#i thought this game was pretty niche so imagine my surprise when i first saw toma in a good smile promo email a few months ago???? LMAO

[miharuhebinata]

Amnesia: Memories Nendoroids

[elliereject]

angel .1

* ellie meets you at a party and is immediately enamoured, events pursue which cause her to fall for you even more because you’re just so sweet and nice and perfect for her in every way! practically an angel, except..you’re not.

* absolutely whipped loser!ellie, soft dom!femme reader, meanish!reader, thighriding, oral!e receiving, uhhh pretty sure that’s it lmk if I missed anything.

* shits been in my drafts for a month, there’s gonna be a second part I just dk..how I want to continue this (should’ve made it a oneshot but we’re in too deep now), this was based on beabadoobees Angel so don’t be surprised if it gets a little angsty..also guys plz stop unfollowing me _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): I’m inconsistent but I follow thru! more coming soon ty for the love <3 PLS PLS for the ppl who want to be on my perm taglist LMK!!

* mdni

* wc ~ 2k

★ white angels come, intoxicate my blood.

Pure, innocent, kind, delicate, beautiful.

Those were the words that spun through Ellie’s mind when she first laid her jade-green eyes on you.

An angel.

It didn’t help that the blue glare of the LEDs that illuminated the crowded living room highlighted you so divinely it looked like you were glowing.

You sat next to some stupid guy, letting out soft giggles as he showed you stupid niche memes from some stupid ass game.

She was infuriated, at him, but also, a tad bit, you. How could you sit there and laugh so beautifully when she was but a few feet away from you? She knew she could make you laugh so hard the cherry-flavoured seltzer you’d been nursing would shoot out of your nose, she could be way better than him.

She needed to get close to you, to get to know you, to have you.

Determined, she rolled up the sleeves of her signature dark red flannel so her forearms were on display, (the tattoo always had girls swooning) tucked that one defiant piece of hair behind her ear, and snubbed out the roach she’d been smoking onto the ashtray next to her before hoisting herself up off the couch to walk over to you.

When you saw her approaching you, you greeted her with such a sweet smile she could practically feel her teeth start to rot.

She shot the poor guy a piercing glare that said get the fuck outta here before I make you. and he scrambled away so fast you didn’t even get to say bye.

But god was talking to you even better than she had imagined.

You told her your name after she asked and complimented her tattoo when she complimented your smile. You traced your manicured nails over the dark ink and when that damn strand of hair fell from her ear again you tucked it back without a second thought. If she wasn’t completely whipped before, she was now.

After talking for what felt like an eternity (2 hours and 17 minutes), the music that had previously been semi-quietly floating through space was abruptly turned up and she had to strain her ears immensely to hear your soft voice, so you fidgeted with the gold necklace draped around your neck and averted your gaze when you asked her if she wanted to take the conversation somewhere more quiet, more private.

She immediately agreed, trailing behind you like a moth to a flame as you gracefully made your way up the frat house’s stairs toward an empty bedroom and she tried desperately not to watch the way your hips swayed and ass moved in that flowy pale blue dress you had on, but she was no better than a man.

She closed the door behind the two of you and felt her heart constrict when she turned to see you sitting on the bed, patting the spot next to you, signalling her to join you.

She sat down and tried to discreetly wipe her sweaty palms on her jeans. She was nervous, and she never got nervous. She was Ellie Williams for Christ’s sake, girls practically dropped their panties whenever she flashed them that suave smile and her gorgeous green eyes, she was a stonecold playgirl.

But this time it was her turn to drop her panties—uhh, boxers. She had just met you and you were already turning her into mush, hell, she was ready to bark if you asked her to.

this can’t be healthy, she thought.

Regardless, her breath quickened as your hand interlocked with hers and your face inched closer and closer, your glossed lips fanned over her slightly chapped ones as your other hand lifted to her cheek, tracing over the array of freckles that dotted her face.

Her eyes locked with yours as you whispered loud enough for her to hear, “Can I kiss you?”

She doesn’t think she’s ever acted so fast in her life, her lips immediately fell into yours as your eyes fluttered closed. Surprisingly, she found herself opening her mouth to let you in, your tongue dancing with hers, swirling around her mouth like you were fucking born to kiss her. If it wasn’t for your hand holding hers, she’s pretty sure she would’ve started floating upwards.

You tasted just as she thought you would, like cherries and candy floss and heaven and light and happiness and—

You pulled away and distress immediately flashed over her features,

did her breath stink?

was she, not a good kisser?

were her lips too chapped?

You giggled softly at her demeanour and she felt her confidence deflate like a balloon.

“Sorry I–“ she started but you cut her off, your lips meeting hers again.

“Didn’t mean to laugh, just thought you looked cute,” you said after pulling back.

Heat crept up her freckled face and she cleared her throat, you thought she was cute? Pretty? Alright. Handsome? Cool. But cute? She’d never heard that term be positively used with her before, usually, it was used by asshole guys who decided to undermine her and be misogynistic before getting their lights punched out. She wasn’t even sure how to react, what the hell were you doing to her?

She rubbed the back of her neck, muttering a small thanks as her eyes wandered around the room. She was staring at the lava lamp on the right bedside table when she heard you messing with the sleeves of your dress.

You tilted your head and with the sweetest voice she’s ever heard asked, “Are you going to help me take this off so we can fuck, or do I have to do it myself?”

She could practically hear the ‘woosh’ of slick gushing out of her and dampening the in-between of her underwear, you were seriously going to kill her.

She shook her head, “Sorry, I didn’t think–“

“That’s alright,” you reassured her, “now help me unzip this.”

You turned around so your back was facing her and pulled your hair to one side. She cautiously lifted her hands toward the zipper of your dress and pulled it down, revealing the beautiful lace of the white bra you had on.

She let her hands rest on the bare skin below your neck for just a beat before sliding them back down to push your dress down to your hips. You lifted yourself briefly to tug it the rest of the way down before placing it gently on the floor.

You turned back around to see her already staring at you, she admired the tiny pink bow that sat in the middle of your bra and the way it hugged your chest so fucking beautifully, as well as how if she angled her head right she could see your nipples poking through the light material.

You giggled that amazing soft giggle again and noticed the dusting of pink that grew on her cheeks. Honestly, she could’ve stared at you for the rest of her days but she realized she should probably strip too.

Her hands made quick work to unbutton her flannel and rip off the white tee she had under. You aided her in pulling off her jeans after she unzipped them and felt wetness pool in both your mouth and your panties when you noticed the huge dark grey spot on her boxers.

You moved closer to her, pulling her in for another kiss and unlike the others, it was heated and hungry. Your tongue expertly slid over hers and the little bite you gave to her bottom lip when pulling back had left her breathless. She grabbed the sides of your hips and lifted you onto her lap so you were straddling her and moved to leave strawberry kisses along the sides of your throat.

You placed your hands on her shoulders to provide stability as you slowly started grinding on her thigh, the course material of your panties along with her thigh providing immense amounts of pleasure.

The feeling of your soaked heat against her thigh had her head reeling and her clit aching. And the sounds you made when she started to bounce her leg almost sent her into cardiac arrest. She committed every whimper, moan, and mewl to memory.

You rolled your hips against her faster as she moved one of her hands from your hip to the plush of your boob, lifting the lacey material to circle your nipple with her thumb before popping it into her mouth.

“Fuck–Ellie.” You moaned out, arching into her touch. When your movement began stuttering she knew you were close and gripped your hip to help you move against her as her tongue ran over and circled your nipple.

“‘I’m close, so cl–“ Your mouth fell open in a silent scream when your orgasm rushed over you, drenching your panties and Ellie’s leg.

“So pretty..” she mumbled, relishing in the sight of your post-orgasmic face. She wanted to see it again, and again, and again.

She helped you off of her and onto the floor so you could settle between her legs. You rushed to pull off her boxers so you could get to work on her cunt.

Now, Ellie Williams is pretty famous around campus for giving astronomically good head. Some would even say the best, but she was ready to toss the title out the window without another thought the second your tongue started working its magic on her.

She wasn’t known to be very vocal in bed, but the way you dove into her had her going insane. She shoved a ringed hand into your hair and slapped the other over her mouth to muffle the grotesque sounds she was making.

Your lips expertly sucked on her clit and your tongue made her moan out a small “fuck” when it slid into her slit. She was so close, of all the girls she’s been with she doesn’t think she’s ever gotten so close to cumming so fast.

The hand that was in your hair tugged you closer into her as she practically rode your face to chase her high.

“‘s close. please, angel right there.” Her mind was so muddled with thoughts of her approaching orgasm that she didn’t even process what was spilling from her lips.

You moaned at her use of a nickname and the vibration it sent throughout her body was enough to send her over the edge, stickiness flooding into your mouth and over your tongue, as you continued to slurp her up before she started pushing you away gently from the overstimulation.

You leaned back, the same sweet smile adorning your features, the only difference being her cum dripping from your face.

Shit she thought, still catching her breath, how could someone so sweet looking give such great head?

She was still basking in her post-orgasmic bliss when she heard more shuffling, she tilted her head up to see you putting on that sweet little dress of yours.

She shot you a puzzled look, that’s it?

You shot her the same look, “Is something wrong?”

“Where are you–what are you doing?”

“Putting on my clothes, silly,” you said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I see that, but why?”

Confusion still framed your face before it switched into one of understanding then…pity?

“Don’t tell me you thought…” you giggled again, only this time instead of filling Ellie’s head with images of marshmallows and bunnies, it was bright red blaring alarms.

“I thought we were like I don’t fucking know vibing, and then we’d exchange numbers or some shit.” she said.

To which you laughed, “No no, you were cool but I don’t become friends with the people I fuck at parties.”

What?

“What?” She exclaimed, sitting up fully so she could pull on her boxers.

you tilted your head, “You didn’t think that this would be more than just a quick fuck, did you?”

She didn’t know what to say, because she did think that. The two of you talked for hours and you laughed at all her jokes and she was 90% set on calling Jesse to drive over and deliver his great-grandmother's ring so she could propose and you tucked her fucking hair behind her ear…

“I kinda did yeah, 'cause you made it seem like it would be.”

You paused before that same fucking sweet smile crept up on your face, it was really starting to piss her off now. “I’m so sorry you thought that.”

“What the fuck?” She scoffed.

You shrugged, walking over to the vanity to touch up the makeup that had been smudged like you weren’t just eating pussy like your life depended on it.

She just watched as you fluttered around the room, collecting your belongings. She was at a loss for words, what else could she say to you to make you stay? Talk to her longer? Kiss her so she could taste herself on your tongue?

Nothing. she figured as you waved her goodbye before slipping out of the room as well as her life.

angel my fucking ass.

[tokiro07]

In a recent interview, Eiichiro Oda said that he probably won't do any more manga after One Piece (or at least nothing huge) because the world he constructed for One Piece inadvertently allowed him to explore pretty much every type of story he wanted to: Mock Town was a Western, Egghead is both a sci-fi and a murder mystery, Thriller Bark was a horror, etc. He never did it, but Oda probably could have found a way to work in a high school drama or romantic comedy if he'd really wanted to. I would argue that's how the Hungry Days promotion came about, he probably wanted to see it explored at least a little bit but couldn't quite find a good excuse for it

Undead Unluck, as I think at least one of us has mentioned before, is very similar: it can be whatever it wants to be whenever it wants to be. A sci-fi horror against the emotion-eating aliens on the space station, a zombie apocalypse Western against Spoil, a wuxia against Feng, competitive gaming against Spring, sports against Void, and now of course the high school AU centered around Chikara; Undead Unluck can do it all! If we end up going into Lucy's mind and it becomes a swords and sorcery fantasy with Lucy captive in a castle by a dragonified Ruin, would any of you really be surprised? Would any of you even complain? I wouldn't, and in fact I hope it happens now. That'd be such a funny way to get both Ruin and Lucy back into the main story

I don't know if I've ever really talked about it before, but there are certain niches that Jump manga fill. I don't mean in the sense of genre like sports or gag manga, I mean more thematically. When My Hero Academia started, the consensus was that it was the "new Naruto," with its plucky underdog protagonist competing with a cruel and prodigious rival and a society that discredits him for the circumstances of his birth. Black Clover draws inspiration from a ton of big name manga, but Bleach is probably the one that it best resembles in the structure of its world (the Clover Kingdom resembles Soul Society, the Magic Knight squads resemble the Thirteen Court Squads, and the Grimoires are basically simplified Zanpakutou)

Over the years, I've seen many things take major inspiration from Naruto, Bleach, Dragon Ball, etc., but shockingly, there was a long stretch where I never saw anything try to emulate One Piece, at least not in a way that was particularly obvious. The closest was Toriko, creating wild and imaginative animals, plants, etc. the same way that One Piece creates its islands, but nothing had a cast that felt reminiscent to me

Interestingly, the first one that I noticed that felt like what I was looking for was Dr. Stone, and that only sunk in for me when Senku had his group build a boat and put up a sail with their own unique symbol. I realized in that moment that where Toriko had covered the spirit of adventure that One Piece had, Dr. Stone covered the spirit of friendship and togetherness: every time a dilemma came up, the solution was almost always finding a new ally and awakening their talents, applying them in a way that they'd never thought to before, or reconciling with an old enemy for the sake of progress. "My friends are here to do the things I can't, and I'm here to do what they can't." This is one of the core tenets of One Piece, and while it took me a while to notice, it was equally a part of Dr. Stone's core as well

Undead Unluck does something pretty similar, though not as overtly, since the cast don't really have neat roles like "navigator" or "doctor" or "chef;" instead, everyone has their areas of expertise that can be used in multiple situations, so the individuals best suited for each situation are carefully selected, and if none are available, the hunt begins for someone who is. I think this didn't sink in because it didn't become nearly as prevalent until after the timeloop, but in retrospect, the first half of the story was like the pre-timeskip Straw Hats', unprepared and unable to reach the world's ceiling when finally faced with it, only to come back stronger and wiser in their journey to come back together

Coupled with its ability to be (Chucky voice) genre-fluid, Undead Unluck has unexpectedly become in my opinion a more than worthy successor to One Piece's particular niche in Jump. I've had this thought for a while now, but I think that Undead Unluck might actually be a good glimpse into what One Piece would have been like if Oda had been able to stick to his original five-year plan. It isn't able to take nearly as much time to flesh out its world, but its streamlined approach elegantly allows us to get to know enough about the cast to be invested while still allowing attentive viewers to pick up on fine details. Where One Piece ballooned to be a 30-year venture because Oda kept having more ideas he wanted to share and angles he wanted to analyze, Undead Unluck seems to have a stronger clarity to its vision and commitment to ensuring that vision is realized ASAP without sacrificing any of the essentials. Neither approach is wrong, it's just good to see that there is in fact a world that exists where One Piece would have been able to be just as solidly executed even without entertaining every whim and flight of fancy that its author could dream of

Of course, One Piece is still going, and likely will be when Undead Unluck naturally concludes, so calling UU its successor is definitely a bit of an overstatement, but my main point is that I'm glad that we're starting to see authors who aren't afraid of sharing One Piece's niche, and more importantly are doing it in a way that's fairly subtle, but identifiable. It's an extremely comforting sign for the rapidly approaching post-One Piece world, and I can't wait to see what fills the coming power vacuum

[geometragic]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 & 𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄;  𝘔𝘶𝘯 & 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘦 - 𝘔𝘦𝘮𝘦.

Fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OCs still can make it somehow work with their own lore and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multimuses pick the muse you are the most invested  in atm.

Tagged by: The amazing @illdivine​ ! Thanks a bunch for tagging me ! ^^ Tagging: @extravachance​ @grandordergirl​ @kimintsugi​ @royaltywritten​ @daitoku​ @pragmarage​ @teniras​ @deviilscry​ @foolslaugh​ @wrathlead​ and anyone else who’d like to do this meme ! ^^

My muse is:   canon /  OC  / au / canon-divergent / fandomless /

Is your character popular in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK.

Are they underrated?  YES / NO / IDK

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main character?  YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG (( He was one of the poster boys for Sengoku Basara 4, so...that counts for something, right ? XD I don’t think that Sengoku Basara really has a protagonist, though. Just a bunch of different characters. ))

Are they widely known in their world?  YES / NO (( I’m putting ‘yes’ if only because Mitsunari, who never remembers anyone, remembers who Katsuie is. XD I think that, in general, some characters know Katsuie and others don’t ? ))

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL (( Bad in-universe, somewhere in between neutral and bad in the fandom. ))

How strictly do you follow ‘canon’? — I’d say that I follow canon pretty strictly ! Though I do add my own headcanons. ^^ I need to update some of my pages so that they’re more in line with canon, though. Especially Katsuie’s modern verse, now that the Basara Academy anime has been out for over a year... XD

Sell your muse! Try to list everything that makes your muse interesting (in your opinion) to make them spicy for your mutuals.  —   Katsuie comes off as really normal and very chill at first, which lets him easily have a first meeting interaction with most muses without angering them / fighting them / killing them / etc. But the more you delve into his thoughts and the things he does, you can see how warped his mindset is when it comes to certain subjects / people. ^^ And he’s a depressed emo kid, so I'd imagine that a lot of people on Tumblr would connect with him over that. XD 

Now the opposite. List every reason why your muse might not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom think?).  —   Back when SB4 first came out, Katsuie got a lot of flak for his creepy obsession with Oichi, which is admittedly pretty bad. Since she’s, you know, married, and Katsuie’s willing to go so far as to kill Nagamasa, her husband, for a chance (?) to be with her. Not to mention Katsuie’s anime route, where he gets himself kicked out of the Oda clan, destroys his own hopes and dreams in the process by killing everyone in the Azai clan (Nagamasa, Oichi, and Maria), and finally gets mercy-killed by the former shogun. Yikes. ^^; I’m honestly surprised that, in my five years roleplaying Katsuie, no one’s sent in anon hate to me because of Katsuie’s behavior. (Unfortunately, a former rp partner of mine once got anon hate years ago for shipping Katsuie and Oichi. ;u;)

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄? —  Katsuie’s actually my very first muse ! ^^ I started writing him at the end of my senior year of high school. I think I’d been into Sengoku Basara for a year or two at that point, and I’d been reading translations that people were making for SB4. I’d also been following Sengoku Basara roleplayers / ask blogs (there were several active ones around back then), and I really enjoyed reading their interactions, so I wanted to pick a Sengoku Basara character so that I could roleplay with them, too ! I tried writing for a couple of potential muses in private to test them out, but it felt most natural to write for Katsuie, so I went with him as my first muse ! I probably chose him because I’d gone through a bunch of not-so-fun stuff in high school, so I saw Katsuie going through a bunch of not-so-fun stuff in the Oda clan and sympathized with that.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆?  —  To my knowledge, I’ve been the only one roleplaying Katsuie semi-consistently over the past five years ? He’s just such an interesting character to me —– it’d be too sad to close this blog and not see anyone’s Katsuie interact with other people’s muses anymore. ;u; It’s something I’ve been a little worried about recently because I know I’m going to be more busy in the future, since I’m (hopefully) going to finish up my research this year, get my master’s degree next year, and then go straight into a serious full-time job. I don’t want to give up rolepaying, but if I get too busy next year... >.< 

Also, playing the mobile game Sengoku Basara: Battle Party every day helps ! And my rp partners are awesome. ^^

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could help them get more comfortable with you.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO / IDK

Do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day?  YES / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal?   YES / NO

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO

Are you a sensitive person?  YES / NO

Are you good at accepting criticism about your portrayal? —  Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty good at accepting criticism !

Do you like questions which help you explore your character? —   Yeah ! I’m happy to answer whatever questions everyone has about Katsuie ! ^^

If someone disagrees with a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why? —   Yeah, because it’s interesting to see how other people view Katsuie ! From my point of view, if someone disagrees with one of my headcanons on Katsuie, it means that they’re interested enough in him and have thought about him enough to have their own opinions on him. It’s so so so so difficult to get anyone interested in muses from a series as niche and JP-only as Sengoku Basara, so I’d honestly be happy if someone cared enough about Sengoku Basara and Katsuie to disagree with me on my headcanons for Katsuie, as strange as that sounds. XD

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it? —  I think my answer to this question would be basically the same as the last one. I probably wouldn’t change my portrayal at this point, though ? I’ve had it for a long time and I’m actually really happy with it. ^^ Probably the only reason why I’d change my portrayal is if someone found / made more translations of the games that Katsuie is in (SB4, Sumeragi, Sanada Yukimura-den, Batopa, etc.) and I found canon details in the new translations that really clashed with details in my portrayal. In that case, I’d change my portrayal to match with canon.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it? —  That’s fair, honestly, especially when it comes to things Past!Katsuie / Kaioh has said and done, and even just things Default!Katsuie has done. Katsuie’s a really messed-up dude, and his views on things can be really twisted sometimes. And hey, if someone hates Katsuie, at least that means that they care about him on some level, right ? XD Apathy is the one thing that really kills my muse.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors? —  Sure ! If they can find them. XD I edit my drafts A LOT before I actually publish them, so usually I manage to catch all my mistakes, although the occasional mistake slips through every so often. Hemingway Editor is honestly a lifesaver when it comes to finding simple spelling errors and helping me write my sentences so that they’re a reasonable length and don’t have too many adverbs / phrases written in passive voice / etc.

Do you think you are easygoing as a mun? —  I think so ! ^^ I just want to roleplay my muses and have a good time watching them grow and form relationships with other muses, that’s all. If there’s something I don’t like, I know to mute / unfollow / block / etc. and move on. Life’s too short to get involved in drama.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵!

[spoookiepie]

I wanna tell a story about something in my life that changed me. It changed me as a person and made me realize I had a lot of growing up to do.

When I was in middle school, I was a weirdo. I was all the names in the book and a list of every ‘loser’ character in media. I was fat (still am and much more comfortable with it now). I was awkward. I was shy. I had terrible/non-existent fashion sense. I was a nerd who took AP classes and liked anime in video games.

None of these things are bad, and honestly, most still apply. But middle schoolers are cruel and I was winning no popularity contests.

I found my niche of friends. Other kids weird and awkward like me.

And we - I - dug into the losers vs preps narrative we’re all fed in every movie or show about teen life. I dug in HARD. One part being bullied, one part always feeling self conscious, and one part internalized mysoginy meant I had myself a nice victim complex, as well as a superiority complex.

So what if I wasn’t pretty or popular? I was better. Because I was SMART. I was intelligent. I wasn’t superficial or, god forbid, some vapid slut, right? In the end, I would be one of the successful people in life. If you remember Sk8ter Boi, that song came out when I was in middle school (I am old and dying), and I bought that narrative through and through.

Then, in 8th grade, I joined the school’s new color guard program. I don’t really know why I did, but I did. And I was thrown into a strange mix of girls, sho generally wouldn’t have hung out much otherwise. Some of which had even been my bullies since 5th grade.

I kept my distance, mostly, but we all had to relatively get along in class. We ignored each other, for the most part.

Then one day, we had free practice time. We were left outside with little to no supervision, to practice routines or whatever. As you can imagine, most of us didn’t really work that hard.

After a bit of half-hearted practice, I took a break and sat on one of the walls outside the school. And to my surprise, one of these so-called popular girls sat next to me. Now, she was never one of my bullies, but she hung out with that ‘popular crowd’, which they were often also a part of. So I didn’t know much about her, and we never really spoke before.

But we did then. We started with some small talk. Joked about school, class, whatever. I can’t really tell you what exactly, because it didn’t matter.

And then she dropped a bombshell. She said, just loud enough for me to hear, ‘I’m jealous of you, you know?’

I didn’t know what to say. She could have told me anything. She could have mocked me. Bullied me. She could have chosen to not speak to me st all. But she didn’t.

This girl - this beautiful, popular girl - sat her ass down next to mine, and said she was jealous of me.

She said, ‘I’m jealous of you and your friends. You always seem happy and you don’t care what people think, even when they make fun of you. I guess I admire that.’

I don’t know what else either of us said, if anything. We might have been interrupted for all I know. But that sentence froze in my mind. It crystallized and took hold of me in a way nothing had before, and few things have since.

She was wrong, of course. About me not caring what others thought. I cared. Oh god I cared so much. So much, that pretending not to care was my defense when others hurt me.

But, I saw then, she was human. She was as scared and insecure and unsure as I was. As everyone was. She wasn’t some archetypal preppy villain. She was some 13 year old girl trying to figure shit out too.

We never spoke again. Our paths didn’t really cross. The fact that we spoke at all was a strange hsppenchance in the first place. But I’m glad it happened.

Im not perfect. I can still be judgemental and cruel at times, I know. But I try. I try because once, 15 years ago, a girl who I assumed had the world at her fingertips, and looked down on people like me, told me she was jealous of me. Told me, in so few words, that she was just as lost and insecure and scared as I was. I remember how brave, and kind, that was of her to do, even if she wasn’t aware of it. Even if she still isn’t.

And whenever I am cruel or unkind or judgemental, I remember her. I remember that people are often not the one-dimensional beings we paint them as, for our own comfort. People are complex and people struggle, even if you don’t see it.

We never spoke again, but I think of her now and then and hope she’s happy.

[buzzdixonwriter]

Mr. Marlowe, Mr. McGee; Mr. McGee, Mr. Marlowe

Some stories are timeless, and some stories stay firmly rooted in their era. 

It’s not an either / or proposition, where one is always preferable to the other.

Two of my favorite series of crime / detective novels are the Philip Marlowe books by Raymond Chandler and the Travis McGee books by John D. MacDonald.

They are, at first blush, somewhat similar.  Insofar as Chandler defined the modern private eye character (although he never laid claim to creating that archetype), MacDonald has to be acknowledged as following Chandler’s lead.

No matter, there’s plenty of room for both.

Virtually all private eye stories, particularly those narrated by the detective in question, filter their worldview through that character (and, obviously, through the author as well).

As much as I love both author’s series, the advantage seems to fall to Chandler.

The Big Sleep was Chandler’s first Marlowe novel in 1939; prototypes of the character had appeared in various short stories published prior to that but The Big Sleep was the first time the character appeared by that name.

Marlowe is a philosophical private eye, with a penchant for poetry and chess and a literary, almost lyrical look at the world around him.  Like most fictional PIs, he finds solace in alcohol, but not to the point of oblivion, only to ease the pain of being human.  To quote “The Simple Art Of Murder” (Chandler’s classic essay on detective fiction):

“Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid…a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man…a man of honor, by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it…the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world.”

By comparison, Travis McGee inhabits a brighter, more spacious, more airy world, but not one that’s any less dangerous or debased.

Unlike Marlowe’s Los Angeles milieu, the McGee books typically start in bright, sunny Florida among tanned and trim beautiful people.

MacDonald, like Chandler, was another veteran of the pulp salt mines and though he’d already achieved success as a writer (Cape Fear among many, many other books), the McGee novels were pitched as paperback originals, intended to be churned out like clockwork, filling a particular publishing niche of that era.

As such, the series gets off to a flat, unimaginative, and for the genre, typically gimmicky start:  McGee is a “salvage specialist” who recovers stolen or embezzled money and property through extra-legal means, he lives on a houseboat called The Busted Flush (so named because he won it in a poker game), drives an electric blue Rolls-Royce converted into a pick-up truck named Miss Agnes, has a brilliant economist friend named Meyer who helps out, a colorful cast of background characters, and speaking of color, a linking theme in the titles of all the books (The Deep Blue Good-by, Nightmare in Pink, A Purple Place for Dying, etc.)

In short, pretty typical fodder for the male oriented paperback original action market.

And had the series continued in the vein of The Deep Blue Good-by, we wouldn’t be discussing them.

But MacDonald was too good a writer to just crank stuff out, and while the first McGee novel isn’t what the series would become, it gives MacDonald a voice that wasn’t in any of his other books, and by the second novel he had a firm grasp on what made a Travis McGee story.

Chandler took his time with the Marlowe books, supplementing his income by scripting for Hollywood (Chandler wrote the screenplay for James M. Cain’s book Double Indemnity, William Faulkner wrote the screenplay for Chandler’s The Big Sleep; all that’s missing is Cain adapting a Faulkner story to the screen…).  He wrote seven novels over a period of 19 years, though his focus remained resolutely on character and literary style as opposed to plot (famously when Faulkner and co-screenwriter Leigh Brackett couldn’t figure out who killed a minor character in The Big Sleep they called Chandler and asked him; there was a long pause on Chandler’s end followed by “…damn…”).

MacDonald, conversely, wrote 21 McGee books in 20 years:  Four in 1964, two in 1965, two in 1966, skipping a year, then two in 1968 before settling down to a yearly pace through 1974, another break then the last five books over a six year period.  (Rumors of a final McGee novel, A Black Border For McGee, involving the character’s death and narrated by Meyer appear to be just the wishful thinking of fans.)

What’s shocking about the McGee books during their primo run is just how good they are.  MacDonald through McGee proved to be a sharp and perceptive observer of not just the larger world around him but of American culture in particular and even more tightly focused on Florida. 

Before Elmore Leonard and Carl Hiaason began offering their unique take on the criminal eccentricities of Florida, MacDonald had thoroughly mapped the territory.  Others may have done it better, but he certainly did it first.

It shows in the McGee books, with MacDonald’s garrulous narrator making philosophical asides and observations on every topic imaginable.

McGee (i.e., MacDonald) was concerned with human impact on the environment long before most novelists began picking up on the topic (the exception being science fiction writers, who did see looming problems, but hey -- surprise! surprise! – before he settled into crime fiction as his oeuvre, MacDonald also wrote for the sci-fi pulps and penned two exceptional sci-fi novels, Ballroom Of The Skies and The Wine Of Dreamers).

MacDonald through McGee connected the dots between rapacious human greed and the rape of the environment and the society we live in.  While not all the books touched on ecological problems, they all acknowledged terrible and disastrous change was in the air, change brought about by greed and stupidity.

The two, as McGee / MacDonald frequently notes, go hand in hand.

These philosophical asides were what endeared Travis McGee to us when we discovered him as paperback originals in the 1960s and early 1970s.  The books offered more meat and substance than most books in that genre. 

MacDonald grasped how much his fans enjoyed McGee’s running commentary and began including more and more asides, running longer and longer.

They proved fascinating and entertaining and informative and none of us buying the books back in the day objected…

…but in the end they date the McGee books rather severely, and have probably prevented the character from finding success outside of publishing.

Marlowe, while waxing philosophical himself, knew a little bit goes a long way and held his ramblings in check.

And as a result, he edges ahead because his world, his Los Angeles, remains timeless.

This is not to say there aren’t elements that mark the Philip Marlowe books of a specific time and place, but those are details that can be easily discarded when adapting the stories to film or TV or radio or any other media you desire.

Case in point:  Robert Mitchum made his version of Farewell, My Lovely in 1975 as a period film set just before World War II, then followed it up three years later with The Big Sleep set in Los Angeles of 1978 and nobody saw anything odd about it.

The Marlowe stories transcend specific time even though they stay rooted firmly in Los Angeles and Southern California.  The same cast of con men, aspiring actors, phony psychics, melancholy millionaires, and desperate delirious dreamers have inhabited Los Angeles since before the turn of the century -- the 20th century.  You could set a Philip Marlowe story any time between 1920 and today and save for minor cosmetic details the key elements do not change.

But McGee…ah, McGee is a prisoner of his era.

Mind you, that’s a big hunk of his appeal.  What the Travis McGee books do is offer a running commentary on America-specifically-Florida-specifically-riproaring-capitalist-Florida from 1964 to 1984.

Unlike Marlowe who deals with eternals, McGee deals with the here and now.  His stories all reflect specific slices of time and do a damn fine job of it.

But you can’t take him out of his era.

Sherlock Holmes used to be locked in cobble-stone-hansom-cab-gaslit 1880s London until the recent Sherlock and Elementary series broke him free, but truth be told, that cobblestone imprisonment was a late invention of Hollywood.

Most Holmes stories take place after World War I and he rides in automobiles, flies in airplanes, talks over the telephone and radio, and does any number of technologically advanced things.

The earliest Holmes movies were always set in contemporary times, involving him in fights against Nazi spies in WWII.  It wasn’t until the 1950s that films and TV shows began pushing him back into the late Victorian era.

While some Marlowe films have put him in 1940s L.A., far more have set him in contemporary times.  Marlowe (1969) captures late 1960s L.A. perfectly (and features Bruce Lee as an office destroying thug, replacing the white guy who did the same deed in the source novel, The Little Sister); The Long Goodbye, my personal favorite of all the films based on Chandler’s novels, is resolutely set in 1970s Los Angeles (and features a young and uncredited Arnold Schwarzenegger as one of the bad guy’s heavies).

And if you think there wasn’t a world of difference between 1969 Los Angeles (pre-Manson) and 1973 Los Angeles (post-Manson), guess again.  The fact that books written literally 20 years earlier in both instances could be easily adapted into contemporary films marks Marlowe’s timeless nature.

McGee has not fared so well.

Mind you, I would recommend the McGee books to anyone who’s interested in how American culture progressed during the 1960s / 70s / 80s:  They give a lot of first hand in-the-now information.

But they remain trapped in their era/s. 

Case in point:  The plot of The Quick Red Fox centers on McGee trying to find who’s blackmailing a Hollywood movie star with incriminating photos.

The story hinges on the actress’ career being destroyed if the photos are made public.

That was a big deal in 1964, but in 2017?  The Internet has inured us to such things.

But by 1967, a scant three years after The Quick Red Fox’s publication, societal norms had already shifted to the point where such behavior and photos would no longer have a devastating impact on a person’s life, especially a show biz celebrity.

In contrast, the blackmail scheme in The Big Sleep does not target the mentally ill victim, but rather her father, a frail and dying elderly man wracked with shame and guilt over how he has failed his family.  The plot works regardless of when the story takes place because it doesn’t hinge on how society judges the victim’s sexual behavior but rather how one specific character does, and for reasons unique and particular to that character alone.

McGee (read MacDonald) typically was spot on with his observations, but they are too much a part of the character and the stories to enable them to escape their time.

You always find somebody like the characters in the Marlowe books in Los Angeles, but a lot of McGee’s characters have faded with history:

”Without my realizing it, it had happened so slowly, I had moved a generation away from the beach people. To them I had become a sun-brown rough-looking fellow of an indeterminate age who did not quite understand their dialect, did not share their habits -- either sexual or pharmacological -- who thought their music unmusical, their lyrics banal and repetitive, a square fellow who read books and wore yesterday's clothes. But the worst realization was that they bore me. The laughing, clean-limbed lovely young girls were as bright, functional, and vapid as cereal boxes. And their young men -- all hair and lethargy -- were so laid back as to have become immobile.” (The Lonely Silver Rain)

There have been two attempts to bring McGee to the screen, and while both are serviceable and entertaining as movies, both are failures as McGee films.  Darker Than Amber (1970) featured Rod Taylor as McGee and failed because it lacked McGee’s philosophical voice; Travis McGee (1983, based on The Empty Copper Sea) with Sam Elliot failed because it included that voice.

McGee’s narrative musings, while fascinating on the printed page, do not translate well in cinema.  There may be a way of striking a just-right balance, but the two efforts to date didn’t succeed.

In one way it’s a pity:  Sam Elliot would have made a perfect McGee…in 1973. 

If you want a perfect example of why the McGee books are virtually unfilmable, consider the greatest narrative hook ever written, the opening line to Darker Than Amber:  “We were about to give up and call it a night when somebody threw the girl off the bridge.”

Boom!  You’re already in the middle of the story; the key has been turned, all eight cylinders are firing, the pedal is slammed all the way down.

And it’s McGee’s voice that informs us of this.

The movie shows the unfortunate young lady being tossed off the bridge, and what McGee and Meyer were doing to put them in a position to observe same, but showing this takes too damn long .

By the time she actually is thrown off the bridge, all the impact has been dissipated.

That was MacDonald’s genius…and his curse.

Chandler, showing much more restraint, gets more done even though he does it in (seemingly) a more conventional manner.  There have been awkward adaptations of Chandler’s books, but the fault lays in production decisions, not the actual underlying material.

The crucial difference is that Chandler did not let Marlowe age or otherwise pass through time.

The brilliance of MacDonald’s work is that it traces a long arc through the heart of the 20th century; the brilliance of Chandler’s is that he ignores what is going on around him to focus on foundational issues.

There is also this:  While Chandler faced emotional and physical problems that marred his latter years, he never voiced that pain through Marlowe --  at least not clearly enough to be picked up by his fans.

But following a heart attack in the late 1960s, MacDonald allowed McGee to become more fatalistic, more morbid, more morose, more aware of his own mortality.

His first post-heart attack book, A Tan And Sandy Silence, had fans actively worrying that he was set to kill McGee off; it is certainly as despondent a tale of failed knight errancy as one might hope to find.

The series briefly bounced back to form with The Scarlet Ruse and The Turquoise Lament (though they, too, offer their notes of grim finality; more so than one would expect in a series crime novel), then dipped irretrievably with The Dreadful Lemon Sky (the weakest of what I consider the “real” i.e., original run of McGee novels), followed by a four year gap and then the mediocrity of The Empty Copper Sea.  

I remember reading it when it came out and thinking -- hoping! -- that it was just a temporary setback, that MacDonald would get the McGee series back on its feet and running great guns again.

No.

The quality started faltering badly after that, and though fans tried to convince themselves through The Green Ripper and Free Fall In Crimson that these were still good stories, by  Cinnamon Skin and The Lonely Silver Rain there was no doubting the old magic was gone.

MacDonald died two years after The Lonely Silver Rain was published. 

A lot of us feel it would have been better if he had hung up McGee’s spurs with A Tan And Sandy Silence.

McGee drops back further and further in the rearview mirror; the day will eventually arrive when you will need to be a historian of some kind in order to fully appreciate MacDonald’s sharp writing and observations.

Marlowe will be with us always, even as technology and social changes alter the landscape.

I love Marlowe, I love McGee;  I love Chandler, I love MacDonald.

But only one of them is going to be read by my grandchildren.

. . .

The Philip Marlowe novels of Raymond Chandler

The Big Sleep (1939) Farewell, My Lovely (1940) The High Window (1942) The Lady in the Lake (1943) The Little Sister (1949) The Long Goodbye (1953) Playback (1958)

[Poodle Springs is based on four chapters written before Chandler died in 1959 and finished by Robert B. Parker in 1989; as they are not purely Chandler’s work I don’t consider it canon]

. . .

The Travis McGee books of John D. MacDonald

The Deep Blue Good-by (1964) Nightmare in Pink (1964) A Purple Place for Dying (1964) The Quick Red Fox (1964) A Deadly Shade of Gold (1965) Bright Orange for the Shroud (1965) Darker than Amber (1966) One Fearful Yellow Eye (1966) Pale Gray for Guilt (1968) The Girl in the Plain Brown Wrapper (1968) Dress Her in Indigo (1969) The Long Lavender Look (1970) A Tan and Sandy Silence (1971) The Scarlet Ruse (1972) The Turquoise Lament (1973) The Dreadful Lemon Sky (1974) The Empty Copper Sea (1978) The Green Ripper (1979) Free Fall in Crimson (1981) Cinnamon Skin (1982) The Lonely Silver Rain (1984) 

[alexisdejarnettemppr755]

ReddIT or ReddWHAT?

Reddit calls itself the “front page of the internet” — and I am still trying to wrap my head around this. Reddit is a massive generator of web traffic and it is quite polluted with questionable content. The site contains large collections of forums that are user-generated, where people can share their personalized content and comment on other people’s posts. The topics range from news, science, movies, video games, music, books, fitness, food, and image-sharing…and basically any other subject you can imagine. The submissions are divided into communities called "subreddits" — posts with more up-votes appear towards the top of a subreddit (if they receive enough votes, it can appear on the site's front page).

When I first took a glance at the site, I was perplexed by what I initially saw. This was the submission at the top of the page:

Before I proceed, I will throw out a disclaimer: 

***This post is not intended to offend any audience who are active Reddit users. My opinions below are based on my initial observations of Reddit.***

...I guess I had different expectations. Initially, I was thinking I would find fun Tasty recipes, yoga techniques, an alpaca here and there, and, perhaps, interesting articles on today’s most important issues. As I scrolled through an overload of personal commentary, I was not sold; the site wasn’t my style or what I believe is worthy of a consumption habit (I felt like I lost more brain cells than one should on an average day). But, hey, not every outlet you come across on the web is tailored to fit your preference when it comes to media consumption.

However, I found it to be very intriguing that Reddit is the sixth most popular site in the United States, according to Alexa, and the 20th worldwide. I was instantly curious to find out what demographics led Reddit to be so popular.

I will admit, I do enjoy a healthy amount of personal commentary, reflection, and thought-provoking content, but I believe that is what social media platforms are for, like Facebook. When not on social media, I enjoy spending time on the web reading stories relative to the news and what is happening around the world — basically to become more educated on important issues through reliable sources.

BUT, lets get back on track to the popularity aspect and the people who actually spend time on this site. It did not take long for me to find articles online about who these people are. Can you take a wild a guess? If you are thinking of a younger audience, you are correct, and within the younger audience, it is a majority of males. I do not find this surprising because if the content could speak, I am pretty sure, I would hear the voice a high school-aged boy who is entering puberty...

Now let’s dive into the facts about the composition of individuals who use Reddit. Pew Research’s 2016 poll found that, though the United States is split 49% male to 51% female, over two-thirds of Reddit users in the United States skewed male (Sattelberg, 2018). In September 2017, Statistica found that percentage difference may be as high as 69% male, as opposed to the 67% found initially (Sattelberg, 2018). When it comes to age, the user base was 64% between the ages of 18 and 29, and 29% were between the ages of 30 and 49 (Sattelberg, 2018). Since Reddit has a broad range of categories, the community flocks toward content they are already interested in. The subredits are basically exclusive sub-communities for users to engage in topics with people who share the same interests — people are able to find their niche and make what they want out of the platform.

I initially found Reddit’s media format to be rather complicated. There are a ton of icons and gears embedded into the posts; the unfamiliarity of the format and symbols made it hard to navigate at first. After taking some time to explore the site, I actually found it to be user friendly and convenient when it comes to searching the different topics. You are able to sort through the content based on popular and trending topics, you can filter locations, and even subscribe to different communities. The content varies from videos, images, simple text, blog style posts, and submissions that link to other sites. People have few limitations when it comes to how they want share their message.

This is the personalization bar at the top of the Reddit home page, which allows users to filter content based on preference:

I did not come across any company brands on Reddit. The community is comprised of individuals who convey uniqueness and authenticity based on things that interest them. Reddit is a platform for people to share their opinions, personal stories, funny thoughts, political ideologies, and everything in between — it is a platform that showcases countless personalities across the globe. Reddit is not a platform for advertisement and marketing, so companies stray away from utilizing it within a digital media strategy.

After spending a week straying from my normalities, I did, in fact, grow an appreciation for Reddit. I think it is very cool that we live in a time where people across the world can communicate and bond over topics that matter most to them. There are diverse platforms across the web for people to be self-expressive and ultimately find their niche in specific communities. I found it compelling that many people will comment on just one submission and share insight as if they personally know each other. Reddit has few barriers when it comes to content type and communication restrictions, but that is what makes it a unique (top 6) platform.

Also, in case you were wondering if I plan to make Reddit a daily consumption habit, it’s probably not going to happen. However, I see why it works for many others. We must inspire, share stories, and bring joy to others through all outlets that bring people together. Find your niche and share your voice!

Side note: My “oh **** my life is over my parents are going to kill me” moment was when I stayed on a beach all night with friends during high school. My mom found out and I am happy to still be here.

References:

Alexa. (n.d.) The top 500 sites on the web. Retrieved from https://www.alexa.com/topsites

Sattelberg, W. (2018, October 26). The Demographics of Reddit: Who Uses the Site?. Retrieved from https://www.techjunkie.com/demographics-reddit/

[rebekahsremarkable]

Molly

When I was in elementary school, there was a girl named Molly in which for several years, I had her in several of my classes. Molly was very different than the rest of the girls at school. She didn’t care much about anything except her happiness. I think, deep down, I admired that about her.

Even as a young adolescent, I had yearned to be accepted by my peers. When the popular girl in school, Kelly, started tying her shirts in the back- I quickly followed suit. When she started wearing army pants and flip-flops, I started wearing army pants and flip-flops. When the popular clique in school started playing volleyball- I begged by Dad to pay for lessons.

But Molly wasn’t like that. Molly was weird. She did weird things, like eat lunch by herself and talk about grown-up things like boys and what penises were. “What is a penis?” I remember thinking. “It sounds like a toy. And why do only boys have them? That doesn’t seem fair.”

One day, on the playground, I remember the girls and I watching Molly practicing for the school’s talent show. She twirled around for everyone to see. There was no music, and every mis-step she took, onlookers could witness.

The HBIC of Turner Elementary, Kelly, stood up and walked over to Molly’s designated dancing area. As the girls and I approached behind Kelly, Molly stopped dancing.

“Hi, guys!” She smiled, and opened her big blue eyes wide, as if we were there to accompany her in her dance routine.

“Hi, Molly.” Kelly said, with a blank tone. “Did you know that me and some of the girls were dancing in the talent show, too?” She asked, almost sarcastically.

“Yeah! I saw in rehearsal the other day! You guys are so good.” She smiled, waiting for a returned compliment of approval.

“Listen,” Kelly said, sternly. “I’m saying this, because I’m your friend. And no one else has the guts to tell you...” The girls nodded in sync. I looked at each of them- wondering what was happening. I was confused. Kelly said she was saying something as a friend, but somehow it still felt threatening. Is that a thing all girls can do- or is that some super power only Kelly could acquire?

“You look like an idiot. And I know that sounds mean. But how do you think you will look? Especially after the girls and I dance? People seeing... Whatever you call that. I just don’t want you to be embarrassed.”

“Yeah, she’s right.” The girls said, almost collectively. They all giggled.

I watched as I could almost visually see Molly’s pride disappear from her face. Her big, blue eyes lost their happily independent twinkle. Her grin dissipated. I could see her free-spirited heart break.

“I’m glad we had this talk.” Kelly said.

The girls and Kelly walked away in their herd, and I stayed back for a second. I saw Molly quietly cry for a moment, and then huff in the rest of her feelings. I went to walk away- but stopped myself for just a moment as we shared a glance.

“I...” I stumbled to say. I looked down at the ground, ashamed.

“Go ahead.” she quietly whispered.

And go I did... I followed the herd inside the school as the end-of-recess bell rung.

I sat back at my desk, and wondered what had just transpired. I didn’t participate in mocking Molly, but I still felt shitty. I didn’t laugh at Kelly’s remark like the other girls, but I still felt just as guilty.

But I did watch. Yes, that’s exactly what I did. I watched as the girls made a innocent, confident girl- into a jaded, self conscious child. But I didn’t participate. I didn’t say anything...and as Mrs. T handed out the spelling list for the week, I came to a fourth-grade revelation:

Maybe watching is just as bad.

*******************************************************************

Making new friends to me is extremely important. For some reason, when other girls like me or say I’m funny, I get a high much similar to shooting meth in my arm (is meth shot up, or is it ingested? Will google later).

Sure, boys think I’m funny. But boys also want to sleep with me; and while some women may feel the same way, I feel a sense of validity when another girl likes me. It’s like- Woah! You’re not in competition with me? You’re not trying to tare me down? You LIKE me? I must be one hot potato.

So imagine my surprise when meeting Leanne’s brand-new, super hip and pretty Denver friends. There was three: Yasmine, a gorgeous, round-eyed makeup connoisseur; Margie, a coworker of Leanne’s, stone-faced and extremely fashionable; and Tabitha, a shy, alcohol-friendly introvert.

We sat in the extremely expensive, young-people friendly lobby of Leanne’s apartment complex waiting for the handsome men they acquired at the mall earlier that day to finish their game of pool.

As a bottle of expensive vodka got passed around the room, I noticed the girls were on the other side, and I was sitting against the wall. I had made an observation as the girls whispered and giggled to each other:

This is the first time I had been in the same room as Leanne and we  weren’t sitting next to each other. Or touching. Or laughing. Or hugging. In her niche, I watched her and her new found lady wolf pack bond from across the way. I wouldn’t say I felt jealous- but I definitely just wanted to become a part of it.

Feeling frisky, I took the pool stick and shot a ball into the corner pocket.

“Nice,” one of the handsome suitors said.

I slyly dabbed and the boys laughed.

For the rest of the night, I decided to be myself. I drank wine instead of vodka, made funny “That’s What She Said” quips and danced when a song I liked came on. I was un-apologetically myself, as Leanne always inspired me to be. In this instance, looking back, I was un-apologetically myself, by myself.

I had work in the morning, so I retired to Leanne’s bedroom alone, laying in her bed with the comfort of knowing I made three new friends. I hope they liked me. I wanted us to be Sex and the City, essentially. I imagined us all sitting around a table, at a fancy Sunday 10 am brunch, drinking mimosas and talking about penises. Who would be the Samantha? Who is Charlotte? No one is Miranda. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

My imaginative brain almost drifted to sleep when I heard Yasmine say my name.

“She’s nice, I guess. Some of her remarks seemed a little passive aggressive.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Margie said. “She just seems like, insecure.”

“She likes attention.” Tabitha replied. “Which is fine, I mean... every girl likes attention. She just tries too hard to be funny. And she gets really um...”

“-Passionate.” Leanne finally chimed in.

“Right. Passionate.” the other girls chuckled.

I tried my hardest not to keep listening. I begged for sleep to take me away. But I kept hearing each girl back-handedly give me ‘compliments’.

I kept waiting to hear Leanne’s voice... But it never came.

When they finally found a new topic, I found myself feeling a gaping hole in my chest. What did I do? What was passive-aggressive? It was like being present for your own Comedy Central Roast, but no one else knows your there and the jokes are really just your biggest insecurities.

But though it felt like I had just looked into a Magic Mirror similar to the one in Snow White (except instead of telling you you’re the fairest off them all, it tells you your shittiest qualities), I found myself noticing the main reason why I was hurting wasn’t because of the things the girls said. It was what Leanne didn’t say.

She didn’t say anything, so how could I be mad? She just watched. Then I thought about fourth grade, and I thought about Molly... No, Leanne didn’t say anything...

But maybe watching is just as bad.

**********************************************

I packed up my belongings the next morning and left as everyone slept. I made myself a quick pre-workout cocktail, and scurried out the door before anyone could see I was upset.

Before leaving the parking garage, I typed up a Facebook message to the girls apologizing for being ‘passive-aggressive’, and how I looked forward to getting to know them better. My exit must have awakened them, as the message went to ‘read’ quickly after I hit send. I never received a response.

On the forty minute drive home, I recalled my fourth grade talent show:

Kelly, (who told me, after careful deliberation, I could not be a part of their talent show dance), was instructing me when exactly to pull the curtain closed as the girls made their final pose in their choreography. It was too late for me to be the ‘talent’ in the talent show, so I volunteered to be a part of the stage crew.  

When it was finally the girls’ turn to perform in the show, they danced to a Will Smith party anthem that seemed, in hindsight, a little too edgy for a couple of eight year olds. I pulled the curtain precisely as instructed. The girls all peeked out the curtain and bowed to their raving applause, and were clearly fan favorites.

Ms. Marshall called out for the final act. “Has anyone seen Molly?”

I wondered if she’d show.

“Here! I’m here!” Molly said. She was dressed in all white, with a bright pink scarf tied to hip of her capris.

She smiled big as she walked passed the girls and said, “Wow. You ladies did a great job!” And ran to the center of the stage.

Ms. Marshall walked in front of the curtain and started speaking into the microphone. “And now, for our final act, we have Molly performing a dance she choreographed herself.” She awkwardly clapped herself off stage, and I pulled the curtain open accordingly.

There stood a posed Molly, her feet confidently planted on the ground, her hand on her hip. There was a moment of silence, and, almost suddenly, a tune called “Accidentally in Love” played.

I watched Molly dance, completely in awe. It was as if what had happened days earlier didn’t even phase her. She moved to a song that everyone in the room could visibly see she loved, you would thing she wrote the damn song.  She jived, she used jazz-hands, she did the monkey, and most of all- she smiled. She shined.

I felt myself notice the difference between Molly and I in that moment. This whole time, I had vied for acceptance from my peers- and I never got it.

Molly had never asked for acceptance, she never conformed, and there she was, the star of her own show.

Where was I? I was pulling the curtain. Where was Molly?

She was dancing to the rhythm of her own song.

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Thanks for reading! I’ve been getting some responses in which people get mad at me for posting certain things on here... I kept my writing secret for a long time. I even stopped entirely after I was told I wasn’t good at it, or that it was me vying for attention. For awhile I got really depressed and honestly, the only thing that pulled me out of it was writing. It gives me a sense of purpose. It lets me bend reality in a way that makes sense to me. With that in mind, readers need to understand that though there are certain things in life my writing may be inspired by, the occurrences in the blog are entirely fictional. Are there certain things that may remind you of someone in my life, or of an occurrence you may of been a part of? Sure, but my writing is far from the truth. My writing tells a story. A story that I want to be relatable the many(okay, like 5) women who read it, and that requires me to make something that has a message and a plot.

So if you’re my friend reading this, thank you for supporting me and understanding this. If you’re someone who feels they have been mis-represented on here, well, you’re wrong. Because my writing has nothing to do with you. This is the one space where all it has to do with, is ME. It’s my world to manipulate. If you don’t like it, don’t read it.