#its just a different methodology to her

[possamble]

Actually sorry coming back to this to amend it a bit bc I had a late realization. I think Marcille absolutely sees herself as an elf, just a unique kind of elf, and that plays into why she's not actually that bothered about it. The crucial thing to remember is that being half-elf definitely makes her completely unlike other tallmen, but being half-tallman doesn't seem to make her less of an elf, functionally speaking. Again, impossibly long lifespan, big ears (even if they're slightly different), and the highest capacity for mana and precise magic among all the different races.

And that actually. Makes her line about elf supremacy being embarrassing SO funny to me. She's really like... She has all the elf features that supposedly make them superior, and she really just doesn't think it's All That. She legit thinks it's so cringe that other elves are so hoity toity about it bc she also can do everything they can do and it's like... It's not that big of a deal oh my god stop,

do you have any particular thoughts regarding marcille being a half-elf? its interesting to me considering the fact that she seems self-conscious about being a half-elf, but denies it when its brought up

i remember marcille looking visibly uncomfortable over laios simply asking her how old she is, which i think the only reason she might feel nervous about this is because it might reveal her as a half-elf to him.

she's never corrected anybody whose called her an elf either.

never mind the circumstances of the reveal, in which thistle goes on about how half-elves are inferior and accusing her of wanting to become full blooded elf, she seemed particularly upset like he struck a nerve-

i wish the half-elf thing was built upon more. also, underrated marcille line:

okay so i revisited this sequence just to make sure I could back myself up and it's just... man. there's a lot going on.

the first reaction we get from Marcille is this huge panel that takes up half of the page

she is viscerally affected. flushing to the tips of her ears with the intensity of it. and we see it again, a few pages later

so it might seem like she's embarrassed about it and lying to herself, but... I really think it's just that Thistle is accidentally hitting sore spots. If you really look at what he says to get these reactions

"you'll live out your entire life [...] and die that way too"

"a hundred years from now, nobody will be there"

Hear me out. I think, if he stuck to harping on about her inferiority without bringing up how terrifyingly long-lived she is, she wouldn't have been as bothered. But right now, Thistle is accidentally hitting all the marks on Marcille's deepest fears-- and this is after the Winged Lion promised her that her dreams could come true in an extremely vulnerable moment, so it also hits her slightly guilty conscience as well.

I do truly believe that Marcille isn't bothered about being a half-elf the way that people assume she'd be bothered by it. To her, the biggest problem with being a half-elf is that it's isolating.

On one hand, it's not hard to imagine why she'd distance herself from elves in the west. A lot of them can clock her as a half-elf on sight, unlike other races, and therefore she's always branded with this weird stigma of being Othered -- I would even say that she considers herself lucky for being born outside of elven culture instead of having to grow up in it. I mean, just... look at the way elves talk about her.

Skipping past the uncomfortable implication of what 'not tolerating the existence' of half-elves would actually entail, this is incredibly fucking annoying. You can see why she wouldn't want to be around elves much. You see a lot of Marcille reacting badly here, but honestly, almost all of it can be attributed to her freaking out that her bluff completely failed. She's honestly more paying attention to Izutsumi's footsteps and trying to coordinate an opportunity to escape.

And in the end, you see her built-up frustration at being asked if she wants to be a full-blooded elf like 2-3 times in a row.

Yeah, yeah, "the lady doth protest too much," and all. But we know Marcille. We know that she's a lot more embarrassed and horrendously unconvincing when she's being prodded about something she's actually self-conscious about.

Moving onto the flipside of things, it might seem weird that she "pretends" to be a full elf around other races, but it's not really that strange if you think about it. Again, people are weird about her being infertile or whatever, and a lots of them don't even know much about what sets half-elves apart from everyone else. I mean, look at how uncomfortable Laios is just asking her about it

and look at how exasperated and resigned she looks

And like... she's right. Where would that come up in normal conversation? Why would she go out of her way to tell them? She's functionally a normal elf to other races anyway -- got the ears, the abnormally long "childhood", and the huge mana capacity. Unless it's directly relevant or important for people to know, I don't think it's all that strange or indicative of insecurity that she prefers not to bother with it.

(This combined with her sense of being an "outsider" to elf culture also explains why she thinks elf superiority is embarrassing. She sees the way elves treat short-lived races from the "outsider" perspective nonetheless, and thinks it's obnoxious; especially more so because she usually has to play the elf around short-lived races and deal with the reputation of arrogance that elves have built up.)

The sad thing is, this all means that... she doesn't actually fit in anywhere. She doesn't like going out West much because of how elves treat her. But she's also an outsider in the continents she was born in, treated like this exotic long-lived alien choosing to live among short-lived races for some reason. She is always an outsider, the Other, no matter where she goes. Add in the fact that she'll live longer than literally anyone she knows, and it's honestly kind of heartbreaking.

And I think that's the crux of it. Marcille really doesn't act like she's at all self-conscious about being a half-elf because of any feelings of inferiority or being half-made or whatever. She considers herself a perfectly legitimate being and might even, in some ways, consider herself superior to normal elves because she's not blind with elf supremacy or whatever. (And whatever "elven biases" she displays, all of them are born more out of the fact that she's kind of bad at conceptualizing how other races age and mature compared to herself, not that she actually considers herself better or more mature simply for being an elf.)

I think that whatever self-consciousness Marcille has about being a half-elf is, instead, related to terror and loneliness. The reminder that it ensures she'll never truly belong anywhere for the rest of her very long life. The reminder that, in truth, even she's not actually sure how old she is by other races' standards (hence the discomfort when asked how old she is). She doesn't want to not be a half elf, or be a full elf or full tall-man-- in her ideal world, she's still a half-elf. She just gets to live out her life at the same pace with the people she loves and doesn't have to say goodbye again and again and again until she dies.

and one last very important panel, right after Mithrun tells her that all her desires would be devoured

In her ideal world, she's still a half-elf and reality magically starts marching at her pace. But failing that, the second best thing is that she's still a half-elf-- but one who is able to accept reality and let go of her fear.

(But the rest of the story pans out the way it does because, to Marcille, taking reality apart and reshaping it was less scary than simply and fully reconciling with it.)

[brionysea]

argyle called el supergirl + mike called el superman, but that scene was about his feelings and insecurities so the superman association is really tied to mike. superman and supergirl are cousins

[moondirti]

Who from the 141 speaks the best arabic do you think? From one arab girl to another, it’d be so hot if any of them were fluent 🫠

if my memory serves me correctly, we get a bit in the first campaign from price. to me it seems to be a basic knowledge. a few sentences he picked up on the field and memorised to make his job easier. evac orders, cardinal directions, how to ask for water, food, medicine. that kind of stuff. pure utility, though that’s his approach to most things.

i like to believe (call it bias or whatever) that gaz is fluent. this ties in to my headcanon that he’s the only member who attended and graduated uni, but he strikes me as someone intensely curious about everything. introducing him to something, be it language or cuisine or a skill he hasn’t mastered yet, is like knocking down the floodgates. it’s his time in urzikstan that does it. hearing the way it rolls off farah’s tongue (let’s ignore doumit’s canon pronunciations), or how she’s able to translate a long, winding, clumsy sentence to something short. beautiful.

there’s a word for everything, he finds. one for the state of gossiping with your friends over morning coffee. one to congratulate someone on their cleanliness after a haircut. one that means may you be the one to bury me, for it would be unbearable to live without you – that is used so casually in conversation, kyle is stunned when he learns the true meaning. it doesn’t hold the same expectation, the same trepidation, as it does in english, though it retains its weight all the same. he wonders what makes a language so special that its intrinsic devotion has found a common place within its cultures, and he sets to find out.

this turns into a thing. more rambling under the cut.

the largest learning curve is the alphabet. the sounds that don’t exist in his mother tongue. he’s especially hard on himself when it comes to enunciating them properly – half the beauty is in the way words flow together, and there would really be no point in indulging in arabic’s more lyrical aspects if he’s off pitch. he gets the hang of it eventually, of course, one too many vocal exercises later.

the weathered dictionary he picks up at a second hand store teaches him that most words have three letter roots, and that it isn’t so easy as to look them up alphabetically. picking up new vocab becomes infinitesimally harder, then. for twelve million choices, the distinction between some words comes down to diacritical marks. necklace, decade, contract, held, complicated, and knots are all spelt the same way, yet pronounced ever so slightly different — a fact he learns the hard way when he tells the cashier at the kibbeh place he frequents that he likes her decade.

reading. reading is what helps him get over that.

(he probably should touch on basic grammar first — nouns, verbs, particles, sentence structure, that sort of stuff — but figures he'll pick it up as he goes, basing his methodology on an inability to remember any rules for the english language. he grew up hearing it, reading it, watching it, surrounded by it, so it just is what it is now. why work so hard on task books made for kids, then, when he can just get right into the meat of the matter? acclimatise through force.)

he picks up stacks of books upon books upon poetry. naguib mahfouz. ghada al-samman. al-mutanabbi. mahmoud darwish. it takes him a month to get through the first, and another month for the second. which only means he really takes his time with them, roving over the same line until it's etched into his memory. the cadence, the beats for pause, the way a word he has to punch from his throat is followed by one that lilts, all sing-songy. eventually, he starts to (inadvertently) mimic that sweeping manner of speech, employing it in contexts which certainly don't call for it.

the cashier — the very same one whose age he mistakenly stressed, despite the fact that she couldn't have been much younger than him — is far too nice to say anything about it, smiling instead, endeared, while he waxes poetic about meze.

farah calls him out immediately the next time they catch up.

apparently, no one speaks in classical arabic anymore, go figure. it would be like talking in shakespearean english, she tells him. he imagines it, iambic pentameter and all, and cringes, newly determined. his own research unearths (though it wasn't really a secret) the fact that there are roughly 25 different dialects belonging to different regions — and while some are pretty similar (syrian and lebanese), others could classify as a whole other language on their own (moroccan).

reddit tells him what he already knows; that the best way to learn is through exposure. there are no dictionaries for patois. and farah, despite her total enthusiasm at his interest, is far too busy of a woman to help.

(really, it just gives him an excuse to finally do what he's been meaning to.)

the next time he's craving kibbeh, he's fixed on not making a fool of himself when he asks the cashier out to lunch.

[karlastarion]

I'm so curious about Kagha, because she's so different from Halsin. She and Halsin are both wood elves, and I get the sense that Kagha is probably not ~young~ but she's not nearly as old as Halsin. When you deal with the Shadow Druids, she's very quick to defer to him and treat him like a teacher she's disappointed. He probably mentored her, if he's chosen her as his second in command - though, I would bet it's in more of a general thing in the way that the First Druid is everyone's mentor, rather than the clearly more direct and specific mentorship he has with Nettie as a healer.

Canonically, Halsin isn't an exceptionally good leader. He's not bad at it, and he has good instincts. He correctly surmises that after the dust-up with Kagha and the tieflings, the Emerald Grove needs an outsider to step in and lead without being tied to any particular grudges or politics. That's savvy enough that I think Halsin was a good First Druid, he just wasn't especially good or great at it and clearly didn't like the position. At worst, I think he let some situations fester because of his focus on the Shadow Curse.

But I'm not ready to say that he didn't realize Kagha was a proverbial snake in the grass ~the whole time~, because I don't think she was. I think she was genuinely and recently radicalized by the Shadow Druids. I think she probably had something of an edge before, maybe she was a hardass or had a mean streak or something. Regardless of how I feel about the quality of the Shadow Druid subplot (which is that I think its pacing is meh and Kagha's face-turn is way too fast and kind of shitty), I think it speaks to the fact that her care for the Grove is genuine. That perhaps Halsin's failure with her wasn't in not realizing she was A Bad Person Actually, but in not tending to her insecurities or noticing that she might be feeling isolated, if she was so effectively shaken by the Shadow Druids' fearmongering.

The recent wave of IRL cults should have taught us all by now that everyone is susceptible to cult tactics if they're sufficiently scared and alone, and BG3 is a game riddled with various cults. You don't have to already be a bad person, or a stupid or weak person, to fall for them. And I think Kagha's story is way less interesting if you just think she's an evil power hungry shrew too stupid to keep herself from being radicalized.

She clearly has a nasty streak, but her apologies and regrets also sound sincere, if you manage to hear them. Even when she isn't "redeemed", she accepts her punishments, even if she does so bitterly and not believing she was wrong. And I have to wonder just how much of that mean streak is self-defensive rather than inherent in her, how much of it is that she struggles to admit failure and learn from it. Or how much is her modeling Halsin's level of single-minded commitment, picking a methodology or an action and throwing all of her weight behind it, even when it may no longer be working.

I wish characters like Kagha got nearly as much love and fandom development and benefit of the doubt as someone like Ketheric. I think she has a ton of potential for that, and way fewer crimes to her name than other fandom favorites who just happen to also be, you know. Men.

[1arkspur-aconitum]

HOW VERY UN-GREEK (s.r.)

IN WHICH: Spencer Reid meets Juniper Bishop, the new team member, on her first day at the BAU and finds it hard to focus.

PAIRING: Season 3 Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: fluff

CONTENT: IQ slashed to 60, Derek being an idiot, equally genius character, teasing, 3rd person, and a good introduction to who Juniper Bishop is.

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

PUBLISHED: 29/09/24

DR. SPENCER REID ARRIVED EARLY to work that morning and went through his usual routine. He’d cleaned his desk, poured himself a hot coffee with four teaspoons of sugar for added energy, and prepared himself as best he could for whatever the day had to throw at him. Murderers, arsonists, or just straight up creeps were standard for the BAU, and that was part of the reason why he loved the job so much. Nothing was consistent, but the methodology–the construction of the profile, the analytical processes–were always the same.

But, as he sat there at his desk, the only one in the middle of the bullpen, he wasn’t sure what today would provide. There had been no recent string of deaths in the news, no strange threats sent to local police departments, no rumours of wayward prisoners. The day looked as if it was set to be normal. Or, as normal as a day in the BAU.

Crossword spread out in front of him, Spencer Reid savoured his coffee as the early morning light spread across his desk. The bullpen was deserted, his only glimpse of other life the occasional figures flickering past the glass doors. Usually an empty bullpen was a blessing for him. No one would interrupt his thinking with stupid questions (Derek), pestering about his non-existent love life (Emily), or try to convince him to another BAU pasta evening (Dave). Typically, he liked the silence. Just him and his thoughts.

Today, though, something was different. He couldn’t concentrate. The building was too still. As if it was holding its breath. The anticipatory feeling soured the taste of his coffee, blurred the edges of his mind. Spencer didn’t like it one bit.

He looked up on instinct when the elevator dinged open. Spencer took pride in knowing his surroundings–in fact, Spencer took pride in knowing everything. He had seen a lot in his time, and could remember every single painstaking detail. He could remember the exact shade of green the taxi driver was wearing this morning, to the precise number of pancakes he ate on his first day in the BAU. He’d always thought of his memory as a benefit, the thing that makes him him.

It was only when she waltzed out of the lift did he decide he wasn’t sure about that anymore.

The first glimpse he got of her was all leather. Dark brown, it hugged her from ankle to throat. It covered her long legs, stretched tight over her ample thighs, and left very little to the imagination. Even from this distance, he could see that it wasn’t a single piece, but rather two–a long sleeve, high necked jacket, reinforced at the elbows and shoulders, paired with a slightly looser set of leather trousers, padded at the knees and thighs. It moved with her like a second skin, slightly scuffed and obviously well loved. Painstakingly maintained.

The second glimpse he got was gold. Not the gold of a dollar, but of copper. Red hair, cut to her collar, so fine that it caught the sunlight like thin strands of metal. As she strode from the maw of the lift, it drifted around her face as if she was walking through water. Spencer found himself wondering how soft it would feel between his fingers before he caught himself. No. She wore big, noise-cancelling headphones, the dark green a stark contrast to the copper of her hair.

Her skin was pale, spattered with freckles, face flushed as if she’d just run a marathon. She was all soft angles, wide eyes, full lips currently pursed. There was nothing harsh about her. Everything was smooth. Gentle. Sloped.

Spencer’s mouth dried as she shouldered the door to his bullpen open and stepped through. A cold breeze washed over him and brought with it the subtle scent of petrol. The strange woman hadn’t noticed him yet, too busy rummaging around in a large duffle bag hanging from her shoulder.

She struggled to pull a thick, manilla file from the confines of her bag, gloved fingers slipping over the material. The woman grumbled in annoyance and yanked one of the gloves off using her teeth, dropping it carelessly into her open bag. With a bare hand, she successfully extricated a sheet of paper–she still hadn’t noticed him. Part of him wondered if he should say something, announce his presence before he freaked her out, but another part of him was frozen to the spot. Like a deer that has just spotted a lion.

Then, as if sensing his gaze, she looked up. Her eyes, a startling shade of emerald green, locked onto his. She jumped.

‘Fuckin’ hell–’ She swore, clapping the bare hand to her chest and taking a shuddering breath. With her free hand, she slipped her headphones off and dropped them around her neck. ‘I didn’t see you there.’

She spoke with an accent he couldn’t quite place, but she definitely wasn’t from Virginia. No, it was clipped. Darker sounding. Spencer could only watch as she picked her way through the bullpen towards him–should he stand up? Should he say something? But, then what should he say?

‘I wasn’t expecting someone else to be here so early,’ she explained, coming to a stop next to his desk and offering him a smile that seemed to light up her whole face. ‘I was kinda hoping I could sneak in, get the lay of the land, before anyone else.’

‘Uh–’ Spencer Reid, the man with a vocabulary that could rival several dictionaries, some of them not even in English, was momentarily speechless. He cleared his throat and gestured lamely to his desk. ‘I’m Dr. Spencer Reid–I work here.’

‘I should hope so,’ she said, a flicker of amusement dancing behind her eyes. She lent back against the empty desk perpendicular to his, crossing her legs at the ankles. ‘If you didn’t, I’d have to call for security. And then question why the FBI has such lax security on its buildings in the first place.’

‘I…uh…’ God, he was being an idiot. All he had to do was string a couple of words together to make a sentence. That’s it. It was as simple as that, and it’s something he’d been doing his entire life. Why, then, when faced with this strange woman, did he find it practically impossible? His cheeks heated.

‘It’s alright, I won’t tell.’ She saved him from his misery by dumping the bag onto the empty desk. ‘I’m June. Juniper Bishop–they moved me up from Crisis Negotiation. I’m gonna be working with you guys for the foreseeable future.’

Juniperus communis–a coniferous tree or shrub, evergreen, that can grow up to 32 feet in height, and has been known to live for over 200 years. A hardy plant that thrives in chalkland, mostly found in Europe or the northern hemispheres–in traditional folklore, the juniper tree was used as a deterrent for witches or the Devil.

She was still looking at him. Expecting a reply.

‘What?’ The word came out strangled, forced, and he turned his head down to look at the crossword before him. He hadn’t heard anything about a new team-member. Spencer is 99% sure that Hotch would have told him if he was endorsing someone new to come join, especially so close to Gideon leaving. Though, Hotch and Morgan had been acting strangely these past few days.

‘Yeah, I’m kind of excited, actually. I’ve always found the BAU interesting.’ Juniper’s voice was light, airy, and Spencer found himself relaxing–just a little. He risked a glance up at her and was met with a megawatt smile. It was almost blinding. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you guys. I’m looking forward to working with you.’

‘Uh…sorry, no one told me anything about it.’ Spencer said, hating how weak the words sound. When he looked at her, though, all he saw was her utmost attention. It scared him a little, like he was a mouse under a car’s headlight. ‘I wasn’t expecting a new team member so soon after…’

‘Gideon requested me.’ She said, and those three words jarred through Spencer like a nail. Juniper stood up from the desk and began to shrug herself out of the leather. He had to look away. Not just to process the fact that Gideon–his Gideon–had requested someone be transferred without mentioning it to him, but also to avoid looking at her as she effectively stripped. ‘I worked with him on a couple of CNU cases, kind of told him how much I was interested in Behavioural Analysis. He introduced me to Hotch a couple weeks ago.’

‘Oh…’

‘I’m sorry.’ She said, and sounded genuine. There was a rustle, and Spencer looked over just in time to see her yanking her trousers off–thankfully, she was wearing dark green suit trousers underneath. She’d paired it with a pale pink long sleeve top that clung to her curves very distractingly. ‘I assumed everyone knew.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ Spencer said, averting his gaze yet again and staring down at his crossword. He could still feel her eyes on him and it made his skin prickle. ‘Uh, welcome to the team.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled, voice still light despite the sincerity behind it. She moved from behind the desk, and Spencer watched her approach from the corner of his eye. Juniper was still graceful despite the heavy boots, and he found himself mesmerised by the way she moved. It was like she was dancing, even when she was simply walking towards him. ‘So, what brings you here so early, Reid?’

‘Uh…’ he looked up to find her leaning on his desk, peering down at the crossword before him. ‘Nothing exciting. I just like to have the morning’s to myself.’

‘My apologies for interrupting, then.’

‘No–no, I mean…that’s…I just like to relax before everything gets crazy, you know?’

‘Ah, I understand. And you relax by doing crosswords?’

‘Well…yeah. How do you relax?’ He replied, a little harshly. It sounded as if she was teasing him and he didn’t like that. There was nothing weird about doing a crossword, was there? He’d never considered it something worthy of teasing before.

‘No, no, I respect it.’ She must’ve picked up on the discord behind his words as she shows him the palms of her hands. Juniper laughed, the sound a breath through windchimes. Spencer found himself smiling despite his momentary irritation. ‘I ride.’

‘Ride?’ Spencer echoed, frowning. ‘Ride what? Horses?’

‘Hah, I wish. I don’t know where I’d keep a horse in my flat, is the only problem.’ Flat. She called it a flat. British, then. It made sense, really–now that he’d sussed it out, it was nearly impossible to miss. Southern, probably, the picture of stereotypical received pronunciation. ‘I ride a motorbike, Reid. You know, two wheels, engine, leather and chrome?’

‘Oh.’ Spencer frowned. It should have been obvious, really, what with all the protective gear, but it still sat weirdly on him. ‘Did you know that the chance of fatality in a motorcycle crash is approximately 30 times higher than that of a car? And that if you were to get into an accident, you’d have about an 80% injury or death rate?’

‘Yes, but 34% of fatal accidents are because of speeding, and 27% involve alcohol of some kind.’ She retorted back instantly, but there was a bemused smile on her lips. ‘And whilst, yes, motorbike accidents are more dangerous, there are statistically fewer of them than car crashes per annum. On top of that, if the person is wearing a helmet that meets the governmental standards, their risk of death is reduced by 42%, and the risk of head injury by 69%.’

Spencer couldn’t do anything other than stare at her. His mouth was slack, slightly agape, as she rattled off a variety of statistics. The words fell from her lips like they’d always been there, and she spoke with an ease that hinted at an intelligence he hadn’t expected. She knew the numbers. She understood the numbers. She didn’t just spit them out–she knew what they meant, too.

‘So,’ Juniper said, pushing herself off of his desk to stand. ‘If I ride carefully, wear the correct gear, and don’t drink before I get on Maple, my risk of death is significantly reduced.’

‘But…but it’s not eliminated.’

‘You could say the same thing about a car. Or a plane. Or lifts.’ She said, angling her head as she looked down at him. Spencer wasn’t sure if he liked the fact that she was standing over him, but he definitely liked the broad smile she sent his way. ‘Plus, a little bit of danger is fun.’

‘Fun is subjective.’ Spencer pointed out, but he couldn’t stop the slight upturn of his lips. She was infectious in a way he wasn’t used to—confident, with an easy smile that she wasn’t afraid to send his way. ‘I think I’ll stick to my crosswords, thank you.’

‘Each to their own.’ She said with a shrug, moving back to her desk where she’d dumped her bag. Juniper began to rifle through it again, and it was only when she started to drop things into the drawers that Spencer realised this was her desk. Right next to him. She would be perpetually in his peripheral vision. Oh, God. ‘So…what do I call you? Dr. Reid? Agent? Spencer?’

‘Uh, Spencer is fine.’ He cleared his throat, tapping the tip of his pencil against the half-finished crossword.

‘Spencer, then.’ Juniper said, and he didn’t miss the way her lips curved around his name. It sounded different coming from her. There was a strange intimacy in the way she vocalised it, dark and alluring. ‘You can call me June, by the way. Or Bishop. Or Hops, if you like. Juniper sounds way too formal. It’s also what my mum calls me when she’s mad at me.’

‘Alright.’ He replied, turning in his swivel chair to face her. ‘June it is.’

She smiled in return, sparing him a brief glance as she continued to unpack her belongings. A small framed photograph of what Spencer assumed was her family was propped up by the computer. A couple of knicknacks–a small statue of the Moirai was placed next to a bust of David, the top of his head removed and filled with pens and pencils. A battered notebook covered in stickers. A partially solved Rubik’s cube. Another frame, this time holding a print of a bird he couldn’t see enough of to identify.

‘So,’ she finally spoke again, filling the silence. ‘When do the rest of the team arrive? I’m supposed to meet Agent Hotchner to sign some paperwork and stuff.’

‘Any moment now, actually.’ Spencer glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly nine. ‘They usually arrive around this time.’

‘Good.’ She said, and even though he wasn’t looking at her, he could hear the smile in her voice. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting the rest of the infamous BAU.’

As if on cue, the elevator doors slid open and a few more members of the BAU spilled out and into the bullpen. Spencer watched as June straightened in her seat, a professional mask sliding over her face. Only the hands pulling at her fingers in her lap betrayed any sense of anxiety. Gone was the easy smile, the relaxed posture–instead, she was a picture of military precision. Spencer couldn’t help but wonder if this is the June he would have met if he hadn’t accidentally scared her into ease. He frowned.

Derek was the first one to spot her. He stopped dead in his tracks, nearly to the point where Emily crashed into him. Luckily the brunette dodged aside. A coffee cup was forgotten halfway up to his lips. Spencer watched as his eyes raked over June, taking in the red hair, the tight top. He was practically drooling.

‘Well, hello, there.’ Derek said, voice smooth as silk as he approached. He deposited his coffee cup on his own desk opposite June’s and walked around to greet her. June rose too. ‘You must be Agent Bishop. Welcome to the team.’

‘Thank you–Derek Morgan, I presume?’ June said, taking Derek’s offered hand and giving it a quick shake. Was Spencer the only one not told about the new team member? ‘Do call me June, though, my last name seems a bit formal for a first meeting, don’t you think?’

‘June.’ Derek repeated, as if savouring the words. Spencer fixed his attention back to his crossword, but he found it nearly impossible to focus. Not when Derek was so obviously checking out the new team member. ‘Hope you’re ready for a wild ride.’

‘Those are the only kind of rides I go on.’ June countered quickly, but Spencer had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t Derek’s number one fan. Maybe it was all the ogling. ‘I’ve heard a lot about all of you.’

‘Good things, I hope.’ Emily said, having spotted what has attracted Derek’s attention. She offered June a friendly smile, and Spencer was pleased to see it returned. ‘It’s nice to have some new eyes.’

‘Thank you–Emily Prentiss?’

‘Please, just call me Emily.’

‘Only if you call me June.’ The two women shook hands, a silent agreement passing between them.

‘So, June.’ Derek perched himself on the edge of Juniper’s desk, still inspecting her with that undeniably profiler-y look. It was as if he was stripping her down to her base elements, and Spencer would not have liked to have been on the receiving end. ‘I see you’ve made yourself at home already.’

‘Was that not correct?’ June sat down in her seat and pushed herself away from the desk, putting a little bit of space between her and Derek. Spencer tried not to be too pleased that she was now closer to him. ‘I figured it would be easier to do it before you all arrived. Unfortunately for me, Dr. Reid was already here.’

‘He does that.’ Emily grinned, not unkindly at Spencer. He felt his cheeks flush, and busied himself staring down at the grid of white and black squares. ‘I can almost guarantee you that Reid will be here before any of us–are you sure you don’t sleep here, Spencer?’

‘I have an apartment.’ Spencer mumbled, not daring to look up. He could feel all three pairs of eyes watching him and he didn’t like it in the slightest. He knew he was blushing. It was a stupid question, and one he had been asked several times before, but it still embarrassed him. Especially in front of Juniper.

‘Doesn’t mean you don’t sleep here.’ Derek said, laughing. Spencer risked a look up to glare at him. He hated it when people made those kinds of assumptions about him. Just because he liked his job didn’t mean he didn’t have a life outside of it. He just hoped no one asked him for examples…

‘So, June, how did you end up being stuck with us?’ Emily said, thankfully changing the subject before Spencer could snap at Derek. She leant back on the divider separating hers and Spencer’s desk.

‘I was with Crisis Negotiation for a while,’ June replied, twisting idly in her chair. To anyone else, it looked like a casual gesture, but Spencer could tell what it was. A nervous tick, something to help calm her down. He knew it because he did it too. ‘I worked on a lot of cases with Agent Gideon. He and I talked about the BAU and I told him how much I respected the work and would be interested in giving it a go. He recommended me to Hotch, and now here I am.’

‘You’re Hotch’s new pet project, then.’ Derek said, and there was something in his voice that Spencer couldn’t quite identify. Spencer narrowed his eyes at his colleague over his coffee mug. Was it jealousy? Annoyance? Spencer didn’t have much time to dwell on it because June was laughing again, and the thoughts slipped out of his mind.

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ She said, shaking copper strands around her face. ‘But Agent Hotchner did seem very keen to have me on board. I suppose I have Agent Gideon to thank for that.’

‘It’s just Hotch you have to worry about now–don’t worry–’

‘Where’s your accent from?’ Derek interrupted before Emily could continue speaking, head angled to the side.

‘Where do you think?’ June replied, fixing Derek with a firm expression.

‘Southern England.’ Spencer answered for her, surprising himself a little. He hadn’t intended to speak, but once the words started he couldn’t stem the flow of them. ‘Clipped vowels, elongated and darker ‘a’ sounds–it’s received pronunciation, or the Queen’s English, so I’d say further south than London, maybe Chichester?’

June spun her chair towards him and fixed him with a curious gaze. It wasn’t intense, but she was definitely scrutinising him. She pulled her lips into her mouth and cocked her head.

‘Close. Very close.’ She said, sounding–and looking–impressed. She offered him a genuine smile and Spencer felt his chest warm. ‘Brighton, actually. Or, I suppose, Alfriston, seeing as you appear to be well versed in English geography.’

‘Brighton, huh? Like the rock?’ Derek said, leaning forward. Spencer wasn’t sure if he’d actually looked once away from Juniper since he’d first laid eyes on her. When he spoke next, he winked. ‘Perhaps you could show me around sometime?’

Spencer had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

‘Hah, I’m sure the internet has plenty of information,’ June replied cooly, crossing her legs and raising an eyebrow. ‘Besides, I doubt we could get enough time off from the FBI to hop back across the pond.’

‘She’s got you there, Derek.’ Emily chuckled, patting her colleague on his shoulder as he looked wounded.

‘Well, not with Hotch around.’ Derek grumbled, but he had the decency to look a little sheepish. June’s lips twitched. Spencer had the distinct feeling that she was enjoying this. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

‘Speaking of, here comes our fearless leader.’ Emily said, nodding towards the glass doors. Spencer followed her gesture and saw Hotch striding purposefully across the bullpen, trailed by a bemused Agent Rossi. Hotch didn’t look best pleased. ‘Someone’s in trouble.’

‘Let me guess, you forgot to fill out a form or something?’ June asked, turning to Spencer with a raised eyebrow.

‘Oh, no,’ Emily spoke for Spencer, leaning in conspiratorially. ‘Spencer doesn’t forget anything. It’s kind of his thing.’

June laughed and turned to Spencer. She had that same expression on as before, the one that seemed as if she was taking in every aspect of him and weighing it against…against what? A perceived idea of him? Suddenly Spencer became very aware of the fact that his tie was crooked and he’s pretty sure he spilt some toothpaste on it this morning. God, he wished someone had given him some warning that there would be a new team member starting today.

‘Good morning, everyone.’ Hotch said, pulling himself to a stop in the middle of their little congregation. He looked at each of them in turn, lingering on June. She was now standing, hands in front of her, her jaw a tense line. She was nervous, Spencer realised. ‘Ah, Agent Bishop. I was expecting you.’

‘Yes, sir–’

‘Call me Hotch.’ He interrupted, but there was no malice behind his words. If anything, Spencer could have sworn he saw a glimmer of amusement in his eye. How rare, for their Unit Chief. ‘I trust you’ve been settling in well.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ June shook Hotch’s hand firmly, before tucking it into her pocket. She turned her shoulders towards Spencer. ‘Dr. Reid here has been very accommodating.’

Spencer felt his cheeks heat up. He was suddenly very aware of how much attention she was paying him, and it was starting to get overwhelming. He didn’t like being observed, least of all by someone who looked like she did. His crossword puzzle became very interesting again.

‘Good.’ Hotch replied, punctuating the word with a decisive nod. When he spoke next, it was to the entire group. ‘Now, there are some forms I need you to sign, but unfortunately we have been called for a case, so we shall have to do that later. The briefing starts in ten minutes–get your coffee, breakfast, whatever, and gather in the conference room.’

With that, Hotch turned on his heel and walked away. He headed up the flight of stairs towards his office, and Spencer could see the telltale head of hair that marked Rossi as already being inside.

‘Well, that was fun.’ Derek said, pushing himself to stand and sighing. Spencer watched June turn to look at him, her eyes scrutinising his every movement. Something inside Spencer twanged like a string. Jealousy? No, that couldn’t be it. ‘Don’t worry, Agent Hot-Stuff, you’ll get used to it.’

‘It’s Doctor, actually.’

‘What?’ Derek said, and Spencer was inclined to agree.

‘Doctor. Not Agent. Agent seems a little…mundane, no?’ June grinned cheekily, starting to collect a couple of her things together before pushing them into the big duffle bag she’d abandoned by her feet.

‘Medical?’ Spencer found himself asking. He looked at her with a newfound respect–not that a doctorate forces him to respect someone, but it definitely gave him a little bit more confidence interacting with her. Some common ground for them to meet in the middle on. It pleased him more than he was willing to admit.

‘No, PhD.’ June replied, meandering over to peer down at his crossword. She glanced up to see Derek’s surprised face. ‘Besides, Doctor sounds cooler, don’t you think? I don’t fancy getting confused with every other Agent in this building.’

‘What’s it in?’ Derek asked, folding his arms across his chest. It was a defensive manoeuvre, but Spencer knew that it was also a move to highlight the curve of Derek’s biceps. He’d seen Derek do it plenty of times to women at the club with varying degrees of success.

‘Classical History with an emphasis on Ancient Texts.’ June said offhandedly, like it was something everyone does. Spencer was already thinking of different questions to ask her; Classical History was fascinating to him, let alone someone who specialised in the literature of the time–maybe he could ask her about the formation of the languages? The more he thought about it, the more he realised he didn’t actually comprehend what it was that degree entailed.

‘Well, Doctor Bishop,’ Derek said, grinning. Spencer didn’t like the way he practically purred her title. ‘Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two.’

‘I’m sure you know plenty, Agent Morgan,’ June replied, and Spencer tensed as her hand curled around the top of his chair. He wasn’t sure if she had noticed that her knuckles brushed his shoulder, but he leant forwards just the same. ‘Besides, I repeat my former statement–the internet is a magical place.’

‘Garcia is gonna love you.’ Emily cackled, grabbing Derek’s arm and pulling him away from June before he could say whatever it was that was balanced on the tip of his tongue. Emily spoke the next words over her shoulder. ‘Come on, Derek, let’s get ourselves a coffee–do you want one, June?’

‘Sure. Caffeine is a lifesaver, after all.’ June laughed again and moved away from Spencer’s chair. She stopped after she’d walked a few steps. ‘Come on, Dr. Reid, your mug’s empty and you seem like the kind of guy who has a caffeine addiction.’

‘Did you know caffeine is the most commonly used psychoactive substance in the world?’ Spencer found himself saying as he scrambled to his feet, grabbing his coffee mug and nearly knocking it over in his haste. Thankfully, she didn’t comment on it.

‘Oh, that’s cool.’ She hummed, and started to keep pace with him as they headed after the now obviously whispering Derek and Emily. Juniper was taller than he’d first thought, nearly coming up to his chin, and she walked as if she had all the time in the world. Her hair caught in the light, turning it more gold than copper. ‘Oh, by the way? Your crossword? Clue nine down is Phanes.’

‘What?’ He blinked dumbly at her, pulling that mental image of his crossword before his eyes. Nine down; un-greek god of cosmic origin. ‘Phanes?’

‘Yeah. It fits, right?’ She turned to look at him slyly through the corner of her eye. It’s all Spencer can do to simply nod at her, using an arm to gesture her vaguely towards where Derek and Emily were busying helping themselves to coffee. ‘Besides, it is kind of my area of expertise, after all.’

‘Evidently...’ was all he could manage.

He watched her bob her head in a nod before speeding up and leaving him at the edge of the small kitchenette. She skirted purposefully around the small circular table Derek and Emily were surrounding. Spencer’s eyes tracked her as she opened the fridge, his feet leading him towards his colleagues without even thinking. How on Earth had she known he had been struggling with that one?

‘What’s up with you?’ Emily asked, dragging Spencer back down into the real world.

‘I think Pretty Boy has a crush.’ Derek’s voice was melodic with teasing.

Spencer glared at Derek as Emily snorted into her coffee cup. They’re being ridiculous, Spencer thought, but he tried his best to ignore that little voice in the back of his brain that reminded him it only takes one-tenth of a second to make a judgement on someone, and he’d definitely made a judgement about June. She was beautiful, that much was for certain, and way out of his league.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Spencer scoffed, but he couldn’t meet Derek’s eye. ‘She just helped me with the crossword, is all.’

‘So now you love her.’ Emily wheedled, nudging Spencer with her shoulder. Spencer made a pointed effort to look anywhere but at Emily or Juniper.

‘It’s alright if you do–she’s hot, man.’ Derek sounded too much like he was giving his approval for Spencer’s liking.

‘I…I hadn’t noticed.’

Derek scoffed a laugh. ‘I don’t believe that for a second.’

‘It doesn’t really matter what you believe, does it, Derek?’ Spencer snapped. He was definitely reaching the end of his tether with his colleague at this point. Sometimes Derek doesn’t know when to stop, and this was one of those times. ‘I’m going to make myself coffee.’

‘You do that, Pretty Boy, you do that.’ Derek clapped Spencer’s shoulder as he passed.

Spencer set about making himself coffee, hyper aware of where June was preoccupied doing the same thing not too far away. She took sugar and milk in her coffee, but perhaps she didn’t have as much of a coffee-sweet tooth as he did. On the counter next to her mug sat a large blueberry muffin. His mouth watered.

‘Oh my god, you guys!’ A familiar voice yanked Spencer out of wondering whether he should ask June if she knew where he could get a muffin like that. He turned to find Penelope Garcia jogging across the bullpen with her usual exuberance, her brightly coloured clothes in stark contrast to the white of the FBI walls. ‘There’s a new hottie in the bullpen! She’s got a British accent! And she’s a doctor! And she rides a motorcycle! I think I’m in love!’

June laughed as she stepped up to greet their technical analyst, shaking her hand gently. ‘You must be Penelope–I’ve heard a lot about you.’

‘All good things, I hope!’ Penelope said, batting her eyelashes playfully. ‘You have no idea how long I have wanted another girl in the department–do you like cats? What about television, do you watch a lot of television? Oh, we should go to the movies sometime soon, there’s this thing that I have been wanting–’

‘Easy, easy, babygirl, take a breather,’ Derek laughed, wrapping an arm around Penelope’s shoulder. ‘June’s gonna be here for a while, you can ask her these questions soon.’

‘Okay, yes, alright,’ Penelope forced herself to take a few deep breaths. ‘This is just so exciting!’

‘I know, right?’ June said, matching Penelope’s hyperactive tone, and Spencer could tell that she was being genuine. She had that megawatt smile on again, and Spencer had the sneaking suspicion that she and Penelope would get on like a house on fire. ‘I’m excited to be here. We should definitely go see something at the cinema.’

‘Promise?’ Penelope said, pouting playfully.

‘Pinky promise.’ June proffered her pinky finger and Penelope squealed. She quickly wrapped her own pinky finger around June’s.

‘Spencer, why didn’t you tell me the new girl was awesome?’ Penelope turned an accusatory glare to him, and he suddenly felt scrutinised again.

‘I didn’t know myself until this morning,’ Spencer replied defensively, and the group of them began to head towards the conference room, all still deep in this conversation. ‘She kind of…well, she surprised me too.’

‘Well, I, for one, am very glad you’re here.’ Penelope said, hooking an arm through June’s and leading her ahead of the charge. Spencer was more than willing to fall in behind them, nursing his hot cup of coffee between two hands. ‘You’re a breath of fresh air in this testosterone-filled room.’

‘I’m glad to be your Febreeze, then.’ Spencer heard June say with a laugh, and it brought a small smile to his lips. As he followed behind them, he found his eye lingering on the way her hair brushed against the exposed skin at the back of her neck, the slope of her hips.

Alright, fine, maybe Derek was right. Maybe Spencer did have a little crush on her, but in his defence, it was hard not to. She was furiously smart and absolutely gorgeous. She smelt like leather, petrol, and coffee–a strange mix, but it was alluring nonetheless. Juniper Bishop was a whirlwind of a person, and unlike anyone he had ever met. He just hoped that he would be able to clear his mind of all of this confusing nonsense before the case started.

Spencer couldn’t afford to be distracted, but Juniper seemed to be tailor made to do just that.

God, this was going to be dangerous…

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! MORE SPENCER REID FICS ON THE WAY!

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

I loved your analysis of the Romeo and Juliet reference in Taylors song it was such a perfect example of why people praise her songwriting so much without realising how hollow it is. I also especially loved how when someone commented that they didn’t have a large enough vocab to understand your post, you actually responded really nicely and offered to explain! It’s such a bare minimum thing but so rare to see on the Internet where people often just ignore such comments or become pretentious. Anyway, definitely earned a follow because your posts seem really cool and I hope you do more song analysis posts, whether they’re praising or critiquing music.

Hello! Apologies for taking so long to get back to you! I’ve been in middle of moving (and it’s taking up much of my time ahaha). I’m glad to hear that you enjoyed my Romeo and Juliet post. I love that play- mostly because of its sly, subversive nature and social reform thematic purpose. I remember reading it in High School and how that was one of the first times I was consciously aware of the power literature holds to shift culture and move public consciousness towards progressive ideologies. Remarkable. For that reason, Swift’s repeated misunderstanding, and blatant, purposeful ignorance surrounding the plays, has always frustrated me.  

I will be returning to the topic to write about the infamous “Love Story” (2009), and I’m also going to debunk a couple of her other literary references like The Scarlett Letter one. Also, I will be posting something about her bastardization of Daphne du Maurier’s “Rebecca” (1938) because she over-simplified the thematic point of the book and made it seem silly, and frivolous, instead of the hard-hitting social reform literature that it is. Much of my frustration with Swift stems from her use of literary genius, and the way she twists these stories into empty- ego-driven narratives that singularly focus on break-ups or centering her aspirations towards praising hetero-patriarchal standards in her music.  

I’m fucking over it- Y'all.  

She has this way of taking literary references, some of the most famous and important works in history, and remaking it into something dull, derivative and nonsensical. She incinerates the plotlines and erases the methodology of the literary work through demeaning the intrinsic social reform efforts of the works themselves. For instance, with my post on her work and the reference to “Romeo and Juliet” I mention how Swift purposely leaves out, or negates, Shakespeare intentional social reform phenomenological base to the line “O be some other name/ What’s in a name?” Shakespeare himself is clearly drawing attention to the ways in which people often judge not by the content of our characters but by shallow intonation of our names and station in society. He is using these lines, and the two characters, to show how hypocritical and judgmental it is to uphold petty difference over the ideal of believing in the prospects of human connection. Shakespeare was a radical in his day- he pulled no punches to criticizing the aristocracy or the values of post-feudal hierarchal institutions.  

Swift took such an intentional aspect of his work, his social reform efforts, and purposely divorced it from the line. Thus, remaking, rewording, it into her line, which was a silly, and self-centered, petulant line about how people really should have been nicer to her because she’s a good girl. It’s so fucking stupid- imagine trying to remake Shakespeare without understanding Shakespeare. I cannot abide- now that I’m grown, and no longer a child, who could mindlessly listen to her bastardization of important literary work- I simply must speak up. It’s important because, I think, that her purposeful misuse of the work- making it devoid of social reform- says a lot about her intentions as a person. She’s not the activist people think she is- she's just another pseudo-intellectual grifter.  

Anyway, I’m glad you found something worthwhile in that post- and I hope you’ve enjoyed some of my other posts since then. I admit that I sometimes venture into posting mere opinion- but for my more serious posts I will stick to interrogation of her work through literary invocation. It’s just what I know best.  

If anyone has any questions about my posts- or confusions about my vocabulary use- I am happy to chat and answer questions! I really meant it when I told that person that I would be happy to re-explain using some different words. Sometimes- I get carried away and slip into “academic jargon” but that’s not what I want my blog to devolve into. I want to share information with people who perhaps have not studied literature- or English. I wouldn’t judge anyone just for having a question or being confused about a certain word. I, myself, make a habit of studying other languages- besides English- and that does wonders for keeping me humble about my own knowledge of English. Haha. :) I do not express myself nearly so well in French or German- so it becomes much easier for me to empathize with those who have a hard time expressing themselves with language too. Language is hard- learning is even more difficult. But what a wonderful, rewarding venture it is to ask a question and learn something new!  

I encourage people’s curiosity- truly.  

And yes- I will certainly be posting about other artists as well. Haha, now that I feel comfortable doing so- I will have some fun with it :)  

Thank you for writing in- I am sending you well-wishes and good vibes.  

[1427]

dirge

Boyd Crowder X OFC (Beatle)

Setting: in the WoOoOods (Justified Season 1, with Boyd’s militia)

Summary: Boyd is sick of being full of shit. When one of the recruits for his new flock seems to see him for who he really is, he decides it might not be so bad to let her.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: CHARACTER DEATH, Boyd Crowder is Boyd Crowder, mentions of white nationalism, mentions of methamphetamine, religious imagery and references, mentions of militias, cults, and Boyd comparing himself to Christ (see above). NSFW WARNINGS; poooooooorly written smut, somno, rough fucking, unprotected piv, references to oral, jerking off, mentions of religion being used in sexual roleplay. mentions of other truly questionable roleplay scenarios, free-use dynamics

A/n: I started watching Justified a few days ago and Boyd Crowder really is one of the characters of all time, isn't he? Beatle is my OC who likes speed and sometimes sells it and sometimes strips but I obviously couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if Beatle had been in one of those trailers he’d held looking for people to follow his cause. Especially since she's just absolutely fucking dazzled by charm and confidence and she'd love him in a way he'd probably never been loved before. Couldn't not write it & I broke my own heart.

Inb4 I disappear for 3 months again

18+ mdni 

✞

Boyd didn't think his daddy would hang her up there with the rest of them. 

She was special, didn't he know that? Couldn't he tell? 

Her hair’s never smelled like gunpowder before. It's more a feeling than a smell, and it stings but he's grateful that it hurts. He deserves it. 

Boyd didn't think his daddy would do any of this. But he wasn't thinking, was he? He should have seen it coming, should have known. Not ‘should have’ in the way that hindsight is 20/20 and you can make wanton wishes about the past; no Boyd should have because he does know better. He's smarter than to let something like this happen.

✞

When he got out of prison he knew he was full of shit. Same shit he'd always been full of. He figures it ain't really like lyin’ so much if everyone knows you're never showing your real face. Talking is more like a game. Trying to spit the words out around the secret biting between his teeth. Secrets? He figures he's allowed to have those. Like what his intentions might have really been when he'd started recruiting junkies to be saved. Be his flock. 

Different vocabulary, same game, same moves, same outcome. 

Boyd did think that there would be a different outcome this time. Everyone always ends up dead, but how could that happen this time? He knows that putting a gun to someone's head and mocking them into sobriety ain't exactly safe and its definitely not legal but it's what works. Who could rightly question his methodologies if he was getting such socially acceptable results? 

The point (as the point of things usually is for Boyd) is that there are enough qualifiers for him to feign confusion and innocence at any question of his motivations. Like he was so damn good at. Boyd had a reply for anything. A defense for everything he'd ever done. Everything he'd ever do. Else he wouldn't be caught doing it. 

This time was easier. This time actually felt like it could be something more. That even though he was using his knowledge of the human condition, and its drive to follow a strong and confident leader, that this time he was doing it for something good at least.

How could getting rid of meth in Harlan county be bad? Boyd asks himself that a lot these days. Whenever he starts wondering how full of shit he is again. And he tells himself it doesn't matter if he's lying about every damn thing, even to himself, if he's getting people clean and following the Lord. 

He doesn't feel that guilty, though. Not enough to really do anything different. His flock is his flock, and when he talks about God he makes sure to word it just right. So they hear it and they think of him. Boyd’s teachings are their gospels, and sometimes Boyd quotes scripture so he can call on God like he's name-dropping a celebrity. It's what works. It's what always worked.

If you’re good at saying the right thing to the right person you can get just about anything you want. If you're good at finding the perfect time to say it, you can keep it. Gettin’ stuff is no good if you can't keep it. That's what all these Dixie boys always got wrong about business. Hell, what everyone got wrong about everything - getting people to just give you what you want always feels so much better than taking it. Usually ends better to.

Before prison, for most of his life, it was skin-heads. He'd already known the slurs and the on-the-surface racial epithets from growing up but it only took a few weekends at the library and a couple eavesdropped Klan meetings to understand what these men were searching for. Only took a few well timed bible verses and an encouraging nod or two to get them to listen. The hardest thing of the whole operation was keeping them from being stupid when he wasn't around.

“Can't plan for everything.” “Sometimes shit just happens.” and “It is what it is.” Are just some bullshit excuses people tell themselves. Because Boyd knows that anything can be planned for. It's just a matter of looking. It's just a matter of knowing. He knows that you don't enter a room without knowing there's an exit and that you don't open your mouth unless you know exactly what could be said back to you. 

Boyd knows how to get what he wants.

But since he's been out of prison he doesn't know what the fuck he wants. So he does what he always does but this time it's with words like shepherd, divine calling, and manifesting righteous love. It feels nice to be leading through positive affirmations instead of bigotry. If only because Boyd really resented how objectively moronic white supremacy was - anything ‘supremacy’ was a fucking joke. And those boys in the brotherhood thinking they were God's gift to the genepool? Hard not to see it when you're lookin’, how ridiculous the whole damn thing is.

That's why it didn't feel all that bad talking down to them. Manipulating them into whatever the fuck he felt like. Boyd wonders about it when he feels this tugging in his gut sometimes when he talks to his flock. It doesn't bother him enough to stop, but just enough to wonder why he hadn’t felt it before.

Maybe it's because she's watching and she knows he's full of shit. 

That doesn't usually make any difference to Boyd and his ability to believably speak lies but every time he meets her eyes he feels like she can see his soul, the things behind what he's saying, and it makes him want to stop. Like he's embarrassed. Just a little. Just barely. It's so foreign to Boyd that if he didn't know just about every physical tell a person's body could have, he wouldn't have been able to place it. 

If Boyd had to find the words to explain it he might have said it felt like he wanted her to see him. That his body and his mind have, as most humans have, the desire to be vulnerable with another human being. That he was meeting something in her that his inner self craved. These were words he'd use. But actually feeling them was harder. His list of wants in life is small and it's been the same things for as long as he's been playing snake in the grass. She's not on it. She never was before. 

✞

She isn't anymore. 

For a few weeks, Boyd let himself have something he didn't think he was allowed. Something he'd told himself he didn't deserve. 

He wonders now if he was full of shit that whole time too. If letting her hold him and kiss him and fall in love with who he really was - if he wasn't just doing it to see if he could.

Her hair never burned his nostrils before.

It's not meant to do that. 

Kissing her forehead never tasted like blood either.  Maybe it should have. Maybe if he'd tasted blood the first time he'd kissed her none of this would have happened. 

Boyd doesn't understand how his daddy couldn't tell she was special. Not when he’d seen it the second she opened her mouth down the barrel of his own gun. Boyd knows she didn't go quiet and he knows if she could open her mouth and talk right now her throat would be sore and raw and ruined. 

He tries not think about how he couldn't hear her. He’s not sure if he wishes he had. 

✞

Beatle didn't get it at first but it didn't take her long. Faster than he'd expected. And maybe if he'd met her on a college campus he wouldn't have been so impressed with her. But what was Boyd ever gonna be doing on a college campus? No, as far as he was concerned it was like lookin’ at himself. 

Almost.

She didn't want the same things, and that didn't lead her to be the same type of person Boyd was. But it didn't stop him from seeing himself in her. All her big words and sweet banter. Even with a damn gun to her head she knew how to be cool. He thought he might be in love with her. 

She'd told him later that it was because she'd seen the way he'd looked at her and knew he wasn't going to shoot her. He told her he still would have shot her if she didn't agree to quit using. She tells him she loves him for the first time. 

It had only been a few days since that had happened, them meeting, and after she’d said it she tried to explain it away. It's the first time he sees her not being so cool. It’s the first time he sees the potential for something more.

Not because she'd slipped up and been vulnerable or given him something to use against her. No, it was the feeling in his chest when she'd professed such genuine admiration for what would generally be considered something he should have kept to himself.

The quiet part he's gotten so good at not saying out loud. The secret between his teeth. She can see it.

✞

Days go by and he's certain she can see it. The way Raylan can see some of it. She starts calling him ‘the prince' around camp and she thinks he doesn't understand why. No one else does, and he supposes that's probably why he's letting her get away with it. He's amused by it. By her. Always saying something that ends up surprising him. 

Just some gaunt addict he found in a shitty trailer in children's pajamas, but she's making observations about him in comparison to Italian philosophy. She can't keep herself from pointing out when he ‘mistakenly’ attributes some quote from a book or movie to himself instead. She uses words he doesn't know.

Those aren't the things that impress Boyd. What catches his attention is that she never uses the words like manipulate or Machiavelli or cult. If she ever does call him out on some misattributed quote she won't call him a liar, and she won't do it in earshot of anyone else. And when she uses her big girl words she looks at him like she's teasing him instead of trying to impress him. She knows when he's wrong about the obscure ass Bible stories too and he has no idea how she knows this shit. 

Going out of her way to call him on being full of shit - without ever actually saying it at all.

She's good. She keeps being better at it than he'd thought someone could be. Someone like her. Someone who wasn't really anyone.

Maybe that's why Boyd felt like he could let her in on it. Just a little bit. Because she could see it and he knew she could and she never called him a liar or a bastard or a psycho or anything like that. She didn't even try to leave. If anything, she seemed charmed by it. 

He didn't think too much about how it might feel to let someone in like that. What it could be like to show your real face and still be wanted. 

✞

Their first kiss doesn't taste anything like blood. 

It tasted like tobacco and dirt and her.

She'd been trying to figure a way to sleep closer to him during the nights. Boyd figures this out after she finally ‘confesses’ that she hasn't been sleeping well,  she's ‘scared of the dark’.

He asks her how long it took her to come up with that bullshit.

She says two days.

He asks why she didn't come up with something better and can't argue when she says there really wasn't anything that didn't sound obvious.

It takes about an hour for her to be pressed up against him. They'd started with their sleeping bags a few feet away from each other, but as they talk the distance gets smaller. Boyd isn't sure if it's her or him that's moving in. Isn't he supposed to pay attention to stuff like that? Shouldn't he be at least a little aware of what she says and what she doesn't say and how she's moving and speaking and staring? 

He's in the middle of a story about one of the banks, talking at her about some really ‘cool’ shit he'd said and never gotten to tell anyone (he never thought he'd wanted to) - and without a word she unzips her sleeping bag, unzips his sleeping bag, and rearranges. Making enough room for her to fit right up against him.

And she does.

Boyd keeps talking the whole time. Finishing his story. She listens, and replies, and neither one of them comment on what she's doing. Neither one of them say anything when she's nestled up against him.

He thinks it through… what to do in this situation. What outcome did he want? His dick is hard but it's not aching. He could sleep. He figures making her wait won't hurt his chances if he decides he wants them. 

So he tells her politely goodnight and he's surprised when she doesn't protest. 

Beatle rolls over and he pulls her close. No harm in being close. Really there was no harm in fucking her either, but it didn't feel like the right moment. Everything has its right moment.

He keeps thinking about fucking her and once again he isn't sure who started moving first but he's pulling her over his cock like her body was his to move how he wanted. It was definitely her who started it, he reasons, arching her back into him and wiggling around - but he could've dealt with it. Could've told her to stop, told her no, told her anything that he knew would shut her down.  But just as he was about to say something she turned her head to look back at him. 

She didn't twist her neck and meet his gaze romantically - pressing her hips delicately into his. No, she folded her body at her hips, completely arching herself against him, looking back and up at him like he was already fucking inside of her.

Boyd knows that when he grabs her hips hard enough to bruise her that she likes it that way. Even if she didn't say all the obvious shit that made him know. 

He's not gonna fuck her. Not tonight. But he uses her body to cum and he doesn't feel bad because he's never felt bad about something human like that. And anyway, she liked it. He knows because he can smell how wet her cunt is. He knows because she was a shaking mess, moaning at just the feeling of dull pressure. He knows because she begged him to cum. 

She begged him to cum instead of begging him to fuck her and Boyd thinks he might be in love again.

She turns around and kisses him and her face has dirt on it from where he'd pressed her head into the ground but he likes the way it tastes on her. 

She kisses like an apology. A real one. One that comes from your whole fucking soul because you never felt anything more. Trying to connect. Fully. Deeply. 

Tuggin’ on heart strings is a saying he's always heard and it always made sense until now when he actually feels it for the first time. Boyd, who's so keen on behavior and mannerisms and what was gonna happen next, feels everything she has.

He's been here before with women. Some of them were different but if he was honest most of them were the same. A sigh here, a disgusted look there. Knowing how a woman feels about you might be the easiest observation a man could make.

So Boyd was expecting what he'd gotten from her when he was grinding into her. All shaking and whimpering and he'd probably either have to take the lead or stop it - either was okay by him depending on what he felt like.

But she's someone else. Again. With one leg hooked around him and her hands around the back of his neck and in his hair - she takes his mouth with hers like she's evangelizing. Pushing everything she has into him and he can feel it. More than a physical something. More than her fingers pressing into the pulse at his neck. More than his cock getting hard again and this time it settles right between them.

He finally breaks the kiss only to ask her if she knows he can feel her clit every time it quivers against him. He only asks because he wants to feel it again.

Boyd’s good at talking. Beatle loves it. 

He asks her so many filthy things. Things he'd never got away with asking someone else. Boyd knows there's not much you can't get away with saying with a whisper and a southern accent, but this… this was new even for him.

He wasn't sure what came over him. Why he needed her to know that he's been pretty sure he can tell when she's thinking about giving him head. About the glazed over look in her eye and how her mouth hangs open a little wider than she probably thinks it does when she's staring.

Or why he has to tell her that his cock was hard the whole time he had his gun on her the first night they met.

And he's not going to fuck her but he sucks on her tits like they've been eucharized. He can't stop talking because he can't get enough of every little fucking reaction.

Boyd figures out what it is when he's in the middle of telling her about how he knows her pussy is pretty and pink and the same color as her lips and how, he knows it's bad, but sometimes when she's talking to him all he can think about is what his cock would look like pressed up against her teeth -  Beatle's body seizes on him a little bit different than it had been seizing before; and it all just clicks.

Getting a reaction from her was like breathing. Nothing in his life had ever come so easy. Or so fun. 

She was letting him play with her. 

All his silly little mind games everyone else hated so much. She liked it. Not in the way he’d meant for her to like it. 

She liked him. Actually. 

He's really not sure why he told her about cumming on her pajama pants before he threw them out. He was sure he'd take that one to the grave. But he tells her about it while jerking  off onto her stomach because he wasn't going to fuck her but he needed to cum again. 

And she eats the mess from her fingers from her belly and Boyd is certain he's allowed to be in love. 

✞

Boyd had reasoned himself through a lot of things. Justifying almost anything. This? This he was having a hard time with. All he had going for him is that she'd liked it.

That she asked for it again afterwards.

Because when Boyd wakes up and the sun is peaking through the trees he can finally really see what her tits look like. Half falling out of her top. And when he reaches down to touch her there, her lips part. He thinks about how her pussy is the same color as her mouth and he thinks about how he told her that and how she reacted and he can't stop his hands even if he wanted to.

That's what he tells himself. He's reading her blind like a set of runes, it's not his fault her body is calling him this way. And she's reacting. So how could he stop? He can't. 

He's not sure if she's sleeping or pretending to sleep and he'd be lying if he said he thought that hard about it. Hard enough to care. His fingers dip between her legs and even through her underwear he can feel it. Sticky and warm and hers. 

Boyds hands seem to know what to do the same way his mouth does. Working the fabric of her panties down just slowly enough to not move her. He didn't want to fuck her he just wanted to feel it. 

She spreads her legs for him a little, laying on her belly; another miracle. Another sign he shouldn't stop himself. The Lord was working through him. 

This time he knows he's full of shit but he's rubbing his cock along her soaked lips and he can feel her clit tremble again and he doesn't feel bad when he pushes into her.

Her eyes jolt open like he'd been waiting for and the look on her face is an expression he doesn't think he's ever seen before. Something like fear and trust. Something someone like Boyd could get addicted to. 

He fucks her into the ground. He wants to look at her face again so he pulls her head back by her chin. She meets his gaze like she'd been waiting for it. This. To look at him like this while he fucked her.

She bows her head and takes his fingers into her mouth. She tries to move her head and Boyd knows exactly what the fuck she wants so he gives it to her. Fishhooking his fingers into her cheek while he backs up and off her a little. Sitting her up on her knees before pushing her shoulders back down again. 

Boyd knows how to get what he wants. He wants to go watch himself disappear inside of her. 

He'd almost forgotten where they'd started this, but when he remembers he has to stop himself from finishing then…. Just barely pushing into her again and it reminds him of that first time. 5 minutes ago when she was asleep.

Boyd can't stop thinking about how she'd woken up wanting him. This desperate. This wet.

That he could make her want it even when she couldn't know anything.

She opens her fucking mouth one fucking time and it's to tell him to fuck her pussy like he fucking owns it. And it was kind of corny and it didn't quite hit as well as he thought something she could say during sex would and he's not mad or anything but she adds “because you do.” and Boyd buckles. 

Falling on top of her body like her words hit him he holds her still as he ruts up into her. It's desperate and vulnerable and yet still completely overpowering. He tells her to say it again and she says the whole thing. He tells her no just the last part and she

Starts professing just how much he fucking owns her pussy. How it's never been for anybody else, from the second she saw him she wanted him. She felt him there, she always wanted to feel him there. Deep in her fucking cunt because it fucking belonged to him. 

He asks her whenever he wants it?

She repeats him in breathless moans as he slows his pace

He asks her even if she's sleeping.

She tells him that she’s never been more turned on in her whole life.

He asks her why

Because he took it without asking.

Because he knew it was his.

Boyd cums so fucking hard he's vaguely aware that he's hurting her. Pressing her into the ground and she can't breathe but he knows she'll be okay in a second and he knows she doesn't care. He knows she prefers it this way. Even if she hadn't said it.

✞

For the next two weeks Boyd fucks her in just about every way he can think to fuck her. All the things he's ever wanted to try. Like waking her up by stretching her out. He can't believe he's never been able to wake someone up like that before.

He can't believe how much he likes it.

Responding to her body and giving it what it wants when she can't even speak. He's sure it's is favorite thing that they do.

He does things with her that he’d never actually considered before, too.

He plays pretend with her. Not in front of the others but they'll go out to the creek and he'll baptize her and they fuck in the water or on the edge or against a tree. 

Or Beatle gets down on her knees like she's really praying and pretends to be confused when his cock head pokes at her mouth asking what he's doing and he gets to play along and say it's what the good Lord itends for her.

One time he laid her down and they pretended that as her pastor it was his holy duty to impregnate her with Christ.

Boyd didn't know he would get off on this shit. He's certain he wouldn't be if it wasn't with her. Who's mouth was so believable and reactions so pure - he doesn't have to wonder anything. 

She likes it or she doesn't and she always fucking likes it. 

✞

The sky is hazy and it looks like it might rain. Beatle asks him if he has any family and Boyd doesn't really know what to say. He doesn't want to lie but he doesn't want to talk about it.

He tells her no.

She asks if he's lying because he doesn't want them to meet her.

Boyd’s heart pangs again like it did when she'd kissed him that first time. All desperate and real and alive. He shakes his head and tells her no. She was too good for them.

He can tell she doesn't believe him. But saying nothing is better than saying more. And he knows she'll let him get away with not answering this one.

He tells her it doesn't matter anyway because he's pretty sure he loves her. And it's the first time he says it but it's not the first time he's felt it. Beatle believes him. 

Boyd is pretty sure she's never believed those words in her whole life before now. 

His heart pangs again.

✞

Bo Crowder was a scary sonofabitch. That's what Beatle said under her breath as he was walking up to their camp. Boyd’s glad she said it quiet because she didn't know how right she was.

She didn't know that was his daddy.

She knew about the meth shipment he was yelling about. Something he normally wouldn't have told her, even though it wasn't a secret necessarily. Something about wanting to protect a woman from the dangers of this world. 

But Boyd needed Beatle. He trusted her. She was part of this with him. He didn't want her the way he wanted all of the rest and he wanted all of the rest to know it too. Something about making her feel like she was someone. 

He knew he was saying and doing things at just the right times to make her feel special. But it's not like he didn't mean them. She treated each one like a fucking gift. Each public display, every private whisper. Every touch of their fingers and especially every time he buried himself inside her.

✞

It occurs to him on his walk through exile, while his people were no doubt being strung up and taken away by lawmen, that he doesn't think he can live without her. Well, at least that he doesn't want to. He reasons he shouldn't have to. 

She didn't break any laws anyway and Raylan will probably hand her over personally when her record comes back clean. He'd asked her and she said she had no charges she'd known of. She'd know. 

So, be patient. Wait it out. He runs through it again, in his head, all the stuff his daddy said. That they were gonna have them dig up the guns then tie em to a tree and call the feds.

He said a lot of other stuff too. About not being a son not being a leader not being nothing. Boyd was always sure he was nothing so none of that shit felt like anything. The first few blows his daddy makes his cousin give him don't feel like much of anything either.

Seeing Beatle’s face is what does it. He's sure he's rocked a few more times but he doesn't remember anything after seeing her look at him like that. 

✞

Boyd tries not to remember Beatle for the way she looked at him then. He tries really hard to remember the few seconds he'd gotten to touch her hand before his daddy shot that gun one last time at him to get out of there. 

He wishes he remembered it better but it's so fuzzy and barely there. He wishes his cousin would have just fucking beat him to death. He wishes that one prick ass degenerate addict piece of shit good for nothing follower who snitched out where the guns were would come back to life so he could rip apart every bit of him.

Because she'd probably still be alive. Boyd’s sure of it. If he'd died instead she'd be alive and the world wouldn't fucking feel like this. 

✞

For a while he has delusions that it’s the Real Deal out and out End O’ Times. That with her went all the light and all the good because he just couldn't seem to reason why.

Couldn't his daddy see she was special?

Couldn't he see that she was divinely made for him? 

That their love could have changed the world. 

It could have changed him.

Boyd can't reason with his daddy because he's dead too.

✞

After even longer Boyd convinces himself he was full of shit the whole time. That Beatle was just some girl he stuffed his cock into to feel good about himself while he was reintegrating back into society. 

Just some junkie, and if she was still alive she'd be back to using again. They wouldn’t have been anything because Beatle wasn't anyone.

She thought she was special, but don't they all? 

Boyd doesn't think about it much anymore. When he does he only lets himself think one thing.

She couldn't have been real. Not the way he thought she was. He must have been wrong about her and he would have figured it out eventually. 

He can't let himself think about her the way she really was.

The memories of her then are remembered by no one. Not a soul on this earth. Not even the ground they fucked on or the pond he made her piss in so he could watch. Not even in the stump that she'd carved their initials into because Boyd went back and he cut it all apart so sure that wasn't real either. 

He keeps being so sure it wasn't real.

He convinces himself that some initials carved in a tree is just something childish and stupid and that's why he destroyed it. He convinces himself that it wouldn't have broken her heart.

He’ll convince himself of just about anything to keep from thinking about what it felt like to be loved. Because that's what it was, right? Love? 

So he doesn't think about her. Or then. Or what happened and what didn't. 

✞

It's the gunpowder. Every time it starts to sting up his sinuses he can feel her hair soft against his lips. And every time he closes his eyes and he remembers her. What it felt like to realize she was up there with the rest of them.

Maybe someday Boyd will let himself remember what it felt like to love her. He worries that by the time he’ll be ready he won't remember what she looked like anymore.

What she felt like.

He already forgets most of the stuff they'd talked about. He just knows she was special. He knows no one else would get it anyway. Why he wanted to let himself be stuck there forever. In those words. Dying. How three weeks could feel so much bigger.

Boyd keeps going out there despite how much he convinces himself he's not thinking about her. Everything time he smells the gunpowder. 

He keeps finding reasons to use his gun. 

Because even though in that memory she's dead it's the realest one he's got. 

He doesn't think about her dead.

If he absolutely has to, laying down in the dirt where the camp used to be, he thinks about the way she looked when he'd told her he was pretty sure he loved her.

Sometimes he thinks about her mouth or her body or the way she always seemed to know what to do with them - but mostly he just thinks about the way she looked at him. Praying to be a better man for the next time around this life because she deserved more than God would allow him to give. The choices he had made previous to loving her had tainted his soul. Turned it rotten and poisoned her before he'd barely even gotten the chance. She'd paid for his sins. So he prays next time he meets her without any. 

Boyd wishes just one time he would lay down out here and not get up. 

He leaves the woods, convincing himself he was full of shit with her the same way he was full of shit with everyone, the memories of her die again, and he forgets about her until his subconscious finds some reason for him to fire a gun.

Any reason.

Boyd remembers enough about her to know she'd have liked that.

✞

A/n; it wasn't really proofread? (Well it was but I'm not very good at it) ALSO idk about this writing style either, i know it's kind of different? And in my opinion probably more juvenile but I had fun writing it this way. 🤷🏻‍♀️

(I'll make a different post about where I'm at with my wips~)

[mdhwrites]

Belos' Empire Was Perfect

In theory. For a kid's show dictatorship, I don't know how much better you could do with your concept, especially with the themes that TOH was going for.

I want to emphasize this because it's going to sound like this is praise for a bit: IN. CONCEPT.

Belos' dictatorship has a very easy methodology to it as presented by literally the only three elements of oppression we ever see. The Conformatorium in episode one and the prejudice of wild witches which... Wait on that one. And finally the last one is of course the coven system. This forms the backbone what is frankly one of the most basic elements of any dictatorship: The loss of self. Without individuality, you do not have self worth and thus do not consider whether the treatment you are being given is what you should be getting.

This is coupled by the Wild Witches being the enemy of all. You do not question the state because they are the only thing protecting you from that boogeyman under your bed that will destroy all that you know if not for them. Adding theology to that is honestly barely a change. It just means you worship the government approved god rather than the government itself. It really cannot be understated how that BARELY changes the actual mechanics of a dictatorship besides them likely implementing prayer more.

But none of this is violent besides the wild witch stuff and even TOH tried to be clever in showing that the enemy never existed (in the dumbest possible ways that I have discussed before but I couldn't find my blog about it). So... No violence but all the oppression of a dictatorship! That's literally perfect for a kid's show about rebelling against a system that wants to push you down and put you in a box.

Partially because it allows for some of the best parts of being a kid to be the driving method for success: Friendship and Creativity. Your open heart and open mind. In a world that is stagnant, you will bust it open with your ideas and your unique personality, especially while mixing with others and giving them back their own individuality. This isn't complicated but it works EXTREMELY well.

And TOH executed on none of this concept.

That isn't even an understatement. Wild Witches DO exist, we see them being round up in Eda's Requiem, but that's also the ONLY time we see them. So the main enemy is only humanized through Eda who is a genuine piece of shit before Luz so Belos is kind of right about her unfortunately. So the boogeyman is real and indeed the only people who give a shit about them is the EC so yeah, the populace is just correct to fear them.

And why wouldn't they when they have complete freedom under the government? We see PLENTY of weird people during the time of TOH and none of them go to the Conformatorium. The prison may as well exist just for the pilot for how much it actually matters or does its job. The idea that being different and unique will get you jailed just straight up does not exist after the first episode except for a VERY discordant moment of Luz and King being jailed for walking on grass. Otherwise, NOTHING.

(To drive this home briefly: Someone in my Discord pointed out while I wrote this that Gus' interest in humans is seen as weird and discordant from the rest of the populace. It is why he isn't more popular despite his skills. So... Why is he able to be loud and proud about that interest if your unique interests get you jailed?)

And in return for submitting to the coven system, the citizens of the Isles enjoy protections they don't appear to have had before, have a level of technology that COULD NOT have been a thing during Belos' rise or else he literally couldn't have done it because his rise to power is genuinely terrible, and they have freedoms that anyone in America shares. As far as we know they don't even censor which is dictatorship 101. They don't even enforce their own rules because so long as Eda, the most wanted criminal on the Isles, doesn't literally point herself out and scream at the top of her lungs who she is, no one, not even the guards, will bother coming for her. The Isles is genuinely idealic in this way.

And it comes back to a problem that TOH has of well... Yeah. It had to be appealing and easy because Luz is a genuinely terrible person. If the Isles had been awful, a place truly hostile to her like Amphibia was to Anne, then she would have just gone home. The only way she decides to stay in the Isles is because she's cosplaying. Not because she actually has a sense of justice or duty against corruption, otherwise Luz might not have taken until HOLLOW MIND to actually for once speak against Belos or do literally anything against the EC (and only once she doesn't get to have her witch cloak because of it because these writers have no idea how to write a genuine hero or honestly a properly good person. Just nice ones.) but because she can pretend to be Azura. We even somewhat got confirmation because she literally ends the series just admitting she sees Azura as her. She quotes the god damn book and what is supposed to be cyclical is actually INCREDIBLY toxic because it's just a fulfillment of her fantasies rather than any acknowledgement of reality or growth besides "I only can exist in a fantasy world," which is GREAT messaging to your LGBTQIA+ and Nuerodivergent fans. Thanks show.

So this concept they have for their themes essentially REQUIRES that there be a dictatorship, and allows for one you can do in kid's shows (reminder: there is somehow a stock trope of a villain getting ultimate power and immediately going Nazi with it in kids' shows. They ABSOLUTELY could have shown more than what TOH did.). They just also couldn't because the protagonist they wrote and the wish fulfillment they wanted to play into, as well its 'subversive' elements, literally couldn't function with it actually existing. With the show actually being about taking down that hates you just for being you.

And I REALLY want to emphasize that that's not new. POKEMON has their main villains, including Team Rocket, not care about the individuality of their Pokemon, and thus be willing to brutalize them, because all they care about are results. The main villain for Slugterra's whole thing is robbing slugs of who they are, turning them nasty and violent, just to make them 'more powerful' and that WAS a Disney show. TOH could have done this...

They just didn't and I cannot tell you why besides them not actually being interested in telling their own story or themes because otherwise, why did you include this?

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[cool-fancier]

Academic Duels

Synopsis: In the halls of Daewon High School, you academic rivalry, born of contrasting styles, laid the groundwork for an unexpected connection. A tale of competition, shared recognition, and evolving relationship.

A/n: Academic Rivalry,some playful banter,Bada being kind,is a bit rushed

Word Count:3.9k

The story of the academic rivalry between you and Bada could be traced back to the halls of Daewon High School, a prestigious institution in the bustling heart of Seoul. Both of you were prodigies in your own right, emerging as academic stars in a sea of bright minds. The competitive spirit that simmered beneath the surface of your scholarly pursuits had its roots in the early days of your high school journey.

As freshmen, you and Bada were already making waves with your exceptional performances. The teachers couldn't help but marvel at the intellectual prowess displayed by two students who seemed destined for greatness.

Your backstory was one of humble beginnings. Born into a middle-class family, you had always viewed education as the key to transcending societal limitations. The determination to succeed and prove your worth had been instilled in you by your parents, who worked tirelessly to provide you with the opportunities they never had.

Bada, on the other hand, hailed from a family with a long lineage of scholars and intellectuals. The pressure to uphold the family legacy weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her parents, both accomplished academics, had set a high bar for success, and Bada was determined to not only meet but exceed those expectations.

The first encounter that set the stage for your academic rivalry occurred in the freshman year English class. The teacher, recognizing the exceptional talent in both of you, assigned a collaborative project that would serve as a precursor to the competition that would unfold over the years.

As fate would have it, you and Bada were paired together for the project. Initially, it seemed like a harmonious partnership, with the shared goal of producing a stellar presentation. However, as the days progressed, the differences in your approaches became apparent.

You, driven by a passion for the subject and a desire to delve deep into the material, took a creative and holistic approach to the project. Bada, with her meticulous and analytical mindset, preferred a structured and methodical strategy. The clash of these contrasting methodologies resulted in a project that was neither a seamless fusion of ideas nor a harmonious collaboration.

When the teacher evaluated the project, the feedback was mixed. The creativity and depth of your insights were praised, but the lack of structure and organization drew criticism. Bada, on the other hand, received commendation for the precision and clarity of her contributions but was urged to consider incorporating a more creative element.

The experience left both of you with a sense of dissatisfaction. For you, it was the first taste of a less-than-perfect performance, while for Bada, it was an unaccustomed brush with constructive criticism. The dynamic had shifted, and an unspoken challenge lingered in the air.

The following years witnessed an escalation of the rivalry. Each exam, project, or presentation became a battleground where you and Bada sought not just to excel but to outshine each other. The competition fueled an unrelenting pursuit of excellence that saw both of you consistently topping the class.

In the crucible of academic fervor, the rivalry extended beyond the classroom. Extracurricular activities, leadership positions, and even accolades from teachers became markers of success to be fiercely contested. The once-harmonious atmosphere of Daewon High School now crackled with the electric energy of a rivalry that had transcended the ordinary.

The competitive spirit, while driving you and Bada to extraordinary heights, also exacted a toll on your personal lives. Friendships were strained as the pursuit of academic superiority overshadowed other aspects of high school life. The unspoken tension in the hallways, the pointed glances exchanged during class discussions, and the occasional clashes in student council meetings became defining features of your high school experience.

The teachers, observing the intensity of the rivalry, attempted to channel it into positive avenues. You and Bada were often chosen to represent the school in academic competitions, debates, and quiz bowls. While these opportunities provided a platform to showcase your talents on a broader stage, they also heightened the stakes of the rivalry.

Despite the competitive undercurrent, there were moments of shared recognition. The mutual acknowledgment of each other's brilliance, even if begrudgingly given, fostered a strange camaraderie. You both knew that the rivalry, while fierce, was also a source of mutual growth and intellectual stimulation.

"You did well in the debate today," you acknowledged, unable to completely conceal the admiration in your voice.

Bada responded with a slight nod. "Your points were impressive too. It's always a challenge keeping up with your unpredictability."

The recognition, however, did little to assuage the burning desire for supremacy. The rivalry continued to drive both of you to push the boundaries of academic achievement.

The banter and debates during those high school years had a different flavor. In the classrooms of Daewon High School, where the echoes of spirited discussions reverberated, the story of you and Bada unfolded amidst playful taunts and competitive banter.

"Looks like you narrowly escaped defeat in today's quiz," Bada teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You shot back, "Narrowly? I call it strategic brilliance. Keeps you on your toes, doesn't it?"

The teachers, familiar with the dynamics between you two, often found themselves caught in the crossfire of banter.

"Ah, the intellectual sparring continues. I'm beginning to think I should assign you both to opposing debate teams," Mr. Kang, your history teacher, remarked with a chuckle.

Bada replied, "We'd welcome the challenge, wouldn't we? It might make things more interesting."

The banter extended beyond the academic realm. During student council meetings, where both of you held prominent positions, the discussions often took on a competitive edge.

"I propose we implement a mentorship program," you suggested, eyeing Bada with a challenge in your gaze.

Bada responded, "While mentorship is valuable, let's not forget the importance of independent learning. We don't want to coddle our fellow students."

The debates, while spirited, were always underlined by a mutual respect. The rivalry, though palpable, was a driving force that propelled both of you to strive for excellence.

Amidst the playful banter, there were moments of genuine collaboration. The fusion of your creative approach and Bada's analytical mindset occasionally resulted in projects that showcased the power of your combined intellects.

One such project, where you both collaborated on a research paper exploring the intersection of literature and science, garnered praise from your professors. The recognition, albeit shared, did little to quell the ongoing rivalry.

— — — — —

The hallways of Seoul National University echoed with the hurried footsteps of students rushing to their next classes. Among them were you and Bada, academic rivals whose competitive spirits fueled a perpetual race for excellence.

In the realm of academics, you and Bada were often neck-and-neck. Your prowess in the sciences matched her linguistic finesse, and each test became a battleground where victory was never guaranteed. The atmosphere between you two was always charged with unspoken competition, and your grades were the scoreboard that determined the winner.

Today was no different. The air buzzed with anticipation as the university prepared to release the results of the latest round of exams. The stakes were high, and both of you knew that this could be the moment that tilted the scales in one direction.

The backstory of this rivalry traced back to your first year at the university. Both you and Bada were standout students in your respective high schools, used to being at the top of your class. When you found yourselves in the same university, it was inevitable that your paths would cross.

The competition began innocently enough, with friendly banter and subtle attempts to outshine each other. However, as the semesters progressed, the rivalry intensified. Your accomplishments became the measuring stick for Bada, and vice versa. The stakes were not just about grades; they were about asserting dominance and proving who was truly the best.

As you entered the lecture hall where the test results were to be announced, a knot of nerves twisted in your stomach. The room was abuzz with whispers, and the tension was palpable. Bada, with her customary stoic expression, sat a few seats away from you. The unspoken challenge hung in the air like an electric current.

The professor walked in, holding a stack of graded papers. The room fell into a hushed silence as he prepared to distribute the tests. The moment of truth had arrived.

One by one, the professor called out names and handed back the exams. The tension in the room escalated with each passing moment. As your name was called, you reached out to grab your test, trying to hide the tremble in your hands. You quickly scanned the pages, relief washing over you as you saw the coveted "100%" at the top.

A triumphant smile crept across your face as you turned to glance at Bada. "What did you get?" you asked curiously, a mix of excitement and anticipation in your voice.

Bada's expression remained impassive as she received her test. She glanced at the pages and replied, "99%," her tone cold and unaffected.

A surge of exhilaration coursed through your veins. For the first time, it seemed victory was firmly in your grasp. "Well, looks like I finally got the upper hand this time," you said, unable to conceal the wide grin that spread across your face.

Bada met your gaze with a steady look, her poker face betraying no emotion. "Congratulations," she replied simply, her voice devoid of any hint of rivalry.

You couldn't resist the urge to boast. "I guess I've broken the cycle. Maybe this is the beginning of a winning streak," you declared, reveling in the momentary triumph.

As the news of your perfect score spread through the lecture hall, whispers of congratulations and admiration filled the air. Friends patted you on the back, and the sense of accomplishment lifted your spirits.

However little did you know the true nature of Bada's response. While she maintained her cool facade, there was a subtle glint of satisfaction in her eyes. What you didn't realize was that she had intentionally missed one question, not out of negligence, but as a calculated move. Bada had liked you for a long time, and this small act was her way of creating a moment of joy for you.

As you continued to bask in the glory of your achievement, Bada sat there, seemingly indifferent to the numbers on her paper. In reality, her heart carried a secret that she had guarded for far too long. The satisfaction in her eyes was not just about letting you win this round; it was about creating a moment that would make you smile, blissfully unaware of her feelings.

The rivalry between you and Bada had always been more than academics. Beneath the competitive banter and shared challenges, a connection had quietly blossomed. Bada had admired you for your dedication, your passion, and the genuine kindness that you extended to everyone around you. It wasn't just about being the best academically; it was about being the kind of person that made her heart skip a beat.

The backstory to this unexpected gesture traced back to a moment of vulnerability. Bada, with her sharp intellect and disciplined approach to academics, had always been perceived as an unyielding force. However, beneath the exterior of stoicism lay a desire for connection and understanding.

One day, as you were preparing for a particularly challenging exam, Bada caught a glimpse of the stress that clouded your usually confident demeanor. Instead of seizing the opportunity to press her advantage, she recognized the humanity in your struggle. It was then that she made a silent pact with herself – to occasionally let you taste the sweetness of victory, even if it meant deliberately missing a question.

In the weeks that followed, as you continued to revel in your newfound success, Bada observed from the sidelines. She saw how your confidence blossomed, how the taste of victory spurred you to even greater heights. And in those moments, she found a peculiar satisfaction – the satisfaction of seeing you smile, even if it was at the cost of a single percentage point.

The days turned into weeks, and the routine of academic rivalry persisted. However, an unspoken understanding had developed between you and Bada. She continued to be the formidable competitor, pushing you to excel, but every now and then, a subtle gesture hinted at a connection that transcended grades and competition.

In the midst of this dynamic, a friendship, unacknowledged and yet quietly thriving, began to take root. The rivalry that had once been fueled by a desire for supremacy now carried the weight of shared victories and unspoken gestures of camaraderie.

As the semester progressed, the academic challenges continued, but the relationship between you and Bada took on a new dimension. The hallways that were once silent witnesses to whispered rivalries now echoed with the occasional laughter and shared insights.

The library, with its hushed whispers and the scent of old books, became an unlikely setting for the next chapter in your evolving connection with Bada. As you both immersed yourselves in your studies, the atmosphere was charged with an unspoken camaraderie that had gradually replaced the intense rivalry of your earlier encounters.

One day, as you were engrossed in your textbooks and notes, Bada looked up from her own stack of books. "Do you want to grab a coffee after this?" she asked, her tone casual but carrying a warmth that transcended the usual competitiveness.

The invitation caught you by surprise, but the genuine sincerity in her eyes made it impossible to decline. "Sure, I'd love that," you replied, offering a genuine smile and a light blush. The idea of sharing a coffee, something that had started as a casual outing, had now become a symbol of the connection you were building.

As you both ventured into the campus café, the familiar aroma of coffee beans enveloped you. The atmosphere was light, free from the usual undercurrents of rivalry that had defined your interactions. The conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through topics beyond the confines of academia.

"I never knew you were into literature," you remarked, genuinely intrigued by this new side of Bada.

She chuckled, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Yeah, I've always loved getting lost in a good book. There's something magical about the way words can transport you to different worlds."

The exchange of personal interests continued, revealing shared passions for travel and a mutual appreciation for the intricacies of the Korean language. The coffee outings became a regular occurrence, each one peeling away another layer of the barriers that had once defined your relationship.

As weeks turned into months, the initial wariness between you and Bada melted away, paving the way for a genuine connection. The unspoken pact, where occasional victories were traded for moments of acknowledgment, remained intact.

One afternoon, as you sat in your usual corner of the café, sipping coffee and sharing laughs, Bada seemed a bit more reserved than usual. The air carried a subtle tension, and you couldn't help but notice the thoughtful glances she occasionally directed your way.

"You seem a bit quiet today," you observed, your tone gentle. "Everything okay?"

Bada took a deep breath, as if gathering her courage. "Yeah, everything's fine. Actually, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

The shift in her demeanor caught your attention. "Sure, go ahead. We're friends, right?"

A hint of relief but quick sadness flickered in Bada's eyes. "Yeah, friends," she affirmed, her gaze meeting yours. "I wanted to say... I that I really love our time together, and I don't want to mess it up, but I need to be honest with you."

Curiosity tinged with a touch of concern filled your expression. "Of course, Bada. You can be honest with me."

Taking another deep breath, she confessed, "I've liked you for a long time now. More than just as a study partner or a friend. I wasn't sure if I should say anything, but I didn't want to keep it from you."

Surprise registered on your face as you absorbed her words. Bada, the once stoic academic rival, had just revealed a vulnerability that spoke volumes. The café, with its low hum of background chatter, seemed to quiet down as you processed her confession.

The pause lingered for a moment, tension hanging in the air. Then, unexpectedly, you found yourself smiling. "Bada, I appreciate your honesty. I didn't see this coming, but I have to admit, I've liked you too."

Her eyes widened in genuine surprise. "You do?"

"Yeah," you chuckled, the weight of the unspoken tension lifting. "I guess our connection goes beyond just acing exams and grabbing coffee. I like you, Bada, more than I thought."

Relief washed over her, and a genuine smile graced her lips. "I was worried I might mess things up between us."

You reached across the table, gently taking her hand. "Bada, our connection is stronger than that. I'm glad you told me. Let's see where this takes us, without the pressures of academic rivalry."

From that moment, the dynamics of your relationship with Bada shifted once again. The coffee outings, once symbols of friendly competition, now became a canvas for the blossoming romance. The barriers had crumbled, revealing a connection that transcended the expectations of academia.

As the days turned into nights, you and Bada navigated this new chapter with a shared understanding. The unspoken pact, built on the foundation of occasional victories and heartfelt acknowledgments, had paved the way for a love story that had quietly unfolded beneath the surface of academic competition.

— — — — — —

The test results, once a source of tension, became a mere formality in the journey of your academic and personal growth. The rivalry that had once defined your interactions now stood as a testament to the transformative power of unexpected connections.

One day, as you and Bada sat in the same lecture hall where the initial rivalry had taken root, the professor announced another round of test results. The atmosphere, once thick with tension, now held an air of camaraderie.

As the professor called out names and distributed the exams, you and Bada exchanged knowing glances. The competitive spirit remained, but it was no longer fueled by a desire for supremacy. It was a shared journey of growth, each victory and defeat a stepping stone in the evolution of your friendship.

When you received your test, you scanned the pages, your heart pounding with anticipation. The familiar "100%" greeted you, and you couldn't help but smile. Turning to Bada, you asked, "What did you get?" Curiosity and genuine interest colored your words.

Bada, maintaining her composed demeanor, replied, "99%," with a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

The realization hit you – this was not a defeat but a continuation of the unspoken pact. You smiled widely, not as a display of triumph, but as an acknowledgment of the shared journey you and Bada had undertaken.

"I guess we're maintaining the balance," you said, your voice filled with a newfound understanding.

Bada nodded, the glint of satisfaction in her eyes mirroring your own. The professor, unaware of the intricacies of your connection, continued with the announcements, and the hall filled with a sense of collective achievement.

As you and Bada walked out of the lecture hall, the sun casting a warm glow over the campus, the unspoken pact between you two lingered in the air. The rivalry had evolved into a friendship, a connection that defied the expectations of competitiveness.

In the heart of Seoul National University, where the halls echoed with the pursuit of knowledge, the story of you and Bada became a testament to the transformative power of unexpected connections. The rivalry that once fueled the academic landscape now stood as a symbol of growth, shared victories, and the enduring bonds that emerged from the unlikeliest of beginnings.

Now, with the acknowledgment of your mutual feelings, the dynamics between you and Bada shifted once again. The coffee outings, once symbols of friendly competition, now became a canvas for the blossoming romance. The barriers had crumbled, revealing a connection that transcended the expectations of academia.

As the days turned into nights, you and Bada navigated this new chapter with a shared understanding. The unspoken pact, built on the foundation of occasional victories and heartfelt acknowledgments, had paved the way for a love story that had quietly unfolded beneath the surface of academic competition.

The exchange of glances had become laden with unspoken meanings, and every shared moment held a layer of intimacy that went beyond friendship. The sunsets over the campus felt warmer, and the laughter shared in the cafés echoed with the resonance of newfound affection.

One evening, as you both strolled through the campus, Bada couldn't resist a playful jab at your once intense rivalry. "Remember when you used to boast about being the smartest one in class?" she teased, nudging you lightly.

You chuckled, playing along. "Ah, those were the days when I had to remind you who the real brainiac was."

Bada raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Brainiac? Please, I seem to recall someone struggling to keep up with my brilliance."

You feigned offense, a playful glint in your eyes. "Oh, please. Your brilliance couldn't even match my wit."

The banter continued, each remark carrying the weight of shared history and a newfound camaraderie. As you both reached a quiet spot under a tree, the playfulness took a surprising turn. Bada, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, suddenly lunged at you, causing you to stumble backward.

Laughter echoed through the campus as Bada pinned you down playfully, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of challenge and affection. "Who's the brainiac now?" she teased, a playful grin on her face.

You couldn't help but grin back, the rush of the unexpected moment adding a layer of excitement to the playful banter. "Alright, you got me this time. But let's see who emerges victorious in our next academic duel."

Bada leaned in, her breath mingling with yours. "Oh, I'm looking forward to it. But for now, let's enjoy this little victory, shall we?"

As the playful banter lingered under the shade of the tree, Bada's eyes held a warmth that transcended the teasing. The laughter, the shared history, and the unexpected twists in your connection had brought you both to this moment.

Bada, still playfully pinning you down, leaned in with a gentle smile. "You know," she whispered, "sometimes the best victories are the ones we least expect."

A grin played on your lips as you replied, "I couldn't agree more."

In that suspended moment, the air between you and Bada crackled with anticipation. The playful rivalry had seamlessly transformed into a shared understanding, and the lines between competition and connection had blurred.

Without another word, Bada closed the distance, and your lips met in a tender kiss. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves and the warmth of the embrace. The kiss, a culmination of unspoken feelings and the journey from rivals to something more, spoke volumes.

When you finally pulled away, a shared smile lingered between you. The playful banter, the academic duels, and the unexpected connection had led you to this moment, where the heartbeats echoed a new chapter in your evolving story.

In the heart of Seoul National University, where academic excellence met the uncharted territories of playful romance, the story of you and Bada continued to unfold. The once fierce academic rivals had discovered a bond that went beyond the confines of competition, and every banter-filled moment added a layer to the narrative of your evolving connection.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

How to Writing multiple characters in a scene!!

Writing tips w/ Sunny (part 1, because I ramble and im positive ill end up doing this again if people want or for my own satisfaction)

This is just my methodology put in a way I think makes sense, if this doesnt apply to you thats okay everyone has different stradegies that work for them <33

SO lets begin.

"Rules" of writing multi character scenes + arcs, (First half is how to add them into a scene, second half is maintaining and not letting them vanish)

AHEM- Well there are four ways to place a character in a scene

Narration POV Aka the protagonist, this is the perspective ever present unless you CLARIFY the story is now through the lens of another character (Take for example my fic, while I play with multiple perspectives- a bulk is from Tims POV)

Secondary POV This is the character that DIRECTLY interacts with the narrator aka their "first point of contact" so to speak, they ground the narrator in the scene as not alone and is actually interacting with other people. (This DOES NOT have to be a speaking role, it can be purely observational if need be- but its the character that gets the most attention via the narrators perspective SIDE NOTE- THIS CAN SWITCH AS WELL)

Interactive POV Now we get to the "filling"- since Secondary doesn't need a direct tie to the narrator, you can have another character interact with the secondary character. But since they are not the focus of the scene its good to have a REASON they "Enter" or else if you spend so long giving the narrators perspective on #2 then you risk having someone "Materialize" in thin air. (This isnt really a concern unless you wait too long into the scene to go "Oh this guy exists-" you have time as you paint the reader a picture of the new enviornment/scene)

Enviorment POV Last but most certainly not least (and the one i've seen people struggle with the most) is the character that is PRESENT A N D NAMED- But serves no plot importance/relevance (to the narrator) during the opening part of the scene.

To put in better perspective- think of being in a room, The Narrator is you observing your surroundings (depending on POV style how "into the mind" of the narrator we go)

Secondary is the person you focus on, you hear their conversation, see their body language, expression, clothing, etc. They are the personal "focus" (there can be multiple as well)

Interactive is people SURROUNDING the focus, those who still play a semi active and visible role. They can either be within your line of sight interacting with the enviorment or speaking to a secondary/narrator character.

Enviorment is the person in the back of class that you know, but don't really register unless they do/say something- but you are still AWARE of their presence. CAREFUL NOT TO INTRODUCE THEM TOO LATE, OR ELSE YOU HAVE THE "MATERIALIZE" PROBLEM AGAIN

Now into a scene(aka recycling an old one)

Tim starred ahead silently from his side of the couch, watching Jason fidget with the soda tab on his shitty off brand Doctor Pepper he always insisted on getting. Around and around over and over, it was giving him second hand anxiety.

Thankfully they weren't forced to stay in the moment as Dick leaned over and pressed his shoulder into Jasons with a beaming smile "Oh come on it'll be fun"!

"Says you golden boy" Steph teased, half hanging off her chair and a foot almost knocking over Cass chip bag, only stopped by the fact Duke snatched it and moved it further along the table.

Well at least Damian seemed to be reacting rationally, seeming intent on slouching in on himself the more Dick tried to pull him and Jason together into a "group hug". It was a wonder his arms could even reach that far- even more so that they were still intact.

But Jason, like the rest of them, was weak to Dicks puppy dog eyes. Tim saw the moment he gave up a losing battle and his shoulders slumped in defeat, though his scowl ever present. "If I say yes will you fuck off"

"Ah ah language, we have children here"! Dick gasped, placing his ears on Damians ears which only earned him a snarl in return.

"I don't think Damian counts as a kid- and I just turned 16 which is basically an adult" Duke tried to defend, but his 'fierce glare' had less effect with his hand stuck in a bag of gummy worms.

Tim huffed- if Dick kept it up, they would end up with "family night", and he doubted all of them would come back alive.

(END SCENE)

Now to break down- Tim was of course the "Narrator" perspective that was viewing the scene, we get his insight even while not directly interacting with the characters just by his description tone.

Jason was of course the main "Secondary"character (though Dick was a mix as well) where the scene introduced by Tims perpective and tone by someone else in the enviornment.

Then you have Dick who is a perfect mix of Interactive character (how he entered the scene via movement, placing himself in perspective to the established other two) while shifting to have the most "scene impact" whilst still not being Tims focus.

Finally you have everyone else serving as Enviornment characters, with either a simple Line-action (ex-Steph) or a name drop in general placement (Cass) or establishment through movement, and only relevent later in the scene (Duke).

Damian kind of floats between, he is introduced via a reaction + Narrator observation, but then is mostly just an eviornment character. He is THERE but not really awknowleged beyond that.

NEXT- If that doesn't help much you can rely on "Environment rule"

Aka everyone is always doing something in any space they occupy- apply that to your characters. It can be as simple as when you have one character speak loudly to the narrating POV, another character shifts away or laughs.

They didn't need to speak nor did you need to detract from the tension/pacing of a scene by describing in detail their expression, positon, etc.

BUT in that moment your reader just clues in to "Oh okay x is here-" that is established, and whether or not x plays a role in a future scene within that enviornment doesnt matter much.

This is also the PERFECT oppertunity to give characterization. If a tense moment is going on you can have the narrator notice another character stiffen/flinch (aka affected by the conflict, even if not an active participant)

FINAL PART- MAINTAINING

This is where shit can hit the fan f a s t- getting a bunch of characters in a scene is one thing but keeping them there?? Hell at times.

But once again this all relies on "Narrator perspective" and unless you are switching narrators, you need a "cone of vision" to determine what is or isn't important unless you might break the tension of a scene.

Methods include-

Reactions

Two+ background characters interact (verbal or not)

Interact with enviornment

Enter/Leave a space (of note)

A sound registered but not explored (a chair creaking back, a glass dropping, snack bag rustling, or even my favorite which is the sudden absense of sound implying an audience)

"Incidents" (Someone drops something, attention goes to them for a sec- apology/oneliners, then switch back)

Check ins from NON NARRATOR, (or narrator, but usually works better to keep track of who is focused on who)

Characters don't need to be "ever present" just remind your reader they exist somewhere generally in the scene (and keep them in your back pocket)

But The best possible tool at your disposal?? BANTER.

Let characters interact, feel out their dyanmics- If you dont know how they interact in non tense situations, how does that change when tension amps up. Have a background character throw in a one liner- or the narrator observe a conversation they aren't a part of.

LET PEOPLE BE PEOPLE- And they basically write themselves

Last but not least- if you feel stuck or lost?? Treat EVERYONE like a narrator.

Who are they paying attention to? What are they seeing? How do they REACT to that? Do they speak up, do they tense, do they try and slip away or stay strong?

You don't need to know this for EVERY scene- but sometimes it helps out of a rut moment

ANYWAYYSS- This is my rant and personal methodology of how I place/maintain multiple characters. I hope this helps for anyone interested, if not find what works for you!!

My Asks are open if anyone wants me to give any other advice, tips, or just general ramblings about writing.

Otherwise,

Happy writing!!

[lightofraye]

Deaf History

I mentioned in an earlier post that I am a part of the deaf community. Being labeled CODA (child of deaf adult(s)) is what a person like myself is called. I am hearing, I can hear, but both of my parents, two of my three brothers, and vast majority of my maternal relatives are deaf. I grew up in that community, I grew up feeling more at home in that community than I ever did in the hearing community.

There's a whole culture to being deaf. There's the language, reading body language to convey tone, there's a whole thing about being deaf that goes beyond just knowing Sign Language. This is why when learning Sign Language, being immersed in it is the best way to learn. (But then, this is true of any and all languages.)

In so many ways, ASL (American Sign Language) is my first language. I learned how to sign first before I learned how to speak with my voice. I frequently found myself wishing I could go to the deaf school instead of the public school because I was more comfortable around deaf people than I was hearing people. (And no, I would not have been allowed to attend deaf school; it's restricted for deaf students only.)

I grew up accustomed to watching television, movies, etc, with captioning or subtitles. In fact, it's weird for me to watch them without. My mother didn't believe me at first until she asked an interpreter who was also CODA. The interpreter said it was the same for her.

My parents met at Gallaudet, the country's first, and so far, only deaf university. In fact, it's the first in the world. The history of Gallaudet, of American Sign Language, was all because of one man.

Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet's life was forever changed because of a deaf little girl named Alice.

Alice wasn't playing with other children and that drew his attention. Concerned as to why, Thomas found out that Alice was deaf and could not communicate at all. Determined to teach her, Thomas taught Alice what different objects were called by writing their names and drawing pictures of them with a stick in the dirt. Alice's father was impressed and hired Gallaudet to continue teaching Alice through the summer.

Alice's father, along with several businessmen and clergy, asked Gallaudet to travel to Europe to study methods for teaching deaf students. There was a family in Scotland that they wanted to work with, but that family refused for whatever reason. Plus, Gallaudet found their preference for oral communication extremely limited and did not produce desirable results.

While in Great Britain, Gallaudet met Abbé Sicard, head of the Institution Nationale des Sourds-Muets à Paris, and two of its deaf faculty members, Laurent Clerc and Jean Massieu. Gallaudet was invited to Paris to study the school's method of teaching the deaf using manual communication. Gallaudet studied the teaching methodology under Sicard, learning sign language from Massieu and Clerc.

Gallaudet sailed back to America with Clerc. The two men toured the New England region and raised funds for a deaf school in Hartford, Connecticut. It later became known as the American School for the Deaf in 1817. Alice was one of the first seven students.

One of Gallaudet's children, his youngest, founded the first college for the deaf, in 1864.

It is due to Gallaudet that American Sign Language even exists. Despite many an indigenous tribe having their own form of sign language, none ever became the official form of sign language for the United States.

Almost each country have their own form of sign language. No, it is not the same, and language barriers exists for deaf people as well. There was even an invention of an International Sign Language that was used during the Deaf Olympics to help bridge communication issues.

I love sign language. It is the third most widely used language in the United States. First is English, second is Spanish, and third is Sign Language. No, deaf people are not dumb (I honestly hated that old saying and am happy to see it finally phasing out). They can read, write, live independently, work, drive, you name it--there are solutions to each of their problems. Accessible solutions.

Having visible celebrities such as Shoshannah Stern, Marlee Matlin, and so forth help bring attention to such existence. Switched At Birth, a television show, also spotlighted deaf characters. Recently, a movie called CODA, helped spotlight--and it won an award, too.

I continue to be proud of my heritage. I hope to continue to teach my son how to sign--and taught him the most important one.

The one that says "I love you".

[0junemeatcleaver0]

ℑ𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔡𝔲𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

Muta Cupido; An examination of Roman sexual morality, what makes a man a vir, the practice of oratorical celibacy, and the appetites of both a mortal man and monster. 

Ages ago, I wrote a quick-n-dirty meta (which I will link to later in this post). At the time, I was quite proud of it. But after having done my last Marius deep dive, all of my previous metas now look lackluster to me. Consider this to be the updated version of the original meta. It is not necessary to have read the previous meta before this one, though those of you who have (and even those of you who haven’t) should be able to pick up what I’m putting down before I even link to the original. 

That being said, I would suggest that you do read this companion piece I wrote about what (in the mind of a Roman) made a man, a man. It’s a relatively short read, and will help add more context to the short discussion on the same topic later in this post. 

A quick note before anyone tries to jump up my ass (again): I view meta as serving the same purpose as fic, just via a different methodology. Where in fic you dream up scenarios to put the characters through to see how they might act in those situations, I feel meta is a way of taking what we know canonically about the character and attempting to recontextualize the facts with additional information. Just as there are nearly infinite equations one can use to reach a sum, so too are there different ways a single character might end up the person we read on the page. In short: This post is meant to be a thought experiment and you’d have to be some kind of fool to think its author is proclaiming herself some kind of authority on the subject.  

𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥 𝔦𝔫 𝔄𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔢

The time of Pliny the Elder and the four humors; a time when medical theories that seem ignorant to the modern mind were rife. And while I could spend quite a long time dunking on the science of yesteryear, I’ll keep things brief by only focusing on ideas surrounding sexual health–especially where it pertains to the sexual health of men. 

As pictured above, one very important aspect of health for a male was the regulation of semen. Semen was a very important bodily fluid, as it was thought to be made via a mix of (the humor) blood and pneuma (“vital air”) and was believed to be the fuel on which internal organs ran. 

Blood and semen, in fact, were so inextricably linked in the Roman mind that the two would be even poetically coupled throughout different texts in oft times violent ways. Aya Betensky says in Lucretius and Love: 

“Let us begin with Lucretius’ Venus in De Rerum Natura 4. He introduces her as a physiologically as possible, moving from a discussion of dreams to wet dreams and then to the mechanics of ejaculation, which he shows mockingly to be the body’s enactment of the romantic expression ‘wound of love’. Semen is equated with blood spurting out of a wound. (4. 1049-1056)”. 

Greek physician Galen warns in his treatise On Semen that exorbitant sexual activity would result in a loss of pneuma and thus, vitality:

“It is not at all surprising that those who are less moderate sexually turn out  to be weaker, since the whole body loses the purest part of both substances, and there is besides an accession of pleasure, which by itself is enough to dissolve the vital tone, so that before now some persons have died from excess of pleasure.” 

As detailed further in this post’s companion piece, the rules for manhood were highly prescriptive to the Romans. Every man of good moral standing concerned with their own virtus would have also been weary of losing too much semen–whether through promiscuity or nocturnal emissions. 

As Catharine Edwards states in The Politics of Immorality in Ancient Rome:

“Morality and manliness [were considered] the distinguishing features of Rome.”

And while Rome’s mos maiorum were such a public affair (indeed, these customs and social norms functioned almost as some sort of morality play each citizen was expected to participate in while in public), these expectations leaked into even the most private sectors of citizen’s lives–including the bedroom. 

Robert Sharp speaking about how censores regulated the public in Incontinentia, Licentia et Libedo: The Juxtaposition of Morality and Sexuality during the Roman Republic. 

Indeed, a lack of control over the self (which included being able to appropriately manage one’s sex life) indicated that a man was incapable of governing others–a highly detrimental accusation in the heyday of the Paterfamilias. As per Catharine Edwards in Unspeakable Professions: Public Performance and Prostitution in Ancient Rome:

“The enjoyment of ‘low sensual pleasure’ threatened to erode the elite male’s identity as a cultured person”. 

Still yet, there were some men for whom this fear of loss of masculine potency loomed larger than most. 

Because a loss of pneuma was thought to cause a whole host of physical ailments–but most importantly to this discussion slow mindedness, an ‘effeminate’ voice, and general weakness of character–the men perhaps most concerned with keeping hold of their pneuma were orators. 

One such orator was C. Licinius Calvus (born 82 BCE, died possibly in 47 BCE). In Natural History, Pliny the Elder name checks Calvus during a discussion of medical uses for lead. Because Calvus took to putting lead plates on his kidneys to combat having wet dreams. John Dugan says in Preventing Ciceronianis: C. Licinius Calvus’ Regimens for Sexual and Oratorical Self-Mastery: 

“Pliny, moreover, connects this therapy with Calvus’ literary activity, stipulating that the orator’s treatment was designed to ‘preserve the strength of his body for the labor of his studies’.”

The oratorial obsession with preventing wet dreams isn’t where the scholarly preoccupation with keeping one’s seminal fluid to one’s self ended, either. As per the Encyclopedia Britannica: 

“As classical civilization developed, two ideals of masculine celibacy appeared, that of the ascetic philosopher and that of the priest of the mystery religions. [...] Pythagoras (c. 580 BC - c. 500) established a small community that emphasized study, vegetarianism, and sexual restraint or abstinence. Many later philosophers believed that celibacy is conducive to the detachment and equilibrium required by the philosopher’s calling. The Stoic philosopher Epictetus (AD 55- C. 135) for example, held that the ideal teacher would be unmarried and that his task would require freedom from the cares of family life.” 

𝔈𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔪, 𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔪, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔄𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔢

Now that we’ve gotten a taste of how physicians viewed sexual activity, we’ll move on to what the philosophers thought on the subject. 

There were two major schools of philosophy in Ancient Rome–Epicureanism and Stoicism. Epicureanism was a philosophy that taught that pleasure was the highest good and the thing through which you could attain tranquility and freedom from fear and physical pain. Stoicism was the philosophy that taught that life was best lived in harmony with reason, was based in knowledge, and showed a complete indifference to pain and pleasure. 

𝔈𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔫 𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶

Within Epicurean thought, pleasure was believed to be the highest good. According to the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy:

“Epicurus’ ethics is a form of egoistic hedonism; i,e., he says that the only thing that is intrinsically valuable is one’s own pleasure; anything that has value is valuable merely as a means to securing pleasure for oneself.”

To Epicurus, pleasure simply meant satisfying one’s desires. He believed there to be two types of desire, “moving” and “static”. Moving desire happens when one is actively fulfilling the desire, such as eating when you feel hungry. Static desire occurs after fulfillment, i.e. feeling comfortably full after eating. He goes on to state he believes that static pleasure is the best form of pleasure. From IEoP:

“If pleasure results from getting what you want (desire-satisfaction) and pain from not getting what you want (desire-frustration), then there are two strategies you can pursue with respect to any given desire: you can either strive to fulfill the desire, or you can try to eliminate the desire. For the most part, Epicurus advocates the second strategy, that of paring your desires down to a minimum core, which are then easily satisfied.”

Epicurus divided desire into three categories:

Natural and necessary (food, drink, shelter, and personal safety)

Natural and unnecessary (things which will give you pleasure but lacking these things will not make your life impossible and/or unbearable)

Unnatural and unnecessary (desire for social standing, political power, fame, and glory)

He places sex in this second category. 

Later thinkers in this school of thought–namely Lucretius–would take harsher stances on sexual desire. Male desire, specifically, being viewed as pathological, frustrating, and violent (at least according to Robert D. Brown in Lucretius on Love and Sex [1987])–which is perhaps why Lucretius preached an ambivalent view of sex. 

Lucretius treated the sex drive as muta cupido, comparing the physiological response of ejaculation to blood spurting from a wound (again, via Brown in Lucretius on Love and Sex [1987]). 

𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔦𝔠 𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶

This school of thought emphasized sex within marriage as a way of fortifying an institution that helped to sustain social order. Such was this emphasis that by modern standards, we might consider these fathers of this philosophy to be homophobic (though that would be looking at things through a rather narrow and myopic lens)--Musonius disapproved of same-sex relations due to their lack of ability to create offspring. Seneca and Epictetus, meanwhile, merely favored male-female pairings over same sex couplings due to their ability to procreate. 

While these views surrounding same sex relations could be considered problematic by modern minds, the Stoics were more egalitarian in their thoughts surrounding highly gendered rules and how they opened people (mainly men) to hypocrisy–at least for the time. 

Indeed, both Musonius and Seneca believed if men wanted to exercise authority over women because they believed themselves to be in possession of greater self control, then those men ought to be able to manage their sex drives. 

This, of course, is not akin to the sex positivity movement of today, but rather a call for all good citizens–male and female–to control their baser urges so as not to embarrass the Republic. The (for lack of a better term) proto-feminism only went so far, as Seneca–staunchly against adultery–believed it was worse for a wife to cheat on her husband than for a husband to cheat on his wife. 

Kathy L. Gaca in her book The Making of Fornication: Eros, Ethics and Political Reform in Greek Philosophy and Early Christianity states that Seneca also believed that a wise man should make love to his wife by exercising good judgment (iudicium) and not emotion (affectus). Though this is a much stricter stance than taken by other Stoics, who largely saw sex as a means of promoting affection between married couples. 

But while Stoicism at least at first glance seems to take a more even keeled approach to the topic, it was not above fear mongering about the perils of the human sex drive. In her book, Gaca cites Ad Helviam (13:3), stating: 

“To Seneca, sexual desire for pleasure (libido) is a ‘destructive force (exitium) insidiously fixed in the innards’. Unregulated, it becomes cupiditas (lust).”

And here is where I risk losing those of you who didn’t put two and two together until this moment. AKA: I think Marius died a virgin and in this essay I will…

Or, more accurately, since this theory relies on a blending of canon and my research, let us make a melange of sorts.

ℑ𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱

For the purpose of keeping things contained to this post, here is a quick summary of the original post: 

Marius never mentions taking a shine to anyone while still a mortal

When speaking of his time as a mortal, he never alludes to being a part of any hedonistic activity, though he does admit to documenting the indiscretions of others

He’s only known to have been attracted to one person (Pandora) as a mortal, who he never got with romantically or sexually 

And before it gets brought up, I’ll address the passage in Prince Lestat where Teskhamen speaks to Marius and says: 

“[...] I saw your libraries, I saw and heard your quick-witted and curious companions, I saw the full blooming power of your experience, the life of a cultured Roman, the life that had made you what you were. I saw the beauty of Italy. I saw the beauty of fleshly love. I saw the beauty of ideas. I saw the beauty of the sea.[...]” 

This passage was pointed out to me on my original post. Before we continue, I want to make something clear: I don’t think anyone is wrong for reading this passage as meaning that Marius was party to that ‘fleshly love’. I think it’s ambiguous enough that it could go either way. 

My whole reasoning for personally not buying this as evidence against my current theory is a matter of language. Teskhamen front-loads this passage with language that focuses on Marius’ experience. It’s Marius’ library, Marius’s companions, Marius’ life as a cultured Roman. The second half of the passage removes possessive language from the equation entirely and instead focuses solely on the beauty of all he saw–Italy, pleasure, ideas, the sea. 

The remoteness of this language coming directly after the language that detailed Marius’ specific lived experience reads as a line of delineation to me. The things Marius did, and then the things Marius witnessed. 

This, of course, is in no way meant to be an argument about authorial intent. If I had to guess, Anne wasn’t focused on the preciseness of language here, but rather catching the flow of Teskhamen’s speech patterns. In short, it’s not that deep–it’s just a peculiarity of the writing that stuck out to me and I think lends itself to being read one of two ways. After all, Marius is not responsible for how beautiful the sea or Italy is, nor is he the sole thinker who had every beautiful idea and–it stands to reason, in my opinion, due to these things being grouped together–not necessarily the one participating in the fleshly love. 

Moving on. 

I’d like to continue my summation by detailing what it is we know (canonically) of Marius’ personality: 

Marius (whether he intends to or not) carries his Roman ideals about what makes a good man into the modern age, as called out by Pandora on page 57 of Blood Communion. 

Mortal Marius was noticeably odd and aloof. Pandora (again) calls this out on page 54 of Pandora, saying: 

“In the crowd, I saw Marius. He looked at me, then back to his book. So strange. I saw him standing against a tree trunk and writing. No one did this–stand against a tree, hold a book in one hand and write with the other. The slave stood beside him with a bottle of ink.” 

Showcasing yet again how Marius was still–at around thirty years of age–more invested in documenting fun instead of having any himself (this scene  was, after all, set during Saturnalia). 

I say ‘still’ because Marius himself says this on page 397 in The Vampire Lestat: 

“I’d come to Massilia after a long and studious journey that had taken me through all the great cities of the Empire. TO Alexandria, Pergamon, Athens I’d traveled, observing and writing about the people, and now I was making my way through the cities of Roman Gaul.” 

And again in TVL (page 397), the rowdiest he admits to getting is this: 

“By the age of twenty, I'd become the scholar and the chronicler, the one who raised his voice at drunken banquets to settle historical and military arguments.”

This identity as a chronicler–while cemented in his twentieth year–carried on into his fortieth year, as we see him still writing his own chronicles when approached by Mael in the tavern from which he was kidnapped (TVL, page 398).

This all, of course, is a rough sketch of Marius as a character and I am obviously relying on you to fill in any gaps with your own understanding of him as he appears on page. After all, it would take quite a while to transcribe every moment where Marius was particularly Roman, weird, scholarly, or restrained. Keep your own favorite instances in mind as we move on to the next bit: 

𝔏𝔢𝔱'𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔞 𝔖𝔬𝔲𝔭

It is my belief that it makes a lot of sense that Marius (especially if you buy into the “Marius was never a senator” theory) being a man who values his identity as a Roman man and an intellectual, would buy fully into practicing celibacy as a way to protect his mental acuity. 

It was a common enough medical practice in his day, he obviously highly values his intellect, he was very serious about and dedicated to his scholarly undertakings, if ineligible for a political position he might want to win the respect of his fellow men of good standing by becoming something of a historian/philosopher, he’d only been very attracted to a woman he couldn’t marry anyway, and he was a bit of an off putting weirdo (affectionate) to boot. 

Marius has been shown to exhibit respect for the great thinkers of his time (name checking Xenophon, Herodotus and Poseidonius on page 399 of TVL alone) and it’s not much of a stretch (especially when paired with his habit of loudly and forcefully arguing at banquets) to assume he had a great deal of respect for orators and their craft. 

Whether Marius were ever a fan of Calvus is up to debate–Calvus died one to two decades before Marius was born (there is no record of Calvus’ exact year of death), he would have been recent history for Marius. Calvus’ poems would have still existed (in more than the fragments we have now), his speeches would have been spoken about, and was fairly well known in his time. My point is, orators were well respected as men and intellectuals and it wouldn’t shock me if Marius was a fan of any of them in specific or in general and that respect could have been the thing that kicked off any possible decision to remain celibate. 

In short, I believe there are many plausible  reasons why Marius may have died a virgin and I think all of these in combination would make a very fun space to play in, character-wise. 

ℜ𝔢𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔰

https://www.jstor.org/stable/4349696?read-now=1&seq=10#page_scan_tab_contents

https://www.jstor.org/stable/1215514?read-now=1&seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents

https://www.jstor.org/stable/4349198?read-now=1&seq=2#page_scan_tab_contents

https://www.jstor.org/stable/270440?read-now=1&seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents

[poshpunkqueen]

I've been listening to Taylor Swift since the debut. I'm not one of those listeners that believe Taylor is a Princess, wholly innocent, 24/7 victim but at the same time I don't believe she's a Villain. She's made mistakes.

I'm not one of those listeners that has the time and immoral capacity to sit on the Internet to committ Cyber crimes nor am I willing to put my health on the line to see her live. There should be boundaries.

The transfer from Teenhood to Adulthood for Taylor...I could tell ..she's still unravelling. Its okay to be in your 30s and still finding yourself. Hopefully there is an expiry date.

I'm not trying to be funny but I believe Taylor needs therapy. There are some unresolved things: fame, dealing with the industry and the media has definitely affected her. I don't think she's quite shake off alot stuff. It's passivity with a cupcake appearance of happiness.

Her patterns and methodology when it comes to music....mmmh the adults are taking a step back and analysing 😄. Writing those songs and knowing the effects will eventually become a "Here we go again" Moment. Everyone will move on and she will remain.Therapy is needed.The pride comes before the fall.

I say this because when Tortured Poets Project was announced I was unsure about it. I've never been unsure about a Taylor album. But then again I'm aware of the Taylor Formula. Not sure if she can carry this formula into her 40s and 50s 😄 but we will see. But I listen for listening sake..I'm listening to everyone this year.

TTPD Album: I had to stop half way because its the typical Taylor album...same note 🙆🏻‍♂️ same storyline... lol no doubt she's a good songwriter. Not sure how to feel about missiles being sent to someone who struggled or struggling with Depression. NOPE.

Emotional cheating is interesting lol We had this before 👀. Alcoholism and the talks about drugs is interesting too. Blurring the lines between two men. One you barely bedded to be in this deep. This seems like a tactic for writing material. Calculated PR stunts. I said this last year...she knows what she's doing...she dated him purposely ...she knew what to expect and Matty knew what to expect ...I'm disappointed in Matty selling out ...and acting out for attention..he needs to grow up too....he knows better. He made the whole band look bad...(I'm George fan btw)

Meathead guys years ago like Travis Kelce were saying they wanted to date Taylor for fame and songs. Sadly I'm starting to see it. Travis is a big time user. However we live and learn 😆

Idk I don't get it. If people pay attention to her lyrics not just on this album but previous albums, she tells on herself alot lol. We will have this again 2026.

Being Human isn't without flaws and wrong paths but it seems people only see it with Taylor Swift. .they don't see it with others 🫡 Others would would be stamped with cancellation. The Devil.

Taylor is in her 30s and I hope she figures out what she wants personally and professionally. It doesn't make sense moving from person to person then writing these songs. This is why therapy is important.

A few weeks ago, we heard Beyoncé album and I'm not the biggest Bey fan but we heard her different layers vocally and with the blending of genres. While I'm aware Taylor isn't a vocalist...I want to hear her do other genres.

Honestly I liked Midnights and reputation better.

Here are the songs I might listen to again:

✨️ Fortnight

✨️TTPD

✨️Down Bad

✨️So Long London

✨️The Prophecy

✨️Robin

⛔️Florida...but it's meh...Florence was downplayed...similar to Snow on the Beach with Lana.

The other songs were...okay....

I support Joe. I don't think Joe deserves this...I'm not gonna defend wrong actions even if I like your songs...

TBH EVENTUALLY I WILL STOP LISTENING TO TAYLOR BECAUSE I'VE GONE BACK DEEP INTO ROCK AND OLD SKOOL MUSIC

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

A Sight Second to None

tags: god!reader au, pre!relationship, pre!canon, god!reader and rukkhadevata aren’t siblings, happy lantern rite simps

a/n: it’s lantern rite time, i have to write something for the geo daddy so i figured why not give him something set in the god!reader universe. light spoilers for 3.2′s last act of the sumeru archon quest if you haven’t played it yet, and i’d give the first few bullets of god!reader’s lore guide a read here as well. other than that, enjoy, tell me your thoughts and talk about the god!reader cinematic universe with me.

"Is the décor to your liking?”

“I’ve told you once before, Morax, and I’ll tell you again,” you answer with a tone too stern for the question you were asked. “The sights of any country will always be second to that of my own.” 

Morax’s lips quirk into an amused smile. “I find second place to be better than last then if I have to ask Amur their opinion of my home.”

“This country’s geography has a lot of character.” Even if you’re the first to admit that Morax and yourself have never gotten along the best among the divine you knew, you wouldn’t be petulant enough to discredit his efforts.

You’ve seen many a fine sight in your centuries of living, Liyue is one of them. From the spears he cast to create the stone forest of Guyun to the lowest peaks of Liyue’s mountains; Morax worked hard to craft Liyue into its current image and he did a fine job.

“Just as long as you know Sumeru is the best. Our oases and forests are second to none.” Morax had seen them quite a few times due to your nations’ proximities to one another and the newfound allegiance of the Seven.

It was no longer an oddity to hear from your friend that she was being called to a small gathering Barbatos insisted she attend, nor was it odd when the other Archons found themselves visiting Rukkhadevata in Sumeru. What you presently find odd, however, is that this isn’t a gathering for the Seven.

It is simply you, merely one of the gods of Sumeru allied to the Dendro Archon, and Morax alone.

“Why not bring Rukkha here?” You finally bring yourself to ask. “She would love to see something like this, she’s interacted plenty with mortals.” You and the newly appointed Archon of Sumeru were similar that way, although your methodology differed. We’re old friends. Even more than that, perhaps both your similarities and differences were inevitable. We were born from the same tree, after all. Irminsul connects you both more deeply than could ever be expressed.

You are both one of many parts of it, a branch and a root respectively. Life and Death with the green of Dendro running through both your veins. She will always have your loyalty and you hers.

“Barbatos of Mondstadt has dragged you lot to plenty of parties.” you continue, pushing away your thoughts. If Morax picked up that your mind was bordering topics beyond his nation’s holiday, he doesn’t show it. If he has, you can appreciate him saying nothing. Perhaps Rukkhadevata wasn’t exaggerating when she said the Geo Archon had begun to mellow out since the last time you encountered him. “I’d expect an invitation like this from him. I thought you preferred the company of your adepti to anyone else.” Yet Morax requested your presence specifically. It was so abnormal you couldn’t help dragging yourself across the desert and forest of your homeland to your neighboring nation for answers.

The Lord of Geo’s face is unknowable. “I thought this sort of holiday would be to your liking.” At the curious raise of your eyebrow, Morax explains on smoothly. “Lantern Rite celebrates the lives of those who sacrificed their own for Liyue’s prosperity. Mortals, Gods and Adepti alike. Considering your philosophies, I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“Because we are alike,” you reply almost smugly. “Mortals and the divine. It doesn’t matter where we start, we all meet the same end. Every life on Teyvat is important.” It’s a point you and Morax could never agree on. Neither of you would yield even when Guizhong herself stepped in, finding the debate too heated even by her standards. Dendro and Geo are compatible elements by nature, that didn’t seem apply to you and Morax.  You thought him close-minded and stuck in his ways, he thought you young and inexperienced despite you only be a few millennia younger than him.

Oddly enough, however, that same Morax is sitting beside you with a look you almost deem fond.

"Anyway, even you should know that all the fun is down there,” you gesture broadly to Liyue Harbor. The lights of the lanterns shone similarly to the stars twinkling above the vast desert and you could hear the distant sounds of music. You aren’t surprised, however. Morax never interacted with his followers unless he had to and even then there was always a distance he placed between them.

“We can attend the festivities whenever you’d like,” Morax replies kindly and much too quickly for you to believe it.

You poke his forehead the way you would Deshret in his deep sleep, wondering if he dozed himself into an eternal slumber. “Is everything alright in there?” You query in disbelief. “Who are you and what have you done with Morax? Is there an imposter among the Seven? Should I alert all the Archons that the Lord of Geo’s been possessed by a fake?”

Grabbing your wrist, Morax halts your poking. Strangely enough, he doesn’t let go though his hold is gentle. “I’m not going mad, I’m simply taking a page out of your book, God of Festivals.”

A wave of embarrassment sweeps over you at the mention of what is becoming your most popular epithet and you gently tug your wrist from his grip. “I only started calling myself that so the people of Sumeru would stop balking at my ideal at the mere mention of it.” You and your friends all had your ideals, your own basis for what you considered wisdomー it was just unfortunate yours was the only one mortals had a primordial fear of.

“Life should be thought of as a grand festival”, you told your tribes. “Treat it like a celebration! Mortal children come into this world needing to be cared for by their elders and yet mortal elders become more like children the older they become, the youth taking their roles as providers. Your dreams, decisions and ambitions. Make them the games a child would play at a festival so they can return home without regrets! Mortals and the divine, we all return to the earth. Make sure you can return with no regrets! This is my wisdom.”

Morax chuckles at your sheepish expression and it isn’t the first time you resent his baritone voice. It should be forbidden for someone teasing you to have a voice so pleasant. “I like it, it’s very fitting of you.” At your sour glare, he reassures you his opinion is not in jest. “The gods of Sumeru all sought and continue to seek Wisdom, it’s the lifeblood of the nation. Even if our opinions have differed in the past, I’ve never doubted the wisdom you hold. I admire your tenacity, I’m not sure I would be able to find ways to make a subject most humans find taboo more palatable. At least, not in such a creative way.”

A quiet passes over the two of as you take in what was said. He isn’t joking, you’ve joked yourself in the past that the blockhead is too serious to joke. You find it unbearable to stare into amber eyes any longer, finding comfort in the warm glow of the capital in the distance. “You said if I wanted, we could see the festivities in person,” you begin after a few moments. “I’m considering this a contract from the Lord of Geo himself so let’s go.”

Another chuckle escapes Morax’s lips and you can’t hold back a snicker of your own. “The last time I visited Sumeru I saw you dancing with the mortals,” it feels random when Morax tells you this but his eyes are distant, chasing a memory. This time his expression looks undoubtedly fond. “It looked fun. I want to experience things as you view them, if you’ll allow me.”

“You don’t seem like much of a dancer,” you murmur quietly but you don’t disparage him.

“This isn’t a holiday that calls for dancing, but this is only the fifth Lantern Rite to ever take place,” Morax stands, holding a hand out for you to grab. You find it too easy to accept his offer and feel too self-conscious of how closely you are standing beside one another. “Perhaps that can be a change made if the people are given a little guidance.”

“Oh stop, you old rock,” you say out of habit. You feel as if you’ve had one too many drinks, noting again how Morax makes no move to separate his hand from your own. It’s strange but you don’t find the urge to fight it. It’s only for one night, only to see the festivities of Liyue’s newest yet most important holiday. “I want to see how the people here celebrate things without biased divine intervention. Just lead the way to the Harbor before I start growing over with moss.”

His smile is light, familiar with your sense of humor by now. “I’ll be sure to lead at a moderate pace then.”

[rjzimmerman]

Where Compassion and Conservation Meet. (Sierra Club)

Tango, a humpback whale calf, was killed by a ship strike off Juneau, Alaska. | Photo by Heidi Pearson

For 13 years, marine biologist Heidi Pearson has spent her summer weekends aboard a research vessel near her home in Juneau, Alaska—a long-lens, rapid-fire camera at the ready. The Iowa-born professor keeps tabs on humpback whales returning to their feeding grounds from Hawai‘i and Mexico. Her computer contains thousands of images of giant, dripping tails set against the backdrop of Sitka spruce and hemlock trees ringing Southeast Alaska’s bays.

Last summer, Pearson took pictures of things she didn’t want to see. A whale calf named Tango was swimming alongside his mother with bloody lacerations on his back from a ship strike. An adult named Manu was tangled in a crab pot. She spotted Herbert, another calf, trailing a jumble of twisted rope, making it hard for him to swim. Then, in August, Tango was struck again by a boat. His body washed up on a beach two days later with gruesome damage to his flank from the ship’s prow.

Pearson photographed Tango’s mother, Sasha, shortly after her calf’s death, feeding in her usual spots alone. “This summer has been a hard time to be a whale researcher in Juneau,” Pearson said at the time.

That expression of compassion reflects an ethos that some biologists are identifying as essential to their work. Known as compassionate conservation, the approach has a simple premise: It’s just as important to protect and live harmoniously with individual animals as it is to prevent the extinction of their species.

Compassionate conservation is not a new methodology, but it does differ from the established wisdom that drives most conservation efforts, according to Arian Wallach, an ecologist at Queensland University of Technology in Australia. Traditional conservation is focused on preventing extinction. If a species is not in danger, the thinking goes, then all is well. But for scientists like Wallach and Pearson, the well-being of individual animals, not just their species, is equally important. They argue that our ability to successfully protect a species hinges in part on our capacity to understand, relate to, and know individual animals and their stories. Humans, Wallach said, are naturally empathetic creatures. If we focus that empathy on the animals we study, we’ll learn more about their species and how to protect them.

This is not just sentimentality. Personal knowledge of particular whales, Pearson said, is essential to the study of behavioral ecology. Researchers need data on how a whale responds to its environment over time. After all, natural selection works at the individual level. Camera-trap images, cellphone videos, and GPS data from around the world make it easier to tune in to the lived experience of individual animals.

In addition to tracking humpbacks’ movements and behaviors, Pearson looks for underweight whales with their shoulder blades poking out. Climate change is altering the behavior and biology of prey, making it harder for whales to find the herring and krill that make up their diet. That’s one possible reason there’s been a spate of recent whale deaths up and down the Pacific coast.

Lawful commercial whaling ended with the International Whaling Commission (IWC) ban in 1986. But despite the ban and the decades of public affection showered on whales, humans have not stopped killing them. Ship strikes, fishing-gear entanglements, and noise pollution take the lives of thousands of marine mammals annually. Ropes and plastic webbing can tangle up and weigh down a whale to the point where it drowns or starves. The IWC estimates that fishing gear and other marine debris kill 300,000 whales and dolphins each year. As many as 20,000 are killed in collisions with boats.

[hadesoftheladies]

i just saw jessie gender's "trans women are not biological males" video and . . .

it's so catastrophically awful. like one hour of strawmen and flat out inaccurate and false constructions of what is meant by the term "male" and "female" and "biology"

and isn't it funny how the goal with the trans movement as headed by these guys is about erasing distinction rather than providing clarity? we say, fine, transwomen are transwomen, and they can go by she/her, but no, they need to be called "women." okay. then we call transwomen "women", but male, and they say, "no, we must be called female."

woman and female are not inclusive terms. they are descriptive. i don't care who doesn't like to be "defined" if you exist, behave and are percievable in this dimension, you will get a fucking label because no one has the time to pretend to see you as an "essence." no matter how many times we move the goal posts, we are still going to need language for those distinctions between trans women and women, but oh wait . . . hold on, there are distinctions that are acceptable. we can use "trans" and "cis" for women.

and that's the thing isn't it? women can no longer define themselves as they want, centering their biology and struggles as the female sex, because they must define themselves as trans women want.

acknowledging sex differences, which is vital to women's rights and liberation, the core of their oppression, is now secondary to the comfort of transwomen.

it's an affront on feminist consciousness-raising. screw up the language so much and so successfully that you can't meaningfully discuss women's oppression.

feminist-materialist ideas are incompatible with genderqueer-metaphysical fantasies. jesse literally starts railing on "naturalism" being some kind of "belief" that how we are born is "is the only way we should exist" or some shit, which is like . . . not what naturalism is.

As indicated by the above characterization of the mid-twentieth-century American movement, naturalism can be separated into an ontological and a methodological component. The ontological component is concerned with the contents of reality, asserting that reality has no place for “supernatural” or other “spooky” kinds of entity. By contrast, the methodological component is concerned with ways of investigating reality, and claims some kind of general authority for the scientific method.

naturalism is literally about investigating reality: it's constraints and capacities. no "naturalist" is arguing that people are born perfect, but that they are born male or female, which is a biological system, not a fucking dress code or magical aura. it means, jesse, that even if you took more estrogen or got implanted with ovaries or feminized your face or got a vaginoplasty, your MALE BIOLOGICAL SYSTEM will react accordingly. this is why transmen can't just take testosterone without it causing serious physical risks. this is why trans women still can't fucking gestate a baby. STOP LYING TO PEOPLE ABOUT WHAT MALENESS AND FEMALENESS MEANS.

and top comment was some shit like "They just replaced ‘In the eyes of god’ with ‘biologically’ and thought we wouldn’t notice that it makes no sense because it invokes science".

It is a literal religious trick to refer to scientific endeavor or non-religious philosophy as its own religion. you are the ones thinking religiously. christians and young-earthers literally call "atheism" and "science" religions. like . . . what are you on right now?

biology is not a language game. it's a fucking reality. if you called water "spoof" it wouldn't change what water is or how it behaves, for fuck's sake. even if you believed really hard that the ocean was calling to you, it wouldn't change the fact that oceans cannot physically form a mouth and consciousness. i don't care what judith butler or forest valkai or whatever a pedo-queer theorist man said. women's oppression is not due to pronouns, fashion, or the english language.

trans women are biological males or they wouldn't be trans, jesse. you're fucking up your own lore.