.

All of which is much MUCH easier said than done. But I hope this helps at least a little, anon! 💜

#writing #writing advice #fic things #Anonymous

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heeyjuuuude · 4 years ago

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so i’m finally posting some of my writing!! any feedback is welcome — it’s been years since i’ve posted anything, and my writing style has changed quite a bit. (this is so much longer and more intense than i had planned good lord.)

a couple things real quick! in this, there are some thinly-veiled references to nsfw happenings and some decidedly less thinly-veiled internalized homophobia, some of which comes from bitty’s experience with religion, and general homophobia. there’s also a passing mention of past canon-typical underage alcohol consumption. please read with caution, and if you have any concerns or think i missed a tag, please please please contact me!! going by ao3 standards, this is rated mature.

edit: this is now posted on ao3! you’re not allowed to judge me for my old fics lmao

(we’ll take it slow and) grow as we go

The thing is, Eric does want this. In the weeks between three stolen kisses in an empty bedroom and Jack joining him in Madison, he spent nights alone except for the ghost of Jack’s lips on his, and in his mind those lips press under the corner of his jaw and then over the swell of his Adam’s apple and then into the dip of his collarbone, and maybe they go lower and lower and lower.

In the privacy of his room, late enough at night that Mama and Coach have long ago knocked their goodnights on his closed bedroom door, this is safe to imagine, and it’s not quite anything new to him. He’s known without any doubt he prefers boys since he was fifteen and fumbling with the computer mouse on days when the house was empty but for a small teenager with red cheeks and wide eyes. He spent many nights with videos of men dressed in nothing burned into the backs of his eyelids, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and one hand tucked under the elastic lining the top of his boxers. And for exactly the same number of nights of that, there was a half hour spent in tears or near it, wondering if there was something wrong with him and wondering if Father Wilson was right in his homily last week and wondering how long he needs to pretend to think of girls with long wavy hair instead of boys with callused hands.

So no, it isn’t new and hasn’t been for years, but it feels like it is. There are similarities between then and now — Coach is down at the school, busy running his football players into the ground under the blazing summer sun, and Mama is on a front porch miles away, busy sipping sweet tea with her church friends under the brim of a baseball cap, and Eric’s cheeks are burning bright. The differences, though, are more important. He has his body curled into Jack’s, his lips pressed to Jack’s, his fingers tangled around Jack’s. They’re trading sweet, lazy kisses, laying on their sides with Eric’s dark teal duvet pulled around their shoulders so that the warmth of their bodies is trapped around them. He finds he doesn’t much mind the heat, and he supposes the fan whirring and clicking above their heads helps, but there’s just something blooming in the air between them — not that there’s much air there — and he isn’t sure whether it’s love or lust but he is sure that some part of him is aching for it in a way he isn’t used to.

He tells himself that it’s okay to want this, as Jack’s lips part against his. He tells himself that the heat simmering low in his stomach is okay when Jack slots one leg through both of his, and when his boyfriend’s leg presses higher, he tells himself that rocking his hips against the pressure is okay. There have been times when he forgot, and years of living in a conservative, Southern, and Christian house catch up to him. The first time Jack kissed him — and the second time that had followed immediately, and the third — had left him with a whirling mind and tight chest and a lip gnawed into red and pain by his own teeth, like that would sting the gentle pressure of Jack’s lips back into reality. The kissing he isn’t a stranger to, not really, but somehow, irrationally, there is a world of difference between being maybe a step past tipsy, clumsily making out with his Winter Screw date as rough, strong fingers curled around the back of his neck, and being in his childhood home, room, bed with his boyfriend and pressing open-mouthed kisses to eager, soft lips as his hips grind, lazy and slow, to seek the sweet pleasure being offered to him.

Eric tells himself it’s okay, but when Jack’s fingers lower from his shoulders to his waist to below the band of his boxers, he forgets.

There’s a moment where he doesn’t quite realize what’s happening, and then their lips separate and a Is this okay is offered to him on a breath and a silver platter. In the same moment that he recognizes the hard line nudging at his thigh, Eric is pushing at Jack’s chest, suddenly needing space that he doesn’t have. He’s mumbling words like hang on and wait, even as Jack manages an awkward roll-scoot combination that has him nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. And then they’re staring at each other, equally wide-eyed and flushed, and Eric clamps his mouth shut. He’s sure that opening it would be condemning, sure that words would tip over the edge of his tongue and tumble, rough and unplanned, into the fragile silence that separates them. He’s also sure that he doesn’t really want that to happen.

“Bits,” Jack finally says, simply, after a full minute has disappeared. His voice is gentle but unsure, cautious and caring. It’s what Eric is waiting for, apparently, because he slumps forward like a puppet with its strings abruptly snipped, and in between one moment and the next he finds himself with his forehead tucked into the corner of Jack’s neck and shoulder. He feels Jack begin to reach for him, automatically, and then he pauses; Eric nods, and one hand wraps around the back of his neck, a thumb stroking slowly, and the other arm winds around his waist to pull him forward a little. “Bitty, it’s okay. I mean — is something wrong?”

When a slightly helpless laugh flies from his mouth, Eric just shakes his head, and chases the noise with words. “No, honey. Just ... old mindsets die hard, y’know?” It takes one, two, three heartbeats, but he feels the second Jack understands, because the thumb rubbing at his hairline where it lies on the base of his skill pauses, and the rest of his fingers twitch like they want to tighten and only get that they shouldn’t a moment too late. Eric heaves a heavy sigh. “I just — it’s so frustrating,” he admits to Jack’s shirt. “I mean, I tell others that it’s okay to be queer all the time. All the time! But with me it’s just sort of ... different. I still, um. I still can’t handle ....” He trails off and pulls away a little, keeping his head tilted down and his eyes trained on Jack’s shirt. There’s a piece of fuzz clinging to it; he pulls it off and wriggles his fingers over the edge of the bed until it falls to the ground. “The idea of me being intimate with a guy is kinda ... off.”

A beat. And then — “Are you asexual?”

“Oh, I — no, I don’t think so.” He’s considered it, briefly, in the past, especially after Shitty’s talk about how someone can be asexual and still enjoy sex, but he’s positive he still feels that sort of attraction. Lord help him, he’s beyond sure.

“It’s okay if you are, Bits. We don’t ever have to —”

“Jack, you sweet boy. I really appreciate that, I do, but I’m not. I do want to — to be intimate with you. I just ... I don’t know, there’s no explaining it. But I think it’s just the mindset I grew up in and it’s harder to shake than I thought.” Eric pauses for a second, considering his own words, and then looks up to see if Jack’s expression will somehow help him.

It’s a mistake. The look on Jack’s face is — it’s not really pitying, but it’s ... sorrowful, he realizes. Sorrowful is the word. It makes Eric’s heart constrict a little, and then he finds himself smiling a little, almost against his will. Before Jack can say whatever is on the tip of his tongue, Eric leans in to brush a quick, chaste kiss against his lips, and then pulls back to tilt his head in until their foreheads and then noses connect. He waits a moment before saying anything, still mindful of how Jack had seemed to be wanting to speak up, but after the clock on the other side of the room has carefully counted out seven seconds of quiet, he exhales, and the noise is definitely either a hum or a sigh.

“I hate that I can’t — can’t practice what I preach,” Eric confesses finally, the words reaching out to bridge the little distance there is left between them, like they can make up for the fact that they’re no longer as entwined as they had been just a minute or so ago. “I feel so hypocritical, being so out and proud at Samwell and so ... so afraid to actually be proud of myse — no, that’s not right.” He whines, frustrated, and his eyes, already closed, tighten. He can feel the way it makes his forehead wrinkled against Jack’s. “I am proud of myself. But sometimes it’s like my brain doesn’t really know that. My heart does, and my — my body, but my brain’s just sorta like ‘No, that’s okay!’ And I guess it’s just because I’ve ... well, I’ve been told that it isn’t okay my entire life. Did you know my mama’s first conversation with me about the queer community involved her showing me an article about a man who decided to never date or anythin’ because he was gay and wanted to be able to dedicate his life to God? And, I mean, it’s his decision, I guess, but then she said all this stuff about how that was exactly what gay people should do. Which was just so hard to hear, because at the time I was maybe thirteen an’ startin’ to realize I wasn’t straight an’ that kinda stuck with me all these years an’ — and —” Another high pitched whine marks the end of the sentence, and he begins thunking his head lightly against Jack’s shoulder — at some point he shifted — until a hand curls into his hair, holding him firmly and effectively immobilizing him.

“Whatever you feel is valid,” Jack starts, slow but steady, “but that doesn’t make it right. You aren’t broken for wanting this. And I know you know this, so don’t look at me like that, but you need to hear it again sometimes.”

It isn’t until he hears those words that he is struck with how much he needed them, and then Eric is struck with such an overwhelming wave of fondness — because Jack knew, just like he always did, exactly what Eric had needed — that all he can do is squirm closer and promise himself that he’ll finally give in and make that nutritionist-approved version of the pie Jack’s been asking for.

After a stretched out silence, Jack’s arms find their way around his waist again and Eric is pulled close, and he feels more than hears when there’s an inhalation that seems to be leaning into a sentence. He waits patiently when none follows immediately, and soon after —

“What do you need from me, bud?” Jack asks, the words quietly pleading and cracking but so, so grounding. Eric sort of sinks into them, huffing a warm, maybe-slightly-wet laugh into the soft fabric of Jack’s shirt, and takes the time to consider the question.

“I — at some point we should ... well, I think there’s a little more to talk about,” he admits, and Jack nods his agreement with an encouraging hum. The next sentence is loosed before he really thinks about it, but in its release and freedom he finds it true. “But, um, for now, I think I’m done. Can we just stay here until Mama and Coach get home?”

“Of course, Bits, yeah. Whatever you need.” Without another word, they begin to move around again, shifting until they’re molded together, secure and warm and perfect. Eventually they find themselves in a mimicry of their position from the beginning, curled up on their sides and facing each other with their legs and fingers tangled, but Eric keeps his face in the safety of Jack’s chest, and Jack cranes his neck to whisper kisses into the hair on the crown of his head.

“Thank you,” Eric offers, in between grazing two kisses on the exposed skin of Jack’s collar. He can sense the head tilt that receives this, so he clarifies, “Thank you for being so ...” only to come to the conclusion that he doesn’t know the words that will summarize the feeling in his chest. Luckily, it seems like he doesn’t need to.”

“Yeah, Bits. Anytime. Anything.”

And with that, Eric lets his eyes close and gently separates his fingers from Jack’s only to clutch at his shirt instead, and he reaches up with his face to find his boyfriend waiting for him. He smiles as their lips meet.

#annie writes #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #zimbits #zimbits fic #check please!#missing scene #check please missing scene #madison visit #this is CONSIDERABLY longer than i had wanted it to be. ugh #i just really love writing bitty though #plus this fic was Very Personal to me?#as a southern and catholic and queer person #also this is my 100th post!! which is super exciting!!#how many ways can i say ‘it was quiet’? let’s find out shall we #excessive use of hyphens #excessive use of commas #also bitty’s story abt his mom and the article? based entirely off my own experience :)#so is the way i wrote his accent lmao like i definitely drop off some Gs from -ing verbs and the D in and when i’m having Feelings #i literally don’t know how to end fics #i know i said this was too long but it’s also too short #like i was aiming for under 1k and it’s hovering around 2k ...#but also i have a lot more to say about this and i’m not sure i got across what i was trying to #i just can’t do the words anymore #god i’ve been working on this for like a week and i still!! don’t really love it!!#oop i just edited and it is now over 2k #✌️✌️✌️

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eeveevie · 4 years ago

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Salvation is a Last Minute Business (10/18)

Chapter 10: Your Head Always Loses

Madelyn returns to the New England Medical Center, and coordinates with Sergeant Danny Sullivan to keep Nick safe while the hunt for Eddie Winter continues. After delivering heart-breaking news to her partner, she travels to the state house to speak with Hancock and MacCready in the hopes they may have a lead. Later, while mourning their loved ones in a downtown church, Madelyn learns a new truth about Deacon.

“When your head says one thing and your whole life says another, your head always loses.” - Frank McCloud as played by Humphrey Bogart (Key Largo, 1948)

[read on Ao3] x [chapter masterpost]

April 14th, 1958

By the time Madelyn and Deacon reached the New England Medical Center, the entire plaza had been barricaded, swarms of police vehicles surrounding the building while uniformed officers patrolled the perimeter, denying entry to anyone without hospital authorization. Local newshounds had crowded the emergency bay as well, clamoring for an interview with passing investigators and doctors. The chaos was more than Madelyn anticipated, the police attendance more abundant than she’d seen in recent months. The Boston Police department had been slow to respond to the increase in crime; disappearances, kidnappings and murders, most, if not all related to the gangland fight for territory. Rampant corruption had everything to do with their indifference—nearly the entire city had been bought out by Eddie Winter. She had every right to be suspicious of their presence, unsure of who to trust.

Piper had instructed them to enter through the side entrance, but Madelyn wasn’t convinced they’d be let through. Even if she managed to push forth some charm and use her credentials from the District Attorney’s office, it wasn’t a guarantee. The two circled the crowd, looking for a way forward. While Madelyn scanned the sea of people for a familiar face, she couldn’t help but glance to Deacon, who was uncharacteristically keeping his distance a few paces behind. He had donned his black wig and shielded his eyes, hiding any trace of the man she’d seen in her bed when she awoke just a few hours prior. For all the times he’d shown her comfort in the past, he wouldn’t touch her now, hadn’t done so since she roused from fainting.

The usually chatty Railroad agent was quiet now too, hardly speaking a word as they traveled from her apartment to downtown. Combined with the grief of Jenny’s death, Nick’s fate, and Winter’s whereabouts, Madelyn couldn’t make room in her heart for the turmoil their rift caused her. Separated by a few inches, it might as well have been miles with how her chest was aching. She clenched her fist, nails biting into her palms so she wouldn’t be tempted to reach out to him, desperate as she was to feel his hand in hers.

As they approached the entrance, a police officer predictably held them back with an outstretched hand, silently deferring to the throng of reporters. Madelyn dug through her purse for her identification, but the cop would not take the paper documentation, or give it a second glance.

“My partner is Nick Valentine, he’s a patient here. Jennifer Lands is—” she hesitated—was—and found her voice again. “Please, you have to let us through.”

The officer shook his head. “Ma’am, this is a secure scene. We’ve had enough loonies try and make their way into the E.R. this morning, we don’t need another one.”

He turned away, dismissing her in full. If she wasn’t frustrated before, she was now. Before she could argue or suggest that Deacon make himself useful and distract the guard so she could slip inside, another person came rushing towards them with enthusiasm. The man was shorter than her, and looked fresh out of college, baby-faced without a hint of stubble. He stuck out his arm, correcting his stance when he realized he’d shoved his notepad in her direction instead.

“Buster Connolly with the Boston Bugle,” he greeted in a rushed voice, as if his press credentials weren’t pinned to his coat. “Did you say you were with Nick Valentine? I could’ve sworn I recognized you! You’re the broad he’s always with, right?”

Beside her, Deacon bristled, but remained silent. She smiled politely, used to the microaggressions based on her gender that almost always erased her career accomplishments. Did anybody remember she was a lawyer anymore? Judging by how young Mr. Connolly was, his mishap was forgivable. Still, she was wary of his sudden interest and refrained from greeting him in kind—the Boston Bugle had its own problems with corruption when it came to covering Eddie Winter’s crimes.

Buster anxiously glanced to his notes. “Can you confirm the validity of the rumors that Eddie Winter was shot and injured sometime within the last forty-eight hours, and that there is currently a manhunt underway to locate him?”

Madelyn maintained composure, even as the memory came back in full force, flashes of Winter taunting her as he crushed her windpipe until she found the strength to fight back. Regret gripped at her with vice-like talons—if her aim had been deadlier, Buster wouldn’t be asking her these questions. If she’d had the nerve to kill him when she had the chance, Jenny would be alive.

“No comment,” Deacon answered for her, and she nearly flinched when his hand rested softly on the small of her back.

The young reporter frowned, flipping through more pages. “I have been tracking leads and rumors all across town, following the Valentine Detective Agency’s progress. Seems to me you’re the only ones that give a damn. There’s way more than what the police and media are telling us, but the higher-ups won’t let me publish anything on a whim.”

“I don’t have the same freedoms as that Public Occurrences paper does,” he lamented, practically staring at her in a similar way Dogmeat would when begging for table-scraps. “You gotta help me out. Is what they’re saying true? Is Eddie Winter behind everything that’s gone wrong in Boston?”

Piper’s voice echoed in her mind—freedom of the press—and she nodded.

“Yes,” she responded. “Yes, its all true.”

Buster scrambled to a fresh page, eager to write down the details, but he wouldn’t get a chance. The officer at the side entrance turned to face them again, pointing at her and Deacon.

“Miss Hardy was it?” he questioned, sheepishly. “I’ve been instructed to let you by. Sergeant Sullivan is inside waiting. He’s should be at the nurse’s station.” He instructed, pulling back one of the barricades so they could step through. “I uh…sorry about before.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Just as Madelyn stepped through the doorway, she looked back to Buster, who was observing the entire exchange from the sidewalk. “Write the article.”

The inside of the hospital was just as bustling as it had been outside, nurses and doctors scrambling to work around the cops and detectives crowding the halls. Last night the emergency room had been a ghost town, but today almost every bay was occupied with freshly injured. In the center of it all, Sergeant Danny Sullivan stood, directing his men to different areas of the building and reading over reports passed to him by passing officers.

“What the hell happened?” Deacon muttered, surveying the mayhem.

Madelyn wondered the same, moving to where the Chief Sergeant was dismissing the last of his force. “…and send an extra squad to city hall. Don’t know if the bastard is brazened enough to attack the mayor, but after this…”

Sullivan rubbed at his jaw, deep in thought before performing a double-take in Madelyn’s direction. Instantly, his expression transformed into one of deep sorrow—a look she was all too familiar with. She wasn’t about to dismiss his sympathy, however, regardless of how new their alliance was.

“Miss Hardy,” he sighed, with a small shake of his head. “I didn’t think we’d be seeing each other again so soon, under such…grim circumstances.” His eyes flickered to where Deacon stood to her left, his hand still pressed against her back. “Is this your…?”

Sullivan’s subtle suggestion made Deacon drop his arm to the side, and she straightened, sucking in a breath so she wouldn’t overreact. In the past, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to joke about being her significant other. Given the situation, it hardly seemed appropriate now. Nevertheless, the loss of contact left her cold. She steadied her resolve, knowing it was not the time to worry about her tumultuous feelings for the man.

“Sergeant Sullivan,” she greeted with a small gesture. “This is Deacon. I may have mentioned his work with the agency.”

“What is it that you do, exactly?” Sullivan asked, light eyes studying him carefully from head to toe as they shook hands.

Deacon offered a small shrug, a glimmer of his usual self shining through. “That’s a need to know basis.”

Madelyn redirected the conversation, needing answers to the questions burning in her mind. “What happened?” she asked, voice breaking as she fought back a sudden wave of emotion.

Sullivan released a long sigh. “What we gathered from witness reports is that a group of Winter’s men attacked the hospital just before daybreak. They took hostages, including Miss Lands. A police force showed up, but it was a mix of his pocketed men and straight cops. All hell broke loose as soon as I arrived on scene.”

He pointed to the various medical bays. “We’ve got a few downed officers, two nurses, and one of Eddie’s,” he swallowed, the grim expression returning. “One fatality.”

Jenny.

Madelyn nodded, shifting her gaze to a far corner where the lights were dimmed, curtains drawn tight to prevent entry. Outside, two heavily armed officers stood guard, giving the appearance they were protecting a priceless set of jewels rather than a corpse. Jennifer Lands was precious, however, deserving of such safeguarding. The guilt threatened to suffocate Madelyn as she thought—if only Jenny had been under such careful protection when she was alive.

“Where’s Nick?” she barely managed to ask.

“Safe. He woke up an hour ago,” he explained with a deep frown. “He doesn’t know about…” Sullivan shifted uncomfortably. “He’s under the impression we’re here because it was a failed attack on his life.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t?” Madelyn countered.

“Until Winter is caught, I don’t think any of us are safe,” he responded. The sergeant further contemplated her question, fingers tapping at his chin. “I’d like to move him to a new, secure location, but I’m not sure if he’ll agree.”

At least Sullivan understood who he was working with. Nick wasn’t conscious when she’d set up their arrangement, and even before the Eddie Winter case, had never gotten along with the sergeant or Boston’s finest. Considering he was awaking to a new reality in which Eddie Winter was still free and his fiancé was dead, Madelyn wasn’t sure how her partner would react.

“I’ll talk to him,” she said, realizing she’d be the one to tell him about Jenny’s fate—a heavy burden, but it wouldn’t be right if the news came from anyone else.

Sergeant Sullivan escorted the two around the nurse’s station to the opposite side of the emergency bay, to the farthest room with a door. The blinds in the window had been drawn shut, either to stop bystanders from peeking in, or to prevent Nick from seeing more than necessary. A well-dressed detective stood guard, nodding to his superior as they approached. On the other side of the door, a body stood from the row of waiting-room chairs.

“Blue?”

Madelyn didn’t hesitate to embrace Piper as her friend rushed towards over, arms wrapping around her in a tight circle. The usually sarcastic and chipper reporter was now sobbing, face burrowed in the fabric of her friend’s coat. Madelyn consoled her, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over—if she lost poise now, she’d never be able to face Nick.

“It all happened so fast,” Piper’s muffled voice whispered by her ear. “Jenny—she, she’d stepped out for only a minute and the next thing I knew, Winter’s men were attacking. I shouldn’t have let her out of sight—”

Madelyn hushed her, wanting to take away the blame. If anyone was responsible, it was her—for letting Eddie Winter escape and live out his revenge plot fantasies. Nobody else deserved to shoulder the weight of that blame. Piper slowly pulled away, rubbing at her eyes before releasing a shaky breath. She regarded the two men standing astride with mild discontent but quickly refocused on Madelyn.

“I couldn’t tell Nick,” she spoke, the devastation and exhaustion clear. “He was too delirious, wanting an update on Winter, asking about you…” Piper pursed her lips, preventing herself from weeping once more. “Asking for Jenny.”

There was no stopping the tears now, hazing her vision as she blinked them away so they’d slide down her cheeks. With a small nod, she moved to open Nick’s door, but Piper stopped her, turning her away for one last hushed exchange of words.

“Did—did something happen between you and Deacon?” she asked, glancing over her friend’s shoulder to where he was standing out of earshot with Sergeant Sullivan. Was it that obvious? Madelyn didn’t have the time to explain it was more of a non-event that was causing the palpable tension in the air.

She frowned, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Not now.”

For once, Piper didn’t dig for more information. The two exchanged one last solemn look before Madelyn slowly let herself into the hospital room. The fluorescent lighting wasn’t as harsh in the small space, but the smell of antiseptic tickled her nose. Nick was propped up in the bed, the thick swath of bandages visible through his gown. He was still connected to an IV, and judging by the way his head rolled, they were keeping his pain managed.

“Hey doll,” he rasped, the green of his eyes dull when they slid open to look at her in the doorway. “Why all the tears?” his lips pulled to the side in some semblance of a smirk. “I’ve never felt better.”

God—she choked back a sob—she was going to break his heart, and her own in the process. Hesitantly, she approached and stood next to the bed, gasping when his hand reached out grasp hers. Her knees were trembling—hell, her whole body was shaking with the overwhelming anxiety of what she had to say. Nick’s eyebrows furrowed, sensing there was something wrong. He studied her face, eyes lingering across the bruises around her neck. But she shook her head, preventing him from speaking.

“Nick,” she gripped his hand tighter, bracing herself to that spot. “I—I’m so sorry—”

He was perplexed. “What? What for?”

Madelyn didn’t miss a beat. “Jenny.”

It was all she needed to say.

Nick squeezed her hand hard—reactionary—and then simply let go. She watched his face, the clench of his jaw as the realization set in. Their eyes met, silently confirming the horrible truth—Jenny, his Jenny was dead. Madelyn had never seen Nick cry, but there was a first time for everything. Silent, as they streamed down his face and left tracks on his skin. She hadn’t known what to expect, but somehow, the subdued reaction was all the more unnerving—like his soul had departed, leaving behind an empty shell.

Then, he asked the inevitable. “Where is Winter?”

Unable to hide the truth from him, she answered honestly. “I don’t know.”

Nick recoiled, expression swiftly shifting as the anger bubbled to the surface. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I—” Madelyn gaped, stumbling over what to say. “I shot him.”

She left out the details in-between, even though the marks on her skin were clear as day. She continued, struggling to stay in check—quickly spiraling when it wasn’t fair to Nick, who had every right to his emotions.

“I had to help save you,” she explained, tentatively resting her hand against his arm. “He—he got away.”

“He should be dead!” Nick barked, tearing away from her.

Madelyn flinched at the sound of his voice, echoing through the room. She couldn’t deny him the rage, however—he was right—and it was her fault. No explanation or apologies would ever suffice for the grief she’d caused. Nick started to shift from the bed, blinded by his fury.

“I’m going to find that bastard and blow his brains out!”

The door to the hospital room swung open, two nurses shooing Madelyn away as they practically pushed Nick back into the bed, one deftly administering a sedative that had him complacent within moments, and unconscious the next. Piper and Sullivan stood in the doorway, watching intently, parting to make room for her exit. She nearly collapsed in the closest chair but knew she couldn’t succumb to the darkness yet.

“Do you have any leads on Winter’s possible location?” she asked, surprising the two with her demeanor.

“Miss Hardy, I’ve got the rest of my best men working this, and officers on loan from Salem and Nahant combing the city,” he explained, trying to set her at ease. “You don’t need to do the legwork anymore.”

“Yes,” she argued, glancing to Piper who understood the determination and remorse she was carrying. “Yes I do.”

The reporter nodded at the sergeant. “We have our own resources. Our own informants. Blue just might turn up something your best men can’t.”

Sullivan relented with a long sigh. “Please, at least take a police escort—”

“No,” she protested, flicking her gaze to where Deacon was leaning against the opposite wall, expression unreadable as ever. That is, until she spoke, and his lips twisted into a frown. “I need to do this alone.”

The group said nothing, though she wondered if any of them truly agreed with her sentiment. Regardless, she had a plan, and needed to follow through with it.

“I’ve placed my faith in you Danny,” she said, glancing back into Nick’s room with a solemn expression. The sergeant silently nodded, understanding her meaning. “Don’t make me question that choice.”

The Old State House used to be the seat of Massachusetts government, until the New State House was built to replace it, standing tall for over a century. While Mayor McDonough occupied the new building and city hall, the Old State House doubled as a museum and John Hancock’s base of operations. One of the last places of refuge in Scollay Square, the mayor’s brother had built a reputation for himself as a trusted member of society. Still a somewhat shady character—you wouldn’t want to double-cross him—but he took care of his own. Fed the hungry, ran grassroot campaigns for the underprivileged, and was currently running a fierce campaign in an effort to kick the older McDonough from office. While Madelyn had limited run-ins with the man in the past, she knew he was somebody she could trust. Especially when it came to helping Nick and hunting down Eddie Winter.

Of the people, for the people—she regarded the red banner strung from the overhead balcony before entering the building, noting the sign that directed her upstairs if she was looking for ‘the offices of Mr. Hancock’. On the second story landing, she was greeted by a familiar face, though his actions were troublesome.

“Robert?”

MacCready grimaced at the formal use of his name, briefly pausing in his pacing to regard her as he took a long drag of his cigarette. He had never quite looked his age, but right now, he looked even worse for wear.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, glancing around. “Is everything okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” he responded, shaking his head. “Heard what happened at the hospital. To Nick,” he frowned, stopping to frown. “To Jenny.”

“But Eddie Winter is still out there? And here I am, a rat that helped you guys chase him down!” he continued, rushing through his words as he smoked through one cigarette and lit another. “I could be next!”

Madelyn sighed, wringing her hands together as she listened to the fear in his voice. Sullivan had made a similar notion—nobody was safe. As long as Eddie Winter remained free, anybody could be his next victim. She was about to offer her sympathy when the door behind him creaked open, revealing Hancock.

“Look who it is,” he greeted with an easy grin. By his side, a young boy was holding his hand, nervously hiding behind the trail of his red coat. “Did I mention how your pacing is scaring the kid?”

MacCready straightened, flicking his half-smoked cigarette to the ground, snubbing it out with his boot. “Sorry.”

“You ask me to babysit, and this is the thanks I get?” Hancock softly laughed, encouraging the young boy to step out from behind him. He crossed over to the mercenary, gripping his hand instead, switching his curious gaze towards Madelyn.

“This is Duncan, my son,” MacCready explained. “Can you say hi to the pretty lady?”

She smiled, maybe for the first time that day as Duncan waved his little fingers in her direction. “Hello.”

Hancock noticed her disposition and waved her over to his office. “Okay, the grownups are going to chat now,” he teased, earning an eyeroll from MacCready. “Bye-bye Duncan!”

“Bye-bye, John,” the little boy responded. “Bye-bye, pretty lady.”

Hancock hovered his arm around her waist as he led her inside, gesturing her to sit in the large, leather chair before his desk. Instead of sitting in his chair, he leaned against the sturdy oak, and crossed his arms.

“First, I want to offer my condolences,” he said, lips twisting into a grimace. “I know Nicky and I aren’t close, but it ain’t right what they did to Jenny.”

Madelyn nodded, twisting her fingers into the fabric of her dress. “That’s why I’m here, actually.”

“What, for sympathy?” Hancock smirked.

“No,” she furrowed her brows, remembering how difficult the man could be. “For help. Eddie Winter. He’s still out there. I want to know if you know anything, if you’ve heard anything.”

Hancock’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise, but he relaxed. “That’s a big ask, sister. But I’m happy to oblige. Winter is no friend of mine.”

“There were rumors that the police knew Eddie was planning on going after Valentine and Jenny, but it seemed so outrageous that nobody wanted to believe he’s be so brazen to go after a civilian.”

Madelyn knew there was truth to that based on the holotape with Eddie Winter’s vague threat. To hear there was more behind his recorded warnings, that the police knew—she was horrified. Though, it explained why so many corrupt officers showed up at New England Medical Center, only to cornered by Sullivan and his team. Jenny’s death, it seemed, was inevitable.

“I’m going to say something controversial, but hey, its kind of my shtick,” Hancock shrugged. “Did you ever stop to think Jenny was allowed to die, so they’d have something concrete to go after Winter for? This city doesn’t give a shit about mobsters being offed. But a beautiful, innocent dame?”

He cocked his head to the side, raising his hands. “Talk of the town.”

Her gut reaction was to stand and punch the blonde man’s grin off of his face. Reason and sensibility held her back as she thought about what he was suggesting. One person came to mind.

“Do you know anybody at the Boston Bugle?”

“Why?”

Madelyn shifted in her seat. “If we can’t find Winter the old-fashioned way, it’s time to lure him out. Scare him out with what we know. Piper’s tried with her smear campaigns, but it isn’t enough.”

Hancock nodded, understanding where she was heading. “Yeah, I got connections. And if they aren’t willing, I can be…persuasive.”

She stood, grasping his hand in a firm handshake. Surprisingly, the man pulled her into a loose hug, patting her affectionately on the back. When he pulled away, there was a subdued smile pulling at his lips.

“Whatever you need, sister.”

It was late by the time Madelyn left the Old State House, and common sense told her it was best to head home. Yet, she refused a ride from Hancock and neglected to share a cab with MacCready, insisting she would be fine on her own as she wandered aimlessly down the sidewalk. Walking alone in the dead of night in Boston Common—any rational person would call her crazy. Maybe she had a death wish. Or maybe, she was hoping Eddie Winter would surprise her from some dark alleyway and she’d get a second chance at taking him down. Realistically, though, she wasn’t sure if she’d be capable even if with a new opportunity for revenge. That belonged to Nick, and Nick alone.

Madelyn headed west, lingering for a long moment by the park gates. She hadn’t been there since early January, and before then, she had avoided the area ever since Nate’s murder. Instead of drifting towards the spot in the street where she’d lost a part of herself years ago, she stared down at the strip of red brick that signified the Freedom Trail. She studied the bronze plate, frowning at the red paint that had faded over time.

“Dame like you shouldn’t be out this late.”

Deacon. She twisted around to find him leaned against the nearest streetlight, hands tucked deep into his coat pockets. It mirrored their first—second—meeting, albeit the tone and dynamic between them had changed significantly since that cold, snowy night. Even so, she was glad to see him, heart a nervous pitter-patter in her chest when she thought about the circumstances keeping them apart.

“Nice to know you’re still following me around,” she responded lightheartedly, offering a small smile.

He approached—careful measured steps before he was standing in front of her with a similar, hesitant expression. “Of course,” he replied. “Someone’s got to.”

“Come on,” he said next, raising his arm to silently encourage her to link elbows.

Madelyn reciprocated, savoring the sensation, unsure of how long the physical contact would last. They had crossed an unspoken boundary—almost kissed—and now, she feared their bond would never be the same. It was selfish of her to want more, how greedy she felt to have his hands on her body, but it wasn’t meant to be. For now, she’d take what little comfort she could get.

She didn’t ask him where they were going as he led them further away from Boston Common, closer to Trinity Plaza and the library. It wasn’t until they circled the street corner and paused that she realized his intended destination—Trinity Church. The tall building, with its exquisite arches and stonework, stained glass windows shimmering in the moonlight stood as a sanctuary in the center of the Back Bay district. A beacon of hope to many, but to Madelyn, the sight made her anxious.

“Come on,” Deacon encouraged again, gently tugging her along when her feet didn’t budge from the sidewalk. She steadied herself, gripping his arm tight as she moved. If this is where he wanted to go, then she could find the resolve to follow.

Inside, the church was devoid of congregants, the lone priest silently acknowledging the two as they passed through the corridor and between the many rows of pews. Deacon led her towards the front corner of the expansive building, their footsteps echoing off the vaulted ceiling as they went. He stopped before the small dais of burning votive candles and shifted his arm to gently hold her hand. Growing up in a devoutly Catholic home, she was more than familiar with their intended use, and figured Deacon shared a similar upbringing—with all his biblical references and insistence on Railroad safehouse locations being abandoned churches, she’d be surprised if that turned out to be another one of his lies. She was only confused as to why he’d brought them there now. Madelyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d prayed, let alone in a church, and she hadn’t lit a candle for someone since Nate’s funeral. The memory had her trembling, squeezing Deacon’s hand so she wouldn’t collapse to the floor in a fit of tears.

“Remember when I said it couldn’t get much worse?” Madelyn recalled, swallowing the lump in her throat as she watched the flickering flames. “I’m afraid I was lying.”

“I do it all the time,” he responded with a cynic, half-smile and then reached out for a loose taper, passing one to her free hand. She dipped the end into the flame before passing it along to a new candle, watching as the wick ignited.

“For Nick,” she whispered, repeating the action for another name, the prayer silent in her mind. “For Jenny,” her voice wavered as she thought about how fresh that grief was. Some wounds never healed. Her vision was hazy with tears when she spoke again, lighting one last candle. “For Nate.”

Deacon’s grip on her hand tightened and she glanced to him, watching intently as he mimicked her movements, lighting his own candle. She figured that lone flame signified all the Railroad lives that had been lost—friends and colleagues that he couldn’t protect—like High Rise, or Henry.

He sighed. “For Barbara.”

Madelyn stared at his profile, unable to respond. An overwhelming sense of curiosity was begging her to ask—but she remained silent, releasing a shaky breath only when she realized she’d been holding it in. He turned his head, ever so slightly, and she knew he was looking at her through the darkened shades. She could feel the rapid beat of his pulse along his wrist, terrified he would pull away. But he stayed perfect still, just watching her.

“I’m a liar,” he suddenly spoke, not in the usual teasing manner he admitted to. This was anguish—regret. “Everybody knows it. I make no secret of it. Because the truth is, I’m a fraud. To my core.”

She didn’t know what to say, baffled at where this sorrow was coming from. Then again, maybe the events of the last few days, weeks and months had finally caught up to Deacon, and she had been the catalyst. Pushing him too far by asking too much of him, revealing too much of his true self. As if she didn’t have enough regrets.

“When I was young—God, how long ago now—I was…” he winced, eyebrows knitting together. “I was scum. Violent—”

Madelyn interjected. “We all make mistakes.”

“These weren’t just mistakes,” he protested. “You have no idea what I did.”

She gave him the chance to explain, and he did, continuing with a heavy sigh.

“Freshman year at Massachusetts Bay, I ran with a gang,” he started. “This was when all the crime families still had their footholds in Boston, and the Gunners had their fair share of crime statistics. We were the University Point Deathclaws—sounds cliché, but we were ruthless. Terrorized South Boston and Quincy just as much as those Gunner bastards.”

“Were you really that bad?” she asked, chest tightening. Madelyn wasn’t sure if it was in fear of the truth, or sadness that he’d held this back from her for so long.

“Worse,” Deacon muttered, turning away. “We kept egging each other on. Started with some property damage, graduated to some beat downs. Then, inevitably, a murder.”

Madelyn refrained from reacting, even though her heart was racing—so loud, she could hear it pounding in her ears. He had to be selling her another one of his lies, but there was a certain level of sincerity in his tone that told her otherwise. It was all true. He didn’t say anything for a long time, fingers twitching in her grasp, unable to look in her direction.

“Believe me when I say I didn’t know what they had planned to do that night until I was called up to help dispose of the body. That was enough for me,” his jaw tightened. “It was his eyes. Those eyes haunt me.”

Deacon continued, the burning candles reflecting off his shades. “As soon as I was able, I turned my brothers in, turned witness for the prosecution, and walked away scot free. It wasn’t fair, but back then, I only cared about getting as far away from the Deathclaws as possible. I broke all contact, transferred to D.C. and moved on with my life.”

“Then one day I found someone,” he said, pausing to release an uneven breath. “She saw something in me I didn’t know was there. Barbara, well, she was…She just was. I didn’t deserve her, but I married her all the same.”

Madelyn swallowed down the pain that burned at her throat, unable to ignore the way her stomach twisted into knots. Another woman—a woman who had loved him, and who he had loved in return. She cursed at the jealous thoughts running through her mind, knowing she had no right to them. Not when she had experienced a similar past—a profound love that had slipped through her fingers, lost forever.

“We were trying for kids,” he admitted, digging the knife in further—but he had no way of knowing that she and Nate had similar plans before his death. “Being with her made me feel like the whole world had a chance. She could do that to people.”

It was incredibly difficult to force herself to speak, to sound genuine. “She sounds special.”

“She was,” he responded. “The Claws found out about where I was, came to get their revenge. There was…blood.”

“I—I’m so sorry,” her breath left her in a strangled gasp. Even though she could infer the answer, she had to ask. “They…they killed her?”

Deacon glanced her way. “Yes.”

“I don’t remember much clearly after that. I know I killed most of them—self-defense maybe, but I must’ve made a big impression. The Railroad made contact, helped me disappear. They were sympathetic, seeing I’d just lost my wife. And, well, what I did afterwards.”

“I had no idea,” she murmured, shellshocked by his confession. He’d killed—found the revenge she’d been denied after losing a beloved—she wasn’t sure if she should be terrified of him, or in awe.

“Nobody does,” Deacon replied, nearly broken. Her heart leapt at the realization—she was the only one that knew. “I don’t even know why I lie anymore. But I can’t tell the truth. Everyone—Tom, Dez, Carrington, you…” he trailed off with a despondent sigh. “They deserve to be in the Railroad. I don’t. I’m everything wrong with this whole fucking Commonwealth, just as bad as Winter’s men who’ve been murdering and corrupting the city.”

“Charmer, you’re—” He squeezed her hand like it was the only thing keeping him rooted to that spot. “I don’t deserve—”

The words died on his tongue, leaving her to speculate what he couldn’t say. Madelyn always knew they were two sides to the same coin but didn’t realize how alike their pasts were. They had walked mirrored paths to end up in that exact moment, clasped hand-in-hand like two converging souls finding their way back to one another. Nothing had ever left her so confused, yet so full of clarity at the same time, every past flicker of emotion she’d held for him validated in one single moment. Fate had brought them together—a cruel fate—but fate nonetheless, and Madelyn didn’t want to let go.

“Why tell me the truth now?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Deacon’s response was an action—simple enough—the gentle swipe of his thumb across her fingers, over the spot where she should’ve been wearing her wedding ring. She understood immediately, thinking back to the shared moment in her apartment and his hesitation to kiss her. But now, he’d lowered his emotional guard, let her beyond the walls where no one had been in years. He needed her to accept him for who he was—not just devoid of his disguises and gimmicks—but without the lies and stories. All the flaws, the mistakes—he needed her to understand he was still seeking atonement for the past.

So was she.

Madelyn caught him off guard when she turned towards him, gently tugging on his hand so he’d face her properly. He stared at her expectantly, lips parted as if he had something to say. Their conversation still weighed heavily on her mind—she wanted to kiss him, but there was still too much grief consuming her heart. Without saying another word, she wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing her face against his shoulder as she hugged him, hoping it would be enough. Instantly, his arms enveloped her, tucking her tight against his chest as he rested his chin on her head. Wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, she felt at peace, listening to the pounding of his heart.

“I’m in your corner, Deacon,” she said, quietly mumbling the words into his shoulder, echoing a sentiment he’d shared with her before. “I’m with you, till the bitter end.”

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #piper wright #robert joseph maccready #hancock #danny sullivan #this chapter was the ultimate doozy in terms of ouch emotional pain #plus a tender church scene #there's some use of canon dialogue here but hey #8 chapters left? jfc

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asgardian--angels · 5 years ago

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Hi again! So, you've probably heard about it by now, but I saw an article about the possibility of Asian giant hornets having migrated over to the U.S. I clearly have no knowledge on the subject beyond what I read in the article (and that's hardly any basis to form an opinion on lol) and I know that this kind of falls under your realm of expertise, so I was wondering if you might have anymore information to offer and possibly alleviate some anxieties??

Hi there! Yes, it seems it’s been bombarding everyone’s news feeds the past few days. I was actually just asked to talk about it on the radio today. I’ll preface this with the fact that I am not super familiar with the biology of this particular species, though I had heard of it before all of this and it’s heckin cool.

Is this wasp a problem? Potentially, yes. Should we call it a ‘murder hornet’ and use it as fodder for wasp hate everywhere? Absolutely not. If the Asian Giant Hornet is a problem, it’s because it could be invasive, not because it’s a wasp. Let’s break that down.

In its home range, this massive wasp specializes on hunting honeybees. Honeybees in Japan are not our honeybees, they’re an entirely different species, Apis cerana japonica (as opposed to western honeybees, Apis mellifera). Japanese honeybees evolved alongside this species, and they are together part of an ecosystem - giant hornets like this don’t just pop up like Godzilla ready to demolish society, they look and act the way they do because of millions of years of evolution alongside predators and prey and their environment. Their arms race is with the Japanese honeybee, which can tolerate temperatures in excess of 115 degrees Fahrenheit, and they will swarm the infiltrating wasp and cook it alive. This is a unique, special adaptation that came about because these two have been duking it out forever. So that’s step 1. This wasp is not some monstrous thing born of Cthulhu. It has an ecological place. Honeybees over there are perfectly used to it, just another day for them (there’s actually two other giant hornet species that attack hives sporadically as well over there). We just think it looks terrifying because it’s different than what we’re used to, and it amplifies our already-present fears of wasp-shaped creatures.

Step 2.1 The reasons why it could pose a problem in the U.S. Firstly, its sting is dangerous; obviously, its sting is very large and can deliver a lot of venom, and if you’ve seen the Coyote Peterson video on it, it causes long-lasting swelling and pain. One or even a few stings will not severely harm you, but seven, eight, a dozen, could potentially send you to the E.R. with severe inflammation and even renal failure. You’re more at risk from complications from fewer stings if you have pre-existing inflammation or breathing problems, and if you get stung someplace like your neck or face. Most victims, even those who are hospitalized, do make a full recovery. That being said, like any other social wasp we have, you’re only likely to get stung if you accidentally stumble upon a nest and can’t book it out of there fast enough. I cannot vouch for the natural aggressiveness of this species, but given its size, life history, and similarities to related species, I would say that it will probably have a fairly proactive response to disturbance, aka, yes, it absolutely does pose a health risk to humans and this is a valid reason to be concerned.

Step 2.2 The other reason people are worried. This wasp targets honeybees, which most people know are extremely important for our agricultural system. It can decimate whole hives of western honeybees, as they have not evolved the defenses necessary to fend them off. However, I’ve heard things like ‘they’re going to contribute to bee declines!’ and that is simply not the case. Honeybees are not native - they are not an essential part of our ecosystem, only our agricultural one. It will be an economic loss if we start losing honeybee colonies, but honeybees are not the bees that we should be concerned about here in North America. It’s our native bees that are declining at startling rates. These hornets will not attack our native bees, because they don’t build hives! Only a very small percentage of our >3,500 species of native bee live in colonies, and they’re almost all underground and with a tiny fraction of the number of workers that a honeybee colony has (instead of tens of thousands, think, a couple dozen). The rest are totally solitary. Not what this wasp is looking for; it has a search image, it knows how to seek out honeybee colonies and I highly doubt it would recognize bumblebees or sweat bees as prey. The reason why this hornet has the potential to do so much damage in the first place is a classic problem with monocultures; grow (or in this case, raise) too much of one thing in one place, and when a disease or pest comes by, it can easily sweep through the population with high mortality. It’s been recognized for a while now that we rely far too heavily on honeybees for our pollination; concerns over Colony Collapse Disorder sparked these discussions. This whole time, we should have been providing for wild, native bees, by giving them the habitat they need to live alongside us and pollinate our crops. Instead, we’ve pushed them out with monocultures, pesticides, and development, then decided to bring in a non-native species to replace them. This is a setup for disaster. The presence of this new threat should be a wakeup call to change our ways.

Step 3. Do not judge all wasps by this one species. ‘Murder hornet’ is not a term that allows us to discuss this animal objectively. The VAST majority of native wasps are small, stingless species which most of us never notice, yet they perform invaluable ecological services as parasitoids. Our stinging species are still mostly solitary and non-aggressive, and are pollinators and predators on common garden pests. And you know what? Yellowjackets, bald-faced hornets (not a true hornet, actually), paper wasps, the ones people don’t like? They’re beneficial too, for the same reasons as above. They are a crucial part of our ecosystem, and are aggressive only if we threaten their colonies, which contain their young. This introduced species posing risks to us does NOT give us the right to condemn our native species to fear and hatred. Wasps already have a bad rap. Don’t make this fuel for the fire. If this wasp is dangerous, it’s not because it’s a wasp. It’s because it’s an invasive species that lacks the checks and balances of its natural habitat. Invasive species can be plants, fungi, or animals, and just because this one is a wasp doesn’t mean you get to lump all other wasps in with it.

Lastly, I’m already seeing people all over the country start to claim they are seeing this wasp. You are not. Unless you live in Washington, at this time, you’re seeing something else. Let me show you a few, in case you are mistaken:

European Hornet - Vespa crabro. (Photo) Non-native, but established in the eastern U.S. Largest wasp most people have ever seen, but still half the size of the queen Asian giant hornet. Acts like other yellowjackets and such, no serious ecological threat.

Eastern Cicada Killer - Sphecius speciosus (photo). Native, found east of the Rockies. Specializes on hunting cicadas. A large, solitary wasp, but not aggressive. Lives in burrows in the ground. About the size of the European hornet. They like sandy areas, so you might see them in fields or playgrounds.

Paper wasps - Polistes spp. (photo). Native, common across the country, some species have yellow markings, others are brown or reddish. Social wasps, they build paper nests under awnings near human habitation, can be somewhat aggressive if you get too close to the nest but otherwise are approachable when foraging on flowers. Smaller, usually 3/4 inch or so.

Potter and mason wasps - Eumeninae spp. (photo). We have hundreds of species of potter wasp, and in the southern U.S. many of them have red and yellow markings. This particular one is Euodynerus pratensis from Texas. These are solitary wasps, and are not very large, usually not exceeding 1/2 an inch, maybe the largest are 3/4in. They make mud nests, sometimes near human habitation, but they are docile and rarely cause conflict.

Great Golden Digger Wasp - Sphex ichneumoneus (photo). Common across the U.S., a large native solitary wasp common on flowers. Not really the same body structure as a vespid but just in case... these guys scare some people because they are large and gangly but they hunt grasshoppers and katydids and are generally non-intrusive. They live in underground burrows, not near humans. They’re good pollinators too!

I hope that alleviates some fear that comes with people starting to claim they’re seeing this wasp where it isn’t. It’s just another case of boy cries brown recluse spider. Most people are so unfamiliar with our native insect fauna that once they start noticing wasps, everything looks like the culprit just because they weren’t paying attention to what’s always been around them.

It sounds like they don’t know the extent of establishment yet, or when/how the AGH was introduced. Chances are, if people are starting to find them, then it’s already got a population. However, if early response methods can effectively control their spread, there’s a chance we can eliminate them. We have hundreds of invasive species here in the U.S. that are wreaking havoc on our ecosystems because we missed the short window in which to eradicate them. We do not know the total impact this hornet could have, until we thoroughly read the literature on its ecology back in Asia. It does pose a significant economic risk though, and a human health risk if they end up dwelling near human habitation (which they shouldn’t, I would think, unless you’ve got honeybee hives or feral colonies around). What we’re seeing is two non-natives battling it out - two species that should not be in North America at all. I do hope that we are able to stop this invasion in its tracks, but I also really hope it makes us reconsider the flaws in our agricultural system.

#thehermitreversed #asian giant hornet #wasps #insects #mine #i hope this helps a little?#i cannot deny that getting stung by this bamf can be deadly under certain circumstances #anyone else in this field who knows more about this situation please feel free to chime in!

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