#it’s so horrific to learn this stuff. i get why my grandma always cried talking about drew barrymore.

[thewingedwolf]

one thing about hbo is that when they get a journalist coming up to them and going “man do i have a fucked up story i want to follow” they really do let that person go wild. i’ve mentioned the way the ronan farrow one really moved me emotionally and that’s just because ronan knows how to investigate and tell a story to get you righteously angry for who it is he’s defending. he’s good at his job!

but this one, quiet on the set, has genuinely made my jaw drop a few times, even if i think some of the framing could have been better in the last episode. of course i know about all the rumors about dan schneider and the abuse on set, it’s hard to have been into the teen nick scene and not notice, and it’s pretty easy to figure out which kids were being harmed through too much attention and which were being harmed through not enough attention, and there’s been all sorts of rumors floating around for over a decade!

but the build up to the drake bell reveal was well handled, i thought. i was initially skeptical because i think it’s hard to make a documentary about child sexual abuse without leaning into being exploitative in some way. and at first, where you have the actors who left early, like katrina, or who you remember but weren’t mega famous like giovannie, and they���re all saying “this set was so weird & inappropriate, i knew something was wrong but i didn’t have the experience or vocabulary to say what” it feels a little too schlocky. like, oh we’re just kind of speculating on the inappropriate nature of dan’s “friendship” with amanda bynes for two episodes? yeah it is fucked up that two pedophiles were on that set, but did they hurt anyone on set?

and then drake bell walks into the room dressed like timmy turner and says it was me. he hurt me.

i can’t stop thinking about the choice of clothes here and the way it helps drive home the point of the doc. he’s sitting there in fairly odd parents colors as an adult and can’t describe the sexual trauma he experienced as a child still, has never spoken about it, had his mom lie to his father over it because he was so screwed up. really driving home the point that he was just a kid who had a knack for physical comedy and it got him preyed on by dan, a man who should have protected him, set up and handed over to a monster who traumatized him for months and years.

but when that reporter said she got a judge to let them unseal the court documents because drake bell told her how much support peck had? my jaw dropped, like yeah this is reporting, this is someone who saw this story and finally fucking cared not about the salacious details but about who knew what and why they did nothing to stop this from happening. it’s not about forcing drake bell or katrina jackson or alexa to live through the worst moments of their life - it’s about how so many people knew what was going on and didn’t do a god damn thing to stop it. it’s about how these monsters, these convicted pedophiles, were given access to little kids to hurt and traumatize and everyone knew and didn’t just look the other way, they actively helped cover it up. THATS the story. Not that it was an isolated tragedy but that it was a clinical, purposeful environment built by people who wanted to harm little kids.

[puppetwritings]

Like the Stars || Yoongi || Oneshot

Word Count: 1618

Genre: comfort, fluff, motivation

Summary: Everyone has those days where they feel like their work is inadequate. It’s hard to remember others wouldn’t feel the same.

Your pencil moved rapidly against the pale paper, now turning gray from the times you rubbed your hand against it and furiously erased the spots you felt were inadequate. Your face was slowly turning red from frustration. Your arm was getting sore from erasing so hard and the spot between your eyebrows was beginning to hurt from having furrowed your brows for so long. You stopped drawing. The pencil halted its movements. You stared at the paper and took in the drawing. Horrific.

The sound of paper tearing filled the rooftop of your school and you crumbled it up. You ignored the paper stabbing into your hands and leaving a small cut on the palm of your hand. You tossed it. And then you slammed your sketch book shut.

You unzipped your backpack and yanked out your pencil bag. You pulled on the zipper of your pencil bag and shoved your drawing utensils into it, then you tossed your bag back into your backpack and as you were about to carelessly shove your sketchbook away as well, you felt something hit your back and bounce off. You stopped and looked down at the wad of paper that sat a few inches away from your butt. It was the drawing you had just thrown away.

“Littering is against the school rules,” the sound of the student body president reached you before he reached you himself. You looked up at him and his annoyingly proper attire. His hands were in his pockets and his posture was effortlessly confident. He stopped in front of you and stooped down, crouching behind you as he held up the wadded paper. “This is yours isn’t it?”

“No,” you grumbled, returning to your anger fueled packing.

“You and I are the only two on the rooftop. What are you going to tell me? A ghost threw this at me?”

It hit him? You pursed your lip for a second but the irritation and annoyance towards your art made you refuse to admit it was yours. You shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe a bird dropped it.”

Yoongi nodded slowly, “A bird.”

“Yeah.”

You heard the sound of the paper being pulled out of its wad and you turned around, reaching for it but Yoongi had moved away and was sitting a foot away from you, holding your drawing up in front of him, examining it. He glanced up at you, “Why’d you throw it away?”

“What?”

“It’s amazing.”

You stared at him for a second and then scoffed. You pointed at it, “That piece of crap looks amazing?”

Yoongi nodded.

“You’re,” you scoffed again, shaking your head, “You’re joking, right?”

“No, I don’t really joke,” Yoongi said sarcastically.

Your gaze remained on him for a moment longer and then turned away, zipping up your backpack and beginning to stand. “If you like it so much you can take it then. Saves me a trip to the trashcan.”

Yoongi watched as you began to walk past him and then his hand reached out, catching yours. You turned, glaring at him. “You want to hear a story?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I feel like telling a story, so sit down,” Yoongi tugged at your hand, waiting for you to sit back down.

“I’m not in the mood for a story.”

“You will be after you hear it,” Yoongi assured you, his hand still around your wrists. You glowered at him but he remained resolute, waiting for you to sit.

You let out a sigh and sat. You carefully fixed your skirt and waited for him to start talking.

“I don’t have many memories of my grandma but there was something she told me when I was a kid that’s stuck to me,” Yoongi started. “I was in elementary school and I just started to learn how to play the piano. It was my first concert and I messed up pretty bad. After the concert I cried a lot and I couldn’t stop even when my parents talked to me so they forcefully took me home and then my grandma found me outside later when it was time for dinner. I was still crying a little bit, just not as hard. She took me to a park and then sat me down on the swings and pointed upwards. I looked up to where she pointed and then she asked me ‘What do you see?’”

Yoongi looked at you, “What do you think I saw?”

“I don’t know; stars?”

Yoongi smiled a little. “That’s exactly what I said. ‘I don’t know; stars?’ She just laughed a little. She nodded and she said ‘Yes, stars. And what do you think of them?’”

He waited for you to answer again. You shrugged. “They’re pretty, I guess.”

“Yep, ‘they’re pretty, I guess’,” Yoongi nodded. “After hearing that reply she nodded and stared ahead like wise old people do when they’re about to give you a lesson. It was as if she was trying to form her thoughts, but it was obvious she already knew what she was going to say. She took a deep breath and then she looked at me again and asked me another question; ‘Have you ever told the stars that they’re pretty?’”

You frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Why would you tell the stars they’re pretty?”

“Right? Why would you?” Yoongi asked the question back to you. He smiled, “But truthfully, they are, aren’t they? They’re there for all to see and they’re so pretty but no one has ever thought of telling them that. Why is that?”

“Because they’re inanimate objects?”

“And?”

“Because,” you hesitated a little. He wanted you to think outside the box. You shifted uncomfortably, “because they’re too far away?”

“Right. They’re too far away. Stars are pretty but they’re too far away to compliment. That’s kind of what creators are like,” Yoongi said.

“What?”

“Creators—people who make things; artists, musicians, writers. All those people. The people who make things. They’re always in plain sight. The books, the portraits and paintings and other bits of art, the songs you hear in the elevators. You pass by them or you skim over them and you get a passing thought like ‘oh, that’s nice’ but you wouldn’t think to compliment the artist, right?”

“I guess…”

“And I guess you wouldn’t be able to compliment them since you don’t know them,” Yoongi shrugged. He thought for a moment and looked at you again, “Do you put your stuff online?”

You nodded. “Obviously.”

Yoongi smiled, “How often do you get a compliment?”

You scoffed, “Rarely.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“They don’t care?”

“How many followers do you have?”

“Over two thousand.”

“So if they don’t care why would they follow you?”

“I don’t know,” you replied irritably. “They miss-clicked?”

Yoongi shook his head. “No, that’s not right.”

“Oh, yeah, how do you know?”

“You have someone you respect, don’t you?”

You thought for a moment and hesitated. Slowly, you nodded, “Of course.”

“Do you tell them that you respect them?”

You hesitated again. “No.”

“Are they like a star to you? They’re right there for you to appreciate them but they seem too far away.”

“I…guess, yeah.”

Yoongi tilted his head, “You just answered your own question. You asked me how I know, right? I know because I just saw your art and it’s amazing and I know because you have so many followers. To these people you’re…unreachable. You’re work is amazing, it’s shining—even if you don’t think so. It dazzles them and they want to tell you that it’s nice, it’s pretty, but they can’t. To them you’re sort of like the stars in the sky. Close enough to admire but too far away to talk to.”

“That’s all romantic, Yoongi,” you mumbled, not willing to admit you’re slightly convinced, “But I know my work is bad. It’s got all these problems and—“

“That’s in your head,” Yoongi interrupted you. “You think it’s bad because you’re the one that worked on it. You worked on it and spent the most time with it and you created it so of course you know where it’s bad and what spots could be fixed and improved. Other people? They most likely won’t notice. They’ll take it as another beautiful work of yours. And just because it’s bad doesn’t mean you have to get angry or frustrated with yourself. Just take a deep breath, step away from it for a little and then come back when you’re ready to improve.”

You looked at Yoongi hesitantly. The anger and annoyance you had had been flushed out while you listened to his little anecdote and his calming reasoning. You shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to say next and then you glanced at him. “Are you also a creator?”

“I’m a musician, a little bit of a writer,” Yoongi shrugged. He smirked, “So, I kind of know where you’re coming from.”

You looked away and then turned back to him with a resigned sigh. You smiled a little, “Thank you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi shrugged, “Hey, what’s the Student Council President for?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

Yoongi stood and rolled his eyes. He held out his hand for you and pulled you up, “I’m here to help the students, dumbo.”

“Oh, really?”

Yoongi glared at you and began walking to the exit of the rooftop, “Come on, let’s go. The bell is about to ring.”

You pulled your bag up and looked down at the wrinkled drawing Yoongi had left. You stooped down and looked it over again. It…wasn’t that bad after all.

“Are you coming?”

You looked up and smiled, folding it neatly and tucking it in your backpack, “Yeah! I’m coming!”